#NEW STOMACH BOOK ALBUM ??

[willwoodhiatuscounterr]

the normal album remix released today ‼️‼️

HOLY SHIT.

[outlying-hyppocrate]

CRISPIN NEW STOMACH BOOK ALBUM HAVE YOU SEEN.

AAAAAAAAAAAA ??

[theetherealbloom]

CLOSE TO YOU

Summary: A commute crush turned meet cute with Pedro Pascal

Paring: Pedro Pascal x Fem!Reader

Warnings: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, Commute Crush, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Meet-Cute, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Alcohol, Club/Bar Setting

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Happy Close To You release day! I’ve waited for this song since 2018 LMAO. Usually, I don’t write about real-life people, but I really can’t help it since this song is SO Pedro Pascal-coded. Just know that this is fictional and if this isn’t for you, you don’t have to read it! Keep scrolling :> And for those who stay to read this delusion of a fic, hey girlieeee I see you <3 

P.S. I’ll be doing a bunch of fics related to Gracie’s new album that comes out next week!

Song: Close To You by Gracie Abrams

| Main Masterlist |

It all began as a harmless crush on your morning commute. The New York subway was your daily stage, a bustling backdrop as you headed to meet a client. As a social media coordinator, your days revolved around managing high-profile partnerships, coordinating with celebrities and Instagram influencers to craft campaigns that seamlessly blended their brands with consumer appeal. 

But today was different. And of course, you recognized him. 

You noticed him immediately – Pedro Pascal, seated right in front of you. Lost in his book, with a iced quad espresso in a venti cup with extra ice and six shots cradled in his hand, he exuded an effortless charm. His dark, curly hair framed those whisky eyes that glanced up and met yours. Just for a second, you were frozen in time, captivated by his gaze. You quickly looked away, not wanting to seem rude, yet feeling the familiar flutter of a crush brewing.

Did he smile? You swore he did, and your heart skipped a beat. The train doors opened, announcing your stop. Reluctantly, you stepped off, joining the throng of commuters spilling onto the platform. As you ascended the steps, the city's vibrant energy washed over you, but your mind was elsewhere.

Walking towards the restaurant for your client meeting, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. The way his presence ignited a spark within you, a longing that seemed almost irrational. Here you were, burning for a man who didn't even know your name. And yet, in the anonymity of the subway, a fleeting connection had stirred something deep inside you.

It had been a few weeks since that subway encounter, the memory of Pedro Pascal’s whisky eyes lingering in your mind. In the meantime, you had started managing social media for Sarah Paulson, whose busy schedule had her juggling multiple projects and interviews.

Sarah's latest project, a Broadway play titled Appropriate, was garnering critical acclaim and several award nominations. Your job was to promote her involvement, ensuring every post captured the essence of her talent and the play’s success. Though you hadn't been working with her long, you were pleasantly surprised when she invited you to watch one of her performances.

That night, you arrived early at the Belasco Theatre, adorned in your favorite long dress and practical flats, mindful of the commute back to your apartment. Ushered to a seat close to the front, you settled into the plush red velvet, feeling a mix of excitement and anticipation. As the audience trickled in, you busied yourself with casual texts to friends before putting your phone away, taking in the theatre's intricate architecture and the stage's grandeur.

Moments later, an usher guided someone to the seat next to you. Curiosity made you glance to your right, and there he was—Pedro Pascal, settling in beside you. Your eyes widened in recognition before you quickly looked away, a quiet panic bubbling in your stomach and tightening your chest. You fidgeted with your fingers, a nervous habit, trying to quell the flurry of emotions and resist the urge to stare.

As the house lights dimmed and the show began, you couldn’t help but steal occasional glances at him. The man who had unknowingly captured your heart was now mere inches away. The performance on stage was captivating, but you found yourself equally entranced by the man sitting next to you. In the soft glow of the theatre lights, you wondered if he remembered that brief moment on the subway, and if fate had just given you a second chance to connect.

When the show ended and the cast took their bows, the theatre erupted in applause. Pedro, sitting right next to you, cheered loudly when Sarah stood with the rest of the cast on stage. His genuine enthusiasm for his friend made you smile, and as you glanced at him, he looked down at you with a radiant grin. 

Your heart raced, and for a moment, you felt a concrete connection that was almost tangible. Both of you opened your mouths to speak, but just then, an usher cleared their throat, drawing your attention.

“Mr. Pascal, Sarah Paulson is asking for you backstage… if you would follow me, please,” the usher said, causing Pedro to hesitate, torn between staying with you and fulfilling his friend's request.

“Uh,” Pedro began, glancing between you and the usher. Seeing his dilemma, you made the decision for him. Gathering your things, you offered a polite smile to both Pedro and the starstruck usher.

As Pedro glanced back at the usher, you seized the moment to make your getaway. You might have heard him call out, "Wait!" but you didn't stop. Stepping out onto the bustling street, the city lights of Broadway twinkled around you, a stark contrast to the growing ache in your heart.

The possibility of what might have been gnawed at you, the fleeting connection slipping through your fingers. A voice in the back of your mind echoed doubts, whispering that you didn't quite belong in this world of beautiful, glamorous people. You tried to shake off the feeling, but the bittersweet sting lingered.

You begin to walk away from the theatre, weaving through the crowd lined up for autographs by the backstage door. Just as you're about to cross the street to catch your subway, your phone vibrates in your clutch. Stepping aside, you see Sarah Paulson’s name flashing on the screen.

Shit. 

You quickly answer, praying your voice doesn't betray your nerves. "Hello?"

"Hey!" Sarah's voice is warm and enthusiastic. "How are you? Did you enjoy the show?"

"Yeah, I did! You were absolutely incredible," you say, offering genuine praise and shifting your weight to your other leg.

"Thank you so much! Oh, where are you right now? Are you still nearby? I had told the usher to bring you backstage with Pedro, but it seems like they forgot."

"Oh, um, yeah, I'm near the backstage door," you reply, glancing at the crowd still waiting for autographs.

"Perfect! Some of us are going out for drinks later, and you are welcome to join us!" Sarah’s excitement is infectious.

You stammer, "Uh, I..."

"It'll be great! I promise. I'll introduce you to everyone. You're my best social media manager by far."

Taking a deep breath, you muster, "Okay, yeah, I'd love to come."

"Great! I'll send you the address of where we're headed. We'll meet you there!" Sarah says, her smile practically audible.

"Alright, see you soon." You end the call with a click, clutching your phone tightly as you take another deep breath to steady your nerves and keep the world from spinning.

A ping alerts you to a new message. Glancing at the notification, you read the address and know exactly where to go. With a mixture of excitement and anxiety, you put away your phone and head towards the bar, the city's lights guiding your way.

It took you a while to figure out how to get there, but eventually, you arrive at the bar. As you step inside, a warm hum fills your body, the lights and the pulse of music thrumming through the room. The smoky, dark atmosphere feels electric, bodies moving in a rhythm that seems to make the air itself burn. 

Under the soft pink light, everything seems slightly surreal, yet oddly perfect. You spot Sarah, who immediately pulls you into a warm hug, which you happily accept. As you exchange pleasantries near their table, you feel at ease, enjoying the camaraderie. 

Then, suddenly, you sense a shift. You glance up and see Pedro looking right back at you. Your heart skips a beat as your eyes meet, and in that instant, the crowded room seems to fade away. 

There he is, the man who had unknowingly captured your heart, his gaze steady and intense. As Sarah guides you over to introduce the rest of her friends, castmates, and of course, Pedro, you feel a pull between the two of you.

You muster the courage to speak, telling him your name, and even through the loud speakers and endless chatter, you hear him say your name with a breathless relief. Finally meeting the mystery girl he saw on the subway seems to have stirred something within him.

When you shake hands, there's a lingering touch, a silent acknowledgment of the connection between you. You can't help but duck your head a little, feeling shy under the intensity of his gaze. 

"Nice to finally meet you," Pedro says, his voice soft yet filled with warmth.

"Likewise," you reply, your own voice tinged with a hint of nervousness.

In that brief exchange, you both sense something unspoken, a silent understanding that this meeting is more than just chance. And as the night unfolds, amidst the laughter and music, you find yourself drawn to him, unable to resist the magnetic pull of fate.

As Sarah goes to mingle with the rest of the group, you both stand there, caught in a moment suspended in time. The air crackles with anticipation, and you can't shake the feeling that if you asked him to, he'd give up everything just to be close to you.

"You have a way of lighting up a room," he says, his voice low and full of sincerity as he leans in closer.

A blush creeps up your cheeks at his words, and you find yourself smiling despite yourself. "And you have a way of making me feel like I'm the only one in it," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the night wears on, you find yourself completely enchanted by Pedro. His easy charm and quick wit captivate you, and it's as if the two of you are in your own little world, separate from the chaos of the club.

He tells you stories about his acting career and his passion for music. You share your dreams and aspirations, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence that you've never experienced with anyone before.

Throughout the night, there are moments where your hands brush against each other or your eyes meet in a lingering gaze. Each time it happens, a spark of electricity shoots through your body, igniting a fire within you.

At one point, he leans in closer to whisper in your ear over the loud music. "I have a confession to make," he says, his warm breath tickling your skin.

You turn to face him, your heart racing with anticipation.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a delightful shiver down your spine. "I can't deny that you've caught my attention since the moment I saw you on the subway."

The admission sends your heart racing, and you can't help but feel a surge of boldness. "Funny, because you've been on my mind ever since," you confess, meeting his gaze with newfound confidence.

His eyes light up with a mixture of surprise and delight, and you can't help but be drawn to the way his lips curl into a playful smirk. "Is that so?" he teases, his voice a low, husky whisper that sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod, feeling a rush of exhilaration coursing through your veins. "Absolutely," you reply, unable to tear your gaze away from his captivating stare.

Before you can say another word, he takes a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a dance choreographed just for the two of you. Your breath catches in your throat as his hand brushes against your neck, sending tingles of anticipation racing across your skin.

And then, in a moment that feels like it's been plucked straight from a romance film, his lips meet yours in a soft, tender kiss. Time seems to stand still as you melt into his embrace, the world around you fading away until there's nothing left but the two of you.

As you pull away, breathless and exhilarated, a sense of euphoria washes over you, like a chemical override in ultraviolet. "I just wanna be close to you," he murmurs, his words sending a thrill through your entire being. A smile dances at the corners of your lips as you revel in the electric connection between you.

"And you could be mine tonight," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, the words tinged with a hint of playful flirtation.

He chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling with affection as he leans in closer. "I think I could get used to being yours," he says, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity, melting away any lingering doubts or fears.

He can't wait to fall in love with you.

[soamericn]

𝜗𝜚 𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐓𝐋𝐄

🐰ྀི₊˚⊹ ‘ truth, dare, spin bottles you know how to ball, i know aristotle. ‘

𝜗𝜚… previous chapter - next chapter

𝜗𝜚… summary , ( f!verstappen!y/n x lando norris ) y/n is the younger sister of world champion max verstappen and an author known for her young adult romance novels despite never being in a relationship herself. lando norris is a formula one driver and is secretly an old friend and a fan of her books since 2020.

𝜗𝜚… faceclaim , brooke flecca

𝜗𝜚… triggers , none I don't think (maybe some cursing)

𝜗𝜚… authors note , thank you so much for 100 followers!! new driver series coming out soon based on an album ( I'll be making a fic for a diff driver based on each song )

🐰ྀི₊˚⊹ masterlist

the drive there had been relatively calm. it wasn’t awkward though, y/n and lando had known each other for years, despite not talking for the past two . the conversation was laced with nostalgia as they reminisced on his rookie year, when she went to every race and he’d been convinced she was his “lucky charm”

the air outside was warm with a flowy cool breeze, australian autumns were always nice and provided a small comfort to the girl who’d appreciated the weather. 

the club they’d gone to, however, was packed and it felt suffocating. y/n was never the one for clubs, she liked people, she liked dancing and music. but putting them together with a mix of alcohol and drugs never was something she enjoyed. (her brother on the other hand was the opposite)

she’d hung back near the bar slowly sipping on a sprite. she never drank alcohol; it was a personal preference, she hated the feeling of being out of control. lando had picked up drinking since the last time they’d saw each other, he was partying his little heart out with their friends now. 

y/n hung back watching him with a sorta fondness in her eyes, the scene was beautiful to her, romanticizing the true happiness he was experiencing to ignore how claustrophobic she was feeling. and how she’d been picking at the skin around her nails and the pit in her stomach. 

lando seemed to almost hear her cry for help, as he left the dance floor and walked over to her. she assumed to order another drink since he’d only had one. “you alright?”

y/n nodded but her mouth spoke differently, forever honest. “I feel like i‘m suffocating a bit, if i’m honest.” she admitted cringing as soon as she said it.

lando understood, but she knew he would. he helped out his hand, “then shall we?”

she furrowed an eyebrow and with pursed lips her eyes flicked up and down to his hand and then back to him. “shall we what?”

“bail.” 

“you were having fun, I'm a grown woman. if I wanna leave, I will.” y/n reassured guilt filling up her throat.

lando shook his head with a small grin that he always seemed to adorn. “oh c’mon I invited you, I'm here to spend time with you anyway.”

hesitantly the dutch girl took his hand and they hurried out of the bar, met with fresh air at last and a chill of the night. it felt a bit silly but y/n thought about writing a book in this moment, she thought about how she’d described the scene, how the two old friends reconnecting would turn into something more. 

she knew it was only a fantasy, all her books were. picturesque moments painted carefully by her hands, nothing that’d happen in real life. especially to her. she’d been confident in herself but she’d come to terms on how unsuccessful her love life had been. she was twenty-three and hadn’t dated a single person, not one out of the eight billion people on this earth.

so she’d lost hope. lando shouldn’t give her hope, she knew no one would ever follow through with it. she had enough self respect to stop trying to chase false dreams. 

they’d been walking down the street of melbourne for a few minutes now in a comfortable silence though she’d been surprised lando managed to keep his mouth shut this long. the sky was clear, the stars brighter than she’d seen in a while, the streets were practically empty and the air smelt of saltwater. 

“where are you taking me?” y/n asked realizing they’d passed lando’s car a couple minutes back. 

lando looked at her, “do you not trust me?” 

she pretended to think about it for a moment before meeting his gaze which remained on her. “haven't seen you in two years, maybe you've changed.”

he really had. he’d changed so much but somehow not at all, “you definitely have.” lando seemed to backtrack in his mind as his words came out as an insult. “in a good way I mean, I’ve just missed you.”

he missed her. maybe it’d been her chronic loneliness talking but she hadn’t heard those words from anyone in years. she looked down at her feet, a small smile growing on her face. “I missed you too, a lot.” 

“why didn’t you call or text, I swear I would’ve thought you died if not for your instagram.” lando wasn’t mad or at least he didn’t sound it, still y/n was embarrassed there was no reason for her to fall off the face of earth like she did, maybe she was just destined to be lonely and needed to prove she could do it. maybe that didn’t need two years to prove, she’d been proving it for twenty-two years.

“I’m not mad, I’m just happy to see my idol again.” he bumped into her shoulder with a smirk.

y/n giggled looking at him unconvinced. “your idol?” 

lando nodded, “I'm your biggest fan, don't you know?”  

“mhm of course I knew, reading august in two days must’ve been a new record.” the day lando commented on her instagram post saying he’d pre-ordered her book, she’d gone to her records of past books. he’d bought every book she’d ever read. every single one. even the special edition covers she’d published. 

never had anyone done a gesture like that for her. sure it might’ve been just because he’d like to read, but y/n wanted to live in a bliss where he did it for her.

watching the view change in front of her as they continued down the street she recognized where they’d been walking to. the beach. once they’d reached the place where the concrete ended and sand started. they both took off their shoes, lando grabbed hers holding them for her. 

the sand was soft to the touch, the beach was empty now and spanned for miles. waves crashed down onto the sand in a nice pattern of noise. it was pitch black except the moon which provided a nice soft light into the water far out. the breeze felt stronger here, y/n crossed her arms struggling to provide warmth to her bare arms.

the pair had taken a seat on the slightly wet part of the sand closer to the water. “it’s beautiful out here.” she commented. “like some shit you’d see in a rom-com.” a genre she knew too much about. 

“is this the part where I tell you you’re the only girl I’ve taken here?” lando said looking at her she could hear the smirk in his voice. 

y/n let out a laugh. “is this the part where I act surprised because you’re known for being such a ‘player’?” 

“I’ll do the whole yawn and arm over shoulder thing if you want, make this really realistic.” lando took off his black hoodie revealing a matching black t-shirt underneath. “here by the way.” 

he handed her the hoodie, “oh I’m fine.” she very clearly was not. she wanted to tell him to stop her some kind of hope, to not make her fall for him as she was now. 

“you so are not, you’re shivering and it’s freaking me out.” y/n wasn’t sure if she should’ve said thank you or been offended by ‘freaking him out’. she took the hoodie, it was soft fabric and smelt of his cologne, which smelt expensive. 

she put the hoodie on, relieved by the warmth she suddenly felt. after a while of chatting and laughing about stupid things like they used to, y/n comfortably rested her head on his shoulder, eyes feeling the need to shut but they wouldn’t like she wanted to be conscious for every moment of this, knowing she’d miss his comfort as soon as it was gone. 

“do you have to wake up for your flight early tomorrow.” he asked, his voice soft and he cautiously started to run his fingers through her hair, until she’d relaxed more and he was more confident with his innocent touches.

“mhm.” she mumbled. 

he carefully brushed the few knots in her hair, “should I take you home then it's getting late.” 

everything in her body was telling her to stay no, to stay there, she never wanted to leave. but her mind spoke differently, she had a book signing tomorrow she couldn’t miss her flight nor could she be too tired. she replied again, more disappointed than before, “yeah probably.”

𝜗𝜚˖ ࣪₊˚ yourusername posted

liked by yourbestfriend, mclaren, oscarpiastri and 856,756 others

yourusername last night in aus was well spent 🫶

tagged | @landonorris

view comments

user34 OH the lando & y/n girlies are screaming rn

yourbestfriend oh my god you finally went outside 🤯

landonorris gotta make sure she gets some vitamin c every once in awhile

user54 i just know twt is going crazy

landonorris hope to see you in japan 🙏🫣

yourusername we’ll see 🤭

maxverstappen as a redbull fan I hope

user89 we are all living for your active era rn

user21 all her f1 posts having lando in them is making me cry they’re everything to me

user54 I’m getting 2019 lando y/n flashbacks

your bsf 🫶 sent you a text!

𝜗𝜚 ˖ ࣪₊˚ yourusername posted a story

seen by maxverstappen, lilymhe, davidmalukas and 645,765 others

landonorris replied to your story

𝜗𝜚 ‧₊˚ ⊹ landonorris posted

liked by maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri, yourusername and 972,342 others

landonorris another race done onto japan we go 😉 ( featuring special guest my celebrity crush )

tagged | @landonorris

view comments

yourusername omg I love when I see my fan pages in the wild 🤭

landonorris ok babe don’t push it 🥰

user53 babe?!!!

user76 they’re so in love it hurts

user32 getting his first podium of the season while she’s there she really is his lucky charm

user98 HIS LUCKY CHARM 😭😭

mclaren y/n should come to more races best race result so far nice job!

user43 even mclaren loves them 🙏

user58 their actually my faves

carlossainz I think I’m your idol actually 🤔

landonorris whatever helps you sleep at night

𝜗𝜚… tags , @whitcferrari @cedarbcws @c-losur3 @lclitaa @forurforeverwinter @stinkyjax @littlexscarletxwitch @spideybv28 @ijustgomessitupx

[didhewinkback]

on my way to buy some flowers for you

as if i was going to resist THIS. little blurb from the something old universe.

word count: 1ishk; warnings: zero this is fluff city baby.

---

It was the type of September day you fantasize about in the dead of the frigid cold winter months or during a heat wave in July - the sun was shining but the air was crisp, the breeze creating a slight chill. The dewy grass smell walloping him with nostalgia for the first day of school - how he would fiddle with his new backpack while also trying to make sure his curls fell just right for the 800th time.

It’s his favorite time of year in London, something he only realized recently, having spent his first decade or so living here either on tour or in America doing talk shows and photoshoots and meet and greets and interviews and dinners with executives and feeling himself slowly slip away bit by bit. 

There’s none of that now, as he leans up into the sun, the jazz album playing through his airpods adding an extra pep in his step as he turns down his street. This city has never felt more like home and he’s never felt more like himself. He’s gotten to be a real friends and family man this year, a standard he set for himself in the aftermath of tour. He’s someone who shows up, now - birthday parties, concerts, major work events. He’s there. 

He’s also set strict standards for relaxation - yes, he is the type of person that requires a routine in order to actually feel at ease but it’s worked out great so far. Nothing too crazy, just living in the familiar, building a life through habits. Like this one - how he’s gotten to wake up before you for a year and a half straight, rather than just a few weeks at a time, kissing you on the head before quietly slipping out of the house to head off for a cold swim or bike ride or walk through the neighborhood. Coming home to find you blinking sleepily over a cuppa or getting ready for the work day or, his favorite, still in bed, waiting for him.

It’s his favorite thing, waking up next to you. His stomach swoops at the memory of how good you looked this morning, your arm wrapped around his waist, the sunlight glowing golden embers across your skin. 

He adjusts the bouquet in his hands to enter the gate code once he gets to the house, the surprise gift making him so giddy he has to laugh at himself, barely able to contain his grin. It’s not elaborate, it's just flowers, but it will make you smile and that’s enough for him. 

He unlocks the front door, taking his airpods out of his ears and putting them away, taking in the sounds of the house. He quickly toes off his sneakers when he hears the sound of pages turning, can close his eyes and picture you sprawled out on the couch, book in hand. He feels buoyant as he walks down the hall towards the living room, hiding the flowers behind his back. 

Yeah, this is his city, he thinks, this is his home. And this, he thinks as he lays his eyes on you - still wearing that shirt of his you love to sleep in, bare legs stretched along the couch, fully engrossed in what’s unfolding on the page in front of you - this is his person.

You look up as he enters the room, placing the book down on your chest as you look at him, sleepy smile growing wider as he shuffles over to you, bending over with his hands still behind his back to steal a kiss. 

“Good morning,” you mumble against his mouth as he ducks in to steal another, humming into it. 

“Didn’t know if you’d be awake.” he says.

“It’s half past 10!” you squawk indignantly. “I’m not a heathen.”

“Feel like last night would say differently.” he says, laughing when you smack him, living for the way your face flushes. 

“Didn’t hear any complaints.”

“And you never will.” he says seriously, poker face lasting all of two seconds when you honk out a surprised laugh, your grins growing as you look at each other. 

You shake your head, stretching your arms over your head before squinting at him, the way he’s standing awkwardly, hands still behind his back. He feels a bit like a novice magician, heat blooming behind his cheeks as he pulls the bouquet from behind him and holds them out in front of you. You gape at him for a second, eyes darting between the flowers and his face, before pressing yourself up into a sitting position. 

“Who are those for?”

“What do y’ mean who are they for? A man can’t get his wife flowers?” he says, loving the way the word feels leaving his mouth. 

It’s been about three months but he never tires of saying it, never tires of knowing it's you. A flash of heat flows through him as he remembers the late hours after the reception, being unable to stop muttering the word into your neck as his hands desperately clamored to hold you impossibly closer. My wife, my wife, my wife. 

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, the loss of words apparent as you take the bouquet from him, biting at your lip as you look over the bloom. Eyes lighting up when you see your favorites. You huff a laugh and he swears he can see a blush blooming along your cheeks. You look back up at him, grin wide on your face and you look better than he imagined. You’re better than he imagined. You’re everything.

You wrap your hand around the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss, thumb brushing along his skin, causing goosebumps in its wake, your lips pressing against his just the way he likes. It’s a shit angle for his back, hunched over the couch, one arm on the back of it to support his weight but he really doesn’t give a shit, pulling away to press kisses all along your face until you giggle and push him away. 

“They’re beautiful. They’re fucking massive,” you say and he huffs a laugh against your skin, playfully biting at the apple of your cheek before pressing a kiss there and flopping down on the couch next to you. “I love them. Thank you.”

You lean over to kiss him again, he wraps an arm around your shoulder to hold you closer, kissing you softly. It’s the sound of the kettle that makes you pull apart, the kettle that takes absolute ages but he got it for you when he was twelve and you’ve never gotten rid of it. 

“Fancy a cuppa?” you ask softly and he nods, heart skipping a beat when you press your lips to his again before getting up off the couch. “I’m gonna put these in some water.”

You head into the kitchen and he settles back onto the couch, smile never leaving his face as he listens to you putter around. He pulls his cardigan off, smirking before doing the same with his trousers. 

“‘M taking my trousers off,” he announces, kicking them off his legs and staring at them on the ground for a moment before quickly folding them and placing them on the chair next to him. “We’re going full lazy Sunday, baby.”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” you call back and he laughs, reaching for your ipad on the coffee table before laying down on the couch. 

“Will y’ do the crossword with me?” he asks, opening the app up on the ipad, eyes poring over the clues. “The wordle kicked my arse this morning.”

“That’s because you suck,” you say, heading back into the living room with two steaming mugs, placing them on the coasters on the table. “You’re also the only person on the planet still doing the wordle.”

“‘M a man of commitment, what can I say.” he says and you hum, pressing a kiss to his forehead before shuffling back to the kitchen. “And the guy who made it, made it as a gift for his wife, so from one wife guy to another, I’ve got to support.”

He hears you snort at that as he gets a bit lost in the crossword, pausing only when he feels your eyes on him. He looks up, sees you leaning against the doorframe, the vase of flowers in your hand as you look at him with such love in your eyes he swears he stops breathing.

“What’s that look for?” he asks, voice a little breathless.

“My husband got me flowers. And now he’s laying on our couch without any trousers on,” you say with a shrug, taking a deep breath, the way the word husband leaves your lips causes goosebumps to bloom along his skin. That’s him, he’s yours. He’s got a ring on his hand to prove it. “And I’m just feeling really lucky. Because I really love him.” 

His breath catches in his throat as he smiles over at you, the two of you just looking at each other for a moment, both a little in awe of this life of yours, this marriage. This family. 

“Even if he’s really shit at the crossword.” you say, cheeky smile on your face that only grows when he honks out a laugh. 

“Then get over here and help me,” he whines and you quickly shuffle over, placing the vase in the middle of the table before crawling on the couch over him.

It takes some rearranging but you’re squished together, you halfway on top of him, the ipad in between you as you start to go through the clues together, legs intertwined, his arm around your back, holding you close. He presses a kiss to your temple and takes a deep breath, feeling so much gratitude for this moment he may just explode.

There’s just nothing else like it, is there. Nothing like you. No place like home.

--

a/n: if youre reading this and are like bitch theyre married?! canonically, yes. i promise some writing about the wedding will be coming but its taking forever and this inspo hit me like a truck so i had to work with it. also so fun bc grapejuice always reminds me of this fic anyway w the lyric "give me something old".

hope u like it, let me know what u think. shoutout to the random girl on twitter who tweeted my username asking for more writing last summer sorry its taking so long but wow u made me feel special. i missed them!!

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

[wannabehockeygf]

Feels Like - Quinn Hughes

“We almost got away, we cut it close,

The city’s getting loud, if I choke,

It’s only ‘cause I’m scared to be alone,

Been trying to work it out you should know,

I would do whatever you wanted.”

***

part 2 // quinn hughes x gracie abrams albums fic trilogy

part 1 part 3

***

Summary: Quinn’s been up to no good, and it’s about time you find out.

Word count: 6.8k

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

Warnings: cheating, alcohol

Notes:

- me saying I’m so busy and won’t have time then I crank this out in a day !!

- this was so heart wrenching to write …

- not proof read as always

***

Quinn Hughes had a good head on his shoulders. At least, that’s what everyone always told him. Coaches, family, even the media—they all saw Quinn as the level-headed one, the smart one, the kid who knew what he wanted and went after it.

Except when it came to you. When it came to you, Quinn's head was anything but good. It was a mess—confused, conflicted, weighed down by the guilt that had been gnawing at him since last night.

Quinn ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He sat on the edge of his hotel bed in Boston, staring at his phone like it was some kind of bomb he had to defuse. Your name was still at the top of his recent calls, your last text a blue bubble of worry and reassurance.

“Heading your way, Q. On a train. Didn’t book a flight because it was too much, but I’ll be there in the morning. I love you.”

He swiped out of the messages and into Instagram, his thumb hovering over the search bar. His heart pounded against his ribs, each thud a reminder of just how much he had screwed up. He was still in last night’s clothes, a blue Hawaiian shirt that Jack had bought him as a joke and black slacks that clung to him uncomfortably. He hadn’t slept; instead, he’d gone out, did so much more than emotionally cheat on you, and then spent the night pacing his room, trying to figure out how to make this right—how to fix something that might be beyond fixing.

His phone buzzed in his hand, a new message from you: “Quinn, are you awake? Call me when you see this.”

Quinn's stomach twisted. He could picture you right now, curled up on that train seat with your eyes heavy from lack of sleep, your hair mussed from running your hands through it too many times. You were coming all this way for him, despite everything. You were coming to see him even after he’d hung up on you. He felt a pang of guilt so sharp it made his chest ache. You deserved so much better.

He knew that. God, did he know it. But knowing it didn’t make things any easier. If anything, it made things worse, because he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stop needing you. And yet, he was too weak to stop what he was doing—the other thing he couldn’t seem to stop needing.

His fingers hesitated over the search bar for just a moment longer before he typed in the name, quick and almost subconscious, like he was on autopilot. The profile came up instantly: smiling photos of her on some beach, her hair wild in the wind, sunglasses perched on her nose. She looked carefree, happy. The last photo was from a week ago, captioned with a simple heart emoji.

Quinn’s heart clenched. God, she was beautiful. And she made him feel things—things he didn’t feel when he was with you, his girlfriend, things that scared him as much as they thrilled him. She was everything you weren't: spontaneous, wild, a bit reckless. She didn’t make him feel like he had to be perfect all the time.

Which was probably why he’d ended up here in the first place.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to quell the guilt that surged up his throat like bile. He thought back to last night—the way she’d looked at him across the bar, her eyes dark and knowing, the way she’d smiled like she knew every secret he was trying so hard to hide. The way her lips felt against his, the heat of her breath, the sound of her voice when she whispered in his ear.

And then he thought about you. About your laugh, your smile, the way you looked at him like he was the most important person in the world. How you never hesitated to drop everything for him, even when it meant putting your own life on hold. Like right now. Like this very moment, when you were probably sitting on some cold, uncomfortable train seat to get to him because you thought he needed you.

He was such an asshole.

Quinn tossed his phone onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. He felt like he was being torn in two—one part of him screaming at him to get his shit together, to be the guy everyone thought he was, the good guy, the guy who didn’t screw over the people he cared about. And then there was the other part—the part that was scared, insecure, the part that wanted so desperately to feel something real that he didn’t care if it meant hurting the one person who had always been there for him.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the word barely more than a sigh. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t know. He was in too deep, caught between two worlds that couldn’t coexist, caught between two versions of himself that he couldn’t reconcile.

He stood up, pacing the small hotel room, the carpet rough under his bare feet. His mind raced, thoughts bouncing around like ping-pong balls in his head. He couldn’t keep doing this. He had to make a choice. He had to choose.

But how do you choose between the girl who makes you feel safe and the one who makes you feel alive?

His phone buzzed again, and this time he couldn’t ignore it. He snatched it up, expecting another message from you, another plea for him to call, but instead, it was from the other girl. A simple text: “Had fun last night. When can I see you again?”

Quinn stared at the message, his heart hammering against his ribs. What was he doing? What the hell was he doing? He wanted to smash the phone against the wall, to shatter it into a million pieces, to shatter himself along with it. But instead, he just stood there, staring at the screen, torn between guilt and desire, between what he wanted and what he knew he should do.

“Quinn?” A voice called from outside his door, sharp and insistent. It was Petey, knocking lightly. “You in there, man? We gotta head out to practice soon.”

Quinn stood frozen in the middle of his hotel room, his phone buzzing persistently in his hand. The screen glowed with the picture of you he had made his lockscreen, and every time he looked at it his heart dropped. His stomach churned, a sickening mix of guilt and anxiety that had been gnawing at him for the good part of twelve hours. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the mess of curls that he hadn’t bothered to tame since last night.

Last night. God, what a disaster.

He could still taste the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, still feel the phantom touch of her lips against his. She had been all over him, pulling him in with that damn magnetic smile of hers. And Quinn, the idiot that he was, hadn’t done a damn thing to stop it. Now, standing here, he felt like he was drowning in the aftermath.

“Huggy?” Elias’ voice came through the door again, more insistent this time. “You good?”

Quinn glanced at the clock—barely enough time to get his shit together before practice. Not that it mattered. His head was so scrambled, he doubted he’d be of any use on the ice today.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to move. One foot in front of the other, like he was on autopilot. He tossed his phone on the bed and headed for the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face in a vain attempt to shock some sense into himself. The water dripped down his cheeks, and he stared at his reflection in the mirror, searching for some sign of the guy everyone thought he was. The guy who had it all together.

But all he saw was a mess. A guy who couldn’t make up his mind, who was screwing over the one person who had always been there for him. The guy who, deep down, was terrified that he was going to lose everything if he didn’t get his shit together.

He grabbed a towel and dried his face, then ran a hand through his hair again, trying to make himself look halfway presentable. But no amount of water or towels could wash away the guilt that clung to him like a second skin. He was stuck with it, like a tattoo he couldn’t scrub off no matter how hard he tried.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the word slipping out before he could stop it. He shook his head, running his hands through his hair once again, feeling the strands tug against his fingers. He needed to get it together. He needed to get out of this room before he went completely insane.

He grabbed his practice gear from the chair by the window, where he’d tossed it last night when he’d stumbled in. The memory made his stomach twist: the way he’d pressed the button to hang up on you, the way his thumb had hovered over it like it weighed a hundred pounds. And then the other girl’s laugh, soft and sweet in his ear, her fingers trailing down his arm as she whispered something he couldn’t quite remember anymore but knew had made him feel like he was floating.

Quinn pulled off his clothes, replacing them with a questionable smelling sweatshirt and gym shorts, his movements jerky and stiff like his body was protesting every step. He glanced at the mirror on his way to the door, catching sight of himself—his face pale and drawn, his eyes shadowed with fatigue. He looked like hell. He felt like it, too.

With a sigh, he opened the door to find Elias leaning against the wall, one brow raised. “Dude, you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Feel like it too,” Quinn muttered, stepping out into the hallway. The bright lights made his eyes sting, and he squinted, wishing he’d grabbed his sunglasses. Or maybe he just wanted to hide behind them.

Elias clapped a hand on his shoulder, giving him a once-over. “Rough night?”

Quinn forced a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “Something like that.”

“Yeah, well, better shake it off. Coach is on one today, and he’s not in the mood for anyone dragging ass.” Elias started down the hall, and Quinn followed, trying to push everything to the back of his mind. Practice. Focus on practice.

But his thoughts wouldn’t settle. They kept bouncing back and forth like a damn tennis match: his girlfriend’s face, her worried messages, the way she always seemed to know when he needed her without him even having to say it. And then the other girl—the way she made him feel like he could breathe, like he could forget everything for just a little while.

He clenched his fists as they reached the elevator, trying to steady his breathing. Elias was rambling about something, but Quinn couldn’t focus on the words. His mind was a blur, a mess of emotions that he couldn’t untangle.

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside, the metal walls reflecting their distorted images. Quinn caught sight of himself again and grimaced. “I look like shit, don’t I?”

Elias snorted. “You said it, not me.” He glanced at Quinn, his expression shifting to something more serious. “But seriously, man, you okay? You’ve been off for a while now.”

Quinn swallowed hard, his throat dry. How could he even begin to explain what he was feeling? How could he tell Elias that he was standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering between falling and flying, and he didn’t know which one he wanted more?

“I’m fine,” he lied, the words heavy on his tongue. “Just tired.”

Elias didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he just nodded, letting the subject drop as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open to the lobby.

They walked out into the warm Boston morning, the humid air biting at Quinn’s skin through his clothes. He shivered, shoving his hands into his pockets as they made their way to the team bus. He tried to lose himself in the routine, in the familiar motions of getting on the bus, finding his seat, putting in his headphones. But even the music couldn’t drown out his thoughts, couldn’t silence the nagging voice in his head that kept telling him he was screwing up.

He leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes, willing himself to focus on the day ahead. Practice. Game plan. Not on the texts waiting on his phone, not on the girl he was supposed to love and the girl he couldn’t stop thinking about.

But his mind wouldn’t cooperate. It kept circling back, like a dog chasing its tail, never quite catching it but never stopping either. He thought about you, about the way she made him feel grounded, like he had a purpose. And then he thought about the other girl, about the way she made him feel alive, like he was on fire.

God, he was an idiot. A selfish, stupid idiot who didn’t deserve either of them.

He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the seat in front of him. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to choose between two things that felt like they were pulling him in opposite directions, like they were tearing him apart?

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out without thinking, his heart lurching in his chest. It was a text from you, and his stomach twisted as he read it:

“I’m here. Just got to the station. Can’t wait to see you.”

Quinn closed his eyes, a wave of guilt washing over him. You were here. You were here for him, because you thought he needed you. And maybe he did. Maybe he needed you more than he’d ever realized.

Quinn’s mind was spinning as the team bus rumbled through the streets of Boston, the city waking up around them in a blur of brick buildings and early morning light. He stared out the window, his reflection a pale, drawn ghost in the glass, looking back at him with tired eyes. The weight of his phone in his pocket felt like a lead ball, dragging him down deeper into the mess he’d made for himself.

He glanced around the bus, his teammates absorbed in their own routines—some with headphones on, nodding along to whatever music was blasting in their ears, others chatting quietly, their voices low and relaxed. Elias was beside him, scrolling through his phone, occasionally chuckling at something he saw. Quinn tried to mimic that ease, but his stomach was tied in knots, and every breath felt like it caught in his throat.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to find a position that didn’t make him feel like he was about to crawl out of his own skin. But no matter how he twisted or turned, the guilt was there, gnawing at him, a constant reminder that he’d messed up in a way that couldn’t be easily fixed.

His phone buzzed again, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip, his hand twitching towards his pocket before he stopped himself. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—look at it. Not yet. The last thing he needed was to see another text from you, filled with love and concern, when all he could think about was how he didn’t deserve any of it.

But of course, his brain wouldn’t let him rest. As much as he wanted to ignore it, your last message played on a loop in his mind: “I’m here. Just got to the station. Can’t wait to see you.” He could picture you standing there, suitcase in hand, maybe looking around for him, your eyes bright with anticipation. The thought made his chest tighten, a painful squeeze that sent a ripple of nausea through his gut.

He thought about how you’d always been there for him, how you never hesitated to drop everything and come running when he needed you. And now, here you were, doing it again, without knowing that he’d spent the night with someone else, that he’d betrayed the trust you’d placed in him so completely.

God, he was a piece of work.

Quinn shifted again, his knee bouncing nervously as he tried to focus on anything else—the pattern of the bus seat, the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, the hum of the engine beneath his feet. But everything came back to you, and the way he was going to have to face you in a few hours, knowing what he’d done.

A part of him—the rational, level-headed part that everyone always said he had—knew that he should come clean, that he should tell you everything and deal with the consequences. But the other part, the part that was scared and ashamed and desperate to keep you in his life, was louder, drowning out the voice of reason with a hundred excuses and justifications.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to look you in the eye and pretend that everything was okay, when he knew it wasn’t? But then again, how could he tell you the truth and risk losing you forever?

He pressed his head against the cool glass of the bus window, staring out at the passing streets of Boston. The city looked bright and sunny, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in his mind. It was the kind of day that would normally have him in good spirits, maybe even cracking jokes with the guys. But not today. Today, he felt like he was carrying a mountain on his back.

The bus jolted as it hit a pothole, and Quinn’s head banged against the glass. “Ow, fuck,” he muttered, rubbing the sore spot. Elias glanced over from the seat next to him, eyebrows raised.

“You good, man?” he asked again, his tone a mix of concern and exasperation. Quinn knew Elias was just trying to help, but right now, all he wanted was to be left alone with his own stupidity.

“Yeah, just...headache,” Quinn lied, forcing a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. He didn’t know how to explain the real problem without sounding like the world’s biggest jerk. He wasn’t ready for the questions that would follow, the judgment, the inevitable “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Elias nodded, turning back to his phone, but Quinn could feel his eyes lingering, like he was trying to solve some kind of puzzle. Quinn wished he could give him the answer, wished he knew it himself. But all he had were a bunch of jumbled pieces that didn’t seem to fit together.

As the bus pulled up to the arena, Quinn grabbed his gear and followed the rest of the team inside. The familiar smell of a rink—ice, rubber, sweat—usually calmed his nerves, but today it just made him feel queasy. He trudged to the locker room, his legs feeling like lead, and sat down on the bench, staring at his skates like they might somehow offer him some guidance.

“Hey, Huggy,” Brock called from across the room, already halfway into his gear. “You gonna put those on, or are you just gonna stare at them all day?”

Quinn blinked, realizing he’d been sitting there for way too long. “Right, yeah,” he mumbled, pulling off his shoes and shoving his feet into his skates. The process felt mechanical, like he was going through the motions without really being there. He tied the laces tight, almost too tight, like he was trying to squeeze out the guilt that sat heavy in his chest.

As he laced up, his mind wandered back to last night. He remembered the way her fingers had grazed his wrist, the light touch sending sparks through his skin. He remembered the look in her eyes, that dangerous mix of desire and something else—something that made him feel like he was balancing on a razor’s edge. And then he remembered your text, the way your voice had sounded over the phone, so soft, so worried. The contrast made him feel like he was being split down the middle, two halves of a person who didn’t know how to be whole anymore.

Quinn dragged his skates across the locker room floor, the sharp blades scraping against the concrete as he walked to the bench. His hands moved on autopilot, grabbing pads, buckling straps, all while his mind replayed the same scene over and over again: your smile, your eyes, the sound of your voice. The guilt gnawed at him, relentless, like a dog with a bone it refused to let go.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Brock sidling up next to him until the guy was practically in his lap.

“You look like someone ran over your puppy,” Brock quipped, pulling on his jersey with a grunt. “What’s up with you today?”

Quinn forced a laugh, but it came out more like a wheeze. “Just didn’t sleep well, I guess,” he lied, his stomach twisting into another knot. Brock, bless his soul, nodded, accepting the excuse without question.

“Yeah, well, try to pull it together, man. You’ve got that ‘I just accidentally liked my ex’s Instagram post from 2017’ face.”

Quinn blinked, momentarily pulled out of his spiraling thoughts. “Is that...a thing?”

“Definitely. Don’t ask me how I know.”

Quinn couldn’t help but chuckle, a real one this time, and for a moment, he felt a little bit lighter. But the moment passed quickly, like a cloud drifting over the sun, and the heaviness settled back in.

He needed to tell someone. He really did, and he thought about telling Brock, someone a little older, with a little more experience, but he knew it wouldn’t go well. The man had a wife and kid, and admitting to him that he’s a cheater couldn’t go any way but sideways.

He finished gearing up, the ritual of it providing some small comfort, like if he could just get everything on right, he’d be okay. But as he stepped onto the ice, the cool air hitting his face, he knew it was only a temporary reprieve.

The practice rink the Bruins had given them was buzzing with activity, the sound of skates cutting into the ice, pucks clattering against the boards, the low hum of voices. Normally, this was his sanctuary, the place where he could clear his mind and focus on nothing but the game. But today, the rink felt like a prison, every noise amplified, every movement too sharp.

Quinn skated a few laps, trying to shake the feeling, but it clung to him like a second skin. He saw you in every reflection, heard your voice in the echoes of the arena. And every time, it was like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him.

“Quinn! Heads up!”

He barely had time to react before the puck came flying toward him, and he fumbled to catch it, the black rubber slipping off the tip of his stick and skidding across the ice. A chorus of laughter erupted from the other guys, and Quinn forced a grin, trying to play it off.

“Nice hands, Huggy,” one of them called out, and Quinn gave a mock salute, his heart pounding in his chest.

As practice dragged on, Quinn found it harder and harder to focus. His mind kept wandering, and every time it did, it went straight back to you. He thought about the last time you’d visited him, how you’d spent the weekend curled up together on the couch, watching movies and talking about everything and nothing. He thought about the way you’d looked at him, like he was the only person in the world, and how he’d felt like the biggest fraud alive.

He thought about a few mornings ago, when he’d kissed you goodbye before heading to the rink, your sleepy smile still lingering in his mind. He hadn’t known then what he was going to do later, hadn’t known how everything would spiral out of control. But now, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop replaying the night in his head, wondering how he’d let it happen.

The worst part was, he knew he didn’t deserve you. Not after what he’d done. But he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, couldn’t imagine his life without you in it. And so, he found himself trapped, caught between his guilt and his fear, unable to move in either direction.

When practice finally ended, Quinn was the first off the ice, practically sprinting to the locker room. He needed a moment to breathe, to think, to figure out what the hell he was going to do. But as soon as he sat down on the bench, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he knew without looking that it was you.

He stared at it, his heart in his throat, his fingers trembling as he reached for it. The screen lit up with your name, and for a split second, he considered ignoring it. But he couldn’t do that, couldn’t just pretend you weren’t there, waiting for him, loving him, trusting him.

With a deep breath, Quinn swiped his thumb across the screen and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey,” he said, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

Quinn swallowed hard, his heart racing as he heard your voice on the other end of the line. It was like a balm and a burn at the same time, soothing yet searing into him with the heat of his own guilt.

“Hey! I’m here at the station,” you said, sounding bright and cheery, completely unaware of the emotional storm that was tearing him apart. “I was just wondering if you’re on your way or if I should grab a coffee or something?”

Your words were so casual, so normal, that they felt almost surreal to him. He closed his eyes, the images of last night flashing like a movie reel against the backs of his eyelids—her laughter, the way she’d leaned in close, her lips brushing his neck in a way that had sent shivers down his spine. And then he’d see your face, smiling up at him with that same soft look you always gave him, the one that made him feel like he was exactly where he needed to be.

He forced a laugh, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, I’m, uh, just finishing up at practice. I’ll be there soon.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he didn’t know what else to say. How could he tell you the truth? How could he explain that he’d been weak, that he’d betrayed you, that he didn’t deserve to have you waiting for him?

“Great! I can’t wait to see you.” Your voice was so full of warmth and excitement that it made his stomach twist. He could picture you standing there, probably wearing that old Canucks jacket of his that you loved, the one that was two sizes too big but somehow looked perfect on you. The thought made his chest tighten with an ache that he couldn’t shake.

“Yeah, me too,” he managed to say, his voice cracking just a little. “See you soon.”

As he hung up, Quinn let out a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The guilt felt like a heavy stone lodged in his gut, pressing down with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. He dropped his head into his hands, fingers tangling in his hair as he tried to make sense of his own stupidity.

He should have never gone out last night. He should have stayed in, watched TV, gone to bed early—anything other than what he did. But instead, he’d let himself get swept up in the moment, let himself be led astray by a smile and a soft touch, and now he was paying the price for it.

Why couldn’t he just have said no? Why couldn’t he have just kept his distance, like a rational human being?

But no, Quinn Hughes had to be an idiot. A complete, utter, monumental idiot.

He glanced around the locker room, hoping for some kind of distraction. Most of the guys were still milling around, showering, changing, talking about the upcoming game, like it was just another day. Like his whole world wasn’t collapsing around him.

Quinn stared at the locker room ceiling, the fluorescent lights casting harsh, white beams that felt like an interrogation spotlight. The thought of meeting you at the station had his stomach in knots, guilt gnawing at him like a relentless beast. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to find some semblance of calm, but the images of last night wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Why did I do that? Why am I like this?” Quinn muttered to himself, rubbing his temples as if he could erase the memory with enough pressure. The smell of sweat and damp gear filled his nostrils, a stark contrast to the sweet perfume that had lingered on his skin just hours ago. He grimaced, suddenly aware of how sick it made him feel.

His phone buzzed again. Without even looking, he knew it was another message from you, probably asking how long he’d be. He couldn’t ignore you forever, but he also wasn’t ready to face you. He needed more time—time to figure out what the hell he was going to say, time to gather the pieces of his shattered conscience.

With a groan, Quinn grabbed his phone and quickly ordered an Uber. The bus to the station was out of the question; the last thing he needed was more time to wallow in his guilt with nothing but his own thoughts for company. As soon as the confirmation buzzed through, he grabbed his gear, barely acknowledging his teammates as he rushed out of the locker room.

Within minutes, a car pulled up, and Quinn slid into the backseat, barely managing a greeting to the driver. He stared out the window as the city blurred by, the buildings and people blending into a haze of colors and motion. His reflection in the glass looked haunted, a man on the brink of losing everything.

His mind kept replaying the events of last night, a relentless loop of regret and self-loathing. He thought about the way he’d let himself be drawn in, the way he’d ignored that little voice in his head telling him to stop, to walk away. But he hadn’t listened. He’d let his guard down, let himself be led by his desires instead of his brain, and now he was stuck in a mess of his own making.

Quinn squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the images, but they kept coming—her smile, her touch, the way she’d looked at him like he was the only man in the room. It had been intoxicating, a rush he hadn’t felt in a long time. But now, it felt like poison, spreading through him with every thought, every memory.

He opened his eyes, staring down at his hands, noticing the way they shook. He felt sick, his stomach churning with a mix of fear and guilt. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have thrown away everything he had with you for a moment of weakness?

The driver made a comment about the weather, but Quinn barely heard him, his thoughts too loud, too chaotic. He just nodded absently, his mind a million miles away. He couldn’t focus on anything but you, waiting for him at the station, completely unaware of the storm raging inside his head.

The car finally pulled up to the station, and Quinn could see the throngs of people milling about, all of them blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil raging inside him. He thanked the driver and stepped out, his legs feeling like they might give out beneath him. With every step towards the entrance, his resolve weakened, the weight of his guilt dragging him down like an anchor.

There you were, standing near the entrance with your suitcase by your side, your face lighting up as soon as you spotted him. Quinn’s heart lurched painfully in his chest at the sight of your smile—so warm, so genuine, so undeserved. He forced a smile in return, even though it felt like a mask, a flimsy attempt to cover up the disaster he’d become.

“Hey, you,” you greeted him, your voice as bright and cheerful as ever. “I missed you.”

Quinn swallowed hard, the lump in his throat nearly choking him. “Missed you too,” he replied, his voice cracking just slightly. He leaned in to hug you, his arms wrapping around you with a desperation that he hoped you wouldn’t notice. But even as he held you close, the guilt gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the mess he’d made.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with those eyes that always seemed to see right through him. “You okay? You seem…off.”

“Yeah, just tired,” Quinn lied, his smile faltering for a moment. “It’s been a long morning.”

Quinn watched your expression as you searched his face, and he felt a pang of anxiety strike deep in his gut. He couldn’t remember a time when lying to you had felt so awful. You were the one stable thing in his chaotic life, the person who always knew him better than he knew himself. And now, all he could do was lie to you, feeding you half-truths like they were the easiest thing in the world. The guilt twisted in his stomach like a knife.

“I get it,” you said, giving him a small, understanding smile that made him feel even worse. “Traveling always wears you out.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said, trying to muster a laugh that sounded more like a cough. He reached for your suitcase, needing something to do with his hands. “Here, let me grab that for you.”

As he lifted the bag, he could feel your eyes on him, studying him. He turned his head slightly, avoiding your gaze, afraid that if he looked at you for too long, he might break down right there in the middle of the station.

The two of you walked toward the exit, and Quinn’s mind raced, trying to find a way to change the subject, to steer the conversation away from any topic that might reveal just how messed up he was feeling inside. He felt like he was standing on a tightrope, trying to balance between the truth and the lies, between who he was and who he pretended to be.

“So, how was your trip?” he asked, hoping to sound casual, but his voice came out a little too high-pitched, like a teenager caught sneaking in past curfew. “Everything go okay?”

“It was fine,” you replied, glancing at him sideways, deciding not to tell him about the woman with the accent who preached how much men sucked. “Kind of boring, actually. I kept thinking about you.”

Quinn’s heart sank. Of course, you were thinking about him. You always were. And here he was, thinking about someone else. His stomach twisted with a fresh wave of nausea.

“Yeah?” He forced a grin, trying to keep the mood light. “You didn’t have too much fun without me, did you?”

You laughed, the sound like a melody he didn’t deserve to hear. “Not a chance. You’re the fun one, remember?”

Quinn managed a weak chuckle. “Yeah, right. Me, fun. That’s a good one.”

As you two stepped outside, the warm air hit him, and he took a deep breath, hoping to clear his head. The sunlight was blinding, making him squint as he tried to navigate through the crowds. He was grateful for the distraction, for anything that would keep him from focusing on the dark cloud hanging over his head.

Quinn tried to focus on the city around him, on the way the skyscrapers loomed overhead, their glass windows reflecting the blazing sun. He tried to lose himself in the noise of the traffic, the blaring horns and the distant chatter of people passing by. Anything to distract him from the overwhelming guilt clawing at his chest. He wished he could just disappear, sink into the pavement, and let the earth swallow him whole.

As you reached the hotel, Quinn fumbled with his key card, his hands shaking so badly he could barely swipe it. You gave him a puzzled look, and he managed a weak smile, hoping you couldn’t see the panic in his eyes. The door finally clicked open, and he hurried inside, dropping your suitcase by the bed.

“Home sweet home,” he said, trying to sound cheerful, but his voice cracked, betraying him. He turned away, pretending to adjust the air conditioning, but really just needing a moment to collect himself. The room felt stifling, the walls closing in on him, each breath a struggle.

You wandered over to the window, gazing out at the city below. “It’s a nice view,” you said softly, and Quinn’s chest ached at the sound of your voice. You were always so kind, so thoughtful, and here he was, lying to you every step of the way. He hated himself for it.

“Yeah, it’s… something,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling the tension coil up his spine. He knew he needed to tell you, to come clean about everything, but the words felt like lead in his throat, heavy and impossible to get out. How could he explain something like this? How could he make you understand when he didn’t even understand it himself?

He took a step closer to you, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it. He hesitated, his hand hovering over your shoulder, before finally giving in and wrapping his arms around you from behind. You leaned back into him, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, breathing in your scent, feeling the familiar warmth of your body against his. It was almost enough to make him forget, to pretend that everything was okay, that he hadn’t completely screwed up the best thing in his life.

Almost.

“Quinn, are you sure you’re okay?” you asked again, turning in his arms to face him, your brows furrowed in concern. Your eyes searched his face, and he felt like you could see right through him, like you knew every dirty secret he was trying to hide.

“I…” He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “I need to tell you something.” His voice was barely a whisper, the words sticking to his throat like glue.

“What is it?” You tilted your head, looking up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and he felt like the worst person in the world. How could he do this to you? How could he destroy everything you had together?

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned down and kissed you, hard and desperate, like a drowning man grasping for air. You gasped in surprise, your hands coming up to cup his face, and for a moment, he lost himself in the kiss, in the feel of your lips against his, soft and familiar and everything he didn’t deserve.

When he finally pulled back, he was breathing heavily, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You blinked, confusion etched across your features. “Quinn, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

“I messed up,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I messed up so bad, and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even know if I can.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and Quinn felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He wanted to hold you, to comfort you, but he knew he had no right. Not after what he had done.

“I need you to know that I love you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I love you so much, and I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“What did you do?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Quinn took a deep breath, his hands shaking as he tried to steady himself. He knew he couldn’t keep lying, couldn’t keep hiding the truth from you.

You deserved better than that.

You deserved so much more than he could ever give you.

[a-sip-of-milo]

Need a reason to live?

Recently, I made four polls with eleven reasons to live in each. Most of those reasons were given to me by people who have also been suicidal in the past, and I decided to compile them into one long list (plus some) for anyone who needs it to come back to when they're out of reasons to keep going.

⚠️ Disclaimer: Please do not turn this into one of those "ALWAYS REBLOG IF YOU SEE" posts. Thank you. ⚠️

Relationships

Your furry companion(s) (this means pets and friends who are furries <3)

Your friends

Your family

Those who look up to you

To reconnect with someone you haven't seen in a while

Your headmates (specific to those who are apart of systems)

There's someone who isn't around anymore who would want you to keep going

To eventually be a mentor to someone

To make sure your animals never have to sleep alone

To fall in love

Your partner

To meet your online friends/mutuals

To tell your mentor/the people who raised you with kindness that you made it

To see someone close to you through their final days

To make it big enough to eventually provide for those you care about

Your FP (personality disorder specific)

Group photos with your (found) family and friends

To help your friends do the same

The friends you've yet to meet

A promise you made to someone special

Acts of kindness

To be there when someone needs you

To see someone smile because of you

To make a stranger's day a little brighter

To hand out compliments to those who need it

To make the world a little bit better before you go

To treat the people around you the way you wish you'd been treated

To be the one person in someone's life who is there unconditionally.

To help someone you love to quit an addiction

To do charitable deeds

Affection

Hugs from someone you trust

Kisses from a partner, close friend or pet

Cuddles when it's cold/lonely

To laugh until your stomach hurts

Forehead touches

To hold someone so tight that they're wheezing

Doting on people when they're feeling down

To make the people around you laugh

Interests

That new game/movie/show/book/album/etc. that you’ve been waiting for

Telling everyone and anyone who will listen about your special interest/hyperfixations

To share creations that aren't appreciated enough

To save up for something that would make life more bearable

To finally complete a collection

Projects would be left unfinished

To travel

To complete a project you've been working on for a long period of time

Projects you've yet to come up with

To start participating in special interests you've had to put on hold

To laugh at the creations you made when you were younger and less experienced

Those who consume your work would never get to see another creation of yours

Spite (because I think spite deserves Its own section:))

To stick it to your abusers

To prove your younger self wrong

To prove the people around you wrong

To prove your younger self right

To prove the people around you right

To spit on the grave of someone who hurt you

As a big 'fuck you' to the world and everyone in it who tried to silence you

To outlive your enemies

To do something that you've never been allowed to do (get a piercing, tattoo, cut or dye your hair, etc.)

To show off your success to the people who doubted you

To make sure whoever hurt you doesn't win

Milestones

You've got a milestone of some kind that you'd like to reach before you go

To see your (future) children reach a milestone of their own

To see a birthday you never thought you'd make it to

To graduate from school

To see your wounds from self-harm heal

To experience old age

To get married

To recover from your eating disorder

To experience independence

To start/complete your transition

To go on your first date

To get your first job

To adopt a child and give them the life that they deserve

To rescue a pet and give them a home

To purchase your first car

To rent/purchase your first house/apartment

To have your first child

To lose your virginity

To experience the joy of knowing you escaped/got through a bad situation

To eventually publish your own book/art piece/etc.

Miscellaneous

To finally get diagnosed with something important

So if nothing else, you can still say you survived

You have a bucket list you'd like to complete

To live because you want to, not because others want you to

Comfort drinks with someone you love

You wrote a letter to yourself that you can't open until a certain date/birthday

Those rare and valuable pieces of media with good representation of a minority/marginalised group.

To read through past conversations with people and cringe/laugh/cry.

All the different foods you've yet to try

To see the world become more accommodating to those who need it

To watch the seasons change

To celebrate the holidays

For those days where you do feel okay, perhaps even good

To eventually replace the stuff in your closet with things that represent who you are now

To read back on journals and diaries you made when you were younger

If you are not in a place where any of these help, that's more than okay as well. It will be here if and when you ever need it. Being suicidal can be extremely lonely and scary and we all deal with it in different ways.

If you have your own reason and you feel comfortable sharing it with me, let me know via asks or DM and it will be added as soon as I can 💞

[macfrog]

birds of a feather | joel & ellie

y'all listen to the new billie eilish album? there's a song that reminded me of a couple of someones.

pairing: joel miller & ellie williams summary: joel surprises ellie on her sixteenth birthday. warnings: nada. just me loving hard on this pair. word count: 1.5k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🤍

Oh, my god, it is a dinosaur.

She didn’t actually believe it would be. I mean, it was her first guess – but where the fuck is he going to find a dinosaur way the hell out here? She was kidding.

Wasn’t a convertible, wasn’t a puppy, wasn’t even a lotta kittens. A litter. Whatever. It wasn’t a new pair of sneakers, nor a comic book collection. She’d almost run out of ideas, when she spotted the tail through the bushes.

Is that–? Is he seeing this, too?

It’s, like, three times the size of her. No, wait – five times the size of her. Ten? She’s gotta ask Joel.

Two thick, stocky legs planted firm into the earth. Draped in ivy and spattered with moss – the thing actually looks prehistoric. Head lifted to the canopy; teeth bared in a silent roar. His little arms – alright, they’re actually kinda fuckin’ cute – frozen, reaching for something.

It’s right fucking there. Right in front of her. A motherfucking dinosaur.

Her hands fly to her head.

“Joel!” Ellie cries, and she can hardly feel her legs with giddiness.

Joel lingers a few steps behind her. He kicks a heel through the mucky grass, just watching. Smiling like an idiot, letting the ripples from the kid’s glee wash over him. It’s like the zoo all over again, or that time he found a Savage Starlight poster while out on patrol.

Ellie’s laughter is ticklish, vibrating through his veins. She pumps her fists and sizes up the monster. She says holy shit, Joel three times before she takes a step closer.

The sun trickles through the leaves, haloing over the Rex. It’s warm, but not too warm – and the swim on the way helped cool them down. It’s a bit of a hike to get here. He’s just glad it’s a nice day.

He was, truthfully, a little nervous about it. About bringing her here. He’s never had a sixteen-year-old to plan shit for. What if she didn’t like it? Hell, what if she thought it was fucking lame?

But Ellie wades waist-deep into the moat instantly. She pulls herself through the murky water straight to the plaque, and whips out her journal.

And Joel knows he’s fucking nailed it.

“King of the tyrant lizards,” she announces, making sure she gets the spelling right. Her tongue pokes from the corner of her mouth as she sketches.

Joel wanders over to her side, hand combing through the tangles of leaves drooping from the dinosaur’s belly. He swats fluttering flies away from his face.

The water sloshes around her feet as she rounds the tail. It’s slippery with slime. She crawls over threads and vines, soles scuffing up the spine.

“What are you doin’?” he asks, a chuckle patching over cracks of sudden fear.

“I’m climbing a dinosaur!” Ellie yells. She hesitates on the snout – though only for half a second, because fuck it, how many times am I going to jump off a motherfuckin’ dinosaur? – and then she’s plummeting.

Joel’s stomach flips. He staggers into the water, breath clamped in his throat until she resurfaces again.

She’s still wearing that dumb as shit smirk. It probably didn’t flinch, the entire fall. “Did you see that?” she gasps.

Jesus. Yeah, he saw it. He pulls a hand down his face.

It’s been a year, little less than. They’re used to it by now – the slow turn of life in Jackson. Breaking bread in the dinner hall, calling the woodland creatures by whichever ridiculous names Ellie christens them with.

It took a few weeks, but eventually, their heartrates settled. Their fists loosened. They relaxed into the quiet, found respite in the negative space.

Tommy joked for the first little while that Joel had a shadow he couldn’t shake. She’s five-three, red hair, and she carries a switchblade everywhere she goes. Following him close enough that she felt more like a phantom at his heels.

Joel never minded, and he still doesn’t. He’s long forgotten the feeling of being alone – as quickly as he acquired it, it seems. These days, he waits at his kitchen table for the kick of the backdoor, the slump of a still half-asleep teenager opposite him.

He wonders how he ever got by so long without it.

He leads Ellie into the museum.

Everything looks exactly how he left it. A jungle of a building; shattered glass and overgrown grass, a muggy smell lingering in every dim corner. The stuff he deliberately left for her to stumble upon when she got here: a Giants of the Past brochure, the stupid hat he knew she’d force him to wear.

A marshland wasteland, and she still sees the magic in every square inch.

She throws fact after fact at him. Fruit flies and moon landings, gunpowder and Yuri Gagarin. She knows a shit ton, if the stacks of books on her desk are anything to go by. And when Joel tells her how smart she is, Ellie smiles smugly to herself and thinks up ten more facts, just for him.

He thinks of her books and their awkwardly long titles, the faded pictures on all the covers. Astronauts and nebulas and faraway suns. He offers the one thing he remembers from school back at her: My very educated mother just served us nice pizzas.

She’s never even heard of it.

But she’s impressed, and she repeats it to herself as she explores some more. Turning back at every new artifact she finds, beckoning Joel over with a flapping hand.

He wanders after her, thinking up questions he’s sure he already knows the answers to – just so she can tell him again. Just to see her face light, to hear her ramble as she explains.

And nine times out of ten, she corrects him, anyway.

The space shuttle is spotlit under a dome roof, more ivy spilling over the top. A little heap of machinery, succumbed to the nature around it. They crank the door open together, and a springtime heat floods from the cockpit.

Joel stops Ellie from climbing in. “You’re goin’ into space,” he says, leaning on the warm metal. “You’re gonna need a helmet.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Oh, right. What was I thinking?”

They’re too big for her – all three helmets. They’re clunky and clumsy, the visors a little grubby and distorted. But she pulls one over her head and jogs back to Joel, hoisting herself into the shuttle.

It’s cramped inside; stifling even with the door wide open. Joel feels his back twinge as he settles into the seats. But he doesn’t mind, and neither does Ellie.

She flicks button after button, her elbow knocking against his. Explosion sounds rumbling from her lips. Her breath clouds the inside of her helmet.

He could lie here all day beside her. In this quiet corner of the world, where time stands still. Guarded by the Tyrannosaurus Rex out front. Just him and his kid, listening to her mimic engine noises and pretend to lift them both into space.

But he’s hellbent on timing it perfectly. So just as she sounds the roar of a seamless takeoff, he slips the tape from his chest pocket.

“Happy birthday, kiddo.”

Ellie blinks at the cassette. “What is this?”

“This…” Joel says, pinching it in two fingers, “…is a thing that took a mighty effort to find.”

His handwriting is carved into the label. It’s the first gift – real gift, birthday gift – she’s ever been given. Thought out and made up, addressed to her and placed in her hands for keeps. All hers.

She clicks it into her player and hooks her headphones in, thumping her helmet back over her head. She jams a thumb into the play button, and –

He did remember to rewind the tape, right? It’ll play from the start, won’t it?

Joel’s heart begins to thud. He shifts uncomfortably.

Shit, what if it spoils the surprise? What if she hits play, and the first thing she hears is –

Ellie’s head lifts. Her eyes are wide. She grins, and so does he.

He fucking nailed it.

She closes her eyes, the staticky babble of mission control in her ear. His voice tickles, pulling a wide grin across her face. 10, 9, 8, 7…

The shuttle shudders as it shoots into space. She’s holding her breath, holding until he announces liftoff on Apollo 11. The naked sun stretches over her visor, red under her closed eyelids. It disappears somewhere in the distance.

Ellie lands slowly, carefully, back in Wyoming. She blinks her eyes open.

Joel’s still right beside her, hands clasped on his chest. He waits for her to turn, waits to check her expression. He asks it softly, earnestly.

“I do okay?”

Her cheeks ache with smiling. She clutches the tape player tighter, replies through a giggle.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

There might be nothing outside of this shuttle. Perhaps there was nothing to begin with. They might’ve shot straight past the earth’s atmosphere, might actually be among the stars. And it might not even matter, if they are.

Everything is right here. The sun and the moon – the entire universe between them.

Joel breathes a relieved laugh. His chest loosens, his heart settles back into place behind his ribcage.

“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

[huhniebowl]

Miss Me?

dominic fike x reader

warnings: nonee

a/n:...hey yall. IM BACK! i missed u pookey🥹.

i'm so sorry for my absence, i missed writing so much, but most of all i missed talking & interacting with u all. second to last year at uni is just really kicking my ass as of late. i've also had insane writer's block, and still do. my confidence as a writer has been at an all-time low, so i hope this short blurb does justice for u! ♥️

i finally have a bit of a breather, so i'm going to work my ass off on requests & hopefully gain my confidence back in the midst of it all.

i love u guys so so much, please enjoy! feels good to be back. :)

Thunder crackles outside, rain pelting against the windows in your room. You have a candle lit on your nightstand, next to your lamp that helps emit a warm glow to the room. It’s nights like these that feel content.

They feel safe. A steaming cup of hot cocoa, an oversized jumper, and a good book. Legs tucked to the side under your comforter. 

You’re only missing one thing. 

You just about hit the part you’ve been waiting for in your book when you hear shuffling outside the room, and then the door creaking open. Just on time. 

Dominic. 

He had locked himself in his in-home studio, two doors down from the bedroom. Despite his album drop in the summer, it’s October now and he’s already working towards his third. You admire his dedication and love for his craft, really you do, but he looks tired.

Between the take-off of his acting career, touring, and his new album, he’s consistently on the go. You push your reading glasses up and softly smile at him. 

“Hey, how’s it coming along?” Dom shrugs, closing the door behind him and pulling his hoodie overhead, throwing it on the floor. He smoothes down his band tee and wordlessly climbs into bed with you. He moves in close, swipes your book from your hands, and lightly tosses it on his nightstand. 

You grin, and open your arms wide when he maneuvers himself on top of you. You untuck your legs and spread them out to accommodate him. He lays between them, his cheek pressed snuggly against the space where your neck and shoulder meet. He lets out a breath and you feel his body melt against yours. 

“Missed you.” He mumbles, peppering kisses on your shoulder, then he moves up to your face. You laugh, his curls falling forward around his face and tickling your cheeks. You bring your arms around his neck, fingertips dipping under his shirt to run along the top of his back, before skimming them over the nape of his neck.  

“I’d miss me too if I locked myself in a room for.” You glance over at the wall clock, it's 1 a.m. 

“8 hours!? Jesus, Dom.” Dominic drops face-first onto your chest and curls up into you. One arm wrapped around your stomach, the other lying next to you.

“That’s like a regular workday.” He counters, and you roll your eyes, reaching for the remote to turn on the TV for some background noise.

It causes you to unwrap your arms from around him. You’re just barely able to click on a random episode of some adult cartoon before Dominic lets out a noise of protest. 

“No.” He mumbles. 

“It hasn’t even been 15 seconds.” You roll your eyes, but nonetheless, you put the remote on your nightstand, click off the lamp, and scoop your boyfriend back into your arms.  He says something sarcastic and witty into your shirt, but you don’t have in yourself tonight to rile him up. So you bring a hand up to his hair and rake your nails along his scalp.  

Having Dom this close feels surreal, despite it being years since you began dating. The steady beat of his heart against you. The sigh of contentment he lets go of when you hold him closer and squeeze. Even the grounding grip of his hand laced around yours has you slipping away.

He holds on to you as if you’d slip away from him. Like you’d leave him given the opportunity. That theory’s proved right when you lightly shift down to get yourself more comfortable and on instinct, his hold on you tightens. 

“I’m not going anywhere, baby.” You whisper, kissing his forehead. He hums, moving in closer. He’s so close you can feel his eyelashes wisp against your skin. It reminds you of a fairy. Delicate and soft. 

“Did you miss me today?” You remove your reading glasses and place them next to your cup. 

“I always miss you.” You start, rubbing a hand down his back. 

“How much?” 

“I missed you as much as I miss Abbott Elementry.” You feel him laugh, and shift so he can look up at you. 

“You know you’re probably never getting a season 3 right?” You roll your eyes, push his head back down, and purposely tug a little hard at a curl on the nape of his neck. 

“Fuck you.” He whines, flinching at the pull. You giggle, quickly smoothing your hand over where you pulled. It goes silent after that. 

Rick and Morty fills up the silence.

You start to believe that Dom has fallen asleep, but when you glance down, you see him staring at the rain hitting the window. There’s a faraway look in his eyes, you can almost see the cogs working in his head. 

“Are you happy with me?” He suddenly whispers, and it’s then you understand his silence. You do everything in your power to always make sure Dom knows how much you love him. How much he makes you happy.  How much he makes you smile and makes your life feel like it’s worth living.

Though, no matter how clear you make that, there are still those days when Dom gets in his head. Where his usual rationality, seems to diminish. But you’re always there. Ready to take it all away. 

“Hey.” You start, and the pad of your thumb rubs over his cheekbone. “I honestly don’t think there’s a word I can use that could describe how happy you make me. How safe and content I feel just knowing that I get to come home to you.” 

Dominic shuffles, and you feel his eyelashes flutter closed against your thumb. “I’m more than happy with you. And believe me, when I say, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Dom deeply inhales, then breathes out. His hand squeezes yours, and you feel a kiss being placed on your chest, then your collarbone. One under your chin, then behind your ear. The top of your cheek, the corner of your eye, and finally, he presses a lingering kiss on your lips. 

You press the palm of your hand on the side of his face and push him deeper into you. Kissing him with an intensity you hope says a thousand words. 

He pulls away first and rests his forehead against yours. He’s silent for a moment, the both of you trying to catch your breaths. You see the side of his top lip quirk up, and he pulls back from your face.

“Maybe you’ll get your season three after all. I’ll make a few calls tomorrow.” You laugh out. It’s loud and comes straight from your belly. You mush his face to the side when he starts laughing with you. 

“Oh, fuck you.” 

[foxtriestobiteandmaimandkilland]

piece based on the idea that Dakota might've started learning guitar to play along with Ashe's drums ^_^ Ambigiously timed but was originally gonna be post s2 (tho their designs here look more s1)

Extras under the cut, as usual :3 AND a VERY detailed ID since this piece is a big one

Detailed ID: a drawing of Dakota Cole and Ashe Winters from Just Roll With It: Prime Defenders, sitting in Ashe’s dorm room.

Ashe is sitting on the bed, with one arm behind her head and the other rested on her stomach, while Dakota is lying on his back on the floor holding an electric guitar, legs kicked up on the bed next to Ashe.

Ashe has white skin, long curly white hair, a few freckles, and is looking down at Dakota with an open mouthed smile. She is wearing a dark purple beanie with pins of Madeline from Celeste, the Welcome to Nightvale logo, and the knight from Hollow Knight partially covered by her hair.

She is also wearing a shirt with the album cover of I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning by Bright Eyes. Over the shirt is Dakota's red flannel. She's wearing black jeans, one black and green sock, and one purple and black sock with cat ears at the top and cat paws at the toes.

Dakota has mid-brown skin with a few moles, and medium lengthed, curly, bright red hair thats splayed out across the floor. his eyes are shut tight and his eyebrows are furrowed, whilst hes smiling widely.

He has a black bandana around his forehead. On his neck is a chain, and attached to that is a purple heart with the letter 'A' on it. He's wearing a white tank top, that exposes his shoulder which features a temporary Ms G tattoo of her face accompanied with the words 'Ms G' in a galaxy pattern.

Dakota's wearing beige shorts, and has another temporary tattoo on his thigh which reads 'Teaching Moment' in galaxy text. his socks are white.

The blue and white electric guitar he's holding has a sticker that says 'Prime defenders' in black and white, and another sticker that says 'Just Roll With It' in gold and purple. At the top of the guitar near the tuning pegs, it reads 'Prime'.

They are in Ashe's dorm room. Her bed has a blue mattress and a green blanket that's pushed against the pillow away from Ashe, and draping off the side of the bed onto the floor. On the part of the blanket that's on the bed, there is a plush of Morgana from Persona 5, and another plush of Bacon Man. On the part of the blanket that's on the floor, there is a Nintendo DS, except with the word 'Primtendo' written on it. On the side of the bed there are 3 stickers; one of Hatsune Miku, one of Mae Borowski from Night In The Woods, and one of Tony's Pizza.

On the purple carpeted floor underneath the bed, theres a cardboard box labelled 'Secrets'. There is also an oval rug that Dakota is lying on that has a green, yellow, blue, and red circular design. ontop of this is a pair of headphones with the wire spiralling across the floor, and an amp that Dakota's guitar is plugged into. the front of the amp has the word Prime where the brand name of an amp would be usually

Next to Ashe's bed is a set of shelves. On the flat side facing the bed, there is a My Chemical Romance poster of the album cover of Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge. Under this poster are 3 photos, of Ashe and Dakota ice skating, Ashe and William walking on traintracks, and Ashe and William taking a selfie in bed. Next to these three photos are two school schedules, labelled 'Ashe Winters' Schedule' and 'Vyncent Sol's Schedule'.

On the shelves, the top shelf has a lit candle next to a box of matches. Next to these are 4 books titled 'The Carnival Of Souls', 'Planetary Problems', 'The Purps' and 'Overlord'. The shelf below this has a plant with small white flowers, in a ceramic pot with a blue heart, a red heart, and a purple heart on it. Next to this is a bottle of ibuprofen, and a turned on purple lava lamp. Behind these are more books titled 'The New Generation', 'Island Of Amal- [cut off]', 'Ultraviolent Light', '[cut off] -Don't R- [cut off],' and 'Good Cop, Ghos- [cut off]'

Underneath that shelf is an open drawer with two fairylight chains trailing out. One is in RGB colours and the other is golden. On the closed drawer below that, there is a Welcome to Nightvale sticker.

On the white wall behind Ashe, there is a window to her left. outside the light is golden, and there is a street. Behind Ashe's head is a Thank You Scientist poster of the album Maps Of Non-Existent Places, a Car Seat Headrest poster of the album Twin Fantasy, and a trans flag. There are also messages in smudged ink reading: '[cut off] -ncent was here !!!', 'Ashe. W [cut off] -s here :3', 'DC wus here <3', 'wiwi waz here [ghost doodle]' and 'love u man'

End ID.

[daisyblog]

Adore You

Our Story Masterlist Summary: How Adore You was made.

Based on this request.

It was another day in the studio for Harry. Mitch, Kid, Tyler and Jeff joining him. Harry and YN were in a strange place since they had bumped into each other in a club in LA, they were texting, calling and FaceTime at any opportunity they could but neither of them had brought up the conversation of what they were. 

“So how’s things with you and YN, man?” Kid asked Harry, as the group were scattered around the studio in his house in LA. The question usually made Harry nervous, his stomach turning at the words. But this time, he felt giddy and his lips threatening to smile. 

With all eyes on him, Harry shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t entirely sure himself but it was looking good for them. They spoke every day, they weren’t putting pressure on themselves but just enjoying the simplicity of whatever was happening between them. 

“Ooo look at that smile….is that a blush?” Mitch began to tease, as he held his guitar in his hand, fingers playing with the strings. 

“Fuck off Mitch!” Harry laughed, still trying not to hide his coy smile. “It’s going good Kid.”.

“Should have seen them the other week in the club…whispering in the corner like a pair of teenagers!” Jeff continued to embarrass Harry, earning a playful eye roll. “I was just surprised they didn’t leave together!”. 

“I’m a respectful man Jeffrey”. Harry bit back, as he grabbed his leather notebook and pen from the black wooden table to the side of him. “Enough about my love life…we have an album to make!”. 

“The album so far is about YN!” Mitch called Harry out, beginning to fiddle with the strings on the instrument he held on his lap. “I bet you have another love song written in there.”.

“Mitch…kindly fuck off!” Harry laughed, the other men joining in, enjoying the banter they all shared. “But have you been snooping through my book?”.

“I just know you too well man!”. Mitch held his hands up in defence, a smug grin on his face. “What this one called? Take me back?”.

Harry’s face held a big grin. “Not quite…it’s called Adore You!”. He announced the new song he had been writing. 

The four men were intrigued to see what Harry had come up with, so far the songs written were hit and they knew this one would be too. “Adore You?”. Tyler questioned, wanting to know more. 

“Yeh…it’s like saying I love you but you’re not at that stage yet.”. Harry tried to explain the meaning behind the song. 

“Let’s hear it man!” Kid instructed, as he fiddled with a few buttons in front of him. 

You don't have to say you love me

I just wanna tell you somethin'

Lately you've been on my mind

Every time Harry spoke to YN the words ‘I love you’ almost slipped out. He didn’t want to say them and YN feel she had to say them back, it’s not what he wanted. YN was always on Harry’s mind. Whatever he was doing or wherever he was, something always reminded him of her. 

Honey 

I'd walk through fire for you

Just let me adore you

Oh, honey 

I'd walk through fire for you

Just let me adore you

Like it's the only thing I'll ever do

Like it's the only thing I'll ever do

He meant the words he sang. He would do absolutely anything for YN, anything! At the time he had written the lyrics, he didn’t consider how it sounded, but hearing himself sing the words he could hear how it was his way of asking YN to take him back. Let him adore her. Let him love her. 

---

“Did ya have a good time in LA?” Niall asked YN as they sat in his living room, both huddled on his large grey sofa. 

YN smiled as she thought back to her little trip to LA, initially to see Louis and Freddie but still managed to bump into her favourite green eyed person. “I did…it was nice to see Lou and Freddie!”. 

Niall eyed her suspiciously. He’d seen that smile before and it was usually when she wasn’t telling the whole story. “You saw Harry didn’t you?”. 

“Of course I fookin’ did Ni…he’s everywhere I fookin’ go!”. YN answered honestly, crossing her leg over the other. “It’s like how can I forget about him when he’s there and looking so good”. 

“So are you back together? At least tell me you kissed?”. Niall begged. He was one of many that was rooting for them to get back together. 

“No but one more glass of wine and I think I would have.”. Niall’s loud laugh filled the room and a frustrated sigh. “He was a little tipsy too so it’s probably a good thing.”. 

“Did tipsy Harry confess his love? He was always a soppy drunk.”. He was eager to know any juicy details. 

“Not entirely, just kept saying how his Mum thinks I’m the best for him!”. YN’s heart was still full from the words Harry whispered in her ear that night at the club. 

“Aw Anne…what a woman!” Niall beamed. “I might have to call her, ask if she’ll help me play Cupid.”.

YN giggled. “You’ll be glad to know Harry’s coming over in a few days and he’s staying at the house.”. Niall raised his eyebrows suggestively. “And I’m going to tell him I want us to get back together!”. 

“FINALLY!”. Niall’s loud accent echoed through the room. 

---

Like they had planned, Harry had flown over to London for a few days. They had enjoyed a snippet of their old lives. They woke up together, made breakfast together, walked Teddy, laughed at the silliest of things, even FaceTimed their families together. But with Harry flying back to America tomorrow YN was running out of time to confess her feelings. 

“I’ve uh..I’ve written a song and I’d like to play it for you.”. Harry’s voice surprised YN when he appeared with his guitar in hands. But she could sense he was nervous. 

YN was always Harry’s number one fan, so to hear something he had been working on was a privilege to her. “I’d love that!”. Her smile lit up her face. 

Walk in your rainbow paradise 

Strawberry lipstick state of mind 

I get so lost inside your eyes

Would you believe it?

You don't have to say you love me

You don't have to say nothing

You don't have to say you're mine

Honey 

I'd walk through fire for you

Just let me adore you

Oh, honey 

I'd walk through fire for you

Just let me adore you

Like it's the only thing I'll ever do

Like it's the only thing I'll ever do

Harry didn’t look up once from his fingers strumming the guitar strings. But the minute he finished singing, his eyes found YN’s and was pleasantly surprised to see them shining proudly. 

“That’s such a beautiful song.” YN complimented. She always knew Harry was charming with his words, but when he put them into a song she fell in love even more.

“A beautiful song for a beautiful girl.”. The words effortlessly slipped from Harry’s mouth. Smooth! 

“Just one thing.” YN worked hard to keep her smile at bay. Harry waited patiently wondering what was wrong with the song. “What if I want to say I love you?”.

A cheesy grin formed on both their faces, both relieved that after all this time they both felt the same. “Then I want to hear you say it for the rest of my life.”.

“I love you.” YN brought her hand up to cup his cheek, flutters filled her stomach as she longed to feel his soft lips against hers.

“I love you.”. Harry mimicked her hand and placed his on her cheeks, pulling himself closer to push his lips against her. 

Their lips moved slowly to start, both getting to know one another again. But once the familiarity kicked in, so did their eagerness. Their lips moved messily against each other, both fighting for more. Their hands wandered, Harry’s down to her hips, pull them closer and YN’s found themselves in his curls. 

Pulling apart to catch their breaths, their foreheads stayed connected. “I adore you!”. 

Tag List:

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats @harrysbbyh0ney @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r  @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @or-was-it-just-a-dream @hittiesontour @bunnyharold @fanfictioncafe @lilfreakjez @iamahallucinationnn @theekyliepage @indierockgirrl @buckybarnessimpp @ashleighsss @jerseygirlinca @fake-coolbeans @itsmytimetoodream @treehouse-mouse

[sidekick-hero]

we were meant to be (we live happily in my fantasy)

(steddie | explicit | wc: 5672 | written for @steddiemas Smutty Sunday prompt needing to be quiet | tags/cw: public sex in a bathroom, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Escort Steve Harrington, Modern Setting, Multiple Orgasms, Happy Ending

Eddie Munson has it all.

The big mansion with more bathrooms than anyone could ever need, five platinum albums in as many years, countless awards to show the world that the trailer trash from a shithole town in Indiana had made it, and enough money to buy said shithole town if he ever wanted to. Which he certainly didn't, thank you very much. The only good thing about this hellhole is his uncle, who still refuses to live anywhere else.

Eddie Munson also has the most gorgeous date of all the Grammy attendees on his arm, smiling charmingly at the flashing cameras and winning the hearts of everyone he so much as looks at.

God, Eddie wishes Steve Harrington was his, too, in all the ways that really matter. But just like his house and his cars and his wardrobe, which is worth more than his uncle made in a year at the plant, Steve is only as much his as money can make you. Sure, he owns his time and his attention and his devastatingly handsome smile for the agreed upon amount of time, but not his heart. Never his heart.

Eddie Munson has it all, except the love he so desperately wants. That's what you get, he guesses, when you fall in love with your escort.

When Chrissy first suggested it, hiring an escort seemed like a great idea. It would solve most of his problems, especially because it would keep people off his back by making them think Eddie was seeing someone. It stopped most of the stupid questions about his love life in interviews that were supposed to be about his and his band's music. It stopped all the rumors about him dating some random celebrity or one of his friends. It gave him someone to take to all the boring as fuck events he had to attend without getting anyone's hopes up only to have Eddie walk away from them the next day, already bored.

When he opened the door to his hotel room almost a year ago to find the most beautiful man he'd ever seen standing in front of him, he already had a feeling that he might regret ever saying yes to Chrissy's idea. That feeling only got worse when Steve, the name of the apparition in front of him, turned out to not only be kind and caring, but also funny as hell. The more comfortable he got around Eddie, the more Eddie got to know his bitchy side, and it had Eddie in stitches every time Steve unleashed it on some annoying redneck or corporate suit they encountered.

Spending time with Steve soon became something Eddie looked forward to weeks in advance. Because it meant he had a reason to tell Chrissy to book Steve for a few precious hours, he found himself saying yes to more requests than ever before. At first, Eddie told himself it was because it was so rare for him to meet new people he enjoyed being around. All of his friends he's known since high school and the people he hooks up with usually don't stay long enough to have a real conversation. So, Eddie tells himself, it's just the novelty of having someone who hasn't heard (or lived through) all of his stories, and who, in turn, broadens Eddie's horizons with funny anecdotes and surprisingly clever analyses of movies and shows they've both seen.

Eddie knows he's been fooling himself since the first time their lips touched and a kaleidoscope of butterflies took flight in his stomach.

Steve had kissed him for the first time about three months after Eddie had hired him. They had been at a party in the Hollywood Hills after another award show. Eddie's band had won six awards and he wanted to go out and celebrate. Returning from the restroom, he had found someone talking to Steve, hands on his shoulders, slowly sliding them down to his waist and crowding closer to him. The sight had hurt more than Eddie had expected, especially when the guy leaned in to put his mouth on Steve. But the kiss never happened because Steve had pushed him away forcefully.

Eddie didn't even realize he'd gotten close enough to the couple to hear the man's next words.

"Come on, you fucking slut. You spread them for Munson but not for me? Afraid of a real man giving it to you, is that it?" Hargrove spat, and Eddie finally recognized the backup singer from some wanna be rock band that always talked shit about Corroded Coffin, obviously jealous of their success.

"You disgusting pig," Eddie heard himself say from afar, and before either man could say anything, Eddie drew back his fist and connected with Hargrove's sneering face. The sound of it hitting his jaw was extremely satisfying, but Eddie had never hit anyone before and the pain in his hand came as a surprise.

Worst of all, Hargrove didn't go down like Eddie had hoped. Instead, he looked at Eddie with murder in his eyes, the muscles in his body tense, and Eddie knew what was coming next, so he closed his eyes and waited for the pain to come.

Only it never came.

He peeked one eye open to find Steve with his hand fisted in Hargrove's shirt, their faces inches apart as Steve hissed at him. "If you so much as look at him the wrong way, I'll go to the press and tell them all about your charming words to me for not giving you the time of day. Maybe talk a little bit about what a sad and pathetic loser you are, clamoring for my attention because you wish you could be half the man Eddie is."

Eddie has never seen anything hotter than Steve Harrington threatening someone and he doesn't care how wrong that sounds. He dares anyone to look at his blazing eyes and the flexing muscles in his toned forearms and tell him it's not the hottest thing they've ever seen.

"Are we clear?" Steve growled, waiting for Hargrove's answer. For a moment it looked like fists were going to fly anyway, but then Eddie saw Hargrove nod almost imperceptibly and he let out the breath he'd been holding.

They left soon after and Steve insisted on going home with Eddie to look at his hand, which was starting to swell. "I've been there a few times, this is going to hurt like a bitch if you don't treat it right," he told Eddie and that was that. He took Steve home.

As he opened the front door of his house he expected some sort of reaction from Steve but none came. No looking around, no whistling, no remarks about his wealth or choice of decor. Just a warm hand on his shoulder and Steve asking where he keeps his first aid kit. Eddie wished he'd asked Steve over sooner, even though there was never a good reason.

In the master bathroom, Steve sat him down on the closed toilet seat before gracefully sinking to his knees in front of Eddie. Heat rushed to his cheeks at the sight, the movement conjuring up images he usually only indulged in the safety of his bedroom.

There was a thick tension between them as Steve tenderly reached for his swollen hand and began to put ointment on it. Eyes fixed on what he needed to do, Steve broke the silence that had fallen over them and began to speak in a low voice. "I'm not your damsel in distress, Eddie. I can take care of myself and I don't need anybody to save me, okay? This is not Pretty Woman, and if you want to keep asking for my services, you have to accept that."

Despite the calm in his voice, Eddie could tell that Steve was worked up, probably nervous about how Eddie would react to this. He had no idea where this speech was coming from, but the thought of Steve needing Eddie to save him sounded utterly ridiculous. He had only known Steve for a few months, but he was already well aware that Steve Harrington was a certified badass.

When he told Steve this, he was met with hazel eyes looking at him questioningly. "But why did you hit that guy if not because you thought I needed saving?"

Something in Steve's voice tugged at his heart, a vulnerability shining through the confident way he usually held himself, and Eddie responded instinctively, cupping Steve's neck with the hand not currently wrapped in Steve's.

"Because he deserved it? Steve, I know you could kick anyone's ass and probably look hot as hell doing it. Hearing that asshole talk like that about someone who is... I dunno, like you, I just couldn't help myself."

"Like me?"

With anyone else, Eddie would think they were fishing for compliments, but he knows Steve isn't. He really has no idea how maddeningly exceptional he is.

"Yeah, like you. Someone who talks all the time about a bunch of kids that he used to babysit because he's obviously so proud of them and he cares about them so much. Someone who makes our limo stop so he can give a homeless family the contents of our mini-fridge, who always makes himself seem a little smaller than he is around people who are shy and easily intimidated. Someone who gives the best verbal dressing-down I've ever heard, but also makes me feel like I'm funny and interesting every time I spend time with him. Someone who sees the world differently and isn't afraid to ask questions and speak his mind, even if people think they're stupid for it. Because they're not, they just don't fit into their dumb little boxes. You don't fit in those stupid boxes and a disgusting pig like Hargrove doesn't get to talk to you like that."

Eddie has no idea what came over him at that moment, the words pouring out of his mouth like water from a burst pipe, but they seemed to be the right ones. At least judging by the way Steve lunged forward to capture his lips in a surprisingly sweet kiss.

It was then that Eddie realized his grave mistake. He never expected it to happen, so he had left his heart unguarded around Steve, not realizing it had been stolen until it was too late. Running away was no longer an option, so instead he surrendered to the intoxicating feeling of Steve's plush lips against his, giving his body to the man who already owned his heart.

Not surprisingly, they ended the night with Steve buried deep inside of him, his hand still wrapped around Eddie's bandaged one.

Eddie doesn't know how much more sleeping with him would add to Steve's rate, but he doesn't care. He felt a little sleazy at first, paying for sex, but every time he looks at Steve he knows it's worth every penny in his bank account, along with his dignity.

Knowing he was royally screwed the second Steve's lips touched his, Eddie shoveled his grave deeper and deeper, finding more and more reasons to go out with Steve on his arm, only to bring him home and get lost in his body.

Eddie always wakes up alone, though, and it starts to eat away at him, this longing for more. He wants to wake up with Steve's bed hair tickling his nose where it is tucked against Steve's neck, to feel his sleep-warm skin against his own, to hear Steve grumble as he inevitably begins to explore the tantalizing body in his arms, only to have the sound turn into a wanton moan. He wants breakfast in bed and morning showers together, fighting over who gets to read the editorial cartoons first.

When he accepts his first Grammy, he wants to tell the world that as incredible as it is to stand here and see a lifelong dream come true, it's not the most important thing in his life anymore. It's not the award in his hands, but the man sitting in the third row, next to his manager and best friend Chrissy, beaming at him with pride.

But he doesn't, he just thanks their crew, their fans and of course his friends and his uncle before he hands the microphone to Jeff to do the same.

Later, at the reception, he drowns his heartache in the expensive champagne being handed to him left and right. Steve is plastered to his side and when Eddie reaches for the fourth glass, he stops him with his lips against his ear. "I have plans for you and they don't involve you passing out drunk." His deep voice whispers and Eddie feels goosebumps rise all over his body.

He lets the waiter pass and eyes Steve hungrily. "Stevie, you naughty boy. Not in front of the kids," Eddie giggles, waving to his bandmates and Chrissy, who all roll their eyes indulgently. They know he pays Steve, but they never act like it, and Eddie is grateful for that. They're probably aware of his feelings because Eddie has never been subtle and they've known him most of his life. If they feel sorry for him, they don't show it, but Eddie sees their worried looks sometimes.

Steve snorts inelegantly and Eddie thinks they're both a little high on champagne and endorphins.

When he leans in close again and Eddie wraps a possessive arm around his waist, Steve purrs in his ear, low enough that only Eddie can hear him. "Meet me in the restroom in the back. I have a surprise for you, Mr. Big-Shot-Rockstar." With that, Steve plants a wet kiss on his cheek and tells the group he'll be right back.

Eddie counts to 83 before he can't wait any longer and follows Steve, not even bothering with an excuse. They all know what they are up to anyway. He thinks he hears Gareth muttering "Unbelievable" and Chrissy whistling behind him, but he's already on his way to the restroom Steve mentioned at the back of the venue.

When he gets there, however, he can't find any trace of Steve.

"Steve?" he calls, his voice echoing off the tiles. Even his breathing sounds loud, so he holds his breath, listening for any sign of life. Then he hears it, the slick sound of slippery skin sliding against skin and ragged breathing. It comes from somewhere around the corner and Eddie follows it slowly. When he turns the corner he sees another row of stalls and feet peeking out of the last one. The door is open.

The closer he gets, the louder the sounds coming from the stall, and his cock stiffens in his pants at the thought of what he'll find.

He's still not prepared for the sight of Steve standing inside, naked as the day he was born, his clothes neatly folded on the closed toilet lid. His big, veiny hand is wrapped around his hard cock, already gleaming from the pre-cum smeared along its length. He's pumping it almost lazily, his eyes lustful and bright as they blink back at Eddie. His other hand plays with his stiff nipple and Eddie can feel his own cock leaking at the sight.

"Steve," he breathes out in wonder, "fuck, look at you. What are you doing to me?"

"Not enough, so you have to come here and let me get my hands on you." Steve's voice sounds strained, like he's already keyed up from the way he's touching himself, and Eddie has half a mind to just keep watching Steve getting himself off. But then he moans Eddie's name, and it's high and needy, luring Eddie over with its siren call.

Following it, Eddie squeezes into the narrow stall and wraps his own hand around the hard length of Steve's cock. The flesh is hot in his palm, its girth already familiar, and Eddie thinks he'll never touch another dick, not even his own, as long as he can have this. Steve has ruined him, completely and utterly, and it's that thought that finally breaks the tenacious control he's had over his emotions all these months.

His lips crash against Steve's without any finesse, there's just hunger and love and an urgency he can't explain as his arm wraps around Steve's waist while his other hand remains wrapped around his cock. They're pressed together from head to toe, Eddie still fully dressed in his expensive designer pants and burgundy shirt and Steve gloriously naked. He's probably smearing Pre all over his pants, which are rented and which he probably has to pay for now. But what are a few thousand dollars more when he can have Steve moaning brokenly against his already swollen lips at the feel of the smooth material rubbing against the sensitive head of his cock.

"You're killing me, baby. So sexy, knowing exactly what you're doing to me," Eddie pants as he pulls his hungry mouth away from Steve's, kissing along his blushing cheeks and down the sharp line of his jaw to take it between his teeth. Steve's hips keep twitching, desperate to rub against Eddie's hand, Eddie's pants, anything that will give him some friction, shameless and so fucking hot that Eddie can barely think.

He soothes his bite marks with his tongue and picks up the pace of his hand on Steve, reveling in the slick sounds that fill the empty restroom. "This is what you want, huh? For me to get you off in a public restroom, for you to come all over me, for you to mark me with your cum so that everyone can see how gone I am for you?"

Steve moans brokenly at his words, his hips stuttering and Eddie can feel the telltale twitch of his cock so he quickly sinks to his knees, the movement eerily similar to the night of their first kiss all those months ago when their roles had been reversed.

Twisting his fingers in Eddie's hair, their grip painfully tight and arousing at the same time, Steve comes in Eddie's mouth, his hot cum shooting down his throat, making him cough and splutter, but still eagerly drinking down every drop. He keeps milking Steve's cock until the overstimulation becomes painful and only then does he pull off of Steve to look up at him.

What he sees takes his breath away.

The hands in his hair have loosened their death grip and are instead tenderly combing through his messy locks. Steve's eyes are liquid amber, the color high in his cheeks as dark as the red of his lips, and the expression on his face is unbearably soft. One of his hands slides from Eddie's hair to his face, gently cupping his cheek and wiping away a few stray drops from the corner of his mouth. Their eyes lock and Eddie couldn't look away even if he wanted to, lost in Steve, in his smell, the feel of his hairy thighs under his palms, his taste on his tongue and the sight of his beloved face filled with warmth and affection.

He's not sure he'll be able to come back from this.

"Eddie," Steve begins in a soft voice and he knows what Steve is going to say and he just can't bear to hear it right now. Steve will tell him that they need to get dressed, to go back, to continue their charade until Eddie has to go home to his empty house and his empty bed and his empty life.

"Quite a surprise you had there, Stevie. Totally worth paying for those pants," he jokes, trying for some levity.

Steve gives him a crooked smile and says, "That wasn't my surprise, actually. Well, not all of it. But you... I wasn't expecting... um, this," he finishes lamely, shrugging, and Eddie feels his face heat up. Steve did not expect Eddie to lose it so much at the sight of him.

"Oops," Eddie jokes, obviously embarrassed but trying not to show it. "What surprise have I ruined?"

The hand still cupping his cheek pulls Eddie back to his feet and he winces a little as his knees crack. Smiling at him, Steve uses his hand on Eddie to draw him in for a sweet, almost chaste kiss, were it not for the fact that Steve is still naked and can probably taste himself on Eddie's lips and tongue, which he playfully teases with his own.

As they kiss, Steve blindly reaches for Eddie's hand and guides it to his ass and between his cheeks. Following Steve's lead, he teases his fingers along the crack down to his hole and gasps against Steve's mouth when he feels the hard stopper of a plug there. "Fuck," he hisses, "you are trying to kill me."

"I take it you like your surprise?" Steve sounds smug, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction at the wrecked look on Eddie's face.

"Sweetheart, you have no idea. No idea."

Palming Eddie's hard cock straining against the fly of his pants, Steve smirks. "I might have at least some idea. How about we do something about it, huh?" He adds, giving his cock a squeeze that causes his eyes to almost roll back in his head.

"Please," he practically begs, eagerly playing with the plug, pulling it out and pushing it back in before twisting it on the next pull.

Steve's arms wrap around him, pressing against Eddie and suddenly turning them both around so that Steve's back is to the open door. He pulls away from their embrace and Eddie whines at the loss of Steve in his arms. "One second, baby, just lemme close the door real quick," he coos.

Making good on his words, he grabs the door handle and pulls the door shut before locking it. Eddie reaches for him again as soon as it's done, but Steve seems to have a different idea. He turns and rests his forearms against the closed door, his forehead between them. Arching his broad back, covered with moles and beauty marks, he pushes his round ass out at Eddie and shakes it for good measure.

Looking over his shoulder and giving Eddie a cheeky grin, he asks, "What are you waiting for, lover boy? A written invitation?"

Smack.

The sound of Eddie's hand connecting with Steve's cheek is loud, echoing off the tiles and ringing through the empty restroom. A red handprint is already forming on the pale skin and the sight makes something primal inside him purr with satisfaction.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck," Steve curses and for a moment Eddie is afraid he has really hurt him, but then he sees Steve's hips buck. He moves closer and drapes himself over Steve's back, reaching around to find his cock more than half hard again.

"Every time I think you can't get any hotter," Eddie mutters to himself and Steve chuckles.

"Yeah? Right back at you," he replies with a smile in his voice. Then, more quietly, he asks, "Do it again?"

There's nothing Eddie would like more, but first he wants to see how far this newfound dynamic will go. "Only if you ask real nice, baby. Only good boys get what they want."

The cock he's still holding fills out even more, growing fully hard in his hand, and Eddie has never been in love like this. It's a weird moment to realize, but they didn't call him a freak for nothing, he supposes.

"Fuck, okay, okay. Can you -" Steve begins, already breathing hard, almost panting. "Can you please spank me again?"

Smack.

Smack.

The moan that bursts from Steve's throat is loud and guttural, and the redness on his cheeks looks perfect. There's only one thing missing, his cum decorating it, the white a beautiful contrast to the angry red.

"Yes, please, Eddie, please, come on me, paint me with your cum, rub it into my skin, anything you want," Steve babbles, his cock as hard as it was just before he shot down Eddie's throat. Eddie must have said his thoughts out loud, too far gone to realize it, but he doesn't care. They clearly want the same thing and he suddenly can't wait any longer.

"Please baby, tell me you brought lube and a condom?"

"Jacket. Right pocket. Hurry, I need you, Eddie."

"You got me, baby," he whispers, taking the time to plant a soft kiss on the back of Steve's neck. Then he fishes what they need out of Steve's jacket and is back on him in seconds. He reaches for the plug that keeps Steve stretched and open and gently pulls it out, watching in rapture as Steve's rim stretches around it, trying to suck it back in, thinking of how it will feel around his cock in a minute.

When it pops free, he sets it on the floor and pushes Steve's legs further apart before coating two of his fingers with lube. "I'm just checking to see if you're ready for me, okay?" Eddie tells Steve as he pushes his fingers inside. They sink in easily, no resistance as Eddie smears the lube around the rim. He can feel Steve's heartbeat against his fingers and thinks he'll never get tired of this.

"I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready, c'mon Eddie, please," Steve begs and Eddie doesn't even think about denying him. Instead, he shushes Steve with another kiss, this time between his shoulder blades, before resting his forehead against the skin there as he pulls down his fly, finally freeing his cock. It's an angry red, leaking copious amounts of pre-cum, and Eddie knows he won't last long.

He rolls the condom down his length and coats it with more lube before guiding the head to Steve's waiting hole and slowly pushing in, wanting to give Steve time to adjust. Steve is having none of it though, just pushing back until Eddie sinks in all the way, making them both groan.

"The. Death. Of. Me," Eddie pants against Steve's back and Steve chuckles. Then, once again showing no mercy, he tightens around Eddie's cock before relaxing again, but before Eddie can catch his breath, Steve slides almost all the way off him before pushing back, effectively fucking himself on Eddie's length.

"Fuck, baby, I won't last long like this," he whimpers, already feeling himself getting closer, his orgasm pulled from him by the tight grip of Steve's ass around him.

"Good."

Steve breathes hard, moans and high-pitched whimpers falling from his lips as he manages to fuck Eddie's cock against his prostate, and Eddie holds on for dear life, his hands wrapping around Steve's and pulling them up to the top of the door, both of them clutching it just to hold on to something.

Just as Eddie feels his balls tighten against his body, he hears the door to the venue creak.

Acting on pure instinct, adrenaline flooding his system, he slaps a hand over Steve's mouth, his other hand grabbing his hip to halt his movements.

Someone enters the restroom, the man's footsteps clearly audible as he walks over to one of the stalls, and Eddie is shocked to find a giggle rising in his throat. Here he is, in a public restroom at the goddamn Grammy Awards, balls deep in the man he's paying to be with him and who he's in love with, while another man is probably about to take a dump. Everything about it is so fucking ridiculous that he has to fight the laughter that is about to burst out of his mouth.

Steve, on the other hand, doesn't seem to suffer from the same fate. Instead, he clamps down on Eddie's cock inside of him, silently urging him to get over himself and let Steve fuck himself on his cock again.

"Steve," Eddie warns in a low voice, nothing more than a breath against the shell of Steve's ear. They can hear the other man's zipper coming down and then the sound of a stream hitting the bowl. Eddie uses the sound to speak as quickly and quietly as he can. "We have to be quiet."

Steve nods against his hand, but doesn't stop clenching rhythmically around him, moving his hips as much as he can with Eddie's hand still wrapped around him.

The flush of the toilet startles them both but only seems to spur Steve on, his movements becoming faster, more erratic and Eddie surrenders to him, no longer trying to hold him still but reaching around him and grasping his hard cock in his hand, thumbing at the slit and smearing the pre-cum around the head. A whimper escapes against his palm and he hastily stuffs Steve's mouth with his fingers to starve out any more sounds. He's glad it happened while the man on the other side of their stall turns on the faucet to wash his hands.

Steve comes all over the door with the sound of the dry blower drowning out his stifled moans around Eddie's fingers, and Eddie has to bite down on Steve's shoulder to muffle his own scream as he follows him over the edge and fills the condom.

They both catch their breath as they hear the restroom door close again.

The giggles finally break free and this time Steve joins in. "Fuck my life, that was hands down one of the weirdest moments that has ever happened to me," he laughs as he pulls out and ties off the condom.

"But also kind of hot," Steve adds, and Eddie isn't sure he agrees. It had been hot to have Steve squirm on his cock, so drunk on pleasure that he didn't care if someone overheard them. The way he had somehow used Eddie for his own pleasure, that had been hot too. But someone taking a piss while he was fucking didn't really do much for him.

He kind of liked the pressure of having to keep quiet, though. Definitely something he'd like to explore.

" Sort of, yeah," he allows, turning Steve over to give him a deep kiss. When they part, he helps Steve get dressed again, aching all the while with how much he wants to take Steve home now, to curl up in bed together and fall asleep in each other's arms. He's suddenly tired, not just physically, but mentally. Emotionally.

He's not sure he can do this anymore.

As they leave the bathroom to find his bandmates and Chrissy, Eddie thinks maybe it's time to accept the facts and try to get over Steve. He can't keep chasing a dream that will never come true. Steve won't do this forever, and when he decides it's time to do something else with his life, Eddie will be left behind, on his own, to put the pieces of his heart back together again.

He'd rather start now, while he still has a chance to maybe find something real someday. Because one thing Steve has shown him is that he wants that. Something real. Someone to stay.

Eddie wants that someone to be Steve, but even if he has it all, he won't have that.

When they say their goodbyes, Steve asks if they're going to Eddie's, and it hurts to see his face fall when Eddie tells him no, but it's for the best. Steve will still get paid handsomely for tonight and Eddie has the memory of their little adventure today stored away for bad days.

The next morning, he calls Chrissy to tell her that they will no longer need Steve's services.

"But why?" Chrissy asks, clearly surprised after having to book Steve at least once a week for the past few months.

"Because I need to find someone who wants to be with me, Chris. Really wants to be with me. Steve's great, but I need to stop living a lie."

"So you're telling me you're not hopelessly in love with him, Munson?" That's his best friend, cutting to the chase and getting right to the point. He loves and hates that about her in equal measure.

"You know I do, or you wouldn't ask, but I don't see what that has to do with me needing to find someone to love me."

Chrissy sighs deeply. "Oh, Eddie." And that's her "You're an idiot, Eddie Munson" voice.

"I don't know why you're 'Oh Eddie'-ing me here, Chris. I'm trying to be -"

"He hasn't accepted payment in five months." Chrissy cuts him off.

What?

"What?"

"He hasn't taken payment for the last five months. He asked me not to tell you, and I figured he'd tell you eventually, but he never did. He always said he would soon, that he was waiting for the right moment, and I promised myself to wait until the new year, and if he didn't tell you by then, I'd tell you. Even someone without eyes could see how much you are gone for him."

"So the last five months, all those hours, all those events, all those nights we had sex, he never got paid for it?" Eddie couldn't believe what he was hearing. They spent so much time together, time he didn't pay for, time Steve could have spent with clients making money.

"Eddie, he never charged you for sleeping with you. That's not part of the services he offered, he told me that when I first hired him. He did it because he wanted to, he's been dating you for almost half a year. Which you'd know if you -"

"I gotta go, Chris."

"Tell Steve I said hi," he hears her say as he ends the call, already throwing on some random clothes before heading down to his car.

He has to talk to Steve, tell him what a fucking idiot he's been before asking him to move in with him, since they've apparently been dating for several months now and it's not too early to ask.

Eddie can't wait to really have it all.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Hi love, I was wondering if I could have HC or comfort fic with the sleep token boys ❤️ I’m going through a breakup and would love to read something sweet

Know that you are so loved! Sending you the biggest hug🫂

Vessel

He’s a king of little talking but big gestures. Words are overrated as it is. You can speak them but don’t mean them. Plus, he doesn’t need to hear you say it, he can see that you’re not feeling the best. That something is bothering you so to little things he turns. “Hey”, a little knock on the bedroom door makes you turn towards the sound. And there stands Vessel. Flowers beneath his arm, balancing a tray with grilled cheese and canned tomato soup.

He carefully places everything on the nightstand before turning to you. “I didn’t burn the house down making that”, Vess nods patting his own shoulder, “So you got to try it, let me know if I improved”. You know that his grilled cheese has always been amazing but it’s his way of making sure you eat. So you try to not fight it even if it’s hard.

He’s so fucking patient too. You could be stirring that soup around for a hot minute and he would not rush you. Encourage a spoonful or two along the way but let you take your own time.

He also talks so much in moments like this. It’s his way of drowning out the noises in your head. “You know I saw this sign today that said five bucks to cuddle a baby cow”, he shakes his head, “I had to talk myself out of it but we could always go back there together”.

And then because he loves physical touch - that’s how he shows love. He would wrap you up in a blanket and then cuddle you the whole night. Softly humming random bits from the albums or new tunes he’s been working on. Letting you slowly run your fingers up and down his lower stomach. Kissing your forehead every time you sigh.

iii

He is all fun and games until his baby is not feeling well. Then all shit is packed up. Unless of course, he can see that he could slowly crack away the clouds with his stupid jokes.

“Tell me”, there’s no what’s wrong questions with him. As he reaches for you. “Just… I don’t know how to even describe it”, you huff, slowly pulling at the roots of your hair. “Then don’t”, iii is quick to pull your hands closer to his lips kissing them each. “How does a bath with those bath bombs we got yesterday sound like?”, he carefully brushes strands of hair away from your face, watching you nod.

And that’s how you end up pressing against his chest, sitting in between his legs, slowly running your fingers up and down his thighs. He’s playing with your hair, twisting strands around his fingers. “Your fingers are turning into prunes”, he chuckles lifting your palms, “Should we get out?”. But you shake your head and so he doesn’t make a move. Only wrap an arm across your chest, knowing that the pressure and weight of it will slowly let the anxiety ease.

“I feel like eating chilly oil noodles”, you mutter after a while. “Eggs and lots of cheese?”, he asks with a hum. You turn to him slightly with a nod. Iii simply smiles at you, leaning in to kiss you, “Say no more baby, I got you”.

ii

I think the roles are rarely reversed. It’s mostly you weathering his storms but man when shit hits your fan and he needs to watch you crumble, that messes him up. Because watching the main source of light in his life slowly fading. That’s terrifying. So ridden in pure panic he tries to do his best to make it better.

So he’s waking up early, carefully slipping out of bed to hit the shops. Buying fresh fruits and pastries. Grabbing you your favorite drink from the coffee shop you told him about. Fuck it man even stands in a book section reading the backs of silly romances and whatnot, because hey if that might bring a smile to your face - he’s doing it.

He tries to appear as calm as possible not wanting this to turn into you worrying about him instead. But he watches your every move like there is no tomorrow. “Are we putting on another film or do you want to read?”, he asks after a while of you both just rotting beneath the blankets downstairs. You don’t answer him but snuggle deeper into his chest.

He lets you run your fingers through his tattoos. If you want he would run you through all the back stories of them even if you know them by heart by now. “Is your fave still this one?”, ii point to his lower stomach and hips, and you give him a lazy nod, “Nothing beats that”, you mutter. “Should put it on full display then”, he quickly yanks his hoodie over his head giving you a glorious view of his bare chest making you chuckle slightly and his heart ease along the way.

iv

I think he would also love to just remind you of the things you love and the things that make you feel better. You like morning/evening walks? Even if you don’t feel like going he would find a way to drag you out of the house. “I promise to buy you ice cream as a reward”, he flicks your nose, “and I promise you, you will feel so much better”. So he drives to a nice park. Holds your hand the entire time you walk. Watching you slowly start to enjoy the activity. You stop by to watch a sunset or a sunrise depending on the time you walk. And it’s one of those yeah I am alive moments. Ivy has an arm warped around you. Watching you watch the nature surrounding you both.

He would offer to take you to little places you love. You love clothes shopping? He would take you. You like browsing random stores? Say no more. He would come with you and smell all the candles. “Get that too, that in the living room”, he mutters adding yet another candle into the cart.

“I remember you said that you wanted to try pottery painting so I got us a kit”, he mutters, walking in with boxes of stuff. You can’t believe that he would remember something so random. And it’s just take-out boxes, and a bottle of nice wine as you both paint and doodle on the plates Iv picked out. It’s quality time over anything and with every stolen glance he can see the way you slowly start to flicker with happiness again.

[freedomfireflies]

iFall for Harry pt. 7

Summary: The seventh part to iFall for Harry

Letting the stranger in your phone go is a lot harder than you anticipated.

Surely a drunken phone call will help with that.

Word Count: 2k

What do you call an apology written in dots and dashes? 

Remorse Code.

…

I’m gonna assume you’re laughing. 

Like hysterical, uncontrollable laughter.

And while you attempt to keep from rolling on the floor…I want to say I’m sorry.

Again.

Because I am. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.

I know that was selfish. And sneaky. And I wasn’t trying to be. Not on purpose.

I just…I didn’t see any reason to change or ruin what we had.

And then we met. And I saw you. And everything and nothing made sense all at once.

And I thought I could explain.

I wanted to explain.

But I wasn’t sure how.

I guess I thought if we kept talking…the right answer would find me.

But it didn’t.

And then you left.

And I don’t know what to do.

I really don’t know what to do, Cheese Girl.

I miss you.

And I hope you talk to me soon.

You read every text as it comes in. You read, and you reread, and you try not to worsen the anxious pit deep in your stomach.

You didn’t expect this to be so hard. 

You don’t want this to be so fucking hard.

You met him. You met the stranger in your phone and for the most part, it was civil. 

You weren’t catfished. Hooray.

Not to mention, you met Harry Styles. Something that not everybody can say.

But you know better than to let it go any further than it already has. Because it can’t go any further. Your best option is to cut your losses and move on.

Leave this stranger behind.

Because that’s all he is. That’s all he’ll ever be.

A stranger.

You make peace with this thought and go about your life. You go to work, you go to yoga, you go to a bar with friends. You meet new people, and you try new recipes, and you start a new book.

You start a new chapter. Without him.

You try not to think about him. And for the most part, you don’t. He doesn’t reach out again and you assume he probably won’t ever. 

And you’re okay with that.

And then…you’ll hear his name. A friend will mention an outfit he wore at a recent concert or about rumors he’s working on his next album.

And that anxious coil in your stomach will return.

A part of you is still waiting for the other shoe to drop. To find out that this was all some sort of sick prank. For the moment cameras will be shoved into your face to capture your reaction to the news that you’ve been part of a James Corden skit. Or that he’ll be singing about the pathetic girl that had the nerve to believe him when he can do so much better.

But the thing you’re most afraid of…is the way you miss talking to him. The way you’ll pull up his name on your phone and type out a message…only to delete it before you get the nerve to send it.

The way you wish…you could go back to that diner and do it again.

It haunts you, this thought. This regret. More than it should. It eats away at all the work you’ve put in to leaving him behind. It follows you all day. Into the shower, into work, into the grocery store.

And it leads you directly to a bottle of wine.

You’re halfway through your third glass when you get the idea. When all common sense takes a flying leap out the window. And before your better judgment can kick in…you’ve opened up his contact information.

The ringing is loud. Maybe too loud and you grimace as you pull the phone away from your ear. You might be a little too drunk for this.

And then…the ringing stops.

And it all goes quiet.

Until—

“Hello?”

His voice is exactly like you remember. British. And deep. And just a bit raspy.

Perhaps if it were any other moment, you’d be tempted to feel nervous or flushed, but right now…you simply straighten up.

“Hello,” you repeat in a no-nonsense tone of voice. “It’s me. Cheese Girl.”

You think you hear him laugh. “Yeah, I know,” he says before pausing. “…hi.”

“Hi,” you echo before frowning and clearing your throat. “I just wanted to call and say…fuck you.”

A beat before he sighs. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” You begin to pace around your apartment, hoping that the movement will help the words flow a bit faster. “Yeah, because you…you are a complete and total asshole. Did you know that?”

“…I did.”

“Good.” You nod. “And do you know why you’re a complete and total asshole?”

Another brief pause. “Because I lied to you.”

“Eh. Wrong.” You come to a stop. “Because you made me like you.”

Silence.

You carry on. “You made me like you…and then you took it away,” you tell him. “You made me like a complete and total stranger that I’d never met. That I knew nothing about. Just from some puns and your sexy-ass voice. You made me like you. Like…really like you. And then you just…you took it away.”

More silence before he finally murmurs, “Are you drunk?”

Your frown deepens. “No…yes. Maybe—look, that’s not the point. Everything I said is still true.”

He sighs. And it’s heavy. “I…shit, look I…I didn’t take it away. Okay, in fact the last thing I wanted was to end this, but you were the one who said we couldn’t continue.”

“Because we can’t,” you remind him. “Hello. You’re you. You’re so famous, you can’t even walk through the street without people flocking to you.”

“So?”

“So…there’s no room for me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know.”

“How?”

“How?”

“Yeah. How do you know?”

“Because I just do,” you huff. “There’s only room for models, and famous people, and tours, and all the fucking money you’re probably making. But there’s no room for me.”

“I’d make room.”

The confident remark makes your head spin, and you blink down at the floor.

The call goes quiet for a good minute or two. You wonder if he’s still there, but something tells you…he is.

“You can’t…say stuff like that,” you finally whisper.

“Why?”

“Because it’s not fair. And it’s not true. You can’t possibly make a promise like that.”

“Says who?”

“Says…everyone.” You slump down onto the armrest of your sofa and stare at your lap. “And even if you could…you shouldn’t. You don’t even know me.”

“I want to.”

“You don’t,” you correct. “You don’t want to know me. I’m not…I’m just me. I’m not exactly worth getting to know.”

You hear him scoff. “Well…that’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

Your eyes narrow. “It’s true. I can’t give you what they can.”

“They who?”

“You know. The other people in your life.”

“What people?”

“The…people. The models and the mommy’s you’re so obsessed with.”

He snorts again. “Okay, well, that doesn’t even close to cover my type.”

“Oh, no? Tell that to literally every ex you’ve ever had.”

“Those weren’t all of my ex’s.”

“Please. Like you managed to date somebody that the press didn’t know about.”

“I have. Many times, actually.”

“Name one.”

“Well, that kind of defeats the whole purpose of dating them privately, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. But I’m not the press. And I’m not gonna tell.”

“Yeah? How do I know that?”

“Have I leaked anything yet?”

The call goes quiet again.

“No,” he admits after a minute. “And honestly...I was kind of disappointed when you didn’t.”

Your brows furrow. “What? Why?”

“Because it meant that you didn’t want anything from me,” he says softly. “It would have made sense if you’d just used this situation to…make some money or gain some publicity. It probably would have even been easier on me if that’s how it ended.”

You feel your heart sink.

“But…your silence meant that you didn’t care about that,” he continues. “It meant that I’d really hurt you. That this had been…real. That you’d rather cut me off altogether then make some sort of name for yourself.”

You swallow the odd lump in your throat as you slide down onto the couch cushions. “I never wanted to make money off of you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, somewhat sadly. “It just…would have been easier if you had.”

Your eyes flutter shut, and you will yourself to remain calm. “Harry?”

“…yeah?”

You suck in a quiet breath.

“I miss you.”

You hear him sigh before there’s a bit of static.

He doesn’t answer right away, and you wish more than anything that you knew what he was thinking.

“I miss you, too,” he finally says, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so dejected. “I really fucking miss you, and I’m so sorry that I ruined us.”

“You didn’t,” you whisper, in a voice so small, you’ll be surprised if he hears you. “You were always who you said you were. I know that. But…you and I don’t exist in the same universe. And I don’t think we ever can.”

“Why?” His question is both hopeful and forlorn. “Why not? I have tons of friendships and relationships the world never sees. This wouldn’t have to be any different—we wouldn’t have to be any different. We could still be us.”

Suddenly, your throat burns from the tears you know are coming. “Harry…”

“What? No, stop. We just…come on. We’ve…we’ve met one time. Okay, this is only the start. We still have so much to learn—”

“Harry—”

“No. No, stop…stop doing that. Stop deciding we can’t have a friendship. You haven’t even tried—”

“I can’t try. I can’t…I can’t do this again—”

“Do what? We haven’t even done anything—”

“I can’t lose you again.”

You hate how quiet he gets.

“It was really fucking hard to leave you,” you admit, and there’s a slight rasp to your voice as you fight back tears. “It was so hard to realize that everything I wanted for us was just…gone. That you were gone. That this…weirdly wonderful period of my life was just…over.”

He doesn’t speak yet and you know it’s because he’s waiting for you to finish.

“And if I…if I let myself do this again…and I lose you again…I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

“Then you won’t lose me,” he says, but your head shakes.

“You can’t promise that.”

A beat.

“I know,” he sighs before the sigh turns into a groan. “Fuck. I know, I…”

You wait, heart pounding.

You don’t know what you want him to say. You don’t know what he can say.

Maybe you just…wanted to hear his voice.

“Is this why you called me, then?” he asks. “Just to tell me you can’t talk to me?”

Yes. No. 

I don’t know.

“I called because…letting you go isn’t easy for me,” you say. “Even though it should be. Even though I still don’t know you. Because…I feel like I do. I feel like I know you and I feel like when you’re gone…there’s something…missing. And it hurts. And I hate it.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I feel it, too.”

You both fall silent.

The sound of his soft breaths is comforting.

It’s a sound you imagine you’ll remember the rest of your life.

“Let’s make a deal,” you say, stomach already churning at the thought. “We’re good at those.”

He offers a gentle chuckle. “Okay.”

“We stay on the phone for as long as we want tonight,” you explain. “But once we hang up…it’s over. For good. No more texts. No more late-night drunken calls. No regrets. We delete, we block…and we move on.”

He thinks about this. “Is that really what you want?”

“No.” Your eyes squeeze shut. “But it’s the only way I’ll be able to let you go.”

You hate that you can feel his disappointment.

“Okay,” he finally agrees. “Okay. Then I’m right here. Until you’re ready.”

You clutch the phone to your ear as a single tear rolls down your cheek.

So begins the end.

“Okay.”

Dedicated to @nof0odallowed for the original ask! 💞

Next Part:

~ iFall for Harry pt. 8

Previous Part:

~ iFall for Harry pt. 6

~ Full iFall for Harry Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

[urhoneycombwitch]

Heyyy! Just a quick little request that has been TAKING over my mind. GN!Reader that LOVESSSSS photography x Rockstar!eddie. LIKE Reader will be taking photos of him whenever because he’s just so goddamn pretty playing his guitar. And Eddie will snatch film and shit for them. I’d like to think that they both have Polaroid pictures of each other. Bonus points if reader doesn’t like taking pictures of themselves but LOVES taking pictures of Eddie. I DONT KNOW I JUST THINKS ITS CUTE AHHHHH. if it’s fluff, smut, whatever, you do you! :D Byeeeeeeeee

as a film photographer myself i feel uniquely qualified to add to this tysm anon 💖

gn!reader, +18 mdni

Eddie absolutely gets you the good shit. he makes it a habit to visit the local camera stores at every city when he’s on the road, shells out for high-quality film cuz you taught him right and he actually listens when you talk about your interests!!

constantly surprising you with new gear. he’s never had money like this before and the fact that he can actually buy his partner things is so fucking thrilling. if his baby wants a vintage Rolleiflex with Planar lens that’s what’s getting boxed up for ‘em.

once you and Eddie settle on a house, he sets up a whole darkroom on the lower floor- lets you pick out all the details, hires a plumbing guy to hook up water so that you can do your own film baths. Jonathan Byers is equal parts green with envy and grateful that you’re willing to share the space w/him whenever he comes out for a visit 😇

before you, Eddie never really liked his picture taken, tolerated the ordeal at best- Wayne showed you an old photo book one time, groused about his nephew making odd faces and being squirmy in front of the lens even as young as 4 years old. you’ve made up for it a hundred times over, tho- Eddie learned quick that you wouldn’t take no for an answer when it came to your new muse.

you’ve got probably over a thousand pictures of him by now, in different states across the country, some on stage in full makeup shredding on guitar, a few that are widely recognized as Corroded’s album covers- but most are quiet, intimate. there’s this one you keep in your wallet, makes your heart flutter every time: Eddie leaned back in the grass on his elbows, soft sunlight filtered through the magnolia tree in your backyard, eyes crinkled at the corners and fixed on you behind the camera.

he’s got a bunch of you, too, of course- mostly Polaroids that are decidedly not for public eye. keeps those like a true gentleman safe in a shoebox under your bed at home: images burned into his brain by this point to take with him in memory while on the road. the soft shape of your thigh against a downy duvet, gleaming pearlescent with his cum. another of his hand wrapped around your throat, rings digging into gentle flesh under the blissed-out smile of your mouth that makes him ache somethin’ fierce just thinking about it.

there are others that he does keep in his wallet, more tame but just as searingly intimate, ones he’s taken after cajoling you in front of the lens or having won a tussle over whose turn it was to shoot whom. one of you with guitar cables looped neatly around either arm after a gig, nose crunched and mouth halfway to telling him off, irritation and fondness captured in bright flash. another of you stretched out in the front yard, one hand at your forehead to block the afternoon sun, the other resting placid on your stomach as you looked up at him.

“This one’s mine,” Eddie always says when asked about you, showing off the latest picture with a deep well of love and pride. he may as well start carrying an album for all the photos he carries of you.

[munson-blurbs]

Hi there Bug! May I request one where Eddie and FemReader are in a committed relationship and Eddie’s breeding kink has been full on big time in overdrive because he really wants a kid and the more sex the better! Plus it’s around the holidays and they keep looking at baby stuff and Santa stuff etc which for some reason is making it worse But femreader finds out she can’t have any kids for whatever reason and is convinced Eddie will leave her because of it so heartbreakingly she tells him what’s going on and tells him if he wants to go and be with someone who can give him kids she would understand? Not being able to have kids myself and giving away little things I had gotten for the someday that never will come made me think of this one. (And No, I am not sad anymore about it- it just lets me help care for the little lost sheepies who don’t have anyone really. ) Thank you 💖

I hope I did your request justice. Thank you, from a little lost sheepie, for looking out for us 💚

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), breeding kink, infertility, mentions of abortion, angst, hurt/comfort

WC: 3.1k

Dividers from @firefly-graphics

The First Christmas 

The Starcourt Mall around Christmas time was always a nightmare, packed wall-to-wall with busy, irritated shoppers. You were one of them; your husband was too busy pointing out every item he wanted to notice your misery. 

“Babe, check out that leather jacket!”

“That notebook with the dragon on the front would be perfect for writing lyrics.”

“Holy shit! A collector’s edition of the new Metallica album!”

After years of dating and a few more being married, you’ve gotten pretty good at ignoring him when you need to. But when he drags you towards his next find, you can’t help but pay attention. 

“Maybe we could get this?” It’s a thick, hardbound book of lullabies and bedtime stories. Drawings of barnyard animals adorn the cover. Eddie runs his forefinger over it gently, caressing it while deep in thought.

“Don’t you think it’s a little below your reading level?” you tease, threading your fingers through his free ones. 

Eddie gives you a wanting look, deep brown eyes meeting yours. His expression is completely sincere. “I want a baby,” he states plainly, as though he’s simply asking for a bag of potato chips at the grocery store.

“Okay, Eds,” you snort, rolling your eyes. “Maybe Santa will leave one under the tree for you this year.”

“I’m serious.”

You sigh, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Can we have this discussion, like, not in the middle of the mall?” you whisper.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” he asks, unable to disguise the excitement in his voice. A hopeful grin stretches across his face.

“It’s a ‘maybe,’” you tell him, but there’s already a buzzing feeling in your stomach. You’ve been waiting for him to bring up the subject of kids. Of the two of you, he had been the most resistant to parenthood. It wasn’t an issue of liking or disliking children; Eddie had plenty of experience being a babysitter (well, co-babysitter with Steve Harrington) to his gaggle of misfits during his high school years. The problem was Eddie’s confidence in himself to be a good parent. No matter how many times you reassured him that he wouldn’t be like his own dad, or that your kid would absolutely adore him, he’d remained hesitant.

But now here he is, in a Borders bookstore, damn near begging you for a baby.

Eddie refrains from talking about it for the remainder of your shopping trip, save for when you passed by Santa’s Workshop. He’d taken one look at the kids running around joyfully and murmured, “that could be us with Baby Munson next year.”

The moment you close the car door, Eddie looks at you, beaming. “So,” he starts, rubbing your thigh, “can we talk now?”

“Since when are you ready for a baby?” you question, glancing over your shoulder as you pull out from the parking spot. “I’m not complaining, but I don’t wanna get my hopes up just for you to change your mind.”

Your husband pauses before he speaks; you know from experience that this is a rare occurrence. “This might sound dumb,” he chews on a fingernail while he speaks, “but when I saw that book, I could just picture reading it to a little baby. Our little baby,” he amends. “And I’m still scared, but I–I think I can do this. With you. Feel like I can do anything with you, sweetheart.”

“So, when do you want to start trying?” you ask coyly, though you have an idea of how he will respond.

“As soon as we get home,” he affirms, and you laugh at his intensity and at your correct prediction. “If it wouldn’t cause a wreck, I’d start right fuckin’ now.”

You grip his left hand with your right. “We’re really gonna do this?” 

He squeezes your hand back, and there’s a slight tremble to it. “Let’s start our little metal family.”

As soon as you get through the door of your apartment, Eddie is weaving his hands through your hair and kisses you deeply. 

“Eds, the presents,” you manage, but he just drops them by the couch before picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom. 

“Don’t care about ‘em,” he mutters, plopping you on the bed with a gentle thump. “Just need you.” His tongue parts your lips as he climbs on top of you, knee nudging against your sex through your jeans. “You have no fuckin’ idea how badly I need you.” 

You trace your fingers over the obvious bulge straining against his zipper. “I think I have a clue,” you murmur, giggling when he moans at your touch. “Sensitive, are we?”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra, “you just gave me permission to give you a baby. What did you expect?”

You press your lips to his exposed collarbone before undressing him. “Want your baby, Eddie,” you whisper into his skin. Your fingers toy with his belt buckle and pants button until they’re both undone. 

His strong hands slide beneath your panties; you can feel him grin as he glides his fingers along your folds. “Y’got this wet thinkin’ about me filling you up?” he teases, and you can only nod your response. “Ready for me to cum in you over and over until you’re pregnant with my baby?”

“P-Please,” you stammer, and in an instant, you’re taking him in. His thick cock stretches you in a familiar way. You hiss at the pressure, his thrusts speeding up as he lets himself get deeper inside you. 

“You’re s’fuckin’ gorgeous, babe,” Eddie muses. “Can’t wait to see how beautiful you look, all round ‘cause you’re having my kid.” He gives you an incredulous look. “I just remembered—your tits are gonna get huge, fuck.” As if to emphasize his point, he sucks a bruise just below your left nipple. 

You whimper as he grows even harder, tip rutting against your g-spot and pushing you towards your own release. “Gonna cum,” you choke out. You clench around him as you finish, crying out his name while digging your nails into his back. 

“Good girl,” he praises you, which only turns you on more. “I c-can’t hold out; y’feel too good.” He spills into you with a groan, using his softening length to push everything in. “Gotta make sure it takes, y’know?” He kisses your cheek as you both come down from the high. 

“If it doesn’t, we just get to keep trying,” you smile, catching your breath. At the time, it doesn’t seem like a bad thing. 

The Second Christmas

You didn’t get pregnant that first month. Unsurprising; it rarely happened that quickly. You were disappointed when your period came, but you and Eddie had no problem having copious amounts of sex. 

But after ten months without success, you decided to consult a doctor. “Maybe there’s, like, medicine I can take to help,” you’d told Eddie before you left. Still, a bad feeling gnawed at your insides as you’d said it; a feeling that was only confirmed by the doctor’s news. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Munson,” she’d said. “It looks like you don’t have any viable eggs.” 

She’d droned on about genetic issues, but your head was swimming. It all boiled down to one outcome: infertility. Not giving Eddie the baby he wanted so badly. Not becoming a mom. 

You’d practically collapsed into his arms when you came home, apologizing profusely without offering context. 

“Baby, baby, what happened?” His own eyes filled with tears, as they often did when you’d cry. “What did the doctor say?”

After slowing your sobs, you’d repeated what you’d been told. “‘M so sorry,” you choked out. “I understand if you don’t wanna be with me…if you wanna be with someone who can get pregnant.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not,” he shook his head, pulling you to his chest for a tight hug. “No, baby. ‘S only you. We can…we’ll figure something out.” A tear slipped down his cheek, though he’d tried to wipe it away before you noticed. “Maybe we were meant to look out for our little sheep, rather than have ones of our own.” But he didn’t believe it, not really. 

And now it’s Christmas again. You pulled on a red sweater dress and ran a comb through your hair. The platter of cookies you’d made yesterday was wrapped and ready to bring to Nancy and Jonathan’s house. 

“Eds? Good to go?” you call out, frowning when you don’t get a response. “Hello?” You pad out into the living room, finding him standing in front of your bookcase, looking forlornly at the book of nursery rhymes he’d bought this time last year. 

“Sorry,” he clears his throat and blinks his red-rimmed eyes. “I was kinda hopin’ for a Christmas miracle.”

“Me, too,” you admit, wrapping your arms around him. You could stay like this forever, safe in his grasp. 

“Y’gonna be okay today?” Eddie asks, offering a weak smile. “With, y’know…”

You knew. It has been on your mind every day since Thanksgiving. All of Eddie’s little sheep, now in their senior year of college, were back in Hawkins for the holiday. Everyone was chattering about career plans and graduation vacations. Well, everyone except for Max. 

“You all right?” you’d asked her, concern written all over your face. 

She’d quickly dragged you into the other room, away from everyone else. “Please don’t be mad at me,” she’d begged. 

“Max, you’re like my little sister. Even if I got mad at you, I can’t stay mad at you for long.” You gave her a smile, but it faltered at her words. 

“I’m pregnant,” Max blurted out. “I-I hooked up with someone when I first got back to school because I was really upset about breaking up with Lucas, and I was stupid and—and now I’m pregnant. And I was afraid to tell you because I know you…” she trailed off, not needing to finish her sentence. “I understand if you hate me.”

You were stunned into silence. “I don’t hate you,” you whispered. She barreled into you for a hug as you asked, “do you know what you wanna do?”

Max looked up at you with misted eyes. “I waited too long for an abortion,” she explained sheepishly. “Guess I was kinda in denial.”

You’d nodded, knowing all too well how easily it was to ignore the obvious. “Whatever choice you make, I know it’ll be the right one.”

That night, you’d curled up into Eddie’s chest and cried. Cried for Max, facing a daunting decision. Cried for you, trying so hard to have a baby with no success. Cried for the situation, that some people could get exactly what other people want, even when they don’t want it themselves. 

You knew you’d be seeing Max again on Christmas, and now that day has arrived. It would be hard to look at her little bump, but she needed you now more than ever. You could suck it up for a few hours. 

“How’re you feeling?” you ask her, attempting a genuine smile. 

“Better now that I’m in the second trimester,” she started. “Not as nauseous.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. You’d risk nausea every day for the rest of your life if it meant having a baby, but you push on. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Can I…can I talk to you and Eddie for a sec?” Her eyes flit between the two of you. “It’s important.”

You wave Eddie over, who’s listening to Steve ramble about a new car he’s thinking of buying. He nods at you gratefully. “What’s up?”

“Max has something to tell us,” you say, and his face blanches. Sometimes you forget how your infertility also impacts him; seeing Max pregnant wasn’t easy for Eddie, either. 

“Sh-sure, yeah,” he mumbles, and the three of you duck into the guest bedroom. 

“I’ve been thinking. A lot.” Max fidgets, tugging on a strand of her red hair. “And I realized that, as much as I already love this baby, I’m not ready to be a parent.” She takes a deep breath and blinks back tears. “But you two are.”

You sit forward. “Max, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying—well, asking, really—if you would maybe think about adopting it.” She finally allows her eyes to meet yours. 

“Oh my God,” you manage, grabbing her hand. “Are you serious?”

She nods. “I want to be a forensic psychologist. Help solve crimes and keep people safe. But I know I can’t do that if I have a baby. At least, not right now,” she adds. “But I was really anxious about placing him or her for adoption with random strangers. Maybe it sounds silly, because I wouldn’t be the one raising the kid, but I couldn’t stop worrying about it.

“And then after I talked to you on Thanksgiving, I felt a little better. I didn’t have an answer yet, but just…just talking to you made me feel better. And I realized that whenever life got tough for me, I turned to you guys.” She gives you and Eddie a small smile. “And it was, like, why didn’t I think of this before? You’d be the best parents. You’ve already had plenty of practice with all of us.”

Eddie looks at you, slack-jawed. “You would do that for us?” he asks Max. “You really want us to adopt the baby?”

“Absolutely,” she confirms. “I know we have to get lawyers and all that stuff—”

“We’d cover that,” you jump in. “And we can help with doctor’s appointments, too.”

Max pulls you both in for a hug. “I’m still scared,” she admits, “but this makes it a little less scary.” 

It’ll be a long road ahead, you know this for sure, but the three of you take a collective sigh of relief. Maybe you and Eddie have gotten your Christmas miracle after all. 

The Third Christmas

“Nance, where do you want the green beans?” you call over your shoulder as you pull the casserole from the oven. 

“You can put them on the table; should be space for them,” she answers, thinly slicing the ham. “I’m almost done with this, and we can sit down to eat.”

Gripping the dish with the oven mitts, you walk into the dining room and place it down. “Dinner’ll be ready soon!” you tell the other guests. 

Hopper flashes you a thumbs-up. “El was just initiating Katie into the adopted daughter’s club,” he murmurs to you. “I heard her saying that they’re both extra special because they were specifically chosen by their parents.”

“She’s not wrong,” you laugh. “Although El’s powers help with that whole ‘extra special’ deal.” You look around the room. “Where are they now?”

“Diaper change,” El says as she passes by. “Eddie took her to Nancy and Jonathan’s room.”

You nod gratefully, walking over and lightly rapping on the door. “Is it safe for Mommy to come in, or is it a toxic waste zone?”

“You’re clear!” Eddie calls back. You hear the diaper bag zip up, accompanied by the sound of baby giggles. “This just in: Katie thinks zippers are the funniest things in the world.”

You bend down and scoop her up in your arms. “That’s only because she hasn’t heard any of your fantastic dad jokes.” Your body fills with warmth when your daughter rests her chubby little cheek on your chest. Your daughter. You still can’t get over it even though she’s nearly seven months old. Max gave birth a week after her graduation, and after fifteen hours of labor, a six pound five ounce Katie Munson was born. Once you found out that Max’s middle name was Katherine, you knew exactly what your baby girl would be called. You’d been worried that you wouldn’t bond since she’d spent the last nine months in a womb that wasn’t yours, but you’d felt an overpowering love from the moment the nurse placed her in your waiting arms.

Watching Eddie get to be a dad was nothing short of amazing. The way he peppers her face with kisses, or wakes up for middle of the night feedings, or picks out her clothes. Sometimes, he juts out his lower lip and holds up a tiny dress, cooing, “I didn’t even know they made clothes this little!”

“Let’s go get some food,” you say to your husband, bouncing Katie on your hip. You walk out of the room just as Max is walking out of the bathroom. Her face lights up when she spots Katie.

“Hi, Katie-girl!” she exclaims, reaching out to hold her. “Can Auntie Max get a hug?” You hand her over, watching Max inhale sharply.

You place your palm on her back. “You okay? If it’s…if it’s too much to see her…”

“No, no,” she reassures you. “I mean, it’s hard, but…I know I made the right decision.” She starts making funny faces at Katie. “Look at you with your red hair! It’s a blessing and a curse.”

“I can’t wait until she’s old enough to understand what her Auntie Max did for her…for us,” Eddie ruffles her hair as though she’s still fifteen years old instead of twenty-two. “We seriously cannot thank you enough, Red. You…you made us a family.”

The four of you are silent, absorbing all the love that flows between you, until Katie starts babbling and sends you all into a fit of laughter. “She says, ‘it’s time to eat!’” you joke.

And after a long day at Nancy and Jonathan’s, you finally arrive home. You try not to wake Katie when you take her out of her carseat, but she stirs and starts to wail. Muttering a swear word under your breath, you try rocking her back to sleep, but she keeps crying.

“C’mere,” Eddie says, lifting her from your arms. “I know what she wants.” He walks over to the bookshelf and plucks the book of nursery rhymes that he'd bought at the mall two years ago. He sits Katie on his lap, a big hand on her pudgy tummy. “Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall,” he starts, speaking in singsong, “Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.” He raises his eyebrows and gasps dramatically. “Oh, no! What’s gonna happen to Humpty Dumpty?” You smile as he finishes the rhyme, Katie now fully enthralled in the story. Her cries have completely subsided.

Maybe this wasn’t how you intended to become a mom, but now, you can’t imagine life any other way.

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