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corroded-hellfire · 1 year

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Where the Heart Is, Part 4 - Eddie Munson x Reader

Part 3

Summary: Eddie unexpectedly gets to come back with you to school after New Year’s. It’s nice to have him in your world after being so much in his, but the bumps of the beginning of the relationship begin to appear in the road.

Note: Thank you for being so patient with me on this story. There were many days of writer’s block and moments of frustration. I don’t think this would have gotten done if it weren’t for @munson-blurbs cheering me on. There will be a fifth part and then an epilogue to follow, but for now, I hope you enjoy part 4!

Warnings: smut, oral, m and f receiving, pre-consented somnophilia, male masturbation, racy pictures, brief mixture of medication and alcohol

Words: 17.5k

[Where the Heart Is masterlist]

As hard as it was to leave after meeting Eddie at Thanksgiving, it’s going to be even harder now that you’ve gotten to spend weeks wrapped up in his arms and fallen deeper for him. It’s the last full day the two of you have together when the phone rings down the hall, the shrill ringing reaching both your and Eddie’s sleeping ears in his bedroom. You groan and bury your face into your boyfriend’s neck. He sighs and presses sleepy kisses against your forehead.

“I should probably get that,” he says. You whine in protest but reluctantly roll off of him so he can get up.

“You better come back and cuddle me, though,” you say.

“Promise,” Eddie says as he slips out of bed. He pads down the hallway and you bring the blankets up to your chin, snuggling back against the pillows. You can hear him talking to someone, but he’s too far away to be able to hear what he’s saying.

When he comes back in, he jumps down on the bed next to you, causing you to bounce up and down with a giggle.

“Hmm, who was that?” you ask. “Metallica call you up and say they need a new lead guitarist?”

Eddie slips back underneath the covers with you, his boxers not keeping him warm enough this bitter January morning.

“Nope,” Eddie says. He slips his hands around your body and pulls you up against him. He hisses when you press your cold feet on him, though. “Hey, watch it. No, it was my boss down at the garage. Pipes burst in the building. We’re going to be closed for at least a week.”

“Stupid pipe couldn’t burst earlier in my stay?” You pout and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Well, I had a thought,” Eddie says, eyes not meeting yours.

“Uh oh,” you tease and Eddie smirks.

“What if I come back to Boston with you for a few days?” When he still doesn’t meet your eyes, you can tell he’s nervous about your answer. Why, you have no idea. Like you’d ever turn down a chance to have more time with Eddie.

“You really want that?” you ask, gripping his chin in your fingers to make him meet your gaze.

“Are you kidding?” Eddie asks, eyes searching yours. “I’d pick up and move there if you asked.”

Your tummy does a flip at his words, wondering if he truly means that or not. “Mm, better call the airline, then. Maybe you can get on the same flight as me and Nance.”

Eddie manages to snag the last seat on the plane and there’s a surge of giddiness in your veins as you think about having him in Boston with you. Taking him around campus with you, showing him the city, and cozying up in your tiny dorm bed at the end of the day. You feel like you can’t shut up as you both pack your things that evening, telling Eddie everything that you want to show him. There��s a fond smile on his face as you babble on, his heart leaping every time you come up with something new you want to do with him.

When you say goodbye to Wayne the next morning, you’re genuinely sad to leave him. He gives you a big hug and gives Eddie a slap on the back before the two of you head out. You pick Nancy up on the way to the airport, her looking just as tired as you feel. Eddie seems a little quieter than usual once you get to the airport, so you give his hand a squeeze while you wait in the security line.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Mhmm,” he answers, nodding his head. You’re not convinced, but you let it go.

But when you get on the plane, seated between the two of them, Eddie’s knee is jumping, and his hands are gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles are white.

“Hey,” you say, leaning into him. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head but betrays himself by chewing on his bottom lip. Frowning, you slip your hand into his and lace your fingers. The plane starts to pull away from the gate and Eddie’s hand grips tightly onto yours.

“Baby, what is it?” You lean in to whisper in his ear. “Are you nervous?”

He nods, eyes staring straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of him. “Never flown before.”

“Oh,” you say as you run your thumb up and down the back of his hand. Smiling to yourself, you can’t help but say, “Sweetheart, you defeated an evil multidimensional being. You’re going to be just fine flying in a plane.”

Eddie can’t help but smile a little at your words, shrugging sheepishly. You give his hand a reassuring squeeze and he holds onto you for dear life as the plane begins to pick up speed. Leaning over, you press a few soft kisses just beneath Eddie’s ear, trying to distract him as the plane lifts off. His muscles tense as the plane ascends higher, so you trail your kisses up, teeth grazing his earlobe.

“Focus on me, baby,” you whisper. He nods and you continue to stroke your thumb along the back of his hand, trying to use any attempt to distract him. “Why don’t you get something to drink when they come around and ask, hmm? A beer or something?”

“It’s morning,” Eddie says through a clenched jaw.

“Since when has that stopped you?” you ask with a playful smirk.

You’re able to distract him enough until the flight attendants come around, where you and Nancy each get some juice, and Eddie gets a beer. He practically inhales it, his fingers digging into the can once it’s empty.

“Better?” you ask, to which he nods in response. You’re finally able to relax as well, leaning back in your seat and closing your eyes. When you feel Eddie’s nose running against your neck, you startle, realizing you must have dozed off. “What’s up, baby?”

He lets out a laugh that’s a pitch higher than usual. You raise an eyebrow at him as he lays his head on your shoulder, his fingers tracing patterns on the thigh of your jeans.

“You’re s’pretty, baby,” he says, voice slurring just slightly.

“Thank you,” you say, eyeing him carefully. You spent New Year’s Eve with this man and saw him take shot after shot before he started acting this way. “You feeling okay?”

“Feel kinda weird,” he says, hiccupping over a laugh. Turning to face Nancy, you see her brow furrowed in confusion as she watches Eddie as well.

“Are you seriously feeling wasted after one beer?” she asks. “I’ve seen you down half a bottle of whiskey and still be able to play Iron Maiden on your guitar without missing a note.”

“I’m that good,” Eddie says, a proud smirk on his face. There’s a small bump of turbulence and Eddie lowers his forehead to your shoulder. You’re prepared to tell him that this is completely normal and there’s no reason to be nervous, but you hear muffled chuckling as his breath puffs against your neck. “Shit, I feel weird.”

“Eddie, are you okay?” you ask, lowering your head to speak softly to him.

“Think so,” he says as he lifts his head. “I dunno why I feel like this. Felt fine after I took the Xanax.”

Both you and Nancy stare at Eddie. His eyes dart back and forth from your face to hers, looking a little more confused each time his eyes shift.

“Babe…when did you have a Xanax?” you ask.

“S’morning, before we left. I take one when I get nervous,” he says.

“Eddie,” Nancy says with a sigh. She pinches the bridge of her nose and squeezes her eyes shut. “You can’t mix alcohol and Xanax.”

“Didn’t have alcohol I–oh shit,” he breaks off into a chuckle. “Guess beer does have alcohol in it.”

“He’s gonna be okay, right?” you ask, turning to Nancy.

“He’ll be fine,” Nancy says. “Just a bit…loopy for a little while.”

You drop your head back against the headrest and let out a sigh. Eddie’s gaze is on you, his big brown eyes basically heating the side of your face with his stare. Needing a moment, you let your eyes slip closed and take a deep breath.

“M’sorry,” Eddie says. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “Didn’t wanna seem like a wimp in front of my girl.”

Opening your eyes, you take Eddie’s hand in your own and lace your fingers. “Eds, there’s no way I would ever think you’re a wimp. You forget I know what a hero you are?” He lowers his head to your shoulder, and you press a kiss into his hair. “It’s okay to get nervous. God knows you’ll have to deal with me that way.”

“Sorry, baby,” he says again. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his eyes fall closed. Deciding to let him sleep it off but being paranoid enough to repeatedly check that he’s breathing every few minutes, the rest of the flight passes fairly quickly.

When the plane touches down, which Eddie had awakened for, he’s definitively less intoxicated than he was before, bringing you immense relief.

“Oh, Munson,” Nancy says as the three of you stand at the baggage claim.

“I know, I know,” Eddie says, reaching up to rub over his face. “In my defense, taking off had me so frazzled that I forgot I took the pill.”

She pats his shoulder before stepping forward to yank her suitcase off the luggage carousel.

In the taxi on the way to campus, Nancy asks a question that you didn’t really know the answer to.

“So, are you two sleeping in the dorm?”

Eddie turns to look at you as well, still waiting for clarification on the subject himself.

“It depends, honestly,” you admit with a sigh. “It’s Shelby’s room too, so she technically gets half of the say. If she decides to be a pain in the ass about it though, there are a few hotels right at the edge of campus we can stay at.”

“I’d offer to let you guys stay in my room if Allison was staying with her boyfriend, but I don’t think I’d be able to sleep in my bed again after knowing what you two would do in it,” Nancy says, wrinkling up her nose. The cab driver glances at the three of you in the rearview mirror and it has your face heating in embarrassment. You hide your head in Eddie’s neck as he laughs.

“Don’t blame you, Nance,” he says. “I wouldn’t want you and Steve in my bed either.”

Shelby hasn’t been back to the room yet when you bring Eddie into your dorm. Her side of the room is still spotless, which is a telltale sign that she hasn’t been there. Eddie’s eyes scan around the room, nodding appreciatively when he sees the small book collection you have balancing on your desk.

“Nice room,” Eddie says as he lets his suitcase drop near the foot of your bed, kicking his boots off next to it. “Could use a picture of your boyfriend, though.”

“Well,” you say as you wrap your arms around his lithe waist. “When I last left this room, I didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “Guess we’ll just have to take some pictures before I leave, huh? Get a nice one for you to put right next to your bed. And maybe some naughty ones to take home with me.”

Eyes widening as you feel the heat travel all the way up to the tips of your ears, you hide your face in Eddie’s chest, making him laugh.

“You’re a menace,” you mumble against his jacket. The leather feels cool against your heated skin–especially after it experienced the harsh Boston winter air outside. “So lucky you’re cute.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie asks. He grabs you by the waist and lifts you onto your bed, instantly climbing on top of you and pinning your arms above your head. He stares you down as you giggle beneath him, squirming under his touch. Eddie sits down across your hips to keep them from moving around, making you even more of his prisoner.

“Yeah,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “Ya know, we should probably put a sock on the door.”

Eddie’s off of you before you even finish your sentence. His urgency makes you laugh as he opens his suitcase and yanks out a white sock. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you watch Eddie open your dorm door, slip the sock on the handle, then close and lock the door. He spins to face you, eyebrows waggling. He whips his leather jacket off and tosses it onto your desk. On his way back to the bed, he fumbles in his bag and pulls out a condom, tossing it to you. You set it on your bedside table as Eddie lifts the bottom of your blanket and begins to climb underneath it.

“Whatcha doing?” you sing-song.

“Get under here,” his muffled voice says. As soon as you lift the blanket and begin to slip under, Eddie grabs your legs and tugs you down. You let out a squeal of laughter as you feel his hands working at the buttons of your jeans. Deft, guitar-playing fingers that they are, the jeans are quickly shed from your body, your panties not far behind. He wastes no time licking a stripe up your folds.

“Shit,” you whine, hands gripping the purple sheets below you. Eddie attaches his lips to your clit, giving a harsh suck that has you keening. Smirking at how quickly he’s worked you up, Eddie drops his mouth to dip his tongue inside your awaiting hole.

Suddenly, a key in the lock of your dorm has your legs closing around Eddie’s head. You can feel him freezing beneath the blanket as the door swings open and Shelby steps inside. She shoves her suitcase in front of her, eyes widening when she finally catches sight of you in your bed, someone clearly beneath the blankets. Her eyes dip down to the second suitcase and Eddie’s boots resting beside it, before looking back up at you.

“Holy shit, there really is a guy!” Shelby yells.

“There was a sock on the door!” you shout back.

“It fell off! I figured it fell out of your suitcase. I didn’t think you’d actually have someone in here!”

“Well, she does!” Eddie pipes up from under the blanket. “And she’d have someone in her if you’d just leave!”

Shelby shoves her suitcase closer to her bed before scurrying out of the dorm room. Running your hands over your face, you let out a groan. Picking up the blanket, you peek down at Eddie. “Mood ruined?”

“Are you kidding me?” Eddie asks, your slick already covering his mouth. “I would’ve fucked you even if she stayed.”

“Then get back to work, Munson.”

As always, Eddie declares he’s hungry once you’re both dressed and your bed is put back in order. He says this time it’s even worse though because you wore him out so thoroughly. Rolling your eyes, you slide on your boots in preparation to take him down to the dining hall. Eddie doesn’t let go of your hand the whole walk there–though it could be because they’re shoved in the pocket of your jacket because it’s freezing outside.

“Holy shit, this place is huge,” Eddie says as you tug him inside. The hall was the size of four Hawkins High cafeterias combined. Students filling the many tables around the space chatter to one another, telling each other about what they got up to over the semester break. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you bring Eddie over towards the food and his eyes become comically wide.

“How’s it work?” he asks. “Like, do I have to pay each time I get something, or…?”

“Nope,” you tell him, shaking your head. “I have a meal plan and I gave you one of my meals. While you were busy staring.” You chuckle and squeeze his hand again. “You can eat whatever you want. As much as you want.”

“As much as I want? Oh, they’re gonna regret that policy real quick.”

Eddie ends up eating three large bowls of mac and cheese, impressing even himself with how much he put away. Cuddling up to his side at the table, you rest your head on Eddie’s shoulder as he looks around the hectic dining hall. You follow his gaze to a table that’s full of students; mostly girls sporting sorority sweatshirts and guys repping their fraternities on their apparel.

“Checking out all the college girls?” you ask, trying to play it off as teasing. But there’s a part of you that was worried about him seeing all the beautiful girls around your campus and wanting to go for one of them. Or a few of them.

“What? Oh, no. Actually, looking at the guys.”

Tilting your head up, you arch an eyebrow at him.

“The guys, huh? Not exactly what I thought I had to be afraid of,” you say.

Chuckling, he pulls you tighter against him. “Just thinking about how my girl is always around all those buff preppy guys. Wait—what do you mean afraid of?”

“Guess you and I have the same insecurities,” you say before pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Was a little scared you’d see tons of pretty girls walking around and find one you like better. But, Eddie,” you pause to let out a small laugh, “you really think those dudes are my type? Are what I want? Sorry, my type is lanky metalheads with wild dark curls.”

“So, what makes you think I’m looking at any other girls?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “None of them could ever hold a candle to you, baby.”

“Mm,” you hum. “You just saying that because of what I just let you do to me on my dorm bed?”

Eddie laughs and presses his lips against your forehead. “I promise you I’m not.”

Coming back to your dorm room, Shelby has returned and is unpacking her bag. She doesn’t look either of you in the eye as you slip inside. The growing silence feels more awkward by the second as Eddie sits down in your desk chair and you perch yourself in his lap.

“So, uh,” Shelby finally says, breaking the tense air. “How long are you here for, um, Freddy?”

“Eddie,” you correct.

“Until the end of the week,” he responds, fingers skimming over the soft material of your sweater.

Shelby nods her head as she folds a pair of purple jeans that she pulls out of her suitcase.

“I’ll go stay with Joey,” she says, talking about her boyfriend.

“Thanks,” you say as a small smile creeps onto your face.

She shrugs. “Missed him over break.”

Once Shelby packs a bag and heads out, you and Eddie get comfortable in your warm bed. The cold evening gives you two the perfect excuse to cuddle close to keep one another warm. At first, watching a movie on the tiny television in your room, then after you get up to receive pizza from the delivery man and devour your dinner, a distinctly more naked activity.

When you snuggle in to go to sleep, the smile won’t stay off your face as you nuzzle your nose against his chest. Having Eddie here in your little bed at school is not something you could have foreseen coming. In Hawkins, you knew you were going to be sharing his bed, staying with him in his home. Just be in his space. The fact that you’re able to reciprocate that even a little bit, makes your stomach feel all bubbly. Eddie tucks you into his side and soon you both fall into a comfortable sleep.

The first thing that your body registers when your alarm goes off is pain. Instead of opening your eyes, you squeeze them shut and grit your teeth. Eddie, still in the process of waking up, hasn’t noticed yet. Your hand slides down to your lower stomach, not putting any pressure because that’s where the pain is radiating from. It slides down between your legs and all the way around to your back as well. There’s only one thing that causes you this kind of hell, and it makes you afraid to get up and inspect the sheets. Carefully, you try to slip out of Eddie’s arms while letting him remain in that half-asleep state. It doesn't work, though. The moment the warmth of you vanishes from his arms, he’s whining and forcing his eyes to open.

“No,” he pouts, the bed head and sleepy look on his face making it look even cuter. “Stay with me. Just for five more minutes.”

“Um, Eddie, I have to get up,” you say softly.

“No, I know,” Eddie says as he lets out a huge yawn. “Just wan’ a few more minutes.”

“No, Eddie, I have to get up.”

The change in your tone has Eddie frowning up at you. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Um,” you say as you manage to slip off of the bed. “I, um…well, I, uh…”

“Hey,” Eddie says, pushing himself up onto an elbow. “What is it?”

“I-I got my period during the night,” you say quietly.

“Oh,” Eddie says, eyebrows raising just slightly. “Okay.”

“And I-I might have bled on the sheets,” you say, cheeks heating up as you avoid his gaze.

“That much?” Eddie says before he winces. He kicks the blankets off his legs so he can stand up from the bed as well. “Shit, I didn’t mean that, in like, a bad way or anything. I just don’t really know a whole lot about this.”

The pink on Eddie’s own cheeks has you softening and offering him a small smile. “That’s okay, Eddie. You’ve never really had any women in your life other than when you were pretty young.”

His shoulders relax as he lets out a sigh, grateful you understand and don’t just think he’s dumb or something.

“But yeah, I probably bled that much,” you say as you yank down the blankets. Your eyes scan over the bottom sheet before you see the blood stain just a bit smaller than your fist. And because you were sleeping naked, that means it’s probably on your…

“Um, baby?” Eddie says, voice wavering. He clears his throat before continuing. “There’s blood on your thighs and a little on your ass.”

“Of course,” you say with a groan.

“Hey,” Eddie says, gently turning you to face him. He cups your face in his large hands and presses a soft kiss against your lips. “I’ll take care of the sheet, okay? I know the laundry room is down the hall. You take a bath or a shower or whatever is going to make you feel better.”

You nod when another pain jabs in your uterus, causing you to wince. “I have to get to class, though. Shower is quicker.”

“Babe, you’re in pain. You’ve told me you’ve skipped classes in the past because of your period. Why’s this time different?” Eddie asks.

“Because it’s the first day of the new semester,” you say as you fish through the drawer of your bedside table. “I can’t not show up on the first day of classes.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says with a sigh. He watches as you grab a bottle of aspirin and dump four of the little white tablets into your palm. “You’re in pain. The professors will understand.”

You shake your head as you grab a water bottle from your room’s mini fridge. Snapping the cap off, you pop the pills into your mouth and down them with a gulp of water. “I have to.”

Eddie grabs you by the shoulders and looks you directly in the eyes, his expression stern and serious. “Go take your shower. It’ll give the medicine some time to kick in. But if you’re still hurting this bad when you’re done, I really don’t want you to go. Does that sound fair?”

“Fine,” you say with a sigh.

“Okay.” Eddie doesn’t seem thrilled, but he knows it’s the best compromise he’s going to get. He presses a quick kiss to the tip of your nose before stripping your bed of its bottom sheet. He slides into some sweatpants and a Corroded Coffin t-shirt, and heads out to the laundry room while you step into the bathroom.

You know your boyfriend is right; you shouldn’t go to class if you’re in this much pain. But the idea of missing your very first classes makes anxiety fizzle in your stomach. Stepping under the hot shower water, you immediately wish you had chosen to take a bath instead. Soaking in the steaming water would help ease the pain both in your front and your back. You take your time though, letting the hot water beat down on your back, easing out the muscle aches there. The vanilla scent of your soap relaxes you as you try and scrub the drying blood from your skin. The complementary smell of the peach shampoo only aids in your attempt to calm both your mood and body.

The small bathroom feels extra cold as you step out of the steamy shower. If a window opened and let in any of the bitter freezing January air outside, you’re sure you’d simultaneously get hypothermia and have a heart attack. Your favorite big fluffy towel does little to warm you, but the teal cotton feels nice and smooth against your skin. Stepping towards the door back into the dorm room, you’re regretting not bringing socks in with you—that tiled floor was cold on a good day. You yelp as your toes touch the freezing floor, walking as quickly as possible back towards your bed and sitting on it, tucking your legs up as far as you can get your feet from the ground.

Eddie still hadn’t come back from the laundry room. He didn’t think he had to wait there while the sheet was being washed, did he? Just as you’re about to get off your bed and face the freezing cold tiles below you, the dorm door opens and Eddie steps inside, carrying a large shopping bag. He’s also wearing more than he was when you last saw him. A hoodie and his leather jacket have been added as extra layers, and his feet were tucked up tightly inside his boots.

“Where’d you get off to?” you ask, wincing as another surge of pain works its way through your reproductive system.

“The student store across the street,” Eddie says as he sets the bag down on your desk. He shrugs out of his leather jacket and kicks his boots off, but he keeps the maroon hoodie on.

“What for?” you ask.

Eddie begins unpacking items from the bag and your eyes widen as you watch him take out every single brand of chocolate bar the student center must’ve had. And when those are done, he pulls out three pints of ice cream: chocolate, cookie dough, and cherry chip. Tears start to flood your eyes, yet another wonderful side effect from this time of the month. But it’s such a kind and thoughtful gesture that you feel you would’ve gotten choked up any day of the month.

“I know they say that girls like to have chocolate on their periods. A-And I figure you could never go wrong with ice cream, either.”

You stand up from the bed, hissing when your bare feet hit the ground, and take the few steps over to wrap your arms around your boyfriend’s waist. Being careful of your wet hair, you bury your face in his neck and press a kiss against the skin there.

“You’re the best boyfriend ever,” you mumble against him. “Thank you.”

“I’d do anything to help you feel better, princess.” He wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss into your wet hair. “How are you feeling?”

The lie is right there on your tongue, ready to go. That you’re feeling much better and won’t have any problem going to your classes. But you can’t. And you don’t want to lie to him. Instead, you sigh and drop your head to his shoulder.

“Like crap.”

“Wanna watch a movie?” he asks, rubbing his hand up and down your towel-clad back.

“Yeah,” you say. “Can I wear one of your shirts?”

“Please do. You look better in them than I do.”

You snort a laugh as you pull out of his arms. “Not a chance.”

“Where’s your spare sheets?” Eddie asks.

“In my closet, but I can do it,” you say as you crouch down to look through Eddie’s suitcase.

“I’ve got it.” Eddie opens your closet and grabs the spare green sheet you have folded on the shelf. He makes the bed as you change into warm, comfortable clothes. When he’s finished, he grabs the three pints of ice cream and sits down on the floor in front of your mini-fridge. “Okay, which one is for now and which ones should be saved for later?”

“Mmm,” you hum as you eye the different flavors in his hands. “Cherry chip now.”

“Cherry chip now,” Eddie repeats as he shoves the other two pints into the tiny portion of the fridge that’s considered a freezer. He grabs two plastic spoons from the box on top of the fridge, and once he stands and faces you, his heart sinks as he sees tears in your eyes. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head and Eddie instantly sets down the things in his hands to pull you into his arms.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say with a sniffle. “Just can’t believe how great you are.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “All I did was make your bed. Hardly anything to cry over.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “You went and got chocolate and ice cream for me. After you put a sheet that I bled all over in the wash.”

“I’ll always take care of you,” he says, tucking a damp piece of hair behind your ear.

“God, I love you,” you say, eyes widening as soon as you realize the huge confession you’ve just made. Your face heats up and you can hear your pulse thumping in your ears. “I-I mean, I, um, I, uh—.”

Eddie stops your rambling and sputtering by pressing his lips against yours. The fluttering in your stomach when his lips meet yours hasn’t diminished one bit since the very first time you’d kissed.

“I love you, too,” Eddie says.

If you thought your heart was racing before, now it feels like you’ve just run ten miles. The smile on his beautiful face is infectious and you can’t contain your own grin as you replay his words over and over in your head. He loves me. Eddie loves me. There are no words to properly express how you feel, so you opt for smashing your lips against his, trying to put all the passion and longing that you want to express into it. Eddie tightens you in his hold as you kiss, a soft moan escaping before he pulls back a little.

“Let’s get into bed, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “I believe I was promised a movie marathon.”

“Will you watch Labyrinth with me?” you ask, tilting your head up and doing your best to copy the big puppy dog eyes Eddie gives you.

“Really?” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows at you. “That’s what you wanna watch?”

“Well, either that or The Sound of Music,” you say.

“What is with you and musicals?” Eddie asks with a chuckle.

“They’re one of the highest forms of entertainment, thank you very much. Now pick.”

“I’ve never seen The Sound of Music. What’s it about?”

“In the vaguest of terms? Nuns and Nazis. Singing nuns and Nazis.”

“Do the Nazis sing, too?”

“Actually, in one scene, yes.”

“That sounds terrifying, if I’m being honest with you,” Eddie says.

You chuckle and press another kiss to his lips. “So, Labyrinth it is?”

“I suppose so,” he says. “I’ll grab the VHS, you get in bed.”

You scoop up the carton of ice cream and spoons that Eddie had set down and climb into your bed, making yourself comfortable beneath the covers. Your boyfriend finds the tape and pops it into the small television in your room. He drags it as far as the power chord will allow so the two of you will be able to see it better. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, Eddie smiles at how adorable you look all tucked up in his shirt and the blankets. He crawls over you and slips underneath the blankets, loosely draping an arm around your hips, not wanting to put pressure on any part of you that’s sore.

The two of you pick at the ice cream as the movie starts, but the carton gets abandoned about halfway through. You snuggle back against Eddie and his arm adjusts around you, the back of his hand brushing against one of your breasts. You wince at the sensitivity of it, that being one of the symptoms you get every month with your period.

“No bra between your boobs and my shirt? Shit, baby,” Eddie says, smile evident in his tone. But when he sees that your body is tensed up and there’s a look of discomfort on your face, he freezes. “Sweetheart? You okay?”

You nod, adjusting your position in his arms. “Yeah. S’just my breasts get really sensitive when I’m on my period.”

“Oh, shit. Baby, did I hurt you?” Eddie pushes himself up on an elbow, looking down at you in concern.

“No, no,” you say, shaking your head. “They’re just kind of tender and sore. Almost like if your finger moves over a bruise.”

“I have to admit,” Eddie says as he lays back down behind you. “I’m a little relieved. I thought me touching your boobs was making you uncomfortable.”

You can’t help but laugh as you turn over onto your other side, this way you can be face to face with Eddie. “That’s one of my favorite things in the world, it’s never going to make me uncomfortable. It’s just a weird thing that happens this time of the month.”

Eddie’s gaze shifts away from you, really looking anywhere but at your face. The apples of his cheeks take on a pink tinge and he gets a sheepish look about him.

“What’s wrong, Eds?”

“Nothing’s…nothing’s wrong. I’m just kind of embarrassed because I barely know anything about periods,” he says, face only getting redder.

“Sweetie,” you say with a soft giggle. “How would you? Your mom left and your aunt died when you were pretty young. You’ve got no sisters or female cousins or anything around. And I’m your first girlfriend. It’s not something you’ve ever been around before. It’s okay.” You lean in and press a few quick pecks against his lips. “You can ask me anything about it if you want. You’re never gonna gross me out or anything.”

“I just don’t really know…anything,” Eddie admits. “I know there’s blood and pain and that’s about it.”

“Yeah, that’s about all I experience from it,” you say. “Other than the food cravings, being unusually emotional, and sore boobs, I guess. But basically, it’s just…when the egg—I know you know about eggs because you’re Mr. Expert on reproduction over here.” You smirk and rub one of your hands over the smooth t-shirt covering Eddie’s chest.

“Hardly,” Eddie says through a bark of laughter. “But yeah, I know the egg and the tubes and the general setup.”

“Okay, so the general idea is that sometime during the month, an egg drops, wanting to be all fertilized by some sexy Eddie sperm.” He laughs and you give yourself a moment to admire it before you continue. “And the uterus tries to build a nice home for the baby it wants to have. But then it gets kinda pissed when there’s no baby in there. So, the uterus sheds its lining and that’s the blood that’s coming out of me. And the pain because I assume the shredding of any kind of lining is painful.”

“So,” Eddie says, pausing as if he’s thinking his words over. “Your body gets mad at you for not becoming pregnant?”

“Pretty much,” you say with a chuckle.

“Jesus,” Eddie says with a sigh. “That’s insane. But also, kind of amazing. Shit, your body just got even better.”

With a soft giggle, you bury your face in his neck. He carefully tugs your body against his, rubbing circles on the small of your back.

The next day, your cramps are better enough that you’re able to attend your classes. You show Eddie places around campus that he can hang out at if he wants, or even walk around the greater Boston area. He reminds you that it’s freezing outside, though, so he may hang out somewhere inside that’s warm. The two of you have lunch with Nancy in the dining hall, and even she remarks on how the school is going to lose money with the way Eddie is eating. The last class of the day you have is with Nancy, so Eddie heads off in search for another adventure as you two girls head towards your Composition class.

“I feel bad that he’s on his own so much of the time he’s here,” you say to Nancy as you take two seats together in the lecture hall.

“I don’t know,” she replies. “I think he sees you much more than he doesn’t. You only have three classes most days.”

“I guess,” you say with a sigh.

“Plus, he worked while you were back in Hawkins. With a real relationship you’re going to have to learn to work with one another’s schedules.”

“I know,” you answer, but Nancy knows you well enough to know there’s more you want to say.

“But…?” she prompts you.

“I just wanna spend every second with him,” you say in a rush. “I know, I know, obviously we can’t. Given the fact that we live many states apart. But that means that when we are together, I want to drop everything and be with him. I’m aware that’s not healthy, but I don’t have it in me to care, either.”

“But you’re in class right now,” Nancy says.

The look you give her practically screams, very observant. Next you’ll tell me that your name is Nancy or that my sweater is green.

“I am,” you say, still eyeing her strangely.

“I just mean,” Nancy says with a huff. “That even though you want to be with him all the time, you’re not just dumping everything else in your life. Neither is he, because he didn’t ditch work while you were visiting. So yeah, this is normal for the beginning of a relationship. Especially when neither of you has ever felt this way before.”

“So…you don’t think it’s unhealthy?” you ask, voice timid.

“No. If you were actively ditching class or ignoring everything else in your life besides Eddie, I’d say yeah. But you’re just infatuated with him, which I totally get.”

Smiling, you drop your head down to Nancy’s shoulder and wrap both of your arms around one of hers.

“Where would I be without you and your wisdom?” you ask.

“Probably still a single virgin who thought the world was a much simpler place than it is,” she says with a smirk.

“Make sure you put that in the toast at our wedding, yeah?”

When you meet Eddie after class, he’s waiting for you in front of the library. He’s bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, his hands shoved into his coat pockets, and the red scarf bundled up almost all the way to his mouth. It’s impossible not to admire how adorable he is as you make your way over. You tug the scarf down to give him a kiss and let out a giggle when you see how red his nose and lips are.

“Baby, you look like Rudolph,” you say as you attempt to warm his lips with your own.

“I got a surprise for you,” Eddie says, his devilish grin going straight to your core.

“What might that be?” you ask.

Eddie whips one of his hands out of his pockets and brandishes two tickets in front of your face. You tilt your head so you can read the print on them more clearly.

“Holy shit,” you say with a grin. “Eddie! Where did you get Bruins tickets?”

There’s a proud grin on his face as he sticks his hand back in his pocket, unable to keep it out in the frigid cold any longer. “I was walking around, and I saw a place with that logo on it. The yellow B on the chest of that t-shirt you always wear to bed. I went inside—partially because my ears were getting numb—and the guy behind the counter said he had some tickets left for tonight’s game. So, I figured we could go—as long as you don’t mind explaining what the hell is happening to me.”

“Eddie!” you exclaim again and throw your arms around his neck. “This is the sweetest thing ever! Thank you so much.” You press a few more kisses to his cold lips. “I would be more than happy to explain what’s going on to you. Only fair since you explained D&D so well to me.”

“Who thought I’d ever date a sports girl,” he says with a smirk.

“It’s really just the one,” you say with a giggle. “I’ll root for the other Boston teams, but I don’t really care about other sports. Just grew up around hockey.”

“Well, I can’t wait,” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging your body up against his. “I’m gonna take you out to a nice dinner, then we’ll go to the game.”

“You’re spoiling me, Mr. Munson,” you say.

“Get used to it, baby.”

The two of you are able to find a nice Italian restaurant close to the arena, where you have your dinner. It’s the nicest restaurant you’ve ever been to and there’s a part of you that’s paranoid that people will look at you and know you don’t belong. But that’s bullshit, you tell yourself. You belong wherever Eddie is, and you both deserve to have a fancy date. Before you go watch men on skates beat the crap out of one another.

When you walk into the arena, the atmosphere is loud and exciting. Eddie chuckles as the two of you walk hand in hand down the concourse. This is so different from anything he’s experienced in Indiana. There’s not a hockey team there, but Eddie’s not sure if there’s even an arena anywhere near Hawkins. People are shouting cheers for the team, some have their faces painted in black and yellow, and almost everyone is wearing a jersey.

“Babe, do you have a jersey?” Eddie asks. He tugs on your hand, pulling you to a stop beside him in front of a store that sells all kinds of Bruins memorabilia.

“I don’t,” you say. “Well, I have an old one that was my dad’s back in my closet at home. But not one of my own, nope.”

“We should get some,” Eddie says with a mischievous grin. “Let’s look the part, baby.”

You chuckle as he pulls you into the store and over to a display of jerseys. “Eddie, they’re expensive.”

Eddie flips over the price tag on one of them and his eyebrows raise.

“Told ya,” you say.

“It’s not that bad,” Eddie says. “I’m having a tourist experience. I gotta go all out!”

His sudden enthusiasm for being at a sporting event makes you giggle. The scraping of hangers sliding against the racks fills the air as Eddie looks at the different jersey options. After looking at a few of them, he turns to you. “I have no idea who any of these players are.” At your laugh, a smile lights up on Eddie’s face, already rosy from the chilly night air. “Come on, help me out. Who are the best players? Gimme your favorites.”

“Okay, okay,” you acquiesce. “Well, I think we’ve gotta go with Borque and Neely.”

“One for me, one for you?” Eddie asks, searching for the two names on the back of the jerseys.

“I’ll take Neely,” you say. Eddie pulls one from the rack and hands you the black jersey with the yellow 9 on the back. You walk up to a mirror and hold it against your body. It’s a weird feeling, seeing a brand new jersey against you. The only one you’ve ever worn before is your dad’s old Bobby Orr jersey that he used to wear every time the two of you watched a game on television.

Eddie pops up beside you in the mirror, holding his jersey up with the yellow 77 on the back.

“I feel like a jock,” Eddie says, causing you to let out a snort of laughter.

“You better stay my metal head, D&D playing nerd, though,” you threaten.

“Nope, you’ve done this to me, baby.” Eddie shakes his head and lets out an overdramatic sigh. “My girlfriend has converted me into a sports bro and I’m not sure how my friends will feel about their beloved Dungeon Master turning into an athletic supporter.” His joke gets the intended response out of you, giggling so hard that you turn to bury your face in his chest.

“From metalhead to meathead,” you say, grinning up at him.

“All your fault, babe,” Eddie says with a shrug.

“Come on, you,” you say as you lace your fingers with his. “Let’s go buy our sports uniforms and go wait in the dugout for kickoff.”

“Okay, I know enough to know that you’re messing with me at this point,” Eddie says with a smirk, but walks over with you to the registers nonetheless. You refuse to let him pay for your jersey as well as his, so you fight to hand the woman behind the counter your credit card when she scans your jersey. Eddie grumbles and tries to move you out of the way, but your feet are planted firmly, and you lock your legs.

“You guys are really cute,” the cashier tells you with a smile as she prints out your receipt. Her words cause your face to heat up, but Eddie just wraps his arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to your head.

“Yeah, she’s the best,” he says, looking at you with a fond grin.

The two of you slip into your jerseys once you’re back in the concourse, then head out to find where your seats are located. They’re on the lowest level, not near the ice, but a good distance that gives you a nice view of the whole rink.

“How come only hockey?” Eddie asks when you’re comfortably settled in your seats.

“Hmm?”

“I know Boston is a huge sports town. But you said you just grew up around hockey. Why’s that?”

A small smile comes to your face and Eddie notices your eyes get lost in thought, your mind traveling to whenever or wherever the question brought you.

“My dad grew up playing,” you say, eyes finding their way back to Eddie. “He was really good.”

When he sees your eyes become glossy, Eddie’s heart clenches. He didn’t intend to bring up any pain with the question, he was just curious.

“I’m sorry, baby, we don’t have to talk about this.”

“No, no,” you wave him off. “It’s good memories. I was the only other one in the house that was willing to sit down with my dad and watch the games. My mom and sister had no interest, always busy doing God knows what else. But my dad taught me all the rules of the game before I was ten. And on game nights, we’d rush through our dinner and my mom would yell at us to slow down. We never did because we wanted to be on the couch in time to see the puck drop. Those were my favorite nights. Even if the Bruins lost, it was still a good night.”

The way Eddie is looking at you when you’ve finished speaking is the first time you see that he loves you. He’s told you, he’s shown you in actions, but seeing the look of pure love and affection on his face is almost too much for you. It makes you dizzy to know that this wonderful man who came into your life when you were least expecting it loves you. It had dawned on you that you were in love with someone for the first time. The thought that someone is in love with you for the first time was only now sinking in from the look on your boyfriend’s face.

“I wish I had gotten to meet him,” Eddie says after a moment. That brings a smile to your face, and you let out a little giggle.

“I’d have loved that. But I’m not sure how well you would’ve gotten along.”

“What makes you say that?” Eddie lifts his arm, and you gladly snuggle up to his side in the uncomfortable plastic seats.

“Once he knew you, it would’ve been fine. Might’ve even become best buddies. But at first, I think it would’ve been rough. He’d assume so much about you just by looking at you. He wouldn’t like that your hair is long.” At that you pout and reach up to wrap a curl around your finger. “Even though I love it. He’d think you’re a dark bad boy because of the dark clothes—black jersey you’re wearing notwithstanding.”

“My rings?” Eddie asks, holding up a hand and brandishing the silver beauties in the harsh arena lighting.

“Would’ve said something like you were playing dress up in your mom’s jewelry. Then when I’d tell him that your mom left, he’d apologize to you profusely and feel really bad.”

Eddie chuckles and lets his eyes slip closed. “What’s he look like? I wanna picture this whole scenario,” Eddie says.

“Little shorter than you,” you say, resting your head against his shoulder. “Um, my eyes, for sure. His skin was a few shades darker than mine. Dark hair, short, kinda wavy. Oh, and I think I have the same nose as him, too.”

Eddie lets out a small hum, his eyes still closed and a soft smile on his lips. “He sounds pretty damn great.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. Eddie opens his eyes and looks down at you.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“I am,” you say, sounding as pleasantly surprised as you feel. “I don’t talk about him a whole lot, so I thought when I did, it might be hard. But I like talking about him with you. It’s nice to share the good memories.”

“Anytime you want to talk about him, you can. Okay?”

“Thank you, baby.” You tilt your chin up so you can press a soft kiss to his lips. As you do, a horn blares from over the PA speaker, causing both of you to jump. The two of you chuckle at your own skittishness and turn your attention to the ice, where the players are coming out for their warmup skate.

“All right, so give me the gist,” Eddie says, jutting his chin out towards the action on the rink. “Basic things I need to know.”

“How basic are we talking?”

“I know they play on ice with sticks and shoot a puck at the net. That’s about it.”

“That’s really all you need to know,” you say with a shrug. “There’s referees and linesmen who will call penalties like tripping, or slashing, or roughing.”

“Huh?” he asks, making you giggle.

“Tripping is pretty self-explanatory. Slashing is if like, a player swings their stick at another player. And roughing is basically fighting.”

“Shit, do you think we’ll see some fights tonight?” Eddie asks, looking far too happy about the prospect.

“There’s a good chance. They’re called the Big Bad Bruins for a reason,” you tell him.

The horn blows, signaling the end of warmups. The lights dim before coming back up on a young woman who will be singing the national anthem. You rise with Eddie, your hands resting on your respective scratchy new jerseys. Once you’re sitting again, music blares and the crowd roars as the players take their spots either on the ice or on the bench. After the puck drops on the ice and the players scramble for it, Eddie immediately loses track of the little rubber black dot that’s traveling somewhere along the ice.

“How can you keep up with the puck?” Eddie mumbles to no one in particular.

“It’s easier on tv,” you admit.

Eddie finds the game more interesting than he thought he was going to, but when the Bruins score their first goal, all he can look at is you. You jump instantly out of your seat, screaming and shouting as you wave your hands in the air and pump your fists in victory. The joy permeates your whole body and Eddie wishes you could always be this happy.

After that initial goal, Eddie watches you more than he does the game. The way your hand comes up to your mouth as the puck gets passed back and forth, and you’re waiting in anticipation for what the players are going to do next. How when the opposing team gets too close to scoring, you look away, as if you can’t bear to see what might happen. When the Bruins come so close to scoring, but don’t, and you drop back into your seat that you were already halfway out of, bending forward as if that would help the puck make it over the line. He’s addicted to seeing you like this now.

During the first intermission, the mascot bear dances around with kids, some contests happen down on the ice, and a raffle for a signed jersey is drawn. Eddie has his arm around you as music begins to play over the speakers. The cameras capture people dancing and broadcast them on the big screen hanging above the ice. You laugh when a toddler decides he wants to shake his butt at the camera. The music changes to a slower beat and up on the screen there’s an older couple, with a heart graphic framing them. “Kiss cam” is labeled in the bottom corner. The couple kisses and it moves onto another couple. They too kiss, but the next shot up on the big screen surprises you. You’re looking at you and Eddie, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Your boyfriend chuckles and uses his free hand to grip your chin and turn your head so you’re facing him. Without hesitation you lean up and press your lips against his. The crowd cheers but you can barely hear them. Reluctantly, you part and the camera moves onto the next couple.

“Shit, can’t believe I have proof in front of all these people that I have the sexiest girlfriend in the world,” Eddie says with a smirk. Your face flushes and you rest your forehead against his.

“I’ll kiss you anytime, anywhere,” you say.

In the end, the Bruins end up winning 5-2 and you stand and cheer with the rest of the crowd. Eddie stands up next to you, clapping his hands, but the smile on his face has nothing to do with the home team’s victory.

“You better keep that jersey so you can wear it next time I see you,” you tell Eddie as the two of you head back to your dorm.

“Of course I’ll keep it,” Eddie says. “Why do I have to wear it the next time you see me though?”

“Because,” you say. Even though there’s probably no one listening to you, you lean in to whisper in his ear. “Next time I won’t be on my period, and I really really want you to fuck me while wearing that.”

Eddie groans and drops his head back. “Abso-fucking-loutely, baby.”

After your classes the next day, you and Eddie find a cute cafe a few blocks from your dorm. It’s warm and cozy inside and you decide to both have hot chocolate and split a piece of cherry cheesecake. They make for an interesting combination and Eddie jokes that when he kisses you it’ll be even better.

As you’re finishing up the desert, a frazzled manager comes out from the back and walks to the little stage that’s tucked into the corner of the cafe. There’s barely enough room for two people to stand on the green carpeted step that serves as the performance space. The manager knocks his hand against the black wooden stool that sits in the center and looks like he wants to tear the little hair that’s left out of his head.

“Jesus, the guy looks like he was just told he has to walk the green mile,” Eddie mutters.

Another employee comes up to the manager and the table the two of you are sitting at is close enough for you to hear what she tells him.

“Sidney just called. She had a family emergency and couldn’t get to a phone sooner to call.”

“Now what are we supposed to do?” the manager asks with a sigh. “The music system is busted so we were counting on her to play today of all days. None of the other employees here can play guitar?”

“No,” the employee says with a shake of her head.

“Damn it,” the manager huffs under his breath.

You nudge Eddie with your elbow. When he looks at you, you raise your eyebrows and nod your head towards the stage.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“You play guitar. Wanna be the cafe’s savior? And rockstar?”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head. “I don’t have my guitar. And I play heavy metal. Doesn’t really seem like this place’s kind of thing, judging by the fairy lights and frilly pillows lining the bench over there.”

“You know other songs,” you say. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. You’re just so talented and I love watching you play.”

“Aww,” Eddie coos, a smug smile lighting up his face. “You wanna watch your boyfriend up on stage again? New Year’s wasn’t enough?”

“This would be a solo show,” you say, leaning in towards him. “Just you, my rockstar.”

“Only if you give me a kiss.”

There’s no hesitation before you lean in and press your lips against his. Never breaking the kiss, Eddie slides his chair out and stands up, keeping his body bent against yours. You’re giggling when he finally pulls back.

“How was that? Enough encouragement?” you ask.

“Don’t tempt me to go back in for more,” Eddie says with a wink.

You watch as he walks over to the manager, and so what if you miss what’s said between them because you’re too busy checking out how your boyfriend’s ass looks in his jeans? Anyone could hardly blame you. Eddie walks back over to the table, an excited smile on his face.

“How’d it go?” you ask.

“They’ve got an acoustic guitar in the back they’re going to let me use. Asked if I could be on for two hours. I’ll get twenty bucks plus any tips I get.”

“I’m so proud of you.” You stand up and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another kiss. “I could watch and listen to you play all day long.”

“Well, you get two hours right now,” he says, running his hands up and down your sides.

The manager rushes over and shoves the guitar at Eddie.

“Thanks, kid,” the man says. “You’re saving my ass. Just go ahead up and introduce yourself.”

Eddie nods and steals one more kiss from you before he hops up on the stage and settles himself on the stool. He tugs the microphone stand over to him as he balances the guitar on one knee.

“Uh, hi,” Eddie says into the mic. “I know I’m not your usual act, but my name is Eddie and, um, I’ll be playing for you this afternoon.”

You clap your hands together and a shy smile comes to Eddie’s face as he tunes up the guitar. Three seconds into Eddie’s first song, you perk up in your seat. He’s starting with Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen. The first day you met you’d talked about your love for the British band. The wink Eddie sends you lets you know that he remembers this too.

Over the course of the next two hours Eddie plays songs by The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Bruce Springsteen, and even Pat Benatar. He really does have a nice little repertoire that doesn’t include heavy metal.

“Thanks, everyone,” Eddie says once he’s finished. He looks a little awkward, like he doesn’t know what to say. It’s not shocking since he’s never done an impromptu solo set before. As he’s standing up from the stool and getting ready to give the guitar back to the manager, a girl—a college girl you guess, since she’s young and this is a college town—bounces up to Eddie with a beaming smile. She opens her mouth but you’re unable to hear beyond the blood pounding in your ears. All you can see is her blonde ponytail and cute sweater as she chats up your boyfriend. Your eyes slide to Eddie and the uncomfortable look on his face makes you feel slightly better. At least he doesn’t look like he’s enjoying the attention from the pretty girl—even though he probably is. A thought suddenly makes your stomach sink down to your feet. Eddie had rockstar aspirations. Are adoring fans and girls swooning for him things that he still wants? Are you keeping him from that? Holding him back?

A hand waving in front of your face breaks you out of your head. Looking up, you see Eddie with an amused smile on his face. The guitar is no longer in his hands and the blonde is nowhere in sight. How long were you zoning out for?

“Eddie, you were amazing!” You jump out of your seat and wrap your arms around his neck. He chuckles as he hugs you against his body. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you for talking me into it, sweetheart. It was a lot of fun,” he says as he shoves the money he earned into his pocket.

“I knew you knew more songs than all that metal,” you say before you press a kiss to his cheek.

“Had to do a little Queen for my best girl.”

I hope he means me and not the blonde. You shake your head, mentally berating yourself for the thought. Jealousy has never been your thing before. Then again, you’ve never been in love before either.

“Hey, you okay?” Eddie asks as he tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I’m fine,” you say.

Eddie eyes you skeptically but doesn’t say anything. He offers you his hand and you lace your fingers with his. The two of you walk outside into the freezing wind whipping at any exposed skin. Your dorm is only a few blocks from the cafe, but the walk seems endless as the tip of your nose begins to go numb. It’s already dark outside, the night sky clear and shining with winter stars. If it were a bit warmer, it would be a nice night for a romantic walk.

Once you’re back in your nice warm dorm, you both shake out of your outerwear and change into your pajamas. The whole while, Eddie keeps an eye on you. You’re unusually silent and he knows something is wrong, despite what you say.

“Babe?”

“Yeah?” you ask as you hop into your flannel pajama pants.

“C’mere,” he says.

You walk over to stand in front of him. He hasn’t changed into his pajama shirt, so you think he must be freezing as he stands bare-chested before you. He places one hand on your shoulder and tilts your chin up with the other, so you’re looking him in the eye.

“What’s going on?”

“What?” you ask, trying to avoid his eyes, but his grip on your chin tightens.

“I know something is wrong.” Eddie’s been wracking his brain the whole walk home and replaying the events of the cafe in his head. One little thorn has stuck in his side, though he thought nothing of it at the time. He drops his hand from your chin. “Was it about that girl? Because I swear…I’d never…”

“No…and yes?” You shake your head, then stop and let out a sigh. “I trust you, I just…I don’t want you to compromise on your rockstar dreams for me.”

Eddie wrinkles his brow, dropping his hand from your shoulder. “My rockstar dreams?”

“Yeah, y’know, different city every night, different girl every night…” you trail off, looking down at your feet sheepishly.

Eddie takes a step back and you look up to see a look of hurt flash across his face.

“Do you really think that’s what I want?” he asks. “What have I ever said or done that would make you think that’s the kind of life I want to live?”

“N-No,” you stutter, feeling the familiar pressure of tears behind your eyes. “You haven’t.”

“What?” Eddie asks, the pain evident as his voice becomes louder. “Do you think I’m just with you for now? That I would tell just anyone the truth about the hell I went through? Would let anyone see this?” He gestures down to his scarred chest and abdomen. With a scoff, he snatches a shirt from his suitcase and slides it on over his head.

“No, Eddie, no,” you say, shaking your head.

“In case it wasn’t clear from the way I bared my soul to you, or let you see my disfigured body, or flew all the way to Boston, or told you that I fucking love you, you’re the one I want. The one I love. The one. And hearing that you think some random girl coming up to me in a coffee shop is suddenly going to make me change my mind about everything I’ve ever wanted, it makes me feel really shitty.”

“It’s not a-about the girl, I—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says, strolling over to your bed. “It’s about the rockstar life or whatever.”

“Eddie, I’m so sorry,” you say, the tears now dribbling down your cheeks. You walk over to him and go to put your hands on his chest, but you hesitate and clasp your hands together in front of you. “It’s not you, I promise. You didn’t do or say anything. It’s me.”

“What?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you mean it’s you?”

“It’s my insecurity,” you tell him. “I just got in my own head, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong, I’m so sorry. Eddie, I never want to hurt you.”

Letting out a sigh, Eddie drops his hands to his sides. He stares at you for a moment before rubbing a hand over his face.

“Fuck, I’m insecure too, babe,” Eddie says. “Like…a whole hell of a lot. You’re out here with all these smart guys and I’m back in Middle of Nowhere, Indiana, working in a garage with grease constantly under my fingernails. But I don’t go around acting like you’re gonna up and leave me for a professor or some shit.”

“I would never,” you say adamantly.

Eddie nods and takes a seat on the edge of your bed. “Trusting people…it’s hard for me. And it’s a double-edged sword because most people don’t trust me.”

“That’s not true.”

Eddie huffs a humorless laugh as he looks up at you. “Do we have to go over the whole ‘my town wanting to hang me like a witch’ thing again?”

“But your friends. They all love and trust you,” you say.

“That took a bit of an adjustment period,” Eddie says. He sighs and runs a hand over his hair. “Guess there was bound to be one with this too, huh? Neither of us have ever done this before.”

You nod, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. Guilt still settles heavily in your stomach, and you just want to kiss all the problems away. But Eddie’s right. This is new for both of you and it’s better to learn how to navigate these smaller issues before something big comes along and neither of you knows how to handle it.

“I trust you, Eddie. Really, I do. I trust you with my life,” you tell him, voice soft. He nods but doesn’t say anything. “Do you want me to sleep on Shelby’s bed tonight? Because it’s okay if you do. I understand.”

Eddie stares at you a moment before shaking his head. “No. Come here.” He holds his hands out for you, and you step forward to take one in each of your hands. “Just one more thing before we lay down. Why didn’t you tell me something was bothering you? I knew it was.”

“I knew I was being silly,” you say, tangling your fingers with his.

“Still wish you would’ve talked to me about it,” Eddie says, tugging on your hands slightly.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “But you may be sorry later if you wanna hear all the weird and crazy thoughts that go on in my head.”

A corner of Eddie’s mouth quirks up in a smile. “Can't be any worse than my mind, sweetheart.” He scoots on the bed until his back is against the wall. He tucks himself under the covers and holds out his arms for you. You quickly flick off the light in the room and climb up on the bed next to him. He pulls you in close and you nuzzle your head against his neck.

“Eddie?” you mumble against his skin.

“Yes, princess?” Eddie asks, rubbing one hand up and down your back.

“I love you. I trust you. And I’m really sorry.”

“I love you, too. I trust you, too. And I know you’re sorry and I forgive you.”

You nod and curl up in his arms. Between Eddie’s body heat surrounding you and the blankets on your bed pulled up to your chin, the chill from the night air has finally left your body. Eddie’s eyes are drooping closed, and you can’t help but smile at how cute watching him fight to stay awake is.

“Baby, get some sleep.” You reach up and tuck some curls behind his ear. He lets out a yawn and nods his head.

“You too,” he says and nuzzles his face into your pillow—the same pillow he repeatedly is telling you he loves because it smells like your shampoo. “Goodnight, beautiful. I love you.”

“Goodnight, handsome,” you reply. “I love you too.”

It’s not more than a few minutes until Eddie’s breathing has evened out and you know he’s asleep. I forgive you, he had said. So, why do you still feel so lousy? Because, stupid, that little voice in your head says, you don’t forgive yourself. It’s true, you concede. Seeing how worked up and hurt Eddie was and knowing that you caused it? It’s making you feel all jittery. To anyone else, a simple argument is probably nothing. But this is your first one in your first relationship, and it’s because of you. You’re not sure how well you’re going to sleep because your inner monologue seems like it does not want to ease up.

Looking at Eddie, you can’t help but smile. His face looks so relaxed and that’s how you want to make him feel all the time. It’s impossible, you know, but you’d hang the moon and the stars for him if it meant he didn’t have to get hurt anymore. Your hands gently slide down his t-shirt and you begin to fiddle with the hem of it. You don’t realize you’ve been awake for hours, just watching Eddie sleep, until you turn over because your side was getting sore and catch the red 1:45am illuminated on your clock. With a sigh, you cuddle back against Eddie. As if it’s instinctual by now, he wraps his arm around your body and holds you close to him. You place your hand on top of his and force yourself to close your eyes. Your first class isn’t until late morning, so you decide to take Eddie on a mini breakfast date. The idea helps you feel more relaxed and you’re able to let some of your uneasiness go and let your body try and rest. Tomorrow, you’re taking Eddie to go get pancakes.

When you wake up in the morning, Eddie is still asleep. The urge to wake him up by grinding your ass against his crotch is strong, but then you’d just be a tease because you can’t do anything about it. Or can you? Smirking to yourself, you lift up the purple blanket covering the both of you, and crawl underneath. Straddling Eddie’s calves, you slowly and gently tug down the waistband of his pajama pants. It being so cold out, he slept in a pair of boxers as well, so you pull those down too. He shifts a little and you freeze, waiting for him to settle again. Once you know he’s not waking up yet, you make yourself comfortable on top of his legs.

Eddie’s told you on more than one occasion that he’s fantasized being woken up by a blow job. You think it’s pretty hot yourself, and you’re curious to see how long it will take Eddie to wake up and realize what’s happening. His morning wood is already hard, so you only have to stroke him a few times before you lick a stripe up the underside of his cock. The muscles in Eddie’s thighs tighten, but that’s all that happens. After licking along the underside vein one more time, you start to give kitten licks to the head. Using your hand, you smear his precum in with your saliva and work it along his shaft. You take him into your mouth, your tongue swirling against the head and the taste that your mind has come to associate with pure Eddie floods your senses.

Above the sheets, you can hear Eddie stirring. You’re not sure if he’s awake or his body is just reacting to the sensation of having your mouth on him. Leaning up, you take more of him into your mouth. Though you’re better at this than when you gave Eddie his first blow job—and yours—a few weeks ago, it’s still hard for you to take him most of the way in without gagging. Not wanting that to happen now, you stroke the bottom half of his cock with your hand while you take what you can in your mouth.

“Fuck.”

You smirk around Eddie’s cock, excited to see what his reaction will be now that he’s awake. The darkness you’ve been cloaked in is suddenly invaded by light as Eddie lifts up the blanket to look down at you.

“Jesus, baby,” Eddie says, a dazed expression already on his face. “You look so fucking pretty with your lips around my cock. Shit, baby.”

You shoot him a wink, making a tear leak down the side of your face. Going back to the task at hand—and mouth, you focus on taking as much of him in as you can, wanting to make him feel as good as possible. You reach down to cup his balls, tugging gently and touching them just the way you know he likes.

“Christ, baby, you’re too good to be true,” Eddie says, followed by a guttural groan. He pushes the blanket far enough down that he can thread the fingers of his right hand in your hair. “Not gonna be able to last much longer.”

You hum around him in acknowledgment, and the vibrations only push Eddie towards his impending orgasm faster. His hand tightens in your hair and it’s the encouragement you need to start bobbing your head faster, hollowing out your cheeks to the best of your ability.

“Holy shit,” Eddie cries. “Holy fucking shit. I-I’m coming.”

You keep working both your hand and your mouth until your boyfriend is fully spent, giving you every last drop he has. Pulling off of him with a pop, you have a satisfied smirk on your face as you crawl up Eddie’s body. There’s a lazy smile on his face as he looks up at you. Admiring just how beautiful he is, you cup the side of his face in your hand and lightly brush your thumb over his cheekbone.

“How was that, handsome?” you ask.

“Pretty fucking perfect,” Eddie lets out in a long breath of air. You chuckle and lean down to press a kiss to his lips. “I know I’ve talked about fantasizing about that, but fuck, it’s so much better when it actually happens.”

“I’m glad I could make your dream come true,” you say, snuggling up to his side. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you impossibly closer.

“I’ll have to return the favor one day,” Eddie muses. “That is, if you’re okay with that?”

“I am,” you tell him, resting your hand on his chest. “Waking up with you between my legs sounds insanely hot, actually.”

“Noted,” Eddie says as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Your class is a little later today, right?”

“Mhmm,” you confirm. “I was thinking I could take you out for pancakes? Treat my wonderful boyfriend to a breakfast date.”

“A blow job and pancakes? Shit baby, you’re spoiling me—wait. Is this still about last night? Because I told you that it’s okay and I forgive you.”

“No, I know,” you say, watching your finger trace random patterns on Eddie’s t-shirt. “But I want to do something nice for you. It will make me feel better.”

“Going out for pancakes will make you feel better about the argument?”

“No. Well, yes, but I just feel the need to do something for you. I know you don’t need me to, but I do. Does this sound all weird?”

“No, no, I get it.” Eddie presses another kiss to your forehead. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to. But I would love to accompany you for breakfast.”

“I’m so glad you put up with me and my quirks,” you say, leaning up to press your lips to his. He chuckles against your mouth.

“Your quirks? Sweetheart, have you met me?”

“Luckily, I know you pretty intimately, yes.”

“Your quirks have nothing on mine,” Eddie says.

“Maybe our quirks can complement one another,” you say.

“I like the sound of that. Now, we should get up and get dressed. Because if I stay here any longer, I’m going to be taking your clothes off and not letting you put new ones on.”

You giggle and press a few kisses to his lips before getting off of the bed.

“Let’s go, lover boy. Before you keep that promise and I end up getting hypothermia.”

You and Eddie huddle into the same side of a booth at the pancake house. You’re bundled up in one of his hoodies as he wraps an arm around your waist and tucks you into his side.

“I’m gonna steal some of your chocolate chip pancakes,” Eddie mumbles against your hair.

“I’m stealing some of your whipped cream, then,” you counter.

Both of you make good on your promises when the food arrives. Eddie smears some syrup on your cheek, then makes sure no one is looking before he licks it off.

“I was thinking,” Eddie says after he finishes a large bite of pancake that he shoved in his mouth. “Do you have any plans for Spring Break?”

“Babe, I don’t even know when my Spring Break is.”

“What kind of college student are you?” Eddie asks with a smirk. “Isn’t that supposed to be what you live for?”

“Sorry,” you say, spearing a piece of chocolate chip pancake with your fork. “Been kinda caught up with falling in love for the first time.”

“I guess I can excuse you then,” Eddie says with a shrug.

“Why? Do you have plans for my Spring Break?” you ask.

“I had an idea.” Eddie trails his fingers down the sleeve of the hoodie until he laces them with yours.

“Gonna tell me?” you ask, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Well,” Eddie starts off, “you know how coming here was my first plane ride ever?”

“And how you mixed medication and alcohol to deal with it? Yes.”

Eddie wipes some butter on the back of your hand and sticks his tongue out at you before continuing. “As nervous as I was, I liked having another of my firsts be with you. So, I was thinking of what other firsts I’d like to share with you.”

“Sweetheart, I love you but I’m not eloping over my Spring Break,” you tease, wiping the butter off on Eddie’s nose. He tries to stick his tongue out far enough to lick it off, but as talented as his tongue is, he can’t manage to reach it. You wipe it off with a napkin as he continues.

“Well shit, I was planning on knocking you up before then,” Eddie teases back, making you giggle. “I’ve never seen the ocean, though. I thought maybe you and I could take a road trip to the beach?”

“A road trip?” you say, a smile lighting up your face.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s face brightens and his body relaxes when you don’t immediately hate the idea. “I could fly here, rent a car, then we drive down the coast. Maybe to North Carolina?”

“You sure you wanna be stuck in a car with me for that long?” you smirk, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“Princess, you’re going to have to literally shove me onto the plane tomorrow to get rid of me,” Eddie says.

You frown and bury your face in his neck. “Don’t want you to go.”

“Neither do I,” Eddie says, slipping both of his arms around you. “But Spring Break isn’t too far away.”

“I’ve really loved having you here with me,” you say, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Me too, sweetheart.” He presses his lips to your forehead.

“I’d love to go on a road trip to the beach with you,” you say.

Eddie packs up his suitcase while you’re in class, that way you get to spend every moment that you can together until he has to leave. It’s hard for you to focus on your professor’s lecture though because you’re making yourself sad by thinking how long it’s going to be until you see him again. Obviously you’ll talk on the phone almost every night, but it’s not the same as having his face be the first thing you see when you wake up in the morning.

When you step out of the lecture hall, Eddie is waiting for you across the way, tossing something in the air and catching it repeatedly. It’s not until you’re a few feet away that you see that it’s one of those new disposable cameras that have become so popular.

“How was class?” Eddie asks.

“It was okay. Boring without you. Whatcha got there?”

“Ah,” Eddie says, holding up the green FujiFilm QuickSnap for you to see. “I believe we discussed taking some pictures.”

“Yes!” you say, your face instantly lighting up.

“I thought we could take some cute ones around campus before we go back to your dorm and take some…spicier ones.”

Despite the cold air around you, your face heats up at his suggestion. Not that you minded Eddie having those kinds of pictures of you, but you’d never taken any dirty pictures before.

“That sounds nice,” you say, slipping an arm around his waist. “Where should we start?”

Deciding to get some outside pictures out of the way so you could get out of the cold, you start in the quad, where Eddie shouts out modeling poses to you.

“Sassy! Now, silly. Give me pouty. Lemme see that smile, baby.”

You take some of Eddie as he balances on a precarious wall that looks a hundred years old. His nose looks as red as a rose when he gets down, so you propose moving inside. The student center provides a good backdrop for some silly pictures, with Eddie spreading out on a couch and pretending to be passed out, and you hiding your head beneath one of your open textbooks. Eddie is inspired by the academic book and has you take a picture of him trying to read it—while it’s upside down.

By the time you’re done with those, it’s time for dinner and you meet up with Nancy in the dining hall. Eddie takes a few snapshots of you two goofing off, you with food smeared all over your face and Nancy sprawled across your lap. Then it’s your turn to grab the camera and take a few shots of Eddie and Nancy making silly faces together.

“Okay, okay,” Nancy says, reaching for the camera. “You two now.”

Eddie slips into the seat next to you and wraps you up in his arms. Nancy grins as she takes the shot of you two, thinking that she’s never seen either of you this happy before. She snaps another one when you lay your head down on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Now kiss,” Nancy says. You let out a laugh and are about to make a sarcastic comment when Eddie turns your head towards his and captures your lips with his own. Your breath catches in your chest at the intensity of your boyfriend’s kiss. It feels as if he’s pouring every emotion he’s experiencing into it. His love for you, the happiness at being here with you, the sadness that he’s heading home tomorrow.

The click of the camera barely registers, your mind so consumed with everything Eddie. His lips only part from yours when you need to break away for air. Your face flushes when you remember Nancy is sitting there, and you look down sheepishly as you face forward in your seat again. Eddie leans in and presses a kiss to the shell of your ear.

“You’re so cute,” he whispers. It only serves to make your face hotter.

“I got some good ones,” Nancy says as she slides the camera across the table to you. “You two are ridiculously adorable together.”

After dinner, Eddie says his goodbyes to Nancy and heads back to your dorm room with you. As soon as the door clicks closed behind you, Eddie’s practically vibrating in his skin.

“Okay, on the bed,” he says, whipping the camera out of his pocket.

“I’m gonna get some sexy pictures of you too, right?” you ask, slipping out of your jacket.

“However you want me, baby,” he answers. “Now, I pictured you a little more…what’s the word…” Eddie taps his chin, pretending to be deep in thought, “…naked?”

“It’s below freezing out there, I’ve got a lot of layers on,” you say. Eddie watches as you shrug out of your sweater, moving slowly to move out of your jeans.

“You okay, baby?” he asks.

A lie saying that you’re fine is at the tip of your tongue, but you know you can tell Eddie. That you should tell Eddie.

“Guess I’m just a little nervous. I’ve never taken pictures like this before,” you say with a shrug.

“S’okay, sweetheart,” Eddie assures you with a smile. He thinks for a moment before setting the camera down on your desk and stripping his flannel and t-shirt off, leaving his torso bare, scars and all. “Let’s try this, then. Any better? Or should I strip more?”

The playful smirk on Eddie’s face not only makes you giggle but it relaxes you as well. When you’re left in only your bra and panties, Eddie lets out a low groan and takes a step towards you. He reaches out to grab your waist but pulls his arms back, knowing he’ll lose track of what he wants to do if he gets his hands on you.

“We okay to start taking pictures, baby? Or do you wanna take some of me first?” he offers.

“You can take some of me first,” you say, mustering up your nerve. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“Hey,” Eddie says, stepping forward and cupping your face in his hands. “We don’t have to do this.”

“No, I want to,” you say, looking at him earnestly. “Want you to be able to have some pictures of me and I want to have some of you. I’m okay, I promise.”

He gives you a skeptical look before seeing the honest look in your eyes. “Okay.” Eddie nods his head, dropping his hands from you to grab the camera. “But if you wanna stop, we’ll stop. Just say the word.”

“I will, I promise,” you assure him. Shaking your hair out, you take a seat on your bed. “Now, how should I start?”

“You look pretty sexy just sitting there like that,” Eddie says, lifting the camera to his eye. He snaps a picture, and you arch your back a little, pushing your breasts forward. A groan slips from your boyfriend’s lips as he takes another photo. “Shit, you’re so hot. Can you lay down on the bed?”

Bringing your legs up, you do as he asks and he climbs on the bed, straddling so he has a knee on each side of your legs. He takes one picture like that before urging you to take your bra off so he can get a shot like that. When his hand comes down to cup your right breast, you bite your lip and let out a small whimper. The camera clicks and Eddie tosses it down next to you on the bed.

“Wanna switch places?” he asks.

“Okay.” When Eddie gets down on his back, you tug off his jeans and boxers, leaving him completely naked below you. Reaching next to him, Eddie picks up the camera and takes a few pictures from this new angle. You lean forward, smirking at the camera as you push your breasts closer together in between your arms.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Eddie groans.

“My turn now?” you ask. Plucking the camera from his hands, you notice a look of discomfort flash across Eddie’s face. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Eddie doesn’t have to say anything, though. His eyes flicker down to his chest, littered with scars. You set the camera down and lean over him, resting an elbow on either side of his head.

“Hey.” You lean in and peck his lips. “These are just for us, right? I know you wouldn’t want anyone seeing these pictures of me. I don’t want anyone seeing these pictures of you, either. Not because of your scars. Because you are for my eyes only. You saw how jealous I got when a girl talked to you, baby. You really think I’d let anyone look at these pictures of you and let them live?”

A shy smile curls on Eddie’s lips and he brings his hands to rest on your hips.

“I love you so fucking much,” he says.

“I love you, too.”

“How do you want me, baby? What do you want to see first?”

“Hmm…” you hum, grabbing the camera and pushing yourself back up to a sitting position. “I wanna see everything.” You scoot back towards the foot of the bed so you can get more of Eddie’s body in the frame. He’s half hard from seeing you in the compromising positions and having you on top of him, but you want to see him fully erect. “Will you touch yourself for me, Eddie?”

“I guess I can do that,” he says. He brings his hand up and stretches it out towards you. “If you’d be so kind.” You lean forward and spit into his hand, which he smears over his cock as he works himself. Sitting back on your heels, you watch the show taking place before you. Eddie gives you a wink as he fists his cock.

“How about,” you start, trailing a finger up Eddie’s leg, “you tell me all the things you want to do to me next time we see each other.”

Eddie bites his lip and releases a groan. “Fuck, so much. Want you to ride me, baby. Shit, I love when you’re on top. You feel so fucking good around my cock, and I get to enjoy watching your boobs bounce.”

“Aww, you like my boobs, baby?”

“Jesus Christ, I love them.” Eddie licks over his lips and his hand starts moving faster. “God, I can’t wait until the day we get to fuck without a condom. You have to feel even more perfect. So tight, so goddamn wet, fuck. Want you to cream my cock, baby girl.”

He looks fully hard in his hand now, so you lean forward and take a picture of Eddie jerking himself. You’ve been cursing your damn period the whole time Eddie’s been here, but this might just be the worst. You clench your thighs together as you continue to stare at your sexy boyfriend pleasuring himself.

“Mm, you look so fucking good,” you purr. “Can you move your hand? I want a picture of just this pretty cock.” Once you’ve taken that, you scoot back again to get as much of Eddie’s body in the shot that you can. You bite your lip as you look through the camera. He looks so ridiculously perfect. And it’s all for you. The camera clicks and you lower it and gesture Eddie to sit up against your headboard. He does, and you have him bend his knees and lazily stroke himself. Not only are you taking pictures of his body, of his hand working himself, but also of his face and how it pinches up in pleasure. How he bites his lip on a particularly rough tug.

“Okay, okay,” you say. “I want a picture of you on top of me.” The two of you maneuver until you’re lying flat on the bed and Eddie is hovering over you. You have to turn on your bedside lamp in order for Eddie’s face to be illuminated in the picture. But once you’ve taken it, you feel satisfied. And not a moment too soon, it seems. The camera shows that it only has one picture left on it. “Hmm.”

“What?” Eddie asks as he drops down behind you, his hard cock up against your ass.

“There’s only one picture left on the camera,” you say.

“I think I have the perfect one for it,” Eddie says. He takes the camera from you and situates his fingers on the appropriate button. You roll over so you can snuggle up to Eddie as he holds the camera up as high as he can above the pair of you. “Okay, one, two, three.” He presses the button and the camera hisses, letting you know it’s now full.

“Can’t wait to see how they come out,” you say.

“I’ll send you yours in the mail the minute I get them developed.”

“Think I can help you out?” you ask Eddie, glancing down at his rock hard member.

“I would very much appreciate it.”

You lick your palm before reaching down and wrapping your delicate fingers around his thick cock. Eddie drops his forehead to yours and you both watch as your small hand strokes him.

“Well, we heard about m-me,” Eddie stutters out through his pleasure. “Now I wanna h-hear about you.”

“What about me?” you ask.

“Tell me all the things you wanna d-do—holy shit—next time we’re together.”

“Mm, okay,” you agree. “I want you to eat me out until I cum over and over again on your tongue. When I tell you it’s too much, you still stay down there and pull another one from me.”

“Shit,” Eddie hisses.

“I want you to bury your cock so deep inside me that I feel you in my stomach. God, I want to get on my knees and suck you dry.”

“Fuck, baby,” your boyfriend groans, his cock starting to twitch in your grip. “I love that pretty little mouth of yours.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll wake you up with it again, too. Or maybe I could wake up one morning with your tongue between my legs—”

“Fuck, oh, fuck, I’m—I’m coming.” You watch as he spills over your hand, some thick white ropes getting on both of your chests, as you work him through it. His face crumbles in pleasure as his orgasm crashes over him and it’s without a doubt the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

The two of you lay there for a few moments, looking at each other in silence. Both of you are smiling and it’s a relaxing moment. But Eddie wants to clean the two of you off so you can properly snuggle up together. He wets a washcloth with warm water and cleans the both of you up. He tosses you a pair of his pajamas to wear as he throws on another set.

“Can I keep one of your hoodies here with me?” you ask as you’re both settling into bed.

“What do I get in return?” he asks as he wraps his arms around you.

“Want one of my hoodies? Or a shirt? Or panties?”

“All of the above?” he asks with a hopeful smile.

“Okay, compromise,” you say with a laugh. “You leave me a hoodie and a t-shirt. And I’ll give you a hoodie and a pair of panties.”

“Deal.”

When your alarm goes off the next morning, you want to shoot it. As soon as you smack it off, you cling to Eddie, as if he doesn’t have to leave if you can hold onto him tight enough. He envelops you in his arms as well, resting his cheek against your hair.

“Don’t go,” you mumble.

“I don’t wanna. But I have to go back to work if I want to be able to come back and take you on our Spring Break road trip.”

“Work here,” you whine. “Boston has tons of garages.”

“I wish, sweetheart. Come on, let’s get up.”

Begrudgingly, you listen to Eddie and get out of bed. You select the t-shirt and hoodie of his that you want to keep with you, and Eddie picks one of your hoodies and points at the panties you’re wearing.

“Really?” you ask with a giggle.

“Hell yes,” he says.

You grab breakfast sandwiches and coffee in the dining hall before getting into your car. Eddie lugs his suitcase into the trunk and slides into your passenger seat. Reluctantly, you pull your car out of the parking lot and out onto the main road. Eddie takes your hand and holds it the whole drive to the airport. When you get there, you can hardly bring yourself to pull up next to the curb and park. Eddie brings your joined hands up to his lips and presses a few kisses there before getting out of the car. You climb out on your side and open the trunk so he can get his luggage. The tears are already building up behind your eyes and it isn’t going to take much for them to fall.

With a sigh, Eddie sets his bag down next to him and closes the trunk. He opens his arms to you and that’s all it takes for the waterworks to start. You bury your head in his chest and your arms cling around his waist.

“I know, baby,” he says, sounding emotional himself. “But we figured it out, your Spring Break is only about two months away. That’s nothing, we got this.”

You sniffle and nod your head against him. That doesn’t satisfy him, though. Eddie tilts your chin up until you’re looking him in the eyes.

“I love you. And I’m going to see you soon, okay?”

“O-Okay.”

“I’m gonna bug you on the phone every chance I get.”

That makes you chuckle, and Eddie wipes your tears away with his thumbs.

“I love you so much,” you whisper.

“I love you too, gorgeous. Thank you for letting me stay with you.”

“I’d let you stay with me forever. Thank you for coming here with me.”

“Anything for you, princess.”

“No Xanax, right?” you tease, pointing a finger at him.

“No Xanax,” he promises. “Wish I had your hand to hold when I get nervous, though.”

“Here.” You take the scrunchie out of your hair and slip it on Eddie’s wrist. “I know it’s not the same, but you can squeeze that if you’re nervous.”

“My college girlfriend is a genius,” Eddie says with a grin. You chuckle and rub your hands over his chest. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding your head. “Have a good flight.”

“Thanks.” He leans in and presses his lips against yours. You wind your arms around his neck to pull your body closer to his. After you part, you stare at one another for a moment until Eddie speaks. “Bye, sweetheart. I love you.”

“Bye, Eddie. I love you, too.”

He presses one last kiss to your cheek before he picks up his bag and heads inside. You watch as he goes, and when he almost disappears from view, he turns back and waves to you. In response, you blow him a kiss. It brings a smile to his face, and he heads around the corner.

Now that you can no longer see him, your tears start again. Climbing back into your car, you give yourself a moment to get the worst of it out before you put your car into gear and pull away from the curb.

A little over a week later, you step into your dorm building after you’ve finished your classes for the day. Before you get to the elevator, you stop in the small mailroom and use your key to check your box. Sometimes there were flyers or important reminders from the school slipped in there. Today, there’s an actual piece of mail for you. Brows furrowing when you first see it, you reach in and pull out a thick envelope. Your name in Eddie’s scrappy handwriting catches your eye first, and you can’t help but beam down at the package. You’re tearing into it before you even get back into your room. Taking a peek inside, you see it’s the pictures that the two of you had taken with the disposable camera. You force yourself to wait until you’re in your room to have a proper look at them; the last thing you wanted was for anyone else to accidentally catch a glimpse.

Tossing your backpack on your desk, you kick off your boots and settle onto your bed. Spilling the contents of the envelope over your blanket, you sift through the pictures, grinning as you look from one to the other. Eddie zonked out in the student center makes you laugh and seeing him fisting his cock has you adjusting how you’re sitting. Your eyes land on one in particular though, and you reach down to pull it from the rest. It’s one of the ones that Nancy took in the dining hall. Eddie’s sitting next to you, arms wrapped around one another, and you’re both beaming. It’s beautiful. Eddie always looks amazing, so there’s no surprise there. But what catches you off guard is how beautiful you look. There was nothing special about how you looked that day: bundled up in warm clothes, hair let loose, minimal makeup. But the joy and happiness from within is clearly radiating out of you. Eddie’s love is making you glow. Tears fill your eyes, but they’re not the least bit sad. Holding this picture proof in your hands of how you and Eddie make one another feel is almost overwhelming. You weren’t aware you were capable of producing this much love to give to another person. What’s more incredible is that you feel it from him as well. You can feel his love, like a tether that is bonding you no matter how far apart you are at the moment. That tether will always bring the two of you back together. The thought makes you chuckle. Eddie tethered to you.

Which means Eddie’s stuck with you, whether he likes it or not. But the most amazing part is, he doesn’t just like it, he loves it.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #WTHI

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sleepingdeath-slashers · 1 year

Note

Ooh so could you do a Tiffany x gender neutral reader where at the scene when tiff had chucky in his cage, she mentions how she got over him and is now dating reader who Tiff just rabbles about them?

And please take your time on this I don’t wanna seem like one of the impatient readers so do your best!

she moved on ; t. valentine hcs

thank you for requesting, anon

reader is assumed as gender neutral

minors please do not interact with my content

she hadn’t thought about her ex in a long time — mourning him for more than long enough when he’d initially passed away before making a point of trying to move on

she’d had plenty of flings over the years — tiffany was incredibly attractive so there was no shortage of men and women ready to hop in bed with her — but nobody ever stayed for long

not until you, that is

you, who was able to make her laugh without any effort

you, who didn’t judge her for her past and helped her take the steps she needed to fully detach herself from chucky

you, who kept a photo of her in your wallet/purse and who would proudly introduce her as your girlfriend to anyone you met

you, who watched all her favourite films with her and who would get wrapped up in the plot without complaining about them being ‘unrealistic’ or ‘silly’

you, who loved her for her mind and her humour and not just her body

you

just you

and yet despite all of that she still couldn’t seem to get away from charles for long because here he was, miraculously not dead and a hell of a lot shorter and more plastic-looking than she remembered

she’d seen his death reported on in the paper

she’d been going to therapy to talk about their relationship and how she was dealing with his loss

she’d moved on and was happy with you — even looking at wedding venues (even if you hadn’t been together very long, but when you know you know)

she’d done everything right and still he’d managed to come back into her life like nothing had happened

it made her angry

it made her sick

so she trapped him in a baby cage and went out for a smoke, ranting with the front door of her trailer open as she made some very pointed gestures and remarks to her ex

how dare he do this to her! how fucking dare he!

who the fuck did he think he was?

why couldn’t he just let her live her life in peace?

couldn’t he see that she was finally — fucking finally — happy after all of the shit he’d put her through?

the sheer audacity had her tonguing the inside of her cheek and reaching for her lighter — she didn’t have enough cigarettes to deal with his shit right now

frankly there weren’t enough cigarettes in the world at all to help her deal with his bullshit, but that was besides the point

she takes a drag from her second cig and now she’s stopped pacing — leaning on the doorframe and facing him head on with more disappointment and sadness that outright animosity

and somehow that scares him more than when she was ranting and raving and screaming at him

she asks why he can’t just let her have one good thing — but it’s not really a question and he knows it and he doesn’t even get to contemplate answering and manipulating her before she continues

she talks about you, about how she’s finally happy for the first time in forever and of course he has to come in and turn it all to shit (she spits the last word like it burns her tongue and continues in a dreamier voice, the ghost of a smile worming its way onto her lips)

‘they’re real sweet, ya know?’ (he doesn’t and she knows it but she continues), ‘they make me happy. we have fun together’

he says that they did too, jumping at the opportunity to reel her back in, but she chokes out a laugh and kicks his baby gate, causing his plastic body to stumble back

she scoffs at him and reaffirms that ‘fun’ doesn’t just mean being an adrenaline junkie — but even then that you don’t put her down or discourage her from doing what she enjoys

you let her have real hobbies, not just ones that benefit you — you even watch cheesy chick flicks with her and, pray tell, when did he ever bother to do the same?

never, that’s when

chucky tries to reel her back in again, recalling the fun they used to have — but he’s already lost

he lost before he even turned up at her front door because tiffany valentine has moved on

she doesn’t just want kink sex and excitement — she dreams of domesticity and marriage and love

her days of blood shed and murder are (mostly) over and have been since she settled down

since she fell in love with you

you with your smiles and your gentle touches and your humour that makes her laugh so hard her cheeks and sides ache

you who reaches out first and who doesn’t leave her high and dry and wanting like charles did

you who she loves, really truly loves, and who she’d never even dream of leaving

so she grabs a bottle of wine and tells chucky to keep on talking — because he may not have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning her over, but by god is it cathartic to watch him beg

… maybe she’d even call you up and give him a live show of every single reason, position and sound why you’re a far sight better than he ever was

#minors dni #sleepingdeath slashers #tiffany valentine #tiffany valentine x reader #gender neutral reader #fluff headcanons #slasher x reader #female x reader #sleepingdeath #fluff #fluff hcs

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forever-rogue · 2 years

Note

This idea has been stuck in my mind for a while. Eddie asks the reader to Prom. She obviously says yes. Then when at the Prom they get made fun of and teased by Jason and the other kids. Eddie is used to it but the reader isn’t and gets sad. Eddie takes the reader home and comforts her. It ends in very soft smut (reader is a virgin). And aftercare. <3

AN | I’m just going to say this is Best Boyfriend Eddie and he’s just…wonderful! Enjoy 🥰

Warnings | Language, Beginnings of smut (nothing explicit)

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.7k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You weren’t going to make a big deal of prom. You totally weren’t because one, it seemed overrated, and two, it totally wasn’t your scene. But when you’d heard the theme, you couldn’t help the fact that your interest was piqued. Curiosity was only natural, right? And it wasn’t like you were suddenly planning on going. It wasn’t like you even had someone that would want to go with you.

There was absolutely someone that you wanted to go with, but you wouldn’t ask him in a million years. He probably would have just laughed in your face and thought you were making a joke. Which is also precisely why you were never going to tell him how you truly felt about him…you know, the whole I’m in love with you thing seemed too much.

“Hey,” you were pulled out of your own thoughts as Eddie sat down next to you in science. You offered him a sheepish smile, as if you were worried that he’d heard your internal monologue on both prom and your love for him, “everything alright, princess? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” you replied but your voice was a high pitched squeak and caused him to raise an eyebrow. You swallowed and tried to regain yourself as you looked at him with what you hoped was a normal expression, “just tired is all.”

He made a small sound in the back of his throat as he tried to get a read on you. No way was he going to buy your little cop out excuse. For now he decided to give you a pass, “so I had an idea.”

“Oh? Cherish the thought - Eddie Munson had an idea,” there you were, back to teasing him already. He scoffed playfully before nudging your leg with his, causing shivers to run down your spine.

“Prom is coming up.”

“Yeah?” your cheeks warmed up as you tried to keep it casual and not like your heart was about to burst from your chest, “and?”

“It’s my last opportunity to go and I thought maybe I would go…”

“You, Edward Munson-”

“Don’t use my full name!”

“You, Eddie Munson,” you looked at him with wide eyes and a nervous expression, “want to go to prom?”

“Mhmm,” he looked so pleased with how he managed to shock you. Your mind was reeling and your heart was sinking with the realization that he might have someone in mind that he wants to go with…someone that wasn’t you. And you were fully aware of the fact that he didn’t feel the same way about you, but it would still hurt to see him with someone else. It was a selfish thought and you tried to push it far away, “you okay, space case?”

“What? Yeah…sorry,” oh fuck. He was going to know what was going on in your head and he was going to hate you and never speak to you again. He was going to think it was weird and creepy that his best friend was in love with him. He was going to make fun of you…he was going to-

“So, what do you say?” he was looking at you with those big, soft puppy eyes and blinked in confusion which only caused him to smile wider.

“To what?”

“To going - jeeze I guess you really are out of it today - to going to prom with me?” your eyes widened at his question. There was no he was seriously asking this question, “yes, you. W-would you go to prom with me?”

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation and quickly grew embarrassed by your quick response. But Eddie’s smile only grew larger, “but Eds, why-”

“Mr. Munson,” you both turned and looked at Ms. Gallagher, "please quit distracting your fellow students. Unless there's something you'd like to share with the class."

"N-no," his cheeks flushed a pretty pastel pink as you bit your lip and stared at your notebook. This all felt like some sort of wild fever dream from Eddie wanting to go to prom, to Eddie wanting to go to prom with you. He nudged your foot with his as you turned to him and gave him a small smile that matched his.

In order to prevent either of you getting into further trouble, you ripped a piece of paper out of your notebook and hastily scribbled are you sure you want to go to prom with me?

You slid it across the black lab table top and he quickly read it before shaking his head in amusement. He wrote back slowly, almost as if he really was trying to torture you with his response. But after a few moments of tense silence - only tense on your part - he pushed back the paper back to you.

I’ve never been more sure of anything.

The way your face lit up was worth it a million times over and Eddie could barely contain his own grin. He would have asked over and over again if he kept getting to see you smile like that. The girl of his dreams had just agreed to prom with him, that was almost as weird as him actually wanting to go to prom - what a wild day it had turned out to be.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time the evening of prom rolled around you were feeling incredibly…nervous. It was an emotion you’d almost never experienced around Eddie. But here you were pacing around the living room as you waited for him to pick you up, stopping to glance at yourself every once in a while in the mirror. You were happy with how your hair and makeup had turned out, but you were especially in love with your dress.

It was an old black lace dress you’d found randomly at a thrift store, but you’d done work on it and made it all a custom dress all for yourself and paired it with a pair of pretty mary janes you’d treated yourself to. You hoped Eddie would like it and think you were pretty; it didn’t matter, but it still would have been nice.

When the doorbell rang you jumped in surprise, despite expecting it, taking a moment to collect yourself before nearly tripping over your own feet in excitement to answer the door. You opened the door breathlessly and found Eddie on the other side, looking as handsome as ever with a megawatt smile on his face.

“Eddie,” you grinned at him as you drank in the very pretty picture he presented. He must have read your mind because he too was dressed in all black - well fitted trousers and dress shirt along with a tie. You didn’t even know he owned a tie…your bet was that it was Wayne’s. His roguish curls had even been tamed a little bit to make them less frizzy and more defined, “you look…wow. Really good.”

“You look beautiful,” there was a boyish grin on his face and he rocked back and forth on his heels in excitement. Your entire body warmed up as you waved a hand to dismiss his compliment.

“You don’t have to say it,” you insisted softly, “it’s okay.”

“You know me well enough to know that I would never lie,” he gently reassured you as he could see you perk up, “and more importantly, I would never lie to you, princess. I mean it, you look beautiful. You always look beautiful though, so I’m not surprised. I really like your dress, pretty girl.”

“I…Eds-”

“Come on,” he held his hand out to you and you eagerly accepted and slid your own into his, marveling at the fact that despite his calloused fingertips and rough palms, his touch still managed to be so gentle, “let’s go to prom, have a good time, and enjoy the fact that we’ll be out of the hellhole that is Hawkins High soon enough!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d always wondered what prom would be like, and it still managed to top your expectations. It was actually fun, especially with the fact that you were there with Eddie; there was no one else you could have imagined this with.

“Hey - I’m going to grab us some drinks, okay?” his cheeks were flushed and you were both messes from being on the dancefloor. You didn’t even mind the annoyed and rude looks and stares that were being thrown your way. You nodded happily as he gave your arm a gentle squeeze and flounced across the gym to where the drinks were.

You stood there, smiling to yourself…until you heard a wolf-whistle coming from behind you. Despite knowing better, you turned around to find the source and internally groaned when you saw that it was Jason Carver and his cronies.

Before you could turn around and pretend that you hadn't heard anything, you felt a rough hand on your arm. There was Jason, smiling at you with a condescending smile, "look who came out to prom. Munson's little girlfriend."

"I-I'm not his-"

"Did no one else ask you?" He pretended to give you a sad little smile as you felt embarrassment course through your veins, "how sad. But seeing this little dress, that's probably a good thing."

"Can you please…I didn't do anything to you," tears were already starting to well up in your eyes. He laughed, the dark sound sent a shiver down your spine.

"Did you make it yourself? How cute. You know, you could be good for something," he'd leaned in and his hot breath fanned across your face, "you could get on those knees and suck my c-"

Before he could say anything else Jason was covered in sticky, sweet fruit punch. You looked up and found Eddie glowering at him, "shut the fuck up, Carver. Go be a dick somewhere else. Fucking pathetic, man."

"Aww, the freak is here to save his dumb little bitch," Eddie had his fist raised, but your wrapped your fingers around his wrist and shook your head.

"He's not worth it," you whispered softly. He dropped his hand and nodded, letting you pull him away.

"Angel-"

"Can you just take me home?" The sadness in your voice almost broke his heart, "please?"

"Of course," he promised softly as he took your hand in his, "whatever you want."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As soon as he parked his van in your driveway, you were ready to jump out. Before you could, Eddie held onto your arm and gently held you back, "thanks for the ride, Eds. I really appreciate it - you."

“Angel, wait - do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently and his tenderness almost caused you to cry again. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth and shook your head.

“Not really,” you shrugged, “I’m probably just going to go to bed.”

“Do you want to watch a movie or something? We can get a pizza and soda and hang out,” he hated the idea of you going home to an empty, dark house. He hated the idea of you being so upset - and alone - even more. You opened the door fully and slid onto the pavement and remained silent for a moment.

“Thanks again,” you walked towards the door and made it about halfway before you heard him slam his door and run after you. You stopped and turned to him; the fact that he was willing to fight for this, to fight for you to let him in made your heart so full.

“Alright, I’m not asking,” he said softly, “I’m going to come in, we’re going to order pizza and watch a movie. I’m not taking no for an answer, princess.”

You looked at his big brown eyes for a moment, and before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him and tightly held onto him. It only took him a moment to catch up and hug you back just as fiercely.

After a few moments, you took his hand and led him into the house, wasting no time in pulling him up to your room. It wasn’t odd considering he’d been in this position so many times in the past. He dramatically flopped down onto your bed, which made you giggle a little bit, “there’s my girl.”

“Eddie-”

“He’s a huge fuckin’ prick,” he insisted as you nodded; of course you knew it was true but it still hurt, “and he’s so wrong. He wishes he could have someone like you. You’re…so wonderful, so funny, kind, smart, and beautiful. I want you to know that.”

“Eds,” you stood in front of him and flailed your arms around, “you’re my friend, but you don’t need to say all that to just make me feel better.”

“I’m not…I’m not just saying it,” he insisted softly, “I mean it. I...I’m not just your friend - I don’t wanna just be your friend, angel.”

“What do you mean?” your heart was about to burst through your ribcage as you looked at him with doe eyes that would be the death of him, “Eds?”

“I wanna be…your boyfriend,” he said nervously as you looked at him in surprise, “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you that for a long time and I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you that I’m in love with you.”

“Eddie,” you stepped closer to him and he held out his hand. You looked at it for a moment, feeling shy and nervous before you took it and let him pull you into his lap. You brought your hands to his face and delicately cradled it tenderly for leaning in and kissing him softly. It was nothing more than a sweet, chaste little kiss, but when you pulled back, he was beaming at you, “I’m in love with you too.”

“Yeah?” he asked sweetly as you just nodded eagerly. Not only was your dream coming true, but so was his; two fools in love but no longer so blind, “can I kiss you again?”

“Yes please,” within seconds he pressed his lips to yours, kissing you with more and more passion with each passing second. Kissing Eddie felt like a literal dream and better than anything you could ever have dreamed up. You couldn’t believe that this was actually happening.

One thing led to another, slowly, sweetly, and with a lot of love, and you soon found yourself under Eddie, caged into between his arms. You were looking at him with such tenderness that he couldn’t help the small sound that escaped his lips, “you’re so beautiful, angel. In every single way.”

“So are you,” you promised, “you’re everything to me.”

He leaned down to kiss you again, and you could feel his hardness pressing against your leg. You were incredibly turned on as well, sure you’d soaked through your panties, but you grew slightly nervous, “E-eddie. I-I’m a…I’m a virgin. I hope that’s not…weird for you.”

“No, of course not,” he nudged your nose with his before peppering kisses all over your face which caused you to relax, “wanna know a secret?”

“Mhmm.”

“I’m a virgin too,” you looked at him in surprise but he nodded to confirm what he had said was true, “we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. We can wait - I’ll wait for you forever, you’re worth it.”

“I want this too,” and oh. You really did; you’d always imagined that your first time would be with him and now it was actually happening, “I’m ready if you are…can you just…be gentle?”

“Of course,” he said in earnest as he sat back on his haunches. You could see his cheeks turn a bright red as he floundered for a moment, “I, ugh…I have some condoms in the van. I’ll go and get them.”

You looked at him for a moment, with nothing short of pure adoration, before bursting into a small bit of laughter. He looked surprised but when he realized that you weren’t laughing at him, “Eddie Munson. Did you bring condoms thinking we’d have sex?!”

“I mean no,” he grinned sheepishly, “but I figured it’s better to be prepared, ya know?”

“Yeah,” you leaned up and pulled him back to your lips, “I love you, Eddie Munson. I really do.”

“I love you too, angel,” he pressed his forehead against yours before letting out a nervous huff of laughter, “so much.”

“Eds?”

“Princess?”

“Go and get the condoms,” you insisted with a smile and gentle push as he gave you a small salute, “I love you, dork.”

“I love you!”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader

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oldfashioned-lovergirl · 5 months

Text

my boy only breaks his favourite toys — lewis hamilton x nico rosberg (full work)

chapter 3 - touch me

tags: angst, smut, drinking, semi-public nsfw

summary: 2015. it’s lewis’ birthday. nico shows up

Lewis didn’t feel very much excited to celebrate his birthday that night.

He won the last race and he was happy about it, but as usual that caused him to fight with his best friend. He was so tired of their on-and-off unofficial relationship, which was more off than ever. Nico almost didn’t talk to him at all. They were just friends with benefits that weren’t even friends anymore. And Lewis wasn’t getting any benefit from the situation either.

When racing Lewis was invincible and he didn’t cared about anything but to win. But when the weekend was over, he missed holding Nico, spending time with him, kissing him without any rage or any post podium adrenaline.

After the last race, Nico wanted definitive closure. “For real this time” he had said.

Lewis felt incredibly sad all the time since then. It already happened and they managed to get back together anyway, but he feared they couldn’t fix it this time.

Nico didn’t come to the party, nor called to say happy birthday. Lewis spent the day checking the phone, desperately looking for any text message. All in vain. His heart was aching by the end of the day.

However, after a few drinks, the feeling was almost gone. With his small group of friends, Lewis decided to keep having fun in an exclusive club in Monaco. He didn’t really want to stop and make way to the heartache coming back.

The car ride to the club was crazy, everybody was super excited, and the club was a nice place, full of famous people. Music loud enough he couldn’t hear his own thoughts.

He was sitting on a couch, laughing with one his friend, a beautiful girl sitting on his lap and one by his side, when he spotted a face in the crowd he could recognise among thousands.

Nico Rosberg approached the group of guys. He was wearing a white shirt under a black open gilet and dark jeans. Lewis couldn’t believe his eyes. Was he already that drunk he was imagining his now ex lover?

“Hi.” Nico’s glance lingered for a second on the girl on his lap, then quickly returned on him.

Safe to say all his friends’ were on Nico.

Lewis excused himself to the girl and stood up. He softly put his hand on Nico’s arm and made his way with him towards a more isolated side of the place. His heart was pounding so violently he began to fear it would come out of his chest.

“You’re here.” Lewis’ eyes were full of hope. If he was sober, he would’ve probably been furious, but God, he could’ve asked him to get on his knees right there in front of everyone and he would’ve do it without hesitation.

“I–“ Nico put his hands on his pockets, gazing down on his feet. “I wanted to congratulate you for the last race. I’m sorry for how I behaved after that. I wasn’t feeling quite myself.”

Those weren’t a lot of words, it was rather a poorly formulated apology, however Lewis had forgiven him as soon as he saw his blond hair and unmistakable figure walk up from the crowd.

“So… 30 years old.” Nico’s lips turned in a little smile. “You will forever be a that kid in my eyes. Happy birthday.”

Nico didn’t look okay. He looked exactly like someone who also spent days overthinking, picking up the phone and then immediately changing his mind and putting it back down. Hell, he looked like he cried his eyes out. Like he was doubting all his life choices.

But again, Lewis was way too drunk to process or even notice all of this. He was just euphoric to see him. “Thank you.”

They looked at each other without saying anything for a time. Then Lewis cleared his throat. “Come now, I want you to meet my friends, they’re fan of yours.”

They went back to the group. Nico shook hands with all his friends, a big smile on his face. They offered him a drink, which he gladly welcomed. The atmosphere definitely looked more festive now.

They talked about futile arguments, making fun of the motorsport community, of the press, of the team bosses. They completely forgot about their fight, about every bad word they had said to each other. That night they were just two boys having a lot of fun.

Nico took advantage of a pause to ask a question. “Would you like to dance?”

Lewis didn’t hesitate to nod. “Sure.”

Nico took his hand and dragged him on the dance floor. They were suddenly surrounded by music blasting, neon lights and people dancing and nobody seemed to care about them. It was the best sensation ever.

They danced like crazy for they didn’t even know how much, both so drunk they didn’t mind their bodies bumping into each other.

Lewis’ hand land on Nico’s waist and Nico’s on his shoulder. Smiles wouldn’t leave their faces. They didn’t want anything else than each other in that moment.

Nico turned around in a move, gently pressing his back on Lewis’ chest, his ass brushing on the other’s lower abdomen. That seemed to bring Lewis over the edge. He shifted both his hands on Nico’s hips, searching for more contact, his mind blurred by alcohol and lust.

Lewis was breathing heavily in Nico’s ear, and that was affecting him too. Honestly, the german could only think about his dick inside him.

“Nico.” Lewis was loosing his mind as Nico was at that point almost rubbing against him. He held tightly on his hips following his movements. “I miss you.”

Of course Nico couldn’t hear any of that, but his lips were very much near touching Lewis’. He turned around again to face him and finally removed the distance between them, throwing his arms around his neck and quickly getting rid of Lewis’ hat. Nico always said it was so “Justin Bieber” of him to wear it backwards.

They kissed passionately for a time that seemed infinite. Lewis’ hands were never leaving his ass, his tongue entwined with Nico’s. He wished they were in his bedroom. Fucking. Slowly.

Then suddenly Nico broke the kiss. Lewis immediately searched for more but Nico pulled away, removing Lewis’ hands from his back. Lewis felt the world collapsing.

“I’m sorry, we can’t. I can’t.” Almost cried out Nico in the surrounding noise. He covered his eyes with his hands. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“What do you mean?” Lewis’ tried to hug him, to comfort him, but Nico flinched. “I love you.”

The blond man distanced himself more and more, nothing but doubt and sadness in his eyes. And tears. There were tears too.

“Please don’t go.” I can’t breath without you.

And just like that, he disappeared in the crowd.

Right away, Lewis began looking for him in the chaos, reaching the exit as soon as he could. He was gone. He wanted to cry so hard. He didn’t get what he was doing wrong. Why the hell did he always fall for his apologies?

Lewis came back to his friends with his heart aching again, but now his head was too. He almost collapsed on the couch, too drunk to even stand on his feet. He just hoped he wouldn’t forget everything the morning after because he wanted to remember their last kiss forever.

“Where did your boyfriend go?” One of his friends asked.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” He managed to say.

“Whatever, but I think he took your hat.”

And that was his last memory of that night.

#lewis hamilton x nico rosberg #brocedes #lewis hamilton #nico rosberg #formula 1 #f1

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jujutsukatsuki · 2 years

Text

Warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, throatfucking, spitting, gagging, messy makeup, soft kiri <3

Smut will be under the cut!

Sometimes things don’t work out, plans fall through, people flake, or your boyfriend since freshman year of high school decides to dump you via text when you were waiting for him at the coffee shop you always met at when you and him got off work.

So here you are, sitting in this little café, crying into your ceramic cup full of espresso that has foam art of a heart. You sniffle as you sit in the booth. It didn’t help that today was already awful. You flunked a test you stayed up all night studying for cause life would be too easy to let you have one thing go right today. Your AP literacy teacher seemed to have a burning hatred for you and you had cracked your phone screen.

If you weren’t spending thousands on college and already in your last year, you might have quit today.

Your only saving grace? The cute barista who you’d come to know as Eijiro Kirishima. He had covered your drink when you realized that your wallet was at home sitting on your coffee table.

You barely touched the cup of coffee he had spent time making just for you, even adding the cute heart on top. Instead you chose to keep your head in your hands as you stared at the table blankly, tears falling from your face into the coffee, ruining the art.

Kirishima bussed a few tables before he got to you.

“Y/n?” He asked softly as he put a hand on your shoulder. You sniffled and looked up at him, a white towel was throwing over the tight black shirt he wore. A black apron covered the front of his body. You took notice of a couple pins he had on the front. A pin from a hero movie, crimson riot or something, you couldn’t remember the actual name. A pin that read He/Him, his name tag that had a pink smiley face sticker along with his title of Assistant Manager for X amount of years on it and a pin that read ‘Ask me about my favorite coffee!’

“Y/n?” He asked again as he knelt down a bit to be eye level with you.

“Sorry, yeah, what’s up Kirishima?” You wiped the black stained tears from your cheeks.

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Your bottom lip quivered, fresh tears pricked your eyes, face was hot with embarrassment and sadness.

“M-my boyfriend broke up with me over text.” You covered your mouth with your hand and let out a muffled sob. Kiri’s eyes held an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint. Pity? Genuine concern? You weren’t sure.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, that’s so unmanly of him.” He wrapped you in a tight bear hug. You wrapped your arms around him tight and cried into his chest.

Eijiro ended up taking his break so he could comfort you while his co-worker, Shoto, covered. He listened to you vent about your problems and frustrations, you actually drank the new coffee that Kiri brought over for you this time, he didn’t want you to drink a coffee that was probably 85% your tears at that point.

He sat next to you and held your hand as you cried into his shoulder.

“I mean, nearly eight years.” You cried. “I thought him and I were gonna get married.” Kirishima rubbed your back slowly as he listened, he didn’t talk, just listened and god it felt nice.

“To tell you the truth, I never liked him much.” Eijiro said once you had calmed down, tears slowly falling less and less.

“Why?” You sniffled and looked up at him.

“He was super bossy and didn’t tip well.” Kiri joked to try and cheer you up. You let out a small laugh.

“He was like that wasn’t he?” You brushed some hair behind your ear and wiped your face with the sleeve of your jacket.

“I don’t want to tell you that everything is going to be okay because I don’t know if it will. But what I can tell you is that you’re such a good, kind, genuine person and anyone is lucky to have you. You’re truly a gift Y/n. And you’re really pretty.” He smiled

Your face felt warm as he said that. “Thanks Kiri. And thank you for listening, I really needed that today.”

“Anytime.” He smiled at you with a big toothy grin.

He got back to work after that, only after he gave you his number if you needed anything of course and you went home to kick your boyfriend out of the apartment.

Only you came home to him having sex with your best friend in the bed the two of you shared. Honestly, you didn’t even care at that point. You calmly gathered all your things, told him to have a nice life and that you were telling the landlord about him smoking weed in the apartment all the time.

With no where to go and a car full of stuff, your brain went on auto pilot. You ended up in front of the coffee shop. It was now pouring rain outside, thunder and lightening were brewing in the sky.

Your eyes held a blank gaze as you stared straight ahead. A soft knock came from your passenger window, it made you jump as you unlocked the door after seeing a familiar red head.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Kiri asked as he climbed into the passenger seat, he was no longer wearing his apron and the tight black shirt he wore clung even tighter to his body thanks to the rain. His normal spikes of hair were now hanging down in his face.

You sat and told Kiri about what happened once you had got home. His jaw dropped as he heard about what you walked into you. He invited you to stay with him for the night.

Little did you know that one night was gonna change everything.

That was all a year ago. You’ve been living in Kirishima’s guest room ever since.

Currently you were making dinner, Kirishima was gonna be home soon from work and you decided to make his favorite meal that you knew how to cook. Homemade chicken Alfredo.

The front door’s lock jiggled as he unlocked the door and walked in.

“Y/n, I’m home.” He hummed as he dropped his work backpack next to the house and took his shoes off.

“In the kitchen Eiji!” You called out as you were mixing the noodles and sauce.

“Hey.” He smiled as he kissed the back of your head before he grabbed a soda from the fridge.

“Did you have a good day at work?” You asked as you put the noodles to simmer on a low heat.

“It was alright, had a few Karens. What about your day?”

You smiled softly as you looked at him. A black bandana was holding his hair back from his face, he had a smile that reached his eyes as he inquired about your day.

Suddenly it dawned on you how domestic you and him were. How he’d come home and kiss your head, how you’d snuggle into his side as you watch a tv show together, how he’d carry you to your bed and kiss your forehead as he tucked you in. How he’d come up behind you when you were with his friends and wrap his arms around your waist, head on your shoulder.

You were in love with your roommate and best friend.

As you two sat in the couch eating dinner, your legs were over his lap, head resting against his thick biceps. Your thoughts were full of details about Kirishima that you could get rid of. The small scar above his eye he got from jumping through a window when he was a kid, the tattoos that decorated his inner arms, a few comic book heroes and anime characters he loved, the way he instantly relaxed under your touch. You noticed how much Kiri loved touching you. He was always the first one to hold you close to him or kiss your head.

You kept staring at him from the corner of your eye, enough that he caught your gaze.

“You okay, sweet girl?” He asked as he reached out and gently wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of your lips with his thumb. Your face was suddenly very hot as you slowly nodded, he wiped his thumb on a napkin.

“You seem quieter tonight are you sure you’re alright?”

“Kiri, do you…” You stopped to think about your phrasing before you decided to come out and say it.

“Do you like me?”

He cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy.

“Yeah of course, you’re like my best friend.” He smiled a bit

“No I mean like… romantically.”

Kiri’s cheeks went bright red as he stuttered out a answered.

“Is- uh.. Is it okay if I say yes?” He nervously cleared his throat as he chewed on his bottom lip, adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he gulped.

“Yeah of course! I just, I realized that.. maybe I’ve always known and I was just scared but I don’t want to ruin anything and you’re just so sweet and I’m worried that I’m not good enough for you but I like you like that an-“

He cupped your cheek with his huge hand and kissed you. It was such a polite way to shut you up. You kissed back, hands finding the shirt he wore and clutching it in your hands. His lips were soft against yours, his actions were gentle as his other hand held the back of your neck.

The kiss was broken when you both needed air. Lips were swollen and red, faces were warm and the only noise was that of soft panting.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for a while.” He smiled as his thumb stroked your cheek.

“How long?” You questioned

“Since the very first day you walked into the coffee shop and ordered a hot chocolate and a croissant.“ Your face seemed to get even warmer.

“You remembered what I ordered?”

Kirishima chuckled as he nodded.

“Yeah, you asked for four pumps of extra chocolate in the drink because sometimes it wasn’t a strong enough taste for you. Plus you gave me like a 15 dollar tip.”

You laughed and Kirishima fell deeper in love with you at the sound you made. His smile grew as he watched you.

That night you laid in your bed, tossing and turning as you thought of the revelations from tonight. You loved him and he loved you. Now what the fuck do you do?

You shoved the blankets off you and got up, slipping on the bunny slippers that Kiri got for you last Christmas. You opened your door only to come face to face with him. His red hair was down in his face as he looked like he hadn’t slept yet.

“What are we?” The two of you said in sync. Both of you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“What do you want?” Kiri asked as he placed a hand on your upper arm before it slid down to grab your hand.

“You.” You whispered softly as you gently squeezed his hand.

“I want you too.” He smiled tiredly

“So.. does that mean we’re dating?” You asked for confirmation.

“I guess it does.” He kissed your forehead and squeezed your hand.

“Let me take you on a date tomorrow- er, later tonight?” He chuckled

“Oh yeah? Where are we gonna go?”

“Not sure yet but I’ll pick you up at seven?” He grinned

“I’ll make sure I’m ready by then.” You moved to wrap your arms around his neck.

“If I’m a few minutes late it’s cause my super cute roommate takes forever to get ready.” He teased

“I do not!” You laugh, Kiri reached down and picked you up by your thighs. You gasped, your slippers falling off in the process

“Eiji!”

“What?” He hummed as he stole you away to his room.

“I can walk you know.” You yawn softly, sleep already starting to pull you under.

“I know.” He yawned after you did. He laid down in his bed and laid you next to him. You could see in Kiri’s eyes that he was seconds from sleep. By the time you pulled the blanket over you two, he was out. You snuggled into his chest, it was a perfect fit like you two were made for each other.

One of his hands rested on your thigh, the warm feeling made butterflies in your stomach as sleep became an anchor chained to your ankle yanking you down through the waves of tranquility.

It was your first big date with Eijiro, you put on a nice black dress that hugged your figure in a way that made you feel confident with a deep v neck line that showed off your cleavage and a pair of red heels. Thankfully the dress stopped about mid knee level so it showed off the heels.

You weren’t sure where you and him were going, only that he told you to dress fancy. He looked very handsome in a black suit with a red tie. He grinned like a mad man when he saw you. His large hands found your waist as you snaked your arms around his neck, fingers grazing the hair of his undercut.

“Baby, you look-” He cuts himself off as he moves you to do a little twirl for him. Kiri’s eyes rake over your figure before his eyes meet yours as you twirl back to face him. The smile on his face reaches his eyes, he's looking at you like you’re the love of his life, like you’re a gift to this world.

To him, you are all of those.

Dinner goes well, Eijiro tells you stories that have happened at work recently, you tell him about what you’re learning at college. The entire time he looks at you as if you put the stars in the sky.

He’s so in love with you, it hurts.

🛑 Smut under cut 🛑

After dinner was the fun part. It wasn’t the first time you two did it. But this would be the first time that the two of you were going to have needy, messy sex. Your hands were all over each other, grasping at clothing and skin until your clothes were in balls on the floor.

“Fuck baby, you’re so pretty on your knees.” Kiri panted softly as he looked at you. His lips were swollen with light stains of the lipstick you had worn, his pupils were huge, lust blown. His hand cups your cheek as he stands in front of you, one hand gripping the base of his cock. The tip is red and leaky with dribbles of pre cum.

“Thank you daddy.” You smile and stick out your tongue, his cock is huge. Youre not sure how youre gonna fit the monster in your mouth, the only hope you had was how well he fit in your cunt. Eijiro grins as he smacks the tip of his cock against your tongue.

“Such a messy girl.” He whispers as he licks his lips in anticipation. You slowly take every inch of his cock down your throat, you get about half way before your mouth feels extremely full.

Eijiro lets out a soft groan as his hands tangle in your hair. He bucks his hips into your mouth. Needy. Wanting. He’s doing everything he can to chase his high. You pull back for a moment to talk to him, saliva drips down your chin.

“You can fuck my throat Daddy.”

His brain malfunctions over your words, with one hand he puts his cock back into your mouth as the other has your hair gripped tightly. You let your jaw remain slack as he started to thrust into your mouth.

The feel of your throat gripping his cock is the most euphoric. Drool drips down your chin to between your breasts. The feeling of your gagging satisfies him, the way you clench around his cock. Between your legs is slick, your thighs stick together as you rub them together for friction. You let out a whine as you make eye contact with him, he thrusts harder down your throat, causing you to gag again. This time he holds your head down, nose buried in his neatly trimmed happy trail.

The gagging is what’s pushing him over the edge, he reaches down and wraps his hand around your throat. He can feel himself buried inside. Your head feels light, but it feels too good to tap him on the thigh and make him stop. Without warning, his cum floods down your throat, making you instantly start swallowing.

His breathing is harsh as he pulls out, muscles in his thighs are lightly jerking and a few spurts of cum find their way on your lips and chest.

“Fuck.” He curses as he looks at you, makeup smeared around your face, lips red and puffy, cum dripping down your skin. He can’t help but add to the mix with his spit before he smears the mixture all over your cheeks and mouth.

“So fucking pretty. Gonna make such a mess of you.” He smirks as he lifts you up and lays you on the bed. You have a feeling that the neighbors are gonna have a noise complaint to give your landlord, but in that moment, you couldn’t give a fuck. You were about to be obliterated by your boyfriend's huge cock, and that’s all that mattered to you.

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deus-and-the-machina · 2 years

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“Please.”

Cleo sighed. The necromancer was on his knees now, fully bent over and groveling on the ground. It would be somewhat embarrassing if it wasn’t so sad. “I’ve told you a million times and then some. I can’t.”

His head lifted up from the ground. There was anger in his eyes. “Can’t, or won’t?” He spat, “Because the way I see it, you mess around with time all willy nilly when it’s for your own benefit. God forbid you ever think about someone besides yourself!”

He was trying to get under her skin, to provoke her. Cleo bent down into a squat to come closer to his level. “Time is a delicate matter. You must know the rules before you mess about with it, and his demise was too long ago. If it was yesterday, or last week, then sure. The rippling impacts would likely be minimal and manageable. But several years of rewritten time...that’s too much.”

Scott’s face tensed. “But you can do it. You just won’t.”

“Exactly. I’m sorry to say this Scott, but people lose their loved ones every day. And if we used time travel to bring every single one of them back, we’d be in paradox hell. You aren’t special. Accept he’s gone, or figure out a solution yourself.”

His expression completely crumpled, frozen looking distraught as one, two, then a torrent of silent tears streamed from his face. He gasped and choked and let out an occasional sob, then fell forward and clutched at their dress. Cleo let him.

“Please,” he croaked out. “Please, please, please. Just this once, I’ll never ask for anything ever again.”

“What I don’t understand is why the necromancer witch can’t just-”

“Because I’m not SMART enough for that!” he cried. “I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m just-I’m just fucking about with random texts half the time, I’m barely a witch. I have no idea why I was even brought here, but no matter how hard I try, I just never get better. It just-” Scott broke off into mournful unintelligible crying sounds.

Cleo let him sob. When he’d worn himself out and was lying hiccuping in the dirt, they reached down and picked him up, flinging the dead witch over her shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”

He said nothing, didn’t even try to protest as Cleo walked off.

“It can be done, you know. I’m living proof of that.”

“...And you won’t even tell me that much.”

She laughed dryly. “I couldn’t even tell you the first thing about it. One day I was dead, the next, like this.” They fell into a somewhat awkward silence as Cleo walked down the cobble woodland path. “That’s for you to figure out.”

Cleo felt his grip tighten on the back of their clothing. “And before you say anything, the Supreme Witch isn’t dumb. She wouldn’t have invited you here if you didn’t have potential.” Scott’s house was coming up into view. “You’re self taught, yeah? No mentor or school or anything? What you’ve figured out by yourself is pretty impressive on its own. So don’t let me ever hear you selling yourself short again.”

“...”

“Now do you have a key to get in or am I gonna have to dump you outside your door?”

He cleared his throat. “You’re really bad at this whole comforting people thing.”

“Being a counsellor isn’t exactly my day job. I’m usually the reason people need counseling,” she chuckled. “Not because I’m scary or anything, just because of the lingering deja vu effects and nightmares of other timelines all this fooling around can cause. Real shame about all that.”

“Jesus.”

“And if you keep improving, one day you’ll be able to traumatize people too! Dig up hoards of zombies and all. I believe in you.”

That made him laugh. Cleo felt his body vibrate against hers, and smiled.

#witchcraft smp #wc smp #scott smajor #zombiecleo #:D pain #writing stuff

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us3rnam3-r3dact3d · 2 months

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So now that I’ve published the latest chapter of “i assume you’ll be coming for blood (that makes two of us)” which you can read here on tumblr or on Ao3, I can reveal a few more Fooliverse headcanons I’m rocking with. Warning: these are sad as fuck.

Sweetheart’s mom was a fire elemental who worked as an Investigator for most of their childhood. She was supremely talented and powerful, and was highly respected among her peers. She worked a lot of dangerous cases but believed wholeheartedly that she could handle anything that got thrown at her. She had one bad day, and a shifter got the better of her. Sweetheart was 7 when she died, and knew from the moment they found out that they wanted to be an Investigator. Their father was heartbroken and tried with everything in him to disuade them from following their mother’s example, but there was no deterring them. This resulted in a lot of fights, especially when they were a teenager and when they entered D.A.M.N. and applied for the Department. All of the turmoil they caused with their father alienated Sweetheart’s older brother and younger sister, who wanted to grieve and move in from their Mother’s death, but couldn’t when Sweetheart dragged her ghost around with them everywhere. Although Sweetheart’s father has made it clear that he loves them, that their choices could never change that, and that all he wants is for them to be safe, they’re distant from their family. They got very good at fighting as a kid, got very good at defending themself with whatever means they had at their disposal, and would use their words to cut someone down to their core if they needed to. Sweetheart’s natural anxiety developed into an absolutely vicious form of self preservation. They would say or do anything they needed to to survive, whether “survival” was about an actually dangerous situation, or a situation in which they had to be emotionally vulnerable, which feels just as dangerous for them. They refuse to admit weakness, refuse to let anybody doubt them, and refuse to accept help when it’s offered. Their mother could handle everything on her own and so would they.

Except she couldn’t. And that’s what got her killed. And Sweetheart is continuing this generational curse of stubbornness and tragedy while trying to do the opposite. They’ll only get better when they let other people love them, take care of them, help them. That’s a lesson they can’t learn from their mother, so one they don’t value, maybe until it’s too late.

Lasko. Sweet Lasko. Lasko in this universe is the most tragic form he could have taken. Turned out by his family when his powers coalesced, he tried to make his way to Dahlia and find a home in the magical community there. Unfortunately, he missed his final year of high school when he was kicked out. DAMN required him to complete his high school degree before they would allow him to apply. He couldn’t find work without an address in the city, and he couldn’t find a place to live without money to pay first and last. In this universe, nobody helped him. He entered a Dahlia public high school, but missed so many classes because of lack of transport/not having a safe place to sleep the night before that he wasn’t able to finish his degree. He survived for two years in his own in Dahlia, favoring a small park off of college town when he needed to sleep. He just happened to rest in the park a certain shade found itself in one night. Lasko’s story could have been so tragic, even in the main universe. It was pure luck that he managed to get back on his feet again. He doesn’t have any such luck in the Fooliverse.

Anyway…. Happy Wednesday ig.

#redacted asmr #my redacted content #redacted fooliverse #redacted sweetheart #redacted Lasko

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intoloopin-archive · 5 months

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A CHAPTER: THE SHARP AND THE BLUNT (PART 1/2).

tw(s): panic attack. dubious consent (haruki is very weird and forward about initiating sex!). alcohol abuse & alcoholism. semi-smut? (there is making out). miscommunication (a warning because I personally think it's constant and frustrating). insinuation and direct discussions of sexual trauma, abuse by a past partner, abuse of workplace power and stalking. internalized homophobia (in part one, a hint). If I missed anything, please tell me! starring: Lee Hanjae. Fukunaga Haruki. featuring: Dylan Hwang / Hwang Chihoon. Their fellow LOOPiN members (old OT10, no Gyujin, a lot of Beomseok). Delilah Franco. Oh Sunyoung. Choi Sangwon. Blonde Bob Piss Girl (a serious character).

timeline: quick flashback to 2018 | early to the end of mid 2022.

word count: 13,405 words. author's notes: welcome everyone to hanruki fuckery part 1 a.k.a the most frustrating and life draining four months in Hanjae's whole entire life a.k.a big sadness, the piece split into two. this one is over 23K long, and was originally intended to be read in one go but! It Got Too Big. The conclusion will be coming out later this week! prepare for a Haruki all in par with the one in the prologue, which falls in between this mess on the timeline. this is a work of a whole month, but it's also a work of two years: a whole central plot, planned and done. title's from this song! give it a listen once you get trought the bigger picture, maybe, for catharsis purposes. stay safe! remember you deserve to be safe, always!

November 12, 2018.

Hanjae had vowed not to cry anymore when he got this job – in the same vehement way he had promised at twelve that he would no longer make a sound if he wailed after school, face buried under piles and piles of unfinished homework, to medium success, just the right amount of it to call it success.

He could still tear up once in a while, if things got though, and that was it; a clause added after his first exhausting week as a trainee. The number escalated to once every two business days after he was shoved to debut on LOOPiN, out of all the upcoming boy groups there were.

There was a story taunting the New Wave Music corridors back then. Someone did something unspeakable to someone else, and it caused an expulsion, followed by the immediate need for a new rapper, a new dancer. And there was Hanjae; a BBC trainee for three months, far removed from the Boy Of The Week gossip, who couldn’t exactly sing but had great enunciation, and had been dancing before he was even walking…

He cried now, openly, defeated. It had been an awful day for LOOPiN 2on1.

Their short lived promotions had played out like a sunset: a big golden start – so much press, so much momentum, so many views on the ‘Baby Don’t Stop’ dance practice video, where he and Haruki were using plain shirts and even plainer jeans – quickly diluting into the darkest of times – the controversies, LOOPiN first ones, and exclusively about them.

A resurrected Facebook photo of Hanjae on his graduation with a bandage around his hand, matched with the lingering traces of his poorly removed tattoo there painted him as a school delinquent; Haruki’s drop out stories reintroduced him as the big drunken failure of KArts’s international program.

They were going to stop going to music shows, the company had decided that day, and Sangwon told them on the drive back that they had just done their last one. They had gone up on stage as a duo for the last last time.

With a strong sniff, Hanjae unburied his face from in between his knees and looked at his hand, at the faint shape of a badly drawn rose on his skin. His dad had been adamant about getting it out the moment he took a look at it, still involved in protective plastic. He used the little money off his college safe to arrange a laser session that Hanjae skipped. A year later, Hanjae managed to schedule another one with the partial sponsor of MBN, the company he was stuck on before BBC. He had to do it in a shady place, at a bigger cost: bad skin scarring.

His mom had been relieved to see it fade even more nonetheless, up until the black tattoo turned into something that almost looked like a peculiar and old scar, if you didn’t give it a second glance; and no one was ever giving Hanjae a second glance.

“Let that be a lesson,” she told him, nose turned up and away from him. “Don’t jump head on into things again, Lee Hanjae. That’s no way to live. Watch yourself, watch your company. You’re not a kid anymore. Do you have no goals? Do you want nothing for yourself? Are you that selfish? Can’t you think, for once, about something that isn’t–”

Haruki was the one who found him, sitting on the floor, small and tense against the laundry machine, waiting for everyone’s clothes to be cleaned – the member’s, Sangwon’s, the cleaning auntie's aprons she had forgotten on top of the dinner table last week. Cleaning was always his scapegoat way of attending to something, even if very small.

Maybe if the company decided to drop him, he thought, Hanjae could still be around as the dorm’s janitor.

“So you’re not from Seoul,” Haruki said, leaning against the door frame with an air of mischief around him, something light on his step despite it all.

It was a statement, not an ask, because he knew this. It was one of the few trivia points they had exchanged during pauses on music shows or water breaks in between choreography practice – ‘What’s your age? What’s your blood type? How many siblings? Oh, none? You’re so lucky, Hanjae, so lucky. All siblings are demons. You aren’t missing a thing.’

Hanjae didn’t even startle; Haruki often popped up at places like that, picking up conversations from days, weeks ago like they were merely put on pause.

Without uttering a word and barely looking up, he still nodded his head no.

Haruki nodded back, a pacifying smile showing up on his face, said, “Cool. Great. How about I show you a place?”

‘The place’, he informed Hanjae, was not all that nice, or clean, and he really shouldn’t wear nice shoes or nice clothes tonight, but at least it wasn’t far, at least they had permission.

“Who’s permission?” Hanjae asked, taking the pile of clothes to the dryer, smoothing wrinkles off them just for something to do.

Haruki waved manager Choi’s front keys in his hand, and Sangwon’s horrendous keychains clanked against each other: a green pine tree and a colorful ball. “The one that matters. What do you say, uh? You’re in? Can I count you in?”

He could count Hanjae in.

[...]

They stopped by a convenience store on the way, some couple of blocks down the dorm, and by then night had already conquered all of Seoul. Inside, the middle aged lady behind the counter rushed to give Haruki a hug, a paper bag and a discount.

“He’s a street cat I found,” she leaned in to explain when she caught Hanjae anxiously looking at him going straight to the back of the store, near the freezers, near the alcohol, with the ease of someone who could do so with his eyes shut. “He’s a good foreign friend.”

“I’m not!” Haruki shouted back, but he was grinning. “Are you not watching the news?”

The noona playfully rolled her eyes, joked back, “What news? You’re not on the news!”

She hushed Hanjae to go catch up with him with an enerved wave, told him to take a look around. “It’s on the house,” she winked. “You’re both so skinny, and you must be working hard, so just take something tasty and leave quickly.”

Trailing a couple feet behind Haruki on the aisle, Hanjae picked up a package of noodles and a modest four-set of Terra cans to accompany his endless Heineken bottles, light green on light green. While Hanjae bagged everything with caution, Haruki slipped a red won note on the balcony when the owner stopped paying attention to them, and off they went again.

Haruki made them walk ten more minutes to the left, and the left, the left again, coming to an abrupt stop in front of an abandoned lot, pure dirt and weeds, the sort that seemed to have turned into an open dump for the neighborhood. It looked no different or less disgusting than the million of others around less central Jungnang; it didn’t look like it could be a spot.

Yet Haruki kept braving straight through the grass without stopping, guiding Hanjae behind him to only step where he was stepping, to keep his eyes glued to the floor and watch out for broken glass. He settled when they were deep into the lot, mere feet away from a big hill. There was a clean view of an uneven street if you looked down, he said, filled with houses that were almost all pretty. Hanjae chose to just trust Haruki’s word on that; he couldn’t dare to come close enough to the drop to peek and see.

Haruki standed the bag of drinks for him to hold, and Hanjae had to do so with both hands. From a spot behind them, he pushed two retriable chairs out of a bulk set against a moldy tree, the metal in them corrupted by rust on the edges, and set them up, sat down, tapped at the other seat with his foot in invitation.

Hanjae took a long and anxious moment to comply. Under him, the chair dangled sideways even if he stayed very, very still.

With the convenience bag back in his domain, Haruki cracked three beers open, and handed Hanjae one, kept the other two: one in each hand, a Heineken and a Terra.

“Never had this one. I heard they’re the same thing,” he said, taking a sip from each and frowning, analyzing them. Hanjae stayed quiet.

He had only drank with his dad and uncles one time, at last year’s Chuseok, and hadn’t been much of a fan of anything. Still, he took a sip of beer.

Haruki at least had grace enough to let him swallow and contain a grimace before asking, with a strange edge to it, “So are you? A bully. A problem child. Part of a gang.”

“No,” Hanjae said, too quickly, too eager. He cleared his throat. “I’m really not, hyung, no.”

“How did it get there, then?” Haruki's look was razor sharp on Hanjae’s once tattooed hand, hard enough to make him freeze. “And why did you remove it? Just to be a trainee?”

Hanjae opened his mouth, but only to take a shaky breath in, swallow a bit more of bitter alcohol. In front of his fleeting eyes, Haruki eased just as quickly as he had hardened.

“Hanjae, we’re teammates now,” he told him. “I showed you my good spot. You can’t give me one word sentences anymore. You can’t lie.”

Hanjae considered this, and considered him from the corner of his eyes. Haruki was the LOOPiN member that Hanjae had come to know best, mostly because they didn’t have a choice, but still, he made an effort, he talked to him; he didn’t let Hanjae fall adrift. And he could have easily turned into an island: from the moment he had been transferred to New Wave, he had been an outsider, a last minute solution to a problem no one would explain to him – who left? Why? Was he worse than them? Was he better?

“You’re better,” Haruki had said, when Hanjae brought it up, late at night while they had dinner alone, in the practice room, sweating and panting – a week until their debut happened. He was the only one who had bothered to tell him so. He sounded like he meant it, too. Hanjae remembers catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror over his shoulder, hair bright brown and unfamiliar, thinking even for a fleeting moment: I’m doing enough.

It was fair for him to be the first to know – the first for Hanjae to disappoint.

“I got it removed before,” he heard himself say. It was a secret, so it came out like one: whispered, slow. “Before I wanted to train. I got it with friends– my dance crew friends. It was our logo, or at least, it was going to be, one day. But I… I did a bad thing, and it stopped making sense. It didn’t fit. I didn’t fit, so. It had to go.”

The vagueness did nothing but pique Haruki’s interest. He seated more properly, then less properly; ended up putting his feet on the seat of the chair, slouching with his head supported on his knee, the exact body language of, ‘Tell me, tell me, tell me.’

“My friend– my best friend, from childhood, our team captain. He used to have a girlfriend. A girl from our class, a dancer too, someone he had been in love with forever. Later she became part of the group, and we got close, we turned into friends, and then not. Not quite that. They broke up and one hour later we got together, on the same day. We got caught. It was a mess. Everyone thought it was a shitty thing to do, that it was cheating, cheating on everyone. But I just wanted her to be my girlfriend, back then– Back then, I wanted a girlfriend more than I wanted anything...”

Hanjae felt it coming, again: the desire to recoil a bit more on himself in shame. How pathetic he had been, then; how miserable, how sad, how lonely.

He took a timid peek to the side, ready to see an irk of dismay on Haruki’s face, some justified disgust, and was surprised to not see any of that. Haruki had grown passionate and invested in the whole story, something new in his eyes, a third bottle halfway drained in his hand.

He moved his chin up, as if saying, ‘Go on’, but Hanjae couldn’t. He drained the rest of the beer.

Haruki clicked his tongue like that wouldn’t do. He shoved his chair a few inches closer so he could grab at Hanjae's arm and said, all at once, “We can not– Hanjae, look, listen, we can not be blamed for all the things, the crazy things we do when love…!” He didn't finish the sentence, just amended it into another one: “You were a teenager, you both were, and very, very brave. Very brave to tell her and date her and keep dating her even if. They were just– bad friends. Just bad friends.”

They weren’t bad friends, Hanjae knew; they weren’t the ones in the wrong. But it hurted to say it out loud, to admit what he knew was still true: how easily he burned bridges for attention, for affection, so he never did. He just knew – looked at his reflection on surfaces and knew.

He rolled and rolled the tap of the Terra until it fell off, into the can. “Did you really quit college, hyung?” Was what he asked the wind.

Haruki shifted on his seat; Hanjae could only tell because of the way it creaked. “More like college quit me,” he said, with a sad huff of air that might have been a laugh, and dropped Hanjae’s arm, drank from his bottle too.

Sadness fell over them like a veil from then on. The Terras ended and Haruki didn’t mind sharing all the other stuff he had, and the longer it went on the less shy Hanjae felt about asking. At some point Haruki said, “I guess we really fucked up, uh – with 2on1,” and Hanjae, whipping a foam mustache off his face, “Minwoo’s not talking to me,” and Haruki, almost falling over with laugher, “Oh, my, I bet not! Ha. I bet not…”, and turned reticent, fell quiet.

His eyes, Hanjae had noticed, kept darting to a spot ahead in between conversation, beyond the drop of the hill, dazed. He violently shook his head sideways everytime he caught himself drifting too far away, and ran a hand over his face, rubbing at it in a way that made Hanjae look at him in worry.

Haruki found it hilarious each time. “What is it,” he eventually said, slower than normal, harder to understand, “With you, your face?”

He got up from his chair, a sudden move that sent it falling to the floor, a loud squeak, and walked even closer.

In front of Hanjae, right in front of him, he leaned forward until he got both his hands on his face, and said, pushing the corners of his mouth up, “The mood is so– Bad! So bad! Smile! Big smile! C’mon, give me a big smile!”

There had been dirt on Haruki’s hand, and Hanjae could vaguely taste it, with how close to his lips he was pressing. He still wore his inner braces back then; he kept cutting his tongue on the same spot, never healing, never telling, and he could feel the inside of his cheeks pressing onto that sharp place, about to be pierced through.

For a moment, they stayed quiet, looking at each other head on. Hanjae was not smiling. His heart had picked up a quick pace inside his chest, was drumming – Haruki was so close, and he was so beautiful, a true magazine type beauty, all symmetry, and Hanjae knew this, but not with this much conviction, not with so much emotion.

“Ah, you know what? I like you. I decided. I do like you, now…” Haruki said, and then he grinned, bringing his face even nearer. He took a breath and Hanjae felt it on his own nose, and didn’t know what to do about it; his mind, for a moment, went static. “Nothing will happen to you, friend. I promise it. ‘Will not let it.”

Hanjae’s held breath was a painful thing to let out of his chest. “Was something– Was something going to…?”

Haruki huffed a laugh and gave his cheeks two playful taps, said, with a new found determination, “Handsome guy. Do not get sad. I will fix this for you,” and let Hanjae’s face go.

He straightened his back up and swayed slightly to the side, running a hand over his hair, fixing his bangs back into place. Haruki told him, “Late. No booze. Night over”, and extended that same hand for Hanjae to take – Hanjae who still felt like his face had gone numb, blood rushing to it.

He took the hand, and they made their way back to the dorm that way, hanging close; Like magnets, Hanjae remembers thinking, idly, and then not idly at all. Haruki’s hands were leaving behind a pressure everywhere they touched, a heat that Hanjae couldn’t shake off – he just couldn’t shake it off.

Later, when Hanjae layed in bed, sheet drawn over his entire body, he could still feel it. When he woke up the morning after, nauseated but still in the group, still safe, he could still feel it.

If he closes his eyes now, right now, he can still feel it – the sad sort of burn of a premonition misread.

January 13, 2022.

Los Angeles is sunny in a way Haegon would love to see and pretend to hate – a saddening thought Hanjae had since they landed, and that comes back to haunt him while he looks at the city passing by on the van’s window, sidewalks all golden.

Haegon’s not a loud person in his eyes, but his absence is a loud thing, pouring the life out of everyone, mostly because of the way it had been forced on them.

It had been a horrifying way to open the year: having to come forward right on the first day of 2022 to the press, headlining Haegon’s mugging and the accident, his follow up hiatus and excuse out of their ‘We Do’ promotions in the USA. And then there was having to deal with Haegon in private, angry and disappointed, not wanting to take his pain medicine, shoving his room’s door in everyone's faces, dismissing every checkup attempt with an annoyed, “It’s just a minor concussion, what the Hell! I’m not fucking dying! Get the fuck off me, I’m fine, get off, just fuck off already to the States without me! Go on! Just– just leave me already!”

They’re driving out of some media company studio around the center of Los Angeles, where they filmed two twenty minute videos in a roll, more embarrassing games than actual interviews, and Hanjae has already spent all of his ability to mend English words together.

It could have been more fun, one of their staff said, but they had to pass on the puppy interview format because of Taesong’s allergies, and Jiahang’s been dead set on pretending to be sad about it during the entire ride back to the hotel; crocodile tears and all.

Hanjae has to deal with him from the last seat on the far opposite side of the van, resting his fried blonde head against his shoulder, sighing loudly, because Dylan is also not here to amuse him – he took a bus home to Santa Monica and will stay home until they leave in two days time.

Hanjae doesn’t like provoking Taesong, doesn’t like to spoil Jiahang, but that means very little in the grand escape of the group, that goes about poking fun of Taeng like it’s a sport, that’s stuck in a position where they really can’t say no to J.J, who owns company shares; he shoots the meek figure of Taesong an apologetic look as Jiahang’s act carries on, trying to tell him: ‘I’m not a part of this, I just don’t know how to stop it.’

Thankfully, the hotel isn’t that far away, and it’s a quick torture – up until things takes a turn for the worse.

As they park and start to step out, Beomseok’s long arm blocks the door before he and Jiahang can put a single leg outside of the car.

“Stop,” he tells J.J, harsh enough to make Hanjae stumble a step back. Beomseok points a finger right at Jiahang’s face, and inch from touching his nose, says, “Stop being a fucking problem. Stop.”

It makes Jiahang livid, turns his ears bright red. He takes long stomps to the elevator, and Hanjae has to jog to keep up with him – Jiahang really has the longest legs Hanjae has ever seen on a person.

“He’s got such a stick up his ass!” He keeps on saying, barging into the room they’re both sharing with Dylan and Zhiming – angrily tossing his bag into his ‘cheap dollar store bed with the cheap dollar store sheets’ that made him go into a very similar rant last night. “He thinks he’s the only one who cares about Gon, the only one who can bother. He’s so wrong. I’m fucking worried too! I’m calling him too! I miss him! I’m more of a friend to him than that weirdo is. He’s so weird. He thinks he owns Haegon and everyone and everything, just because he’s older, just because he trained for like, one billion years! Like it’s my fault Starship thought he was too ugly to join NO.MERCY!”

“You were being annoying, Jiahang,” O.z deadpans from the corner he’s tucked in, without looking up from his manhwa.

Jiahang grunts louder. “Yeah, that was the point. Taesong knows I’m just joking around! Everyone knows!”

Zhiming lowers the comic from his face, flipping a page. His eyes have deep dark circles behind his thick glasses, marks that never go away. “Unnecessary.”

Jiahang rolls his eyes, putting his hair up on an ugly bun. He turns his back to Zhiming’s bed and mouths at Hanjae, mocking, ‘Unnecessary’.

Hanjae shrugs at him, and that annoys J.J too. He angrily puts on a movie on the tiny TV, gets a hold of his bed’s pillow and wraps himself around it, mumbling something under his breath still. The tags on the streaming app read comedy, musical. He chews on a poor nail while humming along the first song, and Hanjae tries to humor him with a tiny, “Is that Ariana Grande sunbaenim?”

It doesn’t work. Jiahang shoves his face into his pillow and says, miserable and muffled, “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t hang around with you, you’re so lame. I miss Dylan so much.”

“He invited you to go with him,” Hanjae says, helplessly. “You said you didn’t want to.”

“Of course I didn’t want to! I would have to sleep on the floor. In a bag, on the floor. And I don’t think his grandma would like me – I don’t think anyone in his family would like me,” he turns his face around, off the pillow. Hanjae can hear clearly when he says, “He needs time alone with them. For the anxieties.”

“The anxieties?” Hanjae asks him, very slowly.

Jiahang presses his mouth shut tight, straights himself up again. He undoes his ponytail, tosses his long, long hair from one side to the other, behind his ears.

He takes a quick look at Zhiming, and Hanjae does too, and they go by uncaught; O.z’s got his big headphones in now, eyes glued to his comic book.

Jiahang is still careful to whisper, “The rest of you don’t get what it's like, when you’re away from your home every day, when you know all the people you’re going to see aren’t all the ones you know – when you got family that’s like, old, and you know that time’s passing. You’re losing days with them. It gets scary, after a while. Dylan’s grandad will be 82 this year, hyung – that’s a terrifying number, that’s a maybe. That’s the anxiety. Mine, his– Zhiming’s, too. Foreign member anxiety.”

Hanjae nods, sharp. Jiahang makes a face at him, brighter – smiles, says like a tease, “Not Haruki’s, though. Haruki doesn’t miss Japan at all, if that’s what you’re wondering. He’s not anxious about that.”

Hanjae blinks. Opens his mouth, closes it, blinks again. “I wasn’t going to ask–”

“Sure thing. Suuuuure,” J.J says slyly, and goes back to watching TV, and Hanjae does too. Gulps, keeps looking at the movie, tries to pay attention.

Jiahang put on korean subtitles for him, yet he keeps talking – explaining everything. It’s a nice enough movie, he says. Good songs, nice enough movie.

They’re reaching the end of it, seeing every main character gather in a protest around town, when Haruki barges into their room.

“Are any of you not gonna rot inside this hotel?” He asks, loudly, quickly. “Is anyone going to do anything? Catch some sun?”

“Hanjae’s supposed to be going out,” Zhiming tells him. He’s also watching the movie now, has Jiahang by his side, explaining to him what he missed.

“Oh?” Haruki says, and looks around the room, eyes a little clouded, until they land on Hanjae. He smiles, and it stretches across his face quick and big, like he’s actually glad to see him, like the effect is instantaneous. Hanjae can’t for the life of him look at it head on. “Perfect. That’s just perfect, I’m going with you, Hanhan, just wait for me to get changed!”

“Okay,” Hanjae says, and hops off the bed too quickly, sits back down. “I– Waiting.”

Immediately after Haruki leaves Jiahang gives him a long look over Zhiming’s shoulder, and Hanjae pretends not to see it.

“You’re too easy,” he says, with a disapproving nod of his head, and Hanjae pretends he doesn’t hear it, pretends it doesn’t sting.

It’s humiliating, being reminded that people know – that they look at him and know, and he’s reminded of it constantly.

“Hanjae’s sad, sad bisexual awakening,” was how Jiahang put it, sing-a-song in the studio, while making this very single they’re promoting now. “Worse, worse than Minwoo’s– Is that a verse? Can we put that on a song, on the album?”

Minwoo said, for the two of them, “Fuck you.”

And there that one time, the one he remembers clearly, when Seo CEO said he wanted to sit down to watch them practicing ‘Love Me Right’ before the big release, and Taesong pushed Hanjae aside, told him, “Hanjae, you– if you need to check the choreo, please look at the instruction video. Don’t look at Haruki like that, there’s no need to look like you–”

There had to be a separation, he realized; he had to get it under control.

So Hanjae made friends with the people Haruki seemed to not stand, which sometimes meant everyone, but mostly meant J.J and Beomseok – two extremes of very opposite lines. He’s built a line of separation, wrapped himself up in Haruki repellent, and he tries to live by it.

It’s a frail line, a shitty line, and it comes crashing down all the time, with the little moments; single minutes where things feel kind between them, different. A bottle of water and a perfectly folded towel passed to him backstage, a group conversation where Haruki eventually says, like clockwork, “And you, Hanjae? What do you think?”; no one else says that. There’s this lingering nearness coming from him, like there's always something Haruki wants to say or do but can’t, something he wants to check.

It makes Hanjae wonder – makes him come back to that one friendly night, hang on to it. The way Haruki had been so near, his exact tone of voice when he said that he liked him, considered him a friend, thought he was handsome, was going to fix whatever was wrong.

[...]

“So what are we doing?” Haruki asks when they step onto the sidewalk.

“Just filming my Loop Log,” Hanjae responds. “Deadline’s tonight.”

“Shit, that,” Haruki groans, taking his cap off to push hair out of his eyes, putting it on again. “I forgot all about that. ‘Haven’t filmed mine either. ‘Think I lost my camera.”

“I can help you look,” Hanjae offers. “When we get home.”

“Well, thank you,” Haruki says, and steps closer, slides an arm over Hanjae’s shoulder, tells him, “For now, I guess we’ll just have to stick tight. LOOPiN 2on1, reunited in L.A…!”

At Hanjae’s timid request, Chihoon made him a list of what he should get to ‘live his best tourist life’, what the fans might want to see him try: pancakes, bacon and eggs, ice cream, anything in the menu that looks like it could have come off a cartoon, any ‘house specials’.

They go into the nearest place listed with the camera on hand, and have to explain with their Frankenstein English that they want to make a vlog, can they make a vlog? They can, a waiter says, but only in a specific area; they get taken there.

Hanjae orders the house special, and it's a crazy looking Banana Split. Haruki settles for waffles, and they decide to start filming when the food arrives.

Any chance of small talk between them goes fully stall when Hanjae asks, right at their waiter steps away, as the opening topic: “Have you talked to Haegon?”

Haruki’s dangling hand on the table stills. He smiles weird, notices it looks weird, drops it: “Ah, no. No…” and goes silent, makes Hanjae go silent too.

The food comes, they start filming. Hanjae’s meticulously trying to extract a tiny piece of strawberry from a block of ice cream, all while only looking through the camera’s lens, when Haruki’s phone jumps to life, ringing.

He takes it out of his pocket, places it screen flat on the table without looking at the receiver once, mutes it with one hand, adds a mountain of maple syrup to his food with the other.

“Not important,” Haruki reassures Hanjae when he catches him looking at the buzzing phone, an inch away from falling off the edge. He forks the food and stands his hand across the table, says, with his Idol voice, “Wanna try?”

It’s good sweet food, all of it. The camera goes back and forth between them, hand to hand. Haruki makes him pretend they’re shooting a commercial, at some point, makes him do a different pose with every bite, and Hanjae tries to not lose control of his face with all the wooing, all the praise.

It’s fanservice, and Haruki’s good at it. It makes for good content. Everything: good.

Outside, bill paid, they take shelter from the sun and check the recording; thirty raw minutes of footage.

“Hanjae,” Haruki says, looking up after skimming the video, solemn. Hanjae leans a bit forward, eyes a little wide.“The Log will turn out very boring if this is all we do.”

It is, indeed, not the best vlog Hanjae’s ever made. Not that he’s ever been any good at them, or at anything on the media side of the job outside of music covers or choreography making. He’s seen the views on his solo variety content, Sangwon walked him through them all last month, said: nothing special.

They barely talked in 30 minutes – Hanjae didn't initiate a single conversation with him.

Quickly, Haruki’s eyes narrow as he scans the area around them, and Hanjae tries to keep up. He looks for a long moment at the barracks of food, at a man selling balloons, and finally lands far ahead, on a group of kids running on the sand. The leading one trips on air and falls face first on the ground, immediately wails, and they let out matching startled, horrified laughs.

Haruki jogs until he’s in front of him, and turns to walk backwards, closer to where the sidewalk gives into the beach.

“You wanna do that?” He arches a perfect eyebrow. “Run around on the beach with me. Like we’re in a movie.”

Hanjae steps on a stone, lands his other feet on the ground wrong. “I– No.”

“No? Well, I’m doing it! It’s what the vlog’s missing! Trust me, if we do this, it’ll fix everything,” he says, and before Hanjae can even think of what to reply, turns around and starts running on the sand, straight ahead.

Haruki’s already bent over near the ocean when Hanjae catches up with him, folding his jeans until they stop at his knees, barefoot. He insists: “Let’s go, let’s do it, you’re already here, it’s going to be fun, the fans will like it, let’s do it, let’s do it!”

With a resigned sigh, Hanjae unties his sneakers.

Haruki approaches a family nearby and asks for a beach chair, gets a yes. They place the camera cautiously on it, set it with a big zoom ahead. Haruki leaves his phone there, too, with a careless toss, and Hanjae can hear it announcing another call as he steps away, trailing exactly behind him – footprint over footprint, back near the ocean and then on the ocean.

“I thought– Hyung, I thought we were going to just walk,” Hanjae says, stopping. The salt water is a chill foam around his foot.

“Yeah,” Haruki flashes him a smile over his shoulder. He’s about to be knees deep, is taking his Hawaiian shirt off, Hanjae realizes now, with a flush. “We’re walking. Into the water.”

Hanjae catches the shirt when he throws it over his shoulder, looks at it, up at him. He takes a step closer. “Manager Choi’s– Haruki, he’s going to complain!”

“Fuck him!” Haruki tells him with a laugh. He says, with meaning: “Fuck him, fuck New Wave, let them complain, I’m going for a dive and no one can stop me!”

And then he dives, swims, disappears under the water for a long moment. Hanjae stays planted where he is, at a loss of words. When Haruki reemerges, pushing a curtain off black hair off his eyes, and walks back splashing water at him. By the time they’re side by side again, it looks like Hanjae took a dive, too.

“Are you…” He starts to say, eyeing Haruki worryingly, but then the family from before calls back to them, says they’re leaving, they need the chair back, and Haruki claps him on the shoulder, smiles widely, races him to reach them.

“Look,” Haruki says when they’re checking the footage, back on the sidewalk, showing Hanjae a clip: the two of them, a little blurry, walking. “We even got your good smile.”

“My good smile?” Hanjae echoes.

“Not to imply you have a bad one, because you don’t have a bad one,” Haruki says, and bumps their shoulders together. He has just put his shirt back on, is wearing it unbuttoned. “You just have one that’s relaxed, easy. A rare one.”

“Hm,” Hanjae responds, looking away, rolling a rock under his feet.

The walk back to the hotel is calm, windy. The sky’s cotton candy pink and it all looks like a movie, Hanjae thinks. He looks down, and their hands are loose, hanging close, like it would be in a movie.

The end credits roll when they get in the hotel’s lobby, and find Sangwon there – just right there. He catches sight of them immediately, like an alert dog; a quick jump off his seat, a stall near.

He seems to consider them like an equation, frowning: he takes in their wet hair, the wet clothes, the leftover traces of sand, solves it, fumes.

“Do you have any idea,” he says, and he’s struggling to look at the two of them, to not just gawk at Haruki – to not bare his teeth to Haruki only. “Any idea, you two, of how irresponsible this whole stunt was? You’re out on a foreign land. You know no one – no one. When I– The company, if the company calls, you pick your phone. It’s how it works. Pick your phone, immediately.”

Hanjae checks his own phone, a quick glance: no calls.

“Choi-nim,” he says, not looking directly at him, because he lost the ability over the years. Sangwon’s gaze now makes him incredibly anxious. He takes the camera out of where its hanging around his neck, stands it. “I notified– On the calendar, I added– We were just filming–”

“No need to explain, Hanjae,” Haruki interrupts, and puts a hand on Hanjae’s shoulder, steps in front of him, puts himself between him and Sangwon. “Go up. You did nothing wrong. It’s okay. Hyung’s going to solve this with the manager.” He turns straight to Choi-nim and bows, so pristine, so polite: “I take full responsibility for today. It was all me. I’m really sorry if I caused you stress.”

Sangwon considers him for a long moment, taking in the bend of his elbows, like he’s trying to measure his sincerity – there’s almost none of it, Hanjae can tell. He sighs, and then he adjusts his shirt, picks at the cufflinks of his uniform, breaths – his nostrils taking over his entire face.

“You’re dismissed,” Sangwon tells Hanjae, icely, with a corner of the eye glance.

“Sir, I–”

“Dismissed.”

“Go on,” Haruki encourages him, giving Hanjae’s shoulder a firm tap. And then he runs a hand over Hanjae’s hair, messes it up until his wet bangs are glued to his forehead, which he’s never done before; not with him, not with anyone, as far as Hanjae’s aware.

Hesitantly, Hanjae steps away, goes to take the elevator. He keeps looking at them over his shoulder, watching them trail away with growing uneasiness. Haruki keeps looking back at him until he can’t: Sangwon gets the door of the hotel open, shoves him by the shoulder out.

Up in his hotel room, Hanjae showers for a long time. There’s sand on a spot on his elbow where Haruki gave him a tap, and it takes him a while to notice.

He comes off the shower and goes straight to laying down. Zhiming, who had been awake when he came in, is also in his bed now, fully still.

He turns over once, and then again, goes back on his side. “Zhiming hyung?” Hanjae whispers. “You’re awake?”

When Zhiming finally responds, it’s with a minimal grunt, a tiny quick of his socked foot. “What.”

“Do you,” Hanjae chews on the words, “Do you think I have a good smile?”

A pause, a loud sigh. “You’re an Idol. You should hope so.”

“Okay. Okay, so what about– What about me do you think, what looks bad?”

Slowly, very slowly, Zhiming raises his upper body on his elbows. His air is a mess, recently dyed from gray to black too quickly. Without his glasses, he’s forced to squint at Hanjae, even this close, with their beds separated by a very narrow space.

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

Hanjae takes in a sharp breath, and nods – puts a hand over his eyes, nods again. Stupid, so stupid.

“Nothing,” He says. “Nothing, just– Forget it. I’m sorry, just– Sorry.”

Zhiming goes back to laying down with a loud ‘oof’. He says, a crude whisper, “Don’t go out alone with him if it’ll make you come back like that.”

And with that Hanjae decides he must sleep, immediately, and end this day already.

It was just a day, he tells himself, rubbing at the scarred spot on his hand; a flower in eternal bloom, once. Just one good day. Drop it, forget it, erase it.

February 15, 2022.

“C’mon, you guys, c’moooon! On a scale of one to ten–”

“Na Seungsoo,” Minwoo’s voice rings out like a warning; an elastic pulled far above its limit, about to snap back into place, hard. “Shut your goddamn mouth.”

“She’s right there,” Haegon adds, equally as ultraged. “Are you dumb? Do you want to die?”

“Light up, you two. We’re just talking hypotheticals. I’m not actually gonna fuck our mananger,” Seungsoo says, crossing his arms, raising his chin high – his posture the embodiment of a practical joke about to take action. “That would be desperate and unprofessional, and I am none of these things.”

“You’re extremely unprofessional,” Jiahang laughs at him, a little mean – all his laughs have something a little mean about them, Hanjae can’t help but notice, when Seungsoo’s involved. “And extremely desperate. You just fucked our sound assistant. We no longer have a sound assistant, because you fucked her.”

“So did Jimin!”

“A fluke,” Zhiming defends himself. “Not happening again.”

“It’s never a fluke with you, Seungsoo. You’re such a man whore. A man whore for staff. Even Sangwon could have pulled you when he was around if he had a pair of tits,” Haegon notes, and Seungsoo gasps, mutters, scandalized, ‘You bastard!’, raises a fist up as if he’s going to hit him, and everyone’s laughing. Hanjae contributes with a grimace. “You’re that gross, you’re really that disgusting, all it would take–”

Behind them, Dylan begins to violently choke on a bite out of his granola bar, hard enough for the whole photo studio to freeze.

Taesong stands up immediately to check on him, and so does Jungwha, their three day old manager, Choi Sangwon’s definitive substitute and the topic of Seungsoo’s most recent infatuation: she rushes forward to aid alongside an assistant, a cup of water materialized out of thin air on her hand, like a trained lifeguard.

It’s too early for any of them to get a good read on her, but Hanjae has working eyes, so he will admit Junghwa is good looking in a mature sort of way, a bit above the ‘K-Pop staff adequate’. She’s not far from Seungsoo’s type, given the fact that he pretty much doesn’t have one. Hanjae has seen him flirt with Seo CEO’s third ex-wife, the second ex-wife, all of Minwoo’s half sisters and, in a disastrous attempt, Dylan’s mom. ("She's just so young, Chihoon! I thought she was your cousin!"

"I don't have a single cousin and you know that! You went for my mom, you animal, the least you can do is own it!")

“Holy shit, Chihoon,” Seungsoo says, tapping him on the back with one hand, fanning him with the other. “You’re alright?”

“My bad– False alarm, guys, my bad–!”, Dylan mutters, still coughing, watery eyes quick in their attempt to scan the room for something, someone.

Hanjae follows their frantic trail until they land on the quiet figure of Haruki by the coffee machine, his back to them, shoulders rigid and on display – wearing the same suit outfit Hanjae has been put on, his in a shade more close to purple than blue.

It fits Haruki splendidly, as must things do.

“Alright, boys, hey, boys!” Jungwha calls out when Dylan’s lungs go back to normal, clapping her hands one loud time. “Break’s over! It’s the real deal, now! So let’s try to have a good day at work today! Fighting!”

They’re set to scatter in trios and duos, the old unit formations, except for Haegon, who’s still on hiatus, still has stitches all over the crown of his head. He only made it because Haruki insisted, and he’s always insisting, lately: “How can we do well without our cheerleader,” he told Haegon in the morning, “Our cute, adorable cheerleader, my very favorite little brother–!”

“Hi,” Hanjae mutters, tapping Haruki gently in the shoulder. Haruki jumps, catching his breath, and Hanjae drops his hand, shoves it behind his own back. “Ah, sorry, if I– I was just going to say we should–”

But Haruki is turning and splinting in front of him before all the words are out, growing out of earshot, out of hold, entering a hallway on the left.

Hanjae, embarrassed, follows.

They’re supposed to go to room 4, but Haruki walks right past it. Hanjae calls back to him from the door, says, “Hyung, that’s not the–”, and then his voice falters, dies out.

Haruki’s already quick pace has grown even quicker, and he’s now running towards the door at the end of the corridor, the one with a red sign written ‘TERRACE’ over it – really running, to the point his body almost slams against the metal when he stops. The door handle makes a loud noise as he tries to push it open, can’t make it, tries again, harder – manages to step out with a strong shove. Hanjae goes after him, frowning, worried.

Outside, the terrace is a gray space, almost the same tone as the sky – rain’s a strong promise on the horizon, a reasonable fear.

Haruki’s standing right at the center. He tries to take in a big and loud gulp of air, can’t, makes a choking sound, lets out a hiss. Hanjae can feel the acute panic coming off him like electricity, gluing itself to his very own skin. He reminds himself to breathe.

Haruki stands an arm out and that’s the distance between them, that’s the nearest he’ll let Hanjae get.

“What’s– What’s happening, what’s wrong, what–?”

“Just,” he’s trembling bad. “Leave, I need– Leave.”

“Now?” Hanjae asks, and he’s making himself bite down on the trail of: ‘But the shoot’, ‘But the gig’, ‘But the job’ so hard, he’s actually got his teeth sinking on his lip.

Haruki nods, sharp and final, and Hanjae feels himself nodding back, frenetic. “Okay, stay– stay here, okay, you’ll leave– we’re leaving, just stay here.”

Hanjae walks back into the building with his head very low, tries to not walk too quickly to bring attention to himself, feels like he’s falling; feels like the whole world is looking at him. He holds his breath while sneaking back into the room they’re using as a closet, picks his and Haruki’s things like a thief: pushing everything into their bags without folding, eyes anxiously looking behind his back, flinching at every outside noise coming through the door.

Haruki’s phone is the last thing he grabs. He only becomes aware of it because it starts ringing. He looks at the screen, a quick run of his eyes. The contact name reads: ‘Don’t Answer Don’t Answer Don’t Answer.’

On the roof, Haruki’s sitting on the floor, resting his forehead against the wall. The back half of an air conditioner hangs close to him, and the leftover water pools near his feet, turning the hem of his pants dark.

They put on the yellow raincoats, plastic hood all the way up, and make a clumsy escape out the studio; Hanjae babbles something at the receptionist about there being equipment in the van, and the woman gives them a distracted ‘go ahead’ nod, an empty courtesy smile.

They walk without a plan, enter on the first bus that stops close: Haruki on the lead, completely reticent, Hanjae only following. There’s still a trail of glitter going down his neck, shiny with sweat, red from stress, Hanjae notices when they sit down. He’s still crying, still whipping at his runny nose with the expensive fabric of his shirt.

Hanjae looks down at his own clothes, the suit vest with no shirt under, a design piece New Wave doesn’t own – he’s wearing eyeliner, a strong smokey eye. They look expensive, and to an outsider, probably peculiar, weird. They don’t even have masks on…

Maybe, Hanjae hopes, trying to hold on to any trail of optimism possible, they could pass as very dedicated cover dancers, maybe–

The sound of Hanjae’s phone ringing makes them both jump in their seats. Haruki comes out of his state of anxious inertia to put a hand on his knee, pressing on it to get his attention. He says, through his teeth, “Do not– Hanjae, do not.”

Hanjae lets the phone ring out. He looks at the receiver: Uhm Junghwa (Manager).

Haruki’s peeking at it too. “Off,” he says, and it’s off.

It’s raining when they step out of the bus. They get maybe five feet down the sidewalk when a phone rings again – this time, Haruki’s. He comes to a sudden halt, and Hanjae bumps into his back and gets a close view of how, in an act of blind rage, he throws it hard on the floor.

“Fuck!” Haruki says, and steps on it once, twice, cracks the screen then the whole device in half. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Hanjae looks at him, wide eyed, mouth hanging open, and watches him pace around, a tense moment, until he loses all steam, goes sit by the closest wall.

Haruki stays for a long time there, one hand gripping the fence, the other pressing over his face, being rained on. Cautiously, Hanjae slides his raincoat off, squats down, close to him, and stands it over both their heads. Rain drips directly into his shoulder, makes a cold path down his neck.

“I hope your–,” a hiccup, a sniff, a faint and unconvincing attempt from Haruki of laughing them both off, “your fantasy’s still– still up.”

“My…?”

“Can you not,” Haruki says, a hiss, “Not look.”

Hanjae complies, doesn’t look. Behind them, a car runs close to the sidewalk, splashes a wave of rainwater on their backs.

“Sasaeng?�� Hanjae tries, “Is it a sasaeng, or…”

Haruki lets out a bitter snort. “Imja,” he says, and it makes more sense that he means ‘owner’ rather than ‘marriage partner’; Hanjae can’t hear anything else, can’t connect anything else to something he knows and decode it.

His throat has gone dry, sandy. He clears it, and still, his voice comes off clipped. “Your…? Ah. Ah, I didn’t know– Didn’t know you have someone you were–”

“You know him,” Haruki says. “For years. You– you’ve known him. He gave you your job– Made your job happen.”

It takes a long moment for it to click, for the shape of manager Choi to come to Hanjae’s mind. Haruki’s looking at him like he’s expecting Hanjae to do something horrible: mouth set for a fight, eyes so red they look like they’ve been painted over.

“Hyung,” Hanjae breathes. His voice is an even quieter thing, afraid. “Do you mean– Are you being serious?”

“Am I! Am I serious?!”

He’s up again, quick – Hanjae loses his equilibrium and falls back on the street. Haruki doesn’t wait for him to get up to resume stomping.

It takes two street turns for Hanjae to understand they’re detouring from the dorms.

They sit on another bus stop bench, hop on another bus. A quiet and tense drive, this one. Haruki’s no longer crying, just grinding his teeth.

They go to the front gates of a tiny building, their final destination, and Haruki tells the security guard an apartment number, wais to be buzzed in. He does soon, and Hanjae, yet to be told to leave, goes up with him on the stairs.

Delilah gets the door he bangs on, and Hanjae’s stuck blinking at the sight of her, who shouldn’t still be in Korea. Haruki barges into her place like a hurricane: shoes still on, pushing her a little back, closer to the wall.

They both stare at the spot he occupied on the corridor a second ago, a held breath.

She recovers much quicker than he does. Deh tucks a long lock of her caramel hair behind her ear, greets him with an awkward, “Hanjae, hi. Hi...”, and Hanjae gets overwhelmed by too many things at once; how glad he is to see her, the shame of how they had parted. Her sad face when she told everyone she couldn’t stand to work with them anymore.

“You’re back.”

“I am! I am back!” Deh says. “How could I not! Europe’s too gray for me. The food’s too bad, and...” She sucks air through her teeth, takes an anxious look behind her, back inside. “... And all that.”

Hanjae shakes his head, agrees – agrees to all that even though he has no idea what all that is. There’s a pool of spit on his mouth, and he has to concentrate on gulping it down, has to try more than once.

“Hanjae, baby, look– I’ll send him on his way later. Maybe tonight. Or tomorrow morning. Just…” She trials off. “Please don’t tell the others we met, okay? I don’t want Seungsoo looking for me or asking around. I don’t want to see him again, ever.”

Fair, Hanjae thinks. After everything, fair.

Deh flashes him a final grim before closing the door, still awkward, and it doesn’t last. She drops it for a split second, fully drops it, looks instead concerned, anxious.

Hanjae waits a moment, then moves before he knows it. He presses his ear against the shut door, closes his eyes and hopes to catch anything. A creek of wood. A vacuum cleaner being turned off. The sound of someone channel surfing. Deh saying what might be, “Haruki, what do you want me to do? I can’t know, love. I can’t know if you don’t tell me.”

Another sound drowns everything, nearer. Someone from the apartment on the left starts to unlock their door, it’s about to walk out, and it leaves Hanjae panicking, it makes him jog all the way out of the building, nonstop.

He makes the inverse way back home, alone. His own phone is a hot thing in his back pocket. When he gets to the dorm, Chihoon is the first person he bumps into, planted right beside the shoe rack. Hanjae’s seen him in this set of clothes, short shorts and a knockoff Pokemon shirt, more than he’s seen his own dad’s face these last few years.

Dylan grabs at Hanjae when he notices it’s him, pushes him back out quickly. He puts a finger in front of his mouth – quiet.

“I’ve given you some cover,” he whispers. They’re circling the house, Hanjae realizes, going to the backyard. “Said you were not feeling well. It won’t fly with Minwoo or Taesong, so think of something. And you're not gonna get paid this month, because of the clothes. Neither of you will.” He looks around, eyes sharp in a way Hanjae didn’t think they could be. “Where is he?”

“Deh’s,” Hanjae blurts out, and remembers he promised not to speak of her, grows meek.

He’s tired, deep in the bones tired, from all the walking, all the running. The socks inside his sneakers are still wet, his fingers have gone cold.

“Good,” Dylan says, remarkably unsurprised. “That’s good enough.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. In Hanjae’s head, a pinned image every time he blinks: Haruki’s eyes, red like a bruise.

“Chihoon hyung, I think– I think there’s something wrong with–”

Dylan’s grip on his arm is steady, but no longer comforting when he says, “Hanjae, listen, yes. Yes. Something’s wrong. Too many things–” He shakes his head, clicks his tongue once, and again. “No need for you to worry about it, because there’s nothing you can really do, okay? It’s been too long, now. The time for anyone to really do anything, over.”

He looks like he doesn’t want to be saying it, like all those words taste bitter, bad.

“So just keep being nice,” Dylan concludes, and his voice breaks at the end. “Be nice with him right now, alright? And patient, and normal, just like always, and…”

Dylan doesn’t say what else. He looks down, and Hanjae follows. Near their feet, a trail of black nicotine ash and tiny bits of paper; someone’s worry, someone’s wait.Kind, maybe, Hanjae concludes on his own. Maybe kind was what he was going to say.

March 12th & a Bit Of 13th, 2022.

Sunyoung immediately strikes Hanjae as someone who’s never held a small house party before, and it’s a bit painful to see her try.

She greets them at the door, a little overdressed: Chanel earrings, Chanel bag. “Is that everyone?”, she asks, craning her neck to peek behind them, and when they mumble ‘yes’ she visibly withers.

Taesong steps in front of them to give her a gift – a flower vase so yellow Zhiming had to look away from it, rubbing at his eyes.

She stares at it for a minute, frowns hard, then composes herself, says, “Ah! Thank you so much, oppa! This is so– Yeah, thanks! But you didn’t have to! Gon, baby! I said they didn’t have to!”

“I told you they don’t listen to me,” Haegon mutters. There’s a dark cloud over his face and Sunyoung seems to not mind it. She squeezes his arm when he passes her by, smiles at him prettily.

She checks the corridor one more time, and for a moment Hanjae thinks she looks sad; that she looks angry.

The party is a housewarming party for the brand new double storey apartment in Nine One Hannam she’s sharing with her BombShell leader Yoorim, who strongly opposed herself to throwing anything. Hanjae catches a glimpse of her looking displeased and bothered behind the kitchen aisle, and bows his head a little – she rolls her eyes, turns her back on him, disappears behind a small group of people.

Beomseok refused to come, decided to take the afternoon to go grocery shopping, the night to visit family he can’t take Haegon to see; the side that calls him a parasite. It had been a clear jab, right at Haegon’s face. Even Minwoo thought it was insensitive, and his response to the invite had been nothing but a disgusted face that spelled out ‘no’.

Hanjae watches him move through the living room, greeting some people. Haegon’s been here yesterday, and the day before that, and if Hanjae’s not cautious, he’ll stay over despite their early shooting tomorrow.

“That old man put you on babysitting duty, eh, Hanhan?” Seungsoo leans in to whisper to him, somehow with a drink in hand – white wine. The smell of his cologne is already stuck to the collar of Hanjae’s bottom up by osmosis.

“He’s just concerned. It makes sense to be concerned.”

On their first day back from L.A, Haegon had announced over dinner that he now had a girlfriend: they met last week, and had been dating for three days. The situation had driven Beomseok crazy. Haegon asked if him if wanted to meet her every day for two weeks straight, and he said: no. He eventually got around to meet her and said with even more conviction: no, break up, now.

It’s an age gap, even if very small, but she’s about five years his industry senior, he told Hanjae. And Sunyoung’s from YG Entertainment, the face of too many brands. She’s going to eat him alive, spit him out, leave him heartbroken and Beomseok is going to have to deal with it, and he doesn’t want to have to deal with it.

“She can just like him. People can just like him,” Taesong tried to intervene, high pitched, and Beomseok cutted him off right away, said, “No. No, there’s something– Be serious, Taesong. No.”

The front door dings again, and it takes a long minute for Haegon to untangle his arms from Sunyoung’s waist and let her go get it. Hanjae watches her walk across the house, a firm walk of a supermodel, of someone important, and gets embarrassed with how bad he is at this, how obvious.

Another glimpse her way, and the person with their two feet planted on the ‘welcome home’ carpet is Haruki. He also said he wouldn’t come but gave no excuse, yet: here, dressed nicely. He’s got the same convenience store from years ago under one arm, the one from a memory.

They talk, talk, talk, and he still won’t leave the entrance. Haruki makes her laugh, the most genuine thing Hanjae’s seen Sunyoung do all night. He sees her look at him, look around, then lean closer again: point upstairs and give Haruki a thumbs up as he finally makes his way in, into the stairs and out of sight.

Sunyoung’s back on the couch, to Haegon, and Hanjae makes himself look. They’re fine, they appear very fine, holding hands, he doesn’t have to watch them all night, there’s no need to watch them at all, and–

Hanjae goes up the stairs, which he knows it’s technically off limits. He tries to not let his eyes wander to the photos on the walls, the books on the shelves tucked next to an award behind protective glass, a big shiny plaque framed above it.

There’s only one door with light peeking through, right at the end of the corridor. He taps at it three times, and waits. Another three taps, slightly stronger.

“Occupied,” a voice says from the inside – a tone he knows. “All night.”

Hanjae can’t think of what to say: can’t think of anything at all, for a second. He gives the door another hopeful tap, waits more, and he lets out a sigh of relief when it creeks open. He goes in, closes it quietly behind him, and looks down.

The room’s a bathroom, straight out of a home decoration magazine, all black and white. Haruki seems to be setting up an improv bar on the floor, in the big space between the bathtub and the sink. There’s a bottle of something Hanjae can’t read, blue and half empty, tucked in between his legs like a treasure.

“Ah, you,” he waves at Hanjae’s vague direction, not looking up. “Hello, you. I’m just– Don’t mind the mess. Someone made me something once. ‘Trying to put it together.”

Hanjae hums. He can’t make his hand ease its grip on the doorknob.

It’s been weeks since they abandoned the shoot, and since then Haruki’s been avoiding him constantly. Looks at him from across rooms and seems pained, constantly, and Hanjae hasn’t had the heart to come near.

“What is happening?” Haruki asks, suddenly, and tries to land a smile. He blinks a lot and then not enough looking up at Hanjae. “Down. Down there.”

“Nothing much.”

“How is he?”

“Haegon?” Hanjae asks, and Haruki nods at him loosely, mouths the name without making a sound: ‘Haegon’. “He– Uh, he seems alright.”

“Great couple, yes or no? For our maknae, is she great?”

“I– I don’t know.”

Disappointment flashes vividly through Haruki’s face, and it lands on a sad shagrin. “You don’t know,” he says, to himself, and goes back to emptying his bag with a slouch to his shoulders.

‘Be normal’, Dylan had said that day, his only instructions: ‘Be nice.’

Hanjae lets go of the door and goes to sit in front of him, legs crossed like his are. “What’s it supposed to taste like? The drink.”

There’s no humor in Haruki when he says, “Acid.”

He offers a thermo bottle to Hanjae filled with the failed replica. Hanjae takes a tiny sip and can’t swallow it, feels like his tongue is on fire, and it makes Haruki huff a laugh. “More disgusting than that.”

He makes more combinations that demand more tasting, and Hanjae at times struggles, at times doesn’t – Haruki empties a Soju bottle and refills it with Somaek, calls it ‘Hanjae’s palette cleanser’. He also makes Hanjae go downstairs to grab things they don’t have: more cups, ice and fruit juice, if Sunyoung has any, which she does – too many options.

Hanjae comes back from the trip and sets all his findings at Haruki’s feet, then feels weird about it, exposed about it, and pushes some of it closer to himself.

The bottle opener, they notice a minute later, has disappeared. Hanjae thinks he took it with him to the kitchen and abandoned it on the counter. Worry not, Haruki says; worry not!, because he knows how to open them with his front teeth. It’s a hidden skill, a secret talent.

Haruki asks him to hold a bottle close to his face so he can prove it, and Hanjae does so, but it’s a frail grip, not good. Haruki puts a hand over his to make it steadier, makes it worse. Another hand, a shove closer until their knees are touching. Hanjae adds his free hand into the pile, the lonely hand, and Haruki looks straight at him – looks like he’s saying, ‘Bet?’

It takes a second, really. A pop and the lid comes off in the company of an enormous foam eruption. Haruki gets both his hands away, does a smiley flourish: ‘ta-da!’

“But you shook it! Too much, you–!’ He laughs, and can’t stop laughing. Hanjae’s still holding the bottle and tries to hand it to him, but Haruki shakes his head ‘no’. “For you. It is for you.”

It’s bland beer, he takes notice when he drinks it, but somehow it tastes sweeter.

From the corner of his eyes he catches a glimpse of metal in a corner, and it’s Haruki’s new phone, exiled.

Hanjae is surprised to hear himself ask him, “Are the calls– the calls still coming? The ones from–”

“Always,” Haruki responds, eerily nonchalant. “Always will.”

“It’s not over, then? You still–”

“It is. It is over. It is over the way it can be over.”

“What wouldhe,” Hanjae closes his eyes, reiterates, “If it’s over, what would he still want with you?”

“What do you think,” Haruki asks, staring fixedly at the alcohol going from one bottle to the other. A bit of it it’s running straight to the floor. “What do you think people want with me?”

It’s said– weird. Something in his uncaring tone makes a lump of sadness form in Hanjae’s throat.

“Hyung, you know that, if you everneed to talk to anyone about anything. Me and the guys, we all– We all listen. We would listen.”

“Anything?” Haruki pretends to be impressed. “Big. That is big.”

“Seriously. I’m being serious.”

Haruki looks up at him. Even more alcohol spills to the floor.

“Okay. Okay, anything. Anything…” he hums, dropping the bottles, mimicking being in thought with an obnoxious pout. His mouth is now a purple dot, and his eyes a shiny brown daze...

Hanjae often catches himself wondering if he just knows. If he looks into a mirror and just knows that he’s beautiful in a way that looks hand drawn, that looks meticulously planned: a subject of equal envy and admiration. If Sangwon ever told him that, and if so, how many times, had it come close to enough, had he used the right words to say it, did Haruki believe him when he said it, or if he didn’t – what did it make him feel? What exactly did he make him feel?

Hanjae always thought he was so mean, so bitter. He can’t remember ever hearing him say anything nice to anyone about anything.

Hanjae’s staring, he’s realized, and his eyes hurt. He makes them look down to where Haruki’s got a firm hold around the slim of a bottleneck, tapping a weird rhythm into it, impossible to decipher. He has long fingers with hard skin on them, which isn’t something you would expect. He used to paint, used to do calligraphy; used to go to a prestigious arts academy during high school, all boys.

Hanjae’s still starring, and he’s too close to drunk to properly command himself to stop. He hears Haruki huffs an unheard laugh, suddenly, short and maybe frustrated, maybe not that, and Hanjae’s head snaps up to his face to meet it.

He’s being stared at, too – is being analyzed, too.

“I thought of something. Something I want to say, a thing,” Haruki announces. The grin on his face suddenly looks very, very sharp, like there’s something tugging the corners of his mouth up. “I will whisper to you. On your ear. ‘Gimme your ear and I will tell.”

And with that he comes forward, a sudden and ungracious movement, and doesn’t stop when they’re front to front, an inch apart. He climbs Hanjae up – actually climbs him up, his legs around the middle of his body, cageing him in.

Haruki grims again and it’s lazily, in slow motion. He puts a hand on Hanjae’s chin, tips it high, says, “Not your ear.”

He turns his head to the side. His nose rovers near Hanjae’s head, and Hanjae tries to escape it in reflex, but they’re all too slow, drowned in alcohol.

Into his ear, lips touching skin, Haruki says, “I know you like me. For a very long time. Since that one time. Ever since we went out, we got drunk, that one time.”

“Sorry,” Hanjae mutters, hushed.

“‘Sorry’,” Haruki laughs again, like that’s the funniest word there is, like it’s the meanest. It rings so loud, it has an echo. “Now you sorry?”

Hanjae sinks more into the floor, almost laying down, and Haruki follows, saying, “Are you going away? This close? I am this close, and you going away?”

They’re kissing before Hanjae fully processes how, and it’s a weird kiss at a weird angle; Haruki won’t bend his body all the way down, and Hanjae has to keep craning his neck to meet him midway, his elbows pressing against the tiles, hurting.

He feels a hand slide up his shirt almost immediately, and Hanjae understands, with drunken horror, that he’s being undressed – quickly.

“Ah, wait–” He says, and then can’t get out anything else: Haruki shoved a thumb inside his mouth, in between his teeth, as he goes for the spot where Hanjae’s shoulder and neck meet.

“You smell like home here,” he says, a goosebump. He buries his face there, opens his mouth above it, bites and sucks hard enough to make Hanjae jump – for him to know it’ll leave a pinkish mark, evidence–

It’s exactly then and there that someone bursts in through the door, says a curse loudly, startles the two of them slightly apart, knocks the air out of their lungs.

“Close your eyes! I need to pee right now, right now, close your eyes!”

It’s a tall woman, this one – Hanjae sees her quick rush to the toilet and closes his eyes tight shut.

“If any of you try to act funny and take a single peek, I’ll fucking castrate you both– Hey! Hey, you, back on the floor, don’t come near, I’m fucking serious, I’ll kill you, you fucking–!”

The door clicks shut, and it takes Hanjae a moment to take in the lack of heat above and around him, to correlate the two: Haruki’s gone, walked out, left him.

From the side, he hears an instrident, “Can you at least cover your fucking boner, dude?!”

Hanjae rolls to his side, facing the opposite wall to where the toilet is; he pushes his knuckles into his shut eyes, for good measure. He waits for the girl to finish peeing, and tries not to have an anxiety attack or a heart attack or a nerve attack about everything that happened in the last ten minutes: Haruki on top of him, Haruki no longer on top of him, having to hear a stranger peeing.

“I’m done,” she announces, and he turns back to the same position as before.

There’s little dots of light in his vision, dancing. The girl’s using the sink now, and she has a blonde bob, so blonde and so short. It follows the shape of her mouth and up, even shorter at the back.

“Not a word from you, ever,” she warns, drying her hands on her skirt, pushing it down more, back in place. She gives him a pointed glare that makes Hanjae look down at the state he’s in, at his busted open shirt, a single button in the middle holding it all together. “Not a word from me. Now get the fuck out, please. People need to use the bathroom.”

And she gets going too, without closing the door all the way. The hum of the party downstairs carries over.

Hanjae inhales, looking at the bright ceiling light. His fingers have gone pruney where they were holding him.

[…]

Eventually Hanjae has to get out of the suite, and do a walk of shame back to the housewarming party. He takes down with him all the glass and cups he can manage, not a lot of them, goes straight to the kitchen sink, and begins to wash them, it’s done with them, goes for all of Sunyoung and Yoorim’s dishes.

Around him, the kitchen has emptied out – on the front the living room, mostly emptied out, too, except for little clicks. He spots J.J right in the center of the one installed in the couch, gesticulating enthusiastically, telling someone some story until they make eye contact. He stops, excuses himself, rushes near.

Up close, Jiahang looks at him, up and down, bug eyed, and Hanjae understands he didn’t do a good job of piecing himself back together.

He got a glimpse of his face in the mirror before walking out: lips glossy, bangs far apart and sticking up, somehow, not all the buttons of his shirt tucked in the right cases.

“Hanjae, oh my God. Dylan, Dylan, look!” He calls out, and Hanjae sees Chihoon appear on his left, face slightly dazed. “Oh my God, Dylan! Hanjae!”

“You fucking animal!” Seungsoo, coming out of nowhere, slaps him on the chest hard. “Who? Who who who who?”

They’re all too close, too soon, and Hanjae can’t look anyone in the eyes for too long– he just can’t.

He catches a glimpse of Blonde Bob Piss Girl in a corner, looking bored, on her phone, and stares at her for a moment too long. Everyone follows, looks at her too, and his bandmates erupt into enthusiastic ‘Eeeeeeh!’s. Someone, proprably Seungsoo still, raises his soupy arm up so he can be given high fives, and Hanjae doesn’t know what to do – to let the lie linger or to kill it. What can he even say? What can he say if not that–

Hanjae finds himself grabbing Dylan’s sleeve and tugging at it, leaving behind a damp. He feels like a little kid that broke something, suddenly – overwhelmingly so. “Where ‘d Haruki go?”

“Dude, I didn’t see him. You sure?” Chihoon asks, and Hanjae’s not; he’s not sure.

“Whaaaaat? Haruki came? Haruki’s here?”

“Great. Another one to hunt down. We’re never gonna leave this fucking place in time,” Jiahang whines. “Yoorim noona’s going to delete my number.”

Hanjae asks all of them at once, “We’re leaving?”

“Yeah, you didn’t hear? Sunyoung and Haegon ditched,” Seungsoo says, and Hanjae’s stomach drops. “It’s her house and they ditched, disappeared, poof! Yoorim’s pissed, told everyone to leave. And Taeng’s freaking out! Someone broke his little vase, someone spilled something on him. I think he’s gonna snap. We need to get that freak home.”

“Shit.”

“Yes, Hanjae,” Seungsoo laughs. “Old man was right, after all… Shit.”

[...]

They do a small search around the apartment, the balcony, and conclude: no Haruki anywhere, so they group everyone they have to leave, go wait to be picked up on the sidewalk in front of the Nine One Hannam gates.

“You just dreamed him up, Hanhan! Wouldn’t be the first time,” Seungsoo jokes. It’s a bad joke. O.z shoves him in the chest hard about it, tells him, “Quiet.”

Hanjae looks straight ahead, not at them. In front of him J.J keeps bouncing on the wheel of his feet, saying, ‘I’m going in the front, I’m passenger seat, forget it, it’s me me me me,’ even though no one’s putting up a fight about it.

Minwoo pulls up soon enough on the curve in one of the two black company vans, and downs the window just to give them all an open scowl, then a frown. “I’m only seeing seven of you.”

J.J circles the car to get to the front door, struggles a little to get it open. “Hyung, you’re not gonna believe.”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Jiahang.”

“Shut up, you do. You really really really really do. You were–,” and then he becomes aware of the slouched figure of Hanjae trailing behind him, turns and frowns. “What did I just say!”

“No, I’m…” Hanjae looks at Minwoo looking at him, one eyebrow raised, says, “Sorry.”

Minwoo pinches at his nose, hard. “Just get in the goddamn car, Hanjae, Jesus Christ.”

Hanjae thinks, out of everyone who has a driver’s license, Minwoo drives the shittiest. He needs glasses, he never wears them, he grumbles curses at every slow driver and every rush driver and every driver, in general.

On the way home, he stops the van only once, by popular demand. Taesong steps out to vomit, and spends the rest of the ride jittery about it, cracking his knuckles even when they make no sound.

“We’re so fucked,” Chihoon says when they park inside the dorm’s garage, rubbing his eyes. “It’s 3AM. We’re so fucked.”

While everyone rushes to their rooms to piece pajamas together and form a long row to shower, Hanjae’s elbow to elbow with Dylan, going up the stairs to the second floor as quietly as they can.

He and Haruki have, by far, the best room in the whole house: spacious, with a nice window. It used to be Haruki and Sangwon’s up until he got fired – some excuse about rooming with the manager to learn Korean quicker, about making sure Haruki wouldn’t sneak beer into his room. It makes Hanjae sick now, seeing it, standing so close to it.

Dylan tries the handle once, and the door doesn’t budge, only makes a stubborn click – locked.

Hanjae dries his hand on his jeans, still wet, somehow, asks him, “Is he– He’s in there? Or…?”

Chihoon rests his head against the mahogany and sort of sighs, sort of laughs. “Yeah, definitely home. He’s the only one with the key to lock me out. Classic. Just classic.”

“Get my bed,” Hanjae says – implores. “Use mine, you can– mine, I’ll couch.”

“You’ll couch?” Chihoon looks at him with the trembling smile of someone who’s about to laugh. It falls off his face quickly when he takes in the guilt Hanjae knows he’s wearing openly on his face.

“Hyung, I–” It’s out of his mouth before Hanjae even knows it. “Tonight, something – Something has happened, and I think, think I should– say.”

Dylan’s giving him an analytical once over, and he stops at his moving hands, on his marked neck, looks at the door again – locked.

“Hanjae,” he says his name like it’s an insult, and for a moment Hanjae feels like it really is – his name, an insult.

He crumbles. “I’m sorry, so, so sorry, we just– I didn’t mean to– It was just, just a kiss, I think, and I– I–”

“You kissed him?! ‘You think’? What does that mean? What do you mean ‘you think’?!”

Hanjae looks around and then down, behind him. “Dylan…” he manages, airy, and doesn’t know what he wants the rest of the phrase to be, where he’s trying to take it.

Chihoon’s mouth hangs open, a painful disbelief, and then slowly shuts.

“You know what,” he says harshly, but not angrily – he sounds more disappointed than anything, more tired than anything. “I don’t want to know. Not now. I’ll know, just– Not now. But fucking Hell, Hanjae, you. You just had to, didn’t you? You saw an opportunity and you just had to.”

Hanjae’s breath catches. Dylan is a figure in his eyes, growing blurry.

“I’m taking your bed,” he announces. ”Eveytime he kicks me out from this day on, I’m sleeping on your bed.”

He storms off, his bare feet on the floor a sound until it isn’t anymore.

Hanjae knocks on the door, a small tap. Nothing.

He thinks of saying it again: sorry. But no one’s around to hear it, no one’s around to accept it. There’s no point.

#fictional idol community #fake kpop group #kpop au #kpop fanfic #kpop oc #&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻ writing .#&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻ haruki .#&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻ hanjae .#&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻ dylan .

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citrusfield · 1 year

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( continued. ) ♡ @hcrdknocklife

"how do you know that i’m out of his league if you’ve never met him?” there’s still a small smile on her lips regardless of the finer details because even after all this time, it’s reassuring to hear from people who couldn’t disagree with her ex’s words more; especially when it’s a person she respects so much. the sad truth is that if someone spends enough time telling you that you’re not very smart, you’ll eventually start to believe it, and there are some tougher days at work where riley will start to fall back into that pattern. she swears she’s trying, but learning how to deal with failure without shouldering the full blame has never come naturally for her. “you say you don’t have much experience with it and that might be true, but whatever articles you’ve read seem to be pretty accurate. i can barely remember what not being anxious feels like.” when was the last time they were genuinely entirely carefree, with no nagging thoughts at the back of their mind or something lurking beneath that causes their stomach to twist itself into nervous knots? it must have been around their early school years, back before anybody had managed to figure out just how advanced her little brain could be in comparison to her classmates. once they did, it was all downhill from there. if she asked for assistance with something, what if the adults were disappointed? she was the clever one, after all. surely she shouldn’t need to be talked through the process like everyone else. sadly, she knows not everyone thinks the same way hayes does. not everyone is so willing to help.

“yeah, i know… although i’m starting to think there might be such a thing as caring too much.” imagine how much easier life would be if they could just shut off the limbic system in their brain for a little while and coast through the day without getting caught up on every minor mistake or overthinking every conversation hours after they've already ended. what a dream that would be. “that’s probably the smarter choice in the long run. but for what it's worth, i think you deserve all that praise you don't listen to.” it seems like feeling undeserving of flattery is just another thing they have in common. "i suppose if it was easy, anybody could do it, right? but you're the one in that position for a reason. you said you're doing the best you can and if everyone can already see that when you've barely just begun, i'd take that as a sign that you're moving in the right direction. so don't worry, i don't think you'll disappoint me either." realistically, they aren't even the one he should be afraid of letting down — what does their personal opinion really matter in the long run? "oh, ouch… are you trying to tell me to get a life right now?" being so directly called out would be woefully embarrassing if the initial surprise hadn’t made her laugh. is she that predictable? it's not like she never sees the light of day and spends the time in between shifts at home, staring blankly at the wall until it's time to leave again; she just tends not to do stuff that most people would deem as particularly adventurous or exciting. it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone to learn that she's not much of an extrovert. “hey, if you don't have confidence in your love life, someone has to. whatever form it ends up taking, yes, i'm willing to bet that you’ll get there. is that so hard to believe?" riley of all people giving out any kind of relationship advice is incredibly ironic, but she has a feeling about this one. he's so stereotypically perfect, it's close to frustrating. "yeah, that's what i thought… but then again, how else do you plan on meeting someone if you're exhausting all your other options?" at the mention of dating essentially getting in the way of work however, a knowing smile settles on their lips. ah, that sounds familiar. “i'm sorry, what was that you were saying earlier about me needing to work on my work-life balance? i'm afraid you might need to start taking your own advice." at this point, it should probably be considered a miracle that they aren't both still at the hospital right now.

“oh, i see… i suppose i didn’t think about that part.” she hadn't even thought that a member of staff would be an option for him, but it makes sense in hindsight; it's where he spends most of his time after all. the downside to this information is that now, their mind is running at a rapid pace trying to figure out who exactly has managed to capture his attention. they’re not one to gossip — especially not while at work — but they’d be lying if they said their curiosity wasn’t piqued. “as long as it’s consensual though, i’m sure there’s a way to work around the rules somehow, right? it may technically be frowned upon, but it’s not like you’d be breaking the law… i doubt you’re the first person to ever develop feelings for an employee.” aren’t there hundreds of cliche romance books out there about dating your boss? it must be a pretty common line of thinking for some people. as soon as it becomes clear that he's finally going to tell her why they're really here, riley's spine straightens and she tries not to lean forward in anticipation. she hadn’t the faintest idea what she was actually expecting him to say, but it wasn’t… that. her mouth opens the second the words leave his lips, but no sound comes out yet and she has to quickly shut it again. is he positive he hasn’t gotten her mixed up with someone else? “um, the clinic sounds like a great idea,” she begins, trying to find the best way to voice her confusion. this day has taken so many unexpected turns, she's shocked she's not dizzy. “but… why would you want me? you have plenty of other doctors who are far more experienced and capable than i am. giving me that responsibility... it feels like a risk.”

#script / riley ellis.#threads / riley & noah.#hcrdknocklife #i can't believe i have to split this into 3 paragraphs because it's too long for tumblr's limit... this is my rock bottom

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trinrose3 · 11 months

Text

Wanted to write a little fic about James meeting his father again after all these years ...or at least a little bit of the aftermath of it and the feelings that came with it and the circumstance around it.

Obligations are Just a Choice for Some and a Duty to Others

Words: 1564

Character: James, his dad, and Theo, (and a random nurse)

TWs: Mentions of Abuse and a brief description of it

Familial obligation.

James wanted to laugh. The bitter kind of laugh; the one where you know that if you don’t you’ll either scream till your voice turns raw or sob till you drown in your own tears.

How dare he. How dare that man…after all these years…

“James—”

“James!”

He ignored the calls of the nurse who was trying to catch up to him.

She gave one last desperate attempt and reached out to grab his shoulder, “James…”

“What?” He snapped, face red with anger, his heart pounding from it too. Were his ears ringing from it as well or were his hearing aids acting up?

“How are you just going to walk away from him like that?” The nurse tried to berate.

James snorted, “Trust me, very easily.”

“Although, it would be a lot easier if he didn’t bash my fucking leg in with a baseball bat.” He continued, slamming his cane onto the ground for emphasis.

She seemed too shocked at his answer if the wide eyes and stammering was any indication.

“How come you never said anything?” The nurse said, eyebrows knit in confusion and sympathy.

James clenched his teeth and sighed, “It’s already hard enough to get people to think that I’m competent at my job; I don’t need another layer of pity on top of it.” He was finding it hard to swallow, “And besides, it doesn’t make for a good conversation or bedside manner, now does it?”

“I suppose not…” She agreed hesitantly, eyes drifting to the floor, purposefully away from where his cane was.

“Listen, I appreciate you trying to mediate, honest, but some things are better left broken and un-mended.”

“So what do you plan to do?” The nurse asked, shuffling uncomfortably in place.

“Hand him off to another doctor, inform security to who he is and give them instructions to make sure he leaves me alone, and if he doesn’t die, the second he’s cured, get them to escort him out at the soonest possible moment.”

“But—”

“But what?” James echoed, “But he’s your father? But he’s family?”

“I know what he—”

“You don’t know anything!” He cut her off, uncaring that he was starting to cause a disturbance, “like I said, I know you mean well, but drop it.”

James swiftly turned away from her and started storming off and down the hallway, “I’m taking a break; don’t bother me.”

James pretended it was the chill of the air that stung his face and not the tears that were threatening to run down it.

He watched the people as they passed by from his sad little place on the sad little bench. James wasn’t a jealous or bitter person. However, sometimes he found himself cursing at a god he on longer believed in and wanting answers as to why he couldn’t have one of the most basic things a human should be given; parental love.

“Rough day?”

Well, he wasn’t expecting to hear that voice.

He managed a smile and turned towards the man who had spoken, “Hello, Theo.”

“Mind if I sit?” Theo asked, pointing to the bench as the other clutched a box to his chest.

“All yours.” James replied, and scooted over a bit.

“So, what’s bothering you?” Theo questioned, gently placing a hand on the others’ back.

James had never been a big fan of being touched but over the last few years had learned to find comfort in it. Even still, he had a hard time not tensing immediately after any contact had been made. However this time James found himself doing something completely unexpected. First, placed his cup of coffee to his unoccupied side, almost robotically, face blank. Then he nearly tossed himself into the other, wrapping his arms around the man like he was his life line.

“Woah!” Theo said, “That bad?”

All James could do was give a small pathetic sob as he nodded and buried his head further into the other’s neck; he smelled like freshly baked oatmeal cookies. They stayed together like that for a few moments; the only thing interrupting their silence was a few muffled sobs and hiccups from the distressed man.

“Sorry.” James said as he pulled away.

Theo kept his hand on the other’s back and rubbed it “Hey, no worries.”

“Listen, I know you like to keep things to yourself, and that’s okay,” Theo comforted, “but I am here if you need to talk or just have a shoulder to lean on. August and Eric too.”

James smiled somberly, “Thank you.”

“I brought you some cookies.”

“Lucky me.”

Theo handed James the box and watched as he opened it eagerly. They weren’t as young as they used to be but he enjoyed the moments where James’ excitement would get the best of him, as few and far between as they were. He always was a shy and reserved man…

“My father’s in the hospital. They assigned him as my patient.” James stated like he was saying the sky was blue.

Theo found out the hard way that yes, it was in fact possible to choke on air and your hear that has leaped up into your throat at the same time, “They what?!”

“Well to be quite fair, they had no really clue about how — and pardon my language— much of bastard that dickhead fucking was,” James said, his words a bit muddled from the cookie he had shoved into his mouth.

“So what did you do?”

James paused, and furrowed his brows, “ I wish I could say that I stood up for myself but…” He dropped his head in shame, “In reality I just walked into the room, let him have his whole speech about how ‘proud’ he was of me and how much of a good son I would be if I donated some bone marrow to him or convinced Jess to…”

“That must have been hard…” Theo looked down at his hands as he clasped them together.

" ‘Familial obligation’ he said,” James mocked, “As if he knows the meaning of those words.”

“I mean—” James looked up at the sky, “what does he know of the meaning of that phrase! Familial Obligation? Where was his familial obligation all those years ago, huh?”

James was starting to get upset again, his chest rising and falling rapidly as memories he had tried to suppress for years came flooding all back, “Why is it that everyone always questions why the child feels no obligation to repair the relationship when the parent was the one who ruined it in the first place?!”

“I—” Theo tried to speak.

“— I mean I was a kid, what was I supposed to do?” His lips were wobbling, eyes wide with fear, “What am I supposed to do now? If I help him I might as well be saying that I forgive him. If I don’t I might as well just be his killer, and everyone will think I’m in the wrong and that I'm heartless; I mean, why wouldn’t they? They don’t know anything about me!”

James gripped at his chest, “My whole life has been spent in fear of that man. I can’t…I can’t just—”

“It’s okay—”

“No it isn’t!” James barked, fear utterly consuming him as he jolted up from the bench, cane falling on the concrete below, “What the fuck is supposed to be okay? There’s nothing okay with this! This situation isn’t okay! I’m not fucking okay!”

Theo slowly stood up, arms out in a comforting gesture, “You’re right. It’s not okay. You shouldn’t have to deal with this, you shouldn’t have this weight on your shoulders.”

“But I do…” James sniffed.

“But you do..” Theo sadly confirmed.

“I’m so tired…” James admitted, his voice wavering, almost giving out.

“I know.”

“What do I do?”

Theo wished he had an actual answer as he brought James back into a hug, “I’m sure whatever decision you make will be the right one.”

“That was a non-answer if I’ve ever heard one.” James laughed bitterly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” James wiped away his tears.

“It’s hard. Sometimes you want to forgive them because they raised you but a part of you knows that they can’t be forgiven for what they’ve done. A part of you will always yearn for the way it was before but there’s no going back,” Theo bent down to grab the cane, “If you ask me, his comfort and anyone else's comfort shouldn’t be worth the risk of your safety.”

James gently grabbed the cane, “Thank you…”

“Maybe you should take some personal time?” Theo suggested.

“Yeah…I think I should.”

“Maybe you could get a free bereavement period out of it,” Theo jested.

There it was; that little smile that James liked to hide, the one where he knew something shouldn’t be funny but couldn’t act like it wasn’t. Theo was very happy to see it.

“I’m gonna…go clock out now.” James said awkwardly gesturing to the hospital doors as he turned to leave.

“Mind if I drive you home?”

James turned around, “I’d like that.” He said smiling before turning back.

“You’re just happy you get to eat the rest of these cookies in the car!”

The bark of laughter that erupted from James was all the comfort and confirmation that Theo needed. He’d bake the man some more when they got home.

Screw that fucking bastard.

#oc: james #oc: Theo #my writing #story: The neighbors

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108garys · 2 years

Text

House of Ashes/Thedas AU: "misconceptions"

sorry its taking so long I'm still new to this, decided to split this one in half as it was a bit long(and then this part doesn't need to be held back while I tweak the other)so this part is Dar and Salim's povs and the others are in the second(boy are they not on the same page)

(part 1, part 2, part4)

tag list: @kassiekolchek22 @leevila-today @disabledbears @ultrabananapudding @seraphjewel @delurkr

(9:34/Dragon-Tevinter)

Dar settled into Amani’s sitting room, he always took his evening tea with his wife to go over the day and discuss the future; the last of the dying sun glared across marble walls and all of her glittery sculptures of fanciful things giving him a headache…

Today’s meeting was of particular importance as he would be away from Minrathous and Amani was in talks to find a match for their son, he wouldn’t know if they’d come to an agreement until his return. Dar hoped he would be happy like Amani and himself, although maybe happiness wasn’t exactly correct… He had been fond of her, as one who holds admiration for a peer they look up to, since they met some thirty years ago when he was their son’s age, she had been confident and irreverent and up front about every little thing that crossed her mind; on first meeting she declared neither he nor any other man would have her and he shyly admitted he had no desire outside of duty and two decades of marriage and fifteen years of parenthood later he counted her among his most cherished confidantes…

“It would be easier if you were here, it may be cause for offense that you deem their daughter’s hand less than some excursion to the deep roads,” Amani shuffled through parchment with engagement correspondence and Dar’s own scrawled notes seemingly indiscriminately, “Oh don’t look at me like that, I’m not suggesting you stay it’s just frustrating to deal with.”

“I’m sure we caused our parents the same frustration,” Dar smiled at her taking a note from her as an elven woman brought their tea, Amani’s smelt of sweet spices and his was bitter to his taste. "Please Dar, our parents were glad to find matches for people like us," she didn’t look up as she sipped. "Tell me again why you insist on such a small force?" He felt confident in the handful of men he'd be taking but understood her concerns. "Taking too great a number into the deep roads is asking for trouble, supplying a larger group would be a logistical nightmare."

"The Dwarves manage it." She quipped. "The Dwarves live there, it’s different." He reread the parchment as he finished his tea. "Salim has been working out the details for months, if we add to our number this late we may as well scrap the whole trip."

"Ah yes, Salim," Amani leaned forwards with a devious smile, "Now that’s a name I hear paired with such pining and sad cow eyes, tell me why don’t you get on with it and bed him already?"

"Venhedis, Amani!" His wife had no patience for shame or to mince words. "I couldn’t, he’s still grieving the loss of his wife and as his employer it would be inappropriate to…" She was giving him that look that said she knew better. "You say that like she died." Dar thought the loss of relationship or reputation was cause for grief besides the fact that people of lower status could marry for love, he didn’t know if Salim had loved Raina but he couldn’t just ask about it…

"It’s been five years, his son will be going south to study in Orlais soon and what if he goes south with his boy and decides he likes Val Royeaux?" She lazily adjusted a pin in her dark hair as she continued to paint her husband’s nightmare scenario. "He could be wed to a southerner within the year and I’ll spend the rest of my life married to a great lump that stares south wondering what could have been if only you had the balls to make him yours."

"I don’t meddle in your affairs." Dar tried his best to keep a casual tone, these things had always come easier to her and right on cue she proved it, "At least I have them," she said winking at the elf as she returned for the tea cups, this drew a blush to the girls cheek. "Kaffas! I can’t just make him!" he was desperate for this conversation to be over. "Of course you can, what? You think he’d turn you down?" Amani sorted the papers back into their original piles, "Don’t you think you owe it to yourself to enjoy sex at least once in your life."

“Salim is a citizen of the Imperium, not some slave I can do whatever I want with!” He tried to convince himself that Salim’s professional loyalty would suffice but the idea of him being swept away by some southerner who wouldn’t hide behind duty and tittles, it was nearly enough to consider his wife’s suggestion…

“But he wouldn’t refuse you, if you insist on treating this infatuation like something deeper then promise him the whole world for all I care, just stop punishing yourself over it.” Happiness wasn’t the word for what Dar had with Amani, he could be happy if Salim called him Amatus, his beloved, maybe it would be right after their success. Offer the man everything he has in exchange for love and hope for the best. “Why did I marry a woman more clever than myself?”

Satisfied Amani left Dar to his thoughts, most involved Salim, the things he wished to say and much more the things he wished to do, he couldn’t let it distract him from his work but after that he would catch him, keep him from the evils of the barbaric south and any uncivilised backwards lover he may find there. Salim deserved the world and the Magister was beginning to convince himself that he alone could give it to him…

The hour was growing late, a week from now his son would be on his way to his new life in Orlais and he had dusty darkspawn infested ruins to look forwards to. Dar was certain that there was some power he could put between himself and his enemies down there, rumours had been circulating about something strange in that part of the deep roads for years now and it had near consumed the Magister as of late.

Salim went over everything, he had time but he’d rather be ahead. The house was a mess between his preparations and Zain’s. His niece Dalia, with whom Zain would be living, had come all the way from Orlais to accompany her younger cousin. She was making the most of her stay as she hadn’t much opportunity to return to Tevinter since her marriage to an Orlesian merchant and she had never been to Minrathous.

Zain’s classes wouldn’t begin for months and Salim was glad that his son would have time to familiarise himself with the culture but right now as he sat watching the front entrance a candle burnt down and his patience grew thin…

A few painfully slow minutes of worrying later the front door swung open. “Zain,” his son looked as if he’d expected to escape notice returning at this hour. “It’s my fault,” Dalia cut across, “I just get so turned around, truly I would be wandering the streets until dawn if it wasn’t for Zain.” She gave her cousin a nod before slinking off to her room. She was nearly thirty but seemed more like a child trying to avoid reprimand. Zain began to follow her down the hall.

“Zain…” The boy stopped without turning to him, Salim left his seat to approach him. “You know it worries me when you stay out this late, especially at this time.” Zain turned to him, “Why can’t you come with me?” They’d had this conversation before…

“Zain, you know I can’t back out of this… You should be thankful that Magister Basri allowed me to plan things around your departure.” His son frowned, Salim was sure his boy hated the man nearly as much as his mother had; especially this past year…

Raina had hated Minrathous, she held out for five years unable to convince Salim to return to Ventus and towards the end she held him in suspicion; that he was dishonest and disloyal and of imagined duties to the Magister. He’d never denied his attraction to men but it was singularly ridiculous to imply that there was anything between them. The man was stubbornly proper and the very idea of them together would mortify him.

“Basri can hang for all I care,” Zain had never been this open with disdain. “Zain! Have some respect, we wouldn’t be half as well off if I didn’t serve him!” Zain shook his head, storming off down the hall. Salim hadn’t meant to be so harsh, his son was going through a lot and he couldn’t be as present as he wanted. He let ten minutes pass before knocking on Zain’s bedroom door. “Zain, please…”

The lock clicked and Salim let himself in. The boy was sitting on his bed near tears. “I understand the difference it’s made but…” his voice began to waver, “Don’t die for him!” and with that tears were pouring, Salim rushed to Zain’s side, sitting with him on the bed, wrapping his arms around him. “That’s not going to happen,” he smoothed his son’s curls, it wasn’t like his concerns were unfounded… “I promise as soon as I return from the deep roads I’ll come and visit you in Val Royeaux for as long as you need.”

“You promise?” Zain’s voice was slightly muffled, his head buried in his father’s shoulder. “I promise.” His son pulled away from his embrace and looked him dead in the eye, “And if I asked you to leave him?” he had meant ‘leave his service’ but Salim couldn’t help how he how was reminded of Raina at the end. He couldn’t stand the idea of losing Zain like he’d lost her…

“It is true that I have given him a decade of my life,” and he was grateful, he truly was, but the damage to his personal life was too much, “but it isn’t a simple thing to just quit.” Zain crossed his arms, blinking away fresh tears. “I knew it!”

Losing Raina had felt inevitable; things hadn’t been the same after Seheron. He could argue away his responsibility, that it wasn’t wrong to strive for a better life, that his loyalty to the Magister wasn’t truly to blame and they just wanted different things but not with Zain. Dar couldn’t know the effect he had, that in the year since Salim had suffered major injury in the Magister’s defence a rift had steadily grown between him and his son; a rift Dar’s increasing paranoia filled as he drew closer for fear of his own life. Salim didn’t want to hurt his friend but if it was between his boss and his son…

Salim put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, maybe a successful venture would be the right note to retire on. He could celebrate the Magister's personal victory and announce that things needed to change… “This isn’t a decision that can be made in one evening but I will consider it.” Zain sighed heavily, brushing a hand over his face. “I want an answer before you leave.” It was the best compromise for the moment; it gave Salim a week to decide what the rest of his life would be like…

Zain was due to depart the day after his eighteenth name day and in his mind’s eye Salim couldn’t see himself breaking his son’s heart like that, Zain would never forgive him and he could hardly forgive himself. “Ok,” he said softly, it would be hard to focus on his work but when the time was right he’d make sure Dar understood the necessity, “Now you should get some sleep, we still have a lot to do.” He hugged him before leaving for his own room, he had expected to live here for the rest of his life and now nothing was certain…

#house of ashes #the dark pictures anthology #jalim #dalim #salim othman #house of ashes au #thedas au #dar basri #hoa fanfic #the dark pictures #the dark pictures house of ashes #Dragon age au #Dragon age #crossover fic #Fanfiction

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saintsofwarding · 2 years

Text

EMBRYO

Chapter 5: Burger Fool

"No," the diner guy said.

"No?" Rose echoed.

"You heard me. No."

"No job, you mean? No...what? Why?"

"Yeah, no job." He ticked off on his meaty fingers. "...Yeah, no job, and 'cause we aren't hiring kids, Miss..." He glanced down at her application. "Uh...Winners?"

"Winters," Rose said. "Why the hell not?"

"You're sixteen. I ain't doing that whole teenage-drama song and dance again. Not after last time. Come back in two years or whatever." He looked her over doubtfully. "If you want to work here that bad, I guess."

Rose glanced around the diner, which was, non-encouragingly, called Vinnie's Meat Hut. A few exhausted-looking patrons slouched at booths and window tables, sadly munching plates of anemic fries and burgers that looked as if they might cause cardiac arrest on contact.

"Come on," she said under her breath. "I'm...young and hip. I could really...bring a fresh perspective into...you know, the day to day..."

"Fresh perspective," the manager said.

"Yeah. I could wash dishes, too, if you don't want me waitressing. Or I could...um...take out the trash."

"Take out the trash," the manager said.

"Please," Rose said.

"No."

"Please?"

"Kid, you need money that bad, go ask your mommy."

Rose blinked, then put on a sad face with big eyes. "I don't have a mommy," she whispered. "Or a daddy. They died when I was three."

"Cancer?"

"Brain."

"Both of 'em?"

"It was contagious."

"Get the fuck outta here."

Rose let out a huff, turned, and stomped out. She couldn't resist throwing up a middle finger before she went through the door.

The manager returned the gesture half-heartedly.

Rose stood on the diner's stoop, staring out at the rainy morning. Today was Friday, thank God. She needed the weekend badly. She hadn't gotten any homework done that week on account of the stuff with Sam and, of course, the monster.

The monster.

Heisenberg had said nothing about the previous night- not that Rose had given him a chance. She'd left before he even emerged from his room, stuffing handfuls of granola bars into her pockets so she didn't even have to stick around for breakfast. She'd barely slept- her second night in a row without much sleep- and now her eyes were itchy, her brain half-congealed concrete. Still, her ankle felt almost healed. One good thing about her power: she healed really, really fast. She'd never got worse than a broken bone, but even that had been better in a week. That had been tough to explain to the elementary school; Rose suspected Heisenberg had employed threats and intimidation to keep those concerned from looking into it too deeply.

Morning traffic rushed past, horns squabbling, pedestrians pushing by, on their way to work or school. The night before, this street had been ominous, dark and abandoned, but now in the gray daylight looked back to normal. Halloween decorations hung in shop windows, and a news-stand owner across the way was sat by his stand on a folding chair, portable radio by his side, listening to the reports.

Rose edged closer. She ambled across the street, ducked under the news-stand's awning, picked out a magazine, pretended to read. ...Light showers all across Regent City and the coast...looks like our October's only going to get colder, folks, better bundle up those kids for trick-or-treating...three-car pileup on I-60, no one badly hurt...Mt. Calyx hospital reports that...

Rose allowed herself a moment of relief. Maybe...maybe it had been chalked up as a fluke...maybe...

...More information on last night's subway attack...

Her spine went stiff.

...No casualties. A survivor and eyewitness to the perpetrator is currently in stable condition. While wild dogs are rare in Regent City, we do warn all our listeners that...

"Wild dogs?" Rose said, out loud.

The stand owner looked up sharply. "Hey," he said. "You gonna buy that?"

Rose glanced down at the magazine. Engines Quarterly. Heisenberg didn't have this edition yet. It had just come out.

"Yeah," she said. "Actually, I am."

Heading to school on the city bus, Rose hunched down in the seat, glanced around, then got out her phone. It was a super-shitty old one- Heisenberg had tried to juice it up too, but there was only so much he could do- and it took a long time for anything to load. Once it did, she scanned the breaking news articles one after another, trying to see if Mara or anyone else had mentioned her. Most of the articles agreed that it had been wild dogs. One posited that someone had gone psycho after snorting horse Viagra- apparently maulings were a common side effect of that activity- though judging from the comments section it wasn't a widely shared theory.

By the time Rose reached her stop the relief was enough to get her sluggish self off the bus and into school. Still, she tugged her knit hat down, like that would hide her face, and hunched into her coat, trying to get from class to class with as much speed as possible.

The conversation in her classes was a buzz on the edge of her awareness. Parties, Halloween events, weekend plans. Someone mentioned the subway incident, but it was more about how metal it was that there had been an animal attack in the middle of Regent City. No details. Rose's mind kept drifting to her ill-fated interview at Vinnie's Meat Hut. Ugh, she shouldn't have been such a brat. She needed money. She needed...

Just talk to Heisenberg.

Just talk.

She cut off her thoughts with a shake of her head. No. She had to do this herself. Besides, he was keeping things from her. Big things. If he was gonna know about what she was up to, he had to earn it.

When the bell rang for lunch, she didn't head with her friends to the lunchroom. Instead, she made a beeline for the library. The hush enfolded her, a few other students hunched over reading tables or sitting in the computer lab. Rose claimed a computer, logged in, and navigated to the search engine. Glancing to and fro, she hunched a little further forward before taking the metal disc from her pocket.

It gleamed in the light from the computer screen. She set it on the edge of the keyboard, then typed in

EMBRYO

Nothing, of course. Just the usual definition, wiki, et cetera. Embryo test and project embryo turned up even fewer results- just articles about artificial wombs, lab rats, in vitro shit. Rose stuck out her tongue as she scrolled through the image results, then, with a spike of frustration, shut down the search engine and left the computer lab for the library front desk.

The librarian looked up as she approached. It was the same one as the day before, a mid-thirties woman with a braid over her shoulder.

"'Scuse me," Rose said. She slapped the disc down on the desk. "Can I look up barcodes here?"

She looked up from her computer. "...What? Is this for a project?"

"Yeah. Research project. Big thing. Really important." Rose lifted her eyebrows. "So can I? Scan barcodes?"

"Um..." The librarian's eyes flicked to the disc. She smiled a little. "You're...Rosemary, right?"

"Rose."

"Rose, I think this...what is this? A dog tag?"

"Sort of."

"Well," she said, indulgently, "I think you'd need the database for whatever...whatever data is on this if you wanted the code to lead to anything. Right?" Her smile turned apologetic. "Sorry I can't be of more help."

"Sure. Yeah. No, it's okay," Rose began. Dumbass. Of course. "I, just, I-"

"Rose."

She went stiff. She stared down at the desk for a couple seconds, then turned.

Sam stood behind her, hands in her jean jacket pockets, staring down like Rose had just been staring. Dark circles cut under her eyes, her brows drawn together. She kind of looked like she'd been crying. Rose looked around, but none of Sam's friends were anywhere to be seen.

"What do you want?" Rose said.

"I...look..." Sam squeaked her boot along the ground. "I understand if...if you want to tell me to shove off, but..."

"A little bit, yeah."

Her eyes flicked up. She had been crying, Rose realized with a pang. Her eyes were red and puffy, the skin under them pearlescent.

"Can we talk?" Sam said. "Somewhere else?"

Rose opened her mouth. "Yeah," she said. Her voice was soft. "Yeah, of course."

They ended up in the alleyway. The same one as before. The dumpster was back upright, the dog monster's black blood entirely washed away by the rain. The air smelled crisp, clean. Rose sat on the steps, while Sam paced back and forth in front of her.

"So?" Rose said. "Talk."

"I..." Sam stopped. She let out her breath. Then she reached in her bag and brought out her phone. "I know Mara."

The air seemed to siphon from Rose's lungs. Her vision shocked white.

"What?" she said.

"Yeah. I mean...sort of. My friend, Necro, he's in band with me...they went to middle school together. She goes to East Regent High now, but...he knows her. And he was texting her in the hospital. And she said..." Sam scrolled through her phone. "She said...a girl saved her. A blonde girl. With black stuff that came out of her. Someone told her not to talk about it, but she couldn't keep quiet about who saved her. She said...this girl...drove the monster away."

"The monster," Rose whispered.

Sam nodded.

"It was you," she said. "Wasn't it?"

Rose looked at her hands. She drew in a slow breath. As she did, black veins twined through her skin, undulating slightly, like living things. She clenched her fists and they retracted. Sam didn't move. She stood there, watching her with dark, unreadable eyes.

Rose nodded.

"Monster attacked me last night," she said. "I took care of it."

Sam let out a laugh. The sound of it bordered on the hysterical. "Took care of it? You freaking hit it with a subway train, dude!"

She couldn't help but smirk. Heisenberg would be proud. "A little bit."

"That totally beats your goth hobo dad's stop sign maneuver, hands down."

"He's not my real dad," Rose confessed.

"...Huh?"

"He kind of saved me from, among other things, a draconic vampire lady's psychic nightmare dreamscape palace when I was a baby. He's been taking care of me ever since."

Sam took this all in with a blink, but all she said was "And he's...like you?"

"Pretty much."

"Good thing he's not your real dad," Sam said. "I'd hate to meet your mom."

Rose snorted. She doubled over with laughter; it kept coming, snorts and hiccups, uncontrollable; her eyes began to water. Sam started to laugh, too, one hand pressed to her mouth. She leaned against the far wall, her smooth brown throat open to the cool air. Warmth radiated in the pit of Rose's stomach, and despite her exhaustion, her aches and pains, the distance still between her and Sam, she couldn't help but be glad to be here, now, with her.

Their laughter died, and the silence came in once more.

"The way I talked to you..." Sam began.

"You were scared. I get it."

"Not just that." She looked down. "My aunt lived in Raccoon City."

"Oh."

"Yeah. She and my mom...they were super close. After...after what happened...after they just...never found her..." Sam shook her head, her gaze faraway. "My mom was apparently never the same. She's..."

She cut off.

"This stuff," she went on, "these...things. They've destroyed so many people's lives. They've taken so much away from so many. I was...I was scared, yeah. But...I didn't want to be scared of you...just of...of that."

The corner of Rose's mouth quirked in a tiny smile. "That?"

"You know." She wriggled her fingers. "That!"

"Are those my tentacles?" Rose said, letting her voice go sepulchral on the last word.

"Well, I can't summon them, so yeah."

Rose nodded.

"I get it," she said. "But, Sam...this power. These things I can do..." Her throat tightened. "They are me. Don't you understand? I can't put them down. I can't ever be apart from them. I...sometimes, I wish..."

She cut off, then began again. "They are me," she said again. "And. And you get all of me, or you don't get me at all."

Her face was hot, but her voice hadn't shook. Sam still stared at her. Her eyes were bright in the trace of weak sunlight from above. A momentary break in the clouds.

"Can you accept that?" Rose said.

Sam paused. Then-

She nodded.

"I think so," she said.

"Good," Rose said. "I need your help. You said Mara told you guys that someone told her not to talk?"

"Yeah."

"You have any money for flowers?" Rose said. "Because we've got a hospital to visit."

***

"Fuck school," Sam said, starting up her car.

"You're, like, a straight A student," Rose said.

"That's why I can say fuck school." She backed out of the school lot and they were off. "I've earned school-fucking privileges."

The drive to Mt. Calyx grew darker by the minute, the afternoon's brief respite from the rain over. Raindrops spattered Sam's windshield as they drew closer. Rose's hands were clammy; she tried not to fidget, but she picked at a hole in her jeans anyway. Sam glanced over, but said nothing. From the line between her eyebrows, she was a little leery, too.

Mt. Calyx rose above the surrounding buildings. It was built atop one of Regent City's hills, sloping up from the docks district to overlook the city below. The hospital was an imposing steel-and-glass structure with extensive, tree-lined grounds, its name done in bright teal lights across its front facade. After parking, Rose and Sam dawdled by the car, shivering in the chill wind, staring up at the building.

"Kind of creepy, don't you think?" Sam said. "Hospitals, I mean?"

"I've never really been inside a hospital before."

"You serious?"

Rose nodded. "Me and Heisenberg, we...kind of heal on our own. With him, there's some extra organs to deal with-"

"Extra- what, now?" She shook her head. "Long story, right?"

"They all are." In the long years of her child-and-tween-hood, Rose and Heisenberg had bounced from cheap apartment to cheap apartment, motel to abandoned warehouse, never staying for more than a couple years, tops. They'd watched a ton of television- together, sometimes, Heisenberg making constant observations and jokes at the expense of the characters, but mostly Rose alone, huddled under a blanket, staring at the screen, waiting for Heisenberg to come back. It was all kind of a mystery. With his powers, he could have done anything, made fuckloads of cash, become famous, but he never had. Back then, Rose hadn't questioned it- it was the two of them against the world, and no one else mattered- but now she wondered if it hadn't all been for her benefit, if he'd stayed under the radar to keep her under the radar in turn.

Once she would have chalked that up to pure love.

Now?

She couldn't think about that right now, couldn't think about him. Point was, they'd watched a lot of hospital dramas. A lot. Rose knew the procedure, even if she'd never experienced it.

"Come on," she said. "Let's not keep Mara waiting."

They made their way through the sliding doors and into the hospital proper. The lobby smelled subtly luxurious, paneled in wood, the lights kept tastefully low, but under the muffled murmur of conversations and the music played softly on hidden speakers, Rose detected a tang of something like disinfectant, chalky and stinging.

Her nerves prickled. She shoved her hands in her pockets in case her mold started to show. Sam went and spoke to the front desk person, who handed out clip-on visitor's badges and a hospital map.

"She's in the recovery wing," Sam said, returning to Rose. "Room D-6- oh! Look! A shop. Perfect."

She went to the gift shop and bought a bouquet of pink flowers. As she did, Rose's phone began to vibrate. An unknown number. That would probably be Heisenberg. She chewed her lip. Shit, had the school called Heisenberg or something? Usually he couldn't care less whether or not she skipped out on class. After last night had he decided to play responsible-parent after all?

She shoved it back into her pocket and hurried to Sam's side. This time of day, the hospital was quiet, a few nurses chatting in a break area, a doctor working at a computer in a glassed-in office. Rose kept glancing around, then reminding herself not to look suspicious.

"Don't look suspicious," Sam whispered.

"I know!"

"We're not doing anything wrong, we're just visiting a friend."

"I know," Rose said again. She stared down a hallway, pale green walls giving the light an underwater quality. "I just...weirds me out, is all. This place. I..."

She trailed away.

A memory. Suddenly. Like it had walked through a door in her mind. That smell. Chemicals and disinfectant, medical supplies and- mold. A woman's voice, singing her to sleep. Hush, now, child, the wolves are coming, hush, I pray you, hush, or they will make your worries their meal...

The language was unfamiliar, lulling and strange. But Rose recognized every word. She heard it, even now. Faraway, faraway. That song.

Her eyes- golden?

A place deep underground.

Pulse. The hallway was no longer a hospital, modern and clean, but the rocky, lightless cave passageway. The glitter of crystal, the rumble of something underfoot. Something deep, and old. Something sleeping.

Something waiting.

Another pulse. The memory left her. She was back in her body, but she was cold, still staring, white shocking into her vision with each heartbeat. She felt the slick squirm of her mold through her skin, tightening around her heart. Was this a panic attack? Heisenberg wasn't here. He wasn't here. Oh, shit, was she gonna freak out? She needed him bad. She needed-

A warm hand clasped hers. She jumped with a gasp. Sam stared up at her, concern bright in her eyes.

"Rose?" she said.

Her breathing sounded jagged, strangled.

"I..." she began. She and Sam shuffled to the side as a couple nurses walked past, barely giving them a second look. "I'm...I saw...I thought..."

She looked down the hallway, but it was no longer natural rock traced into form by a lantern held aloft, picking out the glitter of crystals growing from the walls, just a regular-ass hospital hallway. The panic slowly ebbed; warmth came back into her limbs.

Sam's grip on her helped.

She realized just how hard Sam was holding her hands, and heat rushed into her face so fast she was surprised her head didn't straight-up explode. She jerked her hands from Sam's. Sam's eyes widened a little, then dipped to her boot toes.

She stepped back.

"I..." Rose started- to apologize, maybe- holding your hands makes me feel way too much right now and I just can't- I'm sorry, Sam, I'm sorry, I don't want to hurt you again-

She didn't go on.

"It's okay," Sam said. She gave Rose a wry smile. "Hey, if you'd passed out or something at least we're already at the hospital."

"Funny," Rose told her. Still, she managed to return Sam's smile.

As they left, she glanced down the hall once more.

Empty.

An echo of singing traced her mind.

Hush now, child. The wolves are coming.

***

They found Mara's room on the next floor up.

The nurse on duty let them in. "She's been through a lot," she told them. "Take it easy, okay?"

"Don't worry." Sam gave her her most winning smile. "We're not gonna bite."

Rose dug her elbow into Sam's ribs as the nurse left.

"What?" Sam said, with a wheeze.

Inside, the lights were turned low, the room's single window washed by rain. The television was on, casting pale light over the hunched shape of a girl in the bed. Her long auburn hair hung loose around her shoulders; her eyes were bruised. She lay with one leg bandaged, tubes leading from the crook of her arm to the saline bag on a stand nearby, her gaze unfocused and lowered. When the door clicked shut, she gave a little gasp and whirled.

"Hi, Mara," Sam said, giving her a wave.

"Sam?"

"Yep. And look who I brought with me." Sam stood aside. Mara's eyes widened.

"Oh, my god," she breathed. "It's you."

"Again. Yeah. I didn't get to introduce myself before," Rose said. She ventured forward and sat by Mara's bedside. Behind her, Sam put the flowers into an empty mug on a counter. "I'm Rose. I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks to you. I thought that thing was gonna eat me." She scrambled awkwardly forward and before Rose could react caught her up in a hug. Rose stiffened, then put her arms, slowly, around Mara. It's okay, she told herself. This is okay.

"Thank you," Mara whispered. She pulled back, her eyes bright. "What was it, anyway?" She gave her a quick glance-over. "...You're not another one, are you?"

"No! Not...uh. Not like that, anyway. That's kind of what I'm here to find out. To make sure you were all right, and to get more information."

"Sure. Anything."

"Is there anyone else here?"

"My mom's just stepped out to go grab some stuff from home-"

"No," Rose said. She looked back toward the windows that looked out to the corridor. Sam quickly whisked the blinds shut. "Not your mom. You said someone didn't want you talking about what really happened. All the papers say it was a wild dog attack, but that's bullshit. Tons of people saw the monster. No matter how scared you are you're not gonna confuse a six-foot strawberry jello monster for a pack of wild anything."

Mara stared at her as she talked, fiddling with her hospital gown. The rain cast eerie shadows over her face.

"They warned me to shut my mouth," she said. "They told me...they told me it would be...bad for the public if I didn't...that it wouldn't do anyone any good to talk about things I didn't understand..."

"Listen." Rose took the Embryo disc from her pocket and held it up. "I found this in the monster's remains. The monster was the fifth test. Don't you get it? Someone is sending these things out. Someone is making them. And if I don't stop it, more people are gonna get hurt."

Mara's eyes shone in the light from the television screen, the sound turned down to a low murmur nearly drowned out by the rain.

"She showed up right after the doctors finished with my leg," she whispered.

"She?" Rose asked. "Who's she?"

"I..." Mara began. "I thought she was part of the hospital staff...a therapist or something. She was wearing, like, nice clothes under a white coat but she wasn't one of the other doctors. She had this...thing? Like a phone but smaller, and it flashed, and it felt like everything I saw in the subway was getting sucked out of my head. And then she told me not to say anything about it."

"Do you remember anything else? What she looked like? Any kind of...symbols she was wearing? Anything?"

Mara shook her head. "When she flashed that thing her face went fuzzy. I could see it but not, you know? Like my eyes wouldn't focus but it was my brain."

Rose glanced at Sam. The other girl's face was paler than normal, her arms crossed over her stomach.

"Okay," Rose said. "I-"

Her phone began to buzz again. "Sorry," she muttered, and looked at the screen. Another unknown number. Jesus, would he keep calling her until she picked up?

"Hang on," she said. "It's my...just hang on..."

She went over to the window. "What?" she said into the phone.

"Kid? That you?"

"Yes. I'm...kind of busy right now."

"What's going on? You're not doing anything stupid, are you?"

"Would you be able to tell the difference?"

"Cool it, pipsqueak. This fucking-" Something clattered, and he yelled indistinctly at it for a few seconds before returning. "-Fuckin' school of yours said you were gone-"

"Yes, and now I'm busy, so if you don't mind-"

"Don't you hang up on me! You need to get your ass home, you hear me? Get it home, now, or tell me where you are and I'll come and get you, I swear to-"

His voice hissed into static. Rose looked at the phone.

"Heisenberg?" she said.

"-don't- dangerous- need-" More static. With a crackle, the signal dropped, the call lost.

"Everything okay?" Sam asked, still too-pale.

"I...I'm not sure-" Rose began.

Voices echoed down the corridor. Sam peered through the blinds, then looked back up. "Shit," she said.

"What?"

"We need to move," she said. "I think someone's coming."

#re8 #re8 fanfiction #resident evil #resident evil village #rosemary winters #karl heisenberg #rosemary winters x oc #chapter 5

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