#I think they only had to look at each other to have a conversation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novvabee · 2 days ago

Note

could you write about the mauraders when they go to the shrieking shack for the full moon and there’s another werewolf? Idk something like that

ooooo, this gave me a really fun idea, hope you enjoy 💗

The Deer, The Dog, And The Two Wolves

summary: remus meets another wolf

word count: 2.3k

“I mean, did you see her? Talk about fit!” Sirius laughed, walking through the portrait into their common room. He was talking about the new girl, the girl who had started halfway through the semester.

Poor girl was paraded in front of the whole school for her sorting. She was obviously embarrassed and uncomfortable to be the center of the whole school’s attention.

“Too bad she was sorted into Slytherin,” Sirius said as he threw himself across a sofa in the middle of the common room, “I would have liked to get to know her.” This made Lily and Mary scoff from the opposite couch in front of the fireplace.

“Why’s she starting in the middle of the semester?” James asked.

“Maybe she just moved here.” Lily supplied.

“Lucky her,” James said, “she just missed midterm exams.” Everyone chuckled at that.

While everyone was conversing and laughing, Remus had dread looming over him. His muscles began to ache and he could feel the effects of the approaching full moon. The moon would be tomorrow night, but Remus had been feeling it all week. After a while of chatting, all he wanted to do was crawl into bed.

“I am quite tired,” Remus said, standing and motioning for the boys to follow. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow?”

“Yeah! Just meet us in hogsmeade.” Mary says.

Remus nods, the other boys say their goodnights and they all make their way up to their room. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Remus was falling into bed.

“What is the plan for tomorrow?” James asked, they usually had no trouble sneaking out and waiting in the shrieking shack for Remus, but this time, the girls insisted the boys come with them to hogsmeade for the day. Only Lily knew about Remus, so sneaking away was going to be harder than normal.

“I was thinking I could cut away from the group with Remus and we could head to the shack while you help Lily distract the others.” Sirius said, having planned that out fairly quickly. “That sound alright?” he asked Remus.

Remus was too tired, too weary to answer vocally so he just nodded. The boys looked at him with pity, they knew how he was feeling, so they just opted to let him sleep.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day spent in Hogsmeade was lovely, despite the pain and tenseness that Remus felt, he still enjoyed himself.

They made their way from shop to shop, buying candies from Honeydukes and gadgets from Zonkos. The girls begged to stop by Gladrags and the boys reluctantly agreed.

“Fine,” James said, rolling his eyes, “but only because I need a new tie.”

The group piled into the shop, the girls immediately rushing towards the new dresses and coats, Remus and Sirius turned to browse the rings and necklaces.

Remus felt… odd. He felt the hairs on his neck stand and a chill run down his spine, immediately set on edge. He had never felt this before, a new experience for him. He put himself on high alert, scanning the shop, but seeing or sensing nothing out of the ordinary, just that unfamiliar tingle.

“Dear Merlin,” Sirius muttered from beside him. Remus followed his gaze across the shop to see Regulus. It seemed like the brothers noticed each other at the same time, because Regulus turned to his group of friends, and they swiftly exited.

“Still in a spat?” Remus asked Sirius.

Sirius huffed and replied “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Remus left it alone, seeing as the day was going very well, he didn’t want to ruin it in any way.

James got his tie and the girls all bought different clothes and were ready to continue on. It was getting later in the day, the sun would set soon, so Remus wanted to finish the trip.

“Butterbeer, anyone?” he asked and the whole group perked up and started down the street towards The Three Broomsticks.

Remus opened the door for the group, allowing everyone in, before stepping in himself. Once inside, that grating feeling was back. He looked around again, but was met with the same outcome, there was nothing awry. Confused, he just figured the moon was messing with his senses.

The group found a table towards the back of the pub and they all squeezed in. Remus found himself sandwiched between Marlene and James. The whole bunch was lively as ever, laughing and joking, talking about everything and nothing at all.

The witch who ran the pub asked the table for their orders and James ordered butterbeers for the whole table. So typical of James, to order and pay for everyone, spend his fortune on his friends and a good time.

Mary gasped from across the table, making everyone turn their attention to her. “Don't look now,” she said, “but that new girl is sitting with the Slytherins.”

The whole table snapped their necks toward where Mary was looking.

“I said don’t look!” she squealed.

She was right, the new girl was sitting next to Dorcas and across from Regulus, looking like she was in a deep conversation with them. But, almost like she felt their eyes on her, she looked over to them. The whole group tried to turn and make it look like they weren’t just staring at her(it was so obvious), but she caught Remus’s eye before he could look away.

It was like she looked directly into his soul, and there was that feeling again. Remus could have sworn she sat up straighter, taken by surprise for some reason. She narrowed her eyes at him, looked him up and down, then returned to her conversation.

Odd…

Their butterbeers arrived and Remus put the interaction aside, deciding to just enjoy the rest of the time he had with his friends. Once the group finished, Sirius casually yawned and turned to Remus. “Fancy a smoke?” he asked. Remus nodded and exited the pub with Sirius.

They began their journey to the shrieking shack, Remus feeling the nip in the air, but also that feeling. He took a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, handed one to Sirius, then lit them both. Perhaps a smoke would ease the odd sensation. Walking in comfortable silence, taking drags of their cigarettes, the boys eventually ended up at the shack.

Remus dropped the butt of his cigarette and snuffed it out with his shoe, Sirius taking one last drag, then doing the same.

“Now,” Sirius started, “James will meet up with us but it’s business as usual right?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, just try to stay in the forest like normal.”

“Gotcha,” Sirius replied. “Gotta lock you in now, Moons.”

Remus opened the door to the shack and stepped inside. He pulled the door closed and heard Sirius mutter the spell to magically seal him in until he transformed, then one of them would open the door and they would spend the whole night racing and playing in the woods in their animal forms.

Remus didn’t enjoy a lot of his lycanthropy, but being able to run in an animalistic way with his best mates, that was one thing he did enjoy.

Remus made his way upstairs to the old, beaten up bedroom, and layed on the bed. He began waiting for the transformation.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Something was off, Sirius could tell. He and James, who had broken away from the group finally, were sitting at the edge of the forest.

They heard Remus transforming, which was never easy, but this time it seemed that he was having a particularly rough time. James winced from beside Sirius and shook his head. Once they were certain he was fully changed, James magically unlocked the door.

They both transformed into their animagus form, but Remus didn’t come out. Sirius and James looked at each other and Sirius went inside to check on Remus, coax him out of the shack.

Sirius padded upstairs, expecting to see the wolf destroying something or clawing at the furniture, but he was met with a completely different scene entirely. The wolf was pacing around the room in a circle, sniffing the air and whining. When it saw the black dog that had entered, it perked up, but still looked around, as if looking for someone else.

The dog raced downstairs, goading the wolf to chase it. The wolf gave in easily and followed the dog down the stairs and out of the house where they were met with the large stag. The wolf tackled the deer, rolling and play-fighting until the wolf’s ears perked up. It snapped it’s head to the forest and bolted.

The dog and the deer had no chance to wrangle it before it slipped through the tree line and into the dark forest beyond. The dog and the deer looked at each other and then dashed after the wolf.

Sirius didn't understand what had gotten into the wolf, but raced as fast as he could to catch up.

That is when the howl came from deep in the forest. Everything stopped, the whole forest seeming to be silenced. Then the answering howl sounded.

The deer and the dog followed the sound to an opening in the forest, a small field with a large oak in the center. They expected to find Moony there, chasing something, but they were not expecting to see two wolves circling each other.

They hung back at the tree line, watching but ready to protect Remus if anything were to happen.

The other wolf was smaller, a female, but just as dangerous, still a werewolf.

The two wolves continued circling each other, tense. The smaller wolf noticed the dog and the stag at the forest’s edge, and growled, hackles raising. Moony stepped between her and his friends, protecting them, and growled deep back at her. The other wolf turned her attention to him now, focusing all her anger at him.

Moony wasn’t backing down, determined to protect the dog and the stag behind him. He clawed at her, catching her right under the eye. She wasted no time in returning the favor, and swiped right back at him, getting him good.

Moony, shocked, stepped back and sat down, like a dog asking for a treat. The other wolf blinked, then mirrored his actions. Moony pounced and ran off, the other wolf following, chasing.

They were playing.

The dog and the deer looked at each other, then back to the two wolves, then joined in.

It was slightly harder, keeping track of two wolves rather than just the one, but at least they could rough-house with each other and not be too afraid to hurt the other, like Remus often was with Sirius or James.

The two wolves raced each other and swam in the lake, the whole group having fun, until Sirius noticed the morning light. Dawn would break soon and Remus would transform back, they needed to get him back to the shack. Moony, however, was being more difficult than normal.

The moment Sirius and James tried to corral him and chase him back to the shack, Moony refused. He kept wandering over to the other wolf, trying to continue to play. So James and Sirius decided that both the wolves had to be wrangled into the shack, if that was the only way to get Remus back in.

That task was incredibly difficult, Moony bouncing all over the place and the other wolf threatening to snap at the boys if they got too close. They eventually managed to lock both the wolves in the shack with minimal damage.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Remus woke on the floor of the bedroom feeling more tired than he had ever been after a full moon. He felt like he could sleep for ages. His aching body needed all the rest it could get.

Small moments from the night came back to him and suddenly…

He snapped his head toward the bed to see a sleeping figure curled up in the old and torn blankets. That feeling tingled the back of his neck again.

The figure sat straight up, feeling the same feeling. Remus knew that face, the new girl. She made direct eye contact with him, then quickly scanned the room, unsure of where she was.

He could see she was scared, so he calmly said “It’s ok, you’re ok.”

She looked at him unsure. “W-where are we?” she asked, voice a little raw.

“This is called the shrieking shack, it's where I come… to transform.” Remus answered, still trying to calm her and get her to trust him.

“You’re the wolf I was with last night?” she asked, more like putting the pieces together.

Remus nodded. “My name’s Remus.” He smiled.

“Y/N” she answered.

“Nice to meet you Y/N.” He said, noticing how she seemed to start relaxing.

“And… that dog and the deer?” she asked.

Remus chuckled, not knowing exactly how to answer that. “They’re harmless.”

She nodded and they sat in silence for a minute before she spoke again. “I didn’t know there were others… like me.” she said.

Remus didn’t know how to talk about this with anyone, he had never met another werewolf. All he could seem to do was nod.

“H-how long have you been… you know…” she asked timidly.

Remus smiled sadly. “‘I was bitten when I was really young, about three.” He answered.

Her eyes widened and she gasped. “Three!?” she looked in disbelief. “I am so sorry, you’ve had to deal with this for a long time…”she trailed off. “I was bitten a couple years ago. That's why I transferred schools, the other one kicked me out, thought that I was a danger to the other students.”

“I am so sorry,” this time it was Remus’s turn to feel bad.

She smiled sadly. “It’s ok, besides, now I know someone else like me.”

198 notes · View notes

eddieslunchbox · 2 days ago

Text

desire

summary: you've never been kissed and eddie has been crushing on you since the day you met

18+ [bestfriend!eddie x female!reader]

contains: hurt/comfort, mutual pining, fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, brief mention of alcohol, swearing

word count: 4k

a/n: this is my first time writing for eddie and I'm excited to share him with you! this is very self-indulgent but I hope you like it. please consider reblogging/commenting if you do, my blog is brand new! enjoy ❤

There’s a romantic comedy playing on the television, something you picked up from Family Video for your bi-weekly movie night with Eddie. It was your turn to pick, and after sitting through a terrible slasher film he claimed to love, you wanted to get him back with a movie you didn’t necessarily have interest in, but knew would make him squirm in his seat.

He grabbed the snacks while you got the movie, and you met up at his trailer after Wayne left for work, the sun setting beyond the horizon and leaving a cold autumn breeze in its place. A routine that had been kept for almost six-months straight.

A bowl of popcorn sat between the two of you, an open bag of sour patch kids resting against your thigh and a half-empty bottle of beer was clasped in Eddie’s hand, resting lazily on his knee where he sat on the opposite side of the sofa.

You always looked forward to these nights, but today you felt particularly resentful about your choice of film, the two main characters falling in love mere days after meeting. It’s cheesy and cliche, and not all that realistic. You know that. But it makes your chest ache with longing for something you’ve never had.

And now, unbeknownst to you, you’ve been watching the movie play out with a pout sitting on your face while Eddie has to bite back his smile each time the male protagonist kisses the girl that looks a little like you if he squints hard enough.

The two of you had been best friends since high school and now you were spending most of your time in college while Eddie worked at an auto shop, which left your get-togethers pushed to the weekends unless one of you showed up at the other's place without warning after a long day. You’d also been crushing on him practically since the day you met, but had kept your feelings to yourself, ignorant to the fact that Eddie also had eyes for you for longer than he was willing to admit to himself.

You’ve watched him go through a handful of relationships in the time you’ve known him.

From hearing the disbelief in his voice when he scored a date with Chrissy Cunningham and seeing her hanging off of his arm around school for four months, before you all graduated and she broke it off with a voicemail left on Wayne’s home phone and headed off to university in Indianapolis; to random hookups from his evenings spent at The Hideout that you encountered in awkward meetings when you showed up at his trailer to spend the day with him, finding girls in his clothes sipping coffee that they helped themselves to while Eddie snoozed for another hour.

Eddie has been your best friend for five years. Six in only a couple of months. And he has been with a total of nine different women.

Not that you’re counting or anything.

His relationships never bother you. Not really. But the nagging thought in the back of your mind every time you think about him, was that you haven’t been with anyone.

You’ve had nothing more than a brief conversation with boys in required discussion groups in college. And other than the frequent hugs you receive from Eddie, the furthest you’ve ever gone with someone was a kiss on the cheek from one of your girlfriends that was slightly too close to the corner of your mouth, and left your body erupting in tingles.

But Eddie had game. He knew how to make a girl swoon. How to wrap them around his finger and kiss them until they were weak in the knees and red in the face.

You had seen him kiss a handful of times and were ashamed to admit to yourself that you had crawled into your bed with your hand between your thighs more than once, wishing it was you he was kissing and touching and making crumble with one particularly smitten look on his face.

He glances at you when you haven't said a word in over an hour, seeing the frown on your face and the crease between your brows that he desperately wants to smooth over with his thumb. You never had a great poker face, unintentionally putting most of your emotions on display, and he knows you have no idea you’re pouting.

“Did you run out of candy?” He asks suddenly, making you turn to him, the wrinkle in your forehead deepening in confusion. “You’re grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy,” you huff, plucking your aforementioned candy off the sofa and popping one into your mouth.

Your knees are pulled up to your chest, body leaning away from Eddie with your legs resting against the arm of the sofa. He knows something is up when your eyes don’t return to the movie, lips pursing as you suck on the candy in your mouth and stare at the bag in your hands, pretending to read the ingredients.

He quietly sets his beer down on the coffee table, moving the barely touched popcorn off of the sofa and clicking pause on the remote, filling the room with silence. You look up at him and he rests his arm on the back of the sofa, the palm of his hand pressing into his cheek.

“Are you going to keep pouting for the rest of the night, or tell me what’s wrong?” He asks, brow arching in question and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, dropping your candy onto the table and bundling your hands together in your lap.

“You’re a liar, is what you are,” he accuses.

You sigh, slumping further down into the sofa with your cheek resting on the cushion as you turn to meet his gaze.

His brown eyes sparkle in the dim light of the room, his usually untamed hair pulled back with a bun at the base of his skull, stray pieces falling softly to frame the sides of his face. He looks pretty. He always does, but your current state of mind has you looking away as your heart skips a beat, gaze falling to his chest which is covered with a well-worn Dio shirt.

“I want that,” you admit quietly, voice barely audible to yourself.

“You want what?” He questions, brows furrowing.

You flicker your eyes over to the television and he turns his head to look at the screen, the film paused on a scene of a girl lounging beside a pool with a fluffy dog in her lap, sipping on a bright purple cocktail.

“A dog? A pool- or do you want a drink? I can try and make you something but I don’t know what we have…” He trails off in confusion and you sigh, rubbing your hands over your face.

“Just forget it,” you mumble into your palms before crossing your arms over your stomach and tilting your eyes up to the ceiling.

Eddie feels clueless as he tries to work out your unspoken desire in his head, gaze shifting around the room until he spots the fictional couple on the cover of the rented VHS tape.

A lightbulb flicks on in his head.

“You want someone?”

Your eyes dart to him quickly enough that he knows he’s right before you give him a subtle nod of your head, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your hands as you feel your face grow hot.

“You will one day,” he assures you but you just shake your head, that being the last thing you want to hear.

Eddie knows about your relationship history, or rather, lack thereof, but you never talk about it. So he’s surprised with your next statement, his heart leaping into his throat and the energy in the room shifting.

“No one has ever found me attractive… or at least not enough to do something about it. It’s hopeless.”

He keeps a straight face but curls his fingers into a fist at his side, silently cursing himself for never telling you how pretty you really are. He thinks you’re the prettiest and most attractive person he’s ever known, but has never said a word out of fear that you’ll stop being his best friend.

“It’s not hopeless,” he says quietly. “The guys who haven’t made a move on you are pussies.”

His partially self-degrading comment was meant to make you laugh, but you don’t. Not even giving him a pitying laugh or a half-forced smile.

“No one has ever even glanced in my direction,” you say and he frowns.

“That you’ve seen.”

“Eddie…” you sigh, unsure of why you start to feel emotion welling up in your chest.

"Sorry."

“I just… I grew up surrounded by friends who had boyfriends, or flings, or were flirted with- kissed stupid outside of bars or on the bench behind school. And no one-” your words get caught in your chest and you swallow down the lump forming in your throat. “No one has ever even looked at me. Do you know how that feels?”

You look up at him but he doesn’t reply, his eyebrows threading together as he watches you bare your heart to him like this for the first time.

“To have guys look at everyone around you, but never you? To never have anyone like you enough to say something about it? To… to have maybe had three guy friends who never saw you as anything more, that you haven’t even spoken to in years?”

You know he doesn’t get it. Not at all. But it doesn’t matter.

“God, Eddie.” You scrub at your eyes when tears gloss over your vision. “I’ve never even kissed someone,” your voice cracks and falls into a whisper.

He immediately reaches forward to wrap his hands around your ankles and pull you towards him, swiftly maneuvering you to sit with your legs thrown over his lap and your head buried in his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, running his hand over your waist. You sniffle sadly. “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

He knows that all of the potentially comforting words forming in his brain won’t make you feel better. Because he doesn’t understand what it’s like to be your age and never kissed.

You don’t want to hear that it’ll happen one day. You don’t know what you want.

Maybe comfort isn’t something that words would necessarily give you right now.

“I know that it’ll probably happen one day but… what if it doesn’t?” You whimper, curling into him as your vulnerability takes over. He holds you tighter to him, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what it feels like to be wanted. I can’t even imagine anyone wanting me. No one ever has.”

His heart feels like it’s going to crumble into pieces in his chest as he lets you talk out your feelings, his hand gripping your thigh tightly. You’re almost completely perched in his lap, but he can’t focus on how you feel against him when your tears are wetting the collar of his shirt.

“God I feel fucking pathetic,” you mumble, wiping your hand over your eyes and sitting up. “Sorry.”

“You’re not pathetic,” he says, making you scoff quietly as you dab at your cheeks with your sleeves, staring down at your lap. “You’re human. It’s pretty human to want to feel desired.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, sniffling back the remainder of your tears and lifting your eyes to find his pretty brown ones staring back at you.

There’s something different in his gaze now. Something you’ve only seen a few times. Something loving and soft, and so sweet that it makes your breath hitch in your throat.

Eddie figures that now is as good a time as any to potentially make a complete fool out of himself in an attempt to make you feel better. To make you feel like you’re worthy of being desired. Because god knows he’s been desiring you since the day you accidentally fell into his lap in the cafeteria after being shoved out of the way with a harsh shoulder by some prissy cheerleader on the second day of school.

“You’re beautiful,” he says so quietly that you almost don’t hear him.

“Eddie…” you mumble, shutting your eyes and moving to climb off of his lap.

His hand on your thigh tightens and you pause, his eyes tracing delicately over your features.

“You want someone to look at you,” he says, the corners of his lips quivering in a small smile. “So I’m looking, sweetheart.”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and you want to say something. To pull away and turn the movie back on, get off of his lap and pretend like you were never there in the first place. But the way he’s looking at you is something you’ve only ever seen him do with his past girlfriends or someone he’s crushing on. Never to you.

Your cheeks feel warm as he looks at you and you can almost feel his eyes as they trace over your hairline and down the bridge of your nose, past your lips and dropping down to your chest before meeting yours again. Your stomach twists with nerves as his hand leaves your thigh to rest on the side of your neck, his thumb smoothing across the skin of your cheek.

“Eddie,” your voice is a whisper, heart pounding in your chest. “Stop.”

He can feel the nerves radiating off of you but he doesn’t move, one of his brows quirking up in question. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I don’t… I-” you stumble for a reason why you want him to stop looking at you like that.

You wrack your brain while he sits patiently for an answer, but you quickly understand that you don’t want him to stop. You’re just terrified.

You don’t have to speak to understand what could happen, with how he’s gazing at you and touching you so softly as if you’ll break under his palms at any second. Holding you in a way he never has before.

“Please don’t be making one of your stupid jokes right now,” you say, a plea that has his face softening and his thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

“I’m not joking, baby,” he murmurs, the pet name making your heart stammer in your chest. “You’re gorgeous. And I was too afraid to say anything in case you didn’t feel the same and left because you were uncomfortable around me.”

You suddenly feel like crying again, a wave of disbelief washing over you as you realize that your best friend and the person you’ve been silently wanting for almost six years wants to give you everything you were just begging for.

“I could never be uncomfortable around you,” you say and he smiles, hooking his arm around your waist and twisting you so that you’re facing him, your knees pressing into the sofa on either side of his hips.

“I mean it,” he said and all you can do is nod.

The position you’ve found yourself in is foreign in more ways than one, but especially with it being Eddie who has put you there. You feel slightly overwhelmed with your shorts riding up on your thighs and your skin cold where the metal of the chain on his belt presses against you. Rough denim scratching softly at your legs and a subtle heat radiating through the fabric that makes you slightly dizzy as you get a whiff of his cologne.

Your hands are clenched into fists around the fabric of his t-shirt and he can feel your heart racing where his palm is still pressing against the side of your neck.

“It’s just me, yeah?” He says and you swallow the sudden dryness in your throat. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

He knows you need him to make all of the moves right now and he’s okay with it, even despite the way his heartbeat is quickening to catch up with yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

His question makes your head spin and your stomach tightens. “I… I’ve never-”

“I know.” The gentle reassurance that falls from his lips soothes you and you give him another quick nod.

There’s still a hint of a smile on his face when he leans forward to brush his lips against yours.

He doesn’t kiss you right away, the tip of his nose nudging yours as he pulls back just enough to gauge your reaction. Your eyes are closed and your lips part slightly with a shaky sigh, hands unknowingly pulling the neckline of his shirt down to grasp for any semblance of reality as you sit in his lap.

He slides his hand to the back of your neck, guiding you forward an inch to meet his mouth, lips slotting against yours. His lips are soft and slightly chapped, and when a strand of his hair brushes against your cheek, you don’t bother to pull away even when it tickles your skin.

The hand on your neck is a grounding touch and you think you’ve never felt so safe and comfortable in Eddie’s arms before.

He can feel the way you relax into his kiss, your body slumping just enough to rest your chest against his and fingers untangling from his shirt to drop into his lap. You’re not breathing so he pulls away after just a few seconds, lips parting from yours with a quiet click and you immediately take a deep breath through your nose, your eyes fluttering open.

You think if your brain was working properly, you’d be worried that this was all a ploy for him to get your first kiss out of the way so you’d stop crying, but the only thing floating through your mind is how nice it felt to have his lips on yours.

His face is close to yours, lashes brushing his cheekbones as he sits with his eyes closed, the hand on your waist sliding down to rest on the top of your thigh. The tip of his tongue pokes out as he wets his lips before exhaling a long breath through his nose, a tiny smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Shit,” he breathes, squeezing your thigh before tipping his head back to rest on the sofa cushion. “I really can’t believe it took me this long to kiss you.”

“You mean that?” You fight the urge to bring your hand up to feel your lips, wondering how long you might have to wait to feel his again.

He peels his eyes open and looks down at you. “You have no idea.”

You feel a smile begin to form on your face and you duck your chin to hide against his chest, fingers still trembling from clutching his shirt so tightly as you lift your arms to slink around his neck. He chuckles and curls his arms around you, tilting his head down and burying his nose in your hair.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart,” he says, a shiver running down his spine as you slide your fingers into his hair, loosening the elastic holding it back.

He doesn’t care about his hair as your nose presses into his neck and your breath warms the skin beneath his shirt. “Did I do alright for your first time?”

Your face goes flush at his choice of words and he fights back a moan when you press a quick kiss to his neck before lifting your head, unable to hold back the coy grin that sits on your lips.

You nod and he smiles, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your lower back.

“Yeah? Think it’d be okay if I did it again?”

“Please,” you say and he wastes no time in kissing you again.

Your hands blindly tug the elastic band out of his hair, sliding it onto your wrist and tangling your fingers into the mess of curls at his neck. His lips drag over yours in lingering kisses that make your stomach twist with heat, tasting a hint of the candy he was munching on earlier in the evening.

You’re consumed by the new sensation of his lips moving against yours and the frizzy curls hooked around your fingers, the thick of your thighs resting on his own with a silent invitation to scooch your hips a little closer to his if you wanted to.

Eddie is kissing you. Keeping his advances small but addicting, pushing back a smile each time he feels you chase his lips when he pulls back. You can’t get enough.

So you don’t really notice when he relaxes back against the sofa, resting his hands on your soft thighs with his fingers dipping just below the edge of your shorts. You let out a quiet noise against his lips as your chest comes to rest on his, your arm getting trapped beneath his shoulder and the cushion. His nails press softly into your skin at how pleased you sound, his arms erupting in goosebumps when you unintentionally tug at his hair.

You’ve been letting out quiet gasps between every kiss he plants on your mouth, your lungs stinging in your chest, yet reluctant to pull away. It’s only when you feel the tip of his tongue nudge against your bottom lip that you pull back, resting your forehead on his and panting to catch your breath.

“Too much?” He mumbles, sliding his hands over your skin.

“Not at all,” you breathe, swallowing hard and letting out a soft laugh. “I just couldn’t breathe.”

Eddie smiles, tilting his chin forward to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. You lift your head and your eyes instantly fall to his lips, now slightly swollen and a darker shade of pink.

It’s hard for you to think straight, to wrap your head around the fact that you just had your first kiss, and second, and third, and fourth… all with Eddie who is looking at you now like you hung the moon just for him.

As much as your insecurity is wanting to take you away from this moment, you know that he isn’t that good of a liar, and if he really didn’t want you like this in at least some capacity, you’d be able to see it in his eyes. But all you can see is the sweet, loving gaze of your best friend as he lets you settle, no matter that all he can think about now is kissing you stupid for the rest of the night.

You’ve gotten further than you ever thought you’d get and you mindlessly pull the tangles in his hair apart, wetting your lips and taking a deep breath. “I like you, Eds. A lot.”

You figured he might make a teasing comment at your admission, but he just smirks and lets his eyes fall closed as you play with his hair. “I like you too, sweetheart. Have for way too long.”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and slide your hands from his hair to drag down his chest, his stomach twitching beneath your innocent touch.

“Do you want to keep watching your movie?” He asks, glancing at you and you shake your head. “You sure?”

You think this is the happiest you’ve ever been, and Eddie feels the same- just happy that he could be the one to make you feel truly wanted for the first time. He wishes you would’ve confided in him about your lack of romance earlier in your friendship so you wouldn’t have missed out on so many years silently pining for one another. But he thinks this will do just fine.

“I want to keep doing this,” you quietly admit and he lets out a soft groan as he brings his hands up to his face.

“You’re gonna be the death of me…” He drops his hands to his sides. “Wanna get comfy in my room then?”

He chuckles at your eager nod, patting your thighs and moving to sit up. “Hop up then, baby. We can clean up later.”

You get up and he follows suit, grabbing your hand and interlacing your fingers to drag you down the hallway with an urgency that makes you laugh the entire way into his bedroom.

#writings #eddieslunchbox #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie stranger things

232 notes · View notes

halfmoonaria · 1 day ago

Text

what i can’t say

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: tara wants the only person she can’t have, but she’ll do whatever it takes to change that —even if it means risking everything.

word count: 10.7k

author’s note: yall don’t forget to wish me a happy birthday this friday on the 22nd!

Tara wasn't used to hearing the word "no."

Growing up, she'd mastered the art of getting exactly what she wanted, whether it was a toy, a treat, or just a little more attention.

All it took was a well-timed look, a hint of a pout, or a small scene in a public place—not that she ever felt bad about it. After all, it always worked, and it always felt worth it.

But more than any toy or treat, Tara always seemed to have what she wanted most: you.

Her best friend since... well, since you both were small enough to think scraped knees were the end of the world. You'd been there from the start, the friend who laughed with her, who stood by her through every phase and whim.

Tara didn't have to beg or throw a fit to keep you close. You just were. It was like you were woven into each other's lives, and if anyone asked, she'd say you'd always be there—like you were something she'd managed to keep just for herself.

If anyone asked, Tara couldn't quite recall a time before you.

You were there in every memory that mattered, the friend who understood her quirks, finished her sentences, and knew every dream she'd ever had.

You were inseparable, not just in the way kids cling to each other, but in the way people do when they know they'll never quite find someone who gets them like this again.

You shared everything with your clothes, midnight snacks, and every embarrassing crush you'd ever had.

You laughed together about the silly things you thought were love back then, sharing conversations about who you'd marry someday and who had the best smile.

Although. Tara was always a little quieter during these talks, listening more than sharing, and you never thought much of it. That was just Tara, after all, always keeping a bit of herself back, tucked away in her own mind.

But when it came to your middle school crush, she never missed a chance to tease you, brushing him off as if he wasn't as special as you seemed to think.

She'd laugh and tell you he wasn't as funny as you made him out to be, or that his smile really wasn't anything to write home about.

To you, it was just typical Tara, always finding a way to poke holes in the things you liked.

You didn't notice how her smile faltered when you gushed over him or how her gaze turned a little sharper, though even she didn't fully understand why.

It left her with an uneasy feeling, the kind she could never quite explain, that made her want to change the subject whenever she could.

And as time passed during this time, it seemed like your crush only grew, and so did the way you talked about him.

No matter how many times Tara brushed off your comments or tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, you still lit up whenever his name came up.

Brian.

Brian slipped into conversations almost daily, whether it was about the way he made everyone laugh in class or how he'd held the door for you that morning. And each time you brought him up, Tara felt a pang of irritation she couldn't quite explain.

She never told you how much she despised Brian, but the feeling ran deep. It gnawed at her whenever you mentioned him, and even though she tried to brush it off, she found herself disliking him more and more.

The worst part was, she couldn't understand why. It wasn't like you weren't allowed to like a boy—that was just part of life, after all.

Whenever she hinted at her frustration with her mom, she'd hear the same thing: it was normal, fun even, to have a crush, and Tara would experience it too someday.

But she hadn't. She'd never felt that way about any boy in your grade, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself she should.

It confused her, and in a way, it confused you too. You'd always laughed off the fact that Tara never seemed to "crush" the way you did, teasing her about how she'd figure it out someday.

But whenever you'd gush over Brian, Tara would just sit quietly, trying to ignore the strange knot in her stomach that seemed to tighten with every word you said.

Time went on, and those middle school crushes never quite faded.

Brian only seemed to grow more attractive, transitioning from the shy boy you liked to someone who was effortlessly charming, with a confidence that made everyone notice him.

Back then, you'd have called him "cute," but now, there were new words—hot, gorgeous—terms that made Tara roll her eyes every time they left your mouth.

But you still felt that rush of excitement when he was around, that same giddiness you'd had since you were ten, only now it felt a little more real.

Tara, on the other hand, hadn't changed much when it came to relationships.

While others around you both dated, broke up, and fell in love, she stayed quietly distant, brushing off questions and teasing about why she never seemed interested in anyone.

The truth was, she didn't really know why herself. There was a part of her that felt left out when you gushed about Brian, when your other friends talked about crushes or brought dates to dances. She tried to tell herself that she just wasn't interested yet, that maybe someday she'd feel what everyone else seemed to.

But as the years went by, Tara started to realize that maybe she was different—and she couldn't shake the strange sense of frustration that came with that realization, especially whenever Brian was mentioned.

Somewhere along the way, as high school turned into something more serious, so did her thoughts about you.

Tara didn't want to admit it at first—not to herself, not to anyone. The idea crept up quietly, unexpected and unwanted, like some shadow she couldn't shake.

The way you'd laugh at something silly, the familiar warmth of your hand in hers, or the way her heart would skip when you'd throw an arm around her shoulders. It all made sense now, but it was a sense she desperately didn't want.

When the realization hit her, it was like she couldn't breathe.

There was this tiny voice in her mind that whispered, almost cruelly, You're in love with her. Tara's immediate reaction was to shut it down, to deny it with everything she had. This couldn't be right. She wasn't in love with you.

That wasn't what best friends did. She told herself she was just confused, that maybe it was normal to feel this strongly about someone you'd known your entire life.

But every time she saw you look at Brian—every time you said his name with that sparkle in your eyes—it felt like a punch to the gut, and there was no denying it anymore.

The more she tried to reason with herself, the clearer it became. And that terrified her.

She couldn't let herself feel this way about you. You were her best friend, the person who knew her better than anyone else.

The idea of telling you—of you finding out and looking at her with pity, or worse, disgust—made her stomach twist. She could already imagine the awkward smile, the way you might back away, laugh it off, or even leave her behind. It would shatter her, and she knew that.

And so, she decided then and there that this secret would stay with her.

She'd lock it away, bury it so deep that even she could forget about it someday. Telling anyone—even her parents—wasn't an option.

Not only did she fear their reaction, but she knew they wouldn't understand. To them, you were her friend, nothing more, and the thought of losing you, or of anyone making her feel like her love was wrong, was enough to keep her quiet.

But keeping quiet wasn't easy. The secret felt like it was burning a hole through her, consuming her thoughts and leaving her frustrated in ways she couldn't explain.

She wanted to be around you, but every moment with you felt like a reminder of what she could never have, and it only made the ache grow stronger.

She was angry, scared, and hopelessly in love with the one person she could never tell.

So she became skilled at hiding the depth of her feelings, putting on a mask that had somehow become part of her daily life.

She played her role well, acting like nothing had changed between you both.

At school, she kept her gaze casual, listening to you talk as if she didn't want to lose herself in the way your lips moved.

During sleepovers, she'd lie next to you, forcing herself to focus on anything but the warmth of your arm just inches from hers.

And at parties, now that you were both old enough to go, she'd laugh and dance alongside you, all while pretending her stomach wasn't in knots from the way you looked at her under dim lights, a playful grin lighting up your face.

It was like living with a constant tug-of-war inside her, balancing between wanting to be near you and needing to keep her heart steady.

She'd perfected the art of nonchalance, even when you made it nearly impossible. When you got excited about something—eyes wide, laughing about some small victory—Tara would have to swallow down the urge to reach out, to brush a strand of hair from your face or lean in just a little closer.

The hardest moments were the little things, the 'normal' things, like when you'd give her an easy, carefree compliment, your eyes warm and sincere.

She'd feel the blush rise to her cheeks, and she'd quickly look away or laugh it off, hoping you didn't notice the way her voice wavered.

And when you held her hands, like you always did, squeezing them to give her a little boost of courage, she'd act as though it didn't send her heart racing, as though she wasn't fighting the impulse to hold on tighter.

Every smile you threw her way, every moment you lingered too close, she had to act like it didn't make her insides flip.

She trained herself to respond with that same easy smile, to pretend she didn't feel like the air had been knocked out of her whenever you looked at her like she was the only one in the room.

It was a constant game of pretending, a battle against herself that she had to win every single day.

And as much as she tried to hide it, each touch, each laugh, each simple, familiar look left her more tangled in her own emotions.

She tried to tell herself that these things were just... normal. Friends did these things all the time, she told herself, even if everything in her felt far from normal.

But no matter how many times she told herself that, her resolve was starting to crack. She couldn't help but notice her jealousy flare up when she saw you talking to other people, especially Brian.

Then, one Tuesday at lunch, you dropped a bombshell that flipped her world just a bit more.

She leaned back, half-focused on your conversation with the others at the table, when she saw you walking toward her with a grin so bright it felt like it could light up the whole room.

Tara felt her heart jump at the sight, her thoughts immediately swept into the excitement that was clearly radiating off of you.

You barely took your seat before bursting with excitement. "Tara!"

Tara's smile matched yours, though a part of her already felt a small pang of unease. But she pushed it aside and leaned in eagerly, mirroring your excitement. "What happened?"

You practically glowed as you told her, "He sat next to me in class today." Tara's chest tightened, but she held her expression steady, keeping that casual, easy smile.

She already knew who you meant—you didn't even have to say his name. It was in the way your voice softened, how your eyes sparkled with excitement she rarely saw except when you were really, really happy.

She couldn't stand the sight of it. Seeing you so... in love, so giddy, felt like a punch she wasn't ready for.

You practically glowed, your whole personality seeming to shift as if you were that younger version of yourself again, like back in middle school when every new crush filled you with wide-eyed excitement.

Except now, it wasn't an innocent schoolgirl crush; it was real, and you were already slipping further from her reach with each passing second.

Tara kept smiling, but inside, every bit of her was tangled up in knots.

You'd never look at her like that. Never talk about her with that bubbly, uncontainable happiness. The thought clawed at her, a reminder she could never push away.

She was your best friend, sure, but she'd never be the person who made your cheeks flush or your heart race. And somehow, knowing that made it even harder to keep that same easy smile on her face.

"And?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her, even as she felt a knot forming. She listened as you recounted every word, every laugh you'd shared with him in that class.

Then you dropped the real news, your eyes sparkling. Your grin only widened. "And then, right before class ended, he asked me to go with him to that party next weekend."

Tara's heart sank, yet she barely let the smile slip. She forced herself to open her mouth in surprise, eyes wide, like she was just as thrilled as you were. "Really?" she said, trying to sound as shocked and happy as you seemed, her voice just a bit too bright. "Did you... did you say yes?"

Of course you did. Tara felt stupid for even considering asking you that question.

But you didn't seem to mind, you just nodded eagerly, your whole face lighting up. "Obviously!"

"Oh, wow. That's... that's great, actually," she said, her voice a little too steady, but it was the best she could manage.

Inside, though, she was unraveling. You were actually going with him. It shouldn't have been such a shock—after all, this was what you wanted, right?

But knowing that you'd be there, dressed up, all smiles and laughter... with him... felt like a lead weight sinking in her chest.

She could already picture it, the two of you in some dimly lit room with music thumping, Ethan leaning in close to say something to make you laugh, you smiling up at him like he was the only person in the world.

The thought of it made her throat tighten, her mind racing with feelings she didn't even want to name.

"Are you excited?" she asked, her voice coming out just barely above a whisper. She hoped you wouldn't notice how strained it sounded, how much effort it took just to ask.

You nodded, your smile impossibly bright. "Yeah, I mean... I didn't think he even noticed me like that, you know? But now... maybe he does."

The way you said it—hopeful, almost in disbelief—cut deeper than she wanted to admit. Maybe he does. Those three words stayed in her head, echoing louder with each second.

She was supposed to be happy for you, and maybe part of her was, but mostly, she just felt hollow.

Because even though you'd never know it, she'd been looking at you the way you were looking at him, longing for that same chance to mean something more to you. And now she was faced with the awful reality that she might never get that chance.

Swallowing down the bitterness, she forced a tight-lipped smile. "You'll have a great time, I'm sure."

But even as she said it, a part of her was already wondering if she'd do something she'd regret. The thought of watching you fall for someone else—someone who wasn't her—was more than she could stand.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she knew she'd do almost anything to keep you from slipping away.

Your eyes brightened again. "You should come with us!"

Tara's heart twisted at the invitation, feeling both flattered and devastated. Of course you'd want her there, being the good friend you were—unaware of what it did to her to see you light up over someone else.

Forcing herself to stay casual, she shrugged, managing a small playful smirk. "I'm not exactly great at third-wheeling."

Her voice sounded steady enough, but inside, it felt like she was clinging to the last threads of composure.

She couldn't stand the thought of watching you fall for him right in front of her, yet the idea of saying no, of letting you go without her... that hurt, too.

Maybe if she was there, she could stop whatever was beginning to grow between you and him. Just maybe, she thought, she'd find a way to keep you by her side, where you'd always belonged.

Her mind spun, the smile on her face frozen, all she could focus on was the sinking realization that she might actually lose you.

Until now, she'd convinced herself that her feelings for you were something she could handle, something she'd eventually learn to live with. But now, with Brian's name hanging between you, that quiet acceptance shattered.

She could see the way this might unfold, each painful step already clear in her mind.

She'd watched enough romance movies to know how these things went, and as much as she wanted to push the thoughts away, they crept in, vivid and unrelenting.

First, you'd go to the party together, and maybe he'd make you laugh so much that you'd find yourself leaning in, your hand brushing his.

She could already picture the two of you on future dates—sharing secrets over a quiet dinner or standing too close on some sidewalk, your face lit up in a way that made her stomach twist with envy.

And worse, she could imagine what might happen after those dates, how one day soon he'd reach for your hand, and you wouldn't hesitate to hold his back.

She didn't want to picture it, but the thought seeped into her mind anyway, filling her with a fierce, unfamiliar ache.

The image of you wrapped up in his arms, whispering into his ear, or—even worse—laughing with that same joy you always shared with her, but this time meant for him, made her chest feel hollow.

The thought kept spiraling, her mind betraying her with scenes she couldn't bear to picture.

You, with Brian, alone, closer than she'd ever be, maybe even leaning in for a kiss.

She imagined his hand brushing your cheek, the two of you getting so lost in each other that you forgot everyone else around you—including her.

The jealousy was sharp, hotter than anything she'd felt before.

She hated the way it took over, the way it made her feel small and powerless, like she was losing something that had never even been hers to begin with.

And then, a terrible, aching thought hit her: she might never get to be close to you in that way.

She might never get to be the person who held you, who kissed you, who made you laugh like that.

It wasn't just about watching you fall for someone else—it was the crushing realization that you might never look at her the way you looked at him.

Maybe it would be better if she came along?

The idea took a root in Tara's mind, an unexpected, half-formed plan that both excited and unsettled her.

If she went to the party with you and Brian, it might give her a chance to keep things from moving forward between you two.

She could play it off as tagging along to "keep an eye" on you, to make sure you had fun—and stay close enough to step in if Brian tried anything. It was risky, maybe even a little desperate, but what choice did she have?

At least if she was there, she'd know exactly what was happening. She wouldn't have to lie awake later, imagining him whispering things in your ear, pulling you close, stealing the attention she wanted only for herself.

She could keep you safe from all that, and maybe, if she was careful enough, find subtle ways to draw your attention back to her, where it belonged.

In her mind, it sounded almost justified. A "protective friend" sticking close to make sure you were all right. But the truth simmered beneath that excuse—she knew this was more than friendship, that she wanted to keep you to herself in ways you might never understand.

If Brian was going to try to win you over, he'd have to do it with her there, watching his every move, ready to swoop in the second things started looking too cozy.

And maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to make sure that night ended with you still hers—still looking at her with that easy, trusting smile that had always been her anchor.

Her chest tightened at the thought of it, the chance to stay close to you a little longer, to stave off the reality she dreaded.

If you didn't have the chance to fall for him—if she could prevent that—maybe she'd finally have the time and courage to make you see her the way she saw you.

You nudged her lightly, snapping Tara out of her thoughts, leaning in with that familiar, hopeful smile that always made it so hard to say no to you. "Come on, Tara. It'll be fun—just this once. Please?"

Tara's chest tightened at the way you looked at her, like her answer actually mattered to you. It made something inside her ache, the way your face lit up with excitement, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in her mind.

She should've said no. She wanted to say no.

But the thought of watching you leave without her—without knowing what might happen between you and Brian—made her stomach twist painfully.

And now, thanks to the idea she'd let herself entertain earlier, the thought of staying home didn't feel like an option anymore.

That plan, desperate and reckless as it was, had already taken root, and no matter how much a small part of her whispered it wasn't right, she couldn't let it go.

What if she stayed behind and missed her chance to stop something from blossoming between the two of you? What if she sat in her room, alone, while you fell for him right in front of everyone? The mere idea made her skin crawl.

But going wasn't any better. If she went, she'd have to watch you fawn over him, maybe even see you with him. And that thought was enough to make her want to bolt from the room. Yet here you were, looking at her like her presence actually mattered.

But why? Did you think she needed convincing, or was there some part of you that truly wanted her by your side? Her stomach churned at the thought.

She hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her shirt as she tried to keep her expression neutral. If she said no, you'd go without her, and that stung more than she wanted to admit. But if she said yes...

Her mind spun with the possibilities. She didn't even know what she'd do if she went—how far she was willing to take this twisted plan of hers. But what she did know, with a growing certainty, was that she couldn't stay behind. Not when the thought of Brian pulling you closer was enough to make her chest burn with jealousy.

Your face shifted slightly, your brows knitting together when she didn't answer right away.

"Tara," you pressed gently, your voice dipping into that teasing tone you always used when you were trying to coax her into something. "Come on," you pressed again, your grin widening when she hesitated. "You have to come. It won't be the same without you."

It won't be the same without you.

Those words sealed it, though not in the way you meant them to. Something twisted and desperate bloomed in her chest, making her pulse quicken.

You didn't even realize it, but you were giving her exactly what she wanted: a reason to stay close. A reason to be where she could see you—and control what happened between you and Brian.

"Fine," she said at last, forcing a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "But don't complain when I tell you it sucks."

The way your entire face lit up at her answer sent an ache through her chest. Her stomach fluttered against her will, a mix of longing and guilt tangling together in a way that made it hard to breathe. She hated how much it affected her, how happy you seemed just because she'd agreed to go.

She looked away quickly, pretending to focus on something across the room, anything to avoid the way your joy sent another wave of guilt and longing through her.

She knew it wasn't right—none of this was. But she couldn't let it go. Not when her plan had already started to take shape. Not when the thought of Brian having you was enough to make her reckless.

Because no matter how hard she tried to tell herself this was just a party, just a stupid night out, deep down, she knew she wasn't going for the music or the fun.

She was going because if Brian thought he was going to win you over tonight, he was dead wrong.

___

"What about this one?"

Tara looked up from where she was sitting on the edge of your bed, her gaze drawn to the shimmering fabric you held up against yourself. It was a short, fitted dress, one you'd clearly been saving for a moment like this.

The way Tara sat there, watching you flit around the room, sifting through piles of clothes you'd pulled from your closet.

It reminded her of when you were younger, back when the two of you would raid your moms' closets, parading around in oversized heels and dresses that pooled around your feet. You'd giggle uncontrollably, striking exaggerated poses in front of the mirror.

But this wasn't dress-up anymore.

Now, the clothes were your own—real, grown-up outfits that fit you perfectly, accentuating curves and edges Tara wasn't sure she was supposed to notice. It wasn't just playtime; this was your life now. And tonight, you weren't dressing up for laughs or pretend tea parties.

You were dressing up for him.

Her eyes flickered briefly over the dress before settling on your face. You were beaming, the excitement practically radiating off you as you turned to the mirror, holding the dress against your body.

She should've said something. A simple "looks great" or even a teasing "a bit much, don't you think?" would've worked, but the words caught in her throat.

It wasn't the dress—it was the way your whole body hummed with energy, the way your smile was just a little too wide, your movements a little too quick. Tara saw it all, and it was like watching you wear your feelings on your sleeve.

The way you twirled the dress in front of the mirror, the way your hands moved restlessly as you smoothed down imaginary creases—it was all too familiar. She knew exactly what you were feeling, even if you didn't say it out loud.

Did Brian? She doubted it.

He didn't know the little things, like how your voice got higher when you were nervous or how you couldn't stand still when you were excited. He didn't know the way your lips pressed together when you were thinking too hard about something or the way your shoulders tensed when you wanted something to go perfectly.

He didn't know you, not like she did.

"What do you think?" you asked again, snapping her out of her thoughts. You turned, holding the dress out at arm's length, giving her a better look. "Too much? Not enough?"

Tara forced a smile, her heart twisting as she watched you. "I think it's... nice," she said carefully, her voice steady even as her stomach churned.

Nice. The word felt like a betrayal. It didn't come close to how she really felt—how beautiful you looked, how much she wished those bright eyes were sparkling for her instead of someone else.

"You think Brian'll like it?" you asked, your tone innocent, but the question struck Tara like a punch.

She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the fabric of your comforter. She wanted to tell you Brian didn't deserve you, that he wouldn't know how to appreciate all the little things that made you you. But instead, she kept her tone casual, masking the storm inside her.

"I mean... yeah," she said after a pause. "It's hard not to like you in anything."

Your grin widened, lighting up the room in a way that made her stomach flutter. You didn't notice the tightness in her smile, the way her eyes lingered on you for just a second too long.

"You're the best." you said, turning back to the mirror.

Tara's chest tightened, a quiet ache settling beneath her ribs. She glanced away, forcing a small smile as she leaned back on her hands.

She let her fingers dug slightly into the comforter as she watched you move across the room again, this time heading toward your closet. You sifted through the hangers with an almost frantic energy, pulling out one piece of clothing after another until something caught your eye.

"This," you announced, holding up a sleek black skirt and a tiny top with delicate lace accents.

Tara blinked, her focus shifting from the faint hum of her own thoughts to the outfit in your hands. The skirt was just short enough to grab attention, and the top would clung to the curves in all the right places—your curves, she couldn't help but think.

Her stomach twisted again, but not with the same bitterness from earlier. No, this was something else entirely. She couldn't stop herself from picturing you in it, couldn't stop the way her mind immediately conjured the image of you standing there, all done up, looking effortlessly hot and completely out of her reach.

She swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away. "You're not wearing the dress?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

"Oh, I am," you replied with a grin, holding the outfit closer to her. "This is for you!"

Tara froze. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe, her chest tightening as your words sank in.

She had been so caught up in watching you, so wrapped up in her own spiral of emotions, that she had momentarily forgotten she was actually going to this party.

"Me?" she echoed, her brows furrowing slightly as she tried to act like the idea of dressing up didn't make her stomach drop.

You laughed softly, stepping closer to hold the outfit up against her frame. "Yeah, you! Come on, Tara, you can't just wear that." You half-pointed to her attire.

Tara's eyes darted to the mirror, catching a glimpse of herself in her usual hoodie and jeans.

She had planned on blending into the background tonight, just another shadow in the corner, but now you were holding out a version of herself she wasn't sure she wanted to confront.

"It's... a little much, don't you think?" she murmured, her fingers brushing over the fabric.

"Not at all," you said, undeterred. "Trust me, you'll look amazing.

The way you looked at her, so excited, so hopeful, made it impossible for her to argue. The truth was, she didn't want to blend into the background—not really. Not if it meant letting Brian win.

"Alright," she said finally, forcing a small smirk as she reached for the outfit.

You grinned, clearly thrilled, and the sight sent her heart fluttering all over again.

As she stood up to take the clothes in you, the weight of the night ahead settled on her shoulders again. She knew this wasn't about the clothes or the party. It was about you—about keeping you close, about holding onto the part of you that still felt like hers, even if it wasn't.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she was willing to do whatever it took to keep it that way.

Tara pulled the clothes from your hands, her fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than necessary before she turned away.

She hesitated only briefly, her eyes darting to the bathroom door, but then she decided against it. It wasn't like this was anything new. You'd seen her change plenty of times before.

Slipping off her hoodie, she pulled the top over her head, the soft lace brushing against her skin in a way that felt oddly delicate, almost foreign.

The skirt followed, the fabric snug around her waist and flaring slightly at her hips. When she finally turned back toward you, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

It was strange. She didn't recognize the girl staring back at her right away—not entirely. The clothes fit her so well, so effortlessly, that she felt a flicker of something unexpected: pride.

She looked... pretty. Not in the same way you did, with your radiant energy that drew everyone in, but still. Pretty enough.

Her heart jumped a little at the thought of you seeing her like this, of you noticing her in the way she always noticed you. She didn't know why she wanted that so badly, but the hope curled tightly in her chest, warm and persistent.

You looked up from where you'd been smoothing out your own dress, and your reaction was immediate. Your eyes widened slightly, and then your face lit up in that effortless way that always made her stomach flutter.

"Tara, oh my god, you look so good," you said, your voice soft but genuine, carrying none of the over-the-top excitement you sometimes used when joking around. This was real.

Tara felt her cheeks warm under your gaze, her fingers automatically reaching to adjust the hem of the skirt, as if she could somehow shield herself from the weight of your words. She tried to play it off, shrugging casually. "It's just a skirt," she mumbled, but her voice lacked its usual bite.

"It's not just a skirt," you countered, stepping closer. "You look amazing. Seriously, this is perfect for you."

Your words were kind, almost too kind, and Tara wasn't sure how to process them. There was no teasing, no playful edge, just an earnestness that made her chest feel tight and achy.

She glanced away, pretending to focus on her reflection again, but the warmth of your approval lingered, sinking into her skin like the lace of the top.

She wanted to feel good about it, to let herself bask in the way you saw her, but the nagging thought that this wasn't for her—that it was all part of your excitement for Brian—kept her grounded.

Still, the way you smiled at her, so unreserved and so entirely you, made her feel something she hadn't in a long time: seen. She wished, just for a second, that you were saying all of this for the same reason she wished you would.

You spun on your heel, nearly tripping over the pile of discarded clothes strewn across the floor in your excitement. Tara's breath caught for a second, her hand twitching instinctively like she was about to reach for you, but you caught yourself, laughing it off as if nothing had happened.

"You need to clean your room before someone gets hurt," Tara muttered, though her tone held more amusement than annoyance.

You ignored her, too caught up in the moment as you reached your makeup table, rifling through your collection with a kind of chaotic precision.

Pulling out a palette, you held it up, the colors catching the light as you grinned at her. "What do you think? Want me to do your makeup?"

Your voice was so full of unfiltered excitement, your smile so wide it made her stomach flip. Tara hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her skirt as she glanced at the palette in your hands. She wasn't really the makeup type—not like you were—but the way you looked at her, like you were just waiting to make her feel special, made it impossible to say no.

"You don't have to," Tara said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.

"I want to!" you insisted, stepping closer, the palette still in hand. "Please, Tara? I promise I'll keep it simple. Just a little something to go with the outfit."

She sighed, feigning reluctance as she sat back down on the edge of the bed. "Fine."

You grabbed a chair and pulled it in front of her, gesturing for her to sit. "Alright, let's make you even more stunning."

Tara rolled her eyes, though the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she leaned forward.

___

The buzz of the party hit you as soon as you stepped through the door.

Music pulsed through the house, the bass vibrating in your chest as voices overlapped in a cacophony of laughter and shouted greetings.

People crowded the space—groups gathered near the kitchen, couples pressed close against walls, and a few brave souls danced in the living room, already letting loose despite how early it was in the night.

You glanced over at Tara, catching the way her shoulders stiffened slightly as the noise and energy enveloped her. She'd been quiet on the drive over, her fingers drumming against her thigh in a way that let you know her nerves were kicking in. But she'd never admit that, not to you.

"See?" you said brightly, bumping her shoulder with yours as you stepped further into the house. "I told you this would be fun."

Tara gave you a look, one that was half-skepticism and half-amusement, as she tugged at the hem of her skirt. "Yeah, we'll see about that."

Your laugh was warm and easy, a sound that somehow made the chaos of the party seem less overwhelming. You reached back to grab her hand, pulling her through the crowd as you made your way toward the kitchen. The feel of your fingers around hers made something in Tara's chest twist uncomfortably, though she forced herself to ignore it.

The kitchen was just as packed as the rest of the house, but you managed to snag two drinks from the counter, handing one to her with a grin. "Alright, party rule number one: stay hydrated."

Tara raised an eyebrow, glancing at the cup in her hand. "This is definitely not water."

"Details." You waved her off, your playful smirk making her stomach flutter in that maddeningly familiar way.

Before she could respond, a voice called out from across the room. "Y/N! There you are!"

Tara's grip on her cup tightened as she followed your gaze, her stomach sinking when she saw him—Brian—making his way toward you. His smile was wide and easy, the kind of grin that would make anyone else swoon.

But Tara wasn't anyone else.

"Brian!" you said, your face lighting up in a way that made Tara's chest ache. She stepped back slightly, letting go of your hand as he drew closer, though her eyes never left you.

He didn't deserve that smile.

Brian's gaze flickered to her briefly, his smile faltering just a bit. "Tara, right?"

She nodded, her expression neutral as she took a sip of her drink. "That's me."

If he noticed the edge in her tone, he didn't comment on it, turning his attention back to you instead. "You look amazing," he said, his eyes raking over your dress in a way that made Tara's jaw tighten.

You beamed at him, clearly pleased by the compliment, and Tara had to look away, her hand gripping her cup so tightly she was surprised it didn't crack.

This was going to be a long night.

And it most definitely was.

As the night went on, the party only grew louder and more chaotic. People drifted in and out of the circle you, Tara, and Brian had settled into, friends of his joining the conversation with easy smiles and casual jokes.

You made a genuine effort to include Tara, always pulling her back in when she started to fade into the background, but it was clear who held your focus.

Brian.

He stood close to you, his arm brushing yours as he leaned in to talk over the music.

You didn't seem to notice—or maybe you did, and you didn't mind. Either way, the proximity between you two only seemed to grow as the minutes ticked by, and Tara couldn't stop watching.

Every time you laughed at something he said, her chest tightened just a little more.

You weren't doing it on purpose. Tara knew that. She knew you didn't notice the way her jaw clenched or how her fingers drummed against her cup.

You were just being you—kind, bubbly, and effortlessly charming. But watching you with Brian, seeing how much of your attention he was soaking up, felt like a slow, relentless sting.

She hadn't expected it to bother her this much.

At first, Tara tried to play along, chiming in when she could and taking small sips of her drink to distract herself.

But then Brian's friends started joining the conversation, their loud energy making it harder for her to keep up. You were still trying to include her, turning to her every so often to ask her opinion or flash her one of your brilliant smiles, but it wasn't enough.

Not when you lit up like a damn firework every time Brian said something that made you laugh.

Tara tipped back her cup, finishing it quicker than she probably should have. She wasn't much of a drinker to begin with—she never really liked how it made her feel—but tonight was different. Tonight, she needed the edge taken off.

"Want another?" you asked, noticing her empty cup.

She hesitated, but before she could respond, Brian offered. "I'll grab her one. Be right back."

She opened her mouth to say she didn't need another, but he was already walking away.

You smiled after him before turning back to Tara, your expression so full of effortless warmth it made her stomach churn. "You having fun?"

She forced a small nod, her grip tightening on the plastic cup. "Yeah. It's... fine."

You didn't notice the strain in her voice, too caught up in the energy of the party to catch on.

By the time Brian returned with her drink, she'd already decided she wasn't going to overthink it. She took it with a quiet "thanks" and drank just enough to feel the buzz set in. It wasn't much—maybe two drinks total—but Tara was short, and she always felt the effects quicker than most.

The alcohol didn't drown out her frustration, though.

Every laugh you gave Brian, every time you leaned in to whisper something to him, only seemed to magnify it.

And you? You were oblivious. Still trying to keep her in the conversation, pulling her in with the same ease you always had. But she could feel the gap widening.

Tara's foot tapped against the floor as she shifted her weight, her eyes flickering between you and Brian. She should've left, should've wandered off to another part of the house to escape this torturous little triangle, but she stayed.

Because if she left, she'd have to admit to herself why she couldn't handle this.

So instead, she took another sip of her drink and plastered on a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"You okay?" you asked, your voice cutting through her thoughts.

"Yeah," she said quickly, her words sharper than she intended. "I'm fine."

But she wasn't. And as the night wore on, that became harder and harder to hide.

And after an hour, or maybe even more.

The alcohol was definitely working its way through Tara's veins. She could feel it, the familiar warmth spreading through her chest, making her limbs feel looser but her thoughts louder.

The edges of the room blurred ever so slightly, but her focus on you was sharp as ever, almost painfully so.

You were giggling at something Brian said again, your hand brushing his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Tara had been watching you both like a hawk all night, trying to play it cool, but the subtle touches, the shared smiles, the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him—it was getting under her skin.

She clenched her jaw, tipping back the rest of her drink as if it might drown out the frustration bubbling inside her. But it didn't.

It wasn't just the alcohol making her feel reckless, though it didn't help. Tara was desperate.

Desperate to do something—anything—that might shift the balance back in her favor. But how? She wasn't like Brian. She didn't have easy jokes or effortless charm. And she wasn't like you, all soft laughter and open smiles.

So she sat there, stewing in her own silence, searching for an opening she couldn't find.

Then she turned her head for just a moment.

A distraction—a loud burst of laughter from somewhere across the room. She glanced over, barely processing the source, and when she looked back...

Her heart stopped.

You and Brian were kissing.

It wasn't shy or hesitant. It was full and unguarded, like something out of the movies. His hands rested lightly on your waist, your fingers clutching the front of his shirt as though you were afraid to let go.

Tara's first thought wasn't sadness. It wasn't heartbreak or even surprise.

It was rage.

Her body went rigid, the plastic cup in her hand creaking under the force of her grip.

Because of course this wasn't a problem.

Why would it be?

You weren't hers. You'd never been hers. You were allowed to kiss boys, especially the boy you'd been crushing on for as long as she could remember. It wasn't like you were breaking some unspoken rule. She had no claim to you, no right to feel betrayed or blindsided.

But God, it felt like a betrayal.

Her rational mind tried to reason with her, repeating the same useless mantra: This isn't a problem. This isn't a problem. This isn't a problem.

But the other side of her mind—the side that had been clawing its way to the surface all night—was screaming the opposite.

It was a problem. A huge one.

The anger burned through her like a wildfire, consuming every rational thought as it spread. It started in her chest, hot and heavy, before curling into her throat and setting her teeth on edge. Her nails dug into the soft plastic of her cup until it crumpled under her grip, a sharp crack breaking through the buzz of the party.

And still, she couldn't look away.

She hated it. Hated the way his hands touched you so easily, like he'd earned that right. Hated the way you kissed him back like you'd been waiting for this your whole life. Hated how he got to have what she wanted so desperately without even knowing how much it mattered.

Her breaths came quicker, each one catching in her chest as if she couldn't quite fill her lungs. The alcohol amplified everything, stripping her bare of the filters she usually relied on. Every raw, unspoken feeling she'd buried for years was rising to the surface now, and there was no stopping it.

She wanted to scream.

To grab you and pull you away, to tell Brian to get his hands off you, to do something.

But she didn't.

Because no matter how angry she was, no matter how much she hated what she was seeing, there was a part of her—a small, quiet, agonizing part—that whispered:

You're not supposed to feel like this.

So instead, Tara sat there, her body tense and trembling, her nails biting into the palms of her hands. She didn't even realize she'd crumpled her cup until the sticky remnants of her drink dripped onto her lap.

And still, she couldn't look away.

Eventually you pulled back from Brian, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glassy from the alcohol coursing through your system.

A small, almost dazed laugh escaped your lips as you glanced at him, then turned to find Tara in the crowd. She hadn't moved from where she'd been watching, her posture stiff and her eyes fixed on some indistinct point on the wall—anywhere but you.

When your gaze landed on her, your smile widened, bright and unrestrained, like you hadn't just set her entire world on fire.

Tara's chest tightened, the molten frustration inside her bubbling hotter with every passing second. She couldn't stop her thoughts, couldn't silence the storm brewing in her mind.

You stumbled a little as you reached her, still grinning like a fool, your energy infectious to everyone but Tara. You leaned close, tipping forward on your toes, your voice loud but slurred enough to betray your tipsy state.

"I think he kissed me," you said, as if it hadn't been entirely mutual.

Tara felt something snap.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms so hard she half-expected to draw blood.

She couldn't speak, couldn't trust herself to even try. If she opened her mouth, she was sure she'd yell or say something she couldn't take back. Worse, she might cry—and that wasn't an option.

Her silence stretched on, but you didn't seem to notice. You were too lost in your own world, your thoughts spinning with the buzz of the alcohol and the remnants of Brian's touch. Tara's silence didn't matter, because you filled the space with another easy laugh, leaning closer so she could hear you over the pounding music.

"I need to use the bathroom," you said, your lips brushing near her ear. The warmth of your breath made her stomach twist. "Wanna come?"

Tara's mind scrambled for an excuse, her mouth dry as she fought the urge to say something reckless.

"No," she said finally, forcing her voice to sound casual, detached. "I think I'm good down here."

It wasn't true. She wasn't good down here, or anywhere else in the universe at that moment.

You gave her a light shrug, your expression still full of that easy joy that made her want to scream. "Okay! Be right back!"

You disappeared into the crowd, weaving your way toward the bathroom, leaving Tara standing there alone.

The second you were out of sight, she exhaled sharply, her hands shaking as she reached for another drink she didn't need.

She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the anger, or the ache of jealousy threatening to overwhelm her. Maybe it was all three, swirling into something she couldn't control.

But one thing was clear—she couldn't keep this up. Not tonight. Not with you and Brian. Not with her chest full of feelings she couldn't name and didn't want to face.

Tara's eyes burned as they landed on Brian, standing not far from where you'd left him. His posture was easy, relaxed—too relaxed.

He stood there like nothing had happened, chatting casually with a couple of his friends, his hand lifting a red cup to his lips like this was just another night. Like he hadn't just kissed you.

The most beautiful girl on the planet.

Tara felt her stomach twist painfully, her grip tightening around the drink in her hand. How could he be so unbothered? So unaffected? He wasn't grinning ear to ear, wasn't puffing out his chest or gushing about how lucky he was.

He wasn't laughing with joy or smirking proudly like any sane person would if they'd just kissed you.

How was he not telling everyone in earshot about what had happened? How was he not reeling from the fact that you—you, with your blinding smile and endless energy—had given him even a second of your time, let alone your lips?

Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as she stared at him, her anger bubbling hotter with every second he stayed calm. Her hands itched to grab him by the collar, to shake him and demand he act like he understood the weight of what had just happened.

Did he even realize how lucky he was?

Did he know how many people in that room—how many people in general—would kill to be in his place? To have even the tiniest fraction of your attention, let alone that?

Her vision blurred, and it wasn't from the alcohol. Her chest felt like it was about to implode, like something inside her was trying desperately to escape, and she didn't know how much longer she could keep it together.

Brian's laughter snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. He was laughing at something one of his friends said, his expression light, carefree—unbothered.

Tara nearly saw red.

She downed the rest of her drink in one go, the sharp burn doing nothing to dull the fury roaring in her chest. How could he be like this? How could he act so normal, so indifferent, after kissing you?

How could he not be overwhelmed by the fact that you'd chosen him, even for a fleeting moment?

It was insulting. Infuriating.

She wanted to march over there, to grab him and make him feel the way she was feeling. She wanted him to hurt, to ache, to boil with jealousy the way she was.

But she couldn't.

Because none of this was his fault.

The real issue—the one she didn't want to admit—wasn't Brian. It was the simple, heartbreaking truth that he could kiss you without consequence.

He could have you.

Tara wasn't sure what happened next.

What she was thinking when it happened, or if she was even thinking at all. Maybe it was the anger—burning hot and uncontrollable—making her body move before her brain could catch up. Or maybe it was the alcohol, buzzing in her veins and drowning out every voice in her head that might've told her to stop.

All she knew was that one second she was standing there, glaring at Brian like he'd committed some unforgivable sin, and the next, she was storming toward him.

His friends noticed her first, their chatter faltering as they shifted awkwardly under her sharp glare. But Brian, oblivious as ever, didn't see her coming. He was mid-sentence, that stupidly calm look still plastered on his face, when Tara grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down to her level.

The movement was forceful enough to knock the air out of both of them, and before he could even process what was happening—before she could process what was happening—she pressed her lips against his.

It wasn't soft.

It wasn't sweet.

It was messy, rough, and fueled by a cocktail of rage and desperation. Her hands fisted his shirt tightly, holding him in place, her nails biting into the fabric. Brian stiffened for a second, shocked, but then his hands hovered awkwardly near her waist, unsure of what to do.

Tara didn't care. She didn't care about his reaction, about his hesitation.

Because this wasn't about him.

It wasn't about his stupid, clueless face or the fact that he'd kissed you without giving it a second thought. It wasn't about him being unbothered or unaffected.

This was about her.

Her anger, her frustration, her absolute inability to sit there for another second and watch him act like kissing you was nothing.

The kiss deepened as her grip on his shirt tightened, pulling him even closer. She wanted to erase the memory of you from his lips, to replace it with her own. To make him feel something, anything, the way she was feeling.

But it wasn't working.

If anything, the kiss only made it worse.

Because no matter how hard she pressed, no matter how desperate her movements were, it didn't feel right.

It didn't feel like you.

And that thought was like a punch to the gut.

Brian made a soft, surprised noise against her lips, his hands finally settling on her hips, but it only made her angrier. How dare he hesitate now? How dare he act so unsure, like he didn't know exactly what he wanted when he'd so easily taken you from her just minutes ago?

Her chest heaved as she pulled back slightly, her lips still brushing against his, her heart pounding in her ears.

His wide eyes stared at her, confused and more than a little alarmed. "Tara—" his voice laced with bewilderment, but she silenced him with another kiss, pressing harder, needing to cut him off.

She didn't want to hear his voice. She didn't want to hear him try to make sense of this, because she didn't have an explanation. This wasn't about him.

It wasn't about you either—not entirely, at least.

It was about her. About the way she felt like she was unraveling, about how every smile you gave Brian felt like another thread being yanked loose, every laugh you shared with him felt like a blow to the chest.

She didn't know how to make it stop, and the only thing her mind could come up with was this. She didn't have to think when she was kissing Brian. Didn't have to feel the jagged ache of watching you be so happy with someone else.

This wasn't about him.

But it was all she could do to stop herself from falling apart completely.

And Tara wasn't sure what was happening anymore.

Brian hadn't pushed her away. He hadn't stopped her, hadn't hesitated for even a moment after that first surprised noise.

No, he'd leaned into it. He'd kissed her back with the kind of intent that only made her angrier, made the fire in her chest blaze so hot she thought she might combust right there.

Because it wasn't supposed to go like this.

His hands slid from her hips, pulling her closer, pressing her tighter against him, and she hated it. Hated the way he responded like this was exactly what he wanted, hated the way he kissed her back like she wasn't just a replacement for you.

And worse than anything, she hated herself for not stopping it.

His hands moved lower, gripping her ass, pulling her even closer, and she felt herself clench her fists tighter into the fabric of his shirt.

She didn't know if it was the alcohol buzzing in her veins, numbing her better judgment, or if it was the anger still consuming her every thought, but she didn't do anything to stop him.

She should've.

But she didn't.

Because in this moment, it wasn't about him. It wasn't even about you. It was about the chaos she felt boiling in her chest, about the way she felt like she was spiraling further and further out of control.

Brian murmured something against her lips—she didn't catch it, didn't even try to—but his hands stayed firm on her, guiding her, pulling her toward the stairs.

And she let him.

Every step felt like she was wading through quicksand, her mind shouting at her to stop, to push him away, to pull herself together. But her body wasn't listening. She didn't know if it was the heat of his hands on her or the fog of alcohol clouding her better judgment, but she let him lead her.

Because stopping meant facing the truth. And Tara wasn't ready to do that.

Not yet.

She'd barely registered how they ended up in the room. One second, she was being pulled up the stairs, Brian's hand gripping hers tightly, and the next, they were in a dimly lit bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them.

Her heart was racing, but not from excitement. There was no thrill, no anticipation, just a gnawing sense of wrongness she couldn't shake. Yet she didn't stop it. She didn't stop him as his hands found her waist, as his lips trailed down her neck. She didn't stop herself from responding, from letting this spiral further than it ever should have.

It was mechanical, empty, and every moment felt like it was happening to someone else. Brian's touch wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't what she wanted. His lips weren't the ones she craved, his hands didn't spark anything but an aching hollowness inside her.

And yet, she let it happen.

Because, for a fleeting second, it felt like power. Like control. Like maybe, just maybe, if she could take this from him—take you from him in some twisted, nonsensical way—it would hurt less.

But it didn't.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word she barely heard, only drove the knife deeper into her chest.

When it was over, the silence was deafening. Tara lay there, staring at the ceiling, her body still and her mind racing. Brian shifted beside her, saying something she didn't hear, and the sound of his voice made her stomach twist. She felt nauseous, disgusted—not with him, but with herself.

What had she done?

Her chest tightened as she fought to keep her breathing steady, refusing to let him see the tears threatening to spill over. It hadn't helped. It hadn't made anything better. If anything, it had only made everything worse.

Because no matter what she did, no matter how far she went, it would never be enough to make her stop wanting you.

Afterwards Tara laid still, the dim light of the room casting shadows that felt too heavy, too oppressive.

Brian was beside her, breathing evening out as if nothing monumental had just happened. As if this was just another casual moment in his life.

Her mind, however, wouldn't stop.

It wasn't Brian she was thinking about—not the way he'd touched her, not the way he'd looked at her. No, every thought clawed its way back to you.

She pictured you in the bathroom, probably still staring at yourself in the mirror, giddy and flushed. She could almost see your smile, so wide it was infectious, and the way you'd probably tilt your head, trying to relive every second of that kiss.

You'd been dreaming of that moment since second grade, scribbling his name in the margins of your notebooks and lighting up every time he was near. Tara could already imagine how you'd be practically glowing, heart racing with excitement as you ran your fingers over your lips, trying to make the feeling last.

She wanted to hate you for it. But she couldn't. She never could.

You'd come out of that bathroom with a smile so bright it could light up the whole house, your hopeful eyes scanning the crowd as you made your way back to the spot you'd all been standing. And what would you find?

Nothing.

Tara wasn't there. Brian wasn't there.

She could imagine how your smile would falter, confusion settling in as you looked around, searching for the two people who were supposed to be waiting for you. How long would it take for the excitement to drain from your face? How quickly would hope turn to disappointment?

The thought was like a knife twisting in her gut.

And yet, she still couldn't make sense of why she'd done this. Why she'd let it happen. Because it didn't feel like she'd won anything. She hadn't taken Brian away from you. If anything, she'd stolen something from herself—something she could never get back.

Her chest tightened as the realization hit her like a freight train. She hadn't wanted him. She hadn't wanted this.

She'd wanted you.

And now she'd ruined everything.

#jenna ortega x reader #mabel x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter #ask #sam carpenter x reader

316 notes · View notes

supernovafics · 1 day ago

Text

you and steve like each other but neither of you want to fully admit it

wc: 1k

a tiny bit angsty but overall very soft and sweet<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

it was a teasing look mixed with barely any space. it was also the mix of way too many drinks and one joint passed around your group of friends that made you and steve practically inseparable.

in normal circumstances, you two were already pretty much attached at the hip— always finding each other in crowded rooms or having your own whispered conversations when you were in big groups. but whenever you two were drunk or high, or in this case both, your closeness seemed to only increase tenfold.

you weren’t sure whose decision it was to move to the kitchen while your friends talked and laughed in the living room. maybe you wanted to drag steve along as you went to grab a soda from his fridge, or perhaps it had been the other way around. you honestly couldn’t remember, and whatever you planned to get became long forgotten by the time you two had walked the ten feet from the living room.

now you sat atop the counter, hands settled in your lap as you fought the urge to run your fingers through steve’s hair that was surprisingly pretty messy for once. and that made you remember that the messiness had actually been your doing because you ruffled it at some point during the night— when he playfully made fun of you for being such a lightweight and the only thing you felt as if you could do in retaliation to his words was mess up his perfectly styled hair.

you let out an abrupt laugh at the memory.

steve looked at you curiously. “what’s so funny?”

“your hair.”

he quickly pushed a hand through it, trying to tame the mess of brown. “that’s all your fault, y’know.”

“i know. sorry,” you told him. “i think it’s pretty cute, though.”

“you’re pretty cute.”

you let out another soft laugh. “always the charmer, harrington.”

“and you love it.”

you nodded instead of protesting his words like you would’ve done if he had said them to you when you were sober. “yeah… i do.”

he moved closer to you then, stepping between your parted legs, and it was hard to not let yourself lean into him just a little bit. one of his hands settled on the side of your thigh and then moved up and found your hip.

you didn’t know if it was you or him who leaned in further, but suddenly your noses were brushing and your lips became only breaths apart. it hadn’t even happened yet, but you were already imagining what his lips would feel like on yours; the softness of his mouth, and you had a feeling that he’d taste like the tequila you two had been drinking all night.

but then he was slowly pulling back a bit.

maybe logical thinking was hitting him in this moment, and the smallest part of you that was barely sober was glad because you knew just how much things would change if you two did kiss right then.

you figured steve was going to step away from you then. and in response, you would jump off the counter and slip your hand in his and then you two would head back into the living room; putting an end to your random trip to the kitchen.

instead, though, he leaned in closer, mouth fanning right against your ear as he softly asked, “can i kiss you?”

that was not at all what you expected him to say.

so, logical thinking was actually not hitting him in this moment, you figured; and you could say the same. kind of.

you had to bite your lip to hold back your smile. “nope.”

steve pouted at you. “please?”

seeing the look on his face made it too hard not to smile that time.

you almost just simply shook your head and told him no again, but instead, you turned your head and tapped your cheek. steve got what you meant immediately and leaned in to kiss your warming cheek.

the action was pretty innocent and very childish, but it still made butterflies swarm in your stomach.

“was that good enough for you?” you asked softly, leaning back a bit so that you could really look at him, placing your hands on the cool countertop.

the hand that he had on your hip lightly squeezed. “for now.”

quickly, your mind changed and you were reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him toward you and hugging him; you couldn’t let yourself kiss him, even though you really wanted to, so this was the next best thing. steve returned the embrace immediately, arms circling your waist and holding you tight.

this was enough, you decided. it would have to be enough.

steve hummed softly against your neck and you let out a giggle because of how much the action tickled.

when your laughter subsided, you two simply stayed as you were; quietly holding one another and pretending that it was only you and him in his house right then.

eddie’s voice from the couch suddenly broke the prevailing silence. “just kiss already! jesus christ!”

that was when you finally pulled away from each other— arms dropping and steve moving back a bit to give you some space; space that you really didn’t want.

you both flipped eddie off with a laugh and then focused back on each other. you finally hopped off the counter and steve followed you as you headed back into the living room with everyone else.

you knew that aside from drunken moments like those, you and steve would never get that close to kissing one another, or even consider doing it; neither of you would ever have the courage to push your friendship into that entirely different place.

maybe it was because deep down you both were scared of change, or maybe it was because you both wanted to protect the friendship you had. either way, you and steve were fine with toeing this blurry line instead of admitting the truth. it was easier that way, and a part of you loved it, actually. at least, that was what you kept telling yourself.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington headcanon #stranger things imagine #stranger things fluff

184 notes · View notes

illbegottenfaith · 2 days ago

Text

lucky pt 2 - theo nott x reader

after the Felix Felicis incident, your relationship with theo has dramatically changed, for better and for worse

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - by popular demand! rip my title tho the best alternative I could come up with was ‘feminine ass-kicking’ but idk if that’s too out there. also I’ve started part 3 too! (which should be the final part) this was kind of inspired by gilmore girls season 6 :)

tropes/warnings - academic rivals to lovers, angst, slow burn, miscommunication

word count - 2.1k

The Felix Felicis incident had given the both of you much to think about. Outwardly, you maintained the appearance that nothing had changed between the two of you, taking snipes at each other every now and then. But every night, before you’d fall asleep, your mind would wander back to that evening at the Astronomy Tower, the sight of Theo and the harsh contours of his face softened by the forgiving setting sun. Every night, he asks if you have anything else to say. Every night, you shake your head.

And as much as you’d like to pretend otherwise, things had changed between you. Theo became more reserved, somehow, less determined to spar with you. Your fights didn’t hold anywhere near the spark they once did. And you hated it. You hated that it bothered you, you hated that it upset you, you hated that it was all you could think about every time you were in the same classroom as him. It just wasn’t fair.

What also wasn’t fair was your entire group falling sick the day before an extremely crucial Potions project was due. They were all more than apologetic, but it didn’t change the fact that months worth of work to complete in one night if you wanted even a semblance of a chance at passing.

Which was how Theodore Nott found you in the library late one night, pouring over five gnarly tomes on Potions from the Medieval era, writing what looked like three essays at once. You flinched when you heard a noise near the bookshelves, and your mood wasn’t much improved when you saw who it was.

“Trying to read every book in one night, L/N?”

You wanted to roll your eyes. After weeks of stunted conversation, now that it was just the two of them, he was suddenly feeling chatty?

“I'm busy. Buzz off.”

Ignoring you, Theo crept closer, tilting his head to read what you were haphazardly scribbling.

“The Potions project? But we started that months ago. And it’s due tomorrow.”

You swept the papers up out of his sight. You were already in a testy mood to begin with and you were in no mood to have him crow over your bad luck.

“What part of ‘buzz off’ don’t you get?”

“Where are your groupmates?”

“Sick.”

“Sick?”

“They all went on some Hogsmeade trip together, the whole lot of them. They all caught it from each other and they’re supposed to be stupidly contagious.”

“But their reports should be fine.”

“They were, until Madam Pomfrey declared them a biohazard.” Your head was beginning to hurt from the bottled-up frustration. You knew it wasn’t their fault for falling sick, but now you had to pull an all-nighter just so you wouldn’t fail. You stood and walked past him to the shelves, pulling out any and every book that remotely looked like it might help.

You glanced at the clock, mentally calculating how much time you’d need. There was no way you could get it all done by 9 am. Feeling quite proud of yourself for successfully giving Theo the same cold shoulder he had been giving you the past couple of weeks, you walked to the library telephone and started dialing the number to Slughorn’s office. One of the only people who could help you now was Jeeves, Slughorn’s teaching assistant, provided he was in a good enough mood.

“Jeeves, hi. Yes, I know it’s late, but I was wondering if you could delay the Potions project submission by just an hour? I’m sure Slughorn wouldn’t mind. It’s just my entire team fell sick all at once, and Madam Pomfrey threw out everything they’ve touched in the past three days, including their reports. I know it's due 9 am but couldn’t you bend the rule a little, just this once? For me?”

You rubbed your forehead anxiously, an unpleasant expression on your face as you tried to follow whatever Jeeves was yammering about punctuality. When he moved on to the importance of personal accountability, you felt like you were going to combust if you didn’t shut him up soon.

“Y’know, Jeeves,” you interrupted with a dramatic sigh, dropping your voice, “just the other day I was thinking about that one Quidditch match you had played a couple of years back. Yes, that one game you subbed in for the Chaser? I have to say, you’re no slouch yourself out on the pitch. You sure look like you know your way around a broom. Yes, exactly, way better than those oafs on the team. I always thought it was a shame you didn’t make the cut - one hour. Yes, yes, that’s all I need. Thank you, thank you!”

You hung up, already feeling much more hopeful with the one-hour extension. All that was left to do was slave away for the rest of the night, and by morning you’d have a more than acceptable report ready.

“…what was that?”

You started, having nearly forgotten who was with you. “What was what?” You asked, half-distracted, once again absorbed in rearranging the layout of your Potions project.

“That, with the - ‘you look like you know your way around a broom?’ Really?”

You glanced at Theo, frowning. “Well, how do you get what you want?”

You turned your gaze back to the book splayed out in front of you, missing the brief look of longing that passed over Theo’s face. “Hmm. Bribery, mainly.”

“Right,” you said slowly, a hint of sarcasm in your tone underneath the flurry of activity. “That trust fund isn’t going to spend itself, now is it?”

“My trust fund doesn’t kick in ‘til I’m 25, tesoro.”

You wanted to kick yourself when your heart fluttered over the stupidly endearing pet name. You didn’t realise how much you missed it. “Oh, oh, of course. Mr. Moneybags here is just absolutely rolling in it even without his trust fund. How could I forget?”

“Mr. Moneybags? That’s the best you can come up with?”

You huffed without any real annoyance. You walked over to where Theo was lounging as he lazily watched you spin like a top between the bookshelves. He had the decency to sit up slightly as you approached and dumped the stack of papers into his lap.

“Look, Nott, I’m on a time crunch here. So either help me or get out.”

Theo looked up at you without a trace of mockery in his otherwise teasing blue eyes. You willed yourself to not look away.

“Yes, ma'am.”

You made the mistake of holding his gaze. A beat passed, then two. It seemed that it was surprisingly impossible for either of you to look away. Finally, you snapped out of it, mentally giving yourself a good shake as you hurried out of his magnetic field back to the table. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought you were flirting with him.

“Wha -?”

“Toast. From breakfast.”

You glanced around the room bleary-eyed, seizing Theo’s wrist a little harder than necessary as you blinked the sleep out of your eyes. As much as you hated to admit it, last night had gone better than you could have ever hoped. It helped to have another pair of hands and a brain that was almost as good as yours. Unfortunately, you must have nodded off at some point,

Cursing as you finally made out the time on his watch, you peeled off the piece of parchment stuck to your face and continued writing, even as every muscle in your palm protested. Theo rolled his eyes and stuck the toast in your mouth, which you mindlessly nibbled on for the next hour or so.

When you were finally done, you stuck your group’s names on the cover page and the two of you hurried down to Slughorn’s office a little before 10 o clock. Jeeves, good man that he was, was still in. But your relief was short-lived.

Jeeves did an insufferably exaggerated impression of reading the time as you walked in. “It’s 2 past 10. I’m afraid I can’t accept your submission.”

This was it. You reached your limit. You weren’t running on what was at most 2 hours of sleep just for some self-important dimwit of a teaching assistant to refuse your submission.

You grabbed the collar of Jeeves’ shirt, manhandling him with hours' worth of frustration. “Listen here, Jeeves. You will accept my group’s submission if you want to walk out of here with every part of your anatomy intact. You will take these essays I have here and you will accept them graciously, Merlin help you if you don’t.”

“What happened to using your feminine wiles?” asked Theo, thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Yeah, well, now I’m more in the mood for a feminine ass-kicking. Jeeves, come on. ”

You only released him when Theo placed a calming hand on your wrist. He reached into his pocket, offering something to a very red-faced and highly affronted Jeeves.

“C’mon, Jeeves. Maybe we could make this more worth your while.”

You hesitated, torn. On the one hand, you were raised better than to bribe people or accept financial aid, especially when you didn’t really need it. On the other hand, this project was worth 40% of your grade and Jeeves was being a little bitch.

Jeeves mulled over the coins in his palm, taking his sweet time appraising them. Just as it looked like he was about to ask for something a little more, you slammed a hand on his desk.

“Alright, fine, hand it over.”

Once you’d finally successfully submitted your project, the two of you walked out of Slughorn’s office in a daze. Without the stress of the impending deadline to act as a buffer between you, a certain awkwardness started to set in. Theo had his hands in his pockets, rubbing at a scuffed patch on the floor with his shoe.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you started, but he waved off your protests. Still, no one pulls an all-nighter for just about anyone.

“So how much did you give him?”

Theo sighed. “L/N.”

But you were already pulling out your coin purse. “It can’t have been more than what I have on me now.”

“Y/N.” You stopped counting out your coins. He was looking at you strangely, like he didn’t understand what he was doing either. “Forget it. Really.”

Reluctantly, you pocketed your coin purse. A hysterical sort of giddiness was starting to set in. “We did it.”

“You did it.”

Maybe it was the long night of endless writing or your grumbling stomach. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you now, with a smile so sincere like he was genuinely so proud of you. Whatever it was, you took a step towards him, and then another before throwing your arms around his neck.

It was a little less dignified than you would have hoped, what with you trembling with barely any sleep and the vestiges of caffeine-induced adrenaline and him having the audacity of being a whole head taller than you since sixth year. But he steadied you before you could tip back, his arms resting around your waist. You had never shaken hands, much less hugged each other, but something about it felt so warm, comforting, familiar. The feel of his solid body pressed against yours didn’t feel so terrible.

But as you pulled apart, you caught sight of his expression, and your face fell. He wasn’t smiling like you, not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, immediately feeling like the biggest idiot in the world. He still wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look angry either. He looked - you couldn’t tell how he looked. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear almost regretfully, before turning to leave.

“Don’t.”

Theo paused. He didn’t turn to face you.

“Don’t do this, Nott. Don’t be cold. Don’t be distant.”

He adjusted the shoulder strap of his satchel. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was nervous. “I have Charms to get to.” He turned his head slightly but not enough to meet your gaze. “You should get a proper breakfast.”

And then he left, as if he had no idea what you were talking about. As if the last twelve hours hadn’t occurred. As if he hadn’t felt the void festering between you the past couple of weeks.

As if he didn’t care about you.

#theo nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott angst

103 notes · View notes

drowning-in-paragraphs · 3 days ago

Text

PART THREE

jude bellingham x exgf!reader

PART ONE DRUNK CALL

PART TWO DRUNK CALL

a/n: when I tell you how much I loved writing the final part...!

The room buzzed with an air of elegance and formality, the muted hum of conversation blending with the soft clinking of glasses. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the scene, their reflections dancing on the polished floors and the glittering silverware that adorned each table. You moved through it all, dressed in your tailored uniform: a crisp white blouse, sleek black trousers, and a fitted jacket.

Tonight, the night seemed to stretch endlessly, the soft hum of chatter and clinking glasses barely registering in your mind as you moved mechanically through the room. You clung to professionalism like a lifeline, your fingers gripping the tray a little too tightly as you weaved through the guests. Each step felt heavy, like wading through quicksand, your heart pounding so hard you were sure someone would hear it.

Your tray trembled in your hands, betraying the storm inside you. You had done this job a hundred times before, your movements usually smooth and practiced. But tonight, you felt like a rookie—clumsy and unsure, your steps faltering as though the polished floor was uneven beneath your feet.

You kept your gaze low, your focus narrow. The realization that Jude might be somewhere in the room, just a glance away, was a weight pressing against your chest. Still, you moved with purpose, fighting the storm brewing inside you, praying silently that this night would pass without confrontation.

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself. Just another night, you told yourself. Just another high-profile event. But no amount of mental reassurance could quiet the tension coiled inside you, ready to snap. You felt as if chaos were brewing beneath the surface, waiting to burst free at the slightest provocation. You were just working, you didn´t have to encounter him. Not today, not yet.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

You cursed under your breath when you saw him.

He stood across the room, tall and commanding, his laughter cutting through the murmur of voices like a warm melody. He was breathtaking, even more so than you remembered. The tailored tuxedo he wore fit him perfectly, the sharp lines accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame. His presence drew almost every eye in the room, but he seemed oblivious to it, his attention fixed on the joke one of his mates had just told. His smile was wide and genuine, the deep sound of his laughter making your chest tighten.

He looked… different. Stronger. Fitter. The months apart had refined him in a way that almost felt cruel. You wanted to stop looking. The more you did, the more it hurt. As if the universe had conspired to make him even more unattainable, more dazzling than before. The sight of him was a punch to the gut, stealing the air from your lungs.

He hadn’t noticed you. Not yet.

Your first instinct was to disappear, to avoid his gaze at all costs. Without thinking, you veered to the left, your tray wobbling precariously as you turned sharply to serve another group of renowned guests. But even as you busied yourself, pretending to be absorbed in your task, you couldn’t stop your heart from pounding. The sound of his laughter seemed to follow you, a cruel echo that reminded you of everything you’d tried so hard to forget.

But you knew, you could not avoid him forever. It was a matter of time before he saw you.

You felt it before you saw it—that sharp, tingling awareness of someone’s gaze on you. Hesitantly, you glanced up, and there it was. Jude’s eyes locked onto yours from across the room.

It was as if time had stopped. His expression shifted instantly, the smile vanishing from his face as his dark eyes widened in recognition. Unlike you, he was not expecting to see you. His posture, so relaxed and assured only moments before, stiffened slightly, and his hand, which had been gesturing mid-conversation, dropped to his side. For a moment, he didn’t move—just stood there, staring, as though the sight of you had stolen the very breath from his lungs.

You couldn’t look away. His gaze was so intense, so consuming, that it made your knees weak. There was something in his expression that struck you—a mixture of surprise, longing, and something else you couldn’t quite name. He looked at you as if you were a vision, as if he were afraid you might vanish if he so much as blinked.

And then he took an instintive step toward you.

Panic seized your chest. You stepped back reflexively, your heel catching slightly against the edge of a coworker’s shoe. You stumbled, muttering a quick, mortified apology as the other server steadied you with a startled look. The moment shattered, and without thinking, you turned on your heel and disappeared into another section of the room, your heart racing as if you’d just sprinted a mile.

You didn’t stop until you were on the opposite side of the grand hall, your back pressed against the cool wall as you fought to catch your breath. Your hands shook as you set your tray down on a nearby service table, fingers brushing against the polished metal as you steadied yourself.

He saw you. The thought burned in your mind, hot and undeniable. You had felt the weight of his gaze, the way it lingered as if he couldn’t bear to look away.

You wish your meeting had happened under different circumstances and possibly after a longer period of time.

But you couldn’t think about that now. You had a job to do.

On the other side of the room, Jude was reeling. His heart pounded against his ribcage, the sight of you overwhelming his senses. He had always thought you were beautiful, but seeing you now—after months of longing and settling for glimpses in old photos—left him breathless. He’d discovered you had blocked him shortly after a victorious match. Hoping to catch up on what you’d been up to, he found that your profile—and your number—had vanished from his socials. It was a decision he had checked on obsessively, always hoping you’d changed your mind, wishing for even one more chance to see you. Now, here you were, more radiant than he remembered. Yet there was something in your eyes—a flicker of vulnerability entwined with strength—that made his chest ache.

He wanted to look away, to give you space, but he couldn’t. His gaze remained fixed on you, drinking in every detail. He felt like a fool for standing there, rooted in place, but the fear of losing sight of you outweighed his self-consciousness. It wasn’t until a teammate nudged him with a question that he snapped back to reality.

“Are you okey, dude?” Camavinga asked, holding up a glass.

Jude nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Perfectly,” he said quickly, forcing himself to rejoin the conversation, though his mind was anywhere but there.

For you, the night was unfolding like a slow, agonizing waltz. You tried your best to focus on your duties, weaving through the glittering crowd with a steady smile and practiced movements. Yet, no matter how many times you told yourself to stop, your gaze kept drifting to him.

But every time your eyes lingered too long, he caught you.

And every time he did, his expression shifted. His laughter would falter, the easy confidence melting into something deeper, more intense. His gaze would lock onto yours as if nothing else in the room existed, his dark eyes drinking in every detail. And then, as if tethered by some invisible thread, you’d look away, your cheeks burning with the betrayal of your own emotions.

The subtle makeup you’d applied for the night barely concealed your blush. You could feel the heat rising every time you passed him, every time you felt the weight of his eyes following you through the room. It wasn’t just that he was looking—it was how he looked, like he was seeing you for the first time, or maybe for the last, and trying to memorize everything.

At one point, as you poured champagne for a group of distinguished guests, you felt his presence before you saw him. Turning your head slightly, you found him standing across the room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, his posture casual but his gaze anything but. He wasn’t even pretending to listen to the man beside him, his focus solely on you.

Your fingers fumbled with the champagne bottle for a split second, and you prayed no one noticed. But he did. His lips quirked into the faintest smile, a flicker of amusement that made your stomach twist in knots. You turned back to your task, gripping the bottle tightly to steady yourself, silently cursing the way your heart raced.

Later, as you collected empty glasses from a side table, you felt a shadow fall over you. Without looking, you knew it was him. Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse quickening as you forced yourself to keep moving, carefully stacking the glasses on your tray.

“Excuse me,” came a deep, familiar voice, low, just behind you.

It wasn’t directly meant for you; he was speaking to a guest nearby. But the sound of it—God, the sound of it—sent a shiver down your spine. You stole a glance over your shoulder, just for a second, and there he was, close enough that you could smell the faint, woodsy scent of his cologne. His profile was perfect, his jawline sharp, his focus momentarily elsewhere.

But then, as though he felt your gaze, he turned.

Your eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the rest of the room blurred. His brows lifted ever so slightly, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something, but you looked away quickly, your heart hammering in your chest. You fled to the kitchen under the pretense of needing a moment to reset the tray, leaning against the counter as you tried to catch your breath.

What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you keep your emotions in check?

The rest of the evening was no better. And for Jude, it was a different kind of torment. He couldn’t stop looking at you, no matter how hard he tried. You were breathtaking in a way that left him utterly speechless. The polished uniform, the subtle glow of your makeup, the way your hair framed your face—it was all enough to undo him.

He noticed the way your cheeks flushed whenever your eyes met his, the way you bit your lip when you thought no one was looking. Every small, nervous movement made him want to cross the room and pull you aside, to finally say all the things he’d left unsaid. But he didn’t. Not yet. He didn’t know if he had the right.

As the evening wound to a close, the tension reached its peak. You felt it in every fiber of your being—the weight of his presence, the way your heart stuttered each time your eyes locked. You knew you couldn’t keep this up. The night would end soon, and with it, the fragile barrier of professionalism you’d clung to.

The event finally ended, leaving you utterly drained. You clung to the shadows as you helped clear away the remnants of the night, ensuring you avoided any further encounters with Jude. By the time you clocked out, the grand hall had grown quiet, the hum of conversations replaced by the quiet shuffle of the cleanup crew.

Outside, the crisp night air greeted you, cool against your flushed cheeks. You wrapped your coat tighter around yourself and began the walk home, your steps slow and measured, as though trying to gather the broken pieces of your composure.

The night was still, the city alive but muted under a canopy of stars. Each step seemed heavier than the last, your mind replaying the fleeting glances, the unspoken words, the tension that had hung between you and Jude like a storm waiting to break. You wanted to believe it was over—that you could let him go, that this night was the last chapter of a story better left unfinished.

Nevertheless, that was something you didn’t want. That you would never want.

The knock came just as you were slipping out of your shoes by the door. Three quick, firm taps that startled you into freezing in place. You turned, heart already pounding, a part of you knowing who it would be before you even opened the door.

Jude.

He stood there in his tuxedo, the jacket unbuttoned now, his tie loosened and hanging askew around his neck. His hair was slightly disheveled, as though he’d run his hands through it more than once, and his breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling as if he’d just sprinted the whole way to your door. The golden glow of the streetlamp behind him only made him look more devastatingly handsome, more unreal.

“Jude,” you breathed, barely finding your voice. “What are you—”

“You deleted my number,” he interrupted, his voice rough and low, almost accusing. His dark eyes locked onto yours, sparkling with something between frustration and desperation. “You blocked me.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, struggling to find the words. The vulnerability in his gaze made your heart ache, made every defense you’d carefully built crumble into dust. Finally, you whispered,

��You didn’t call.”

The words were soft, barely audible, but they hung in the air between you like a challenge. Your voice trembled, not with anger, but with the rawness of the truth, and his expression shifted instantly. The accusation in his eyes melted into something softer, something that made your knees weak.

He didn’t wait.

Before you could say anything more, he closed the distance between you, one hand cupping your face as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was hungry, desperate, months—almost a year—of regret poured into the press of his mouth on yours. You gasped against him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tuxedo jacket to steady yourself as the world spun around you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your lips, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

You barely had a chance to respond before his lips were on yours again, his other hand sliding to the small of your back to pull you closer. Between kisses, you managed to whisper back, “I missed you.” The admission broke something inside you, and tears stung your eyes even as you kissed him with just as much fervor.

“I missed you too,” he breathed, his words muffled against your skin as he trailed kisses along your jaw, your neck. “Every day. I couldn’t—” His voice cracked, and he kissed you again, harder this time, as though trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words.

You both were desperate, clinging to each other as though afraid to let go, your hands tangling in his hair, his touch burning through the fabric of your coat. Between kisses, between gasps for air, came the apologies—raw and heartfelt, tumbling out in broken whispers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he said, his forehead resting against yours for a fleeting moment.

“I’m sorry I blocked you,” you replied, your voice trembling as your fingers brushed against his jaw.

Neither of you could stop, couldn’t seem to get close enough. The kisses grew more fervent, more consuming, and it felt like you were trying to make up for all the lost time, all the nights spent apart when you’d needed each other most.

“I can’t do this without you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “I don’t want to. I never did.”

Your heart felt like it might burst, and you nodded, your hands cupping his face as you whispered, “Me neither.”

And then his lips were on yours again, silencing the rest of your words, his kiss telling you everything you needed to know. You didn’t know how long you stayed there, tangled together in the doorway, the world outside fading into nothing. All you knew was him—his warmth, his touch, the way he made you feel like you were home.

Finally, when you broke apart, gasping for air, he pressed his forehead to yours, his hands framing your face as if he couldn’t bear to let go. “I’m not losing you again,” he said, his voice firm despite the raw emotion in his eyes.

“You won’t,” you promised, your voice steady this time. “Not ever.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham comfort #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham imagines #jb5 #hey jude #jude bellingham one shot #jude victor william bellingham #jude victor willliam bellingham #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x reader #bellingham x reader #bellingham #rma #rmcf

88 notes · View notes

nosyrobin · 3 days ago

Note

Hello👋

Can I request a TTG Robin x male reader where reader is speedy twin brother and and robin has a secret crush on reader and he know.

Whenever Robin and Speedy meet reader like to tease robin like some good pick up lines robin is trying to not blusing that hard.

Speedy like:Brother what the heck are u doing??? 🤨

If that ok?.Well feel free if you want to do it have a good day/night

-Blue sea🔵🌊

“QUICK CRUSH”

TTG!Robin x Twin of Speedy

Summary: Robin meeting the twin of speedy, Quiver makes him think that maybe a quick crush will pass. Only for the crush to grow and grow.

Speedy and Robin were in the main teen titans tower, relaxing even if they did fight over starfire before. Totally relaxing and nothing against each other, the two sidekicks were ranting about their teams before speedy had gotten a call from us cell phone.

“Eh, hold on bird brains. It’s my twin calling me.” He says, making Robin raise a brow. ‘A twin? He never told anyone or him about his twin…’ Robin thought as he just looks at the sporting channel. Speedy laughs and hangs up the call, putting his phone up as he looks at the tv. “He’s coming over, he’s bringing me some fish tacos if that’s okay with you.”Robin only shrugged, not really thinking about it since the sporting channel changed to gymnastics. As minutes pass, the elevator dinged. Bringing the attention of the two domino mask wearers.

When the door opens, Robin swore he heard angels sing when he met speedy’s twin. Yeah they’re twins, but you can obviously tell the difference between them in the outfits as you wore black and red with a black domino mask. Smirking holding up a bag of the suppose “fish tacos.” If Aqualad seen them now, he would’ve thrown up. Speedy smiled at his brother, hopping over the couch to greet him.

“Quiver! Man thanks for the tacos.” Speedy says going to you, daping up which you did back. “No problem man.” You smiled, looking to the side to see a black haired boy shyly peaking over the couch to look at you. You smirked, jumping over the couch and landing smoothly by the boy.

“Well don’t you make my heart quiver. What’s your name?” You said, holding a hand out towards the boy who seemed a “little” flustered at your quick pick up line. “I’m…I’m Robin. Yknow, like the sidekick of Batman.” He laughs nervously. Taking your hand as he keeps shaking it, he started to sweat along with his hand.

“Is it hot in here, was it always this hot here?” Robin said, using his other hand it pull at his collar of his hero costume. “I mean you’re hot too—” you raised a brow with a sneaky smirk. Making Robin immediately tweak out and run away screaming as speedy just sighs and smack you in the back of your head.

After that whole encounter with each other, you two always met up, making Robin kinda run away. He didn’t think he would be in-love with a guy really. Sure he was bi-curious. But damn were you attractive with your charms and your quick pick up lines.

Most encounter you two have is just you flirting with him as he tries so bad not to blush or show it’s getting to him. Meanwhile speedy was just like “bro, wtf are you doing?” Smacking the back of your head for flirting with the main leader of the titans. You were aware of his crush on you, it was damn obvious of how he checks you out. The small comments he thinks he can’t hear about how fit your body is.

He may has well have a gay panic attack when you were sweating, panting as you finish shooting down a foe that tried to sneak up behind him.

As these encounters and small conversations kept going. You got tired of this little cat and mouse game. Robin was doing a night patrol by himself in jump city, tired of his team not listening to him and mocking him. He sits against the edge of a roof of a building.

That’s when a red arrow shoots by him, making him jolt from it. He picks it up immediately recognizing it’s your arrow. You’re close. His cheeks start to heat up as he sees that there’s note to it.

“You shot an arrow to my heart birdy.” With a red heart having a red arrow through it. Robin immediately covered his face with his cape. Holding the note close to himself as you dropped down smirking. “Did I get you?” Robin jumps again, standing up to look at you with a still flustered look.

“Quiver! I— uh..” “cmon, I’m tired of playing as if we don’t want each other.” You said, walking to him. Robin felt frozen to his feet before feeling you pull him from the edge of the roof. His heart beating. His palming sweaty as well. He felt like he could throw up but couldn’t. You lean in, he leans in. As the two of you get ready to kiss.

A “ahem” ruins the moment. You curse under your breath. Lookin at speedy who shakes its head at you. “Cmon bro, you can play Romeo another night. Titans East needs us!” Speedy says, jumping from another roof. Waiting for you. You sighed, and Robin frowned. But that frown changed when you kissed him and left. Robin felt fireworks explode in his stomach as he put his hand to his lips. He watches you and your brother leave him there. Just smiling dumbly that you are definitely something that makes his heart quiver.

119 notes · View notes

userautumn · 6 hours ago

Note

i thought you would be happy with buck getting his oh moment and realizing his feelings for eddie but i guess you really were sucked into the bucktommy fanon created huh. Shame that you won't be able to enjoy canon buddie when it happens.

This is the only message I am going to answer about this specifically since I initially brought the topic up on my blog.

So, first of all, by definition, BuckTommy isn't fanon. Fanon is a ship or character that is completely generated by fandom. Buddie, for example, is fanon. Although they share a strong platonic bond, their relationship is not textually romantic. They do not kiss. They are not textually established romantic partners. Eddie said in the last episode that he is straight. So Buddie only exists within a fandom context. Conversely, BuckTommy is established as canon. Buck has touched mouths with that man on-screen. They were established as boyfriends and, now, ex-boyfriends. So it is, quite literally, impossible for BuckTommy to be fanon, even if fans do extrapolate, embellish, or reconstruct that relationship for their own pleasure. So, that's number one.

Number Two: According to this fandom, Buck and Eddie have had their oh moments a combined total of six times now at least (3x15, 3x03, 4x13, and 5x11, to name a few) and absolutely nothing concrete has come out of these events. The shooting is the closest we ever got, and that was four seasons ago. I don't begrudge anyone for reading that moment at the end of tonight's episode within a romantic Buddie context. Go absolutely nuts and have fun with it. But to me, that moment, such as it was, was more of the same - Buck or Eddie look at each other a certain way, or have evident (non-romantic) feelings related to the other, fandom loses their minds, they speculate, convince themselves they're right, nothing happens, rinse and repeat. I'm personally tired of the spin cycle.

I said I wanted strides toward Buddie canon to be made crystal clear and that's still true. You clearly see things differently (and that's alright), but outside the Buddie fanfiction hivemind, tonight's episode was not crystal clear. There was no discussion of Buck's feelings. He didn't vent them to Maddie or Bobby or Eddie himself. He didn't say, out loud, or indicate in any explicitly romantic way that he has feelings for Eddie. Buck having feelings about Eddie leaving is not the same as having feelings for him. They are best friends. They are family, actually. If Eddie leaves, Buck is losing the anchor to his support system and his (pseudo-)son. That's a big deal. That is an extraordinary weight to carry, especially on the heels of a significant breakup, and especially while dealing with abandonment issues. There was nothing romantic about that and, reducing that moment to a romantic reading, seems... odd. To me.

I'd like to think I'd still be able to enjoy Canon Buddie if it happens tbh. I actively write fic about those two in my spare time even though I keep my conversations about them to the DMs. But if I'm not able to enjoy it, it won't be because of the ship itself, it will be because I finally tired of the abject cruelty that's cropped up in this space. There's this unspoken rule in fandom that what happens during hiatus stays in hiatus, and we all just silently agree to move on from it when the show comes back. But I'm having a hard time with that this year because I've seen and experienced some absolutely insane things from this fandom the last few months that have stuck with me. So. Maybe I won't still enjoy it, but I hope I will.

I was really angry with the (non-Buddie related) content of this episode when you messaged me, so you probably thought or hoped I would bitch and curse you out, and we'd do this whole back and forth thing that would inevitably lead to you getting blocked. But I meant what I said - I have no interest in arguing with anyone about this show. We're not going to agree, and that's okay. I'm not your inspirational Buddie Warrior, and that's also okay. I have too much to deal with than to actively engage in internet beef. What is is what is, whether you or I or both or neither of us like it, and arguing about it isn't going to change it. So we might as will just learn to live with it and each other as best as we can.

I'm going to go watch TV now.

#I was on my way to bed but my raspberry sorbet is about to be delivered. So. Plans have changed. Lol.#jack answers mail #tv: 911 #911 spoilers

71 notes · View notes

kenzieluvsnanami · 12 hours ago

Text

kenzieluvsJJK :: he gave me the ICK .ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ (18+) ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

desc ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ you meet up with your bestie for some advice and a debrief over the wack men you've dealt with... // wc 1.3K // week 1 - g. satoru

cw // crack, cunnílingus, freaky frog gojo, backshots, little plot, deeply unserious, lower case intended, story told in the form of a conversation

“so, your telling me he was checking himself out whilst he was fucking you?”

you drained the rest off your glass as you signalled for a refill.

…

you had met gojo at your job, the white haired man shamelessly flirting as you scanned his large array of designer shirts. working at a luxury shop was certainly demanding but it definitely had its perks - one of which was meeting fine ass rich men.

you weren’t exactly sure that gojo was straight when you first saw him; his stark white hair clearly meticulously dyed and styled, lips lightly glossed. slim frame and tapered waist was essentially the outfit, clothes seemingly tailor-made for him.

it was only when he opened your mouth that you realised he was not just interested in men, sparkling blue eyes lingering on your full lips as you smiled back at his compliment.

“you’re too beautiful to be working here” he grinned, a hand going to brush through his hair. if it had been any other day, you would have just thank-you’d and been on your way. but it was a few weeks after you had your last period, a quick look at your tracker that morning letting you know that you may feel… “frisky”.

and as your eyes met his low gaze, you could definitely say that you felt a little….. frisky.

so that’s why you left your number on inside of his bag as he left the shop, thighs rubbing together as you thought about getting a peek at what was underneath that silk shirt.

…

“wait, wait, wait” your friend interrupted “you thought he was gay and you still gave him your number?”

“bitch if you saw him…” your eyes slid shut as you thought back to his beautiful face. “he was fucking stunning, okay…”

…

the two of you had messaged over the next few weeks, getting to know each other more (and getting a good look as what was underneath). a date had been arranged; friday night at an italian restaurant that was definitely outside of your price range. you put on your most expensive pair of heels with your most form-fitting black dress.

you looked good enough to eat…

and eaten you were, manicured hands threaded deeply into gojo’s thick bleached hair as he sloppily made out with your cunt, tongue swirling and sucking around your clit.

dinner had gone smoothy, gojo’s smooth talk diffusing any awkwardness or tension. as much as a flirt he was, that evening showed you a less exhibitionist, arrogant side which you were really growing to enjoy.

it was that smooth talk which had gotten you from the restaurant to his penthouse... and then to his bedroom, the large mirror panel on his walk-in closet being what first caught your attention.

“call me satoru” he whispered as he kissed down your neck to your collarbones, slender hands dragging down the straps of your dress at a teasingly slow pace. you were sat in front of the mirror, gaze trailing up to make eye contact…. only to find satoru staring right back at himself, suit pants getting tight around the crotch as he pulled down your dress.

…

“so he was getting hard by looking at himself? is that not like… selfcest or something?”

you spluttered on the deep-bodied merlot you had been chugging. “you’re getting too psychological about this” you murmured, wiping down the wine you spat out, “i think he’s just a freaky ass guy”

…

in the moment you had just brushed this off, your own arousal in the situation making you more agreeable to his lack of interest in actually engaging with you but instead with his own reflection. once he’d fully undressed you, he laid you down with your head at the foot of the bed making sure to position you in a way that he could still see himself in the mirror.

and even though the way he was swirling his tongue all over your throbbing clit and swollen folds was making your toes curl up, every time you went to look at him he was staring right into his reflection - bright eyes darkening slightly at the sight of his head trapped between your plush thighs, your legs loosely wrapped around his neck.

“satoru, ‘m close- gonna” you groaned, soft moans slipping out at he kissed all down your glistening pussy.

without skipping a beat, satoru moved back - hands securing wrapping around waist to flip you over onto your hands and knees. you could see him stroking his achingly hard cock through the mirror, flushed pink tip drooling with pre-cum.

you heard him let out a low groan as you deepened your arch, his hand digging into the side of your waist as he tried to keep himself grounded as he pressed into the tight ring of muscle. you both let out a low groan as he bottomed out, his hands reaching down your spine to push you further into a deeper arch.

at first, his pace was slow and controlled - his tight grip on your hips almost bruising as he buried himself deep into your cunt. you felt impossibly full, soft pants slipping from your lips as satoru nearly fucked you through the mattress.

you were so close to finishing, breath becoming stilted and abrupt as your walls spasmed around the dense girth of satoru’s cock; your whole body trembling as you felt yourself getting closer and closer. you could tell satoru was close as well, his formerly controlled strokes getting sloppier and sloppier as he slammed into your spongey walls.

“y-your about to…cum, aren’t you?” you could hear the smirk in his voice, your brain instantly forgetting all words in the english language as you let out a drawn out mewl in response.

all it took was a small grind of his hips to get you to finish, falling head first into the mind-numbing pleasure of release as you gushed out all over the sheets.

using the little energy you had left, you forced your eyes back up to the mirror in a dazed state as you watched satoru pull out, his cock glistening with your release. he moved round to the foot of the bed to stand in front of the mirror, his long slender fingers wrapping tight around his base dragging his hand up to the tip.

with one last stroke, he came with a loud grunt, thick ropes of cum splattering all over his reflection.

you blinked twice, hard.

did you actually see that correctly? did he just come… on himself?

he looked back down at you, making eye contact through the mirror with a grin.

…

“i just felt like that was too far for me” you toyed with your empty glass as you looked back up at your friend, “so... what do you think?”

a/n : baby im back!!!!!!! ive missed writing sm omggg but school has been so busy for no reason 😩 hope this concept tickles ur pickle - i thought it was kinda fun but lmk what you think (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

#kenzieluvsjjk #kenzieluvsgojo #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #satoru x reader

48 notes · View notes

kooksvspogues · 2 days ago

Text

Happy 1st Birthday Lilian!! 🥳

Part 2 -

Authors note: thank you guys sooooo much for the love I received on Part 1. I used to write so much, but gave a lot of it up, this is my first tumblr account and I really wanted to give my writing a shot on here. Thank you again, sooo much🥹❤️

“Really? Thought we agreed that we would pretend that didn’t happen?” I roll my eyes

“What if I don’t want to forget about it?” He asked

“Well that’s not what we agreed on” I state, “Mack would be really mad about that”

“You do realize Logan flirts with you 24/7 and all she does is laugh” Drew points out

“Yeah cause she knows it’s 100% jokes on both sides” I explain

“Maddie, we talked for hours and made out for like 20 minutes and you ran off… I don’t think Mackayla would be that pissed about it.. besides, I haven’t had that good of a conversation with anybody ever in my life. I’m not asking to be any more than just friends, I just really enjoyed having somebody to talk to like that” he explained

“We can be friends, that’s it” I state

“Okay, cool. But, I do have one question” he says

“What?” I ask looking over at him

“Why did you run off?” He asks

“Beca——“ I started but my phone started to ring. Saved by the bell. I look down and see that it’s Mack calling me, “yes ma’am?” I answer

“Why have y’all been at a stop sign for like 5 minutes?” She asks and I can’t help but laugh

“Me and Drew were talking about Lilian and he was showing me pictures he has taken, why?” I lie, watching as Drew gave me a weird look and I point for him to start driving

“Oh, okay, well will you grab us a big bottle of fireball while your out, I forgot to add that to the list” she explained

“Yea as long as you stop stalking me” I laugh

“Fireball is for you ma’am, and I will never stop stalking you, y’all be careful and hurry up” she said

“Sir yes sir” I laugh before hanging up

“She’s stalking us?” Drew asked

“Yep, so get a move on” I say

“You never answered my question” he said

“And it got interrupted for a reason” I state keeping my eyes on the road ahead of us, “man, I forgot how much I missed this place”

“Yeah the views are beautiful” he says and I feel his eyes on me, causing me to glance over at him

“Can you keep your eyes on the road?” I laugh

“Hard to” he says grinning before winking at me

“Get me to this liquor store and back in one piece please” I beg making him laugh

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the way back to the house, I did everything in my power to not let that question come up again. How was I supposed to answer it.. why did I run? How was I supposed to explain that just in a few hours of talking, I had fallen for my bestfriends brother and then the feelings grew 20x more the second his lips touched mine. Mack would be furious probably, especially knowing we snuck off at her wedding to make out. I can’t do that to her. The more his hands touched me and the tighter his arms got around me, the more it hit me like a truck that I couldn’t do this, not to Mack, she’s the best friend I’ve ever had and I can’t do anything to jeopardize that.

“Hey, we’re here” Drew said shaking her arm pulling me out of my thoughts, “you okay?”

“Perfect” I say shooting him a quick smile before opening the door and sliding out.

Logan came rushing out of the house to the passenger side of the truck as I smile up at him.

“I’ll get this, you go ahead and go inside” he tells me and I nod, quickly going inside only to be met with Mack and Lilian at the door.

“Everything go fine, figured an alcohol run would be a good ice breaker for you two to get to know each other” Mack said

“Oh yeah, he’s very sweet” I smile at her before making grabby hands for Lilian, to which is happily handed her over.

“Yeah, he’s awesome, did the liquor store have everything on the list?” She asked

“Yes ma’am, felt like alcoholics coming out” I said making us both laugh as we watch the boys walk up to the door. Lilian making noises as soon as she sees Drew come into view making him smile real big down at her before glancing up at me holding her. I smile back at him as I follow behind Mack into the kitchen after the boys.

“Okay, so most of everything needs to go in the patio fridge, I’ll grab what I want to stay in here” Mack says as we all stand around waiting for her to separate everything. I rearrange Lilian and put her on my other hip, looking up and finding Drew’s eyes on me, causing me to raise an eyebrow, to which he just winked back. I shake my head but can’t help but slightly smile.

“Mads, you want your stuff in here or outside?” She asks

“In here, duh” I say immediately reaching for the fireball and going to stick it in the freezer.

“What else do you drink?” Drew asked

“She’s a hard liquor girl if she gets to choose” Mack answered for me

“Pretty much” I laugh as drew nods crossing his arms

“Hey uh Mack, would you be okay with me asking Austin and chase to go out with us tomorrow?” Drew asked

“Yeah, of course, are they the only two in town?” She asked

“Yeah, as far as I know” he answered as she nodded.

“Let me go call them before I forget” he said before walking out

“You’ll love Chase and Austin” Mack said catching my attention

“Well if you do, I’m sure I will too” I smile

“And they love to dance” she said shaking her shoulders making me and Lilian giggle, “so maybe you can find you a new dance partner” she added

“Yeah maybe so” I say shrugging as Drew walks back in.

“They’ll be here, you may have a house full tomorrow since your house is closest” Drew says

“They know where everything is, they’ll just have to crash on the couches or floor this time… that is, unless one gets on Maddie’s good side” she said wiggling her eyebrows, making mine and Drew’s eye widen

“Please don’t say that” I plead

“What? I’m just saying, I mean, I think Chase is talking to someone but Austin, he’s single and ready to mingle the last I heard” she giggled

“I’m really good” I laugh nervously

“C’mon Maddie, you haven’t told me anything about a guy in like 2 years, wouldn’t hurt to keep look” she winked at me making me shake my head

“Okay, so all the rest of this goes outside?” Drew changed the subject going to pick up bottle and cases, glancing up at me a few times with a clenched jaw.

“Yes, please” she answered as Drew walked out and towards the back patio door, Logan following close behind.

“So, I was thinking, we have a little pool party of our own while the boys grill later?” She asks

“Sounds good to me” I say as she walks closer to me wrapping her arms around me

“I’m so glad you’re here” she says, “I’m so ready to have you completely back in the same state”

“You’re just ready to have a babysitter at any time” I laugh

“I mean, your not wrong, buuut I’ll also be able to have a girls night anytime we want really” she explains

“Also true” I agree as she smiles at me as the boys walk back in as Garrett comes in the front door.

“Who’s ready for burgers??” He yells

“We arrrre” Logan yells back

“Hey baby” Garrett says walking over to Mackayla giving her a kiss

“Hey, thought we could all go for a swim while your grilling, that okay?” She asks

“Yeah, fine with me” he smiled, “I’m just gonna go fire the grill up, get everything put together and get them going, y’all go ahead”

“Alright, swimsuits everybody” she yells pushing the boys towards the stairs, me following behind.

“Does Garrett have a pair we can borrow?” Drew asks

“That’s where we’re going” Mack sings making me laugh a little

“You have a swimsuit, right?” She glances back at me

“Yes ma’am, you want me to go grab one for Lils?” I ask her

“Yes please, her swimsuits should be in the third or fourth drawer” she says and I nod walking towards Lilian’s room.

“Alright Ms. Lilian, what color should we do?” I ask her pulling the drawer out, “want duckies or daisies?” I asks snd she jerks around in my arm making me laugh as she reaches for the bright pink swimsuit with little yellow daisies. “Daisies it is” I smile putting the other one back in the drawer and turning towards her changing table, looking for a swimming diaper. “There they are” I mumble to myself before grinning at Lilian. Once I get her changed, I turn to head towards my room but stop in my tracks when I see Drew standing at the door with his hand leaned up against the frame, every muscle in this man’s arms and chest flexing, smiling down at me

“You’re really good with her” he says calmly, as if he isn’t making my heart, brain, and eyes explode in this very moment

“Thanks” I smile trying oh so hard to keep my eyes on his and not anywhere else.

“You want me to take her so you can go change?” He asks me

“Yeah if you don’t mind” I say as he reaches for her. I walk across the hall into my room and unzip my suitcase, digging around until I find my swimsuits. I pull out my favorite black two piece bikini and quickly change into it but start to hear excited voices downstairs. When I walk out, I see Mack walking back upstairs,

“Hey, Chase and Austin are here, I think Drew told them Garrett was grilling and they hurried on over, was just gonna let you know” she said before glancing down at my swimsuit, “you look smokin” she said putting her hand on her hip, nodding at me.

“You too hot momma” I laughed looking at her bright pink bikini as she grabbed my hand pulling me down the stairs.

“Chase! Austin!” She yells causing them to glance up as we come down the stairs. My eyes immediately locking with Austin’s as he just smiled at me, “this is my bestfriend from college, Madison, Maddie, Mads, dumbass, whatever you prefer” she introduces making me swat at her arm, “Mads, this is Austin and Chase” she says as they both smile at me.

“Nice to meet y’all” I say

“Nice to meet you too” Chase says

“You mind if I just call you beautiful?” Austin says making my eyes wide and cheeks redden as Mack elbows me a little

“Uh um.. yeah. I mean, I guess that’s fine” I nervously say looking up at him as he smiled back at me. I see Drew in the corner of my eye turn away and scratch the back of his head before walking outside.

“Let’s go help Garret dude” Chase says as he catches Austin’s attention again before pushing him outside

“Looks like Austin is interested” she said poking my side

“I need a drink” I say walking into the kitchen, going straight to the freezer and opening up the new bottle of fireball, taking a few swigs.

“Did he make you that nervous?” She asked laughing

“You have no idea…” I say taking another swig thinking about Mack’s brother instead of the man she thinks I’m actually thinking about…

To be continued…

Tag list: (if you want to be added, just let me know❤️)

@percysley @dilfs-4life

#drew x reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey #obx season 4 #obx imagine #obx4 #rafe obx #obx fanfiction #obx cast #obx fic #obx #obx x reader #rafe cameron #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #outer banks

48 notes · View notes

seitmai · 1 day ago

Text

Since then, you and Steve have found other ways to carve out moments together amid the whirlwind of the campaign. Usually it’s quick conversations in the back of the campaign bus or on the plane. It's not ideal, but it's something, and you find yourself looking forward to these small pockets of time more than you'd care to admit.

I love that they make these little moments for each other 🥰

Yes, Sophia and Bucky having their back 👏🏻

You enjoy the more serious conversations as much as you enjoy the more superficial topics because both ends of the spectrum allow you to simply engage and learn each others’ personalities and histories and opinions. Sitting in the back of the bus on your way to a rally, you’re exchanging takes on Star Wars (you had grown up watching them in very distinct trilogy stages where Steve had seen the first two trilogies in his initial pop culture catch up phase), when there’s a surge of noise and activity at the front of the bus.

Aw that's so cute 🥰

Another collective cheer goes up from the staff. You feel Steve's hand tighten slightly on your shoulder, and when you look up at him, you see a mix of emotions playing across his face - pride, excitement, and a touch of humility.

🥹🥹🥹

"Of course," you say, admiring his level-headedness even in this moment of triumph. "But we should take a moment to celebrate this moment."

He needs those reminders

You listen to his directives and reminders, but while you do so, you realize the kiss you just shared is the first lip lock between you and your husband since the wedding, and there’s a bit of warmth that pools in your chest. You resist the pull you feel to look at him.

🥰🥰🥰

He chuckles softly. "A little," he admits. "But it's a good pressure. Motivating." You nod in understanding. The weight of expectation has grown even heavier with Santos's support even though it’s only been a matter of hours, but you can see the determination in Steve's eyes. He's ready for this part of the challenge.

He sure is

Steve turns to you one last time, his eyes soft. He reaches out and squeezes your hand briefly, a gesture of solidarity and support that sends a flutter through your chest. You squeeze back, drawing strength from his touch.

I get a flutter in my chest just reading this 🥰

That’s the moment you and Steve step out onto the stage, hand in hand, and the deafening roar of the crowd drowns out your names entirely. The lights and the energy spike the excitement and adrenaline, and it’s another moment in this campaign - and the second one of the day - that you know you’ll remember for a lifetime.

Together they can do everything 🥰

“Are you coming for my job, Mr. Barnes?” Jake asks, taking a seat at the table as well. Bucky huffs a laugh, “No, sir. The last thing I would want is to be in charge of a circus like this.” Jake nods in agreement. "What I wouldn’t give to have seen Johnson’s reaction to the news,” he says, referring to the other campaign manager, the rival that the DNC pushed over him for this presidential campaign cycle.

Circus is an accurate description 😅

“You and Mrs. Rogers,” Jake tacks on. Steve raises his eyebrows, but looks to you. This is the second time you’ve been brought in as a specific element to move the campaign forward.

Like a secret weapon 🤭

You feel a flutter of nervousness at the mention of more intimate interviews, but you nod in agreement. "Of course, whatever helps the campaign." Jake continues, "We're thinking of setting up some joint interviews, maybe even a day-in-the-life style piece. Show the public the real future First Couple, beyond the campaign speeches and rallies." Steve reaches over and takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We can do that," he says, his voice steady and reassuring.

I would eat those interviews up!

Steve turns to you, a tired smile playing at his lips. "Just thinking about how surreal this all is," he says softly. "A few months ago, I was trying to lay low in this century, keep out of the spotlight. Now..." He trails off, shaking his head slightly. You nod, understanding. "Now you're vying to become the leader of the free world with every minute of your life under a microscope," you finish for him. "Yeah," he breathes out. "But at least it’s not every minute." You pause, key card in hand, considering his question. "It's... intense," you admit. "But I'm okay. Better than okay, actually. This whole experience, as crazy as it is, feels important. And I think we’re both getting stronger at this campaign thing every day." Steve's eyes soften as he looks at you, a mix of admiration and concern in his gaze. "You've been amazing through all of this," he says quietly. "Now it’s hard to imagine doing it without you."

🥰🥰🥰

"Listen," he says, his voice low. "I know we're both exhausted, but... do you want to come in for a bit? Just to talk, or... I don't know. It feels like we haven't had a real moment alone in-” “Ever?” you finish for him. Steve winces. “Yeah.” You shift slightly. “I don’t know, it’s so late.” Steve nods, understanding in his eyes. "You're right, it is late. We should both get some rest."

Nooo, this was going so well!

Red, White & True: Fort Wayne, Toledo, Detroit [4/?]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes Word Count: 4.2k Summary: A campaign day with stops in three cities in three states ends up being a game-changer you weren't expecting, and not only for the campaign.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[SEPTEMBER 21 - MORNING - FORT WAYNE, INDIANA]

After your first and only attempt at a private, non-business breakfast between you and Steve in the dining area next to the hotel lobby the morning after dinner at the Santos house, your staff and the Secret Service detail on Steve forbade you from trying anything like that ever again. Six a.m. was early, but there were far too many early bird guests showing up for breakfast as well, only to find a presidential candidate and former Avenger amongst the self-serve breakfast buffet and excited chaos had ensued. Even if the personnel around you hadn’t forbidden it, it had been immediately clear the privacy you used to expect in in a public setting was gone.

Some of the key staffers silently hate it because every minute of strategy time is invaluable, so you and Steve pledged to only steal up to thirty minutes, and Bucky and Sophia take it in stride as one of their new duties to help protect that time because if the Roger and Rogers happy couple campaign approach is the M.O. now, then they argue that the happy couple needs alone time to stay a happy couple. Sophia only thinks it’s tending to the needs you have as newlyweds embedded in the campaign circus to have normalcy as a couple. It’s only Bucky who knows the truth (and Sam).

A single day on the presidential campaign trail always felt like at least two days of a regular life, but it often feels more like three or four days, especially on multi-city days, which were starting to become more and more common as it got closer to the first Tuesday in November. But this highly saturated time flow makes it so that the time you and Steve have started intentionally spending time together is having a marked effect on your relationship.

You and Steve both glance towards the front of the bus, where a commotion has erupted. The noise level rises as staffers huddle around someone's phone, their voices intense, but strangely you can’t tell if it’s leaning more towards excitement or concern. You strain to hear what's being said, catching snippets of "breaking news" and "can't believe it."

Bucky's voice cuts through the clamor, slightly louder than the rest. "It can wait," he insists firmly. "We're almost at the venue."

Your heart rate quickens, anxiety creeping in at the edges of your mind.

You start to rise, but Steve places a hand on your arm. "Let's give it a minute," he says softly. "If it's urgent, they'll tell us."

You nod, settling back into your seat, but you can see the tense energy now in Steve’s body. You can almost see the gears turning in his mind, trying to anticipate what the clamor could be about.

After another moment, you arch your eyebrow at Steve. “The anticipation is going to kill both of us back here,” you say earnestly. “If we’re nearly at the venue anyway, we can table this and get back to more Star Wars at lunch.”

Steve huffs a laugh and agrees, and you pop up out of your seat again, and Steve follows as you quickly make your way to the front.

“What’s happening?” you ask, drawing the attention of the staff to you and Steve.

“Santos endorsed Steve!” Elsa trills. You’ve never seen her this happy.

You feel a surge of excitement and pride. The Santos endorsement is huge - you know it is without question a game-changer for the campaign. You turn around to look at Steve, a massive smile beaming from your face, enthusiasm you see mirrored right back from him. You don’t know if you reach for him or he reaches for you because it’s so quick, but your lips crash together, your stomach flips, and the staff cheers around you. It ends as quickly as it began, and the two of you turn back to the others, eager for more details.

"When did this happen?" Steve asks, his voice steady but tinged with excitement.

Sam, who'd gone back to scrolling through his phone, looks up. "Just now. Santos made the announcement over his Instagram, and it's already dominating the news cycle."

"What exactly did he say?" Steve asks, placing a hand on your shoulder as he moves in closer behind you, leaning over to look at Sam's phone.

Sam clears his throat and begins to read: "After careful consideration and having had the opportunity to speak with Captain Rogers, I believe he is the right person to lead our nation forward. His integrity, vision, and commitment to public service are exactly what we need in these challenging times. I am proud to endorse Steve Rogers for President of the United States."

"This is huge," seasoned campaign mastermind Jake finally weighs in, his usual stoic demeanor cracking slightly to reveal a hint of a smile. "Santos's endorsement would carry a lot of weight for any candidate, especially with moderates and independents, but it not only brings your first major endorsement, it’s a resounding statement for a former president to break from his party to endorse an independent."

You nod in agreement, your mind already racing with the implications. The Santos administration is still widely respected, and their endorsement could sway a significant number of voters.

Steve nods, his expression a mix of gratitude and determination. "It is," he agrees. "But we can't let it go to our heads. We still have a lot of work to do."

"Of course," you say, admiring his level-headedness even in this moment of triumph. "But we should take a moment to celebrate this moment."

You imagine it was always on Jake’s mind that an endorsement would be the best case scenario from a private dinner at the Santos home, but Steve had been very vocal to everyone involved - from the campaign side to Santos and his people - that for him the opportunity was only to be able to spend time with a former president. You had certainly gone into it without any agenda, grateful, even, for one night where you weren’t politic-ing.

The bus slows to turn into the loading bay area of the venue, and Jake calls everyone to attention to get the staff focused back on the rally only minutes away. You listen to his directives and reminders, but while you do so, you realize the kiss you just shared is the first lip lock between you and your husband since the wedding, and there’s a bit of warmth that pools in your chest. You resist the pull you feel to look at him.

[SEPTEMBER 21 - AFTERNOON - TOLEDO, OHIO]

The energy in Toledo's Huntington Center is electric as you and Steve make your way through the bustling backstage area for the second major campaign event of the day. The arena, usually home to hockey games and concerts, has been transformed into a political rally venue, with red, white, and blue banners adorning every available surface. The air is thick with anticipation, and you can hear the growing roar of the crowd beyond the curtain.

Staffers rush past, clipboards in hand, headsets firmly in place. You catch snippets of conversations about crowd size, security measures, and last-minute speech adjustments. The Santos endorsement has injected a new level of excitement into an already charged atmosphere.

As you approach the holding area, you spot Bucky conferring with the head of security, his expression serious as he nods along to whatever information he's receiving. Sam is nearby, phone to his ear, likely coordinating with media outlets eager for comments on the endorsement.

You can hear the low rumble of the crowd, punctuated by occasional cheers and chants of "Rogers! Rogers!" The excitement is palpable, and you can feel your own adrenaline starting to surge.

Steve turns to you, his eyes bright with excitement but also a hint of nervousness. "Ready?" he asks, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You take a deep breath, smoothing down your blazer. "Let’s do this," your reply and this simple exchange is becoming tradition every time the two of you are about to step out in public now. It’s nice starting to have things like this, things that are yours. "How about you? Feeling the pressure after that endorsement?"

He chuckles softly. "A little," he admits. "But it's a good pressure. Motivating."

You nod in understanding. The weight of expectation has grown even heavier with Santos's support even though it’s only been a matter of hours, but you can see the determination in Steve's eyes. He's ready for this part of the challenge.

Suddenly, Jake appears at your side, clipboard in hand. "Two minutes," he says briskly. "Steve, they've added a few lines to your speech to address the endorsement. The changes are on the monitor.”

Steve nods, quickly scanning the teleprompter nearby. You watch as his eyes move rapidly across the screen, absorbing the new information. His ability to process and adapt on the fly never ceases to amaze you.

"Got it," he says, turning back to Jake. "Anything else?"

"Hit the key points as you always do," Jake replies. "And maybe throw in a line about unity, given the cross-party nature of the endorsement."

As Jake steps away to confer with another staffer, you feel a gentle touch on your arm. You turn to see Sophia standing beside you, a reassuring smile on her face.

"You've got this," she says softly. "Both of you. Just be yourselves out there."

You return her smile, grateful for her steady presence. "Thanks, Sophia. We'll do our best."

The stage manager approaches. “Thirty seconds,” she announces.

This is it. Another pivotal moment in the campaign, perhaps even more significant than you'd initially realized. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself.

The stage manager starts counting down. "Ten seconds!"

You can hear the crowd's excitement building to a fever pitch. The announcer's voice booms through the arena, introducing you and Steve. Your heart races as the curtain begins to part.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your next President and First Lady…”

[SEPTEMBER 21 - EVENING - DETROIT, MICHIGAN]

The clock on the wall of the dimly lit campaign office reads 11:47 PM, but the energy in the room belies the late hour. The makeshift headquarters, hastily set up in yet another hotel conference room, buzzes with activity. Staffers huddle around laptops, their faces illuminated by the blue glow of screens, while others engage in hushed conversations, gesticulating animatedly as they dissect the day's events.

You sink into a worn leather armchair, feeling the weight of the day settle into your bones. The town hall here in Detroit had gone well - better than well, actually. The momentum from Santos's endorsement earlier in the day had carried through, infusing the crowd with an infectious enthusiasm. They had been engaged, asking thoughtful questions that Steve had handled with his characteristic blend of sincerity and statesmanship. But now, in the quiet aftermath, exhaustion tugs at the edges of your consciousness.

Despite the strain of a three-location-day catching up with you and everyone else, you can’t deny that there’s a different, very palpable sense of possibility hanging in the air. The campaign has always been optimistic, but there was a bit of a silent agreement in the air to ignore the fact that Steve Rogers - no political background and no political party - was a dark horse swimming upstream. The first nod from outside camp Rogers wasn’t a golden ticket to victory, but the news media was already discussing Steve in a different tone - giving more legitimacy in coverage rather than curiosity in coverage. With only six weeks left, it is not enough to win 270 electoral votes, and although that was the dream, it was never the realistic target. The target from the beginning was to get enough votes to keep either of the other two candidates from taking the majority and be a major player in that battle, making a case to be seriously considered if you could get the election turned over to the Congress to decide.

A Santos backing was the serious foot hold to take this scenario from a possibility to a probability.

Steve sits across from you, his brow furrowed as he reviews the daily notes Jake’s deputy campaign chairman has prepared and distributed.

You watch Steve as he reads, marveling at his ability to maintain focus after such a long and eventful day. His eyes move methodically across the page, occasionally pausing as he considers a particular point. Even in this state of concentration, there's an aura of quiet strength about him that never seems to fade.

"Anything notable?" you ask, your voice slightly rough from the day's speeches and conversations.

Steve looks up, a tight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Just the usual - poll numbers, upcoming events, media coverage. But there's definitely been a shift since this morning."

You nod, understanding the implication. “The Santos effect.”

"Jake's team is already planning how to capitalize on the momentum."

You get the same notes as well but prefer to read them once you’re back in your room. Steve hands you the page he’s been pouring over, and you lean forward to take and then study it. A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only by the muffled sounds of the staffers working. The new trends and polling numbers aren’t just good, they’re great.

Bucky takes a seat next to Steve, clocking you both looking into the daily report. “This kind of shift is good,” he says, “but now we just need to see it carry over and build from here on out.”

“Are you coming for my job, Mr. Barnes?” Jake asks, taking a seat at the table as well.

Bucky huffs a laugh, “No, sir. The last thing I would want is to be in charge of a circus like this.”

Jake smiles, and Steve and Bucky aren’t looking at him anymore, but you see the deeper look on Jake’s face. You’ve seen it on him before, it’s the look when he’s considering an idea - hisown or one suggested by the team - that he sees serious potential in. Even if he protests, Jake clearly sees potential in Bucky.

You would have to admit that you agree. Bucky understands Steve, and as he's stood shoulder to shoulder with him through this campaign, he's proven to be an invaluable asset. His strategic mind, honed by years of military experience, often provides insights that complement Jake's political savvy.

"Speaking of circuses," Jake says, voice louder, "let’s bring it in, folks.”

The rest of the key staffers all grab seats or press in around the table, and then Jake begins the end-of-day meeting. “We need to discuss tomorrow's schedule. The media's going to be on us far more seriously, and we need to be prepared for that shift in the tone of questions."

Steve nods, his expression serious. "What's the plan?"

"Engaging and not dry, but policy, policy, policy. We've got three major network interviews lined up for tomorrow morning. Steve, you'll be doing those. We want to capitalize on this momentum, but we also need to be careful not to appear too cocky."

"Understood," Steve replies.

"We've also got a strategy session scheduled for noon," Jake continues. "We’ve been reassessing our messaging in light of the Santos endorsement, but we want to see what it looks like after the burst from day one. We should have options for you to decide on then.”

You nod, understanding the delicate balance Jake is trying to strike. "What about the afternoon?"

Jake flips through his notes. "We've got a rally scheduled in Lansing at 3 PM. After that, we're heading to Chicago for a fundraiser in the evening."

Steve leans forward, his elbows on the table. "And what about the other candidates? Any word on their reactions to the endorsement?"

Sam speaks up. "Both camps have been relatively quiet so far. They're likely scrambling to adjust their strategies. We can expect some pushback tomorrow, though."

“I imagine we’ll see the Dems will be particularly cagey. They won’t want to look like a party divided,” Elsa explains, “but the reality is that one of their favored sons did just speak out and split where their support was supposed to go. The GOP-leaning media outlets are already gleefully stirring up chaos on their end, but nothing from their campaign yet.”

Jake nods in agreement. "What I wouldn’t give to have seen Johnson’s reaction to the news,” he says, referring to the other campaign manager, the rival that the DNC pushed over him for this presidential campaign cycle.

“After this initial new surge with policy,” Elsa takes over, “we want to redirect the narrative to you, Steve. We know America votes for people as much as they vote for policy. In about three days, we’re going to push heavily down the middle of the country and then make a swing across the southern states leading into the next debate. With that, we’re thinking about a series of casual, intimate interviews, more insight into your character, showing you’re not just the figure from history books or Avengers action over the last dozen years, but enough of a regular guy that they could have a beer with you.”

Steve nods, “All right.”

“You and Mrs. Rogers,” Jake tacks on.

Steve raises his eyebrows, but looks to you. This is the second time you’ve been brought in as a specific element to move the campaign forward.

You feel a flutter of nervousness at the mention of more intimate interviews, but you nod in agreement. "Of course, whatever helps the campaign."

Jake continues, "We're thinking of setting up some joint interviews, maybe even a day-in-the-life style piece. Show the public the real future First Couple, beyond the campaign speeches and rallies."

Steve reaches over and takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We can do that," he says, his voice steady and reassuring.

Jake clears his throat. "Excellent. Now, let's talk about debate prep. The next one is coming up fast, and we need to be ready for the next level of scrutiny."

The meeting continues for another hour, with strategies being discussed and assignments doled out. By the time Jake calls it a night, it's just past 1 AM. As the staffers begin to file out, you feel the full weight of exhaustion finally hit you. Luckily your room is only a few floors and a short walk above you.

Steve stands up, stretching slightly. "Ready to call it a night?" he asks, walking around the table and offering you his hand.

You nod gratefully, allowing him to pull you to your feet. As you gather your things, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension about the days ahead.

As you and Steve make your way to the elevator, you can feel the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. The day's events replay in your mind - the unexpected endorsement, the electrifying rallies, the late-night strategy session. It's all a blur of excitement and intensity.

The elevator doors close, leaving you and Steve alone for the first time since this morning. In the quiet confines of the small space, you lean against the wall, letting out a long breath.

As the elevator ascends, you find yourself studying Steve's face. Despite the long hours and constant pressure, he still looks composed, though you can see the fatigue in the slight slump of his shoulders and the faint lines around his eyes.

"Penny for your thoughts?" you ask.

You nod, understanding. "Now you're vying to become the leader of the free world with every minute of your life under a microscope," you finish for him.

"Yeah," he breathes out. "But at least it’s not every minute."

The elevator dings, signaling your arrival at your floor. As you step out into the hallway, Steve places a gentle hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards your room. The touch, though light, sends a wave of warmth through you.

"How are you holding up?" he asks as you reach the door. "This can't be easy for you either."

You pause, key card in hand, considering his question. "It's... intense," you admit. "But I'm okay. Better than okay, actually. This whole experience, as crazy as it is, feels important. And I think we’re both getting stronger at this campaign thing every day."

Steve's eyes soften as he looks at you, a mix of admiration and concern in his gaze. "You've been amazing through all of this," he says quietly. "Now it’s hard to imagine doing it without you."

His words send a flutter through your chest. You're about to respond when you notice a slight shift in Steve's demeanor. He glances quickly down the hallway, then back at you, a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

"Listen," he says, his voice low. "I know we're both exhausted, but... do you want to come in for a bit? Just to talk, or... I don't know. It feels like we haven't had a real moment alone in-”

“Ever?” you finish for him.

Steve winces. “Yeah.”

You shift slightly. “I don’t know, it’s so late.”

Steve nods, understanding in his eyes. "You're right, it is late. We should both get some rest."

You feel a pang of regret at the slight disappointment you see flash across his face. "Maybe we can carve out some time tomorrow?" you suggest, not wanting to leave things on a down note.

"Definitely," Steve agrees with a soft smile. "We'll make it happen." But you see his expression is more closed off, and wonder if you’ve now taken two steps back.

There's a moment of awkward silence as you both stand there, neither quite ready to say goodnight.

Finally, Steve clears his throat. "Well, goodnight.”

"Goodnight," you reply.

As Steve turns to head to his own room, you slip your key card into the door and enter your suite. Once inside, you lean against the closed door, letting out a long sigh. The truth is, there is a big part of you that wanted nothing more than to spend more time with him, away from the prying eyes of staff and security. But you're also acutely aware of the need to maintain boundaries, especially given the unique nature of your arrangement.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you pull it out to see there’s a message from Sophia with some questions she needs you to make decisions on for the morning. You send off your reply, then mindlessly fall into your nighttime routine, decompressing from the day, getting ready for bed, and tucking in with your tablet. You go over the daily debrief and ready notes for the campaign, and then move on to your Kindle app and fall asleep before finishing even two pages, alone.

next part: coming 11/22

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

103 notes · View notes

sweetkpopmusings · 1 day ago

Text

miserable (you & me) | h. hyunjin <3

a/n: i have had these blurbs in my drafts FOREVER. "miserable (you & me)" is a song i've had on repeat since it dropped. i'm also a sucker for angst, so please enjoy these self-indulgent posts (they all have happy endings, i promise!) there will be one for each member, so stay tuned <3 pics not mine~

content: angst, happy ending | wc: 1k | warnings: none really! | pairing: hyunjin x gn!reader | requests:open

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

난 가망이 없는 미래에 손을 뻗어 날 부었네 / “i stretched out my hand towards a hopeless future and poured myself out”

of course it would be raining right now. the day’s weather had been normal, a smattering of clouds above and an overcast glow hinting that the weather might take a turn for the worse, but nothing was set in stone. that turned out to be true in a more literal sense, hyunjin realized, while watching people mill about on the street below with freshly opened umbrellas. he scoffed. what did you think would happen? what did you think would change?

the answer was nothing. but i had no choice.

you and hyunjin met up for your usual weekend get-together, returning to a favorite drink spot of yours after a few weekends of schedules keeping you apart. he had missed you so dearly, something that became achingly clear when his whole body lit up from seeing your face peek through the entrance. you noticed the buzz in his body when he greeted you, a sweet laugh escaping your lips. hyunjin’s heart melted at the sound, collapsing even more into endearment when you said, “i missed you a ton, too.”

a moderate number of people took up the tables and seats in the building, so there was a comfortable hum of casual conversation surrounding you. hyunjin, as always, was so closely tuned into the sound of your voice, he would’ve believed you if you said the place was completely empty. it was clichéd for sure, but he was enraptured by every single thing you said. he loved listening to all your thoughts, stories, jokes, anecdotes; whatever you were willing to share with hyunjin, he’d accept with open and grateful hands. you both laughed as you finished telling him an embarrassing story your friend shared with you the other day, and, so you could take a sip of your drink, you asked hyunjin, “how are you?”

without skipping a beat, hyunjin answered, “i’ve liked you for the longest time.”

seeing as that was quite the unexpected answer to your question, you froze. your brain buffered, face showing barely any expression, except maybe shock or confusion. hyunjin, perhaps realizing what just occurred, reacted with wide eyes and frantic apologies. if his confession hadn’t stopped you so sharply in your tracks, the endless refrain of i’m so sorry! i don’t know why i did that. i’m so stupid! would have drowned out the words he spoke so naturally. you didn’t have time to process, but you tried to protest against hyunjin’s incessant apologies. this, it seemed, was fruitless.

hyunjin, with shaking legs and fumbling hands, gathered his things.

“hyunjin, what’re you–”

“i should go, y/n,” he responded quickly, too quickly for him to mean it.

your heart broke at the way his voice cracked when he said your name, “no, just stay for a minute. please, i–”

his chest tightened when please fell from your lips, but he couldn’t bear the idea of you begging him to stay, only to tell him you didn’t feel the same. yes, it was immature, and, sure, it was probably selfish. yet all hyunjin could think to do was leave. so he did, his goodbye all staggered breaths and darting eyes.

you turned in your chair, barely catching his gaze as he raced to who knows where, “hyunjin?”

his eyes caught yours, and he ripped them away before he lost his foolish resolve. he hoped he offered you a soft smile, something to say i’m sorry for this. i just want you to be happy, and i guess this is me trying to make sure you stay that way. the adrenaline rush meant he couldn’t feel his face, though. he had no way of knowing what he looked like when he looked back at you.

hyunjin’s whole trip home consisted of pleas for his legs to move faster. if his steps hit the ground hard enough, he could ignore all the scolding voices inside his head until he was safe in his room. if he were honest with himself, he was outrunning the look of shock on your face, and the way your voice fell when you asked him to stay. hyunjin, as he caught his breath in his room, realized that running away from you meant he ended up in front of his window, facing a future of heartbreak. a sardonic laugh broke free from his lips. maybe if you did it the right way, at the right moment, you’d be looking at them instead. maybe you’d be thinking of something other than angsty plotlines for the strangers passing by on the street below.

“or maybe i could be hurt much worse,” he whispered to himself.

that was the last sound that shared space with hyunjin in the room. he sat, mind racing and leg bouncing, completely silent. until someone knocked on the door.

hyunjin shuffled to the entryway, instinctively opening it at a familiar knock, only coming to when he saw you standing before him. of course, no matter how hard he tried, his body would always end up right in front of you.

ignoring the way his deflated figure twisted your chest up in all the worst ways, you chided, “you know it’s rude to confess to someone and leave immediately after, right? you didn’t give me a chance to respond.”

you huffed as you spoke. hyunjin couldn’t help the endeared smile that graced his face when he watched your frustrated, furrowed brow turn into a cute, unintentional pout.

he thought, they are more precious to me than they’ll ever know, and he admitted, “you’re right. it was very rude of me. while i may not deserve to hear it after the way i acted, would you mind telling me what you were going to say?”

your shoulders relaxed as the familiar shine in hyunjin’s eyes returned. his beautiful smile came back too, as he watched your face light up with a reply he’d only ever dreamed of before.

“i like you too, hyunjin. i have for the longest time.”as though his hands weren’t shaking from anxiety a mere five minutes before this moment, hyunjin reached out to you, pulling you into his home and into his arms. when you accepted his invitation and melted into his embrace, hyunjin thought, i’ll pour my heart out to them again and again, if it means we’ll always end up right here, together.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

40 notes · View notes

familiarscars · 10 hours ago

Text

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 06

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

NOAH

Prisons are noisy.

I went through the security check and was ready for the visit, waiting in a room with several tables where emotional family members awaited their loved ones who could walk through that door at any moment. The minutes on the clock with hands, hanging on the wall in front of me, moved with hypnotizing slowness.

Tick. Tock.

It didn’t take long for her to come, hands restrained by handcuffs and wearing an orange jumpsuit. Not very different from her daughter in physical appearance, even though the daughter was much prettier. I saw her neck stretch as she searched the room for someone she knew, and when she spotted me sitting there waving with a small smile, her posture stiffened.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Crystal barked, sitting in a chair across from me. Without any manners, she didn’t even say good morning.

"I found this in a pile of mail and saw you needed a visit." I signaled with the paper between my fingers. Opportunities rarely landed so easily in my lap, but this one was worth thanking the gods for.

"But it wasn’t your visit I asked for! Where is my daughter?"

"Was there a problem with your watch? You’re nine years late to ask if she’s found a place to live!"

"That’s none of your business!"

"Everything concerning her is my business. Don’t be ridiculous!" I said, loosening my tone slightly.

Crystal looked around uneasily. Her nails were dirty with soil, and she looked sweaty—I guessed it was from the prison’s activities. Clearly, the days here weren’t treating her well, judging by her expression and the size of her dark circles.

"How did you end up here?" I asked, tilting my head to the side. "No… wait! Let me guess! This is definitely your idiot boyfriend's fault, isn't it?

"I need to talk to my daughter," she completely ignored my sarcasm and dragged the chair closer to the table.

"Don’t tell me you’re hoping for her help to get out of here?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Her silence made it inevitable for me to burst into laughter, shaking my head slowly. Leaning forward, I rested on my elbows on the table to speak as quietly as possible.

"You know when I’ll let you get near her again?" I whispered into her wide eyes. "Do you think I don’t know what you’re trying to do? You realized you’re alone, and she might be your only source of money and a ticket out of here. Only for you to then go after that man and keep ranting about her on social media like a lunatic, giving even more material for the people who hate her to make her life a hell!"

It was impossible not to notice the sudden change in her expression. With me, she could show her true face without hesitation. Playing the victim wouldn’t work.

"And what makes you think you have the right to come here and tell me what to do?" she questioned, lifting her chin as if she were in a position to challenge me. "I don’t think we’re that different when you took advantage of my daughter’s open door to keep destroying the little she had left!"

"EVERYTHING THAT FUCKED HER HEAD UP UNTIL NOW IS YOUR FAULT!" I spat, pointing a finger at her. From the corner of my eye, I saw the guard adjust his position as the conversation escalated. "No matter what I did to fix it, you always seemed to be there like a damn shadow to remind her where she came from!"

"I’m sorry if you wasted nine years of your life, boy."

Suddenly, that sentence felt like a shock through a high-voltage wire, and I stood frozen, staring at the apathetic face of the woman in front of me. I couldn’t say for sure if I had wasted nine years of my life while we were together, when I knew nothing but her. No other feelings, no other touch—nothing that didn’t come from her. All because I refused to live something different, something that didn’t include her, even if it meant facing hell every day.

I blinked a few times and clenched my fists before my thoughts could drag me into a place I couldn’t return from now.

"If it’s up to me, you’ll rot in this place, and I’ll do everything to keep her further away from any news about you."

Crystal swallowed hard, her fingers fidgeting nervously, tensing as my presence loomed over her. I leaned down to leave one last message in her ear.

"And I’m sure you’re still in touch with that boyfriend of yours. Don’t forget to tell him he can’t keep running from me forever," I whispered with satisfaction, hiding a little laugh.

Slowly, I straightened up and looked down at her one last time, seeing her as still as a statue, staring blankly at the table. I stepped back gradually and walked toward the exit, dreaming of the moment I’d finally rid myself of that place with its strange smell.

When I arrived at the studio, the band was in their respective spots, rehearsing on their own. Everyone was laughing at something that quickly lost its charm the moment I crossed the door, as if a dark cloud had invaded their colorful world.

Chewing my gum with more intensity, I hardened my expression as soon as I saw Landon sitting on one of the stools, like an audience interacting with the performance on the small stage in the center of the room.

I didn’t miss for a second that his eyes—and his stupid, unfunny jokes—were directed at one single person, who seemed to find joy in even the wind brushing through her hair. I shot him a brief glare that could have pierced his body while the energy drink can in my palm seemed to disappear under my grip. We worked at the same record label. He was the owner's son and the vocalist of some irrelevant band. Naturally, we didn’t get along.

“You’re late, Noah!” The lone feminine voice broke our eye contact, and I turned to join the others. I didn’t bother looking at her directly, but out of the corner of my eye, I watched her adjusting her guitar while he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

More precisely, off her long, tattooed legs, exposed by a short plaid skirt.

“I’ve got a watch,” I replied.

An awful silence filled the room in seconds, and Folio broke it with a casual drumbeat, a habit whenever we traded jabs.

“And you, Landon?” I asked while checking the microphone setup. “Don’t you have anything better to do? I remember booking this space just for my band today.”

“No one complained about me being here before. We’re just hanging out, chatting, man. Don’t tell me you’re gonna cry about it,” he said, smirking. “Ruffilo was giving me a few tips.”

It felt like my face had been plunged into a tub of lava, the heat rising so fiercely in my cheeks. If the mic stand could talk, it would probably beg me to stop gripping it so tightly.

“I don’t see any problem with Landon watching the rehearsal.” Strangely, she seemed overly agreeable today, her sultry tone almost convincing if I weren’t paying attention. Actually, I knew perfectly well why she was acting so liberally—she was high.

“But I do,” I snapped without taking my eyes off him, still lounging in his seat like he owned the place. “We already have enough issues with band members getting distracted, and the last thing I need is a pest hanging around!”

“Buzzkill.”

I caught a whispered insult from afar, followed by their shared laughter, which only fueled my rage.

Jolly and I exchanged glances, and I was sure he was thinking exactly the same thing I was.

“I won’t ask you to leave again!” If my eyes had the power to kill, his body would have been shattered to pieces by now.

“Okay, okay! See you later...” He stood, shoving his hands into his pockets and shrugging in mock surrender. “Oh, Noah, almost forgot—I’m hosting a little party at my place, just something casual with friends. It’d be cool if you came with the rest of the band.”

And who said we were friends?

“See you there!” Folio shouted from the back of the room.

Landon nodded, and just before leaving, I noticed him brush his hand against hers in a slow enough motion for her to take whatever he handed her and tuck it into her pocket. I took a deep breath as the door shut, leaning my head against the microphone stand with my eyes closed while my bandmates silently gestured to one another to start playing.

“It’s too late…” she began, testing the microphone.

“Stop.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, throwing her hands up.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“Okay, okay!” Jolly intervened. “It’s fine; we’ll start over.”

The intro of Take Me First started again, and I saw her clear her throat, straightening her posture as she inhaled through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth. Even after all these years, she still warmed up incorrectly, yet her voice seemed to defy every logical explanation, getting better every time despite her doing everything wrong.

Every time she opened her mouth and delivered a line, my mind entered some hypnotic state. My body didn’t care about the destination, as long as she was guiding the journey with her characteristic husky, dramatic tone.

“It’s too late…”

“Stop!” I ordered. “Start again.”

“It’s too late…”

“Stop!” I repeated. “You’re still coming in at the wrong time!”

Her lips trembled as she huffed in frustration, and without saying a word, she excused herself, marching across the room to lock herself in the bathroom.

“Have you lost it? She’s coming in at the right time, according to the new intro!” Jolly snapped, impatient. “If you’re going to nitpick, at least point out real mistakes!”

“Jolly’s right, man. Chugging all that energy drink is probably messing with your chakras!” Folio teased, punctuating his words with a playful cymbal crash.

“Folio, where did you even get the idea that energy drinks can do that?” Ruffilo asked, spinning his neck around with a puzzled expression.

“Let’s continue the rehearsal,” I said over my shoulder, watching them exchange glances.

“But she hasn’t come back yet…”

“If it mattered to her, she’d be here. Let’s go!”

Without questioning, they returned to their positions, and the intro started again. I cracked my neck from side to side before leaning into the microphone. During the opening bars, I closed my eyes, trying my hardest to pretend she was in some parallel space where her shadow couldn’t reach me.

But all it took was opening my eyes to collide with reality.

The bathroom door was still shut.

After practice, everyone grabbed their things and left for their destinations.

I have to admit, I felt betrayed, but screw it.

Lying on the couch in the living room, nothing seemed to hold my attention. I couldn’t watch a movie, couldn’t read, or even jot something down in a notebook because even the sound of the pencil scratching the paper annoyed me. I picked up the guitar and placed it on my thigh, hoping silence might serve as inspiration, and on the first chord, my luck had the string snap.

“Shit.”

I sighed, bored, banging my head against the back of the couch. On the floor, there was a pile of crumpled-up balls of paper from all my failed attempts at composing something. My mind was emptier than my stomach.

“I hope your little party is awful, sweetheart,” I murmured sarcastically to myself. Maybe talking to myself was the last stage before fully surrendering to madness.

The light of headlights in the garage caught my attention through the window. Judging by the incessant chatter, it was the guys—they were laughing and coming inside with parallel conversations and an armful of grocery bags. When I came face-to-face with them, I did a mental roll call, frowning when I noticed someone was missing.

“Huh,” I hesitated, crossing my arms and leaning against the couch. “Weren’t you all at the same party?”

“No, we changed our minds and went to the supermarket,” Ruffilo shrugged, lifting the bags. Suddenly, all the smiles disappeared. “She’s not here?”

My feet went numb, and for a moment, I thought I was floating, the ground vanishing beneath them. What pounded in my chest could easily be mistaken for the echo of a drum, grating against my ears. I didn’t fully understand why, but there was an unsettling itch beneath my skin that spread throughout my body, like a thousand needles piercing all at once.

“Shit.”

“Noah, where are you going?” one of them shouted, but I was already out the door and in the car, turning the ignition with the same speed I left the garage.

I was definitely speeding, but my vision felt too blurred on the city’s narrow streets as I swerved past car after car. The tightness in my chest gripped me diagonally, and I used my finger to loosen the collar of my shirt, trying my best to breathe in slowly and stay focused on the road.

Every time I heard a horn, it had the power to jolt me back to reality, preventing my car from crashing into another on the shoulder. The closer I got to the address, the more my agony escalated, and the harder it became to fight against the paralysis threatening my body.

I parked in the first available spot I found. Cars were haphazardly positioned with no room to maneuver, so I had to vault over a few hoods to get through. Loud music and a dense crowd amidst smoke—the party at Landon’s was so packed and noisy it was impossible to hear my own thoughts. Dodging a few girls drinking and bumping into a guy, I ended up with an entire drink spilled over my hoodie.

He was ready to curse me out but paused when he looked up and smiled.

“Noah? Noah Sebastian?” he squinted, double-checking what he was seeing. “Hey man, would you mind taking a picture with me? My sister loves—”

I didn’t wait for him to finish, turning my back on him, breathless, my heart hammering at a wild rhythm. It felt like I was getting closer.

Instinctively, I decided to head upstairs. On my way, I ran into Landon. He was stumbling over his own feet, wearing star-shaped glasses, nearly collapsing onto me. Luckily, I pushed him off just in time, throwing a punch that sent him sprawling onto the floor, creating a circle in the crowd.

Shaking my fist in the air and ignoring the murmurs, I took the stairs two steps at a time. As I reached the hallway, my insides twisted in dread over what I might find. Kicking open the first door, I found a couple—clean. The second door revealed some people passed out. The third was empty, aside from the mess.

That left me with only one option.

At the end of the hall, there was only one white door, which I assumed was a bathroom. I forced the golden doorknob and found it locked. Panic flared through my body. I slammed my shoulder against the wood, breaking through on the second try.

The music became just a distant echo.

And my heart was on the verge of stopping.

It was impossible not to collapse onto the wet floor beside her as soon as I saw her pale, unconscious body with liquid trickling from her lips. Despite my panic and groans of anguish, I forced myself to check her pulse. I abandoned every rule about not touching her again, cradling her in my arms and thrusting my fingers into her mouth to reach her throat. But there was nothing to pull out, and even if there had been, she was too limp to expel it.

“No. No. No. No,” I repeated in desperation, holding my phone to my ear while dialing emergency services. “Stay with me. Keep breathing. Please. Please. Please!”

I had no idea if I was doing the right things, but I was alone and couldn’t think of anything else besides needing her to come back. Her face was so sunken I could see the blue veins stark against her skin. Her well-shaped lips were dry and cracked, contradicting the increasingly shallow breaths escaping her nose.

“Keep breathing. Keep breathing. Keep breathing,” I kept repeating, pressing my lips to her forehead, feeling something wet and salty transfer between us as the hold music played in my ear. “Please, my little storm.”

The music outside drowned out my cries of pain—not physical, though. My body felt numb, like enduring a long episode of cramps. All the pain was internal, dissolving as I watched her grow colder in my arms.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @anarchydomainglory ; @iluvmewwwww75

51 notes · View notes