#I can’t believe I had the patience to do all that editing

[milascorner]

Did I spend the whole day creating a Netflix Golden edit using a psd template?

Yes, yes I did.

[cherryredcheol]

"baby"

tldr: all the way seungcheol uses your nickname a/n: this has been written and waiting to be posted forEVER but i'm finally ready (i am down horrific for this man)

seungcheol x reader fluff wc: 1k

reprimands: to make sure you know he's yours

“baby.” his tone is firm, controlling. he thought it would be a good idea to invite you to his shoot today, thinking you'd like to see him in the expensive clothes he was always put in for cover shoots. what he didn’t account for was you pouting over the friendly makeup artist assigned to him for the day. 

“don’t pout. you know i only have eyes for you.” he was trying to reason with you but his patience was wearing thin. you were being difficult on purpose and he couldn’t really do anything about it given the need to protect his image and act as professional as possible. you just huffed, frown settling deeper on your face. 

“you’re being a little unreasonable,” based on the look you gave him that was the completely wrong thing to say to you. he turned when he heard them call for him from set. it was time to shine. he walked over to where you sat, bending down to meet your eyes, “if you’re good for the rest of the day i’ll reward you when we get home, baby.” 

whines: when he doesn’t have your attention

“baby,” he could hear the pathetic tone in his voice but he just couldn’t help it. he’d had a long day of meetings and listening to presentations, the only thing keeping him going was knowing that you would be waiting at home for him when it was all over. you’d look at him with your soft eyes and dote on him all weekend, just how he liked. now here he was, waiting to be coddled and you were too busy giggling at your phone to spare him a glance. 

“what could be so entertaining on the phone that you can’t spend time with me?” he was laying it on thick but he was desperate at this point, especially when his question was only answered by another tittering laugh that was still not directed at him. at this point, he was fed up. he craned his neck to see what had you all giggly. 

“oh my god. you’re kidding me!” he couldn’t believe his eyes. playing on your phone was an edit of him from the most recent gose episode. the clip wasn’t even his best moment in the episode, but he did look quite handsome that day so he can’t blame you for watching. he still really wanted to be fussed over, “seriously, put your phone down. i’m much cuter in person, baby.” 

cat-calls: as you walk by in his favorite dress

“baby!” he called out to you, dragging out the ‘y’ sound. you paused, stopping in the middle of the bedroom as you crossed from the closet to the ensuite bathroom. he was seated on the bed, tying his shoelaces when he caught sight of you in the soft pink sundress he loved so much. you looked at him with big, curious eyes, wondering why he had stopped you in the middle of getting ready for your date in the park. 

“spin for me.” he got up from the bed and reached for your hand. he held it up, above your head and twirled you in a circle, eyes taking in every inch of you. he was excited to have a picnic with you but now he was considering scrapping the whole thing to stay behind. seeing you in a sundress always did something to him. 

“you’re so beautiful,” he was full of compliments, making sure you knew exactly how beautiful he thought you were. he considered himself a lucky man every day he got to spend with you. he supposed his desire for you could wait a few hours. he should spoil you rotten with a date in the park, before spoiling you in bed. “sure you really want to go out, baby?”

admires: because he’s proud of you

“baby,” his voice is soft, eyes even softer as he cups your face. he’d just gotten home from his schedule and you’d greeted him at the door, immediately sharing the news of your promotion with him. it was a small, mostly lateral move, with a tiny raise but you were still excited to share the news with him. he kisses you deeply, trying to convey his pride to you wordlessly. 

“i should tell my mom. she’s going to be so happy for you.” this made you blush. you knew he’d be proud but you didn’t really expect him to be so happy that he’d want to tell everyone. it wasn’t even a big deal. you begged him not to call his mom right that moment and instead conceded to a spontaneous celebratory dinner at your favorite restaurant. 

“i’m so proud of you,” this was now the sixth time he told you this since you shared the news with him, the second on the car ride to the restaurant. you blushed every time he said it, and had asked him to stop, to which he refused. in fact, he had doubled down. he threatened to have a cake brought to the table at dinner if you tried to silence him again. at a red light, he fished his phone out of his pocket, handing it over to you, “call my mom, for real. i want us to share the news with her. she’s going to be so proud, baby.”

barks: on accident

“baby!” the name came out harsh, frustrated. you’d never heard it that way before; this time, it wasn’t even directed at you. the dressing room fell silent and you watched the blush creep up his neck. the boys were never going to let him live this down. he turned from you, the conversation you were having before he went on stage now gone from his mind. 

“sorry, i meant to say ‘seungkwan’”. he was trying to save the situation but it was awkward. not only had he tried to reprimand his members but he’s accidentally used your name to do it, embarrassing himself in front of his members, staff, and you. what was once a bustling hub of movement and concert preparation came to a screeching, uncomfortable halt at his faux pas. 

“we know you like seungkwan, but we didn't know you liked him that much, hyung.” jeonghan broke the tension saving his leader and ushering in some polite laughter. the commotion slowly began again and he turned back to you. his face looked normal, probably due to the makeup, but his neck was bright red. he was flustered, “they’re never going to let this go, baby.”

[actuallysaiyan]

Satoru + “All those dreams you were having? They were all about me, weren't they?” pleaseeeeeee

warning: smut, slight dub con, Incubus au, somnophilia, oral sex(fem receiving) pairings: Incubus!Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Night after night, you have a recurring dream. It’s so hazy in your dream. There’s a beautiful white haired man who sits on your dresser and peers down at you. He looks like an angel with his snowy hair and very bright blue eyes. You swear they are glowing. He barely says a word in these dreams. Well, not at first.

Slowly, the dreams turn into something else. The man then comes down from the dresser, and he saunters over to your bed. You hear him giggling for the first time. These dreams seem all too real now. His limbs seem almost too long for a human being. You swear the more you see him in your dreams, the more you think you’re seeing him outside of your dreams too.

Every guy with blue eyes, every guy with white hair…is it that man in your dreams?

Surely not every man with those traits could be that man. If he was even a man to begin with.

The next time you have a dream of him, you reach out to touch him. He feels real. He laughs at your cute attempt to see if he’s real or not. He leans down and presses a searing kiss to your lips. He tastes so sweet and smells so good. With him hovering over you in your bed, your whole body shakes with excitement.

He leaves you breathless with his incessant teasing and his voice that just lulls you into the most pleasurable sensations or the best sleep you’ve ever had. You want to believe these are all dreams, but you can’t discern reality from your dreams anymore. Mostly because you want to know if this man is truly here with you.

His hands are warm on your body. He chuckles at every little moan you let out. He enjoys the way you arch into his touches and his kisses. He’s beginning to learn your body inside and out now. You eagerly give yourself to him, and he brings you to climax with such ease every time.

One night, when you’re just about to fall asleep, Satoru is now sitting on the edge of your bed. You notice the way his eyes seem to glow. You drowsily try to sit up, but you hear his giggle again.

“No no, it’s okay. You can continue to dream about me.”

He presses a kiss to your lips. You want to keep staying lucid now that you know he’s real. Then he’s gliding his hands up and down your sides, making you shudder at his lewd touches.

“All those dreams you were having? They were all about me, weren’t they?” He asks with a smirk on his face.

You nod eagerly. “I dream about you every night. Tell me your name.”

He smirks again, pulling your nightgown over your hips. You watch as he spreads your thighs, slotting his long and lanky body between them. His warm breath hits your soaked folds and you’re already canting your hips forward to be able to feel his tongue.

“Patience little one…” he laughs. “Oh and my name? It’s Satoru. Sa-to-ru. I’ll make sure you’re screaming it in a moment.”

dividers: @adornedwithlight

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2024– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

[sugar-crash]

🏎️Turbo (Wreck-It Ralph) x (gn) Reader🏁

(Beginning Relationship Pt. I Edition!)

(It took me fucking forever to find a picture from the movie of Turbo [far too cowardly to use fanart]. Which, as we all know, is fitting.)

- To go into deeper detail on this, your time dating Turbo when he was all high and mighty was… Eventful to say the very least.

- We don’t know much about how Turbo pre-RoadBlasters disaster besides the most obvious points: passionate, sore winner, an even sorer loser, hot-headed, and finally the cherry on this red-white cake; Spite.

- His passion for various things bleeds into the other things in his life, giving a drive that goes beyond the racing track, with the relationship he gains with you being one of those things with a lot of time and patience.

- Victory kisses at the end of the day are a must, even when listening to his frustrated woes from certain players playing game wrong, saying things like “I’M FATTEST RAT IN THE RACE! WHY SHOULD I SUFFER WHEN THESE MOTION DEAF TERMITES DECIDE TO PUT A COUPLE OF COINS IN MY GAME???” ….Yeah <3

- I think in many ways that if you get his trust so much to the point where you guys start dating, he just kinda expects you to listen to his aggravated rants and not do the same for you— Which takes a lot of time to rectify, in his mind he doesn’t think you “have it as bad” as him, as ignorant as that is.

- Yeah he doesn’t exactly get a trophy for “best lover”, that’s for sure.

- And his stubborn behavior doesn’t make that any better, takes him a while to get certain things drilled into his brain when he finally realizes what you’re saying isn’t “nagging”.

- Don’t get him wrong, I genuinely think he has the capability to care for someone else over himself, it just takes a whole lot of work for him to consciously realize that.

- PDA isn’t really much of a thing for Turbo (except for his “well earned” victory kisses) , he has a reputation to uphold as one of the most popular game characters in the arcade, though behind closed doors he basically demands the attention you give him at first.

- If you don’t like being ordered around and tell him as such, it takes a series of fights to realize being bossy in a romantic relationship (or any in general) isn’t exactly the best thing. The obvious in these situations isn’t to him, he has a very one track mind (pun intended) and doesn’t like change when it effects him.

- Which is very understandable, human even, I think that many of us, if we had a choice, would keep things just the way we like it. But— Life itself is all about change, conflict, differing opinions, etc. And while it is aggravating to no end, it’s something a person has to come to terms with.

- Someone like Turbo struggles with that concept, why can’t he act the way he finds more natural?? This stone set mindset drives many way, even the people from his game— Even you at times.

- He loves you to death, with the way he sticks close to you after hours, the way he gets a momentary soft look at you when he thinks you aren’t looking is perceptible to people who pay attention.

- Much like his latter self, King Candy, he has the tendency to hide things from you— Not in a way that maintains a noble or joyous persona, but in a way that tries to hide his softness for you, the desire to clutch you close and never let go.

- The feelings your mere existence gives him scares him, not that he would ever admit that, not even to himself.

- He hates that at times his feelings depend on how you feel, and trying to understand it only stirs the pot, touches of comfort are met with a scoff and some variation of “I’m not some fragile lamb you can comfort.” Though at that point his reactions aren’t nearly as explosive as they used to be.

- Over time I believe that with your help he is able to maintain more composure— Thinking before acting, which is something he is desperate need for.

- Your relationship is very hit and miss at times, but what is love without conflict? BORING, that’s what I say at least.

- Who he is as a whole is both a blessing and a curse, really makes a person think in a “What goes on in that asshole’s head? And how the fuck did he get with someone?”

- The time you have with him before RoadBlasters was installed was special, not perfect in the slightest, but you guy had your moments that one can look at later on with a sense of melancholy.

(Abyiv-ahzapj! *SVBK MHYA UVPZL*)

[genoskissors]

Finally done! Thank you everyone for your patience!

Principal Monokuma’s Room Check!

Trigger Happy Havoc Boys

THH Girls Rooms

There are a few notes throughout to explain some things I thought most would not know (like Japanese traditions) or just to clarify things changed in localization.

Naegi-kun’s Room Edition

Sigh. It’s the private room where a high school boy spends his agonizing nights, even so, what’s with this plainness!? Why don’t you have something more shameful or embarrassing!? Naegi-kun, I’m disappointed in you!

Checkpoints: A: It’s the memo pad I prepared. It would be nice if it had Hope’s Peak Academy’s school emblem on it, to give it a rich feeling.

B: This is the key to the room. It has a key holder with the appropriate name on it. It cannot be bought and is very sophisticated, so improper usage is prohibited!

C: It’s a mock sword that was kept on the display shelf. Even though it was only decoration, it was carefully displayed, so an incident happened. Upupupu.

D: I heard that mysterious curly hair grows in boys’ rooms. An adhesive lint roller is useful for frequent cleaning! I’m so attentive! Note: Don't really know what this means, I think it might be referencing Junko's hair.

Ishimaru-kun’s Room Edition

It’s a room filled with study materials and is well organized, just as one would expect from a serious person like Ishimaru-kun’s room. Hmm~ If you spend all your energy on this, you won’t be able to focus on the killing game!

Checkpoints: A: Dictionaries and reference books are the most exciting when lined up neatly on your desk. Huh? Are you using them properly? Hee~...

B: He irons his uniform every day. Also, the armbands as well, so you know he really likes this things.

C: A New Year’s tradition, Kakizome. I suggest “In early spring, be careful of bears, as they can get ferocious!” Huh? Aren’t you going to start writing?

D: What kind of guy likes to swing around a bamboo sword even though he isn’t part of the kendo club? Do you stand on the ground, put your forehead on it, and spin around to split a watermelon? Note: This is a Japanese game called Suikawari.

Togami-kun’s Room Edition

Genuine rich people tend to seek a more modest sense of luxury rather than those who are nouveau riche. I have no clue how much Togami-kun’s room actually costs. Note: “Nouveau riche” refers to people who become rich themselves and “genuine rich people” refers to people who were born into a rich family, like Byakuya.

Checkpoints: A: It’s a violin or something. Famous ones can be worth billions. That’s more expensive than the famous Chinese medicine, bear bile, which is very pricey, roar! Note: Based on the phrase "violin or something" it's likely a viola. That's just my theory though.

B: There is nothing more difficult than determining the value of a painting. In many cases, collecting these masterpieces is not about appreciating art, but investing in it.

C: Ahaha! A red carpet laid out from the entrance, Togami-kun must be kidding me! That’s what the life of stardom is about!

D: The famous line “I will kill you, without fail!” is what makes Togami’s glasses indispensable! I can’t believe he has 10 of them, that’s quite a thorough preparation!

Oowada-kun’s Room Edition

I believe that biker gangs are a style and a fashion. That’s why it’s necessary for those who call themselves bikers to have an easy-to-understand logo or item that appeals to everyone. Upupu.

Checkpoints: A: These are the big flags put on the back of bikes, aren’t they? I always wonder if they are safe from being blown away by the wind.

B: These are all motorcycle magazines, right? I’m not going to go as far as suggesting philosophy books or economic magazines, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to open a textbook once in a while?

C: Are you really satisfied with the 5G “ Cypress Stick”? Isn’t the 1500G “Steel Broadsword” the catharsis? Note: I’m pretty sure this is a Dragon Quest reference.

D: This is the colorful banner of Oowada’s gang, “Crazy Diamonds”. Hmm, you’re only really good at difficult kanji.

Kuwata-kun’s Room Edition

Hey, Kuwata-kun, baseball doesn't even have a “ya” character! I know you don't like it, but now that you're at our school, maybe you could try to act like a baseball player, even if it's a front? Note: The Japanese word for baseball, Yakyuu (野球), has a “ya” in it, so I think Monokuma is just saying this to see if Leon will even care enough to react to his statement.

Checkpoints: A: Why do self-proclaimed punk fans like human skulls? A sea bream head has another sea bream inside, right? That's even more favorable! Note: I'm not gonna lie, I have no clue what that second sentence means. I think it relates to the saying “鯛の尾より鰯の頭”, but I still don't know how it correlates.

B: I want CDs and DVDs to come in splendid limited edition packaging, but they don’t fit neatly like this. How troubling.

C: Carrying your guitar case on your back and feeling tired as you walk around town is super cool. There was a time when I thought that way too.

D: In order to stand out and be popular, you need to have vocals. Kuwata-kun's purity is manly in a sense. I would like to hear his beautiful voice. Upupu.

Yamada-kun’s Room Edition

A utopia making the world’s geeks water at the mouth, the pink love nest of Buuko and Yamada-kun. As a despair maniac, I am driven by a desire for a room devoted solely to my hobby. Note: Buuko is Princess Piggles in the localization.

Checkpoints: A: Hey, I’m giving it everything I got to ask this question, is this what Yamada-kun is wearing? Isn’t it self-indulgent to wear it on his 170cm and 155kg body!?

B: “MARTIAL ARTS LADIES”, “This time, I’ll punish you on the mat!”.  I don’t understand why martial arts cosplay makes your heart pound.

C: Some people say these sheets and body pillow are perverted, but the desire for skin contact is neither two-dimensional nor three-dimensional.

D: Three-dimensional objects have a sense of unity because they are equipped with a three-dimensional concept. The shading of light and the convergence of existence are astonishing (The following is omitted). Note: “The following is omitted” is just a way of saying Monokuma kept rambling.

Yasuhiro-kun's Room Edition

Hagakure-kun’s love of fortune-telling is, quite honestly, shady, right? Even though he has all these tools, he still uses intuition to tell fortunes, doesn’t he? So, what in the world are these piles of junk for!?

Checkpoints: A: People with extremely dry skin tend to have a lot of wrinkles on their palms, which makes palm readers cry. It’s hard to even do fortune-telling these days.

B: Fortune-telling cards are great for mysteries and romance. If I sold "Monokuma’s Carefully Made Pure Gold Tarot", maybe I could make a profit. Upupupu.

C: If anything, Hagakure-kun has more of an oriental divination image. When I see tools like this, I want to display them in an alcove or something.

D: Come on! How many times do I have to say this!? When buying fortune-telling goods online, do not cash on delivery! This time, I was the one who paid for it too!

Fujisaki-kun’s Room Edition

Even though he’s the Super High School Level Programmer, Fujisaki-kun actually has a variety of hobbies. That’s good, science... a science student! I want to learn many things from him.

Checkpoints: A: Three monitors and a luxurious-looking executive chair. He looks like a young company president or day trader. A serious side profile would be wonderful!

B: I don’t know what this is, but it looks amazing anyway! It looks like an ancient map or some other geeky item.

C: After people learn how to interact with the romantic hyperspace of the universe, their outlook on life changes drastically. That’s what I thought just now.

D: Tada! There are hand grips on the bed! It makes me tear up to know he was secretly training.

[onlinesuzie]

HAMZAH REQUEST: argument fic w fluff make out after love me some angst ty!

♡ confronting hamzah about his time away from you ♡

words: 1.8k

summary: Hamzah was passionate about his work, spending countless hours filming and editing to ensure every detail was perfect. But as his dedication to his videos grew, so did the distance between you and him.

notes: i usually hate writing angst but this submission made me want to try it so i hope you like it!! also i am a sucker for hamzah asking for a little kiss so i just had to add that!!

☆

Hamzah’s deep brown eyes always sparkled with excitement whenever he talked about his latest project. With his brown curly hair framing his face, often tousled from running his hands through it during long editing sessions. His tan skin, a warm golden hue, glowed under the harsh blue light, though dark circles had begun to appear under his eyes from many sleepless nights.

You were very proud of Hamzah’s success. You loved seeing the joy his videos brought to his audience, but the late nights and missed dinners were taking their toll. What once felt like a shared journey now seemed like a lonely path. Tonight, as you set the table for a special dinner, the clock ticked away the minutes of your patience.

Hamzah was late again.

The dinner grew cold as you sat in silence, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the empty chair across from you. You had planned a special evening, hoping to reconnect after weeks of feeling alone. But as the hours passed, your frustration turned to anger.

Finally, the front door creaked open. Hamzah entered, his face alight with excitement, clutching his camera.

“You won’t believe how funny Martin was today! It’s going to be our best video yet,” he said, oblivious to your simmering anger.

“Hamzah, do you even know what time it is?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended.

He opened up his phone, checking the time and noticing the several missed calls, his smile fading. “Oh… I lost track of time. I’m sorry, my love. But you should see this clip—”

“I don’t care about the clip!” you interrupted, standing up from the table. “You’re always late, always busy with your videos. Do you even care about us anymore?”

Hamzah’s face fell, his excitement replaced by confusion and defensiveness. “Of course I care about us. This is for us, for our future. Can’t you see how important this is?”

“Important? Hamzah, you’re never here! I feel like I’m living alone. We never talk, we never spend time together. I’m tired of feeling left out.”

“I thought you’d be proud of me,” Hamzah shot back, his voice rising. “I’m building something here. Something that makes us a stable income. Can’t you see that?”

“I am proud of you! But what’s the point of all this if me and you are falling apart?” Your voice broke, the frustration spilling out. “I just want to spend time with you, Hamzah. Is that too much to ask?”

“You think I don’t want that too?” he retorted. “I’m doing this for us, so we can have a better future. But it’s like you don’t even appreciate how hard I’m working.”

“Appreciate? I appreciate you, Hamzah. But I need you here, with me, not lost in your work all the time. We’re supposed to be a team, remember?”

“We are a team,” he insisted. “But you need to understand, this isn’t just a hobby. This is my career. Our career. You should be supporting me.”

“I do support you,” you said, tears welling up in your eyes. “But I can’t support something that’s tearing us apart.”

The argument escalated, emotions running high. Words flew back and forth, each one more hurtful than the last. You voiced every grievance, every moment of loneliness you had felt. Hamzah tried to defend himself, explaining the pressures of maintaining his online presence, but his words only fueled your anger.

“You don’t get it,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “I don’t care about your subscribers or your videos. I care about you. I miss you.”

The room fell silent, your words hanging in the air. Hamzah stood there, the weight of your feelings finally sinking in. He stepped closer, his voice softening. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you. I’m so sorry sweetheart, I thought I was doing this for us, but I see now that I’ve been pushing you away.”

You looked up at him, your anger fading as you saw the regret in his eyes. “I just want us to be okay, Hamzah. I want to feel like we’re a team again.”

He reached out, taking your hands in his. “We are a team. And I promise I’ll do better. I’ll find a way to balance my work and our relationship. You’re more important to me than any video.”

The sincerity in his voice melted the remaining tension. You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him, and he held you tight. As you looked into his eyes, you saw the love that had always been there, just buried under the stress and excitement of his career.

“I love you,” you whispered, and he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss.

Hamzah was breathtakingly beautiful, and you had missed him this way. His eyes were locked onto yours, conveying a depth of emotion words could never capture. You had always admired his determination and drive, but in this moment, all you wanted was him, here with you, present and loving.

“I’ve missed you so much,” you murmured against his lips, your voice barely a whisper. “I need you, Hamzah.”

“I’m here,” he whispered back, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Later into the night, it was quiet, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. You and Hamzah lay on the couch, entwined, the warmth of his body a comfort you hadn't realized you needed so badly. Yet, even in this moment of closeness, a sense of unease lingered. You knew the fight wasn't over, that deeper issues lay beneath the surface, waiting to be addressed.

As you traced your fingers along the curve of Hamzah’s jaw, you could see the exhaustion etched into his features. The dark circles under his eyes told the story of countless late nights spent editing videos, chasing a dream that seemed to be pulling him further away from you.

“Hamzah,” you began softly, not wanting to shatter the fragile peace that had settled between you, “I’m scared.”

He looked at you, his brown eyes concerned. “Scared of what?”

“I’m scared that we’re losing each other,” you confessed. “That your career is becoming more important than us. I know you love what you do, and I love seeing you happy, but I need to know that we still matter to you.”

Hamzah sighed, running a hand through his curly hair. “You do matter. More than anything. But I feel like I’m caught between two worlds. I want to give you everything, but I also love my job and don’t want to lose the opportunity I’ve ended up with.”

“I understand that,” you said, your voice trembling. “But I don’t want to be the one always left behind. We need to find a balance, Hamzah. I need to feel like I’m a part of your world, not just an afterthought.”

He pulled you closer, his embrace strong yet tender. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve been so focused on my work that I forgot the most important part of my life – you. I promise I’ll do better.”

You buried your face in his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I miss us, Hamzah. I miss the way things used to be.”

He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Then let’s make a change. Let’s set some boundaries. No more late nights unless it’s absolutely necessary. And I’ll make sure we have our time together, no matter what.”

You nodded, a glimmer of hope igniting within you. “Okay. But we have to stick to it, Hamzah. We can’t keep going like this.”

“I know,” he said, his voice firm with determination. “I want this to work. I want us to work.”

As you shared this intimate moment, the tension that had filled the room began to dissipate, replaced by a deep longing for each other. Your heart raced as you leaned in closer, feeling the warmth radiating from him. Hamzah’s eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of regret and desire.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice low and filled with vulnerability.

You nodded, your breath hitching in your throat as he closed the distance. His lips closed the distance between you.

Hamzah’s hands held to your waist, pulling you closer as he traced your lips with his tongue. You responded eagerly, opening your mouth and wrapping your arms around his neck and sliding your fingers into his soft curls. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your heart beat faster. It felt as though the world around you had disappeared, leaving just the two of you in your own bubble of passion.

You could taste the salt of his skin and the sweetness of his breath as you kissed him deeply, exploring the familiar contours of his mouth. Every touch, every sigh, seemed to bring you closer, healing the wounds that had formed between you during the argument.

Hamzah’s hands traveled down your back, pulling you even tighter against him as if he never wanted to let go. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, and every brush of his fingers gave you goosebumps. The kiss grew more intense, filled with all the pent-up emotions of longing, frustration, and love.

“God, I’ve missed this,” you breathed, pulling away just enough to catch your breath, your hands resting on his chest.

“Me too,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I never want to lose you.”

As you resumed kissing, it was as if you were both reaffirming your commitment to each other. The softness of his lips against yours felt like a promise, a vow that no matter how busy life got, you would always find your way back to one another. You kissed with intensity, pouring all your love and desperation into each moment.

Time seemed to stand still as you got lost in each other. Every moment spent in his arms felt like a step towards reclaiming what you both had nearly lost. The passion of the kiss made you realize just how important your connection was, how deep your love ran.

Eventually, you pulled back slightly, both of you breathless, the realization of how much you needed each other settling in.

“Let’s not wait until we’re fighting to remember this,” you said softly, brushing your fingers over his cheek.

“Agreed,” Hamzah replied, his expression serious yet tender. “I promise to always make time for us, no matter what.”

As you nestled into his embrace once more, the world outside seemed to fade away. The promise of a new beginning hung in the air, and with every heartbeat, you felt a renewed sense of hope. You knew that no matter the challenges ahead, you and Hamzah would face them together—united, passionate, and very much in love.

With hearts intertwined, you both finally surrendered to the exhaustion of the day, drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms, ready to embrace the future hand in hand.

[lovebugism]

I need the next part to the costumer’s always right like yesterday. The roller coaster this story is sending me through is insane. :’)))))

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | family vacation

summary: the gang takes a brief break from the chaos of hawkins and spends a weekend at lake lemon. you and eddie find that it's difficult to be in love and babysit at the same time. (10k)

pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader

tags: experienced!reader, idiots in love (road trip edition), newly established relationship, r's nickname is peach, eddie wants to kiss you but the kids think it's gross :(, the fluffiest chapter yet i dare say, steve in his babysitter era, the gangs all here! TW probable typos, very brief mentions of abusive relationships, briefer mentions of b*lly h*rgrove, talks of sexual/romantic insecurities

( PREVIOUS ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

It’s t-minus seven minutes until spring break, and you’re spending it with Steve The Hair Harrington.

The parking lot of Hawkins High is relatively empty, filled only with vacant cars and whipping wind that carries the scent of mowed grass and blue skies — the promise of a soon summer. Without your friends and other strangers to fill the quiet with their resounding laughter and booming voices, the strip of concrete is sleepy and silent.

You and Steve turn it all to velvet.

On the hood of his Beamer, you sit with your chins tilted to the sky. Puffy white clouds glide eastward against a blanket of sapphire, and the two of you try to make shapes out of them. Giving meaning to globs of disfigured marshmallows in the sky is a lost art, if you had anything to say about it.

“Aw, that one looks like a heart!” you awe, feeling like a child again as you point to the pretty cloud for Steve to see.

He doesn’t find as much joy in the mundane as you seem to. He only agreed to do it because you asked so nicely — “Wanna watch the clouds with me, Stevie?” you’d said, followed by a drawn-out “Please?” when he initially denied you. 

Besides, it was a pretty alright way to pass the time. Steve always said he lacked the organ that produced patience in other people; seven minutes tend to go by like seven hours for him. Especially when there’s nothing to do but make things out of a bunch of clouds that don’t look like anything to begin with. It’s like a test with no wrong answers that he’s failing somehow anyway.

The boy follows your finger and squints at the sky. “I don’t know. Looks sorta like a penis to me.”

“Steve!” you scold, shoving him with a halfhearted hand. Your brows pinch in horror like he’s just tainted your innocent fun.

His face twists in confusion. “What?”

“That’s obviously a heart.”

“No,” Steve insists like a bickering older sibling. Despite his initial lack of enthusiasm, he presses his shoulder into yours and points his own finger toward the vaguely shaped penis-heart cloud. “That’s the tip right there, see? And those are the balls,” he explains, somewhat crass, as he traces the rounded top of the heart you’d identified. 

He scoffs like he can’t believe you can’t see it. “I mean, seriously, Peach. You should see it more clearly than I do.”

“Why?” you challenge with a squint.

Steve only rolls his eyes in response. He knows where this is going. You’ll never pass up the chance to take the piss out of him.

“Because I’m a slut?” you continue, obviously joking, but with a perfected look of offense twisting your features. “Is that it, Steve Harrington? You think I’m a disgusting wh—”

“Alright! That’s enough.”

A giggle spills from your mouth at his scolding. As funny as it is to mock him, it always feels a little rewarding to know he doesn’t find it as amusing as you do — or the rest of Hawkins, for that matter.

He huffs, impatient and irritable. “God, you’re so annoying…”

“I know,” you lilt with a too sweet smile as you tilt your head to your shoulder. 

The fleeting thought that you can’t wait to annoy him on your weekend getaway passes the plane of your mind, and you remember to ask— “Wait, you packed your shit, right? ‘Cause we definitely aren’t going to make it to Lake Lemon before dark if we have to spend three hours helping you pack your hair products, Stevie.”

“Yes, I packed my shit. Mom.”

Your brows raise, not believing him. He’s rarely ever so responsible on the first go around. Not without a little push from someone — you mainly, Robin on occasion, and his parents whenever they care enough to check on him.

“So you have enough socks and underwear to last until Monday?”

“Yes.”

“And you brought the booze?”

“Yep,” he nods, popping the p. “The alcohol was the first thing I packed, actually.”

“And you have your toothbrush and deodorant and shower stuff?”

He opens his rosy mouth to answer in the affirmative but shuts it again, quickly like a fish. His brows furrow and his lips jut softly out as he thinks to himself. “…Shit,” he answers without really answering.

“At least that’s sorta stuff you can buy on the way there,” you tell him, giggling. “Won’t have to drive three hours back from Lake Lemon for your Farah Fawcett hairspray— ‘cause I absolutely know you would, so there’s no use in arguing with me.”

He doesn’t

Instead, he fiddles with the silver Zippo in his right hand and changes the subject. “Speaking of Lake Lemon,” he singsongs, his sheepish gaze flitting between the lighter and you. “It’s not, like, super weird that I invited Nancy, is it?”

Your brows furrow. An awkward giggle tumbles from your mouth. “No?”

“It’s just— you invited Max and her friends, and I figured Eddie was coming too because, you know, you’re…” His face screws up as he tries to think of the right word. You lean in closer to him, an anticipatory smile on your lips. “Canoodling or whatever. And I just didn’t want Nancy to be left out of the loop. That’s all.”

“And why would that be weird?”

“Well, because— I don’t know, okay? I just wasn’t sure if you guys have spoken since… everything.”

He says it like it was an armageddon or something similarly catastrophic that changed the course of the history of the world. Maybe not the world — just yours. His, too, in a way.

For a while, it ruined you. The thought of never being truly loved ate you alive and left hardly more than bones and strips of flesh in its wake. You found Billy after it spat you out, and god, you thought you were finally becoming whole again. Really, though, you were just holding onto the absence in your heart as though it were another life. 

Then everything from before just kept on ruining you.

But now you’ve got Eddie.

And Eddie kisses you even though you taste like heartache. Eddie makes you feel like your lips shouldn’t be anywhere except his mouth. Eddie is the golden sunlight that streams in through an open window, and you stand amid the flaxen streams — safe and warm and whole again.

Now, you exist in two places — where you stand now and wherever Eddie may be. You don’t belong to the past anymore. Tragedy isn’t your religion anymore. Instead, you pick your teeth with the shards of bone agony left behind and find new faith in the crooks of Eddie’s body.

The everything from before stops feeling so heavy. It’s still cold at times, but in the spring sort of way. Now you love so hard you could weep.

“That was a long time ago, Steve,” you assure him, smiling. He’s almost surprised by its sincerity. “We’ve all moved on since then. It’s not weird, okay? I promise.”

“Okay…” the boy wavers, nodding with a grin that doesn’t meet his eyes.

You wonder if he just doesn’t believe you. Or if he hasn’t entirely moved on.

The bell rings. It’s harsh and shrill, even from where the two of you sit across the parking lot. The muddled voices of a sea of teenagers come muffled at first before breaking into an all-out swell of a thousand incoherent conversations. Kids flood through the front doors in packs.

Steve’s kids, namely.

Dustin is the first of them. His voice is distinct as he migrates through the masses to where your car is parked next to Steve’s on the other side of the lot.

“This is gonna be the best spring break ever!” he shouts, smiling with a mouthful of braces.

It makes you smile, too. How could you not? This curly-headed boy is practically sunshine incarnate.

Steve, who’s gotten too used to the yelling to find it as cute as you do, only rolls his eyes in return. His sneaker-clad feet scuff against the concrete when he descends from the hood of his car. 

“Alright. Take it down a few notches, okay?” the boy grouses, waving his hands in front of him. “I’m not driving three hours to Lake Lemon with your hyper ass in the back the whole way.”

Dustin’s grin fades into an unimpressed deadpan when two of Steve’s fingers tap the blue brim of his Thinking Cap. 

“Well, I’m riding with Eddie, so...” the younger boy trails off, flashing his middle finger and a sugary sweet smile.

Steve’s brows pinch, almost in offense. “Wait— then, who’s all going with who?”

“Me, Lucas, and Max are going with Eddie and Peach. And Mike and El are riding with you and Robin.”

“Oh, great. I get the lovebirds,” Steve monotones, hands rising and falling at his sides in exasperation.

A deep, feminine, and familiar voice pierces the jumbled sounds of the forming crowd. “It’s better than suffering two hours in Eddie’s van,” Robin quips with a rouge-tinted smirk as she appears from the horde alongside the boy himself. The two walk side-by-side with duffle bags slung over their shoulders.

Eddie Munson fakes a pout and nudges the girl with a leather-clad shoulder. “Rude.”

A beam breaks out on your face at the sight of the boy, like sunshine to rain clouds. You hop down from Steve’s hood and rush to him without thinking. He nearly topples over at the force you launch yourself at him with. His arms wrap around you to keep you pressed against him. 

His laugh fans against your cheek. “Well, hello to you, too, sweetheart.”

Your nose nestles into his umber curls as you embrace him. He smells like cigarette smoke and floral hair detangler — familiar like a house you’ve lived in all your life.

“How’d it go?” you ask once you’ve pulled back from him. Not enough to let him go, of course, just enough to see the smile he looks at you with.

His grin widens and his chocolate eyes swim with a boyish excitement that makes your chest swell. “C plus, baby,” he singsongs lowly. “Ms. O’Donnell thinks if I can pass the final, I might actually graduate.”

“That’s amazing, Eds!” you beam, laughing in pure mirth as your hands reach for his glowing cheeks. “I’m so proud of you!”

You smack the most innocent of pecks upon his rosy mouth.

Robin groans from where she’s planted herself at Steve’s side. “God, I am so glad you graduated already. I could not suffer this for eight hours every day.”

You roll your eyes at her dramatics, then look back to Eddie with a quieter smile. “I’m so proud of you,” you repeat, just for him to hear.

He tilts his head to his shoulder, somehow both shy and smug at the same time. “Thanks, babe.”

The rest of the kids file out shortly after. Max comes first — the redheaded raincloud she always is — and Lucas follows later with Mike at his side. The former boy sports a bright green letterman jacket, while the latter wears an obviously unwashed Hellfire Club tee.

The seven of you crowd around Steve’s Beamer, anxious to leave the parking lot and the rest of Hawkins behind — even if it’s only for a few days. 

“Alright,” the oldest boy announces as he claps his hands together. “Everybody ready to go?”

“I have to drop by my place to get my bag,” you tell him.

He squints his honey eyes at you. “You were just bitching about me not packing, and you don’t even have your bag?”

“I have to drop my car off anyway, dork.”

“Hey,” Eddie interjects with furrowed brows. The arm around your shoulder tightens. “Turn down the dirty talk, okay? There are kids present.” 

With pale arms crossed over her chest — always on the defensive, just in case — Max tucks a rogue piece of auburn hair behind her ear and turns to you. “My mom packed some of my stuff this morning,” she tells you and doesn’t explain anything further.

It’s not like she has to, anyway. 

Her sneakers sit by your door every night, and her jacket gets hung up with yours. Her spare clothes now sit in a folded-up pile by the couch, and you wash her laundry along with yours and Eddie’s. Your tiny apartment, which certainly wasn’t built for three bodies and a cat, has become more of a home to her than the one on Cherry Lane ever was.

No one else needs to know that, though.

“I’ll swing by and get it on the way,” you promise.

She nods with a tightlipped, barely there smile. You take it as a silent thank you.

When no one else comments about a missing bag or any other hiccup that might give Steve an aneurysm, Dustin grins. “Alright, gang,” he beams, clapping and rubbing his hands together. “Divide and conquer.”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Steve protests when everyone starts to split up.

Dustin, Max, and Lucas are already headed toward Eddie’s van. The former’s hand stills on the handle at his words. Robin, who’s already rounded the maroon Beamer for the passenger side, hears him but ducks into the seat anyway.

“Wheeler. Where’s your sister.”

“Uh, the newspaper… I think,” he answers with the practiced ambiguity of a teenage boy. He shrugs. “There’s some stuff she has to care of. She said she’d drive up when she got done.”

Steve huffs, feigning exasperation to cover his bleeding heart. “Why am I the only one ever ready for these things?”

“You’re not,” you tease with a laugh. “You forgot to pack, like, the most important shit a person is supposed to pack.”

“Yeah, well, no one asked you, Peach,” Steve squints in the place of any actual response.

“Wow. Great comeback, Harrington.”

“Bite me—”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie grumbles at the bickering. It’s harmless banter more than anything — a couple of venomous-sounding words coming from sincere smiles. The boy tightens his grip on you and leads you toward his van. “Stop flirting.”

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

It feels strange, being back on Cherry Lane.

You haven’t been here since the last code black a while ago. You never had a reason to be. You weren’t exactly looking for one, either. But now, here you are, standing on the doorstep of the guy who broke your heart and ringing his goddamn doorbell. 

A sickeningly familiar feeling knots the pit of your stomach. It’s like you’re walking back into the war he put you through, even though you’re still cleaning the bloodshed off your hands — just like you did every time you took him back, over and over and over again.

You’re grateful that it’s Max’s mom opening the door and not her brother. More so that she’s already got the duffle bag in hand, so you don’t have to come inside. 

The white of the canvas tote has gone brown with time. The pink strap of it is faded and missing a couple of sequins. The girl’s name is written on the front in hand-drawn block letters, doodled all over with the finesse of someone much younger than she is now.

“Hi,” you smile, just to be polite. It shakes at the edges.

Susan smiles back, tightlipped and pink-mouthed. “Hey,” she mutters kindly back as she steps onto the porch with you. The screen door clangs shut behind her. She tucks an amber strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand when a spring breeze rolls through.

She looks a lot like Max. Freckled face, strong jaw, pouted mouth. She’s pretty in the way her daughter is pretty, too — effortlessly so, without even trying to be. 

Even in baggy jeans and frizzy hair, something about Susan is still so beautiful. It’s not even the simple kind of beauty, either. It’s the kind that forces you to stand in wonder of it, unworthy but unable to look away. It’s the kind of beauty that seems almost sad — like a bright flame snuffed down to only embers.

You don’t need to question whose boot crushed her spirit.

“I think everything’s in here,” the mother explains as she hands the bag over. “I packed her a few extra clothes just in case— oh, and tell her that her Stuffy’s in there, too.”

“Stuffy?” you echo with furrowed brows and a curious smile.

“It’s a stuffed rabbit her dad got her when she was born. She’ll probably hate me for putting it in there, but I know she still sleeps with it sometimes, so…”

You realize, then, that so much of what you learn about Max hardly comes from the girl herself. She’s too closed off most of the time. If you really want to know her, you have to care enough to look. But even then, it takes a sort of X-ray vision.

You know when she’s fighting with Billy again, not because she ever tells you, but because she’s got a Kate Bush tape in her walkman. If it’s a particularly bad fight — the red and orange kind — you know it because Running Up That Hill is playing at full volume.

You can tell when she’s lying when she can’t look you in the eye. You can tell she’s happy when stars twinkle in the ocean blue of them. 

When she can’t stand physical affection, it’s because she’s had a particularly shitty day — but when she’s touching you, it means she’s excited about something or another.

You know her dad bought her the skateboard she rides like a baby blue Cadillac because she patches it up with duct tape instead of buying a new one. Their identical initials — M.M + M.M — are carved into the bottom, too, though faded with time.

And you always assumed she slept with a stuffed animal because she sleeps with her arms crossed like she’s used to holding something in them. You’ll often find her on your couch in the smallest hours of the morning, using Bowie as a replacement for a piece of her childhood.

God, you love learning new things about Max Mayfield.

Especially the things she’d rather die than tell you.

“Okay,” you nod with a terribly fought-back grin. “I’ll let her know.” 

“And you’ll be back on Monday, right?”

“Yeah. Probably sometime early. I’ll call you.”

Susan nods despite still looking a little apprehensive about the whole. She crosses her arms over her chest. Her manicured nails fidget against the oversized flannel she wears. 

“Can you ask her to come over when she gets back?” the mother wonders with a grimace like it’s much to ask. Her brows pinch and her anxiety-bitten mouth forms a tight line. “I know she probably won’t want to — and I don’t blame her, but…” she huffs and runs a hand through her hair, pushing back her bushy auburn bangs. “If you could maybe give her a little push, that’d be great.”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll try,” you promise with a wavering grin.

Both of you know that Max is too stubborn for any sort of push — the big or the small variety. You also know she’s too terrified of Cherry Lane to come back to it just yet. 

“And just, you know, look out for her while she’s gone, okay?”

“Of course.”

Susan scoffs, shaking her head at herself like she’s just stuck her foot in her mouth. “That was— That was stupid of me. You’ve been watching over her this whole time. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

You smile, more sincerely this time. A look of sympathy melts your features. You find the woman’s supposed blunder more beguiling than offensive.

“It’s fine. I get it.”

“I know you probably think I’m a terrible mom—”

“Not at all,” you argue, meeting her sheepish grin with a look stern in its kindness. “I think you’re a person in a situation that’s hard to get out of. I know... I know what that’s like.”

The both of you share smiles of understanding that only two people who’ve weathered similar circumstances can muster. The snuffed-out embers, deep black rainclouds, and the like.

“Remind her to call me when she gets there,” Susan pleas, tilting her head to her shoulder. “I know she’ll forget otherwise.”

“I’ll tell her,” you promise.

Because you do know that. Max often needs to be reminded of most things — not because she refuses to do them, but because her mind has a way of distracting her. Her consciousness seems to float every which way, making it much more difficult to focus. Sometimes you think she lives in her head more than in her own house. 

You wonder if that’s how her mom is surviving Cherry Lane and the Hargroves. 

God knows that’s how you did it.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Eddie’s van is already parked in your apartment complex, right by the stairs that lead to your door.

It’s more strange for it not to be there these days. You expect it, in fact — in the same way you expect your house to feel like your house. It’s comforting because it’s familiar. When Eddie’s not there, it’s like something is out of place. Missing. And even though you can’t quite tell what, you can feel it. 

When Eddie’s not there, it’s not home.

He and the small group of kids he chauffeured fill your tiny apartment with their bustling bodies and animated conversation. It’s hardly more than muddled cross-talk, though. They all make comments over one another, each louder than the one that came before it, in attempts to be heard. 

It’s all muffled until you open the door. 

It practically slaps you in the face right after.

Max is cradling Bowie on the sofa. Just behind her, you can see Lucas and Dustin in the kitchen. They laugh over themselves at a joke you hadn’t heard. Eddie must’ve been the one to tell it because he’s got this proud grin on his face as he turns on his heel to meet you at the door.

“Make yourselves at home, I guess,” you singsong to him — like your full apartment doesn’t make your heart feel a thousand times fuller.

When you spend enough time shutting yourself out from the rest of the world, you forget what it’s like to be in it. Eddie’s reminding you all over again. Max, too. And all of their strange little friends you’re starting to learn more about.

“Sorry,” he apologizes not-so-sincerely. His umber curls bunch at his shoulder as he tilts his head and scrunches his nose. “Had to take a whiz.”

“I was just teasing,” you giggle.

You smack a kiss to his cheek and head to your bedroom for your bag, dropping Max’s at her feet along the way. “Dustin wants to know if he can have some snacks,” the redhead tells you as you walk by her.

“Shut up, Max!” the curly-haired boy calls from the kitchen.

“Of course,” you answer. “Take everything. I don’t care.”

Eddie laughs as he follows you down the hallway. “Do not say that, sweetheart. Because he will take everything.”

Two bags wait for you on the edge of your mattress — a rucksack complete with clothes and bathing suits and spare shoes at the bottom, and a tote full of toiletries. Neither is completely full, but you’ve checked them a million times to know they weren’t lacking anything, either. 

If there was anything you were, it was an efficient packer. 

Well, maybe slut first. Then human being second. And then maybe Eddie Spaghetti enthusiast third. But efficient packer was a close fourth.

You strap one bag over your shoulder and curl the other in the crook of your elbow. “Well, I don’t want him to be hungry. This drive is gonna be hell enough as it is. That’s exactly why I made us sandwiches, so make fun of me all you want—” Your absentminded rambles are halted when you spin on your heel and find Eddie’s mouth on yours.

His fingers grip the sides of your shoulders as he ducks down to kiss you. His rosy mouth engulfs your own and you freeze, shocked by the sudden affection. You melt into him a moment later with a sigh against his cupid’s bow. Eddie’s smile curls against your lips accordingly.

It’s certainly not a peck, but it’s not obscene enough to be described as anything more. It’s innocent and passionate, as most of his kisses tend to be. He uses them to say words he can’t voice out loud. — sort of like his ringed fingers do when they strum his guitar. Eddie kisses you like music.

Your eyes flutter slowly open when he pulls away from you. “What was that for?”

“Because I know I’m not gonna be able to kiss you for a while,” the boy grieves with a sad, crooked grin. His wide palms rub the sides of your arm up and down. “And I’m a little afraid I might die.”

“Well, we better make the last one count then, huh?” you tease, grinning as you curl your free arm around his waist.

The boy beams.

He kisses you breathless a second later.

After one last look through your apartment and several goodbye kisses to your begrudging cat, you lock up and head downstairs again. Steve pulls in, then, with one more passenger than he had before. 

El Hopper sits in his backseat. You’re almost sure she’s never been outside of Hawkins before, but you know for certain she’s never been without her dad.

Jim was less than willing to let her go. Cabin in the woods, no parental supervision, all alone with her boyfriend? It’s quite literally a recipe for disaster. But he trusted you to look after her just like you trusted him to check in on Bowie (though, according to him, the comparison wasn’t at all the same). 

You told him not to worry. That he should be more concerned about booking a flight to California and stopping Joyce from moving across the country. You told him he needs to convince her to stay before she’s in too deep to listen.

“…How the hell am I supposed to do that?” he’d groused across the table at Enzo’s.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “You did it for me before. You could do it again.”

His iceberg resolve nearly melts. “Alright, don’t get cute. I already said El could go. You don’t have to keep trying to win me over.”

Steve gathers the now nine of you in the parking lot. You form a measly half-circle around him, neither of you particularly caring about his assured rant but allowing him to get it out of his system anyway. 

“Okay, every pay attention, alright? This is serious. I’m responsible for you little shits — if something happens to you, that’s on me. So, listen up—”

Eddie lingers just behind you, warm and reassuring. The leather-clad arms he’s crossed over his chest brush against your back when he leans closer to you. His breath fans against your jaw as he whispers in your ear. “All he needs is a fanny pack and some sandals. Then he’d be in real dad mode.”

“Eddie,” Steve scolds, unsmiling. “I’m talking to you.”

You swallow down your laughter.

“Dustin, Lucas, and Max — you’re riding with Eddie and Peach. Mike and El, you’re with me and Robin. And no canoodling in the backseat, understand? That’s an order.”

The raven-haired boy chuckles as the girl tucks her smile behind his arm. She embraces the lanky limb most ardently. “Canoodling?” Mike echoes in a scoff.

Steve, unimpressed and totally serious, only glares. “I swear to god, I’ll tell Hopper, alright? If you wanna make out, wait until we get there.” He points a stern finger in the boy’s direction, then turns his attention to the rest of the group. 

“We’re taking 870 to avoid city traffic which means it’s gonna take us a little longer to get there. There’s a rest stop at one of the exits, so we can fuel up and use the bathroom and get something to eat. So don’t ask when we’re stopping, ‘cause we’re not, Henderson.”

Dustin raises his middle finger in response.

“See?” you lilt quietly to Eddie. “This is why I brought sandwiches…”

The boy huffs. “Yeah. I probably should’ve listened to you when you said he’d be all… like this.”

“You know I’m never wrong,” you tease. 

A sly smile tugs at your lips. It takes everything in him not to kiss it.

“—And Eddie, drive the speed limit, okay? It’s not the Indy 300.”

“Indy 500, dingus,” Robin corrects. She leans coolly against his car, sneaker propped up against the backseat door as she picks at her chipping maroon-colored nails. 

Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn’t divert his tirade. 

“If you get pulled over, it’ll just make the drive take longer, and we’ll miss the check-in time, alright? Peach paid half, so if she isn’t there on time, we don’t get the keys, and we’re living like bums in the woods for three days.”

“Yes, sir,” Eddie singsongs, obviously insincere, as his arms wrap around your shoulders. He embraces you loosely at the neck and presses his cheek into your temple. “Get Peach there in one piece,” he reiterates. “I think I can do that.”

Steve huffs. His unsmiling honey eyes flit to you. He points to Eddie and talks to you like he isn’t standing behind you. “Keep him on a leash, alright? No way I’m going the whole weekend like this.”

“Ooh. A leash?” the wild-haired boy lilts with a mischievous grin. His lips brush your ear as he murmurs something only you can hear. “I like that sound of that.”

“I’m sure you do, perv,” you joke in response. Your elbow digs into his ribcage, jabbing him softly to part from him. He rubs at his side as you head towards his van. You call to the rest of the group on the way: “We should head out now before Steve loses his mind.”

Eddie’s shoes scuff the pavement as he follows behind you. “I, for one, would love to see that.”

“Good thing we have all weekend, then, huh?” Max deadpans with a playful glint in the blue of her eye.

“I heard that!”

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

The first half-hour of the drive goes by like nothing.

You’re a bit embarrassed to know you spent its entirety gazing so longingly at the boy in the driver’s seat. 

It was only supposed to be a glance — a small peek at his profile and his ringed fingers thrumming against the worn pleather of his steering wheel before turning away again and grinning to yourself like a schoolgirl at how cute he was. Now you’re nearly halfway-halfway into the drive, and you spent it all ogling.

You’re not sure what was so beguiling about Eddie nodding his head to The Cure or what was so attractive about his pale hands drumming to the beat and the way his metal rings glimmered beneath the setting sun. You only knew that you couldn’t look away from any of it.

“This is stranger than I thought…” he sings to himself, not exactly trying to sound great but not sounding bad either. You can only hear him if you watch his pink mouth croon each word. You do a terrible job of pretending not to be staring at him. “Six different ways inside my heart…”

Dustin pokes his head between the front seats so suddenly it makes you jolt. 

His round face conceals your view of Eddie as he sets his elbows beside the headrests.“Can I have one of those sandwiches you were talking about earlier?” he asks.

“We’ve only been driving for forty minutes!” Eddie laughs.

“I’m hungry,” the boy argues with his brows pinched together. “Sue me.”

“Of course, you can,” you lilt quietly as you reach for the clear Tupperware at your feet. 

You don’t miss the taunting look Dustin gives the boy next to him in return or the hand Eddie pushes against the younger boy’s cheek to force him backward.

You sit the container of napkin-wrapped sandwiches on your lap. You only packed two of each kind. All are labeled in scribbled sharpie. “Okay, I made PB&J, turkey and cheese, and cucumber and lemon—”

“Cucumber and lemon?” Eddie echoes, features flooded with horror. His wide-eyed gaze flits between you and the near-empty interstate ahead of him. “What the hell kinda monstrosity is that?”

“It’s cucumber, cream cheese, and lemon juice, and it’s actually very good, Eddie Munson.”

Dustin requests the peanut butter and jelly, Lucas takes the turkey, and Max wants the cucumber and lemon — the said monstrosity you made because you knew she liked them. You hand them their sandwiches, and they settle again in the back of the van — amid the plethora of blankets and pillows Eddie had tucked away.

You turn to the pretty boy in the driver’s seat. “Which one do you want, Eds?”

“Whatever you’re having,” he shrugs. “‘M not picky.”

He grimaces when you hand him your half of the cucumber and lemon — because, of course, you remembered to cut them into triangles.

You watch the boy take a rather begrudging bite of the sandwich. His cheek juts out as he chews through it, and you don’t know why it makes you smile, only that you’re beaming directly at him. His face is emotionless in that his features are filled with so much of it you can’t tell what he’s trying to express. 

There’s a slight furrow to his brows, a scrunch to his nose, and a glint to his eye. He manages to look disgusted, inquisitive, and pleased all at once.

Your smile widens when he takes another bite.

You fight the urge to tell him, ‘I told you so,’ and instead lean over the center console to smack a kiss to his cheek.

Lucas and Dustin gag through their mouthfuls simultaneously. 

They share a look after — a boyish glance of excitement, as though to say, ‘I can’t believe how in sync we are.’ It quickly turns into a game of who can make the most realistic retching noise, quieted by a single look from Max. It’s not a glare on her freckled face but a scrunched scowl of disgust as she slips the headphones of her walkman back on.

The two boys’ laughter fades all at once.

The van goes quiet again.

You shut your eyes and focus on the faint sound of Eddie’s humming. His hand is wide and warm when it settles on your knee. His thumb drums softly to the beat on the outside of your thigh.

We’re on the road to nowhere, come on inside—

The cerulean sky turns into varying shades of lilac and orange-gold. The highway to Lake Lemon is long and merciless. Two hours feel like two days when you’ve got nothing to do but sit. 

Eddie, with his hands and mind sufficiently occupied, seems to be less of a victim of the unrelenting pavement. He’s slumped against the ragged pleather seat, still humming to the low radio.

Lucas and Dustin spent several minutes arguing about who was taking which blanket and whose legs got to go where. Now, however, they snooze with their backs against the van and their shoulders pressing into each other’s — heads back, mouths open, eyes fluttered shut.

Max is a lot of the same. She sits across from the boys, tucked into the corner of the wall and the driver’s seat. There’s a pillow behind her back and a blanket thrown over her lap. Her eyes are shut, but you can tell she isn’t sleeping. Her head sways in time with the song spilling from her headphones.

And you, with your feet kicked up on the dash and your gaze pointed in the direction of the setting sun, are bored out of your mind.

Eddie squeezes your thigh. “I think we’re about fifteen miles away from the stop.”

“Fucking finally,” you huff. You rest your head against the seat to look over at the boy beside you. “My ass is killing me.”

“Well, I would be happy togive you a massage at the rest stop, babe.”

Your eyes widen as you shift to glance at the back of the van. You’re relieved to see none of the kids paying attention. You swat at Eddie while he winces at himself. It’s been quiet for so long; he forgot they were still back there.

“Sorry,” he whispers, to you and to the sleeping kids who hadn’t heard a word.

“I have a feeling I’m gonna have my hands full with you on this trip, Munson.”

“I could very easily turn that into a sex joke—”

“Eddie.”

“—But I won’t,” the boy concludes. His head tilts to look at you. “See? You didn’t let me finish.”

“I don’t think they would’ve heard, anyway. They’re totally knocked out.”

“That after-school nap is no joke, sweetheart. I mean, seriously, I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I graduate.”

“You can still nap, Eds,” you counter, giggling.

“Yeah, but it’s not the same.”

You concede with the shake of your head. “Sure.”

“Do you think I’ll miss high school when I’m gone? You know, as the graduated one?”

Your brows furrow. “You’re asking me if I think the freak of Hawkins High is gonna miss getting bullied five days out of the week?”

“But I won’t have Hellfire. And I’ll probably lose clients, too — ‘cause, you know, I won’t be able to deal at school like I usually do,” Eddie explains, growing suddenly somber about the whole thing. “I’ve been in school since I was five, you know? I’ve been going to Hawkins High for six years. And change is… gross.”

The whimsical existentialism of high school seniors makes you sigh in reminiscence. 

“You’ll be okay, Eddie Spaghetti,” you assure him, squeezing his hand on your thigh. “It isn’t so bad. I promise.”

“Do you miss high school at all?”

“Hell no,” you answer without thinking.

A laugh sputters from his mouth at the swiftness of your reply. “Not even a little bit?”

“A negative amount, actually.”

“I thought you liked school!” he argues.

“No one likes school.”

“You were good at it!”

“I was okay. And that’s only because I had this weird complex about getting good grades.”

High school for you, at its core, was all about approval. You weren’t sporty, so you had to be smart. You had to be noticed in some way so you weren’t suffocated by being invisible. Maybe if you had gotten therapy for all that before you turned fourteen, you wouldn’t be the way you are now.

“Do you think we would’ve dated? You know, if we knew each other back then?” Eddie asks you out of the blue. The faintest hint of a smile tugs at his pink lips. “Like… Would you have liked me?”

You grin softly to yourself as you think sincerely about his inquiry. 

You don’t think you would’ve felt too differently than you do now — head over heels with no hope in sight. But your heart was different back then, tender and unbroken. God, Eddie Munson would’ve been the best thing for you back then.

“Teenage me would’ve loved you. And you would’ve hated me.”

That makes him scoff. “No way.”

“You shouldn’t sound so sure, babe. I was a mess back then.”

“I would’ve liked you for the same reason I like you now.”

You shoot him an arched brow to egg him on, but he doesn’t move to explain any further. It leaves you wondering — why he would’ve liked you back then, why he likes you now. You don’t have an answer for either. 

You figure it doesn’t matter, anyway. Eddie Munson likes you, and you’re grateful beyond comprehension that you can say it with so much certainty. Never with anyone else have you been more sure of where you stand.

“I think you would’ve been good for me,” you confess, focusing on the pine trees that whip by instead of the boy beside you. Your fingers absentmindedly begin to fidget with his own, entwining and weaving with his without you ever noticing. “‘Cause you do this thing where you, like, understand me better than anyone ever has before.”

Eddie chuckles, then shrugs to humor you. “Yeah, we’re just soulmates. No big deal.”

“And I think I would’ve saved myself a world of heartbreak if I’d found you first instead of—”

You cut yourself off. 

Eddie turns to you, expecting to see you saddened by the sudden change of conversation. He’s surprised to find you smiling.

“Whoa,” you marvel with wide eyes. “I don’t know how we got there. Sorry, that got… way too deep.”

Eddie twists his wrists so he can hold your hand back. His metal rings press into the sides of your fingers as they intertwine with yours. He smiles briefly at you. The road takes too much of his attention to gaze at you the way he’d like to. 

“It’s okay. Let’s not think about any of that now, yeah? Let’s just have fun.”

You nod.

“I’d love to, but suffering through these conversations is making it real hard,” Max monotones from the backseat, eyes still shut.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” you joke.

“I’d love to, but being surrounded by lovebirds is, like, the least cozy thing ever.”

Lucas and Dustin snore a loud, synchronized snore in response. Lovebirds, indeed.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

There’s only one working sink at the gas station. It sputters cold water before hesitantly dripping the warmer kind. Robin jams the soap machine like an absolute maniac — and when she gets more strawberry-scented liquid than she bargained for, she smears some onto your palm. The two of you stand side-by-side, fingers occasionally bumping into the other’s as you wash your hands.

“How’s driving with Steve?” you ask her with a knowing grin. 

“The worst,” she answers with a groan, just as dramatically as you imagined she might. “He’s acting like a total dad, obviously. But he’s letting me man that radio, so that’s a plus.”

“Ah, so it’s less Bruce Springsteen and more The Runaways this time?”

Robin’s ocean eyes go wide at the reminder. The last trip where Steve was in charge of the radio, it took two weeks to get “Born in the U.S.A.” out of her head. She shivers at the memory. 

“Yes. Thank god,” she huffs and turns off the faucet. You pump the lever at the paper towel dispenser and hand a napkin over to her. “How’s driving with Eddie?”

The teasingly lilted name doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Why’d you say his name like that?” you giggle.

She squints. “You know exactly why.”

You do.

“It’s fine, I guess,” you shrug instead of telling her you’ve spent the entire drive staring at him. You still haven’t yet decided which is prettier — the pink and purple sunset or the way Eddie looks beneath it. “He’s not driving like a total maniac with the kids in the car, so… It’s not too bad.”

You open the door with your shoulder. 

“You haven’t heard from Billy, have you?” Robin asks as she walks out ahead of you.

Your eyes widen at the sound of the boy’s name. The realization that you’re not the only one who shudders at the mention of him is equally daunting. You look over your shoulder and towards Max’s stall, where she’d walked in a few minutes after the both of you. You shut the door behind you and wonder if she heard.

“No. I haven’t,” you answer, then plead. “And can we please not talk about him? Especially not in front of Max?”

“Well, tell that to Stevie because he won’t stop asking me?”

Your brows pinch. “Why?”

Robin makes a vague ‘I don’t know’ sound as she shrugs. She roams the snack aisle and eyes the vibrantly colored chip bags. “He probably doesn’t want to bother you about it. And also, he probably thinks you wouldn’t tell him if you did hear from him.”

“I wouldn’t,” you scoff.

“See,” Robin drawls with her head tilted to her shoulder. “That’s the problem!”

“Well, considering the last time I told Steve about Billy, he almost died, I think I’m doing him a favor.”

“…Touché.”

“I haven’t heard from him, okay? And I’m not going to because we’re gonna be three hours away from Hawkins all weekend.”

“Unless he’s stalking you,” Robin argues mindlessly. When her own words dawn on her, she gasps and looks at you with her features gaping in horror. “Oh, my god. What if he goes all Jason Voorhees and starts slaughtering us one by one—”

“Robin!” you shout, unsure of whether or not you should laugh.

“I’m just saying! That guy is crazy, okay? We should not put that maniac shit past him,” the girl agonizes. She walks a few short steps over to you and holds onto your arms with a grip most desperate. Her eyes are wide and pleading as she stares at you. You feel a bit like she’s looking into your soul. “Just please promise me you and Eddie won’t have sex while we’re on vacation.” 

Instead of telling her that most certainly won’t be a problem, you’re left surprised at her out-of-the-blue words. “What?”

“The couple having sex is always the first to die in the movies!” 

“Robin. I love you,” you remind her with your hands over her jacket-clad arms. “But you’re insane.”

She sighs with exasperation when you turn away from her. You hear her mutter under her breath behind you: “Looks like I’m gonna be the girl that gets killed ‘cause no one listened to her about the crazy serial killer dude…”

You get Eddie food at the connected McDonald’s, even though he told you he wasn’t hungry.

 “Those sandwiches are too good to waste, Peach,” he’d said right before pressing a kiss to your cheek. You think he just didn’t want you spending money on him when he was too busy getting gas to catch you. You do it anyway. ‘Cause you love him and everything.

“We talked about this!” Eddie grouses when you meet him at the pump. He taps the nozzle against the van a few times, getting every last drop he can before sticking it back into the stand. “I was really lookin’ forward to that PB&J, sweetheart.”

You smile before popping a fry into your mouth. “Want me to drive?”

“No. I’m good. Probably gonna sleep like a baby when we get there, though,” he tells you, half-joking as he stretches out his tired back. The bottom of his thrifted Stars Wars tee rises to reveal a sliver of his stomach. He catches you looking and grins. “And when I do, I expect to be held like one in compensation.”

You know he’s joking, but you nod anyway. The sack of burgers gets squished between your bodies when he takes you in his arms, palms wide along your waist. 

“Happily,” you grin, already leaning in for a kiss. The tip of his nose smushes against the side of yours when your lips meet. It’s longer than a peck. Softer than one too. He tastes sweet, like lemons.

You hear the kids coming back before you see them. Their chattering melds with the scuffs of their shoes. You and Eddie part from one another, thinking you might’ve gotten away with your fleeting touches before any of them could see. A chorus of groans tells you otherwise.

“See?” Eddie protests with his brows raised, hidden behind his curly bangs. “This is what I was talking about!”

You shake your head with a sympathetic smile. “We’ll be there soon, Eddie Spaghetti,” you promise. The “I’m gonna kiss you silly when we get there” goes unsaid. 

He hears it, though.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Soon, as it turns out, was actually another hour. It’s full of huffy teenagers, and ‘are we there yet?’s, and Eddie trying not to lose his sanity between it all. You do your best to keep his mind off of the never-ending highway, but hand-holding and mindless conversations only go so far. By hour three-and-a-half of the relentless drive, the trek was beginning to show on you too.

Lake Lemon was worth it, though. 

The view of sparkling water beneath a velvet purple sky made you forget about your aching back and the extra twenty minutes Eddie spent trying to find the place (and getting lost in the process). The cabin was a quaint two-story thing, wedged between lake and forest. It was old, which meant it was cheap, but it wasn’t any less beautiful. And, for a couple of kids who rarely get the chance to get out of Hawkins, it might as well be Heaven on Earth.

“This place is massive!” Dustin marvels.

It’s not that big, really. It’s certainly not bigger than the Harrington home — which you know he frequents from time to time. You think it may be just because of the wide-open kitchen connecting to the living room and the spiral staircase leading to the second floor.

“Alright,” Steve huffs from behind the group of you as he drops Max’s duffle with a low thud. No one volunteered him to get the bags, but he didn’t object to doing it either. “I think that’s all of ‘em. If you little shits make a mess when you unpack, you better clean up after yourselves. I’m not your maid.”

“Sorry, Stevie. I can’t hear you over this view,” Robin lilts from the other side of the house. She stands at the sliding glass door in the kitchen. Just outside of it is the lake. The water looks black in the night, shining beneath a set of twinkling stars.

“Can me and El take the bedroom upstairs?” Mike asks you, far nicer than he’d ever ask Steve. El hangs on his arm. You’ve got a feeling she’ll stay there all weekend.

He told you recently that he was trying to grow his hair out to look more like Eddie. Now you can’t look at him without smiling. He’s not nearly as intimidating as his structured features make him seem.

“Well, I don’t want Hopper to kill me, so there’s no way I’m giving you guys the master bedroom,” you laugh, tilting your head down to your shoulder. You meet the teenager’s identical pout with a shrug. “But if you wanna share one of the bunks, knock yourselves out. What I don’t know, I can’t tell Hop, so…”

“But shouldn’t the couples get the bigger bedrooms?” Mike argues.

Steve materializes behind your shoulder. “You kids are taking the bunks, alright? That’s final.”

Mike scowls. “You guys are no fun, you know that?”

“You’ll survive,” the older boy deadpans with the roll of his eyes. “Peach and Robin can take one room, Nance can take the other when she gets here. I’ll take the couch and…” Steve trails off and looks over at Eddie. He winces. “I think there might be a spare tent outside for you, Munson.”

Eddie scoffs out a laugh. “Dick…”

“Everyone say ‘thank you, Steve’s dad,” Robin singsongs as she walks back to the living room for her rucksack. Despite her obviously joking tone, everyone else choruses ‘thanks, Steve’s dad!’ in return as they scramble for their bags.

Steve huffs behind you. Sure, his dad put the downpayment on the place, but he didn’t need to be reminded of that. Besides, he paid for everything else.

You turn on your heel to face him, arms crossed over your chest as you smile up at him. “Thank you, Steve,” you lilt in the same too sweet tone as everyone else.

“You don’t have to think me,” the boy scoffs. “You paid for half.”

“Not nearly half.”

“Well, you made up for it by booking the cabin. You did all the work I was too lazy to do, so—”

“So call it even and stop flirting,” Eddie monotones as he slings your bags and his bag over his arm and shoulder.

You roll your eyes with a smile, canting your head to look over at the darker-haired boy. “Wanna go unpack?” you ask.

“If it’ll stop you and Harrington from making out, yeah.”

“Those jokes stopped being funny the first time you told them, Munson,” Steve grouses.

You walk to Eddie and take the hand dangling at his side. You trail behind him as he leads you up the wooden, unusually coiled staircase. 

“Is this what rich people do when they build houses?” he comments. “’Cause this feels really dumb and unnecessary.”

“I assume you know a lot about those things,” you joke drily.

“Rude.”

At the top of the stairs, and for the first time alone, you smack a kiss to his mouth.

There are four doors to choose from on the second story — one is the bathroom, the other a storage closet. 

Of the two bedrooms, you and Eddie pick the door at the very end of the carpeted hall on the right. It’s got a better view of the lake and is on the furthest side of the house — in that, it’s not just above the kids’ room. In that, maybe it’ll be quiet enough for the two of you to pretend that you’re just here by yourselves for a moment or two.

The walls are made of slatted wood, and the slanted ceiling is painted a deep green. There’s a stone fireplace and a dresser with a small television on one side of the room, and a balcony overlooking the lake to the other. It’s not huge but isn’t small either — the perfect size for a girl who loves being close to her boy and a boy who loves to let her. 

Neither of you bothers unpacking. You make a silent agreement to live out of your bags for the next couple of days to save the pain of having to pack all over again when it’s time to go. Rather than spend the next half hour hunching your aching packs to organize clothes into drawers, you spend it flopping into bed beside one another. 

Like muscle memory, you take the right side and Eddie takes the left. “It’s the side closest to the door, anyway,” he tells you. “And men always take that side. For some reason.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s to defend their wives in case someone breaks in,” you say, giggling.

“Well, that’s dumb. What if they come in from the window?”

“…I don’t know how you haven’t graduated yet, Eds. You’re a genius.”

Now, Eddie lies on his stomach with his face smushed into the pillow. Fatigue radiates from him like steam. You smooth a mindless hand up and down his back. Between dealing, going to school, and driving three hours across the state, you know he’s drained.

“What time is it?” he mumbles into the cushion.

You look over at the clock on the nightstand and then back at him. “Almost ten.”

“I’m so exhausted I think I could peel my skin off…”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “I don’t think that’s exhaustion, Eddie Spaghetti.”

His head perks up. His button eyes go wide and hopeful as he looks at you, almost shy. “Wanna hold me?” he murmurs, still half into the pillow in case you reject him and he has to hide again.

“I’m offended you’re even asking me that,” you scoff. “That answer’s always gonna be yes, Eddie Munson.”

You roll onto your back. Eddie squirms against the mattress until he’s close enough to lay his head on your chest. His curls tickle your neck and jaw. Your arms wrap around each other, holding one another like you haven’t spent several hours squished into a van together. 

The moments you should be tired of each other, your love just seems to get bigger. 

You don’t know if you’ve ever experienced that before, or if it’s the first time it’s ever happened in the history of the whole world. The butterflies in your stomach make both feel equally true.

“Did you have a good day?” Eddie mumbles into the t-shirt you’d just changed into. He’s obviously tired, but he doesn’t want to quit talking to you.

“The best,” you sigh, content and finally still. One hand curls into his hair. You scratch softly at his scalp. “And it’s gonna be even better tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. He doesn’t know if that’s totally true, but he’s found that’s a lot like what your relationship is like — perfect and getting better all the time. So he figures you must be right.

Silence settles within the four walls of the small bedroom. It feels soft like cotton candy, a blanket that’s been tossed over the both of you. You think you could stay like this all night — holding each other and never saying a word. 

Eddie, however, has never met a quiet he doesn’t want to break.

“…Wanna fool around?” he jokes out of the blue.

“With kids downstairs and Robin right next door?” you laugh. “I think I’m good.”

“I’d be quiet,” he promises, leaning his chin on the swell of your breast to look at you.

“You don’t know how to be quiet, Munson. Besides, we shouldn’t fool around while we’re here anyway…”

The boy’s brows furrow at the teasing lilt in your tone. A smile curls at his lips. “…Why?”

“‘Cause Robin said those are the first people to die in scary movies.”

“She’s not wrong,” Eddie offers with a laugh. “I mean, she’s crazy, but she’s right.”

You sigh, smiling. “That’s Robin Buckley for you… She’s a total dork.” 

“Guess that’s why you guys get along so well, then, huh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie singsongs, too cute for his own good. “I just think everyone made a mistake calling you the slut of Hawkins, you know? Like calling me the freak is spot on, but you? You’re totally the dork.”

You snort. “Right…”

“Peach, The Cute,” Eddie lilts like he’s testing it on for size.

“Yeah? Is that what my name would be in your game?”

“Peach, The Adorable,” he continues. “Peach, The Precious, even.”

“Munson, The Annoying,” you croon in the same tone he’d used, though obviously joking and obviously not doing the best job as him. “Eddie, The Guy That’s About To Sleep Outside Tonight.”

Eddie beams. “See? You just proved my point. You’re too adorable for your own good, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” you hum as he moves off your chest and onto the pillow you’re lying on.

He props his head on his arm and nods. “So cute it makes my chest hurt a little bit.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize with a soft grin that says otherwise.

“’S okay,” he assures with a softer smile and a twinkle in the chocolate of his eye. His hand rises and toys with the fraying hem of your shirt. “Do you remember what we were talking about in the van earlier? About, like… knowing each other in high school?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I’m really glad we weren’t friends back then.”

Your heart wants to break, but you don’t let it. You don’t know what this boy is going to tell you next, but you’ve got a feeling it’s going to kill you and bring you back to life again. “Why?”

“‘Cause I don’t think you would’ve let me get to know you. Like, know you, know you.” 

Not the way everyone else knows you, he wants to say.

“That’s not true,” you reject just because you feel like you should. Both of you know he’s right.

To put it simply, you would’ve loved to fuck Eddie Munson back in high school. Back then, he was just the weirdo who sold the cheapest weed — not the sweetheart you’ve gotten to know him as now. And the two of you would’ve had sex, and it would’ve been fine, but it wouldn’t have meant anything to either of you. 

Sex is just sex until you decide to give it meaning.

And for you — and for a really, really long time — it didn’t mean shit. It was just a dumb way to pass the time when you ran out of words to say. A cheap way to get the validation you’d really been looking for the whole time. Intimacy stopped meaning something because no one touched you the way Eddie touched you.

He makes you feel held. Wanted. Loved. 

You didn’t know either of those things existed when you were seventeen.

But you’ve found them now, in your old dealer who used to give you free weed for helping him study. You’re glad you meant him when you did — after heartache chewed you up and spat you out, left you soaking wet and shivering.

Eddie came to you like a warm blanket and a home-cooked meal. You wouldn’t have been able to appreciate him before now.

“Well, thanks for letting me know you anyway, sweetheart,” Eddie says with a lopsided smile.

Something about it is so strangely tender. More intimate than a thousand I love you’s.

You smile. “Thanks for letting me know you, too, Eddie Spaghetti.”

[tangerinesilk]

－ I CAN SEE YOU : TANGERINE X FEM!READER

tangerine is going on a solo mission… well, at least he thinks he is. with lemon missing by his side, he’s left with one other option that is supposed to make his job easier. unfortunately for him, you’re not the easiest to work with. stubborn, strong-minded and feisty. you’re both so alike yet nothing has made your bloods boil more than each other. 

rating ✷ r (18+ minors dni!)

warnings ✷ (very quick) smut: fem receiving, kisses all over bodies, a needy but quick hj, p in v, dirty talk, praising, implied rough (consensual) sex / others: cursing, drinking alcohol, mention and use of guns and violence, male hurting female (?) but not between main characters, mentions of blood and wounds.

tropes ✷ enemies to lovers!!!, person a is all talk no bite + person b knows that but still pushes them, playful banter, hiding together in small spaces, fake dating (?), if one is hurt– the other goes a bit crazy, says ‘i dont care’ then cares 5 seconds later. 

word count ✷ 6k!

songs that fit the vibe ✷ i can see you - taylor swift | moth to a flame - swedish house mafia + the weeknd | king of my heart - taylor swift | attention - charlie puth | nonsense - sabrina carpenter

a/n ✷ so i made a poll a months ago and this trope + pairing won! i’ve honestly been wanting to write a dave lizewski one as well and got a request idea. so.. we will see lmao. i will probably post then maybe edit later if there's still things i don't like... also, if you couldn't tell but im kind of a swiftie so i will love to write fics inspired by whole ass albums y'all.

but i hope this is what u guys expected and wanted. i actually do love writing for tangerine. just gives into my delulu thoughts. also, if you guys would like a plain pwp fic and not all of this fluff and dialogue stuffed inside, pls let me know bc i am definitely into that idea. 🫡

“You had to go and get yourself shot… then you wonder why you have to wear a bulletproof vest. Fuckin’ hell.” 

Tangerine kept his voice at a hushed tone, basically talking under his breath as he strutted through the grand hall of the hotel. Golden light glossed over his figure, passing by couples who were at standing tables with their cocktails.

“Well, Thomas said-”

“Thomas didn’t say shit. Don’t get me fuckin’ started now.”

Lemon already knew Tan was in a bad mood. Another Thomas the Tank Engine factoid wasn’t a playful move right now.

“Hey, mate. Don’t get all fussy wit’ me. You’re just mad about your new partner for the night.” Lemon rolled his eyes.

“Can’t believe I can’t be held accountable of myself. I can handle it on my own but you had to call the fuckin’ princess-” 

“She’s good. Your denial is obnoxious, bruv. It’s only a night, you get in and get out.” Lemon replied, holding his wounded side as he laid in his bed back in England, “What happened between you two that you’ve got beef like this?”

“No time to explain nor do I have the patience.” He arrived at the small bar to the side of the room, “If I leave her behind, can I take half the pay that’s supposed to be hers?” Tangerine asked.

“She’s supposed to be wearing a red dress. You’ll see her there… and please don’t cause a scene.” His brother begged.

“No promises.” He replied before hanging up. 

Tangerine blows a sigh past his lips, quickly asking for his drink of choice before scanning the mass of people around him. His blue eyes could only search so fast for the man that the hit was called on, causing him an instant frustration when he’s already worried about you ruining things regardless of how long you’re together.

“He’s next to the woman in the tacky gold ballgown… about two feet away from the ice sculpture.” Your soft voice suddenly spoke next to him, “But, I didn’t need to tell you that, right?”

The smirk on your face burned at his nerves and you noticed the clench in his jaw.

“Well, if it isn’t the fuckin’ Queen herself.” He said in a stern tone, “What? Germany was too borin’ for ya? Had to figure out a way to ruin someone’s operation?”

“Lemon is the one who called me in, and it isn’t about you. It’s about the pay out… you’re bound to screw something up with your ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ tactic.” You trailed, rolling your eyes as you turned your head away.

“And I’m certainly not afraid to use that tonight and not your fucked up, painfully long mind games like some fuckin’ psycho thilling killer.” He spat as his drink was place in front of him.

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Fuck you.”

“Darling, I’m flattered, but we have more important things to do right now.” He lowly groaned, purposefully looking at his target so his back was facing toward you.

Behind his tall stature, you glimpsed past his shoulder and saw your target chatting up a woman. 

He won’t be smiling for long, you thought.

“Alright, I’ll wait for him to slip away, follow him and you go through the kitchen.” Tangerine said under his breath, keeping quiet for only you to hear him.

“To go where?” You ask, walking around him to stand face to face.

“Erm…” He sighed, “Whatever car or vehicle you got here in, drive yourself back to whatever place you’re staying and I’ll figure out how to wire you the money.” He shrugged, downing the rest of his drink.

He took a step but you placed your hand on the center of his chest, “Not so fast. I’m not going down if you make a mess of this.”

“I don’t make messes. Well, actually, I get away with them once I’ve done ‘em so, I don’t need to worry about a liability.” Tangerine smirked, a bit of a tilt to his head. Cheeky bastard.

“The only liability here is the one who is ready to pull the trigger in his back.” You said before huffing, “I’m not sorry for what happened in Paris, but that was my choice. So, I’m going with you because it’s our operation. You know… I don’t need a fucking helping hand either.” You practically growled.

The two of you held a long gaze, creating a tense eye contact before he sighed, “Didn’t even say anythin’ about Paris, but if you’d like to assume I’m still mad ‘bout that, be my guest, princess.”

His shoulder bumped yours, making you clench your jaw before quickly following behind his tall stature. While he seemed persistent, you grabbed his hand which made him stop in his tracks in the middle of the dance floor.

He turned, “Am I your babysitter?”

“No, you’re my date. Hold my hand, you idiot.” Your eyes pierced through his.

As he looked down at your hand, he slowly grasped it, your fingers intertwining with one another’s before he proceeded through the glamorous crowd.

Couples swayed and waltzed between each step you took, assuming you were unnoticed by your target. Tangerine kept his eyes on him, easy to with the frosty-white full head of hair he had slicked back. The woman in the tacky dress ran her hand down his shoulder, pressing her lips to his ear to whisper something which made you and Tangerine veer to the side at a standing table.

“Are they movin’?” He asked, facing his back toward them.

Your eyes smoothly shift, taking a quick glance at the assumed couple. You ran your hand down Tangerine’s arm, accidentally feeling how toned his bicep was through the thick fabric of his suit jacket. You almost glanced down, wanting to give another squeeze before clearing your throat. A heat rose on your cheeks as you turned your head to face away from him.

“Y-Yeah, near the bathroom. There’s also a backdoor that leads up to the second floor… lots of private rooms for reasons that are obvious.” You said in a hushed tone, moving away from him to the other side of the table.

“Alright, since you wanna tag along, I’ll follow them and you cover the door.” Tangerine suggested once again.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “You do understand what teamwork is, yes?”

He chuckled, “Yes, I go up there, shoot a few rounds, then we make a getaway.”

“Will you just trust me?”

“Your trust means nothing… I need to know you’re not going to fuck anything up. Just like in Paris.”

You smirked, “So you do have that against me.”

“Well, it’s not like it was your best. Leave me with a shot in the arm, Lemon on the ground and you, little miss greed, get away with your cash. If we all did this job for money, we wouldn’t be riskin’ our lives just runnin’ around killin’ or resucin’ people just for someone’s dime. You obviously do though.”

You narrowed your eyes, “You don’t know me…”

“Nor do you know me so…” He huffed, “Let’s just do what we have to do.”

There was tension between you, as if there was more fo a protective instinct than hate toward one another. You couldn't figure out Tangerine’s deal. Why was he so hostile toward you? Yes, what happened in Paris was fucked up, but he wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. He didn’t take shit from anyone, so why were you getting under his skin?

“Shit!” He grunted under his breath, seeing your target disappear into the hall.

The two of you hurry, yet still try to act casual to not raise eyebrows, and exit into the same hallway. As you push open the door, you hear the two talking in the stairwell before another door closes.

“You got your gun on you?” He asked as his hand slid into the back of his pants.

“Of course.” You scoffed, tearing up the slit in your dress. He saw the small pistol strapped to your thigh, making his mouth a bit dry.

He nodded, “Good…” 

Taking a quick breath, Tangerine opened the door. You slipped through and he followed behind, your backs facing one another as you scanned the hallway. It wasn’t narrow but if anyone slipped out of one of the rooms, they were right in your sights.

“I’ll take this one, you take that one.” He whispered, pointing his gun to the opposite door of his.

With your heart in your throat, you slowly crack the door open and don’t see anyone before a body flies from behind and slammed the door open from Tangerine’s side. The woman lied dead on the floor, blood all over his dress, and just as you turned around, a punch slid across your cheek. 

Instinctively, you ducked to dodge the second jab and swoop under to get on the other side of the man as Tangerine wrapped his arms around the guy to pull him to the ground.

Tan loudly grunted as he tried to gain control, basically attempting to straddle him in order to push his arm against his neck. Even with all his strength, the man gripped his hands around Tangerine’s arms to throw him off along with trying to push his knee between his crotch.

“Watch the door!” Tan directed to you. 

You nodded, catching your breath with your back against the wall by the door. The adrenaline ran through your veins and heard your heartbeat in your ears as one tear of blood dripped down your cheek. The crack of bones made you turn your head, seeing the man’s body go limp as Tan began to stand over him.

He quickly walked over the man, as if he was in the way, and comes to your side.

“He nicked you bad. Lemme see.” Tan said, your eyes meeting his as he held your cheek. The touch of his hand seemed to be some comfort, his thumb wiping the blood away and trying to see how bad the wound was.

“Bastard.” He muttered, “C’mon, let’s go before someone comes up.”

Without a word in, he grabbed your hand and dragged you behind his lead. You two headed for the exit door down the other side of the hall as you heard footsteps rumble from the other stairs you came up.

“Wait a minute.” Tan said, fiddling with his belt buckle.

Your eyes widen, “What on earth are you doing?”

He smirked, “Relax, darling. You flatter yourself too much.”

You rolled your eyes as the sound of his belt slid against the fabric of his belt loops before curling the leather strap around the door to keep it locked. The two of you fled down the stairs and suddenly found yourselves in the kitchen area. A few eyes followed as you both ran through, very obvious that you were running from something, but still aimed to get to some kind of exit.

With sudden luck, Tangerine saw his car across the street, instantly knowing which way he was supposed to go. Without skipping a beat, he grabbed your hand once more and the two of you ran across the street. Hopping into the passenger seat and Tan taking off was like a blur, just happening in seconds.

“Y/N?” Tan saying your name woke you from your trance.

“Huh?” You asked, shaking your head.

He quickly turned his head, “You alright?” He said with concern, one hand on the steering wheel and his foot easing off the gas.

“Y-Yeah, I’m okay. I don’t know what happened back there.” You trailed, a bit embarrassed. You were never one to let your guard down, well– enough to get hit right smack in the face.

“Are you sure?”

You turned your attention to him, “I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” You asked rhetorically.

“‘Cause of that big cut on your cheek.”

You narrowed your eyes, “Alright, what’s your big plan now, Einstein? Were just going to sleep in your car and hope we don’t wake up decapitated?”

He half-chuckled, “You truly think so little of me, don’t you?”

“Is that rhetorical?”

Tan rolled his blue eyes, “We’re goin’ somewhere safe.”

– – –

You wanted to believe you were strolling into some kind of trap. The lobby had a classic aesthetic to it, pale gold wallpaper and a wall of keys behind the person at the small front desk. You two placed your go-bags on the red carpeted ground as Tangerine checked into a room.

“Hello Mr. Tangerine.”

Oh, great. He’s some guest of honor here.

“‘Ello, Colin. My usual room.”

“Is that what you say in front of all the girls?” You tilted your head, standing behind him.

He rolled his eyes, “‘Cuse her.”

The man chuckled, crinkles by his eyes, “How many nights are you staying this time?”

This time. You could scoff out loud but you didn’t want to hear the tude from him.

“Just overnight. Nothin’ too serious.”

“Well, enjoy your stay, as always.” The man nodded before Tangerine thanked him.

The two of you head toward the old elevator, watching him quickly press the up button before you stand by his side. You half chuckled, “I’ve never seen you act so kindly toward anyone, tell me, does he see you bring girls through here all the time or-”

“Has anyone ever told you to shut your pie hole?”

“Hmm, not verbally. But, those eyes of your say enough for me… you’re too predictable, sometimes, Tan.”

He gave you a lingering look as the door opened, passing him into the elevator. The two of you make your way to the fifth floor and the hall is eerily quite for a hotel full of private contractors and assassins. You had your hands behind your back then patiently waited for Tangerine to jiggle the key into the lock, opening a door to a huge room with a surprisingly wide view.

“You’d think the curtains were closed.” You muttered as he walked over, closing them anyways.

Suddenly, he stripped from his suit jacket and you couldn’t help but see how tight his button up was around his biceps and chest.

“Did you get that a size too small?” You ask as you chunk your heels into the corner.

“Well, I certainly can’t kill fuckin’ bloaks wearing baggy clothes now.”

“But, you can in a three piece suit?” You cocked your eyebrow.

He licked his lips, “As if your dress is a flexible material.” Tangerine said as he pulled his rings off, placing them on the night stand.

“I can say the same for your pants.”

Tangerine wanted to look down but didn’t give into your comment. You place your bag down on the bed, grabbing your silk pajamas nearly folded on top and changed in the bathroom.

“God, just go to bed. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.” You somewhat groaned.

You sit on the top of the bed, unfolding the duvet before shoving it off to get underneath them.

Tangerine paused, “What the fuck do you you’re doin’?”

You furrowed your eyebrow, “This thing called going to sleep. Try it sometime, you’d be less grouchy.”

He rolled his eyes, “I know that, smartass, I mean what’re you doin’ in the bed that I’m goin’ to be sleepin’ in too?”

You rolled over, putting your weight on your elbows, “I know you’re dramatic but this takes the cake for top performances.”

He faked a laugh, “If you don’t get your ass out of that bed in two seconds, I’ll throw you in the tub with a pillow.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to. Fine, do it.” You said before laying flat into the mattress, staring straight at the ceiling.

He didn’t care for your equal amount of sarcasm, but he just gave you a cocked eyebrow.

“Okay, fine. I’d rather sleep on the floor anyways.” He said, stretching his arms up and behind his head. Your eyes quickly admired his muscles before turning back.

“Be my guest, princess.” You scoffed, slipping on your pajama shorts, “I’ll enjoy my big comfy bed.”

You pulled the heavy duvet over your waist, curling up with the dense pillow beneath your head. 

Tangerine stood there, biting the inside of his cheek as he watched you roll on your side. He tilted his head back before unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it on the desk chair. Although your eyes were closed, his side of the bed sunk in and you tried to hold back your smile at his faded stubbornness.

With your backs facing one another, you two just listened to the silence of the city. It gave you a moment to think of Paris– the last time you were with one another or much rather supposed to be against each other. You were a double agent, not exactly proud of it but you let greed take over your motivated justice. 

Having to scam Lemon and Tangerine wasn’t your finest hour either, you thought about it for months and finally coming face to face with Tangerine (out of the two, he wasn’t the one you would want to bump into again), all the guilt came rushing back like the snap of an elastic band.

– – –

The morning sun runs through the thin silk of the curtains, shining over your bodies in the bed. You wake up to the sound of light snoring, happy that you could sleep through it, and Tangerine in a deep slumber with his arm over the bed. He suddenly looked like innocence, so soft and tender, simply laying there like it was any other day.

You sit up, putting your hair out of your face then head to the bathroom. When you turn the light on, you’re almost surprised to see your reflection. Forgetting about the scar against your cheek, you look more rough around the edges. You sigh as you run your fingers over it, remembering the way Tangerine did last night.

After washing up, you go back out and Tangerine is now standing up and stretching his arms above his head. Your eyes quickly shift up his body, admiring the tattoos in their random places and how the band of his briefs rest on his hips. You sealed your lips from smiling at how sharp his v-line was accompanied by the happy trail disappearing into his pants.

“Sleep good with that stick in your ass?” You retort, passing him.

He rolled his eyes, “...You’re annoying, ya know that?”

“Oh, you’ve made that clear.” You mocked him as you closed the curtains more, “That’s why I love to do it.”

Tangerine flicked on the lamp, giving the room a warm glow.

“Alright, I say we lay low today. Better to be out of sight and–”

You cut him off, “Stuck in this room together?... are you trying to kill me t–”

He then put his hand over your mouth, looking deep into your eyes, “Yes, stuck in this room where we can keep an eye on each other and you can’t screw me over again.”

Your heart stopped for a split second, as if he couldn’t have been more of the controlling one. He took his hand away and you gulped, “Yep. Fine. Fair.”

Tangerine pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek before you go to your bag in the chair that’s pushed in the corner of the room. You slightly bend over to look inside your duffle and his icy eyes can’t help but look up the back of your thighs and straight at your ass and lower back. How he could easily put his hands on your hips and make you hold onto something.

He shook his head, feeling like he was coming down with something to even imagine that thought.

You pulled out an old novel and sat yourself back on the bed, hoping that the hours would pass as you sank further into the broken-in mattress.

Tangerine sat down in the chair nudged into the corner, adjacent from your view, and he pulled out his gun that was conveniently tucked into the back of his pants.

“Are you actually holding me hostage?” You furrowed your brows, but didn’t take your eyes from your sentence.

“Whatever fantasy you’d like you believe.” He trailed, opening his gun and emptying his rounds into his palm.

– – –

Suddenly, you leaped out of a deep sleep. Your book laid open on your stomach while an extra pillow was between your legs. Your eyes fluttered open, thinking the past few days has been a dream, until you noticed Tangerine wasn’t sitting in the chair. You quickly looked around before hearing the bathroom door open and he stepped out, shirtless and in new dark slacks that rested on his hips.

Your mouth became dry. How could you dislike him so much yet here you are, ready to jump his bones as he crossed the room.

“What are you getting dressed for?” You asked, rubbing your eyes.

He half-chuckled at your groggy voice, “I want a drink.”

“Oh, like you’re not just going to abandon me here like I did you?... Where you go, I go.” You warned him.

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“A bit hypocritical coming from you.”

Tangerine just ignored your smart comment and opened the door, letting you through first before he followed. His eyes, once again, trace your lower back and trailed down your legs. His cheeks flushed pink as he quickly looked away, clearing his throat as he caught up to you so you two were walking side by side.

You pushed the faded down button as you pushed a big breath past your lips. Tangerine put his back against the wall and crossed his arms, his muscles basically restraining in his light button up. As you turned around, you rolled your eyes– but not at him, just at yourself. How could you have any little feeling for someone who also annoyed you to your core?

He took your silence as a bit of a tease. To be fair, you two didn’t really know one another. You met once before and then you simply betrayed him. Quickly, you were dead to him, but now you’re forced to be together and it raised an important question to himself too. Why was he helping someone who obviously can’t be trusted? 

Tangerine furrowed his eyebrows at that thought, knowing he would have thrown you to the wolves last night after you closed your eyes. He played with his watch a bit before the elevator dinged and caught both of your attentions.

After entering, the low-sounding shifting mechanics of the elevator were the only sounds between you two. You heard Tangerine sniffle, seeing him stretch his neck out of the corner of your eye, but you kept a straight view to the doors. While Tangerine thought you were continuing to give him the silent treatment, you were lost in your own thoughts of the past.

You flashbacked to your last night in Paris together, and remembered how the guilt creeped up on you knowing that, in a few hours, you’d have to betray both Lemon and Tangerine. Before knowing them, you didn’t care, but now that you’ve realized how hard you were falling for Tan, it felt like a double edged sword. If you didn’t do it, maybe you could stay with him– have a life together. But, if you went through with your selfish heist, you’d lose the guy who made you comfortable with being vulnerable after a long time. 

Obviously, you regretted your decision.

“Is this what you want?” You simply asked.

Tangerine quickly turned his head, “What?”

You rolled your eyes before facing his direction, “This.” You gestured between the two of you, “The weird animosity and constantly arguing and nit-picking?”

He never thought you’d be so bold to point it out, “I mean, we don’t like each other. Simple, isn’t it?”

“I guess…” You trailed, facing back toward the doors.

Tangerine licked his lips, wondering if he should utter the words on his tongue.

“...But, that doesn’t mean we can’t start over.”

You looked over your shoulder once more before turning around to him, “You mean that?”

He arched his eyebrow, “Should I regret it now?”

Just as the elevator dinged, the doors slowly opened and the hotel lobby appeared empty. You smirked to yourself, “Why don’t we catch up over that drink, huh?” You sort of teased– not sure if it had purpose.

– – –

Your drink tasted smooth, easily trailing down your throat as you leaned your head back to finish off the rest of the liquor in your glass. Once you tilted your head back straight, you were met with Tangerine’s signature eyebrow arch.

“Don’t worry, I’m paying for my own drinks.” You sighed, placing your glass back down on the wooden table top.

“As long as I don’t got to carry you back up to the room.” He sighed, sounding more defeated than witty, then his blue eyes glanced down then back into your eyes.

You hummed, running your finger along the rim of the empty glass. 

“‘right so, what’ve you been doin’ since we last…” He cleared his throat, “saw one other?”

You crossed your leg over the other, “Not much. Actually, it’s the first time I’ve been out for a while. After leaving you guys, I laid low in Tuscany.”

“For how long?”

You shrugged, “Five months? I was on the countryside and I wanted to be alone…” then, you smirked, “I heard that you were in Kyoto.” 

Tangerine could chuckle about it now, “For a bit. Had a job to do for some psychotic, fucked up family. The dad called in us, they were all turin’ on each other. Whole fuckin’ thing…”

“As in…” You trailed, “Against one another? The whole family?”

He just nodded before taking a sip of his drink.

You raised your eyebrows, “Wow… and you got out with no bruises or cuts? Bullet holes?”

Tangerine licked his lips before he presented the side of his neck, lighter skin over his tanner tone to show the scar. You carefully reached out, brushing your fingers against it which made a tingle go up his spine. You sit back down as he turned back in his chair, and he seemed to tense up.

“Amazing you survived it.” You sealed your lips.

He crossed his arms, “I supposed…”

A comfortable silent fell between you, the light, jazz music playing at a low, and Tangerine’s eyes trailed up the side of your bare leg. He didn’t mean to stare this much, but he felt more vulnerable than usual. One thing you knew is that Tangerine was a layered person, you had to take time to get to the center of him and realize he’s not so cold once you get to know him.

“Five months in Tuscany, I bet that was lovely.”

“Not really. I isolated the whole time… I wanted to be by myself, but I felt bad about what happened… what I did in Paris.” You admitted, but didn’t look into his eyes, fearing that he would turn on you in a second.

Tangerine sighed, “You had to do your job, we did ours… that’s ‘bout all that can be said.” 

Assuming from the lack of eye contact and his tone, he seemed hurt too. You could easily let it boost your ego, but, you actually felt a relief. This hatred you’ve held against each other has finally come down and even though it wasn’t actually said, both of you can feel hostility leave the room.

You bit the inside of your cheek, “Remember, we’re starting over. Clean slate. I hope I’m making a good impression so far.” You raised your eyebrows, lifting your glass again just to drink the mixture of watered down liquor. 

He chuckled, “You’re just lovely.”

The comment made your face get hot. You blame the accent and how it can just get under your skin.

“I don’t think you’ve ever called me something so nice.”

Tangerine smirked, “Funny since we’ve just met, darling.”

Darling.

It was the first time you heard it as a term of endearment then pure spite.

You rolled your eyes, but you could humor that Tangerine was going along with it. This new cheeky side of him was something you didn’t think existed– maybe it was the liquor talking, but you hoped it wasn’t just that simple.

“So, what brings you here?” You continued to tease, placing your elbows on the table, “Business… or pleasure?” Your hand laid on top of his, brushing your fingertips along the chunky rings that perfectly fit his fingers.

Multiples thoughts sounded through both your minds.

“Maybe it’s the liquor.” “Maybe we’re a little over our heads.” “Maybe we’re bored.”

But, Tangerine held your hand on top of the table, gently holding it as his thumb grazes over your knuckles.

“Depends…” He trailed, now leaning in too, “What are you here for?”

– – –

In just a few minutes, you two were back in the room you felt trapped in for hours.

Tangerine pressed your back against the wall, a tingle running up your spine from the coolness of the wallpaper. Your lips pressed together over and over, tilting your head before biting his bottom lip. He effortlessly lifted you up with his hand under the back of your thighs, and your ankles meet around his back.

He needed so bad, desperate even… and the feeling was mutual.

He put you down on your feet again, pressing a kiss against your scarred cheek then another on your jaw. His light kisses run down the middle of your breasts as his hand lifted up the end of your skirt. You pushed your hips out as your back was against the wall still, watching him pull down your panties in an instant. You kick them to the side and Tangerine placed your leg over his shoulder, kisses along your inner thigh and your hand ran through the front of his curls.

Suddenly, his tongue ran over your swollen clit before sucking on it. With one hand in his hair, the other caressing your breast and running your thumb over your nipple.

Tangerine panted, moving his hand against your pussy lips. He pushed them apart, showing your tight hole and how you clench around nothing. He lowly groaned, running his fingers over your clit before sliding his two fingers into your pussy. You bite your bottom lip to hold back the moan stuck in your throat, watching him suck your clit and finger you at the same time.

Just as your climax neared, he felt your cunt tighten around his fingers. He couldn’t end it like this so, he took them away. You let your leg down, watching him come back up and tower over you.

“If I’m goin’ to make you cum…” He sighed, “I’m gonna be deep inside you when you fucking crumble.” He said so low before pressing his fingers against your tongue, and you tasted yourself.

You pulled his hand back, running your thumbs over his tattooed hand.

“Not if I make you cum first.” You trailed, moving his hand down so you could kiss him.

He could drop to his knees in an instant, but Tangerine surprisingly kept his composure. 

You smirked as you pushed him toward the bed, the back of his knees hitting it to make him sit down. As you stood in front of him, he leaned on his elbows as he watched your dress drop to the floor. It pooled at your ankles and when his eyes shifted back up, so glossed over, your bare body was the center of his attention.

“Hmm, I don’t think you’ll last.” You taunted.

As much as he could snap back, you straddled him and pulled apart his tightly buttoned shirt. Your hands ran over his toned and tatted chest before reaching down to his pants, unzipping the fly and he shuffled a bit to shift them off his hips. His cock was hard, restrained from his boxers and you felt flattered.

You giggled, leaning forward to share a slow kiss with him. Your bare pussy rubbed against his cock as you moved closer to him. A low groan mumbled between your makeout, and you pushed him back so you two both fell on the bed.

Your hands pressed into each side of the mattress, gaining strength to help yourself grind against his hard. His big hands tightly held your hips as you continued your smooth momentum, whimpering at your clit being rubbed by your harsh grind.

As heat rose in the room, your right hand dipped between the two of you, and ran over his hard cock once more. Tan’s lips now desperately met your jaw before taking a light bite at your neck. The feeling of your hand caressing through his boxers could make him release right there.

Becoming more impatient, you finally pushed your hand into the band of his boxers and he once more moved his hips to shift out of them. 

“Fuck, your cock is so big… can barely hold it with my hand. God, I want you to stretch me out…” You moaned, “Is that okay?”

You purposefully let him believe that he was in charge, and you were falling into the submissive role. Tangerine gained a bit of confidence from your desperate comments, and he sat more up on the bed.

“Fucking christ…” Is all he could say.

He moved the swollen and red tip against your wet slit, also aching and needing your walls to wrap around him now. At first there was pressure, pushing the tip inside your hole then slowly guiding your hips down to completely take in every inch of his cock. 

Once he bottomed out, your body lightly shook as your lips brushed against his. He was fully inside you, the tight and warm feeling making him wither beneath you.

Tangerine moved his hand, kissing your shoulder, “God, you feel like fuckin’ heaven.”

“Don’t stop. Please…” You huffed.

– – –

Then, it was morning. 

The rising sun peaked through the small split of the curtains. As you tried to shift, your body ached throughout every muscle. A small groan left your lips, but you were pulled back by a strong arm wrapped around your waist.

It snapped you back into reality. Last night really happened… and you were okay with that.

Tangerine’s tattooed arm unconsciously tightened around you, holding you close still as he still slept behind you. You barely look over your shoulder and saw his face, his eyes still shut and his curls looked wild.

You faintly smile as you turn around to face him, and that’s what woke him up. He pulled his arms back and rubbed his eyes from the brightness of the sun coming in. You run your finger along a curl on his forehead, pushing it to the top of his head and your heart melted from the sight of those blue eyes.

“Did last night really happen?” You mumbled, but with a faint smile on your lips.

He placed his hand gently on your cheek, caressing his thumb against your jaw. 

“I think the real question is…” He trailed, “Do we stay another night or go back to pretending to not know each other's existences?”

You bit your bottom lip, lightly giggling, “I think we pick secret option three and go somewhere else. Get away for a while… see where this is going. Don’t you?”

Just at that moment, Tangerine’s phone vibrated in his pants that were on the floor next to the bed. He turned over on his other side, reaching down to pull it out and reading a text Lemon just sent.

“Got a call about a job in Budapest. Are you in or overstaying your weekend?”

Tangerine smirked at himself, then felt your lips press against his neck. You placed another kiss on his shoulder, leaving a tender love bite before he turned back around to kiss you. Maybe it was the natural thrill of the chase, but you loved the not knowing. 

Whatever was next, you could only hope that he kept it interesting.

[zorosjuicymelonsx]

Finding You

A/N: Guys I'm here and I'm so sorry I'm a week late with this. I got a new job after losing mine a few months ago so things have been hectic lately with my schedule. All I can say is sometimes adulting SUCKS but I love money so 😭🤑

A lovely reader on AO3 had helped me realise there was an anomaly with the timeline of how Y/N and Zoro meet and all so I went through it and I thought I would go through this:

Y/N's flashback of Zoro sleeping in the forest in Chapter 3 was when they were 15 so its actually 7 years ago and not 4 years ago. I've edited this and amended the story you tell Zoro slightly in Chapter 5 to correct this so my apologies for not finding this sooner. I wanted to show that she had a crush on him before they officially met after he rescued her in the alley. They then turn 16, graduate school and then Zoro asks her out. They date till 18, get engaged and marry at 19. Zoro disappears a few days after this and you spend the 2, almost 2 and a half years looking for him so he's 21 and your 21.

Its sometime after Wano and Egghead doesn't exist in this "dimension" when you find him in Chapter 1 so they're just cruising right now. I wanted to match the actual One Piece ages he was before and after timeskip.

I hope this has helped clarify if anyone else was confused of the timeline but please do enjoy this chapter. Because of my new job, I'll do my very post to work and post in a timely manner. Thank you for everyones patience and support with me.

Chapter Eight Previous Next “Zoro? You okay?”

“i-I have to go, m’sorry.” 

That was the last thing he said to you a week ago in the Crows Nest. You had gone through every single possible reason for why he suddenly would switch up the way he did which left you nowhere near to a conclusive answer. You were sure you’d done absolutely nothing but at the same time doubted yourself and wondered if you had done something unconsciously. 

Since then, he'd practically been living in the Crows Nest. He never ate in the galley anymore, never came on the deck to hang around with anyone and you weren’t even sure if he was sticking with his once a week baths. Every time you tried to seek him out, you noticed the hint of stress in his face and would walk away in the opposite direction. Thankfully you weren’t the only one who noticed the swordsman's strange behaviour. 

“Marimo is really starting to piss me off, can you believe he’s making me bring his meals to him like I’m some waiter?!” Sanji spat with annoyance as he piled nourishment onto Zoro’s breakfast plate. You knew Zoro wouldn’t have asked Sanji for food, you just understood Sanjis code of ethics when it came to making sure that every member of the crew was properly fed and nourished. You appreciated him for it. 

You were one of the few who remained in the galley after breakfast, sitting with Jinbe and Usopp who were finishing off their own meals. You’d leaned forward to sit your chin on your forearms as you traced the rim of your coffee cup with your finger caught in a net of progressive overthinking of the enigma that was your husband. 

“Has he really not said anything?” Usopp asked Sanji, the cook turning to face them, the plate in his hand piled high in mostly eggs, sausages and toast. 

“Not a word. I swear the algae on his heads really taken over his brain.” Sanji cursed before leaving the galley, chewing on his unlit cigarette. 

“Isn’t this normal for Zoro? I mean he is pretty quiet.” Jinbe asked Usopp. Since Jinbe was the most recent crewmate to join Luffy and the crew before you, it was understandable he would ask. You would have agreed with Jinbe on the fact Zoro was quiet, however, you knew better than to mistake this for just his regular self. 

“When something is bothering him, he shuts down. He avoids everyone, he won’t talk, he’ll just isolate. I just can’t figure out what's bothering him.” You grumbled out before lifting your cup to take a gulp of your coffee. Setting the cup down, you realised you couldn’t hear either of them talking anymore and turned to see them both staring at you with wide eyes. 

“Has he really never done this in front of you guys?” You questioned the gaping pair with a raised brow slightly mocking their owlish stares back. Jinbe shook his head as expected whereas Usopp's gaze drifted off behind you in thought. You assumed he was revisiting his album of memories with the swordsman. 

“Well…there was the time on Thriller Bark when he shut himself away to train but it wasn’t anything like this.” Usopp answered cautiously, his mouth slightly turned down in slight distress.This caught your attention and your heart filled with anxiety. 

“What happened?” You asked, unconsciously frowning. Usopp's gaze refocused back to yours, adjusting himself uncomfortably in his seat as he seemed hesitant to retell the story. Nonetheless, he sighed before clearing his throat to speak. 

“We were on Thriller Bark where we met Brook. Brook was stuck on his old crew's ship and he couldn’t leave because his shadow being taken by the ex-warlord Gecko Moria.”

“Brook has a shadow?” You asked in surprise trying to suppress a laugh. You valued Brook as a crew member despite his panties fetish. Thankfully Nami always stepped in after he asked to put him in his place.

“I don’t even know anymore, ANYWAYS ....we managed to defeat him but another ex-warlord named Kuma came for us.We don’t know what exactly happened because Kuma knocked us out but we know Zoro got really hurt. He was unconscious for a few days after that. I think at the time we underestimated them but knowing him, he blamed himself for not being strong enough.” 

Usopp clarified, his tone laced with guilt. Your heart ached at the idea of Zoro being that severely injured to that extent. You knew he didn’t care as long as he met his goal in the end even if you did reprimand him on his mentality many times over the years you both dated. You had eventually accepted it and you didn’t want to stand in his way.

“Let's just give him space and see what happens.” You spoke assuringly to the two despite your chest hammering with the anxiety of unsurety. 

One Week Later

Two weeks had passed since you last heard Zoro's voice. The patient person you were two weeks ago was buried deep inside and now your patience was wearing thin along with your paranoia running rampant. You couldn’t take the silence anymore and neither could the rest of the crew. 

It was the afternoon and Nami had called everyone in for a crew meeting on deck, including Zoro who had unsuccessfully attempted to blend into the background. Your eyes has locked in on him from the moment you walked in and spotted green. You also saw the obvious attempt he made to avoid looking your way as he chose to focus his gaze on the wall behind Nami. 

‘Just what was so interesting about the wall you fucker?’ You thought to yourself as you leaned back in your chair in observation. 

“Right guys, I called this meeting in because I came across information that there's an island nearby rumoured to have a fuck ton of treasure. We gotta make a game plan.” Nami excitedly spoke, the berries practically beaming out of her eye sockets. Reluctantly, you took your eyes away from Zoro to focus on Nami. 

For about an hour, she went over and planned in detail how to navigate the island, showing you and the others the maps and other sources of information from a book she read detailing the treasure and its history. 

“I also decided that not all of us can go on the island so I’m picking Zoro and Y/N to stay behind on the ship.” Nami added. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Zoro stiffen before clearing his throat to speak up. 

“I’m coming with you guys, have Sanji stay on the ship with Y/N.” Zoro spoke in a low, reserved manner clearly disguising his obvious discomfort towards you. It was the first time you’d heard his voice in two weeks but hearing the words he chose only had you gritting your teeth. You took a deep breath in and decided that at that moment you couldn’t take anymore. 

He had drawn your last straw. 

“Oh Y/N-chan, I’d love to-” You cut off Sanji as you stood up from your seat, the feet of the chair roughly scraping against the floor boards as you paced your steps towards Zoro to now stand strong in front of him. You felt the intense gaze of the others on you but ignored it, the anger you felt overpowered your rationality. 

“Whats your fucking problem?” You spat out as you looked up at him. 

This caught him off surprise. You could see he was trying to shift away from you but you weren’t going to allow him to get out of this. You moved in tandem with him whenever he attempted to get away from you only to have him give up and stay glued to the wall behind him. 

“I ain’t got no problem-”

“Bullshit. You’ve been avoiding me for the past two weeks. In fact, you’ve been avoiding ALL of us.” 

“You’re being dramatic.”

“No I’m fucking not.” You somehow got even closer, your chest practically touching his as you felt his body heat against you. 

“She's really not Zoro, did something happen between you two?” Nami asked cautiously behind you.

“Did I do something?” 

He could see you were frustrated with him and he could see he was only hurting you more than he wanted to. 

‘I’m sorry….’ He thought as he looked at you, the guilt overwhelming him. 

Whilst he didn’t appreciate the questioning from you and the heavy gazes of everyone, he will admit he had isolated himself from you. It wasn’t because you did anything to him personally and it wasn’t because he started rejecting your presence on the ship; by far you'd been patient with him by letting him be. The persistent questioning he got from the others, especially the shitty cook despite being appreciative of him bringing his meals to him only to be met with silence from him only fueled his guilt. Since the discovery of his feelings for you, he felt overwhelmed. Being around you distracted him. He felt the want to be with you but at the same time, his mind shielded him from you as if he was protecting himself from you. He prided himself in being strong minded and he felt frustrated with himself over how he could possibly feel this way when he prided himself in being strong minded. He could only theorise that this mental block with you had to do with the guy who’d wiped his memory. 

‘Was his named Edward? Ethan? Whatever, it didn’t matter.’

He knew he was being a dick by staying away from you but he didn’t know what else to do. The moment he accepted his feelings for you, he’d also accepted what felt like an overwhelming burden in his stomach. He felt panic, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. He left you in the Crows Nest, remembering the feeling of not being able to breathe. This was why Zoro did not do feelings; they were complicated. 

“You didn’t do anyth-”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?” You persistently questioned, the frustration brimming in your eyes. 

“I’m done with this, I’m leaving.” He felt his heart climbing up into his throat with you being so close to him.

“Oh no you don’t, you’re not getting out of this one.” 

You made an impulse decision out of anger. With your free hand, you summoned a hole behind Zoro. You pictured the very island where you spent time training yourself with your devil fruit, knowing it was quiet and you wouldn’t be disturbed. The hole behind him had formed and Zoro had realised too late he was no longer leaning against solid and fell through the smoke of clouds that enveloped him. 

You turned to the others who were gaping at you in shock. Even Luffy stayed glued to his seat with no attempt to jump through the cloud of smoke. 

“I’ll bring him back tomorrow.” You huffed out before going through the hole yourself. 

As you landed in the sand of the island, you looked up to see the hole you summoned. You then looked around to see your surroundings. The island hadn’t changed one bit; the wave of nostalgia hit as you breathed in the smell of the sand and sea, the lingering scent of greenery coming from the forest coming into the mix as well. If you looked around again, you’d be able to find the rock you carved the last date you were here before leaving to continue your search for Zoro. 

You purposefully summoned the hole on the empty side of the island, choosing to leave the small population of habitants to the other side undisturbed. They were peaceful people and had even shared a few meals with you from time to time whenever a few of them found you exhausted from exertion after training. They knew you well and that you didn’t pose a threat, choosing to peacefully coexist with them. 

Once closed, the anger still ever present in your system you looked around to spot Zoro sitting in the sand as he looked around taking his surroundings. 

“Wh-where are-?” 

“You gonna talk or what?” You aggressively asked. 

Zoro was now angry. He didn’t want to fight with you, he just wanted to piece together his feelings and rebuild his courage to be around you. He wasn’t ready to face you and being here with you only made him feel worse.  

He stood up from the sand and stomped over to stand over you, pushing the bile from his thumping heart back down his throat.

“What…the FUCK…were you thinking? Why would you do that? Do you realise without me there, you’ve put the others in danger? Take us back NOW.” 

“First of all, step the fuck back and calm down. Second of all, they’ll be fine. Third of all, were not going anywhere until we sort whatever the fucks gone up your ass and died.” You said as you matched his energy. 

“Fuck this, I’m out.” Zoro refused to admit anything. He couldn’t. He turned away from you and began walking. 

“Roronoa Zoro, come back here now.” You ordered him as you followed behind. 

“No. Piss off.” He called back as he continued stomping. 

“Zoro, stop.” You shouted, your voice almost broke as your anger now turned into hurt. 

“Leave me alone Y/N.” 

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?” You now cried out. You couldn’t stop the tears and the lump in your throat as you stared at his back. 

Zoro stopped at the sound of your voice breaking. He frowned at the thought of you upset, his heart ached but he couldn’t turn around. 

“I’m not doing anything to you Y/N. I just need space.” He spoke regretfully before he continued walking again and turned left heading into the forest. You stood still as you watched him walk away.

“Fuck.” You whispered to yourself, taking your palm to rub against your forehead in frustration and then using the back of your hand to wipe your tears away. You hated crying, you’d always felt so weak. No matter how much you try to control it, the tears always win. You decided to sit, digging yourself further into the sand before leaning back to let it envelop you. 

You breathed in, allowing yourself to take in the sound of the waves crashing against the damp sand. You didn’t realise how much you missed being back on land. You loved being on the Sunny, you really did but sometimes allowing yourself to be grounded for a bit always helped. 

You let your hands moved with the sand, feeling the softness of it between your fingers. You clenched the sand into your palms finding the action soothing and allowing the anger you’d felt seep into each particle.

What were you going to do with Zoro? 

————————————- ⚔️✨ ————————————

A few hours had passed and you found yourself waking up from a nap you had unconsciously taken. You noticed the sun was beginning to lower, you predicted you had a few hours left before nightfall. You sighed before getting up from the sand, swiping off the residue of sand that was left on your clothes and turned to face the direction Zoro left you from. You were grateful the island was small and you knew it  wouldn’t take you long to track down the lost swordsman. 

As you were about to start walking, you felt a presence lurking near you. You stiffened before smiling and realising there was more than one and posed no danger. 

“How long have you guys been there for?” You called out. You turned to find a small group of what you assumed were hunters gathering food. The group consisted of three men and one woman. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” One of the male hunters asked. 

“I’m fine don’t worry…you didn’t happen to see a green haired guy with three swords roaming around?” You queried. You didn’t know them personally but you assumed the few that did check in on you when you were training spread the word to the others of your existence.

“He’s sitting by the waterfall.” The female hunter softly answered. You nodded as you brought the memorised path to the area up into your mind to plan out your short walk. 

“Thank you, don’t mind us. We’ll be gone tomorrow.” You promised before you began making your way to him. A short walk through the forest and your feet found you at the beginning of a small lake. As you continued, your eyes caught the waterfall and the blue hues of water falling over into the lake. You looked around and soon enough your eyes caught on a head of green hair. You frowned at his slouched demeanor, noticing his eye was lost in the water and in thought. You took a quick breath in before continuing your walk to now stand near the swordsman. You noticed his body stiffened as you felt your presence before slouching back, his eye not breaking out of his lost gaze. 

“Zoro…I.” 

“Don’t speak.” 

Your mouth closed into a straight line, the words ‘I’m sorry’ stuck at the tip of your tongue. You felt like you stood for eternity but just a few short minutes later and you decided to find a seat on the grass near him. Your eyes followed his and soon enough you were also lost in the water with him. Apart from the sounds of the water crashing into the lake and the gentle calls from the birds in the trees, the angst between the both of you laid thick. 

As you watched the water, you were reminded of how much you missed swimming and the ability to just float. You had thankfully never fallen into the ocean since obtaining your devil fruit but the thought of sinking struck fear in you. You missed the feeling of saltwater soaking into your skin, letting your fingertips wrinkle and allowing your mind to wonder and be free. Sure you were able to shower in non-sea water but it just wasn’t the same. 

Time had passed and the sky had turned into a deep hue of orange indicating the end of daylight. The forest had begun to fill out with fireflies, adding to the ambiance and giving light to where you both sat. You knew you’d have to start a fire and look for food soon but you couldn’t find the will to do so yet. 

You had decided to scoot closer to the edge of the lake, allowing yourself to indulge in the only closeness you can have to water. 

“You ain’t plannin to jump in right?” 

Hearing his voice shook you out of thought, you shook your head to answer his question. 

Zoro had every right to be pissed at you but seeing the sadness in your face made him feel guilty for letting himself behave like a teenager for hours. This was his fault after all but admitted he let his pride get the better of him. 

“Why’re you moping?”

“I’m not moping..I’m just remembering how much I enjoyed swimming and just being in the ocean.” You confessed, pouting and allowing yourself to lean on your hand. 

“I thought you didn’t regret-” 

“I don’t regret anything. I’m allowed to feel sad.” You snapped. 

He allowed silence to fill the space between the both of you for a moment before he made an anxiety-consuming decision that would definitely change everything. 

“You wanna go in?” Zoro softly asked. 

You turned to face him, surprise evident in your face. 

“That's impossible, I’ll just feel weak and sink.” You answered. 

“Not if I’m holding you.” Zoro said. 

“I thought you were avoiding me, now you wanna hold me?” You questioned back. 

“Answer my question; you want to go in yes or no?” Zoro bit back with slight annoyance at you being argumentative. 

You bit your lip to stop yourself from going into a tangent, turning to look back at the water before nodding. 

From seeing your physical consent, Zoro stood up and began to strip. You visibly blushed and let your gaze turn away from him refusing to turn it into ogling. He brought himself into your line of vision as he walked forward and stepped into the water, waiting with his back turned to you at the edge to allow you privacy. You were able to see he was just left in his boxers. You stared for a bit before finding your brevity and beginning to strip until you were just in your underwear and bra. You walked a few steps forward until you stood just behind him but you hadn’t stepped in the water yet.

“Am I okay to pick you up?” Zoro cautiously asked, his back still facing you.

“y-Yeah you can.” 

Zoro turned around, pushing back his raging heartbeat and ignoring the growing heat in his skin before scooping you into his arms bridal style and slowly walking back into the lake until he was halfway submerged. You relished in the warmth of his skin and you hadn’t realised just how much you missed his presence. 

“If it gets too much for you, tell me and I’ll take you back.” Zoro’s voice almost broke. He was currently fighting back the blush that had threatened to consume his wholebeing as he avoided looking down at your naked body. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen a naked woman before, heck Nami and Robin walked around the ship in practically nothing and it never once bothered him. Seeing you see this way; shy and almost vulnerable gave a completely different meaning to it. He couldn’t fathom anyone else seeing you like this and the mere idea of any man seeing you this way made his skin itch and his temper rise.  

He hadn’t even allowed himself to be consumed in the lust-filled thoughts he had of you since his recent awakening of feelings he had for you. He felt too much respect for you to subject you to his internal needs. He didn’t even know if you both even consummated the marriage before he disappeared but refused to go down the tangent of thoughts surrounding it. 

He slowly began to lower you into the water, allowing the flow of the water to cover your legs and your arms. You gasped at the sudden coolness of the water, immediately feeling the weakness of the ocean consume you. Rather than fighting the weakness, you allowed it to sit as you relished in the feeling of the cool water and Zoro’s body heat. 

“You okay?” 

“Thank you Zoro.” You quietly spoke, grateful to him. 

His concern alone was enough for you to choke on a sob. You were overwhelmed. 

“Why did you avoid me?” You weakly asked, allowing yourself to cry. 

“M’sorry.” Zoro mumbled back as he bit the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t want a sorry…I want an answer.” 

Zoro said nothing. He didn’t know how to confess his feelings to you. He couldn’t even begin to explain or know where to start with talking about what was wrong with him. Seeing you broken hurt him badly and he knew he couldn’t let this go on anymore. 

‘Show her.’ 

A small voice in his head spoke. He frowned at the intrusion of the voice. 

‘Show her how you feel.’ 

He looked down to see you looking back up at him. The yearning he felt to hold you closer, the want to be with you overtook him. 

He decided to listen to the foreign voice, putting his anxiety to one side as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours in a chaste kiss.

————————————- ⚔️✨ ————————————

A/N: HE DID IT!!! FINALLY HE KISSED YOU AHHHHHHH 🥳 😭💚

Taglist: @starlightanyaaa @eggrollforyou @rosellerinfrost @qalable

[risingchaos]

My thoughts on if Romulans have telepathy

Prefacing with I’ve done some deep dives as research, but I have not read books or watched all the movies so if there’s something I’m missing, please let me know and I’ll edit this to better include information.

So, obviously, we know Vulcans are touch telepaths. As far as I can tell, this is an innate ability Vulcans have from when they are young and hone with training as they get older. It’s most likely not very strong if not almost non-existent until they train it. It seems to take control and precision to be good at, and a special skill with a lot of patience to be phenomenal at.

Now, what do we know about Vulcan’s history with telepathy? We’ve been told that back before Surak’s teachings reformed Vulcan, they had used their telepathy as a weapon against each other. Post reform, there was a lot of shame surrounding their telepathy (talked about in Enterprise I believe) so it fell out of practice. Sometime between ENT and TOG, it fell back into favor at least slightly as we see Spock demonstrating his own very well practiced abilities.

We know that Surak’s teachings and the Time of Awakening is the period when the later known as Romulans broke off from Vulcan. They did not to follow the teachings of logic and pursed a war-like philosophy instead. By the time we meet them in TOG, it’s been approximately two thousand years since then. A lot can happen in two thousand years.

I’ve got two main theories.

One - The Romulans have simply evolved out of it. When they split off, they did not pursue strengthening their telepathy, so they stopped being able to have telepathy. Two thousand years down the line, the ability is simply gone.

Two - This one is more interesting to me. Romulans still possess the ability to have touch telepathy, they just can’t access it very much because of their lack of control. Considering that the only way Vulcans now seem able to use it is through practice and control, I’d imagine that that was still the case back then, they were just also very emotional creatures. Perhaps the Romulans still have the ability, but have lost what’s needed to use it practically.

Of course I could be talking entirely out of my ass and there’s an in universe explanation I’ve missed in which case I’ll cry and delete this whole thing, but please, let me know if there is one! I’d probably just make a whole post with that instead. Genuinely curious on everyone’s thoughts.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Summary: an episode taking place after “Three Way Script”

Warnings: talks of still born children, suggestions of threesomes, consensual infidelity and polyamory

Notes: gosh I’ve been off here so long and yet I’m still clogged with love notes! How’d i get so lucky? This fandom truly is the sweetest, most gushing and loving imaginable and each of you are dear to me and I miss you all. Europe has seemed to swallow me as I’m over for another month I had not anticipated. That’s ok. It’s that’s great in fact but I’m whooped and tired and missing the chance to make believe with y’all. Here’s a little resurgence in that, thanks for your patience and please, please, please keep spamming me all you want in my inbox and dms as I adore it and it helps me feel included even as I’m a little preoccupied with work right now. Xoxo🌹

Cautions: this was written and not edited a bit, wahooo

Anne’s The Name

Ann-Margret was rather used to being ambushed outside her dressing room by the occasional stray autograph seeker, an entitled producer or five anticipating more, or co-stars looking for a drink after shooting to wind down the chemistry of the day.

As of yet, she’d never been met by a wife.

But there she was, Elaine. Never having met her before didn’t afford Ann even a split second of ignorance. She knew who she was. Mrs. Presley was unmistakable, even when playing at being inconspicuous. Leaning against the stage wall in a somehow more provocatively natural stance than even her husband could manage, those long legs freshly tanned against a pink shift skirt and the elegant length of her -she was slimmer than the papers showed her, what with this baby making hiatus- topped off by chocolate curls getting whipped around her like the studio’s wind tunnel was a paid employee. More deadly still was when the opened door attracted her attention and that pretty pearl adorned neck turned to face Ann, that stunner of a face entirely full of curiosity and maybe…mischief?

Ann was too startled to be certain.

Startled by her sudden appearance, startled by the prettiness of her, startled by the lack of venom anywhere to be found on that compelling face, the lips of which were quirking up in a undeniable smirk of teasing enjoyment. She was enjoying Ann’s dumbfounded, half cocked, partway out the door, frozen in place shock. Somehow this was neither the self sacrificing Saint not irate Madonna that Ann anticipated maybe one day being confronted by.

Instead she was being warmly appraised by heavily fringed eyes that glimmered gold in the late day’s sun. Like her merits for lover or playmate were being gauged. Ann wondered if the rumors were true, if Elvis had really taken a lump of clay and fashioned himself a wife in his own image, more identical and fitting than any rib shaped lady could aspire. That sense of danger and intrigue and knowing that had filled her on meeting Elvis came flooding over Ann again, unable to do more than curiously inspect Elaine as she turns towards her.

“Thumper?” Elaine’s voice is as soft and hopeful as it was coming across the telephone receiver weeks ago, “You are Ann, I believe?” she presses when Ann’s manner can’t play catch up with her overwhelming emotions and she remains frozen, halfway out her open door.

“Ela- Mrs. Presley!” she corrects, wincing at the fumble, utterly unsure now that she’s not being met with open hostility.

“I didn’t mean to startle you!” Elaine straightens up from the wall and click clacks over in her heels to stand opposite Ann, just an arms reach removed from each other and Ann thinks of what a pretty scene they’d make if this were scripted, one red and one brown, a flavor for each taste, matching in height and complimentary in build, facing off in a tunnel. “It’s just I managed to give Esposita the slip and E’s gonna be busy with the studio dubbing and I’m no use at all. I thought I’d wrestle up a friend while I was free.” Elaine’s beaming smile dims the longer Ann stalls for time and etiquette, “Or-or if you’re not free, I understand, I at least wanted to say hello. I’m going to be in the city for a little while and didn’t want to be bumping along into you some day without having sought you out.”

Ann wondered if Elvis asked her to come, if Ann and her inventive ways to have sex without having sex wasn’t quite cutting it and he had caved and called the wife. Or if Elaine had heard Ann’s voice over the telephone and gathered from the whole sleepwalking debacle that it was high time to reel him and his affairs in. Or maybe the colonel had seen the papers, Heda Hopper’s column in particular stating that Elvis was taking a shine to his red headed mirror, and sent the wife down for damage control. The only thing is, Ann was sure that the Colonel was thick as thieves with Hedda, much to Elaine’s distress no doubt, and he loved every bit of publicity that Elvis’ wayward eyes could drum up.

Family men didn’t sell, after all. Ann had certainly played her part in his playboy reconstruction with convincing aplomb.

“Sweetie, are you alright?” Elaine’s voice cuts through the fog of Ann’s concerns and suddenly she’s able to find her voice as she starts to tip over,

“No, I-I’m a little dizzy.” Ann admits, just as Elaine’s arms and a wall barely manage to keep her from face planting on the cement.

-I’m a little dizzy and I love your husband and you’re here to distract him and I’m awful aren't I?! but I couldn’t help it, if you love him as much as you say you’ll understand I couldn’t help it, I can’t help loving him-

“Woah, woah, have you eaten?” Elaine asks solicitously as she keeps Ann standing upright against the wall by an iron grip around her waist and under her arm. Anne winces at what she knows is the tacky feel of her sticky underarm pit cradled by Elaine Presley’s perfectly manicured hand. Why did she have to wear a yellow shift dress today of all days? She can feel Elaine’s fingers rubbing at the tassel on the waist, soothing her the same way Elvis does. By touch, gentle in a way that belies the ease with which she holds her upright. The woman is terribly strong for looking so delicate and there’s suddenly a great deal of logic to Elvis’ starry eyed submissiveness regarding his doll faced wife -Elaine is imposing when she gets her hands on you.

Embarrassment floods Ann next, blushing hot and dewy at being caught so weak in front of a woman the world would say she’s wronged. Heat replaces the cold and clammy dizziness of before and she struggles upright against the wall, getting her feet to work for her, stamping the heels a little to get a strong footing. Elaine doesn't budge in her grip on her, still looking concerned and gentle -god, she’s as comfortable with closeness as he is.

“Matter of fact I have neglected eating.” Ann chuckles weakly, puffing at the hair that’s fallen over her forehead and into her eyes, Elaine swipes it away when the directed huff proves ineffective against hairspray laden locks. “It’s been so hot and -and we had a dance scene, kept having to repeat it and -and so many takes. I got a little nauseous from the heat. I forgot to have lunch.”

“You’re probably dehydrated, poor thing.” Elaine tsks, “Makes folks sick and then they don’t want what they actually need. Happens to the kids on the beach all the time, it’s like bargaining with Castro trying to get Jesse out of the ocean to hydrate.” Ann finds herself chuckling at the mental image of this familial anecdote before she realizes she is chuckling at stories about Elvis’ kids. Should she say her condolences for Joe now? Should she even admit she knows as much as she does? “We should get some meat in you. Water, too.” Elaine decides her course for her, “Do you wanna go back in there to rest for a minute?” she points at the dressing room Ann just exited, “Or we can make a dash for my car and find ourselves a bite?”

What either of these options unspokenly state is that Ann will be spending her evening with Elaine, one way or another. If she’s gonna get throttled for being an adulteress she'd rather it be in a drive-in-diner and not some stuffy back-lot dressing room.

“I think I can manage the dash.” she answers agreeably because that’s what Elaine seems to illicit in her -agreeableness.

And as she finds herself tugged by the hand across the mostly empty parking lot, Ann wonders where that ornery streak she’s made her fame on has gone to. Maybe it’s the dehydration that has tuckered her out. Maybe it’s how Elaine acts like she’s her mother in a way that not even her own mother could make so charming.

Elaine is going to get her burgers and water and make her head less fuzzy. It’s been such a while since anyone met her needs so eagerly that Ann finds herself giggling as they race across the wavering hot asphalt, their heels echoing like clopping tattletales and Ann thinks it’s such a lark right as she tips over the convertible caddy’s door into the plush leather passenger seat.

The convertible is pink, because Elvis bought it for his wife and didn’t bother to ask her what her favored color would be, it was just understood that Mrs. Presley would like a pink Cadillac.

Ann is positive that’s how it went, she doesn’t even need to ask Elaine for the story as Elaine cranks the engine up while flipping the visor forward to tip out a pair of cat-eye shades in what strikes Ann as a strangely masculine getsure of proficiency. It makes Ann want to fan herself at the subtext of this woman having hung around Elvis Presley long enough to have picked up his impossibly cool mannerisms by osmosis.

That right there is intimacy. That right there is bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. That’s a wife.

Ann doesn't know what to do with the rush of appreciation she feels towards what ought to be a nemesis as this cool gal who shields her knowing brown eyes behind tortoise rimmed glasses and flicks on the radios right as a crowd of studio workers begins to swamp the strange duo in their flashy ride.

The song choice by the DJ is downright unfortunate. Surrounded as they are by photographing fans and coworkers, there is nothing for them to do after Elaine’s manicured finger flicks the switch and the mournful rockabilly of Runaround Sue blasts as a ironically perfect soundtrack for the missus taking the side chick out for burgers.

Elaine’s gutsy laugh of recognition at the intro wailing “woaaaah woaaaah woaaaah” tells Ann she appreciates the irony just as much but the woman just waves at the crowd and revs the motor in a fake threat of running over a few studio heartthrobs who are draped over her caddy front trying to get a closer shot.

“If I change it now they’ll read into it more.” Elaine remarks to Ann out the side of her unwavering smile and Ann thinks that’s a talent she wants to learn, damned useful looking like you’re grinning while making conversation.

-‘ask any man that she ever knew, he’ll say keep away from a runaround sue, oh yeah, woaaaaaah”-

Elaine’s french tipped fingers thump out a corresponding rhythm on the pink lacquered steering wheel while surveying the mess of attraction they’ve brought down on themselves in the sweltering parking lot before playfully reaching for the wipers and flicking on the spray with bemused cruelty.

It’s strangely attractive, this distanced bemusement of hers and it fills Ann with notions of thanking Elaine for being a little nasty, something she never felt before for another soul. Suddenly those idiots who degrade themselves and get off in it make a little more sense as she watches the young bucks scramble off of Elaine’s shiny hood with soaked shirts and tented trousers.

“Sorry fellas, y’all were lookin’ overheated.” Elaine quips before the rest of the verbal sparring gets lost in the revv of the engine and they’re peeling out of the studio lot in a move that even Elvis would have found satisfyingly risky.

As it is, Ann lays her burning head back on the white leather seat and enjoys the feeling of the wind whipping her hair off her forehead as Elaine speeds them down Las Vegas roads that don’t tolerate a 75 mile an hour pace most times.

-“well I shoulda known it from the very start, that girl would leave me with a broken heart-“

The strip is truly lovely in the daylight and there’s a charm to it when viewed in the blur of a fast car and the veil of chocolate curls whipping around red painted lips.

“Was- that- did- did Robert Redford just wave you through his red light?” Ann splutters in disbelief at a lightning fast interaction at a four way stop that has Elaine’s head swiveling dangerously and a shark-like grin taking over her face.

“I think he did.” she replies with a guilty giggle and Ann wonders when the last time this woman got to be naughty without it being smothered right out of her the next second by a unfathomably possessive husband.

“A real good looking fella in the bright of day.” she ventures.

“He’s very blonde.” Elaine rejoins and Ann can’t help but laugh at that, at her partiality for dark haired men.

“Yes of course, you like yours so black they’re nearly blue.”

Elaine manages to swivel into their parking space in the drive-in diner with easy grace, the same sorta slide and swivel Ann imagines she’d use to scoot her body into a restaurant booth. “You’re forgetting who applies his hair dye.” she says with faux gravity that has Ann faltering for a moment until she sees her smirking, “And Jack’s not darkening up despite everyone’s predictions. I’m only saying that Redford is -“ Elaine doesn’t finish, she just shrugs and pulls the gear to park.

Noticing a star’s ride at first glance, an eager young waitress in her short skirt and rollerblades flys over and Elaine handles her and the order of five cheeseburgers and as many shakes with the same cooing authority she handled Ann with against the wall.

It sends Ann back to fidgeting, even more so when the girl takes off to plug in the order and Elaine turns the full weight of those perfectly lined eyes back at her and flicks up her sun glasses into her hair to study her closer. It lasts long enough that a blush burns Ann’s face and Elaine herself wonders if Elvis enjoys this girl’s charming unawareness of her own appeal.

Seemingly satisfied with her inspection for now, Elaine turns back in her seat and tilts the rear view mirror downwards to inspect the damage the wind did to her curls and upon catching sight of her face mutters,

“That man…” in a resigned drawl while dabbing away at a smudge of red lipstick out of her lip lines that could’ve only come about by a rather impassioned smooch. Ann figures Redford is not the man in question this time.

It makes Ann feel funny, the thought of having woken up in Elvis’ bed this morning and between then and seeing him again he’s already necked his wife. Necked her thoroughly by the looks of that finger fluffed hair. Anne recalls reading an article in the Whisper about Elaine’s perpetual state of tousled hair and bitten lips, a constant innuendo to what happens to the woman the minute the curtain drops on her picture perfect, wholesome and southern, utterly above reproach little family life. Elaine gets mauled by Elvis Presley, that’s what happens. Elvis who can play the gentleman all he wants during the mating dance but in the act itself promises nothing less than a full, thorough, beastly claiming of his woman.

“Wanna go in?” His wife is asking and it shouldn’t jar Ann as much as it does but she’s so lost in her head that it spooks her all the same and she ends up nodding mindlessly, trying to think about optics and failing to see how this could be anything but tragic for herself. “Alright but use the door handle this time, it’s got one.” Elaine snarks with a pretty little snarl of those red lips and Ann bashfully opens the caddy door properly this time instead of spilling over the side like a tomboy.

She’s still learning how to be what Hollywood wants her to be. Shedding her wholesome girl next door image for a sex kitten verve that hasn’t been entirely unnatural. But it takes a bit of balance as even sex kittens need some glamor, some poise and grace, even as they’re promisingly feral. It’s like tousled curls that hint at obscene amounts of public fuckery without being remotely indecent in itself. She watches Elaine swing open the diner door and wait with charming annoyance at Ann’s preoccupied dawdling. Being billed the “female Elvis” brought about the challenge of having to figure out what Elvis’ appeal even consisted of.

Getting to know the man…intimately…hadn’t made that any clearer. There was a mystique about him that she feared her own shy and frank nature could never manage to do more than a cheap imitation of. Now she was beginning to fear half of his appeal was the promise of his capability that was shown in Elaine Presley’s every move and smirk.

Asking his exquisitely poised and deliciously no-nonsense wife about it didn’t seem a smart move. Recovering from tripping over the curb like an awkward preteen, Ann ducks her head appreciatively for Elaine still holding the damn door open and slips inside the checkered diner.

It was teeth chattering cold in the leather booths after the heat of the ride and both Ann and Elaine found themselves shrinking from settling back into their seats, leaned forward instead with elbows on the table in a cozy pose but no topic of conversation to break the ice as they hovered in such close proximity.

“I thought this would be easier.” Elaine finally let out with a little huff and Ann couldn’t be sure if she was annoyed at her or the situation. “I thought we'd have a lot to talk about.” she explained with a hint of sadness that bewilders Ann. In response to her nonplussed face Elaine went on, “Why, you know…about…lord, our interests! Which as I hear of it consist of many of mine, motorcycles and dancing, my husband of course, and thumb sucking -to name a few.”

Ann inhaled her shake at the mention of that particular sex act, utterly unmoored at the notion he’d told his wife the actual detail. The fact the wife would tell it back.

Elaine was smiling at her coughing fit.

“He’s got such pretty fingers.” she commiserates without pausing in the assault as Ann wheezes

in a vanilla tinged breath, “It’s ingenious really, he said it worked a little too well.”

It had, that’s true, though Ann had never expected Elvis to leave her flat and call his wife up and tell her about how his young costar had cajoled him into rubbing himself to completion as she sucked his thumb in a pantomime of both fallatio and abstinence. Ann had never felt so filthy as she had when she’d watched a married man spew over his knuckles as he hooked his other thumb into her cheek at the same time, leaving her with a knowing smile, happy to keep her revved up and hungry for him for days after until he finally caved and-

“Makes me wanna try it.” Elaine’s voice cuts through the fog and Ann is faced yet again with the fact that this woman seems to wanna chat about her husband's technical infidelity like two girls at a sleepover. She’s still waiting for the seething possessiveness and or vicious cutting down to size.

“Thank you for the flowers, that was -that was much too kind.” Ann gets it out, burdened in a way she hadn’t been before the bizarre need to be liked by Elaine Presley had taken root.

“Thanks for being good to him.” Elaine replies without missing a beat but in so low and earnest a tone it seems to warm the entire diner and the leather feels cozy.

“I’m so sorry about Joe.” Ann blurts with hoarse earnestness because the grief of it is choking her as she watches this woman dazzle and smile her way through a cataclysmic tragedy, the size of which has Elvis Presley himself trying to sleep walk to his death to end the pain of it.

An emotion, something very cold initially and then frighteningly intense, almost a little ugly in its horrifying struggle flits across, then threatens to crumple, Elaine’s poised features and Ann suddenly wishes her tongue had been cut out, she oughta be locked up and never let out in polite society again. She watches helplessly as Elaine’s mouth firms into a hard line even as her eyes grow wide and wild and begin glittering madly with what Ann realizes, almost too late, are unshed tears -and then those perfectly manicured hands fly up to hide a deluge of grief that melts that serene facade.

“I-I’m so sorry, I just -I just had to say it.” Ann hears herself whimpering out condolences and excuses and her hands fumble over the linoleum table top in a helpless gesture as Elaine’s hands are too busy shielding her famous face from the entire diner’s occupants as her shoulders shake in a terrible rhythm that is peculiar to stifled sobbing. “I’m just so horribly sorry for you, for both of you, all of you. And everybody goes on like it didn’t happen but I- I can’t imagine how awful that is, the ignoring of it. I-I didn’t think before I said anything I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Elaine.”

Ann watches as the sobs seem to slow, and then they still, and eventually, this young woman leans forward again and rests her elbows on the table, face still hidden by her hands, one of which boasts that stupendously gaudy wedding band. Realizing there’s one thing she can mend, Ann reaches into her purse and digs out a hanky before pressing it against Elaine’s knuckles in a silent plea for her to use it.

It’s like witchcraft the way her face is entirely composed once those hands drop and the damp and smudged hanky is balled into her dainty fist. She’s looking straight past Ann at her surroundings, clocking her audience and even twisting a little in her seat to make certain no one’s overly enthralled by her lapse in perfection, it’s exhausting watching this haunted look of hunted excellence by, Ann can’t even imagine what it’s like living it. Suddenly Ann’s hands are being gripped and the woman’s fingers are burning hot and clammy and her eyes are boring into her own, seemingly satisfied that they are still anonymous enough for a little show of emotion and Elaine is murmuring in a husky whisper,

“Thank you, Thumper -you see, nobody talks about her. I-I -there’s no one I can talk to…about her.”

The fact that her own husband can’t even manage it but had to find a stranger to spill to instead strikes Ann with a fathomless guilt for taking that from Elaine, but it’s not as if she had elicited it! He came to Ann himself and what he spoke of she couldn't control. Still, actually getting to see the cracks in his wife’s soul from the loneliness of her grief is a different thing entirely and she is moved to make amends.

“You can always talk to me -if it helps.” she whispers and Elaine gives her a wincing smile.

“I don’t think anything will help.” Elaine replies with a moodiness that is both entirely understandable, if a little off putting in just how severe it is. And, forever the barometer of moods, as if sensing Ann’s unease with her glumness, Elaine perks up in a nauseatingly convincing display of cheer. “It’s just -I think that after Mrs. Kennedy lost her baby and all that sadness, the people just don’t have it in them to find much -interest, in the sad parts. They need happiness and, and courage from us.”

Elaine’s biting her lip in a vain attempt to make it stop wobbling and Ann wishes she could smack the American public for insisting these women, one the wife of the President and the other of the King, hold up a perfect little Camelot for them to read about every Sunday. It’s real lives, real lives grieving and straining and trying their best, real infants dying and golden couples struggling to regain intimacy beyond the midnight sobbing cuddle sessions that have taken the place of making love.

No money in the world is worth such a forced display of perfection in the face of such aloneness.

“You should worry about what you need right now.” Ann tells her what she told her husband the other night.

“Ah.” Elaine clicks her tongue doubtfully, “That’s all real well but I dunno what I need. But you -are you what Elvis needs? Hmm?”

Suddenly Ann wants to bolt again, throat tight and heart skipping a beat, “I-I don’t know.”

“How old are ya?” she asks like that is a natural progression in the conversation, as if Elaine is going to be the judge of wether it is beneficial for her husband to 69 his co-star in order to forget about his dead child.

“I’m twenty two.” It feels like a confession under that earnest eyed review.

“Lord.” Elaine bites off the head of a fry and Ann wishes she was a lil soaked potato crisp herself, that bemused meanness simmering to Elaine’s smooth surface again and turning Ann into a hot mess under her nylons. “And do you wanna get married, Miss Margret? You want kids and all that? Or is it the stage life for you?”

“No, I-I’d like kids, and I’d like to marry.” she insists, “Just not now -and not Elvis, of course not Elvis!”

“Well that’s good.” Elaine drawls sardonically, “Cause he’s taken and happy to be so.”

“Yes! Yes he loves you so much.” it’s a sort of masochism for Ann to admit that yet somehow she finds she doesn’t mind it.

“I know.” is all Elaine replies with, utterly unimpressed.

“So,” Ann finds this ordeal unbearable enough she might as well ask what’s been burdening her, “why did you wanna meet with me? Is- is he through with me?” The full scale of her own unease finally surfaces and she realizes she’s got cause to suspect Elaine of more than just being jealous. “Did he send you to do it? To break it off me with me?” she can’t help the way her voice raises in outrage, it may be misplaced but her love is not false and she doesn’t deserve this, he oughta man up and do his own dirty work.

Elaine doesn’t reply for a few beats that have Ann wringing her hands around her sweaty milk shake in suspense, curious as to why the woman doesn't take the easy route and admit it, crow over her -once again the straying husband has returned to her.

“This film has only got a couple of weeks left.” Elaine says instead in so measured a tone it slices Ann to the heart quicker than any boast, “But no, no he hasn’t sent me to do anything. I’m no one’s errand boy.”

“Of course not.” Ann mumbles in apology.

“But he has-“ Elaine’s mouth twists in distress over wording and every delay hurts Ann just a little more from suspense, “-Elvis has recommenced his interest in me.” that’s a positively hilarious way to say he banged his wife and not the side piece this afternoon and Ann hates her for her delicacy, and all the pain and complications it hides, “And the thing of it is, I’ve already noticed a waning of his preoccupation with you and -I’m just an observer. It’s what I do, I watch him and then I act on what he’s gonna do or what he’s gonna want. And, Ann, can I call ya Ann? Ann, I -I think he’s gonna try to move on from ya, when the movie wraps, like he’s moved on from the others.”

Ann bites at her straw and prays her jimmying leg beneath the table isn’t painfully obvious.

“I don’t want that.” Elaine states suddenly and Ann lets go of the poor, abused straw.

“What?”

“You’re not just some other gal, Thumper.” she rolls her eyes -fondly, unless Ann is greatly mistaken. “But I think he’d treat ya like one for me. I do think it’s what he intends to do. It’s -he said as much this afternoon…during.”

Ann’s cheeks flame hot from mortification and anger, but from something else too. An electric shock zapping through her at the unintended imagining of Elvis talking about her while buried inside of Elaine. To be thought of, spoken of, made a part of that dynamic…Ann is going to hell for the way it makes her clench and breath in like a panting racehorse.

“Well that’s all -settled for you, isn’t it.” she can’t help but try her hand at being a little mean herself. It comes out petulant and she winces at the pettiness of it.

“Yes.” Elaine doesn't bother with false remorse over her surety in her husband’s return, “Which means all that’s left is to help sort you.”

“Sort me?“ Ann isn’t above mud wrestling a fellow gal on the diner floor.

“Thumper, darling,” Elaine sighs gently while her eyes stray behind Ann’s head at some gathering fans behind them, “this industry crafts an image for its stars like suits for models. What they’ve got for ya right now sure is flattering, but make no mistake, they’ll be happy to discard you and your new suit whenever it no longer makes folks gossip. I’d like us to last a lot longer than all that.” her eyes focus back on Ann’s and a sad smile lights up her face, “I think we’ve got it in us to.”

“Who’s us?”

Elaine seems to take time to consider that before answering, “The trio of us.”

Ann remains wary, it’s altogether too easy to want her to mean what she can’t possibly have intended. “Us?”

“Yeah, us.” Elaine grins, “Or at least, I think that Thumper and Naughty and Tink could manage something. Even if the adults can’t.”

It’s wicked that smile of hers and awfully persuasive, like she’s figured something out. And maybe she has, that throat closing fear that Ann was a replacement suddenly allayed by the jimmying legged beauty who acts so brave while having the ill luck of having a soulmate in a married man.

Ann’s no replacement for Elaine.

She’s Elvis’ mirror and his double and a fondness blooms in Elaine’s heart for her at that realization, along with a healthy dose of exasperation that always seems to linger when in Elvis’ presence.

“So, will you let me sort you?” she presses the young woman and doesn’t miss the way she swallows hard in the same way Elvis does when Elaine starts bossing.

Interesting.

“Arrange a little something for us that’ll outlast those hooligans at MGM? You gotta think about what you want, Ann, they’ll get ya on the treadmill and never turn the damn thing down when you burn out unless ya make them. I’d have thought you’d have learnt that these past few weeks.”

Ann knows she’s referring to Elvis and his insomnia, his hollow eyed spouting of the newest script and his mechanical jiving while his soul atrophies from grief suppressed. Ann knows there’s a damned dead end at the end of loving him too thoroughly. Too exclusively. But God! -he made her feel important. That’s all a little silly now that she’s looking at his wife with those love kiss abrasions adorning her throat and a diamond weighing down her finger.

Ann wants Elvis. Ann also wants whatever it is Elaine’s got and if she ever wants to really get that, she's gonna have to let Elaine’s husband go and find herself one of her own. “Alright.” she whispers, smudging the linoleum table top with her wrist, “I mean -I would like to remain friends. Very much.”

“We can do better than just that. But it’s a start.” Elaine clicks her tongue in a strangely cocksure way that has Ann melting as she watches as if in slow motion as Elaine’s hand comes up to her face, a manicured finger swiping at the corner of Ann’s lip before bringing the vanilla frosted finger to her own mouth and sucking nonchalantly.

Already sorting her out and Ann complies with rapt attention and a shudder. “I had the good sense to leave Jack behind for this little visit.” she admits cheerily, as if making breezy conversation and Ann realizes the crowd behind her shoulder have moved in closer, “Which means we could have a dinner party, us three, and there’d be no chaperone to set a curfew.”

Mrs. Presley wiggles her eyebrows in a way that suggests they won’t be watching movies late into the night and Ann’s heart threatens to gallop away from her at the thought of it.

Someone from the crowd asks for an autograph.

Preoccupied, Ann accidentally writes “thumper” on the bottom of a fresh Polaroid depicting her and Elaine peeling out of the studio lot.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

I hope y’all enjoyed, after such a long pause I’d be astounded if any of y’all were still invested in this but I swear that while I may not be as prolific in the next few months, my gargantuan plot for this universe and others are still alive in my brain. Love y’all 😘 if you wanna be added to the taglist please comment below

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottadowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

@ashtag2887

@dkayfixates

[innocentlymacabre]

Terms and Conditions Apply

Micro Monday Edition 6 was sent out Monday morning! Sign up now to get priority access to more of my writing.

Alastor McGumbo had a name almost as ridiculous as he looked, not that anyone would ever dare tell him so. He took a long drag of his cigarette and turned to his top hat-wearing client, an accessory he believed to be universally nonsensical. The job had been beyond insane to begin with, but it had only gotten steadily worse since work began; the chocolate river running across the entire compound had been the least of his worries.

“Look, you can make the ground edible, but to keep it cured and set you’re going to need to keep this room chilled. And for a room this size, that’s going to a few thousand right there – and no, you cannot pay me in chocolate. The answer to that question will never be yes, so stop asking.”

William’s face fell. “No matter, my good man,” he said, recovering with a literal pep in his step. “You will be paid in full. With legal tender from this here country!”

Alastor’s response was to grunt. He barked an incomprehensible order at one of his people, but the boy scurried off anyway, apparently having understood him perfectly.

William leaned over Alastor. Standing almost a whole foot taller than him, he was able to do so very literally. Everything was literal with William, as Alastor learned only too late. When William said he wanted pneumatic tubes big enough to fit an elephant, Alastor had just laughed – until the job began and he had to figure out a way to do just that.

“Anything else?” William asked in a voice laced with artificial sweetener. Although he apparently wouldn’t dream of putting the stuff in his chocolate.

Alastor straightened up and pushed past him. There was lots else. “With all the extra pipes you’ve got running through the place – the chocolate, the transport, what have you – in the confusion, it seems regular old plumbing has been neglected in Room 2. We’re going to have to rip up the flooring and lay that down. We’re looking at about a month’s delay there – and that’s if I can get Romey to wrangle a couple extra hands for the job. I told you adding all of those pipes would only lead to disaster, and here we are. But no matter, it doesn’t matter who was right – I was – and who insisted on eccentricity.

But, blessing in disguise, because the “cooking marble” you insisted upon for the room’s walls so that you could “roll and dole” – was it? – has come in but there are cracks in the shipment. I warned you that would happen, if you remember, so you can’t hold me liable. Ordering something that delicate from that far away, no way it was going to arrive undamaged. I can fix it, but it will no longer be sanitary enough to bake on. Even if you manage to get the health department to sign off on the rest of this lawsuit waiting to happen, no way will they go in for that.”

William seemed unbothered by the issues. “Oh, no matter. Pipe a little frosting into the cracks and throw it into a kiln. That’ll fix it right up without invoking the ire of the health department.”

“Uh huh,” Alastor replied uncertainly. “Okay, well, moving on. Those trees you wanted? Candy cane and gummy worms for vines?” Alastor internally groaned at the words coming out of his mouth. “They need two different soil types if you want them to continue to grow and putting them next to each other would mean erecting an impermeable barrier between the two, which in turn means an extended timeline and extra cost for the barrier. I would say move one of them to another room. Keep things simple.”

“Oh no, that simply won’t do,” William said firmly. He had been fiddling around with something in his hands the entire conversation but this seemed to demand his full and present attention. “Those trees need to stay together. Pulling from all sources of cacaotastic fauna is an unmovable requirement of what that room represents.”

Alastor let out a heavy sigh. He was losing his patience with this man. “William -”

“- my name is Willy. Willy Wonka. You’ll do well to use it.”

“I am not calling you that.”

“You are aware that all of these extras mean extra manhours, yes?” Alastor pushed on. “Come payment time, I don’t want you dragging your feet and whinging over all the charges.”

“Yes, by my estimations we’re already a hundred and twenty percent over the budget I gave you. How’s that? Am I right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I already said you’d be paid in full, so I really don’t see what you’re standing here for. And no, not in chocolate, although I still think you should at least consider it.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a squat square wrapped in yellow, a golden W stamped across it.

“I don’t want your candy, Willy,” Alastor pushed out slowly, forcing a tenuous smile across his face. Willy didn’t bring up the fact that Alastor had already pocketed the chocolate for himself. “I just want to make sure my people are paid.”

“It’s chocolate, not candy, but fret not! You just handle the construction and I’ll handle the little stacks of paper."

“I’ll send you an invoice...” And with those inspiring words, Alastor walked off, readying himself to deal with whatever new thing was due to go exasperatingly wrong.

↝✧↝

thanks for reading! if you want to support my writing, I would absolutely love you forever if you could buy me a coffee! you'll get early access posts, exclusive fiction, and even be able to sway production of future stories.

ko-fi 💜 • newsletter ☕ • instagram • masterlist

taglist in the replies. ask to be added/removed!

[planet-crait]

Episode 9! I think it’s 9. (Edit it’s episode 10) I’m getting confused lolz. How about this the episode I’m watching is called Weird Science. This review tested the limits of my patience with how much tumblr ate it. Forgive me if things are out of order I did my best.

Hazel draws that face criminally quick and I also have to wonder if that buck tooth is another Timmy reference. I’m going to pretend it is.

Either way this seems to be a science project of some sort though I didn’t think you could turn a potato into a light bulb unless I am misidentifying the item Hazel is using.

(Fuck tumblr for eating like half of my post I hate this. I’m sorry if this are out of order or it seems I missed stuff I just. I did the best I could this is so frustrating.)

Okay so I googled it and there is definitely more Hazel needs to do with her potato for it to actually work.

Cosmo how do you not know what a lightbulb looks like??? I’m majorly concerned. Uh wait how does Cosmo know how lightbulbs taste like? Wanda that is so mean. Cosmo!

But oh. Oh I cannot imagine the pressure of trying to follow the footsteps of a sibling who won every year that sounds brutal. I went to the same school as my older sister I looked exactly like and got a lot of the same teachers and that was hell. She’s going to a different school at least but uh. Still a lot of pressure.

Wait wait wait why did you wait til the last minute to do this project if it’s so important? I thought Hazel cared about school so this seems weird to me for her to procrastinate but maybe it’ll be explained? Oh Wanda are you more concerned about Hazel or Cosmo right now I can’t tell.

Cosmo when did you have time to grab the lightbulb again you were in frame the whole time? Okay the jeans comment was funny though.

Okay so now Hazel is uh sort of doing the other stuff to make it work but she didn’t even try and glance over the book? Watch a YouTube video? Sweetie this won’t end well. Uhh wait how is the wish working? This is for a science fair that’s a competition, it’s against the rules to help in a competition? Maybe this will be explained later? Or maybe it will stop working once the competition starts? That could be interesting!

Okay so Jasmines song to remember is silly and oh she can’t remember it that tracks. But VIVA LA PLUTO PLUTO IS A PLANET I WILL NOT ACCEPT OTHERWISE!!!

How does anyone believe Dev actually made a microchip like legit that is. Way too advanced for a ten year old to make. I have a feeling bribery will be at play here.

Wait what is happening with…everything? Why would her wishing her project work screw up all of this stuff? Wait they…had to…rewrite the laws of physics? I. What? Is this to get around the no helping in compensation rule? Wouldn’t that still be helping? Why is Wanda encouraging this behavior or her cheating her project? It might mess with Devs but STILL.

Meditation? Uhh what kind of elementary school is this? Why are their wands NOW making the fart noise? Oh Jorgan is here. So much is happening so fast. How are the wands not working they’re magic not science??? And there is a science fairy!? I mean….I guess?

The laws of physics and the laws of the universe affecting eachother both does and doesn’t make sense and is making my brain hurt as much as when I try and unwind time travel logic.

WHY WOULD IT BEING FOR A SCIENCE FAIR AFFECT IT? I don’t understand. Why did they leave? Weren’t they supposed to help fix it? Oh poor Cosmo he is getting beat up this episode. Shouldn’t Cosmo and Wanda be careful? I would think people would wonder what is making so much noise and I guarantee you raining potato’s will make a lot of noise and cause so much damage. Like so much damage.

Wild speculation, Hazel is going to finally read the book and use the raining potato’s to make more power. Nope she’s going to steal Devs microchip. Once again missing the point. Okay then.

Oh Cosmo and Wanda completely missing the point but oh you two are also so cute lolz.

With how little time is left I imagine they’re going to just chase down the now floating…microchip and use it instead of the potato’s which fine okay whatever miss the point again.

Chip Skylark reference?????!!!?? Nice (Powerline is a way better pop star though lolz)

Wait they’re just sitting and watching and waiting for the ten year old to fix it??? Uhh what? Why come if you won’t do anything for to help? If magic is all screwy how have Cosmo and Wanda been poofing around? I have questions.

The principle ate the- okay. She should be dead but physics are weird so sure fine whatever. But seems I was wrong about not using the potato thing. When did they find such a big potato? And oh now they’re helping okay lazy bums.

Okay Jorgan that is impressive lolz.

No ones going to question how they wound up like that? No one at all? Okay off you go. Principle should definitely be dead though. Like for sure dead.

Okay this is just laziness the potato looks exactly the same as before come on yall. Oh it didn’t work okay. But wow a rare genuine moment of sort of kindness from the principle and the lesson I’ve been begging the show for on not procrastinating? Thats good to see lolz. I do think it’s important for kids to know they did good even if they don’t win these competitions. Thankfully I never had to enter one but still.

OHHH DISABILITY REP I LOVE TO SEE IT!!! We’re seeing so much diversity in the show is really great to see honestly

I almost forgot about Winns project. Should have expected them to win lolz. (It’s literally their name). Aww, I’m glad Hazels parents are supportive. That’s really good to see and maybe a tiny baby nod to Meet the Robinson’s with the message about failure helping learn? Love to see it.

With how many times wishes go wrong because Cosmo and Wanda have to do crazy things to make the wish work why don’t they warn her about this? Thats the main thing I’m wondering right now.

Overall not a bad episode but there have been others I liked more. Onto the next one!

[greycappedjester]

Update News

So, I think I can return back to a semi-normal schedule.

Next chapter of Department of Mysteries should be out next weekend and that should mark the return of an every-two-week schedule.

Thanks for your patience. Here's a sneak peak (not edited yet, subject to small changes, etc.):

Ministry Education Changes Report Early Success!

Minister Daishou’s education reforms, introduced at Hogwarts this year, are already reporting progress.

For the last few years, Hogwarts has faced mounting public pressure after a number of disastrous hiring decisions by the Hogwarts Board of Directors, most notably led by Headmaster Ukai. In addition, many have claimed that our country’s premiere school has fallen woefully behind in safety standards, including a rash of petrifications three years ago from a still unknown cause and--of course--the tragic kidnapping and death of a student last year during the Triwizard Tournament held on school grounds. 

With some even calling for Headmaster Ukai’s resignation, Minister Daishou answered public pressure and instituted new reform measures. This includes Ministry pre-approval of curriculum and hiring decisions, starting with the war decorated Auror Minaho Ono taking over for Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.

These measures are already being heralded as a success, as the Prophet learned in our exclusive interview with Deputy Minister Kuroo.

“Children are our future,” the Deputy Minister said. “And we had the Ministry understand that the most important part of making them thrive is providing a safe environment where they can focus on their education and leave the messy politics for the adults. After all, the last thing that belongs in school walls is politics.”

When asked about new professor Minaho Ono, Deputy Minister Kuroo had this to say.

“Oh, she’s doing brillant already,” he told us. “Of course, it’s a challenge catching up the students after years of Headmaster’s Ukai’s, well, less well considered hiring decisions. However, we are hearing every evidence that she’s been mentoring the students wonderfully, a result we should see come with the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s this year.”

On student adjustment, Deputy Minister Kuroo wasn’t worried. “The students love the changes. In fact, I’ve been hearing from my son Tetsuro that the students are even hoping that the Ministry is allowed to do more in the upcoming--”

The newspaper caught on fire and rotated in a rather ominous flaming orb above Kuroo’s wand.

“Now, I definitely never said that,” Kuroo commented. “Think I can sue for libel?”

“The paper or your father,” Suga asked. “Either way, legally yes; practically no. I don’t think any barrister’s going to hear your case.”

“Bloody practicality,” Kurooo muttered in a tone of someone deeply shackled by the coils of the mundane.

“Anyone else vaguely concerned that the Prophet’s being even more obvious that they’re the Minister’s little lap dog.” Oikawa poked at the ashes that Kuroo had finally let drop. “I wonder what they’re wanting for treats. The Minister better watch out for his pant leg.”

Iwaizumi snorted. “Can’t believe they’re our only real paper.”

“They didn’t used to be.” Suga sighed, fiddling with his silver and green tie. “A lot of other ones were around before the war; but, they went out of business or, well, were put out of business by the Ghosts. The Daily Prophet was always the most…circumvent about their criticisms of the Giant.”

“And to the cowards, go the spoils,” Kuroo mock toasted. “Too bad, I heard some of the old ones were golden--especially the cartoons.”

“Oh yeah, they’re awesome,” Bokuto brightened. “Great Aunt Ena’s still got some Mad Bats preserved in the attic!” 

Iwaizumi quirked an eyebrow. “Mad…Bats?

“It was kind of a satire strip about, um….oh,” Suga’s eyes went to the Great Hall’s entrance. “That’s Daichi. I need to go talk to him about our Muggle Studies project.”

“Don’t you have class in like,” Kuroo checked his watch, “twelve minutes?”

“It’ll only take a bit,” Suga said distractedly, already heading for the door.

The group went back to their breakfast.

Bokuto made a weird twitch movement with his jaw.

They ignored it.

He did it again a few minutes later.

They continued to ignore it.

Bokuto lifted his toast as if he was going to start scraping it across his mouth.

Iwaizumi whacked him on the arm. “You’ve gotta quit doing that. Professor Takeda nearly called you out in class because he thought you, like, accidentally transfigured your teeth or something.”

“But, it’s itchy!” Bokuto complained, sticking out his tongue and poking at it…which didn’t really make anything look less weird. “Why didn’t Matsukawa and Hanamaki tell us the leaf was going to be so itchy?”

“Because they’re sadists,” Oikawa said reasonably.

Iwaizumi laughed. “What he said.”

“Look, just drink some hot tea or something. It helps, promise.” Kuroo shoved some at him. “We only need to make it like a bit more than two weeks.”

“That’s a lot!” Bokuto pouted.

“Just distract yourself,” Iwaizumi told him. “Weren’t you going to talk to Akaashi? How’d that go?”

“I haven’t done it yet,” Bokuto mumbled.

The rest looked at him.

“What? I’m still thinking about what I want to say,” Bokuto said. “It’s scary! I don’t like this. Talking to Keiji shouldn't be scary; it’s Keiji.”

Before they could respond, Suga dropped back to his seat. “Sorry about that.”

“Figure out the project,” Iwaizumi asked.

“The project?” Suga tilted his head. “Oh, yeah, we did. I think we know exactly how to go about it now. Anyway, how’s everyone else’s classes going?”

Under the table, Kuroo kicked Oikawa in the shin. 

Iwaizumi shrugged. “Fine, I guess. Really the only one that’s a hassle is Defense.”

Kuroo kicked Oikawa again and Oikawa turned to glare at him. Kuroo met his eyes before looking discreetly at Suga’s neck, then back at Oikawa.

“Oh, the patronus? Yeah, I’m not making progress with mine either.” Suga fiddled with his tie again, the colors red and gold.

Oikawa’s eyes lit up with unholy glee and he looked back at Kuroo. Kuroo smirked.

“Wait, why are you worried about patronuses already?” Bokuto asked. “She said we’ve got to the end of the year.”

“I know, but we’ve got the rest of our N.E.W.T.s then, too,” Suga said. “Do you really want to worry about both of them at once.”

Bokuto shrugged.

Meanwhile, unnoticed by the others, Oikawa and Kuroo were doing their level best at achieving spontaneous mental communication through eye contact alone.

“The Herbology N.E.W.T shouldn’t be too bad,” Iwaizumi said. “Professor Shimada’s got us working on cross-pollinating our own hybrids so it should be mostly done by the time they review them for the exam.”

Oikawa glanced at Suga then back at Kuroo, tilting his head in a question. Both paused before simultaneously shaking their heads.

“Yeah, I’m not that worried about Arithmancy either,” Bokuto said. “I mean the main thing with that is meeting Professor Yamiji’s publication timeline. Compared to that, the exam’s gonna be easy.”

“Sounds like it won’t be too bad, then.” Suga gathered his bag.

“Yeah, probably because we aren’t crazy enough to take seven classes,” Iwaizumi deadpanned.

“Right, how is that going…,” Suga trailed off, finally catching Kuroo and Oikawa whispering to each other. “What are you two doing?”

“Nothing,” they both answered quickly.

Suga blinked.

“What were you saying, Suga,” Oikawa distracted him.

“I was just asking how you’re class schedule’s going,” Suga said.

“Oh, that. Fantastic,” Oikawa gave a thumbs up. “Invigorating even. Nothing to worry about.”

“...Okay.” Suga stood up. “Well, speaking of class, I better get going. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“We’re wonderful,” Kuroo agreed, throwing an arm around Oikawa’s shoulder. “Better hurry to class, though. Don’t want to be late.”

Oikawa beamed. “Absolutely. Have fun!”

Suga shook his head and walked away, deciding to ignore his two friends’ decidedly weird behavior. He probably shouldn’t have known better.

[jasperhaleobsessed]

Mending What's been Broken

Summary: Edward and Bella have a different conversation after New Moon than in canon.

Notes: Constructive criticism and suggestions are welcome! :) Hope you all enjoy the story and let me know what you think! Also when I started writing this was only a few hours after the second chapter which is super cool I’ve never written this fast before! Edit: It’s been like 3 months since I’ve touched this oops. I was originally intending for the Cullens and Bella to talk this chapter but I’m going to be doing the discussion or big conversation next chapter! 

Characters: Edward Cullen, Alice Cullen, Carlisle Cullen, (mentioned) Esme Cullen, (mentioned) Rosalie Hale, Jasper Hale, Emmett Cullen, Charlie Swan, and Bella Swan

Warnings: Talks lighting about how Bella felt when Edward Left her.

…

Bella's POV

She caught me. I was dreading this. I hate to say that. I don’t want to dread a moment with my best friend. But I don't know what to think. She left me, they all did. Did they leave willingly? Did they hate the idea but did it to protect me? Hmm I guess I do need answers. And I do miss them…especially Alice. I don’t know what to think. I ran my hand through my hair, I felt stressed over the prospect of this conversation. Yes I could get more answers, different points of views and perspectives on this…situation. But I’m scared. I’m not scared of Alice or the Cullen’s I never really have been but it’s what the conversations entails that I’m scared of. She tapped my shoulder, I was deep in thought. I hadn't realized I seemed to have walked away, and that I seemed like I was ignoring her. 

I apologized, “I’m sorry! I was thinking and was deep in thought and didn’t notice.”

“It’s okay Bella.” She said, patiently. “Bella…can I talk to you?” Alice asked. And for once in all the time I had known her she was very patient. Perhaps she saw that she would need patience with me. She was always bouncing with anticipation and excitement. 

I sucked in my breath and said, “Yeah, sure. What about?” 

She sighed, “My family was wondering if after school you would meet us. We need to talk.” She had this look in her eye of desperation and hope. I think…she was desperate for me to come, for us to talk. But hopeful that I would. “Please, Bella?” She almost begged. 

She sighed again and took a deep breath, “We won’t force you into anything but please think about this.” She paused, biting her lip but then continued, “If you change your mind or something like that come around to our house after school.” She started to walk off. But then I I blurted out, “You know… I never said no.” I could not believe I just said that. I covered my mouth for a split second but then lowered it. She turned back and smiled at me kindly, “I know but I can see the future, I have seen the future and the fact that you aren’t hard to read.” She gave me one last look, the bell rang and skipped to her next class. I stood there for a few more seconds before other students started to pour into the hallway. I headed to my next class. English. He was in that class with me. I wonder if he will be there? Or is he out hunting or with his family? What will I do? The other day I felt like I knew what to do or sort of knew how to react. I knew what had to be done but now as it all is happening I don’t know what I should do. Or how to react or how to feel. I wish this was easier, I wish I had all the answers. Maybe I should go. At least I’d get closure. 

Once I arrived I realized he wasn’t there. I felt almost relieved he wasn’t there. Maybe it was the fact that I was scared. Or the fact I didn’t know how to act around him anymore. He told me he’d give me some space but how long will that be? How long do I need? What do I need to do? I felt frustrated because I don’t know what to do anymore. Why can’t this be easier? I yelled in my head. I stepped into the classroom and took a deep breath. It’ll be fine, just breathe. I chanted to myself over and over again hoping it’s true. Because I need it to be. 

It was hard to pay attention but I managed. Luckily Mr.Berty didn’t call on me, I was very grateful for that. Once the bell rang I headed out of the classroom as fast as I could. I did trip but managed to catch myself for once. 

…

Lunch finally arrived. I sat with Angela, Eric, Mike, Jessica, Tyler, and Lauren. As usual Jessica and Lauren were chatting about the latest gossip floating around the school. I had some small talk with Angela which was pleasant and nice as usual. She was a good friend, perhaps we should hang out more. After a few minutes she turned her attention to Eric and I played with my food. I wasn’t really interested in eating today. I had no appetite. I scooted it away. Mike started to blabber to me about hanging out this weekend. I politely declined which caught Jessica’s attention. “What are you doing this weekend Bella? Hanging out with the Cullen’s now that they’re back?” 

I froze. I wasn't exactly sure what to say. I didn’t exactly say no but I was still undecided. I took a deep breath and uttered the words, “Yes, yes I am.” 

She looked confused, her smile faded and she said, “Why?” 

“Because I wanted to…?” It sounded like a question but I was just as confused as she was. What was she getting at? Lauren and Mike didn’t look very pleased as Jessica did either. 

“W-well I thought since you and Cullen weren’t a thing I’d shoot my shot.” 

“What?” All I could think was, is she serious? Like is she that shallow and uncompassionate for her friends?

Laruren looked me up and down like she was disgusted or something like that. And said, “I mean it’s not like you two are still even dating right?” 

They’re both the most insensitive people I have ever met. I felt like I was gonna snap at any moment. I was furious. Who do they think they are, seriously?  All I saw was red. I was so ready to slap them. Usually I tried to stay calm and collected but not today. I was ready to yell at them and tell them how insensitive and disrespectful that is to say to someone but suddenly I felt a cool hand on my shoulder. I turned around and met Edward’s gaze. What was he doing here? I thought he was at home? 

“Hey love, I was wondering if you would like to come sit with me and my siblings?” 

I stared at him shocked, “Well?” he asked. 

“Umm sure why not.” I think he wants to help me but I also think he doesn’t want Jessica or Lauren trying to hit on him or ask him out…again. 

As we moved away from Jessica and Lauren I asked, “What are you doing?” I whispered yelled. I couldn’t help but ask that since yes I’m probably right but still I can’t help but feel confused by all of this. 

“Getting you out of there before you did something you'd regret. “ He then continued, “I’m not trying to upset you but we can’t have you getting expelled or anything.” He joked. 

“Haha.” I said sarcastically. He brushed my shoulder as he led me to our usual spot. “But next time I’m going to stand up for myself I can’t keep letting them get under my skin. I'm so sick of it.” 

“I know but for now let's not worry about them, okay?” I nodded agreeing I’d rather not anyways Charlie probably ground me even more than he already has. Wait, how am I supposed to go talk to the Cullens tonight if I’m not supposed to go out unless it’s for school or work? 

I sat down next to Alice. I wasn't sure just how comfortable I was with sitting next to Edward yet. I didn’t want to make things awkward with him or anyone or myself for that matter. But what I do know is I think he’d understand, I think they all might. 

Surprisingly Emmett was the first to speak up, “So little sis have you decided yet?” He joked. Rosalie elbowed him in the stomach. 

I couldn’t help but laugh with him. He always knew how to relieve the tension. 

“Go on Bella, take your time.” She said patiently. I was surprised Rosalie was being nice to me? I couldn’t help but feel a bit shocked. Jasper smiled at my shocked expression. 

“Go on Darlin’ you can do it we won’t be mad either way don't worry.” He gave me a reassuring smile and sent me a wave of calmness. 

I thought about what Emmett said. It was a good question. What was I gonna do? I mean I had already thought it would be a good idea to get some answers and different perspectives so should I say yes? I think I’ll just have to bite the bullet. 

“My answer is yes.” 

“Really?” Alice questioned. She looked ecstatic. I gave her a small smile. 

“But I need you all to answer some of my questions, alright?”

“Of course.” Edward said, softly. 

“I’m going to wait to ask until tonight and I’ll let you all explain your side first okay?” They nodded. “But I want you all to promise to be quiet and listen to what I have to say carefully. Because what I’m going to talk about isn’t easy.” 

“We understand, don’t worry Bella.” Alice kindly said. 

“Thank You.” I appreciated that they were actually listening and being patient with me. 

“And one more thing?” 

“Yes?” They all asked.

“What are we going to do about Charlie?” 

“Esme will talk to him, don’t worry Bella.” Alice said, reassuringly. I sighed thankful that she saw my question coming. I didn’t want to make Charlie more angry than he already was. 

The bell rang and I stated, “I’ll see you all tonight.” They all said their goodbyes and I walked carefully to my next period hoping I wouldn’t trip this time. 

To Be Continued…

[hanzajesthanza]

i just reread and annotated my second draft of my essay, by the end there was red on every page :’) that’s good, it means i’m cleaning it up, and trimming the fat.

i also figured out my lighting setup to film, i think. it was a struggle for a night or two because i had figured out the perfect lighting, then had to pack away my tripod and camera, and the next night could not figure out how i had achieved that look. but rewatching a few youtube tutorials and working through a process of trial-and-error helped me. it’s frustrating, but fun to experiment.

i’m kind of happy because honestly as i read my essay back, i was like, “fck yes, this is what i’m talking about! this is exactly what i’m talking about! that’s what i’ve been saying and saying…” so it’s clear to me that i really believe in what i’m saying. i just hope that people will listen, because it is quite long and i can’t reduce it too much more without cutting out crucial context to understand the situation. i’m discussing a couple of literary works so i have to define their kind of high-concept premises, multiple witcher medias which i have to describe and define, and multiple historic events and contexts. it’s about a whole conglomerate of things which i’ve cobbled together, but i really do think it makes sense in the way i’ve cobbled it 🥲

i guess all i ask is for patience, because i know it isn’t easy to follow such a longwinded opinion. and i also want to express gratitude for the encouragement i’ve recieved so far. and i want to say that i am having fun working on this, and the process of writing and editing is fun for me. filming is still intimidating, but i did a test film tonight with the introduction, and felt myself, my voice, realizing that i was passionate about the words i was saying. kind of cathartic to bring it to life in that way, that this means something to me and i have an opinion, and i have to admit it aloud, literally say it with my whole chest.

it’s kind of terrifying to consider, throughout this process i keep thinking of all the possible different people that might disagree with me and dislike what i have to say, or feel uncomfortable with what i say, and how to make a productive conversation rather than contribute to a negatively controversial one. because i think some people will think that anything on this topic, no matter what is said, is just going to be pure hate, so why even listen to it? but in the moment tonight filming and recording my words, i began to not think about that and about what other people have to say, i just felt my own inner passion and thoughts, like yes, this is really what i mean to communicate. there’s so much i want to share about this. and i just hope it gives voice to people who have felt similarly, but didn’t know how to phrase it. + perhaps teaching something new, sharing the research that i’ve done, stuff that i found really interesting and hope other people will find interesting as well.

and i also hope this is the start of something more. that this is the first of many discussion starters and that i continue to reach out to connect…