#a much less heartbreaking chapter

[stevie-petey]

episode two: vecnas curse

“Hey, guys?” Max gets everyone’s attention and points towards the boathouse.  Dustin is the first to start walking down, Robin and Max not far behind, and you stand back with Steve. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go into the creepy abandoned boathouse. Yay.” “We’ve done worse, angel.” You sigh. “It’s really depressing that you’re right.”

Summary: you and billy play marco polo, max interrupts a saturday morning breakfast at the henderson household, robin crushes steves dream of becoming a 1950s housewife, reefer rick has an odd taste in movies, boathouses are creepy in the dark, and eddie munson likes it when you pull his hair.

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: drowning, violence, swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, blood mentions

Words: 10.5k (i wrote this in one day)

Before you swing in: hey gang !!! so i wasnt supposed to update so soon. and then i wrote this entire chapter in one day. so now here we are. anyways ! read the warnings, this chapter starts heavy. on another note: i start senior year of college on tuesday so updates will vary as i settle into my routine again so pls be patient !! for now, heres a very surprising and unplanned chapter 2, enjoy !

–

Water. 

There’s so much water. 

In your mouth, in your chest, burning your lungs and swallowing every scream that scrapes your throat to escape. Every breath you take, more water spills into your body and quiets the desperate cries and gags you. 

Your head breaks through the water’s surface and you inhale so sharply it burns your lungs even more than the chlorine does. You choke on the air, it’s sickly sweet, and a hand shoves you back under the water before you can inhale again. 

Bubbles encase your screams, your arms flail up, your legs kick wildly to try and reach the surface again. But the arm attached to the hand is strong, it holds your body under the water without effort. In the rims of the ripples above you, the corpse of a boy you once knew stares down at you.

“I’ve found you.” Billy sneers, his voice muffled by the water that rushes in your ears.

His eyes are cold, his skin sunken in and littered with cracks. It’s yellowed, decayed, edges of his skin have turned gray as he’s decomposed. Billy’s hair is matted and his shirt is torn and yet his hand shoves you underneath the water again and again and again.

You try to scream, you try to fight against him, but he’s always been so much stronger than you. Even in death, Billy Hargrove’s weight on you anchors you to the rushing water that threatens to drown you. 

Your head breaks the surface again. Billy pulls you up by your hair, your scalp burns. Air wracks your lungs as you struggle to inhale anything other than Hawkin’s pool water. Coughs shake your body, bile rises in your throat, and Billy shakes his head at you in disgust.

“I’ve found you.” He shoves your head under, your nails claw at his skin but he doesn’t flinch. Blood drips down his arm, stains the pool’s crystal blue, and yet you’re drowning still. Again Billy yanks your head back up, for a brief moment you can breathe, before his breath ghosts your face and he hisses into your ear, “I’ve found you.”

Water. It’s all you can feel around you. Your lungs are on fire, you scrape your nails the concrete as you struggle against Billy, but you’re dying. 

You’re dying.

Billy pulls you back, air kisses your face. Your vision darkens, more bile rises. There’s so much water. You can’t stop coughing, you think you’re crying, the chlorine stings your eyes as it sears your raw throat. Billy slams your head down onto the pool’s edge. Pain explodes in the bridge of your nose, blood stains the water even more.

“I’ve. Found. You.” You take one final gasp of air before Billy shoves you back under the water. 

You’re weightless. 

Everything goes dark. 

Suddenly your body rips forward, jerking awake so violently that it makes you nauseous. Your chest heaves, your body struggles to inhale the air that was so cruelly taken from you in your dream. 

It had been a dream, though the water felt so real. The taste of chlorine lingers in your mouth.

Panting, you force yourself to look around your room, list all the things you see. It’s become a little game you play, every time you have a nightmare so vivid that it challenges reality. Your eyes find Steve’s old basketball hoodie, draped over your desk chair. You focus on the bite of bitter cold from the charm bracelet’s silver that rests against your wrist. Breathing through your nose, you try to name what you can smell.

The scent of your mother’s famous waffles wafts through your room. Notes of freshly roasted coffee accompany it. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, your heartbeat settles down. Your fists unclench, your body finally relaxes. 

It was only a dream. Billy isn’t really here. He didn’t really tried to drown you at the pool. It was all just a fucked up, horrible dream.

“Y/N! Breakfast is ready!” Your mother’s sweet, doting voice carries through your closed door. “Come join Dusty and I, please.”

You rub your face, sighing deeply. The nightmare bears down upon your shoulders, the weight of last night crushes your chest. “I’ll be there in a second!” Your voice is brittle, exhaustion evident.

Breakfast with your mom and Dustin is the last thing you want right now, but you know it’s better not to deny Claudia. She’ll worry, ask you if everything is okay. You’re scared she’ll notice that you aren’t at Family Video for the first time in months. Every weekend you’re there to see Steve, to tease him with Robin. 

But the hurt that marred Steve’s devastatingly handsome face last night… You can’t see him, at least not right now. You’re not even sure he’d want to see you, which scares you even more. 

You take your time getting ready, your movements slow. In the shower you scrub your skin raw, as if you can cleanse yourself of the memories from last night. The betrayal in Steve’s brown eyes, Jonathan’s raspy voice asking questions that made your head spin. Lucas and his heartbreak as your brother abandoned him. Dustin’s denial of your code blue. 

Pulling on one of Steve’s old t-shirts, the smell of his cologne lumps tears in your throat. It’s all too much. You miss him, though how can you be sure you haven’t really lost him?

When you finally sit at the table, Dustin doesn’t look up at you, and your shitty mood only worsens. Only your mother brightens when she sees you. “Y/N! Here, I saved you some bacon, I know you don’t like it crispy.”

She slides some food onto your plate and you try to give her what you hope is a bright smile. Your mother can see through people in a way only you can, an ability she passed down to you. Today, you’re afraid that if she asks you what’s wrong, you’ll break. “Thanks, mom.”

Breakfast is tense. Your fork scrapes against the plate. The food looks delicious, your mother is a brilliant cook, but there’s cement in your stomach and you can’t bring yourself to eat any of it. Dustin doesn’t look at you even once, and your mother tries her best to make conversation. 

“So, any big plans for spring break?” She asks, looking eagerly at you and Dustin.

You push some fruit around on your plate. “No, not really.”

“Hm, well why don’t the two of you go and build something together? Remember that robot set from Stevie? I’m sure you and Dusty could build something with what’s left!” 

“Yeah, maybe.” As if Dustin wants anything to do with you right now. You must not sound convincing enough because your mother starts to frown. Panicked, you clear your throat and try to change the subject. “Hey, have you gotten any new toys for Tews?”

“I got her some new stuffed mice, but she doesn’t seem to like them.” Your mother responds, setting her fork down. She looks at her children in front of her, sees the tension that brews between them. Dustin hasn’t said anything all morning, and the dark circles underneath your eyes worries her. Grasping at straws, she rushes over to the T.V. and turns it on, hoping one of your favorite programs is playing. “Here, let’s watch something.”

Only the Saturday morning cartoons don’t appear on the screen. Instead, Channel 9 lights up. Hawkins’ news channel. 

“We’re at the Forest Hills trailer park in east Roane County.” A broadcaster announces as a swarm of people behind her gather around something. There are cops everywhere, and you get up from the table, curious. “We don’t have a lot of details now, but we can confirm that the body of a Hawkins HIgh student was discovered early this morning.”

Your mother lets out a strained gasp, the shock ripping through her body. Your own body stills, your heart skips a beat. The broadcaster drones on, explaining how the police believe there’s foul play involved.

Someone has been murdered in Hawkins. 

Over by the table, Dustin’s eyes finally meet yours. You know he’s thinking what you are. Monsters have plagued Hawkins for years now, but there’s never been something as gruesome as a murder. Not in the six years your family has lived here. 

Something isn’t right. The news channel interviews a plethora of neighbors in the trailer park. One woman talks about Barb, all the suspicious deaths since 1983. How Hawkins is cursed. Your eyes find Dustin’s again and you both exhale nervously. The woman is right, although she can never know what really goes on in this town. Hawkins is cursed, but not in the way anyone thinks.

Then, terrifyingly too late, you remember that the broadcaster had announced that the body was found in Forest Hills. Max lives in Forest Hills, and the body had been a highschool student. The police haven’t released the name of who it was and panic slices your nerves at the thought that it could be Max. 

“My heart can’t take it anymore. It just can’t.” Your mother whimpers, holding Tews close to her chest. Your heart aches for her, she grew up in this town and all it has endured these last few years is pain and death. 

Dustin sighs next to you and when the doorbell rings, he goes to open it. You follow, nervous and fretful as you always are.

Max stands on your porch, and the moment you realize it’s her, you pull her tightly into your arms. “Oh, thank God.” She stiffens at the touch, you notice that she’s out of breath, panicked. A terrible, horrible feeling of dread takes a hold of you. Pulling away, you force her averting eyes to look into yours. She’s scared; she’s never scared. “Max. What happened?”

Everything falls apart quickly after that.

Max drags you and Dustin into your room and collapses onto the bean bag. Her words are jumbled as she tries to explain everything. You sit motionless on your bed next to her, listening to every word she says. Dustin paces the room, both of you try to make sense of what you’re hearing.

“The body… It was found in Eddie’s trailer.” 

Your breath catches at Max’s words. Dustin’s steps falter. Nausea washes over you, you place a shaky hand over your stomach to quell it. You’ve left your brother alone with Eddie hundreds of times this year, and now a dead body has been found in his home?

“No, that can’t be possible.” Dustin doesn’t want to believe it, he doesn’t want to consider the idea that his mentor could ever harm anyone.

Max bites her lip. “The police have his trailer taped up, it’s under lockdown. And the body they found, she was-” She pauses, takes a deep breath. “It was bad, guys.”

“You can’t seriously think it was Eddie though, right?”

You catch Dustin’s arm and give him a warning look. He’s antsy, you get it, but he needs to calm down. Turning to Max, you ask the question you’re dreading. “Who was the dead student, Max?”

The girl looks down, plays with her fingers, and you can see the remorse that drapes her shoulders. Fear plagues you again, it had to have been someone you knew. After a few moments, Max finally tells you. “Chrissy.”

An overwhelming sense of grief forces any air left in your lungs out. Chrissy had always been so kind to you. She was a ray of sunlight, you shared a class together sophomore year, she had given you daisies when she heard of Will’s disappearance. 

Chrissy Cunningham was one of the few good things in Hawkins.

And now she’s dead. 

Dustin can’t believe it, either. “Chrissy Cunningham?”

“A-are you sure?” You breathe out, eyes following his pacing figure as Max nods.

“Yes, she was in her cheerleader outfit. Same thing she was in when I saw her with Eddie.”

You frown at this. “She was with Eddie?”

Max nods again, and you’re struck by how odd the entire situation is. Chrissy is, was, the head cheerleader. While she was always nice to you, she never interacted with anyone like Eddie. Hell, hardly anyone ever associates with the guy, so you can’t believe that she would even talk to him. That she would willingly step foot in his trailer, especially after the basketball game last night. 

You had overheard one of the kids on the team mention a party to Lucas before he left. Chrissy should’ve been there, next to Jason as they celebrated the win. 

“Did you tell the cops?” Dustin asks, still trying to wrap his head around it all. 

Max shakes her head. “No, but I-I can’t be the only one who saw them together. I mean, they stood out.”

“Are you even sure they were together?” You also can’t wrap your head around the fact that they’d be together in the first place. “Maybe… I don’t know, Chrissy had a friend who lives in Forest Hills as well?”

“No, Eddie and I are the only two students who live in the trailer park.”

Dustin paces again, in complete disbelief. “Eddie, the freak, with Chrissy, the cheerleader.”

“You know, his name’s not in the news yet or anything, but���”

“Eddie is going to be the prime suspect for Chrissy’s murder.” You finish for Max, understanding where she’s going with all this. It’s the only logical conclusion that can be drawn from finding a dead girl’s body in the guy’s trailer. 

Anyone would be suspicious of that, and yet Dustin refuses to admit it.

“No, that’s crazy.” He glares at you, he can’t believe what you’re implying. “Eddie didn’t do this. No way.”

Max looks at you, she has a grimace on her face, and your expression mirrors hers. Sighing, you try to reason with your brother. “Dustin, they found a body in Eddie’s trailer.”

“No way,” Dustin hisses out, eyes burning into yours. He won’t back down from this, he knows you hate Eddie but he’s furious that you’d go as low as to accuse him of murder. You’re so fucking hypocritical. “And, FYI, your annoying vendetta against him won’t get us anywhere.”

“I don’t have a vendetta against him!” You scoff, hurt that Dustin would assume you’re only saying all this because Eddie mildly annoys you. 

Max, sensing an argument brewing, gets up from the bean bag and intervenes. “We can’t rule it out.”

“Yes we can!”

“Dustin!” You and Max berate him at the same time, now standing in front of him. He isn’t listening, he’s blatantly ignoring the fact that someone died in the same trailer Eddie grew up in. He was the only one with Chrissy last night. Dustin is refusing to see the glaring red flags presented in front of him. 

“Look, you guys don’t know him like I do, okay? Y/N practically wants the guy dead most days–”

“Hey!”

“So I don’t necessarily trust her judgment on the matter.” Dustin doesn’t let you interrupt him, he’s adamant to defend his friend. “When we got to high school, Lucas made all his sports friends. Mike and me? I mean, no one was nice to us.”

Upset creeps up your neck. You had been there for the boys, offering them sanctuary their first day, but they had denied you. It hadn’t been enough for them. They didn’t want your help, not anymore. “Dustin…”

“No one except Eddie.” He finishes, eyes only on Max as if it’d make it sting any less. He recognizes what he’s saying, that it isn’t fair to you, but he’s too overwhelmed to try and clarify it all to you. Not right now.

Max’s shoulders deflate, her resolve dwindles but she still argues anyways. “Okay, well. They said the same shit about Ted Bundy.” 

“Ted Bundy was charming.” You snort, understanding what Max is trying to say, but it’s a poor example. “Eddie isn’t.”

She smiles briefly at you, the joke amusing her, but then she sees Dustin’s narrowed eyes and quickly defends herself. “I mean, he’s like a super nice guy, but then he’s murdering women on the weekends.” 

“So you’re saying Eddie is like Ted Bundy?”

“No, we aren’t saying that.” You mollify Dustin, although you can’t help but add in, “besides, Eddie could never lure in multiple women. We still aren’t sure how he even lured Chrissy in the first place.”  

Dustin is about to start yelling at you, you can see it in the way his mouth twitches and the enraged breath he exhales, but Max is quick to step between the two of you. She isn’t sure why you guys are at each other’s throats this morning, but she doesn’t have time to deal with it.

“No, we aren’t saying that.” Max glares at you, and you smile weakly back at her. “We’re-we’re saying that we can’t presume anything okay? But it doesn’t look good for Eddie.”

Dustin, now finally starting to listen, sits on the bean bag behind him. He lays there, looking small in the mass of the makeshift bed. He’s crestfallen, and your anger from earlier disappears. Sighing again, you sit next to him and nudge his shoulder. “Listen, I know it’s a lot right now, but maybe the police will find evidence that Eddie didn’t do it–”

“Why haven’t you told the cops this?” Dustin sits up, eyes on Max.

She crosses her arms, the question surprises her. “I… I don’t know.”

Dustin presses her, both of you notice how her body language changes. She draws into herself, she’s uncertain. There’s something there, buried beneath all the information she’s told you today. Something else happened in Eddie’s trailer, something she isn’t telling you. 

“Max,” you soften your voice, afraid. “What did you see last night?”

The girl’s knees find your bed and her body falls against it. Max’s eyes won’t meet yours, she almost seems scared. Her demeanor causes your stomach to drop. What could she possibly have seen that terrified her so much?

“After I saw Eddie and Chrissy go in the trailer…” Max looks up at you and Dustin, her blue eyes guarded, alert. “Something else happened.” 

She explains the lights flickering in her house. The static on her T.V., how the air felt thick. She tells you that she could hear a scream, Eddie’s fleeing silhouette ran into his car and the way the tires screeched on the pavement as he left. 

The more Max recounts, the tighter the fist of dread inside your stomach coils. Flickering lights, static… It can’t be what you think it is. You catastrophize everything in your mind, you always are the first to fear danger that isn’t really there. Hopper closed the gate last summer. He died saving the world. The gate is closed, the Upside Down is out of your life. For good this time. 

But then why does it feel like its spillage is leaking through the cracks you’ve desperately tried to glue over?

Max must see the panic on your face and she quickly backtracks. “Y/N, it wasn’t that weird or anything. Eddie always drives like a maniac and the power goes off at my place all the time. It’s a piece of shit, alright?”

“Then why did Eddie run?” The question taunts you, there’s something wrong with it. Shitty power grids and reckless driving can be explained, but why would someone scream while fleeing a crime they committed?

Max swallows. The question has been on her mind, too. “The look on his face… He was scared. Really scared.”

Dustin sucks in a breath, it’s subtle but you can feel it against you. He looks up, eyes meeting yours, and the dread that resides in your ribcage seeps into his. Max stutters out possible explanations, she tries to find something else to explain what it could mean, but you all know that it’s no use.

You realize why Max had rushed to your house. Why she hasn’t gone to the police with what she knows.

The fear on Max’s face when she arrived on your doorstep, how breathless she’d been from running over. That had been real, familiar. The same fear that crossed her face when you’d first unwillingly introduced her to the Upside Down all those years ago.

“Or maybe Eddie was scared because…”

“Something else killed her.” Dustin mumbles quietly, piecing it all together as well.

Your body is numb, your lips move but you don’t recognize the voice that speaks. “You think it’s the Upside Down.”

The words hang in the air, everything stills the moment they’re brought into the light. Beside you, Max nods, slowly, regretfully. As if she doesn’t want to believe it herself. “But, that’s impossible, right?”

Every year the impossible somehow becomes possible. Every year the wound that scabs over reopens, the blood of it chokes everyone you love. 

“I don’t know,” Dustin’s voice is soft, he’s scared, too. “It should be.”

“And yet we always end up here,” you laugh bitterly. It’s the same fucking thing, over and over again. 

Dustin’s hand finds yours, his touch is warm, yet unfamiliar now. He hasn’t held your hand in months, you almost forgot what it feels like against yours. “We don’t know that,” he squeezes your hand. He’s kind again, he’s your brother again. “There’s only one person who knows what actually happened.” 

Eddie. 

Whatever he saw, it’s important. No one will believe him if it’s the Upside Down, no one will understand that he hadn’t done anything at all. That monsters haunt the shadows of this town, that the deaths in Hawkins hadn’t really been deaths. 

You have to find him. 

– 

Steve doesn’t think he’s had a worse morning than the one he’s having today. He hadn’t slept, his exhaustion a reminder of how much of an asshole he had been to you last night. He had yelled at you; he’s never, ever yelled at you. Not in the entire three years he’s known you, not even when you’d hurt him so deeply by cutting him out of your life that fateful summer.

But last night Steve swears he saw the same look in your eyes that Nancy had in hers the night she told him she didn’t love him. He saw it, he knows he did, and he had been fucking terrified. He can’t lose you, he doesn't think he’d survive if you ever left him. Especially not if he’s the reason you leave.

Steve is miserable, and his foul mood only worsens when you don’t float through Family Video’s front door with a smile on your lips and a glint in your eye like you always do every Saturday. 

“Where’s Y/N? Normally she’s here by now.” Robin looks around the store, noting your unusual absence as she scans a movie to restock. 

Steve pretends not to hear her, he really doesn’t want to talk about it right now. He knows that if he tells Robin the two of you had a fight, she’d demand an explanation and promptly call him an idiot, regardless of whether or not he’s in the wrong. 

“Dingus, did you hear me?” Robin shoves the cart his way, causing it to hit his hip with a slightly painful thud. “Where’s that gorgeous girlfriend of ours?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Steve grabs the cart and throws random movies inside of it as he starts to walk down the romance aisle. Fitting. 

His coworker doesn’t miss the way he avoids the question. Suspicious, she blocks Steve’s path and forces him to look at her. “You’re dodging. Why are you dodging? Where’s Y/N?”

“Robin, we should really be focusing on work right now–”

“Oh my God, did you kill her? Did all that hairspray rot your brain and cause you to kill Hawkins’ sweetheart and force the world to mourn the beautiful legacy she’d leave behind? Huh, is that it?”

“What! No, I didn’t kill Y/N. What is wrong with you?” Steve elbows the girl, he isn’t in the mood for her ramblings, yet Robin remains standing in his way. She raises an eyebrow at him, silently daring him to keep avoiding her questions, and Steve knows he has to fess up. Looking away, he clears his throat. “We, uh. Sorta had a fight last night.”

Robin frowns. “A fight?”

“Yeah.”

“But you two never fight.”

“Yup.”

“Alright, so it was all your fault then.”

Steve rolls his eyes, he knew Robin would say that. “I didn’t even tell you what it was about.”

“And yet I know it was all your fault.” Even though she’s kidding, she sees the hurt that flashes across Steve’s face and eases up. Clearly whatever the fight had been about was bad. Bad enough that you don’t show up to Family Video like you always do. Taking pity on her friend, Robin flicks Steve’s forehead and prompts him to start talking. “Alright, I’ll bite. Tell me what happened.”

Steve leans against the wall, rests his head back. He knows he should talk about this, Robin will know what to do. He doesn’t have the best track record of communicating with his girlfriends, and for the first time in his life, he wants to try with you. Steve would do anything for you, even if it means being vulnerable with Robin in order to figure out how to make you laugh his name so softly again. 

“Y/N was… Upset last night. After the game. She’s been having some problems with Dustin lately, and, I don’t know. I was trying to be funny, I guess? Cheer her up, get her to laugh.”

Robin winces. “Oh, that never ends well.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Steve huffs. He always somehow makes things worse, and last night he’d gone for a world record with you. “I just… I really wanted to see her smile, you know? So I joked about our future together, said we’d live in a shoebox apartment in New York after she graduates, and she just…”

“Lost it?” Robin shakes her head at him, trying to hide her disbelief. She wants to give Steve the benefit of doubt, but she thinks she knows where this is going. And it isn’t good.

“She told me I couldn’t come with her.” The words had branded themselves onto Steve’s chest, the flesh still raw and bleeding. You hadn’t wanted him to come with you; you didn’t want Steve anywhere near you. “She was just going to leave, without me.”

Robin stands next to him and she nudges his head with her hand, hitting him without any malice. He’s such an idiot sometimes, a hopeless, well meaninged idiot. “Okay, you’re being very thespian right now. I’m sure that’s not what Y/N meant when she said you couldn’t follow her to college. She’s like, crazy in love with you. Anyone can see that.”

“Then why was I the only one considering our future the entire time? I mean,” Steve scoffs, angry again. “I asked her what she thought we’d do after she applied to college, and she couldn’t even answer me. For months she was applying and she didn’t stop to think about us, about our relationship. She just… she was just going to leave.”

“And your solution was to… Follow her to college, unannounced?”

Steve recognizes how stupid he must sound, but he doesn’t expect Robin to understand. When you’re with someone, when you love them, your actions become theirs. How they breathe becomes your heartbeat, how they sleep becomes your solace. From the moment Steve’s eyes laid on you, he knew he’d follow you to the ends of the earth.

He just thought you’d do the same for him. 

“I wasn’t going to just show up at NYU unannounced, alright?” Steve pauses, he tries to find the right words. “But I thought… I thought she envisioned us together, for the rest of our lives. Instead she told me that I deserve better, as if I-I’m physically able to imagine a world where I’m not standing next to her, where I’m not a ten minute drive down the street.”

Robin bites her lip. She thinks she understands what Steve means, where his actions were coming from. She remembers the late night talks about Nancy, how the girl had hurt him deeply when she abandoned him. The surface level love that tainted his perception of himself for years afterwards. Robin knows that Steve clings onto any semblance of stability he’s presented. Years of being lonely and used have left him unwilling to let go of the ones he loves the most. 

But that doesn’t mean he should give up his entire life to do so. 

Robin thinks that this is what you really were trying to tell Steve, even if he’s too blind to see it right now. “Y/N wants you to live your own life. You gotta see that, Steve.”

“She is my life!” Steve throws his hands up in the air, he’s sick of explaining this to everyone. You’re his everything. You’re the blood he bleeds and the tears he sheds. His life is yours. He doesn’t care how pathetic it may sound or how dramatic it may seem. 

“Steve,” Robin places a hesitant hand on his arm, and when he doesn’t pull away, she takes it as a sign to continue. “Y/N loves you, she wants what’s best for you. Meanwhile, you have no idea what you want. You’re seriously considering abandoning everything to live in a giant, rat infested city, and you hate cities! I mean, what would you even do there? Lay around all day and wait for Y/N to come home like some 1950’s housewife? No offense, Stevie, but you don’t have the legs for a dress. Although, maybe if you wore heels and some lipstick–”

“Get to the point, Robin.”

“Sorry,” she shakes her head quickly, refocuses. “The point is that her not wanting you to follow her to college is nothing personal. If Y/N didn’t see a future with you, then she wouldn’t waste her time with you. Simple as that. But she does, and she’s totally, madly in love with you. Plus, we both know that the real reason you want to go with her is because you’re scared she’ll find some hot, 6’5 guy to replace you with and if you’re not there, she’ll be swallowed up by all those hot models and rich business men who prowl the streets of New York–”

Steve covers his ears, shoving Robin away from him. “Okay, okay! I get it, Jesus. There’s plenty of hot men in New York, you’re totally not making this worse for me.”

“So you admit that you’re scared she’ll find someone else.”

“Okay, no. I didn’t say that–”

Robin runs towards the other end of the store and grabs a VHS tape. “Ignoring you! I’m right, you’re wrong, and I’ve just found our morning movie: Doctor Zhivago.”

Steve lets her change the subject, he’s tired of arguing anyways. “You know I don’t do double VHS.”

“But it’s about doomed love.”

Of course it is. “Oh, well that’s relatable.”

“Precisely.” Robin starts to go on and on about an actress in the movie who’s hot, but Steve drowns her out as he returns the cart. She grabs the T.V. remote and clicks it on for their movie, but quickly their morning plan dissipates when Channel 9 comes onto the screen.

“... that the body of a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning.”

Steve and Robin stare at the screen in silence, the broadcaster’s words echo throughout the room. A Hawkins student is dead. The temperature in the room drops, Robin shifts uneasily next to him and Steve presses his arm against hers, silently offering comfort. 

They stand side by side as the broadcast goes on. Neither one of them speaks, listening quietly as the details are revealed. It’s a horrific murder, from the sounds of it. The more the channel announces, the more tense Steve becomes. He doesn't like it, violence has always made him anxious. As his nerves spiral, he gets the horrifying idea that maybe the body is yours. 

He knows it isn’t, he dropped you off at home last night, but he hadn’t stayed to make sure you made it inside safely. Steve curses, he’s a fucking idiot. He left you alone last night, and if you got hurt because of his selfish actions, he will never forgive himself. 

Suddenly the front door opens and you run in with Dustin and Max by your side.

“Hey, Steve.” Dustin tries to get his attention, but the teen is already hopping the counter, sprinting over to you.

Forgetting about the fight from before, Steve clings onto your shirt and hugs you. His arms shake, you can hear his heartbeat stuttering a mile a minute. Overwhelmed with the scent of him and the feel of his body against yours, you melt into the hug as relief sags your bones. “You’re okay,” Steve exhales against your ear, his hand finding your hair. He tangles his fingers through the strands, tries to pull you in even closer. 

“I’m okay.” You whisper back, clinging onto him just as desperately as he is to you. 

The moment is interrupted by Dustin, who pounds on the counter to break the two of you apart. “Hey! Assholes!”

Steve glares at the kid, he doesn’t let you go, but he reluctantly steps away. “Someone was murdered, you know that, right?”

Dustin ignores the sarcasm. “How many phones do you have?” 

“Two, why?”

“Technically three, if you count Keith’s.” Robin adds.

You make a disgusted face. “I wouldn’t touch his phone.”

Max tells Dustin that three phones will work and the younger teen quickly takes off his backpack before sliding it onto the counter.

Steve narrows his eyes, looking at you with slight panic. “What is he doing?”

Dustin throws the backpack over the counter and Robin yells as the kid jumps over and lands with a loud thud on the ground. He brings down a pile of tapes as he does so, and Steve tears himself from your side to try and stop him, but it’s too late. The damage is already done and Dustin has sat himself at one of the computers. 

“Dude! My tapes, what are you doing?” Steve cries, groaning as he bends down to pick up the ruined pile. 

Robin glares at your brother as she huffs as well. You quickly hop the counter, an apologetic smile on your face, and bend down to help. “I’m sorry about him. He’s Dustin. That’s the only way I can explain his behavior.”

“I’m setting up base of operations here.” Dustin’s fingers fly over the keyboard, ignoring Steve’s distressed cries. 

“Base of operations?” Robin looks at you, she likes you, she really does, but sometimes she hates Dustin. “Y/N, I love you, but I’m about to strangle your brother.”

You hand her a tape and blow a strand of hair out of your face. “Ya know, I get that a lot.”

“Stop, get off!” Steve pushes Dustin, but the kid is like stone at the computer. Max is beside him now, having chosen to walk around the counter like a normal person. 

“I need it.” Dustin responds, not giving much else for an explanation. 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and turns to you. “Y/N, please come get your dog.”

“He’s not my dog–”

“I need the computer for Eddie’s friends’ phone numbers.”

“Oh, you mean your new best friend that Y/N and I hate? The one you think is cooler because he plays your nerdy game?”

You step in between Steve and Dustin now. You’re getting really tired of being accused of hating Eddie. While it may not necessarily be wrong, hate is a strong word. “We don’t hate Eddie, you’re just dramatic, Steve.”

“I never said he was cooler than you guys,” Dustin tries to amend, finally looking at you and Steve.

Behind you, Robin slams a tape down while she rebuilds the ruined pile. “Seriously, you guys, maybe on a Monday you can play around here like toddlers, but it’s Saturday. It’s our busiest day.”

You help her pick up a dropped sign, feeling bad for disturbing their place of work so early. “I promise I wouldn’t take them here unless it was important, please don’t hate me–”

“What Y/N is taking too long to say is that this cannot wait until Monday.” Dustin jots down the numbers he ends up finding. Steve drops his head into his hands, exhausted. 

Robin rolls her eyes. “I’m not blaming your sister, she’s an angel, but is calling Eddie’s friends really an emergency?”

“Correct!”

You drop your head onto the counter, defeated. Dustin is only making everything worse, like he normally does, and you’re tired. Steve stands next to you, allows a hand to fall onto the small of your back. Without thinking about it, he starts to rub soothing circles into your skin. 

“Want me to strangle him or you want to?” Steve asks Robin. 

“We could take turns.”

Not bothering to lift your head up, you leave your face smushed against the countertop as you speak. “Please don’t strangle him, my mom would be really sad and we can’t afford a funeral.”

“Can you just fill them in already, Y/N?” Dustin pokes your side.

“Fill us in on what?” Robin asks, exasperated.

Finally raising your head, you look at Max and swallow down any remaining uncertainty. The sooner you explain everything to Steve and Robin, the sooner you can find Eddie and figure out what the hell is going on. With Max’s help, the two of you give them an abridged version. 

“The murder happened in Eddie’s trailer.” You begin. 

“And the body was Chrissy Cunningham.” Max finishes.

Steve’s eyes widen. “What, so the freak killed her?”

“Unconfirmed.” Dustin snaps from the computer. He’s almost done writing down all the numbers.

“Not exactly. There’s some… details that we’re hoping to figure out, first. Before we go to the police about Eddie.”

Robin doesn’t like the way you say this. “What details?”

“The lights flickered in my house, I-I could feel static.” Max says, eyes downcast. Nothing else needs to be said, Steve and Robin understand immediately.

Now quiet, Steve’s hand finds yours. If it’s really happening again, he’ll be damned if he lets you go anywhere out of his sight. He’s not losing you. Surprised by the affection, you look and Steve and find that he’s staring down at you with so much tenderness in his eyes, even after you both maliciously hurt one another the night before.

It’s almost too much for you, the honey in his eyes that are meant for only you to see. Jonathan’s words from last night burn your skin. 

Do you ever wonder if we’ve made a mistake?

Steve doesn’t know what’s been said. Neither does Nancy. How could you possibly tell them what he’s done? The line he almost crossed? After everything the four of you have been through together, the deep history that divides you, how can you settle the ruins that Jonathan left in his wake? 

You can’t. Not without hurting everyone in the process. 

You’re torn out of your thoughts when Dustin calls your name. He’s giving out instructions, ordering everyone to call Eddie’s friends. 

“Y/N, you’ll call out the numbers we need to dial and write down any leads we get. Max, Robin, you’ll be with me on the phones. We need to figure out where he is, if he has any specific hiding places. Steve, you can bat your eyelashes at customers or whatever.”

Steve makes a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat and you squeeze his hand. “You heard the kid,” you lean against his chest, allow yourself to smile up at him. “Go bat your eyelashes, handsome.”

He laughs, and because he loves you, because he will always love you, Steve kisses the corner of your mouth, right where your smile line forms. It’s a quick, chaste kiss. Enough to remind you that he’s still yours, yet mindful of the fact that things may not be as easy as they once were between you. “Aye aye, angel.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you with such a rush of love for him within your bones. Later, when there’s time, you and Steve will talk, and he’ll still be yours and you’ll still be his. 

Everyone gets to work after that. Max, Robin, and Dustin spread out around the store and begin dialing the numbers that you read off from the list. Their conversations are short, all filled with the same set of questions. There’s at least eight people to get through, but dividing them up helps. 

Robin shouts at you to write down some kid named David who has a vacation home in Tennessee. Dustin tells you to cross off one of the phone numbers ending in 5823, apparently the guy and Eddie no longer talk.

Max, who stands the closest to you at the counter, hangs up the phone and turns to you. “I think I might have a lead.”

“Seriously?” Dustin spins around in his chair and Robin sets down her phone.

“Yeah, apparently Eddie gets his drugs from some guy named Reefer Rick–”

“Wait, Eddie actually sells drugs?” You thought that had only been a rumor, a stereotype from people who didn’t know any better. Why the fuck is a drug dealer hanging out with your fourteen year old brother? Alarmed, you grab Dustin’s arm and force him to look at you. “He hasn’t offered you any, right? I swear to God, I will stab his boney little body if he’s offered so much as even a whiff to you–”

Dustin rips his arm out of your grasp. “Can you not freak out for more than five seconds? Holy shit, no! He hasn’t offered me anything, he isn’t irresponsible with his business, he only sells to seniors.”

“So you knew he was a drug dealer?” You’re so going to kill Munson. 

“Guys!” Max claps her hands, breaking up yet another fight between you and Dustin. “The drugs aren’t important right now, what we should be focusing on is the fact that Eddie sometimes crashes at Reefer Rick’s.”

Robin pats your shoulder and nods at Max’s words. “Okay, that sounds promising. Where does this Reefer Rick guy live?”

“That’s the thing. No one knows. He’s more of a… a legend than someone people actually know.”

“Well that doesn’t sound suspicious at all.” You mumble under your breath, but Dustin hears you anyway and elbows your ribs. 

Ignoring your pained cry, he looks at Max. “What about a last name?” 

“I don’t know that either.”

“Bet the cops know a last name.” Steve says, back turned to you guys as he organizes some tapes. Max asks him what he means and he finally walks over. “I mean, listen, if this Reefer Rick is actually a drug dealer, I guarantee you he’s been busted at some point. Means he’s in the system.”

Dustin throws his head back in annoyance. “The cops? That’s your suggestion?”

“I mean, at this point I think they should be filled in on what we know, what’s going on.” Steve defends himself, and honestly a part of you agrees with him. 

Technically speaking, this is a lot to hide from the police. If this had been happening last year, you would’ve been the first to suggest telling Hawkins police about everything. But last year Hopper was alive, this year he’s dead. He’s gone, and the new chief wouldn’t understand or even bother listening to what you’d have to say. 

Hopper would’ve believed you. He always believed you. 

“The police won’t help,” you say, and Dustin is surprised you’re agreeing with him for once. “At least, not like they used to.”

“You think Eddie is guilty, don’t you?” Your brother accuses Steve, and a fight breaks out between them. 

Steve brings up some weak point about believing in everyone being innocent until proven guilty. “I just, you know. I don’t think we can rule it out.”

“That’s precisely what we’re trying to do here, Steve.” Max points out, annoyed by all of this. 

Dustin nods. “And maybe we’d have a little bit more luck if you spent less time ogling my sister and more time trying to find Eddie.”

You flick the kid’s head and Steve waves his arms out, defensive. “I wasn’t ogling her, and even if I did, I have every right to as her boyfriend! Besides, someone has to attend to the customers.”

“And by customers, you mean Y/N.” Robin teases, knowing she’s right.

“I’m right here, you know.” You don’t like this conversation, you don’t even know how everyone ended up here in the first place. 

“Sue me for trying to find a movie for my girlfriend, alright? We’ve got a very big selection in here. It can be super overwhelming, even if I’ve worked here for almost a year.”

You tilt your head at Steve. “You were trying to find a movie for me?”

He blushes, suddenly shy. “I mean, yeah. Figured we could… watch something later?”

“I’d like that,” you tell him shyly. Things will be okay between you, they have to be. 

Meanwhile, Robin types frantically on the computer, and Max asking her what she’s doing catches your attention. You walk over, lean down to stare at the screen in front of you. “Maybe we don’t need a last name,” Robin explains, pulling up the store’s video rental catalog. 

A list of Ricks pop up, and you quickly realize what she’s doing. “Oh, you’re a genius, Buckley.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, pretty girl.” Robin smirks, showing everyone else the screen. “There’s twelve Ricks who have accounts here.”

“That’s a lot of Ricks,” Max remarks. 

Robin nods, she expected this. “So, let’s narrow it down.” She clicks on the first Rick’s name and his movie rental history appears. “Rick Alderman’s latest rentals are Annie and Dumbo.”

“I doubt a drug deal would rent sensible children’s movies.” You say, and everyone agrees.

“Alright, Rick Conroy. Sixteen Candles, Teen Wolf, and Romancing the Stone.” In unison everyone says “no”, and Robin moves down the list. “Okay, Rick Joiner. Mask, Footloose, and Grease.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Grease, I like this Rick’s taste in movies.”

Dustin snorts. “But he isn’t the Rick we need.” 

Finally, Robin lands on a Rick Lipton, who has rented three Cheech & Chong movies over the course of a week, and immediately you all know that you’ve found the right Rick. Robin looks up the address and Dustin observes that it’s out by Lovers Lake.

Lovers Lake. Where you and Steve finally got together. 

As if thinking what you are, Steve’s hand finds the small of your back, where it permanently resides, and he shares a shy look with you. There’s fondness in his eyes, the memory from that night doesn’t burn him. The tension of your fight lingers, you both can feel it, but the memory of that July night causes you both to smile.

And it’s enough. 

– 

Steve is the one who drives, he’s always somehow the designated driver, and everyone crams into his car. You sit in the passenger seat, he doesn’t let anyone else sit there when you’re with him, and Robin complains from the backseat. 

“One of these days I’m going to sit up front and no one will stop me.” 

“You sat in the passenger seat yesterday morning, Robin.” You remind her, smirking when you see how squished she is between Max and Dustin.

“Minor details. Please drive quickly, Harrington. I think Dustin’s elbow is lodged between my third and fourth rib.”

Lovers Lake is far. The house is in the middle of nowhere, the perfect place to hide, so by the time you arrive there it’s dark. Steve keeps a few flashlights in his trunk, a precaution he’s adopted since befriending you and Dustin. He hands them out to everyone with the warning to stay close. 

“I don’t want anyone slipping away, you hear me?”

“Okay, dad.” Robin shoves past him, causing Max to giggle, and you pat his chest in pity. 

Dustin rings the doorbell, figuring if Eddie is really here then he’d want to see a familiar face. When no one answers, he starts to repeatedly hit the doorbell over and over again. 

“Guess he’s not here,” Steve says after Dustin rings the bell for the hundredth time, but the kid ignores him and starts to pound on the door instead, now yelling. 

“Eddie! It’s Dustin!”

Still no one answers, and you begin to think that maybe you’ve gotten it all wrong. There’s the woods, the abandoned Hawkins Lab, and a million other places to hide. Reefer Rick’s house may have been too far for Eddie to run off to. 

Dustin calls through the door about how it’s just him and that there aren’t any cops. Robin tries to get a look inside the house through the window while you shine your light around the house. Max seems to get the same idea and the two of you wander over towards the side, trying to find another way in. 

Only you don’t find another way in. Instead, you find an old boathouse down by the water’s edge. It’s huge, masked by the trees and house in front of it. Eddie has to be hiding out in there, then. 

“Hey, guys?” Max gets everyone’s attention and points towards the boathouse. 

Dustin is the first to start walking down, Robin and Max not far behind, and you stand back with Steve. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go into the creepy abandoned boathouse. Yay.”

“We’ve done worse, angel.”

You sigh. “It’s really depressing that you’re right.”

Slowly the five of you approach the building, there isn’t any sign of life. The door is unlocked, which is both a good and bad sign. Robin pokes her head in cautiously, calls out into the darkness. “Hello? Is anyone home?”

Steve walks behind you, guiding you gently with his hands. Everyone spreads out, Steve grabs an oar that he finds hanging on the wall. He shows it to you, raising his eyebrows as he silently asks if it could be of any use, and you nod. Following his lead, you flick your knives out, eyes catching on a boat with a tarp draped over it. 

Wary, you point it out to Steve, and he understands. Raising his oar, he brings it down onto the boat with force, stabbing at the tarp. Luckily he doesn’t catch on anything, or anyone, but Dustin yells at him. 

“What are you doing?” Then, seeing the glint of your knives, Dustin scoffs at you. “Seriously, you really think those little elbow stabbers are gonna help?

You raise them at him. “I stabbed Billy with them, don’t forget.” 

Besides, like hell you’re taking any chances this time. Even if Steve’s oar isn’t the most ideal weapon, it’s still a weapon. You’re in an abandoned building with a killer on the loose. Neither one of you is willing to risk being defenseless, not after everything you’ve been through together. 

“He might be in here,” Steve continues to stab at the tarp, and even you have to admit it’s overkill. 

“Just take the tarp off!” Dustin says through clenched teeth. Steve tells him to take the tarp of himself and again they spiral into an argument. You watch with slight amusement. Some things never change. 

Robin and Max find something over by the table, alerting you that Eddie may have been in here. Dustin waves an arm out in front of Steve, who’s still jabbing his oar into the boat’s tarp. “Don’t worry, Steve will get him with his oar.”

“I know you’re being funny, little Henderson, but considering the fact that everyone in this room has nearly died a hundred times, personally, I don’t find it funny in the slight–” A figure jumps out from behind Steve and grabs him. “Wait, wait, wait!”

“Steve!” You scream, extending your knives, following after them. The person shoves Steve into the wall, holds a broken glass bottle to his neck. Pressing yourself behind them, you bring your knife to the perpetrator’s face, digging its tip into his cheek. A mess of curly hair touches your face, the scent of leather infiltrates your nose. It’s Eddie. 

“Eddie! Stop!” Dustin exclaims, struggling against Robin’s hold. To your relief, she isn’t letting him get any closer, which you’re thankful for. “It’s me. It’s Dustin. This is Steve, and the girl with a knife fixation is my sister Y/N. She’s not gonna hurt you, right, Y/N?”

“Let go of him,” you sneer into Eddie’s ear, pressing your knife deeper into his face. The blade nicks the crest of his cheekbone, blood drips down, but you don’t ease the pressure. He has Steve in a chokehold, he could slice his neck any second.

Steve sees that you’ve cut Eddie and he knows you’re seconds away from gutting the guy, which would only escalate the situation. He needs you to be safe, he’s afraid that Eddie will turn the glass bottle towards you instead. “Y/N, angel. Look at me, I’m okay. Drop the knife, and I’ll drop my oar, alright?”

You hesitate, and Dustin screams at you to do as you’re told. Your eyes flicker between Steve and Eddie, lingering on the bottle that is pressed even deeper into your boyfriend’s neck now. A thud echoes in the room, Steve drops his oar. He looks at you again, his eyes pleading, and you reluctantly flick your wrist to put the blades away. 

The moment your knives are gone, Steve lets out a pained groan. Eddie only tightens his hold on him and the glass cuts his skin. In a heartbeat your hand fists through Eddie’s long hair and you pull. Hard. He sucks in a breath, clenches his teeth, and finally looks at you. “Cut him, and I will kill you.”

“She’s cool! I promise she’s cool!” Dustin shouts from across the room, doing everything he possibly can not to get both Eddie and Steve killed. He doesn’t worry about you, he knows you can handle yourself. He’s more concerned that you’re about to have blood all over your hands. 

“If you let me go,” Steve chokes out, careful not to move his mouth too much and cut his throat. “Y/N will be cool.”

Eddie doesn’t ease up, and neither do you. Despite the awkward angle of his head, he leers down at Steve. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re looking for you,” Dustin tells him, taking a cautious step forward.

Robin now speaks up. “We’re here to help.”

“Eddie, these are my friends. You know Robin, from band.” She pretends to play the trumpet to ease the tension, but it doesn’t work. “This is my friend Max, the one who never wants to play DnD. And you know Y/N, she used to hang out with Jonathan Byers all the time and I always talk about her.”

“I know all about Hawkins’ sweetheart.” Eddie sneers, flinching only slightly when you pull his hair even more. “She isn’t so sweet now.”

Your other hand reaches towards your back pocket, towards your knives, and Dustin’s heart skips a beat. He needs to resolve this. Now. “Eddie, we’re on your side. I swear on my mother. Right, guys?”

Robin and Max both swear, and Steve chokes out, “Yes, we swear on Mrs. Henderson. She-she’s great. You’d love her.”

Eddie doesn’t respond. Seconds pass, although they feel like hours. His neck must ache from the way you pull against it, and you see him staring down at you from the corner of his eyes. A crazed smile of interest crosses his face, his gaze lingers on your figure, blood drips down from his cut. You watch his every move, and when Eddie finally releases Steve, you throw him aside. 

“Are you okay?” Your fingers ghost over Steve’s neck, checking for any sign of injury. He’s panting heavily, finally able to breathe again now that there isn’t a sharp edge grazing his neck. Your touch is gentle, your hands shake, and you hardly even register that Robin is next to you. 

“I’m okay,” he breathes out, rubbing his neck. His shaking hands find yours, steadying them with your interlocked fingers. Mindful of the fact that Robin is present, he kisses the backs of your hands. “I’m all fine, angel. I promise.”

You want to carry him away, out of this town, away from anything that can harm him. You want to tuck him somewhere far away, where no one will ever find him again, alone with only you, safe and sound. 

But you can’t. Instead, all you can do is sit next to Steve, caressing his hair as your body slowly attunes to his again.

Eddie is crying a few feet away, his threatening persona long gone. His entire body shakes, his eyes are dark with haunted memories. Dustin crouches down next to him, and Robin joins. Softly, as if talking to an injured animal she doesn’t want to scare away, she tells him, “We want to know what happened.”

“You won’t believe me.” Eddie sniffs, sounding completely and utterly broken. Something horrible happened to him last night, something that will haunt him forever. The way he holds himself, how small he tries to become, how he shakes violently. They’re all signs of trauma, not guilt or remorse. He didn’t kill Chrissy.

Taking pity on Eddie, you reach out and rest a hand on his shoulder. He’s startled by your touch, only moments ago you held a knife to his face, and now your hand warms his body. “We’ll believe you,” you whisper.

He tells you everything. The details are gruesome, bloody and terrifying. 

“Her body, it just… lifted into the air and,” Eddie’s voice breaks as he cries again, and a part of you wants to tell him that he can stop, clearly he’s in pain. “And she just, she hung there. In the air. And her bones, they-they–” He stumbles over his words, but he clenches his fists and forces the rest out. “Her bones started to snap.”

Your heart stops. You can’t imagine how horrifying that must’ve been to see. The image of Billy’s body pierced by the Mind Flayer is still burned into your retinas. The same will be true for Eddie with Chrissy’s body. 

“And her eyes,” he shakes his head, he tries to get the memories away from him. “It.. it was like there was something inside her head, pulling.” 

Eddie describes the sound of Chrissy’s bones snapping, the squelching pop when her eyes exploded. “I-I didn’t know what to do so I-I… I ran away.” He stares at the ground, you see his fists tighten, he’s angry with himself. Ashamed. “I left her there.”

“There wasn’t anything you could do, Eddie.” You tell him. Anyone would’ve ran away. He’s human for being afraid, and you hope that he hears you through all the unnecessary shame. You know, better than anyone, how hard it is to hear anything over the roaring rush of guilt that floods someone’s mind. 

Eddie ignores you. “You all think I’m crazy, right?”

“No, we don’t think you’re crazy.” Dustin’s voice is gentle, softer than you’ve ever heard it. Eddie yells at him, he thinks you’re all playing some cruel trick on him. He’s stuck in a state of flight, panicked and ready to flee, and Dustin lowers his voice even more. “Look, what I’m about to tell you might be a little… Difficult to take.”

You sit next to your brother, everyone else stands behind the two of you as you face Eddie. Dropping your voice to its own soothing, comforting lilt, you lean in closer to the scared teen and offer whatever solace you can give him. “It’ll be difficult, but I’ll be right here, okay?”

Eddie stares at you, his hardened expression softening little by little. “Okay.”

Dustin takes a deep breath. “You know how people say Hawkins is cursed? They’re not… way off.”

“There’s another world, hidden beneath hawkins. And sometimes it… bleeds into ours.” You reveal, careful to make your words as clear and concise as possible. Even after all these years, it still feels impossible to explain it all. 

Dustin continues, beginning to explain the monsters that haunt Hawkins from the Upside Down. How you all thought they were gone, but that they somehow come back again and again. As your brother talks, memories flash before you. Billy’s death, Will’s disappearance, the darkness that infiltrated his tiny body. El, her powers. The Demogorgon, its cruelness and its tunnels.

Steve walks up behind you, your body falls against his, he draws you in. 

“They’ve come back before, that’s why we needed to find you.” Dustin explains to Eddie. 

Max steps forward as well. “If they’re back again, we need to know.” 

Robin asks Eddie if he saw anything that night, Max asks if he saw any dark particles. Any indicators that you’ve come to learn that signal the Upside Down, but Eddie can only shake his head. Dustin presses him further, describes what the particles would look like, but it’s no use.

“No, man. There was nothing you could see, or-or touch.” Eddie’s voice is hoarse, you can see the exhaustion in his eyes, but his words catch your attention.

“Was there…” You swallow, your mouth has gone dry. “Did you feel static in the air? Like an electric pull, almost as if lightning was about to strike?”

Describing the sensation is easy, it’s the same feeling you’ve come to associate with El. Her powers, they have a magnetic pull to them. It’s hard to miss, easy to feel. 

Eddie stares at you, and slowly, with hesitancy, he nods.

You fall back against Steve’s chest. Everyone else goes silent as the realization settles upon the room. It’s happening again. The dread crawls over your neck, settles into your throat. It will never end. 

“She couldn't move. It was like she was-she was in a trance or something.” Eddie says, unaware of the despair surrounding everyone. 

Dustin looks at you, his eyes reflect the grief that you feel. “Or under a spell.”

“Like El.”

He nods, before Eddie adds, “Or a curse.”

“Vecna’s curse.” Dustin says, eyes now on Eddie, and a cold chill creeps down your spine.

Steve asks who Vecna is, and upon hearing the name again, a pang rips through your head. Dustin explains who Vecna is, a character in Eddie’s DnD campaign, but you don’t hear any of it. You gasp in pain, the beginning stages of a migraine darken your vision and twist your stomach. Max notices, her eyes trail up your body and linger on the hand pressed against your head. 

Lost in the pressure building within your skull, you don’t see the way Max almost seems to know what’s happening. 

She doesn’t say anything.

-

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[macfrog]

twin flame sex on fire chapter eleven

thank you all for being so patient and kind, and loving this story no matter how terribly long i take with it. anyway, here's wonderwall. (shout out to @bageldaddy who saved this on numerous occasions lmao)

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: doing it with a broken heart is harder than it looks.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, reader's a Real Tough Kid she can (not) Handle Her Shit, kale!!!!!!, alcohol consumption, cursing, soft!joel, fluff and angst. angst angst angst angst

word count: 7.7k

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

Five days lasts a year.

So it feels, anyway, when you spot Martha from the corner of your eye – pulling her coat on and hooking her purse over her shoulder. She tucks her peroxide blonde layers behind her ears, gives one last check of her makeup in a compact mirror, and looks up.

“You coming?”

It’s five thirty on Friday. You haven’t said more than two words to Joel since you walked out on him, Monday morning.

She knows by now – Martha. Or at least, she has a pretty good idea.

You haven’t told her, as if you’d even be able to begin explaining it all. But she pieced it together by herself, didn’t she? You’re hardly subtle. She figured you out less than five minutes after you stormed out of his office, fists balled and face tight with rage.

She says your name, and the sound is muffled. Distorted by the sour backwash of that feeling: the hot temper which dissipated so quickly into an ache behind your ribs all day.

You finally look up. “Huh?”

She fixes the collar on her trench coat. Flattens her thin, merlot lips and says, “Let’s go, kid. It’s been a long week.”

And that, you think, might just be the understatement of the fucking year.

She slips her arm through yours in the elevator, and you don’t protest. It’s not like she’d let you go even if you tried to shake her off – but there’s a comfort to it. Something sweet; soft and motherly. Martha’s not often this affectionate.

You want to slot your cheek on her shoulder. Ask her how long her worst heartbreak lasted. Ask if that’s even what this is, if you can give a two-month hurricane of sex and secrets enough power to split you open this badly.

Ask her how long until the gnawing in your chest eases. How long until you’re finally able to look at him again, without wanting to cuss him out – or run into his arms.

But you stare ahead, swaying with the dropping elevator, wrap your arms tight around yourself and swallow shallow breaths of her rosy perfume.

Your reflection splits in two, pulled apart by the rumble of the doors. Something akin to a growl from between Martha’s teeth.

The skeleton of the lobby sears behind your eyes, every surface bleeding gold. Silver arrows of rain pelt against the windows, slicing through the blazing sunlight. Dark figures shake umbrellas open at the doors; others yank their collars over their heads as they run to cars.

A gaggle of square suits separates to let you pass, black material shining and soaked through. Nodding to both of you, your names dripping from their lips as they load into the elevator.

Under the canopy outside, Martha hoists her purse over her head.

“Monday then?” she yells over the drumming rain. And without waiting for an answer – because she isn’t so much asking as she is telling – she totters off through the drizzle towards Alan’s Volvo.

One last glance over her shoulder, a wink as her six-inch heels swing into the car. Like a Bond girl, off to wrangle her preteen into eating his vegetables.

You call a cab, leaning against the building to watch the clouds roll overhead.

Two words. That’s all you’ve managed to force over your tongue.

Sure and okay. Both uttered between teeth, as though your body might be trying to hold them back. Mundane and fucking meaningless; pushing by everything else you want so desperately for Joel to hear. How could you? Why would you? I think I hate you, you know that?

I hate you and I miss you so much that it makes me hate you all over again for it.

He’s doing as you asked, at least. He’s following your rules. No looking, no touching, no talking.

To a point.

He is still talking – saying a little more to you than you are to him. You’re allowing it, given that he is still your boss and they’re only ever boss things to say. Schedule this meeting, look out that old file. Pick up his drycleaning when it’s mid-afternoon and he spots your boredom from across the office.

But he never comes near.

Not anymore.

He doesn’t brush by, stealing a giggle when his elbow nudges your waist. He doesn’t order you lunch, then wait until you’re sat opposite him in his office to eat together.

He doesn’t kiss you as soon as the elevator doors close. He doesn’t perch on the edge of your desk to steal snacks and gossip with you and Martha. He doesn’t play with your hand, he doesn’t hold you by the hips, he doesn’t whisper dirty jokes and sweet nothings in your ear.

He keeps his distance. He acts like your boss again.

And – Jesus. You’ve never wanted to hate him so much in your life.

“Waitin’ for a cab?”

“Shit –” You twirl, rain flicking from the tail of your coat.

Joel takes your arm steady. His grip is so familiar, so safe you feel yourself melting into it already. “Easy, easy,” he says, his voice much the same. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you there.”

“You didn’t, you…Yeah,” you sigh, “I guess you did. What did you say?”

He smiles. It’s weak, humored, but completely unsure. “I just asked if you’re waiting for a cab.

And goddamn it, just the sight of him this close thaws you from the inside out. It’s like warmth against the wound, softening you like the creases by the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah,” you start, “I just called one. Figure there’s traffic.” You gesture to the bodies scurrying down towards yellow cabs.

Joel tosses his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the sleek Rolls by the curb. The rain bounces off its roof. “Rand can take you, if you like. Save you waitin’.”

“Oh, no. No, I’m good, thanks.”

“I’ll take your cab,” he clarifies. “I’ll take the cab; Rand can take you home.”

“Really, Joel,” you reply, hugging your purse. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. Thank you.”

He nods, looking down. There was – there is – nothing he wants more than to look out for you. There’s probably nothing that stings more right now, than the fact you won’t let him.

He makes to leave, then hesitates. Hands in his pockets, he turns back and says, “You ever need anything, just let me know. Alright?”

Your lips flatten. “Mhm.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

“Alright,” he says. “Okay. I’ll see you Monday.”

He strides off towards the Rolls. So much cooler than the suits scrambling around him; dipping his head as he slides into the backseat, fixing his tie before he pulls the door closed.

The car doesn’t move until yours arrives. Until he’s seen you run over, settle in the backseat. Rand pulls out behind as your driver sets off; turns in the opposite direction at the first set of traffic lights.

You watch as it shrinks into a speck from the back window, wondering if Joel’s watching you, too.

The driver tuts and shakes his head. He flicks his fingers to the windshield, some comment about this goddamn rain and ain’t let up for five goddamn days.

You fish your phone from your pocket, turning the weight of it over in your hands like turning the dilemma in your mind. Thinking up something like, Hey, I was gonna order food in tonight. Wanna come over?

Something like, Or not, if you don’t feel like it.

Sorry, I don’t even know why I’m –

The screen lights.

Your heart jumps to your throat.

The driver rambles on, “…said it’d dry by Wednesday – well, you can’t trust a damn one of ‘em…”

Your eyes are glued to the name onscreen.

Joel headers the first notification. And the second. A text, then an email.

Your thumbs hover over the messages for a few seconds, vision blurring around his name. Frantic circles while you decide whether or not you actually want to read them. But it gets the better of you – morbid curiosity – and you tap on the text.

As quickly as it leapt, your heart plummets.

Forwarded Jean-Marc’s email, in case you need it. Have a good weekend.

Three, four, five times. You read over it five fucking times before it sinks in. Switch to your emails, where Joel Miller sits proudly at the top of the list.

“Why are you…?” you mumble, blinking at the screen. Salt stings across your waterline. “You – you fucking…”

It boils through your veins, pools in the pit of your stomach. That ache winds again, twisting around your ribcage.

Anger.

Anger, and…something much worse.

You bite hard on your lip, refusing to let the tears spill over. Your heart hammers against your chest. Your fist balls, like tightening around the leash of a misbehaving dog, pulling it back into place.

Your voice is barely a whisper.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Steam slowly swallows your silhouette whole. In the mirror, you shake the shell of the office from your shoulders, watching as she disappears entirely behind the heated glass. Relieved just to see her go.

You sob under the scorching stream until your skin prunes and your head throbs. You order in food and burrow deep in your couch to pick at it.

Drowning in the same hoodie he once pulled over himself – his landscape of a body, strong as rock and soft as the earth. The material unwashed, still smelling of mint and men’s cologne.

You thumb through the chick flicks on offer: all perfect grins and power couples; the commercial dream that is a two-tone poster with a quirky, conversational title. And then, worse: the breakup movies.

Women flat-out in bed, picking from a tray of chocolates. Two-day pajamas and three-day bedhead. Slumber parties to burn love letters and gauge out their exes’ eyes in photographs, swear themselves off men and then down heavy cocktails until they puke.

Then – the epiphany. Right before some pop rock track from the noughties sends the heroine off into the sunset. The I’m better off without him, or Maybe he wasn’t so bad moment.

Love truly exists, after all. Roll end credits.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mumble, chewing wetly on popcorn. “You’re all bullshit, anyways.”

Maybe you’re just fucking miserable. You liked the bullshit, two weeks ago.

Blake Carter – he was chocolates in bed and feminist handshakes. He was one night at your mom’s, one night at your best friend’s, then back in your old place before the week was out.

This is different. It’s like a sickness.

Rotting from the inside out. Deep in your chest, a fierce fever spreading from the split, the empty cage of ribs. An anxiety which gathers and festers in the barren corners, like teetering along a wire with no idea how high the drop really is – only that you’re not going to make the landing.

How were you ever going to make the landing, letting go of his hand like that?

You manage three mouthfuls of a greasy hamburger, then shove the bags across the coffee table. Too sick and too unsettled to eat without feeling it roll around your stomach in a furious tide.

You ever need anything, just let me know.

Asking for help is not something you do. Not since you were sixteen, and even before then. There is nothing – nothing, you swore – a man could offer you that you couldn’t go find yourself.

But then – then, you found someone who wasn’t looking for you to ask. Didn’t want or expect you to need him for anything, only wanted you to know that he was around if you ever did. Being near you was all he ever really gave a shit about.

You found someone who was on your tail every time you looked back. All your running, all the times you swore you wouldn’t let him catch you. And there you were – turning to make sure he was still trying.

He was. He was always trying. He’s the closest anyone ever came to proving you wrong.

And now…he’s letting you go.

If you had the energy to laugh, you’d laugh. You’d march back into the bathroom and wait for your reflection to clear again, just to point your finger right in her face.

The same woman who walked away from Blake Carter and his heirloom diamond ring; from Sundays forcing down quiche Lorraine at his parents’ house, and pretending to enjoy bouncing his nephew on your knee.

The same woman who left that diamond ring on his bedside table, packed a bag full of clothes, and fled the apartment before he could plead anymore.

The same woman who had seen the entire thing as a bird breaking free from her cage, in the end.

You understand it now.

You spend long enough in that cage, long enough planted on your feet – you forget how to use your wings.

The weekend is slow and sleepless.

Your sheets wind up a twisted mess each night. Kicked to the foot of the bed, cocooned back around your shoulders, then whipped from your body again when you feel too hot, too smothered.

He’s all over your apartment. Dozing in the reflection of the TV screen, bass voice reverberating off each wall, kisses in the clinking of mugs.

Each night, you stare blankly at the ceiling. Sleep becomes a tide you float on the surface of, pooling across your stomach and only ever wetting to your ears. Face skyward, bone dry. Desperately waiting for a wave that never intends on turning.

Come Monday, you’re running on something like four hours sleep and as many coffees.

Martha recognizes it instantly, the way she fawns. She hasn’t let up all day. Not since you walked in this morning, looking like shit and avoiding Joel’s office at all costs. She’s spent more time staring, delivering snacks, making sickly-sweet conversation that hurts your teeth – than she has actually working.

And it was touching. Until ten o’clock.

Joel has two assistants for good fucking reason, it turns out.

“I do not understand a goddamn word I’m reading…” Martha flips the Cosmo she stole from you last week. “The hell is a retrograde?”

Your head tilts. “Do you even know which sign you are?”

Her thin, penciled brows quirk. “Taurus, but I don’t like the way this bull’s lookin’ at me.”

She wiggles her mouse before the monitor switches off, then prods a shard of cucumber with her fork. The rain scatters across the window at her back, dragging golden shadows down her blazer.

“Did you eat today?” she asks.

“Mhm,” you lie, “This morning. Before you came in.”

She chews suspiciously. “Liar.” She offers you the salad bowl. “Eat.”

“Martha,” you push it away, “I’m not –”

“I don’t care whether you’re hungry.”

She thrusts the tub towards you, cherry tomatoes trembling.

“Martha.”

“Eat.”

“I’m not gonna eat your salad, will you stop –?”

“One bite. Just one.”

“I don’t even like –”

She’s holding out a forkful. “Eat the damn –”

“Get a drink with me.”

She halts, greens dangling in front of your face. Her expression twists, loosens, and then twists into bewilderment again. “Pardon me?”

You sigh, deflating into the leather. “Stop tryna force feed me salad, and get a drink with me.”

“On a Monday?” She scoffs. “What’s the occasion?”

“I don’t…I don’t have one,” you groan, pushing to your feet. “At least, not a good one. I just need something a little stronger than kale.”

An all too familiar click over your shoulder plucks her attention. Her eyes flash across the room.

She tracks Joel from his office over to the water cooler, a forced smile when he must glance up. Her eyes snap back to yours at the trickle of water into his mug.

Please? you mouth, and she grumbles.

“Joel?”

His voice is strained; he’s bending at the cooler. “Yep?”

Martha links her arm through yours and forces you to turn. “You mind if we take a long lunch? We were thinking of trying that wine bar up by the golf course.”

Joel lingers on the other side of the office, sipping from his mug. He’s almost unrecognizable: no bear left in him. Declawed, toothless. Dark crescents like the shadows of a bruise beneath his eyes, the ghosts of smile lines on his cheeks.

“Wine bar?” he asks. “Didn’t even know there was one up that way.”

“It’s new,” Martha says, popping the lid back on her salad bowl. “Alan told me about it. Says it costs an arm and a leg, but apparently, it’s worth it.”

He wanders over – hesitant, like approaching the desk of a wild animal. You can feel the heat of his stare on you when he replies, “’s nice up that way. Take the afternoon. You need a ride?”

“All good,” Martha chirps. She squeezes your arm. “I’ll go call a cab.”

She drapes your coat over your shoulders, then twirls off in the direction of the elevator. A girlish little strut, quietly pleased with herself.

She’s deliberately leaving you stranded. Both of you.

Joel steps back when you move. His breath catches in his throat. He slips a hand in one pocket, and says, “Be nice to have a relaxing afternoon.”

“Yep,” you choke, elbow brushing against his. “Nice to have some girl time, I guess.”

“Oh,” he sniffs, “I was talking about me. Empty office, two of you off my ass. Peace and quiet.”

You smile, feeling the weight of him rock gently against your side. “Hilarious,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

He stares straight ahead, sunlight catching rare amber in his eyes. Smiling to himself, calm and content, he says, “Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and turns back for his office.

Your chest twinges as he closes the door behind him. A tight fist around your vocal cords.

“See you tomorrow, Joel.”

Oasis is a trendy little bar out west, which looks anything but its namesake. All exposed brick and smirk of silver pipework, industrially rustic and injected with the silky scent of wine and wealth.

Exactly the type of place you’d go to get over your millionaire ex.

Martha slinks in like she’s made of the place. Coat loose over her arm, hips swaying and heels clicking. She hops onto a stool at the bar, drums her glossy nails on the varnished wood.

You settle awkwardly into the stool beside her, prodding at what turns out to be a very real cactus. You jump at the sharp prick.

A waiter behind the bar clocks you, and laughs to himself.

“Nice, huh?” Martha asks, scanning the place. The low-hanging lights, the spill of foliage from the rafters. She seems to fit into it a whole lot better than you do.

“Sure,” you mumble around your fingertip, “Are you buying?”

She rolls her eyes. “You asked me out, remember?”

“I was thinking some two-for-one cocktails dive, not the fucking Ritz, Martha.”

“Call it a pick-me-up,” she says, accepting a menu from the waiter. “We’re treating ourselves.”

You pinch your fingertip, watching a scarlet bead bloom from the wound. A satisfying sort of pain, a tender break your hands won’t stay away from. You squeeze until it balloons into a trembling bubble of blood, then swipe the cut clean. Squeeze, then swipe.

Martha orders some vino she says she’s always wanted to try. Two glasses, because when the waiter looks to you to take your order, you’re still staring at your bloody finger.

He slides the drinks over and smiles politely, eyes daring to meet yours only twice. He’s handsome: chiseled jawline and the smudge of a dimple on one cheek. Chin speckled with stubble, shorter and blonder than you’d like.

Your fingertip throbs, and you look down to find it closed in your fist. You take a gulp of wine.

Martha smacks her lips and hums. “Not half bad,” she says, and then slots her glass next to yours. “Alright,” she clasps her hands, “What is it? What’s been goin’ on?”

You spin the base of your glass, staring at the swirl of honeysuckle. “I just needed some air and…wine.”

She buys it about as much as you do.

“Only one thing in the world that makes me need air and wine,” she says. “A man.”

A laugh flutters from your chest, as if by accident. As natural as the sun splitting the clouds. No thinking about it, no forcing it.

Either the expensive alcohol works fast – or Martha does.

She lifts her nose, like sniffing out the truth. “Come on, no bullshit. Why’d you ask me to get a drink?”

It rolls from one shoulder to the other in a tired shrug. You’ve no fucking idea why you asked her to get a drink.

The office was becoming claustrophobic, bursting with the grief of it all. Joel was nowhere to be seen and yet everywhere you looked. Here’s the wall he’d kissed you against, there’s the spot you’d first shaken hands.

Here’s all of it, really: the shame and the anger and the heartbreak all knotted together. Holding yourself back from doodling hearts on his sticky note messages, busying yourself with shredding instead of nosing around his office.

No bullshit, you were about to scream. Martha’s just the first person you laid eyes on.

Her and her fucking kale.

“Because,” you summarize, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing anymore.”

Her eyes are wide, serious. She’s hooked already. “With Joel?” she asks, sipping.

“With any of it,” you reply. And then, hearing her properly: “What do you know about me and Joel?”

She swallows quickly. “He hasn’t told me a word, I swear,” she says, “but I wasn’t born yesterday. Paris was always a solo trip, darling.”

You massage your forehead, grumbling into your palms. “Jesus Christ,” you whisper. There’s a heavy ache blooming behind your eyes.

Martha smiles. “I thought it was sweet. He’s never been serious enough about anyone to take ‘em over there with him. But,” her eyes ladder down your figure, “I’m guessing it didn’t work out.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Okay,” she squints, reading you, “And are we relieved? Are we hurt? Angry?”

“We are four and a half coffees Monday morning, and a wine bar Monday afternoon.”

“Got it,” she says, face stony. “That little shit. You need me to yell at ‘im?”

You lift your wine, shake your head. “I did enough yelling at him last week,” you admit. “It wasn’t just him, anyways. He fucked up, but it was the both of us.”

Martha nods, and you both take a long drink.

She taps her nails against the swell of her glass. “I thought you two were really great together,” she says – polite, pensive.

The least Martha you’ve ever heard her.

“You did?”

She nods. “You just always had this camaraderie. It was palpable. From the moment he met you, he was different. Better for it. I don’t know when you were…whatever you were, but –” she takes a deep breath, looking off past you, “– I know I liked it when you were.”

It’s not something you ever considered, even in the thick of it. What it might look like from outside, this little love affair: promises whispered into coffee mugs and glances stolen from behind paperwork.

It was never a secret – at least, not one either of you were trying to keep. It was just…yours. You and Joel. Two names etched at the bottom of a birthday card, no room for anyone else’s.

And if anyone did find out – Martha, Rand, Jean-fucking-Marc – they felt more like collateral. Just the landscape, the backdrop for your fated meteoric crash down to Earth.

God, it felt good to fall.

Martha sighs, dabbing a knuckle at the corner of her lips. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she says, gently. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you hoped.”

Your eyes drift across the room. The waiter pours a deep red wine for a silver-haired couple over by the window. The man’s thumb surfs back and forth across his wife’s knuckles, dipping to circle the ring on her third finger.

The split in your skin opens again, your nail pressing clumsily into your finger. A tiny wave of pain rocks through the tip.

“Yeah, well,” you sniff, “Shit happens, right?”

“Sure does,” she says, and holds her glass out.

You cheers, the clink piercing the bumbling jazz in the air. The wine thrashes against the side of the glass, and you gulp back a sour mouthful.

“He sent me an offer for a job in Paris,” you confess into your drink. “That’s what our fight was about – the fact he didn’t want me to go. Then on Friday, he sent it anyway.”

“Paris?” Martha straightens in her chair. It’s easy to tell her, easy to pretend it’s some third-floor gossip when she reacts the same way. “That’s big,” she says. “Are you gonna go for it?”

“No,” you admit. “It’s with that guy Jean-Marc.”

Her upper lip curls, a bend of burgundy. “You can do better.”

“I guess,” you frown, “if I were looking.”

“You’re not looking?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

It twists in your throat. A million answers which fizzle into nothing at all on your tongue. Because because because –

“Who would read all of Joel’s boring emails?” It comes with a smirk, which drops as quickly as you realize Martha’s expression isn’t shifting.

“I would. And he’d find a replacement for you eventually. Not half as good, but…”

“Ha,” you stare at her, “Funny.”

“I’m not kidding. “I’m not,” she adds, when you roll your eyes. “It’s about damn time you realized you’re head and shoulders above all this.

“Maybe,” she continues, with an almost bloodthirsty interest, “Joel didn’t let on about Paris because he thinks you’re better than that, too. You don’t think he sees your potential? Hell, I do. You’re too good to be making coffee and taking minutes.”

Tell me something I don’t know, you think.

Joel’s never been quiet about how he feels about you – professionally or otherwise. He said as much in his office last week: I didn’t want to lose you. Those exact words kept you up all weekend, for crying out loud.

Sure, Joel sees something in you. Assistant, colleague, friend, not-friend. It’s not enough to stop the need you have – pinhole pupils hunting, blood jumping in your veins. Like it’d kill you to catch your breath, to shake your hackles and loosen your muscles.

Watch, watch. I can answer your questions before you’ve even come up with them. Watch, watch. I can show up early and leave late, barely pause for breath in between.

Watch, watch. I can break your heart and make it look just like mine.

You squirm under Martha’s glare.

“I don’t…I don’t even know what else I’d do,” you garble, playing with your hands. “I like this job. I’m good at this job. It’s…it’s –”

“– comfortable,” you say together.

“And that’s exactly the problem,” Martha nods, “You’ve outgrown it. You’re nothing but a monster in red bottoms now, baby – too scared to find something that fits you better in case it turns to shit. So what if it does? Is it the end of the world?”

“Feels like it right now,” you reply. She’s cloudy, blurred behind the ocean of tears teetering along your waterline. “And this is barely even a breakup, never mind failing at a career.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “You think you’d be the first? The last? People fail at things all the damn time. Better to do it now, young as you are – little elastic band of resilience and nerve.”

“Poetic,” you scoff.

She tilts her glass and her head follows.

“Listen to me,” she says, leaning in. “Do not spend one more second paralyzed by fear. I know you’re scared. You’re supposed to be. One day, you’re going to miss the time you gave enough of a shit to feel this fear.

“It’s like electricity in your veins. Everything’s so intense, everything hurts ten times worse and feels ten times more exhilarating. You think something might bring about the end of the goddamn world, and then the sun comes up the next morning just to prove you wrong.

“And Lord almighty, you are going to get it wrong. You’ll say the wrong thing, trust the wrong feeling. You’ll make the same mistakes over and over again. But Jesus, I’d rather you blew it all to hell and at least learned somethin’, than never did it at all.

“You know what my mom would say? World’s been waitin’ on you, kid. Grab a paddle.”

Another laugh spurts from your lips, tears spilling into your mouth, a crackly, wet sniffle. “What the hell does that even mean?” you giggle.

She smiles and wipes your cheek. “Means dive in. Get your hands dirty. Fall in love, get hurt, grow the hell up. Stop standing in the way of yourself and the things you want. That electricity won’t be there forever – so use it.”

“Use it…” you echo, taking the mascara-stained tissue from her.

“Promise me,” she implores, wrapping her hands around yours, “Promise me that you will.”

It’s not just Martha asking, you know this. She’s the one staring at you like a madwoman, sure – but her plea is echoed by a littler, quieter voice.

She’s nervous, scared. A crumpled math paper in her backpack. Her whole world tipped upside down one Wednesday afternoon, soul cursed forever – or so she thought.

When you reply, it’s not Martha you see. It’s the sixteen-year-old version of yourself.

So you look her dead in the eye, and say –

“I promise.”

The world is hazy by the time you leave the bar. Vignetted, a saffron sunset seeping across the sky. Mingling with the city skyline and losing herself over the horizon.

You totter up the steps to your building and wave Martha and Alan off, twirling inside. The weight of wine heavy in your veins, pulling you from one side to the other, and still – you feel lighter, somehow.

You spent all afternoon giggling, once the heartache thawed and the alcohol kicked in. It felt nice; bubbly and nostalgic, the peachy tint of girlhood.

Swapping stories about your old, ridiculous love lives – Martha’s overall-donned boyfriend in high school, or the guy you went on two dates with last year before realizing he was the same dude one of your girlfriends had ghosted three months prior.

For a few hours on a Monday afternoon, you were fifteen again – and the worst thing that could happen was a pimple sprouting on your chin the night before picture day. All you’d ever know was the shiny film on magazine pages, reading two-week old horoscopes to see if they came true.

You slump against the side of the elevator, head spinning as it carries you home. It’s something like seven. You’re too buzzed to fall asleep, but too tipsy to do much more than roll around your apartment.

And by the time you’re back in your sweats, sunken into the couch, one very final nightcap in hand – you’re too tired to even move.

Promise me, she’d said, wildfire behind her eyes. Martha’s notorious for her talents in convincing anyone of anything, wriggling her own way out of any circumstance.

This felt different.

She’s just your colleague. At best, a passerby. Technically – going by her track record with almost everyone else in the company – she doesn’t have to take any more interest in you than the parking attendants in the basement lot do.

But she took your hand and led you out of that office without thinking, the second she understood. She bought you drink after drink, and slapped your hand away when you tried to pay. She listened to you, dried your tears, and then kicked your ass into gear.

By all standards, she was the best first date you’ve ever had.

And promise me, she’d said.

It starts as a joke. Humoring her, humoring yourself. A dare whispered to you by the tinkling of ice in your glass. Innocent curiosity, mixed with a dash of Martha’s good influence.

The perfect cocktail of chaos.

Your first online search brings up so many results that it dizzies you. Marketing executive and project coordinator, business support manager and production lead. They blur into a gray fog, a taunting swirl on your laptop screen.

“Jesus,” you mutter, mouthful of wine. “What the fuck do I…?”

Business and art. That’s what you know. One you’ve been in long enough that you reckon you could do it with your eyes closed – and the other…your little pipedream.

‘s not stupid, Joel had said, that night by the river. Not a pipedream, either.

And – fuck it, maybe you ought to listen for once. Stop standing in the way of yourself and the things you want, and all that.

You dig your knuckles into your eyes, letting the spatter of stars clear your vision, and start again.

A second search threads together a list which feels a little cleaner. A little more you. Sophisticated websites with sleek designs, smooth wording which makes it feel like you’re being sold something.

And so what, if you are? Maybe you’re looking to buy.

You click through image after image of bright offices and beaming staff, sipping sharply through your straw. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, unsure whether the lightheaded feeling is from the rosé, or the promise of a successful career and competitive salary. Memorizing brand manifestos, learning company values like prayers passing through your hands.

It’s manic. Crazed. Like you’re stood on the brink of an abyss, thick fog kissing your ankles.

You laugh to yourself. This must be the fucking electricity.

Promise me. And what can it hurt, anyway, turning in an application form? Who says it’ll even go anywhere? They might take one look at your resume and laugh you all the way into the trashcan.

Or – they might see what Joel sees. What Martha sees. For the love of God, what you see.

Your resume looks much the same as it did four years ago – still molded into the shape of the kind of girl you thought Joel Miller, CEO might like to meet. And he did, very much so. It’s just – he met all shapes of her. Even the ones she tried to hide.

He found them all out, eventually.

Your thumb pauses, hovering over the mousepad. A slow guilt slithering over your shoulders, coiling deep in your gut. You think of Paris; those streets you walked down with Joel on your arm. Talking, laughing, spilling secrets and keeping them, too.

Your shadows are probably still on those avenues. Your reflections still bobbing in the Seine. Kisses hidden behind steam-coated mirrors, bodies joining in a darkened hotel room.

It twinges some, deep in your chest. A little numbed, what with all the alcohol and – well, Martha. But it’s still there. The same wound you’ve had for twelve years now.

It’s there. It will probably always be there.

So – fuck it.

You’re grabbing a goddamn paddle.

It’s been a quiet, fruitless week. No calls, no emails, no messages written in the stars.

Which is probably a good thing, given you were more than a few glasses of wine deep – and still on some kind of high from Martha’s speech. God only knows what kind of shit you were filling those applications with.

Nothing quite like liquid courage and a broken heart, right?

The light from the Xerox flickers, swiping memories from that afternoon back and forth. Martha’s hand locked around yours, the perfumed wine she kept buying. The waiter with the dimples, Joel’s Have a good night I’ll see you tomorrow, the pine air freshener in Alan’s car.

Things have mellowed, settled in your stomach. The world is back to beige – as plain as it always was before that night of tequila and AC/DC. You’ve made peace with it, this idea of letting go. Letting him go.

Martha – soapbox queen, microphone in one hand and glass of Sauvignon Blanc in the other – has checked in every day since. Expectant eyes from across the room, treasure chest emails full of job ads she’s collected.

Anything? she texted this morning, with six praying emojis. One more since yesterday, two since the day before that.

But no – nothing, for almost eight days now.

Maybe that’s for the best.

Maybe you can swallow back the knot of misplaced disappointment, slip back into your heels and forget any of it ever happened. That fire Martha struck so effortlessly, snuffed by a cruel, cold wind.

His knuckles on the door scatter your thoughts.

“Hey,” Joel says, leant against the frame. “Everything okay?”

“All good,” you reply. “What’s up?”

He looks…frustratingly good. Like he’s pieced himself back together. Sharp and smart, brand new. And yet – warm, homey, in all the places only you know to look.

Your fingers flinch by your side, as though they’re seeking him out. You want to run them through his hair, through his beard. Want to straighten his tie, smooth the shirt over his chest. Breathe him in and feel him melt under your touch.

Feel him change, feel him soften – just for you.

Only for you.

He floats over, hands in his pockets, and perches on the desk by the copier. “Exciting stuff,” he muses, tapping the machine twice.

“Hm,” you nod, “You’re an exciting man.”

“How was the wine bar?”

“It was good,” you reply. “Little above my price range, but – it got us drunk, so.”

“Did the job.”

“Did the job,” you agree.

“Good,” Joel says, crossing his ankles. “I’m glad to see you a little more your old self.”

Your lips flatten into a smile. “Well, Martha has a way with words.”

He snorts. “Don’t I know it.”

He lingers, then. An awkward air about him. He scratches his nose, stuffs his hands back in his pockets. Sucks in a deep breath, swallows what seems to be a soliloquy of sentiment, or secrets, or something else.

Whatever it is, his nerves rub off on you.

You cross your arms, twist your toe into the carpet. Stare at the paper churning out of the machine, stare at your nails, stare at anything that isn’t the man sitting right in front of you.

But then – he murmurs, as though the words splinter from his tongue, “I had an interesting email this morning.”

The copier shudders at his side.

Your eyebrows lift. “Oh, yeah?”

Joel clears his throat. “Yeah. Pertaining to you.”

And you realize.

You look up at him, the tight knit of his brows. His fixed jaw, the way it flexes as he chews on the words.

“Pertaining to me,” you echo – a nudge.

The light from the machine catches a wet glint in his eye. He blinks it away.

“Request for a reference,” he says.

And – shit.

“Shit,” you hiss.

Fuck.

“Oh, fuck,” louder.

His expression sharpens into a perplexed smirk. “Surprised?”

“Yes,” you start, “I mean – no. No, I just – Shit, I didn’t think they’d…I thought they’d talk to me first. Why didn’t they talk to me first?”

He shrugs. “I know of the company, met the CEO once at a gala. From what I know, she runs a pretty tight ship. Probably just wanted to gauge you before reaching out. It’s okay,” his voice is kind, hushed, “Doesn’t mean you won’t still hear.”

“Oh, Jesus, Joel,” you pull on your cheeks, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean –”

“Woah, woah,” he pats the air, moves so close you worry he might hear the thud of your heart, “No apologies, alright? That ain’t why I brought it up.”

“I just didn’t mean for you to find out that way. I wanted to be the one to – to tell you.”

He stands, hands finding your elbows. Gentle, a little timid. Barely brushing the sleeves of your shirt, and yet your whole body ignites.

“Darlin’,” his voice is serious, “I don’t care. I don’t give a shit, I promise. I mean…” he shakes his head, “…I give a shit. I give a lotta shits. I’m not – I don’t mean that, I meant –”

“I know what you meant,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “you always do.”

You pick a speck of fluff from his tie. He watches your hand, then takes it in both of his. Two big paws wrapped around one of yours, swallowing it whole.

It’s a familiar feeling, staring at the shape of your fingers tangled in his. Two in the morning at your first sleepover, praying Mom will pick up the phone. The first night alone in a new apartment, the babble of reality television for company right until sunrise.

You’re homesick.

Homesick for a man who’s standing right in front of you.

“I just wanted you to know,” Joel says, “that I sent it off just now. Just in case somethin’ goes wrong with the email, it doesn’t go through, I sent it to the wrong goddamn place – I don’t know. I just wanted you to know that it’s done.”

He holds your hand to his chest, his heartbeat against your knuckles. When you don’t reply, throttled by the threat of tears, he gives your wrist a little shake.

“Okay? You in there?”

“I’m here,” you breathe, and your hand slips from his grasp. “Thank you. I’m still sorry. You musta felt a little blindsided.”

His head bobs, considering. “Was a surprise, but a good one. Junior art director, huh? That sounds pretty damn exciting.”

“Yeah,” you reply, relaxing as he settles back on the desk. “Really exciting. Flex those creative muscles again.”

He grins. “You plan on working your way up?”

“Yup. Earn my stripes.”

“Alright, little tiger,” he says, and your heart leaps. “Proud of you.”

A silly smirk on your lips, you give him a tiny curtsy. “Here’s hoping your reference seals the deal.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t know about that, darlin’. It’s pretty shitty.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yeah. Talked all about how sarcastic you are, how you forgot the charger for your toothbrush – and then stole mine. Told ‘em about the Bart Simpson socks, force-feeding me Patrick Swayze. The lot.”

“The Bart socks,” you snicker, “They really stuck with you, huh?”

“Sure did.”

You slide onto the desk beside him. “What did you really write?” you ask, leaning in.

Joel glances to you. It should be obvious, with the way he’s looking at you, exactly what he wrote.

“Tell me,” you say, elbowing him.

“I told them…” he sighs, “…I told them not even to think about it, just hire you. They’d be outta their goddamn minds not to. Told them I wouldn’t be anywhere without you – or your Bart socks.

“Told them you’re the best thing that ever happened to this place. The best thing that ever happened to me. And you think – you think you never know what you have until you lose it, whatever that saying is, but I did. I knew from the second I met you. And they will, too. So – I told ‘em.”

The photocopier cuts, huffs, and falls silent. The room is plunged into a suffocating silence. You’re not sure you’re even breathing.

Joel’s arms are crossed protectively over his chest. You want so badly, more than anything, to burrow under them. To wriggle your way into his grasp – because you know he’d let you – cling to his chest, let his heartbeat regulate yours.

Let his entire body become yours; forget which parts are you, and which are him. Crawl into his skin, envelop yourself in him.

You want to cry into him. Hand him back all those mangled shapes of yourself you tried so hard to hoard – realizing now, that he knew what he was doing all along.

He was never trying to break them. He was never trying to hurt them. He only ever wanted to love them.

He only ever wanted to love you.

“Anyway,” Joel says, dusting his thighs, “Why don’t you finish that up, head on home for the day?”

“Uh –” you swipe the tears from your cheeks, “– no, it’s okay. I got a to-do list as long as my arm, and I still owe you, like, three hours from last week.”

Joel watches as you leap back over to the copier, swing the documents under one arm.

“I’m sure the to-do list will keep,” he assures, taking the ream from your clutches. “Go home, clear your head. Wait for that invite to interview to come through.”

“Joel –”

“Look at me,” he towers over you, “Anything urgent is Martha’s job now. She’ll love the drama of it. You want me to email that company back ‘n have them add Doesn’t follow orders to your reference?”

You breathe a laugh. “No.”

“No,” he repeats, brushing by.

All the times you’ve missed him before – landing back home after Paris, sat with some lovestruck financier in a golf club, fighting like kids in his office – and none of them compare to right now. Stood in the copy room, mere inches and yet entire worlds between you.

And Joel seems to know, like he knows everything you’re thinking. He glances over his shoulder, flame in his eyes, and he smiles. All sweet and charming, the real kind that softens him, lightens him.

Everything that makes him yours.

“Go on, git,” he says, heading for the door. “‘fore I change my mind.”

“Hey, wait. Joel?”

He turns back.

Your voice trembles. “How are you so calm about all this?”

His jaw flicks uncomfortably. He considers it for a moment, then says, “If you love something, you let it go.”

You repeat his own words back to him, whispered to you while you lay intertwined on his childhood bed. When they leave your mouth, they sound more like a plea. Fight back.

“But then you’d be losing something,” you say.

Joel shrugs. Earnestly. “Can’t lose somethin’ I never had.”

He doesn’t get it. He must get it. He’s twenty years older, twenty years wiser. He must know, by now. Christ, he had you to a tee two weeks ago.

How doesn’t he get it?

Your chest heaves. Your head shakes.

“You had it. You had me the second we walked into that dive bar.”

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 31] || [Chapter 33]

Pairing: Gaz x gn!Reader || Ghost x gn!Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.3K~ cw: not angst but a bit 'angsty', fluff fluff fluff. Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: This one made me all emosh to write ngl.

Chapter 32: No Harm Done.

You're sitting by the sliding glass door leading out to the balcony on Sunday morning, looking out and holding a warm drink in your hands.

It's raining outside. It's always raining in England, so it shouldn't really surprise you... but it still feels like a lazy, down-sort of day regardless.

You're home alone. Johnny went to base for P.T. and a meeting of sorts, while Kyle went out to the gym himself, giving you some time for yourself.

Your phone sits in front of you, fingers tapping away, back-and-forth, between chats with friends and with the lads, your lads.

Ghost said they'd text you to let you know when they were back, a promise they'd made after they sort of just turned up at your door all injured and hurt without warning so many weeks ago.

It feels like it's been an eternity since you had them all here.

Your eyes find your chat with Simon, flittering over the last couple of texts you sent each other. Right before the boys left on their newest mission.

Regardless of what Kyle and Johnny say about Simon, he's actually the best texter out of all of them... John being the worst.

simon: Have about 5 minutes before we have to go. you: will u be safe? simon: Always am sweetheart. simon: Don't you worry about me. you: i meant ALL of you. you: and of course i worry about u! simon: If it was about all of us, you wouldn't be messaging me separately. simon: And I appreciate it but you shouldn't. you: i hate how smart u are. you: u face death literally every day in your job simon: And I always come back. you: okay but im allowed to worry no? you: youd worry about the others too? simon: I guess so. simon: But I'll be fine. you: u dont know that. simon: I know enough. simon: Been doing this for over a decade. you: that's not reassuring the way you think it is. simon: You're very worried. Is this because of what I said?

That text makes you set down your phone when you read it again, your face warm with embarrassment at the reminder, just like it had been during that text exchange as it was happening.

He had told you he loves you. Two of them had by now.

The thought of that still makes you shiver, the words so full of emotion and vulnerability when Simon said them, never any pressure on you, just a gesture on his end.

you: maybe? simon: That's really cute of you. simon: Don't let it make you worry or overthink. simon: I'll make sure I come back to you. you: si... simon: GTG ✋ simon: Will text you when I touch down.

Kyle's, however, were a lot less vulnerable. They were sweet, sudden, driven by happiness and amusement...

Both of them came out of left field and caught you off-guard.

Both of them felt just as real, however.

You took a sip of your warm drink and glanced out of the window again, watching the droplets slide down the glass panes.

You can't help but think about how things have been going for you.

Is this becoming too much? Is it going too far? Did you finally lose the plot?

When did a silly little Tinder account you made with your friends while fighting heartbreak become a 4-way relationship and 2 out 4 men telling you they're in love with you?

You're lost in thought when the door opens behind you, Kyle making his way in.

"Hey, lovie." He greeted, causing you to jump a bit, spilling some of your drink over the glass top of the table.

"Ah, fuck." You complained as you reached for the napkin holder and started mopping up the liquid. "Hi, Ky." You added as you cleaned the mess you made.

"Sorry, did I catch you off guard?" He asked as he approached the table and began to help you.

"Yeah..." You murmured and looked up at him, finally, finding him in a grey sleeveless hoodie and black workout shorts.

You smiled softly at him as you gathered the wet napkins and moved to the kitchen to dispose of them.

Kyle seemed to catch the look in your eyes as you glanced up at him. "What's wrong? You seem strange..." He asked as you followed you into the kitchen.

"Just thinking, it's nothing." You told him as you turned after throwing out the rubbish, only to find him standing right behind you, looking at you with scrunched brows.

"Is this about yesterday?" He asked you softly. "Was it too early?" He added in earnest.

The memories of the day before come back to you sharply. The way, after he told you he loved you, you sputtered for a bit, your face burning up, your eyes wide...

And how you had come back home together, your nose still pink, his cheek still red, the both of you looking embarrassed and sheepish, avoiding eye contact and biting your lip.

How Johnny had teased the two of you, thinking you had gotten down and dirty in the car and that's why you had come home looking so embarrassed...

You look up at him with a sigh and shake your head. "No, it's just..." You trailed off.

"Was it because Soap teased us after we came back?" He reached forward and gently ran a hand over your cheek.

"No!" You added and sighed, leaning into his palm, and gently holding his forearm in your hand.

"I'm just worried... I've never... been in something like this before." You explained, as you looked into his eyes. "More than one partner and-"

Kyle nodded at you, watching you with understanding eyes and a soft gaze, like he wanted you to keep talking, communicating.

"I don't know how to act about this... I don't know..." You trailed off and looked away for a moment. "It's... a strange feeling."

"To love more than one person at once?" He asked you as his brows raised in inquiry.

You nodded in response and looked up at him. "Yeah... And to... have them love me back."

"So I wasn't the first to tell you, huh?" Kyle asked, having caught the way you mentioned 'more than one person' when it came to 'loving you back'.

Your face burned up hot in embarrassment and you shook your head at him.

"Simon was." You replied, which made Kyle's eyes widen and then a smile take over his lips as he shook his head.

"Wasn't expecting that..." Kyle admitted as he caressed your cheek again.

"Did you say it back for him? Like you did for me?" He asked and you nodded your head in reply.

"Well..." Kyle trailed off, seemingly lost in thought for a moment, as if pondering what to say, and how to say it. "It's not exactly a bad feeling, is it?"

You shook your head. It wasn't a bad feeling. In fact, you quite liked having said the words, having had the words said to you.

"Then, I'd say there's not a big cause for worry. We all knew this would happen, right?" He added. You, once again, nodded at him.

Gently, he cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs rubbing your cheeks. "Then, let's just... let it be." He chuckled.

"You and I love each other. You and Simon love each other. I love Simon too..." He admitted with a shrug. "No harm done, right?"

Smiling a bit more, you ended up nodding and gently pushed up, kissing him slowly and deeply, both of your eyes closing, his hands caressing your face, your hands caressing his forearms...

You're so into the kiss, you don't hear the front door close, nor Johnny approach, until he shows up at the kitchen door. "Greedy bastard, leave some space for the Tav, will ye?"

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling ,

@tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva ,

@emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes ,

@irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @cod-z , @frescoisnotinthemilitary ,

@leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @xxshadowbabexx , @severenswife , @enarien ,

@l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago ,

@sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki ,

@comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear ,

@mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat ,

@stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving ,

@blckbrrybasket , @agoodmoviekiss

[misscrawfords]

I was listening to Pride and Prejudice on my drive back from my mother's today and it's been so long since I've actually read the novel as opposed to engaged with one or other adaptation...

Goodness, it's good, isn't it? And Elizabeth is so much more complex a character than she is often presented in adaptations.

The thing that was standing out to me today - I was listening to from when Mr. Collins proposes to Charlotte and I stopped just when Elizabeth was talking to Colonel Fitzwilliam at Rosings - was the chapter which is just Jane and Elizabeth talking about Bingley. This gets cut from adaptations or so condensed to be meaningless, but it's incredible. It's just a whole chapter of the sisters chewing over why Bingley ghosted Jane (for lack of a better term) and what Caroline's motivations were and the thing that gets me is that they're both right. Jane is right that Bingley can't be blamed for being a friendly young man and that he had no malicious intentions but Elizabeth is also right that young men can be thoughtless in their dealings with women who have less freedom than them and their thoughtlessness can do real hurt. (She's also right about Caroline, of course.) It struck me as such a modern issue. Maybe I've just been thinking about the unwitting hurt that thoughtless young men can cause recently, but everything is so complicated. Bingley is a flake who makes a mistake with regards to Jane but he's also a genuinely lovely young man who makes it right in the end - he's still on his own journey through life which he will continue with Jane. Jane herself lets her desire to see the best in others cause her to see friendship where it isn't, but being deceived in a friend is not so uncommon, is it? And she's not stupid or weak. Heck, she endures her heartbreak being talked about openly by her mother in public for months silently and without rancour. And she does it all without ever resenting Bingley! Jane's the strongest character in the whole novel and an inspiration to the rest of us - FIGHT ME on this!

The other thing I really picked up on was what an important moment in Elizabeth's character development Charlotte's engagement is. It actually kind of breaks my heart - her best friend makes a life choice that she can't support but has to and nothing will ever be the same again between them. It's the first dent into Elizabeth's world view that forces her to see that people are different from her and can make different decisions and this is okay and not just something she can laugh at. It's so relatable in terms of life events - when a close friend marries and then when they have a baby, these things absolutely still do alter friendships. Elizabeth gets over it and even enjoys seeing Charlotte in Hunsford but we are frequently reminded by the narrator that the previous confidences they enjoyed will never be the same again. It's a really big moment for Elizabeth and really the first event in the novel to start to shake her foundations of her comfortable existence. The other two are Bingley's desertion of Jane and Wickham's decision to pursue Mary King over her. By the time she goes to Hunsford, she is prepared in a way for the final massive shock to the foundations of The World According to Lizzy Bennet, not that she knows it. Such is growing up.

And OMG Lady Catherine is SO vulgar and inappropriate! She is a direct parallel to Mrs. Bennet and the rest of the Bennets. Just as Elizabeth feels accute embarrassment at the Netherfield Ball, Mr. Darcy is feeling exactly the same at Rosings. Beautifully done. But their awareness of what is appropriate behaviour is something that unifies Darcy and Elizabeth even if Darcy massively fails to behave like a human around Elizabeth. Pride and Prejudice is such an expose and examination of "how to behave in social situations". There is nobody who doesn't come under scrutiny and pretty much every type of behaviour is gone over with a fine tooth comb.

Sometimes I feel almost ashamed when people ask me what my favourite novel is and I say "Pride and Prejudice" because it's such a damn cliche. I should say something heavier or more obscure or at least I should say it's Persuasion, the "thinking girl"'s favourite Austen. But P&P is so special to me on so many levels and you know what? It is a MASTERFULLY written book.

[sexyandcringe]

Hopeless romantic

Part 1 ◇ Part 2 ◇ Part 3

Warnings: reader drinking (nothing serious though), mention of sexism by reader's parents.

Content: osamu x reader, Angst (to fluff in the next chapters), hurt/comfort

A/n: Guess the Song of Achilles reference! :)

It has been around three weeks since you last saw Osamu that day: you took your chance to scurry away when he went back into the kitchen briefly, leaving your payment to Tsumoto.

The memory of his embrace with another woman still lingered in your mind, but you were able to distract yourself with the hundreds of books on your shelf and the dogs in the shelter.

You took this time to explore other places in the city, from the cozy Indian restaurant near your workplace, where the taste of salty chapati mixed with matar paneer melted in your mouth like butter, to the Mexican fast food spot at the corner of the library, where you savoured the taste of chiles en nogada followed by elotes. Yet,  nothing compared to Osamu’s handmade onigiris, the taste of his love surpassed any food you’ve ever tried.

You don’t believe he didn’t notice your absence, but it wouldn’t bother him that much, you assume, since you’re nothing more than a friendly regular. 

Or at least, you used to be a regular.

Now you are just a girl who spends her days between work and shelter,  occasionally going out to drink with the few friends you have. You know it’s wrong to use alcohol to dull the suffering, but sometimes it’s the only way to remind yourself that life still holds meaning, and that happiness, however fleeting, can be found.

But not going to Osamu’s restaurant has its consequences, like going to the grocery store to buy all the necessities to make a healthy meal and right now you are not exactly having fun doing all this.

When you were a child, your mother always told you to learn how to cook and clean because “someday you’ll have to do it for your future husband”, so, as an act of rebellion, you refused to learn anything other than the most basic dishes of your culture; this act of rebellion ended up biting your ass now because you are tired of eating the same basic things over and over again and you miss Osamu’s food.

You wander through the aisles, searching for the ingredients of the recipe you want to try.

it has been at least half an hour now and you’re meticulously selecting each item, trying to get the correct amount of food. You always tend to buy more than necessary, which ends up with you never using that specific product again and making it go to waste—like the honey syrup you bought for your pre-made pancakes that now sits untouched. You don’t even have time to eat breakfast most of the time. 

You are trying to understand which vegetables are less decayed than others when someone approaches you slowly. 

“That one will go bad in like 2 days.” 

You startle at first, but you freeze completely the second you meet his eyes.

“Hey.” he smiles.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god, please why did he have to come here out of all the grocery stores in the city?

You tried to forget about him like an unwanted pest, avoiding all the places he could be at, you even chose a longer path home so you wouldn’t bump into him while he closed the restaurant. You are old and tired and so is your heart, it can scarcely bear the burden of yet another heartbreak.

You drew in a slow, steadying breath before replying.

“Hi Osamu, long time no see.” you try your best to beam at him, like nothing has touched you, like you don’t want to run away this instant, like you don’t want to scream at him and hurl all these vegetables at him because you hate him for shattering the last remnants of hope you had left in you.

Like you don’t love him at all.

You tend to buy more than necessary, just like you tend to let your feelings grow more than necessary, and then, then they stay there, growing and decaying at the same time, festering with pests and resentment.

“Yeah, because someone hasn’t been coming to my restaurant lately.” He remarked with a petty edge to his voice.

Well, you jumped into that one.

A nervous laugh leaves your lips, “I was just … busy. We got a few more dogs in the shelter and it’s been a little hectic.” your voice is barely a whisper, laden with the weight of your lies.

Coward, liar, ugly.

He nods in quiet understanding, picking a zucchini with a pristine surface, a stark contrast to your rotten life. “Take this one. What’re ya making?.”

You take the vegetable from his hands and place it in your bag, his kindness pressing against the walls you've erected around your fragile heart “I don’t know,” you sigh, “I'm trying to make some vegetarian lasagna, but I already know it's going to suck. I’m a terrible cook.”

“You can always learn, you know.” he counters, a playful smirk gracing his lips “I wasn’t born with a knife in my hand.”

You roll your eyes, pushing your cart forward. “I’m lazy. And I don’t have anyone to teach me in a fun way.”

“I could teach you. Although I'm not sure if I can do it ‘in a fun way’” he signs with his fingers, “you won't die of boredom, I guess?”

“I’m always having fun with you, Osamu.”  And it’s true.

“That’s crazy considering that you haven’t come to meet me in three weeks.”

“Oh god, you’re so petty!” 

“Hell yeah, I am!”

You stare at each other before bursting into loud giggles; his eyes crinkle as he looks at you and you try so hard to ignore the warmth of your cheeks.

(and the warmth in your chest).

You are not used to being loved but you are used to love, and you can’t help wanting to stay around those you love, can’t ignore the tugs of your heartstrings. You know it will only end up in heartache and you are already regretting what’s coming out of your mouth, but you can’t stop it.

“Well? Will you teach me then?”

He smiles, and his face is like the sun.

Reblogs are really appreciated!

Tag: @lees-chaotic-brain

[a-hobit]

I hope you all read that heartbreaking letter from horikoshi on Twitter because I could cry rn. I have TRIED to do a weekly comic and I couldn’t even do TWO fuckass pages a week and to do 13 - 20 even with assistants (the level of detail in MHA is insane and I love that part about it!!) feels imposible with keeping up a healthy lifestyle. He’s SO sweet and cares so deeply about how his effort effects people down the corporate line as well as the readers. It’s so sickening to read his apology for not being able to pump out chapters every single week like a fucking machine. I’d rather wait ten years to see the end than read about my favorite author deteriorating just to get the manga out within the next year or so. I LOVE MHA so much! And I wish I could tell him how many people couldn’t care less how long it takes!! Once again I wish I could do anything to make this guy see that everyone doesn’t mind how long it takes and once again every heartfelt and sincere English reply will never be read. I hope the Japanese readers can get him away from this awful mindset.

[queenofterrasen418]

Cruel Fates (Part 4- Final)

Pairing: Azriel x f!Reader, little Eris x f!Reader

Summary: Azriel is your mate but only you know it. You are very aware that he has eyes for someone else and thus you decide not to hide it forever. After all, what could go wrong right?

Warnings: Angst (Not the usual kind), heartbreak, bad decision-making by the reader (personally, at least.)

5.3K words

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You’re not nervous, not even the tiniest. It was not like there was any room to be so because today was the Midnight Solistice ball. It has been a fortnight since you wrote that letter to Eris, he had sent one back confirming his attendance. When you told the rest of the inner court of your decision things had gone… well it went as you expected. Rhys supported your decision while Feyre was disappointed. Amren gave you a look that seemed to say ‘Is that so?’ to which you just gave a firm nod. Cassian had been less vocal, but the silent disapproval in his stance spoke volumes and when you looked for Mor, she merely raised an eyebrow, an unreadable expression on his face. As for Azriel, he was sent out on a mission a few days back so thankfully you escaped from the awkwardness that seemed to linger wherever your path crossed.

But today, none of that mattered. Tonight, the ball was about more than just diplomacy or expectations; it was a chance to make your mark, to reclaim a piece of yourself that had been lost in the shuffle of responsibilities and politics. The Midnight Solstice ball, with its glimmering chandeliers and whispering silk curtains, was the perfect backdrop for what you hoped would be a turning point.

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror. The gown, a deep, rich blood red with intricate gold embroidery that mimicked the flickering embers of a fire, hugged your figure perfectly. A gold and ruby tiara sat atop your head, the gemstones catching the light and casting a warm glow over your skin. Your hair, elegantly pinned back, let the tiara shine like a crown of flames. You were a vision of grace and strength, the embodiment of confidence you needed to exude tonight.

Just as you reached the ballroom in Hewn City, the clock struck the hour of midnight, the anticipation crackled in the air. The first notes of the orchestra began to play, a soft and enchanting melody that set the mood for the evening. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself for what was to come. Eris would be arriving soon, and with him, a new chapter of intrigue and possibility.

You joined the rest of the court at the dias standing beside Cassian. As much as you hated it your eyes searched for Azriel as soon as you set foot in here but he was nowhere to be found.

Rhys must have noticed you searching because his voice softly whispered in your her, “He'll arrive a little late.”

Stars, you hated waiting. It had been only a few minutes before the giant doors opened to reveal the Autumn Prince prowling towards you like a predator but it felt like an eternity had passed.

In the periphery of your eyes, you noticed the movement of smokey Shadows to know Azriel was behind you.

Eris approached with that ever-present smirk, his amber eyes gleaming with mischief as he bowed slightly, offering his hand. “I must admit, you wear the autumn colours well, Y/N, you look glorious. Careful—if you keep looking this tempting, I might forget we're here to talk business.”

He straightened, his gaze flickering over the ruby tiara, lingering as though assessing not just her appearance, but her entire being. “Though I’m beginning to think this alliance will be far more enjoyable than I first anticipated.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, “Hello to you too, Prince.”

The smile Eris gave you in reply could only be described as… sweet. Odd, but lovely. He began to greet the rest of the court but that was more tense than a tightrope. No surprise there.

The music played softly in the background, and your eyes drifted to the ballroom, watching the swirl of colours and movement before you. The anticipation had been building all evening, and though you had expected it, the flutter of nerves in your chest hadn’t entirely subsided.

Then, your vision shifted back to Eris. His amber eyes gleamed as his focus locked on you, but something about his expression was softer than you had anticipated. He extended his hands towards you, his gaze unwavering.

“Dance with me,” Eris said, his voice quieter than usual. There was no teasing, no smirk—just a simple request.

For a brief moment, you hesitated. It wasn’t because you didn’t want to—there was a pull between you, undeniable and magnetic—but because stepping onto that dance floor felt like crossing a threshold you weren’t sure you were ready for. You were here for diplomacy, for alliances, and yet, the weight of what this dance might mean had your heart beating faster than you liked to admit. You also took note of the heavy silence around you, the inner court was observing every single interaction, and you would indeed give anything to get away from this awkwardness too.

So despite the million reasons not to, you took his hand anyway. His fingers were warm against your skin, steady and sure, and as he led you onto the floor, you reminded yourself to breathe. The room around you seemed to quiet, the conversations and glances fading into the background, though you were keenly aware of the eyes that followed your every move.

The music shifted to something slower, more intimate. Eris’s hand settled at your waist, his other holding yours gently, and though his grip was firm, there was a subtle hesitation in how he held you, as though giving you the chance to step back if you wanted. But you didn’t.

“I wasn’t sure you’d even consider agreeing to this,” Eris said, his voice just above a whisper as he guided you into the first steps of the dance.

You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his, searching for any sign of the usual arrogance. But there was none. Instead, there was something almost uncertain, like he, too, was navigating unfamiliar ground. The urge to use your powers to make sure you were right about your assumptions was tempting but tonight you refused to use them. Whatever relationship you are about to form with Eris heavily depends on trust and your powers would only be an invasion of that.

“Neither was I,” you admitted, your tone softer than you intended. Your steps were fluid, your bodies moving in sync, but you couldn’t shake the quiet wariness that lingered at the edges of your mind. This felt too personal, too close for something that was supposed to be about strategy. A part of you inside, you realised, did not mind it. There is no harm in genuinely enjoying each other’s company, right? “But we’re here.”

He gave a slight nod, his gaze not leaving yours. “We are.”

For a few moments, the only sound was the music and the soft rustle of your movements. The way Eris moved with you, not leading too aggressively but not holding back either, felt like a delicate balance—one that required trust. And that trust was what made you hesitate, even as you followed his lead.

“You’re different than I expected,” you said quietly, your voice barely carrying over the music.

Eris raised an eyebrow, amusement filled his gaze, but the small smile on his lips didn’t hold its usual edge. “Different, how?”

You bit your lip, searching for the right words. “Less… calculated,” you said after a moment. “More… real.”

He chuckled softly, though it wasn’t mocking. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“I’m not sure yet,” you replied, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips despite the uncertainty in your heart. “But it’s unexpected.”

Eris’s expression shifted, something thoughtful passing over his features. “I suppose I’m full of surprises, then.”

The dance carried on, each step a little more sure than the last, the tension between you slowly dissolving into something else—something neither of you had anticipated. But even as the chemistry between you became palpable, there was still a part of you that remained guarded, your thoughts caught between what you were feeling and what this meant for everything else.

“You’re still hesitating,” Eris said after a beat, his voice low, though there was no judgment in his tone. “I can feel it.”

Your breath caught for a second, surprised by how easily he read you. But then, this was Eris—sharp, perceptive, always watching. “I’m not sure what to make of this,” you admitted softly. “Of us.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, just enough to ground you. “Neither am I,” he said quietly. “But maybe that’s part of it.”

The honesty in his voice startled you, and for a moment, you faltered in your steps. He caught you without hesitation, his hand steadying you as he pulled you back into the rhythm of the dance. His scent filled you as you got close to him again, crackling fire, smoky with a surprising touch of sweetness and a cosy blend of spices. It was intoxicating. His eyes searched yours, as though he was trying to figure out what you were thinking, trying to piece together the puzzle that was you.

“You don’t need to give me an answer tonight, you know?” Eris said softly, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand in a barely-there gesture. “Sometimes it’s okay not to know.”

The simplicity of his words made something in your chest loosen, even if just a little. You weren’t sure how much you trusted him yet, or what this dance would mean for the future, but in this moment, the weight of your decisions seemed to lighten.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you murmured, your voice quieter than before.

The music slowed, signalling the end of the dance, and as you pulled away, you noticed the lingering warmth of his hand in yours. You didn’t say anything else, and neither did he. There was no need for more words, not yet. But in the stillness that followed, with Eris watching you, not as a prince or a suitor, but as someone trying to understand you, you realized something important:

You weren’t entirely sure what was happening between you, but whatever it was, it wasn’t a game. Not anymore.

Azriel’s POV

Azriel watched from the shadows, his chest tightening with each passing second as you and Eris glided across the dance floor. The elegant way your bodies moved together was undeniable, but it was the way you smiled, that soft, hesitant smile, that made something in him twist uncomfortably. He couldn’t explain the feeling gnawing at him, but he knew one thing: this wasn’t just about diplomacy.

It was more than that.

He had been watching you for weeks now, ever since you’d first spoken to him at a meeting that seemed so insignificant at the time. But now, in this dimly lit ballroom, he could recall every detail of those moments, ever since you both first met, like a collection of memories he hadn’t even realized he’d stored away. Once he was aware of its existence he couldn’t stop noticing every little thing about you.

It started small. At first, he noticed how you carried yourself—calm and composed, yet always with a hint of mischief in your eyes. He remembered how you’d touch your lips absentmindedly when you were lost in thought or how you’d tuck a stray hair behind your ear without thinking twice about it. He’d caught himself staring more than once, admiring the little things about you—the delicate way you handled a blade, the way you always seemed to know when someone needed a kind word or a sharp one. And, by the mother, the times you wielded your powers had to be his favourite, the most lethal poisons indeed did come in the prettiest forms.

But then there were other moments—deeper, quieter ones. Like when you stood beside him, your shoulder brushing his for the briefest second, and he’d felt something stir within him, something he couldn’t name. Or the way you’d throw him a fleeting glance during those Inner Court meetings, where your eyes would catch his for just a second longer than necessary, and he’d be left wondering what lay beneath that look.

He never thought much of it at the time. It was all so subtle, so easy to ignore until it wasn’t.

He remembered one particular evening, only a week ago, when you had laughed at something Feyre had said during dinner. That laugh—it was rare to hear you laugh like that, full and genuine—and it had struck him in a way that made his chest feel uncomfortably tight. He’d found himself watching you for the rest of the evening, his attention constantly drifting toward you, but he brushed it off as nothing more than curiosity.

But now, watching you dance with Eris, all those subtle moments came crashing down on him. The way he’d been noticing the smallest things about you, how he’d been admiring them without truly registering why. How his thoughts would drift to you even when you weren’t in the room, and how lately, he found himself lingering near you whenever he could as if drawn by something he couldn’t quite grasp.

It wasn’t until now—until he saw you in someone else’s arms—that the realization hit him with the force of a tidal wave.

He was falling for you. Maybe he had been for a while. He didn’t even know when it started, but it had crept up on him, subtle and silent like his shadows.

And now, seeing you with Eris, something primal inside him screamed at the thought of losing you, of letting someone else see those small, beautiful things about you that he had come to cherish in secret.

Azriel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, the tension rolling through his body like a storm. He couldn’t let this happen. Not without speaking to you. Not without making you rethink whatever it was you were about to do.

Y/N’s POV

As the music quieted, Eris kept your hand in his, guiding you away from the centre of the ballroom. There was a quiet elegance to your movements, a shared understanding that you both needed space from the watching eyes, if only for a moment. Together, you wandered aimlessly, threading your way through clusters of guests without a destination in mind. It wasn’t uncomfortable—more like the kind of aimlessness that made sense, where words weren’t always necessary.

Eris tilted his head toward you, a playful gleam lighting his amber eyes. “I have to admit,” he began, his voice low but teasing, “this might be the first ball where I’m not the sole subject of the whispers.”

You glanced up at him with a smirk, your lips curving just enough to show your amusement. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t live for the scandal. You practically swim in it.”

He chuckled softly. “I’d never deny it. But tonight’s gossip is far juicier than I’d anticipated.”

That flicker of curiosity sparked to life inside you. “Go on, then. Don’t hold out on me.”

Eris leaned in just a bit closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Word around the ballroom is that Lady Soralyn’s sudden disappearance from her estate last week wasn’t for the usual reasons.”

You raised a brow, intrigued. “Usual reasons? You mean like her terrible taste in lovers?”

His grin was wicked. “Oh, it’s much worse this time. She’s apparently been caught in a rather… delicate situation with Tarquin’s advisors, yes, advisors, in plural”

Your eyes widened as you barely held back a laugh. “No. She wouldn’t.”

“Oh, she would,” he replied, his gaze gleaming with mischief. “But that’s not even the best part. The advisors? Married. Their wives showed up mid-rendezvous.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed softly, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. “How do you always manage to be privy to the worst scandals?”

Eris shrugged, that self-satisfied smirk dancing on his lips. “What can I say? People like to talk when they think no one’s listening. I simply… listen better than most.”

“Or people just assume you’re too arrogant to care,” you teased back, your tone light.

“Ah, but that’s the trick. Let them think what they want.” He paused, his grin taking on a wicked edge. “Besides, it’s always the ones who look disinterested who end up knowing everything.”

You shook your head, still chuckling at the absurdity of it all. “You must have enough blackmail material on half of Prythian by now.”

“More than half, if we’re being honest,” he replied smoothly, his playful tone fading into something more thoughtful. 

For a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the ballroom fading into the background. It was nice, the quiet between you, thick with shared understanding but without the need to fill the space with words. 

“I have to admit, Y/N,” he began, breaking the silence, glancing at her with that ever-present smirk, “there are some rather interesting rumours swirling around about you.”

You tilted your head, intrigued but wary. “Oh? I’m sure they’re all incredibly dignified and respectful.”

Eris let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, very. One of the rumours is that you’re the one to fear more than anyone in your court. They speak of how you can practically stop a person’s heart with a look, maybe even… slow their pulse to a crawl.”

You scoffed lightly, but there was a trace of amusement in your voice. “I can’t help it if people are easily intimidated.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Easily? Y/N, I’ve seen battle-hardened generals flinch when you enter a room.”

“Well,” you shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, though the flicker of a smile betrayed you, “alright, I have nothing to say to that.”

“Exactly.” Eris teased, but then his expression softened into something more genuine. “Though, truth be told, it’s what made me curious about you in the first place.”

You glanced up at him, taken aback. “Curious?”

Eris nodded, his amber eyes lingering on hers. “While others were whispering in fear, I wondered if there wasn’t more to the story. Something they were too blind or too intimidated to see.” His voice lowered, holding a trace of warmth that caught her off guard. “Turns out, I was right.”

You simply blinked, momentarily lost for words, the vulnerability in his tone throwing her slightly off balance. But Eris, never one to let a moment linger too long, cleared his throat and switched to a lighter tone.

Of course, there’s one piece of gossip about you that’s been making the rounds lately—something very scandalous.”

You shot him a wary look, already preparing for whatever teasing remark he was about to throw her way. “Oh? And here I thought I’d been behaving.”

Eris chuckled, low and dangerous. “Apparently, at a certain high-society dinner a few months back, there was a rather loud—and, shall we say, descriptive—comment made about you.”

A frown formed on your face, curiosity piqued despite the sinking feeling in your stomach. “Descriptive? Of what, exactly?”

Eris leaned in, his voice dropping into a mock whisper as he delivered the punchline. “Some lord from the Dawn Court—inebriated beyond saving, of course—remarked that he had it on good authority that you could literally make a man drop dead between the sheets. And not literally, if you catch my drift.”

Your mouth dropped open, blood rushing to your face, flushing with embarrassment. “You’re joking.”

“Dead serious.” Eris grinned wickedly, savouring the look of horror that spread across your face. “He claimed you had some very specific talents when it came to manipulating…certain bodily functions.”

You groaned, running a hand over your face as if to hide from the mortifying thought. “Stars, please tell me you’re making this up.”

“Wish I was.” Eris smirked, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “The entire room fell silent. A few looked horrified, but others were—let’s say—intrigued. I distinctly remember someone asking if there were any volunteers for you to demonstrate your ‘gifts’ after dinner.”

You swatted his arm in exasperation, mortified. “You’re disgusting, Eris.”

He laughed, completely unbothered. “I’m disgusting? You should’ve seen the way half the room was staring at you afterwards. They were probably wondering if they’d survive the night in your bed or if they’d drop dead with a smile on their face.”

Y/N shot him a glare, though she couldn’t stop the embarrassed laugh that slipped out. “I can’t believe people talk about me like that. How vulgar. Though that is a nice idea, never tried that before.”

Eris’s eyes darkened at that comment, not giving him a chance to reply to that you sighed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Well, I’m thrilled to know I’m the subject of such flattering gossip.”

Eris caught on and just smirked, a spark of admiration shining beneath his teasing gaze. “You might hate it, but it’s true. They don’t know what to make of you, Y/N. They’re either terrified of you or—”

“—or want to sleep with me, apparently,” she cut in, her tone dry.

Eris chuckled again, but this time there was a note of sincerity in his voice. “Some of us fall into neither category, you know? Not that I’ll object to the latter but only if you are up to it .”

Your teasing expression softened slightly as you glanced up at him, sensing something deeper beneath the banter. But before you could respond, a familiar shadowy presence loomed behind.

Azriel.

He stepped forward, his gaze sharp and focused, cutting through the playful atmosphere like a knife. “Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice steady but tense. “We need to talk.”

His expression was calm, but his hazel eyes were burning with something else—something you hadn’t seen before. The sight of him so close, after days of him being absent, sent your heart into overdrive.

You glanced at Eris, who raised an eyebrow but stepped back graciously. “I’ll wait for you by the balcony,” he said smoothly, leaving you and Azriel alone in the crowd.

Azriel wasted no time, pulling you aside to a quieter corner of the room. His grip on your arm was firm, his shadows swirling anxiously around his feet.

“Azriel, what—?”

“Why are you doing this?” His voice was low, almost a growl. “Why are you letting him... How are you so sure that you don’t have a mate? Did he die? Is that it?”

The shock hit you like a physical blow. You had never seen Azriel this... shaken. The calm, collected Spymaster seemed to be unravelling before you. “Azriel, what are you talking about?”

His eyes flicked over your face, searching for something—an answer, a sign, anything. “Y/N, I know what I’m saying sounds ridiculous. But you can’t go through with this. I can’t let you marry him.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Yes, I do have a mate and he is very much alive, Azriel.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Azriel’s expression shifted, confusion and something darker clouding his features. “Then why are you doing this? Why are you... with Eris?”

You couldn’t help but raise your voice, “Because mating bonds are complicated! Trust me, my mate isn’t interested. The cauldron makes mistakes.” 

“Y/n, rejecting a mating bond is so painful, it’s worse than death.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone.

You felt a flicker of something like hope stir inside you, but it was quickly drowned out by the weight of reality. “Why does it matter to you, Azriel?” you asked softly. “Why are you so bothered by this?”

His response was immediate, but it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. “Eris isn’t good enough for you.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. Of course. Of course, it would be about Eris, not about him realising he was your mate. You stepped back, the disappointment settling like a stone in your chest.

“I need to go,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Eris is waiting for me.”

You found Eris on the balcony, staring out into the night. He turned when you approached, his smirk softening into something more genuine.

“Well?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes searching yours.

“I’ve been thinking,” you began, leaning against the railing. “Prythian needs this. And maybe... maybe I do, too.”

Eris’s brow lifted, but the teasing was gone from his expression. “You’re really considering it, then?”

You nodded, exhaling softly. “We both know this alliance is necessary. And... who knows? Maybe we’ll be good for each other.”

Eris studied you for a long moment before stepping closer, his hand resting over yours on the railing. “I never thought I’d hear you say that. But... I’m glad.”

You exchanged a look, one filled with an understanding that ran deeper than words. It wasn’t love, but it was something. And maybe that was enough.

“I accept your proposal,” you said softly.

The ceremony was held later that evening, under the cover of moonlight at a temple just beyond the court. Everything was ready—the vows, the magic that would bind you and Eris together in an alliance sealed by more than just words.

But as the moment to seal the bond drew closer, you felt it. A  pull deep within your chest.

Azriel stormed into the temple, his wings outstretched, his shadows wild around him. His eyes locked onto you, fury and desperation swirling within them.

“You said your mate wasn’t interested,” he ground out, his voice like shattered glass. “Well, I am fucking interested.”

Time seemed to stop.

Azriel’s voice rose, a tremor in his tone. “I wish the bond had snapped earlier, before all this. But I’ll be damned if I watch you marry another male when I’m standing right here.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath your feet as Azriel’s words hung in the air. You stared at him, unable to breathe, unable to move. His wings, the embodiment of his fury, flared behind him as his gaze bore into you, wild and unrelenting. He was waiting for you to say something, to react, but your mind was spinning.

You heard Eris shift beside you, but your eyes were still locked on Azriel’s. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. After all this time, after all the signals you thought you had misread, he was standing here, confessing... what? That he was your mate? That he had known?

“I... I don’t understand,” you finally managed to choke out, your voice trembling.

Azriel took a step closer, his shadows curling anxiously around his feet. “The bond, Y/N. It snapped. Just now. I didn’t know... I didn’t realize... but I can’t let this happen. I can’t let you marry him.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the weight of everything pressing down on you, making it hard to think. Your mate. Azriel was your mate. A part of you wanted to feel relief, to feel joy, but all you could feel was fear. Fear for Prythian, fear for the consequences this revelation would bring.

“You said your mate wasn’t interested,” Azriel repeated, his voice breaking slightly. “But I am. I’ve always been. And now that I know... I can’t lose you.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, your eyes flickered to Eris. He stood there, expression unreadable, though his amber eyes held a strange mix of emotions. There was no anger, no fury—just a quiet understanding, and perhaps a trace of sadness.

“I have to do this,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Azriel.

“No,” Azriel said, his voice hot, desperate. “No, Y/N. Fuck Prythian, fuck this alliance. I don’t care if the entire world burns down—none of it matters if it means losing you.”

The force of his words knocked the air out of your lungs, and before you could stop yourself, you were surging forward, crashing into him. His arms were around you in an instant, pulling you close, and his lips met yours in a kiss that was all fire and fury and desperation. It was as if the world had indeed stopped, and at that moment, all that mattered was the feeling of his mouth on yours, the taste of him, the bond snapping into place so forcefully that it left you both breathless.

When you finally broke apart, you stared up at him, your heart racing. This... this was real. The bond was real.

But as the haze of the kiss faded, reality came crashing back in. You could feel the weight of the court’s eyes on you, feel Eris’s presence behind you. Slowly, you turned to face him.

Eris stood tall, his expression carefully neutral, but there was no mistaking the sadness in his gaze. He let out a soft breath, his lips quirking into a wry smile. “Well... I’ll be damned.”

You took a step toward him, guilt twisting in your chest. “Eris, I am so sorry—”

He held up a hand, cutting you off gently. “Don’t. You don’t need to apologize. I knew something was off, even if I didn’t want to admit it. I just... I had hoped, for once, that I could have something for myself.”

Your throat tightened as you watched him. He was still so composed, still so regal, but there was a depth of pain in his eyes that made your heartache.

“I saw a future with you,” Eris continued, his voice quiet. “A good one. Even now, I selfishly wish that Azriel would have realized his bond too late, but...” He shook his head, giving you a sad, lopsided smile. “But  I want you to be happy and clearly, you are.”

You took another step closer, your heart aching with the weight of what could have been. “I’m sorry, Eris. I never wanted this to happen... not like this.”

He nodded, the smile still lingering on his lips, though it was tinged with bitterness. “I know. But it’s not your fault. Mating bonds work in strange ways.” His eyes flicked to Azriel, who was watching the exchange with a guarded expression. “Leave it to the Illyrians to always steal my bride.”

The comment was meant to be lighthearted, but the pain laced in his tone was unmistakable. And then, with a final glance at you, Eris gave a small, respectful bow. “Maybe in another lifetime,” he murmured, before winnowing away, leaving you standing there with a strange emptiness in your chest.

The court had dispersed by the time you and Azriel returned to your apartment, the weight of the night settling over you both. The silence was thick between you, the bond still thrumming with energy, still raw and new.

Azriel was the first to break it, his voice soft but full of unspoken emotion. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You met his gaze, your heart aching. “Because I didn’t think... I didn’t think you’d want this. You’ve always been so close to Elain, and I didn’t want to come between that.”

A flicker of something dark passed over his features. “Elain and I... that was never real. It was just... a projection, a fantasy of something I thought I wanted. But you...” His voice softened, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “You are what’s real. And I was too blind to see it.”

Your breath hitched at the tenderness in his touch, the intensity in his eyes. “Azriel...”

“I love you,” he said, the words falling from his lips like a vow. “I love you, Y/N. I have for a long time, and I’m not going to waste another second.”

You surged forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that was softer this time, but no less powerful. The bond flared between you, stronger now, more certain, and as you melted into each other, you knew—this was where you were meant to be.

The rest of the night was spent in a blur of whispered confessions, stolen kisses, and the quiet realization that, despite everything, this was your future.

Azriel was your future.

And as the stars twinkled outside your window, you knew you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A little note from me, kind of an acknowledgement too:

First and foremost, I am so sorry for taking this long to finish this. Apparently thinking of the story alone isn't enough. I can't believe I actually finished it, despite it being short (I don't think these characters could handle any more angst).

Thank you for all the love I've gotten for this fic, especially because this is the first fic I've made public. It means so much to me!!

And finally, my thoughts on Y/n and how the story ended.

This is a fanfic I've been thinking of ever since I read the ACOTAR series and it has been years since then. So yeah, I am a bit disappointed to see the reader making shitty, impulsive decisions, I am sorry if it gave you the ick.

I fell for Eris even more if that was even possible while writing this part. He deserves everything and more. My poor baby, I am so sorry for what I did to you. I wish I could make it better, I actually thought of making Y/n use her powers to lessen Eris's pain or at least make it a bit more tolerable but I felt it would be wrong to him.

I really hoped I could write an ending where Eris would not be hurt but I don't think this story could end in any other way. A tragedy, really. Eris and Y/n would have been the bestest of friends before anything. I'd like to believe it could still happen, platonically at least.

Anyway, I'll leave this to you now, again, thank you so much for reading!!

Taglist: @sidthedollface2,  @a-courtof-azriel,  @whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog ,  @acourtofsmutandstarlight ,  @katherinejess , @landofpetrichor , @isa1b2h3 , @anuttellaa , @cherryinsalemverse , @i-am-infinite , @myromanempiree , @sheblogs , @impossibelle , @fuckthatfeeling , @lilah-asteria , @rinpoststhings , @rcarbo1 , @t0uch-starved-h0e , @olive-main , @crossfandomslut , @melmo567 , @crazylokonugget , @sinfully-yoursss , @oucereeng , @annedub , @evangeline-xo , @sspookz , @thecraziestcrayon , @tele86 , @mal-adaptive-dreams , @mybestfriendmademe , @hannzoaks , @x1305 , @vanserrasimp , @whyshouldihaveanam3 , @smutslut05, @theravenphoenix26 , @moonlwghts , @noisyinfluencerstrawberry , @saltedcoffeescotch , @laughterafter , @lazypostfandomer , @weekendlusting , @feiwelinchen, @ivy-34 , @littlepippilongstocking , @iluvyewman-blog , @badgerstorms-art , @agirlwithwifiandalaptop , @the1harmony , @mp-littlebit , @xtreme-shipper , @knittedchapters

[justawritterwithideas]

Boy Wonder and the Rockstar | s.r

✩ previous part | next part ✩

summary: The BAU rushes to Washington after discovering that the lead singer of a famous band may be in danger, causing Spencer to come face to face with his past after 15 years.

general warnings: this series contains topics such as mentions of death, alcohol, drugs, strong vocabulary, as well as talk of heartbreak, disappointment and arguments. It also contains content regarding CM season 13, so it clearly contains spoilers.

chapter warnings: this chapter contains mentions of murder, vomiting, mistreatment, as well as the use of strong vocabulary. this is a spencer reid x famous!reader story.

words: 4,269 words.

a/n: hello! here i come with the second chapter of "boy wonder and the rockstar", i had fun writing this chapter as i also suffered from lack of creativity ( T T ), but finally inspiration touched me. I hope you like it. Remember to read the chapter cautions and have a good read.! English is not first language, so I may have mistakes, if so, I'm sorry. :(

𝟎.𝟐: 𝐌𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫.

For many people, memories that are related to times in their lives relate to certain aspects of the five senses, whether it's certain sounds or textures, music that brings them back to that exact memory, or simply tastes of foods that remind them of what their loved ones used to make.

For Spencer, it was smells.

Despite possessing a memory that makes him remember even the smallest detail of what happened the day before, his olfactory memory was much more developed than other senses.

During his childhood, or what he considers childhood, his memories smelled of the pages of old books that his mother read to him and her perfume, impregnated in the bed sheets when they sat together to read some classic of literature. When he was in his youth, sometimes the smells reminded him of the charcoal in his pencil, writing mathematical exercises on white sheets, or sometimes the smell of chlorine, because of the thousand times bullies forced him to go to the bathroom.

But during his college days, he always thought that the smell that would be his favorite was the soft smell of the library, of wood and humidity; but no, those memories had the smell of freshly brewed coffee, cherries and menthol cigarettes.

His good memories always brought smiles to his face in the middle of nowhere, as if he was remembering one of those old bad jokes they used to tell him and he couldn't find the humor in them, or maybe the less thought out answers to such logical questions. His good memories caused his stomach to clench tightly and his chest to feel heavy, as if a stone was replacing his heart.

Spencer knew why. Why his body felt that way.

But he didn't want to admit why.

Because if he admitted it, he knew the only reason he did would make him regret it, he would have to give reason to his sentimental side than the rational side.

And he hated not being right.

"Spence."

J.J.'s voice brought the boy back to his desk, taking his eyes off the nearly iced coffee with a pound of sugar to keep him awake.

He'd been daydreaming about Y/N's laughter in his ear for nights now, just like when they had sleepovers at her apartment. He couldn't get her out of his head, let alone get the smell out of her hair when she was the small spoon.

"What, what's going on?" the opposite replied, looking at the blonde. She seemed to be trying to decipher what was going on in her friend's head.

"I'm asking you, is something wrong, are you sleeping well?"

"Yes." Bullshit.

"Are you sure? Your eyes say otherwise." The black circles under his eyes gave him away.

"I've been sleepless for a few days, but it's because my neighbors won't let me sleep." Another bullshit.

"You should talk to them, you know." The boy nodded, giving the blonde an elongated smile and returning to his paperwork.

"Really all right?"

"Yeah, J.J. It's fine."

"'S okay, you know what you can tell me."

"Yes J.J., thank you."

The answer didn't leave the blonde satisfied, but she made an extraordinary effort to ignore his attitude and return to the desk with Luke and Matt, who had been staring at him for a couple of minutes.

"He's rambling again." Commented J.J as she returned, who kept her eyes on her best friend and tried to figure out what was wrong with him.

It was usual at this time of year, when the leaves were beginning to turn their last summer colors, that Spencer would go blank staring at a spot in the room more than once.

No one quite understood why that happened to him, the only one who knew was Gideon. But he never shared any of Spencer's secrets, not even if a gun was held to his chest.

"Guess whateee, my dear friends!" The conversation was interrupted by a cheerful and enthusiastic Penelope, who commanded everyone's attention with her sonorous voice.

"What's going on, Garcia?" Luke turned to see her, who was coming with an envelope in her hand.

"Your genius did it again, rub the wishing lamp and I got tickets to the best concert of the year - Paradox in Virginia! Can you believe it?"

"You got them!?" J.J. was the first to startle, coming closer to see the tickets for the most anticipated concert of the year.

"That's right, my dear friend! A girls' night out to see Paradox. You, me, Emily and Tara."

"No way, god. I'll talk to Will and rest assured I'll be ready for that night." J.J smiled hugging her friend's arm.

"What's Paradox...?" muttered Luke, causing Matt to turn to look at him. The poor Luke was trying to comprehend what his friends were talking about.

Was he too out of date on pop culture or were they speaking in some kind of secret code?

"Oh Luke, why did you ask that?" Matt shook his head, earning a glare from the blonde couple.

"What did you say, newbie, don't you know what Paradox is? Oh god, no way. I'll have to bring you up to date with a course on what today's music is right now, follow me." Penelope motioned to the boy, who turned to see Matt who was lifting his shoulders laughing.

"No Penelope, you're not going anywhere. We have a case, and it's urgent. There's no time, meeting room now."

The rest of the people turned to look at each other, abiding by their boss's orders as they saw her so anxious and serious about a case.

That didn't look good at all.

The adrenaline and euphoria of last night's show, plus the last two dates, had been enough of a stimulant for Y/N to fall asleep in bed once they arrived at the hotel. Her whole body was exhausted, and at that moment all she wanted was some chamomile tea and a thousand hours of sleep.

She loved her job, of course she did! But she was mentally and physically exhausted from giving almost 15 concerts without a break, from one state to another, with more cups of coffee and energizers in her body than times where her eyes closed to sleep.

And the only time she found peace and quiet was when her body was being moved from one location to another, so, at that moment, her body was resting in the comfortable seat of the SUV after being driven to an interview and returned to the hotel to rest.

She felt her limbs meld with the seat, feeling like she was in heaven itself where her muscles all over her body were relaxing after days.

Her peace didn't last long when she heard a soft call.

"Psss, Y/N."

The, now, blonde heard the call from Felix, also known as the band's drummer and her best friend.

"What? You ruin my beauty nap."

"What did one wall say to the other?"

Y/N could hang him right then and there.

More the tiredness in her body made her think, trying to devise the best answer to get him to leave her alone.

"What?"

"I'll meet you at the corner."

"I'm having the biggest self-control to not kill you because you just interrupted the only moment of peace I've had these past three months, asshole."

"You haven't been able to sleep?"

Y/N denied with her eyes closed, desperate to get back to her attempt at sleep.

"Not a single moment, I woke up three times last night and that was the best attempt at sleep I've ever had."

"Your pills aren't working?"

"They're placebos, they won't make my body calm down just like that and go back to my eight hour sleep cycle that I'd had for the last two years without touring." The young woman opened one eye, looking at her friend. "I just have to get used to it, I have to get back to the cycle of excitement I used to have when it was tour after tour."

"Maybe if we talk about that thing that bothers you-"

"No way."

Y/N knew what he meant, knew it was talking about a certain doctor who gave her goosebumps every time she thought about him and took her back to her college days.

Why was she still thinking about him? It had been almost 15 years since they last spoke.

Y/N looked at the date on her phone.

No, she was wrong.

It had been 15 years since they last spoke.

Today was 15 years since she had received the last letter from Spencer with her name written on it.

The last time she felt the smell of his perfume on the sheets and his ugly doctor's handwriting on a sheet of paper.

The last time she saw written "wherever you are, whatever you do or whoever you are with, you are always on my mind and in my heart, Y/N."

Last time she saw written "Love from Quantico, dr. Spencer Reid. I'm also known as your #1 fan, but only you know that."

Was that the reason she hadn't slept well that night? Yes.

Was that the reason she hadn't slept well for that last week? Yes.

Was that the reason why, every time she closed her eyes, she saw him smile? Yes.

Was she going to admit it? No.

Never.

"Y/N..."

"I don't want to talk about it, Felix. Don't insist."

"But, Y/N-"

"Let it go, Felix. Really, don't insist." Tyler's voice made Felix turn to look at him angrily.

Tyler and Shawn, the guitarist and bassist respectively, shook their heads and made an "X" symbol with their fingers, muttering at the same time "don't do it, don't be stupid."

"Enough kids, let it go. In two days we have a very important concert to give in Seattle, so I don't want any fights."

"You heard him, Felix." Y/N smiled opening her eyes, looking in the direction of Gerald, her manager.

Thank you, Y/N murmured in the man's direction.

Gerald just raised his shoulders, noticing how the van parked.

"Okay, down."

Tyler and Shawn were the first to get out, followed by Y/N and then Felix.

Felix hated to come off as meddling in Y/N's life, so whenever he meddled too much in the girl's life, he simply knew that seeking forgiveness from her was his best option.

"Sorry Y/N, I didn't mean to insist."

"It's okay, Felix. I know you meant no harm, but I don't want to talk about it."

"And when will you?"

"I don't know, I guess when I'm ready."

"It's been 15 years, Y/N."

"I know, but I'm still not read-"

"Miss Autumn?"

Y/N turned to see the receptionist, who was holding a package.

"A package has arrived for you."

"Thank you, do you know who brought it?"

"No miss, I'm sorry."

"No worries, thanks again."

Y/N received it, walking to the elevator along with Felix after seeing how the package had a sticker on it that said "express delivery."

"What did you order, compulsive shopper?" Gerald turned to look at her, causing Y/N to deny in confusion.

"Nothing that I know of, I promise."

"Maybe it's a collaboration, Tiffany's already started putting the ads with your face all over it." Shawn smiled, elbowing the arm of the store's new ambassador.

"A gift for you to occupy at the next gig." Gerald replied, nodding softly as he looked down at his phone.

The box was small and covered in the typical plastic they place around it. Compact enough to drop a set of jewelry on behalf of the brand, but it seemed odd that it came directly and without warning.

The group made their way to the small meeting room where they had set up everything they needed, ready to hear the itinerary Gerald had prepared for them about their upcoming events.

Y/N's fingers went to open the package once it was placed on the table, watching as  the "Tiffany & Co." logo on its little sky blue box.

"Okay guys, tomorrow you have rehearsal from noon until three in the afternoon, then you'll have an interview on a radio station near the sta-"

A beautiful gold ring with a navy blue gem in the middle was the first thing that caught the young woman's eye, perfect for the occasion. But it was heavier than usual.

"Then you can go eat and rest, we'll still have dress rehearsal, so you can get ready-"

A shout coming from Y/N deafened the group of people, causing them all to look in her direction.

Her skin was as white as paper, her eyes fixed on the box she had just opened and her face with an expression of pure terror from an experimental horror movie.

All eyes went in the direction of the box, which Y/N felt like everything she had eaten that morning was going to spew out of her mouth right then and there.

"Shit."

The beautiful ring encircled something.

A human finger.

A human finger that stained the bottom of the box.

A human finger that was accompanied by a note.

"I hope you enjoy my gift, my sweet star. I made it just for you, good luck at the concert."

"This morning at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel in Washington, the lead singer of the band Paradox received a package. Inside was a human finger with a ring on it." Emily was passing around the photographs that had been sent by the Washington police, it showed just what she had just described above. "According to the receptionist it was dropped off by someone from a package store. The police questioned him and he said it had arrived with yesterday's load of packages."

"From where?" Luke asked.

"They don't know, they collect packages from all over the country so they don't know where it came from. They're looking for the tracking code of the branch they sent it from."

"How grotesque, who would send such a thing to an artist like her?" Tara looked at Emily, who sighed.

"But what do we have to do with this case?" Rossi looked at his tablet, zooming in on the picture of the ring.

"The DNA results came back to find out whose finger it is." A photograph of a stranger appeared on the TV screen. "He is Bruno Colombo, an Italian artist and the owner of that finger. We just got word that his lifeless body was found in his art studio."

"He's Autumn's ex-fiancé." Penelope commented, surprised at all that was going on. "In 2016, he and Autumn got engaged after dating for two years, but after a few months it was discovered that the engagement ended after Autumn discovered him and an art gallery owner having sex in his studio. According to him he did it because he wanted to make an exhibition that would portray Autumn's true feelings, and this way he could see her feeling of anger and sadness. There are still people who idolize him for that."

"What a jerk." Matt muttered.

"And how come no one noticed his absence?"

" According to this, he was isolating himself when he was setting up exhibits so it wasn't out of the ordinary for him to suddenly disappear."

Spencer felt his heart pounding, why would he get like this over a clear case of a stalker obsessing over a music star?

It's not like he even knew her.

"Apparently, this relates to a series of related cases over ten years that the only common element is this band, Paradox. No one has ever linked them before as none of the modes of operation are the same, the only factor that unites them is the viciousness with which they are carried out and the band, of course." Emily sighed, showing the various faces and deaths that surrounded them.

"Race or religion has nothing to do with it, it seems neither does gender." Spencer commented, quickly reading each of the bodies found. "But it looks like they all had an encounter with the band or one of the members. From 2008 when the first body was found until now."

"The director asked us to take on this case, the level of this band is insane and it seems to be going against the vocalist, Autumn. They are currently on a world tour after two years of no activity, plus not much is known about her in general." Emily turned to look at Penelope. "Garcia, you're joining us on this trip. You serve us better back in Washington than you do here at Quantico. Reid and Lewis will go meet the M.E., the rest of us will go to the station and then we'll all go to the Queen Elizabeth Hotel, we'll meet the band and their manager." The whole group was surprised, especially Penelope who held a surprised expression. "Wheels up in 30."

Y/N always thought that the whole thing about having human parts shipped to you in a box was part of fiction. At best, news fiction.

But what she had just experienced was surreal.

Her body was shaking with a cup of tea in her hands, feeling her hands stinging around the cup.

"Who the fuck would send something like that to Y/N? No one we know is capable of doing anything to her, they would fuck up their careers if they were exposed like that." Tyler turned, annoyed, in the direction of Y/N. "Who did this to you, are you hiding something from us?"

"No, Tyler. I'm not hiding anything, why would I hide the fact that someone sent me a fucking human part on my name to a hotel in the middle of our comeback tour? You're blaming me for something, huh? Tell me to my fucking face, Tyler."

Y/N stood up in exasperation, letting the hot water spill onto the floor.

"I don't know, you tell me, Y/N. If you got sent a finger."

"Go straight to hell, Tyler. Right straight up." Commented the girl raising her middle finger.

"Enough! Both of you." Gerald's loud voice interrupted them, separating the band's strong personalities. "Right now we can't fight. They just sent a fucking human finger to Y/N, we can't get mad about that, we should be worried."

"Finally someone with sense." Y/N sat back down, setting the cup aside.

"What are they seeing so much of us, why aren't they doing anything? They should be looking for the person responsible." Felix got up walking towards the officers, being stopped by Shawn.

"Hey, they're doing the best they can. If we go in there and raise our voices, we're going to hinder the investigation, don't be a dickhead."

"Damn it, this can't be happening." Y/N stood up, starting to walk over to her purse to pull out a cigarette and place it between her teeth.

"You can't smoke in here, Y/N." Gerald's warning went in one ear to the girl and out the other, flicking her lighter. "Y/N."

"What, look at the shit we're in, I just got sent a fucking human finger from who-knows-who and you're asking me to keep my cool!? I can't! There's a crazy person out there sending me that shit with 'nice words'." The girl threw the lighter at who-knows-where, finding herself on the verge of an anxiety attack. "Don't fuck around and leave me alone to have a smoke, Gerald."

The group fell back into the same silence that surrounded them four hours ago, letting the cigarette smoke flood their nostrils.

They were desperate, they needed to get to the root of this.

Y/N knew it. Right now she was the eye of the hurricane, who that box and message were addressed to; the same person who had sent her that, had taken it upon himself to send her flowers and letters with the same nickname, "my sweet star."

At first she thought it was nice, of course it's nice when you get your favorite flowers along with letters of good cheer and best wishes, but it's not nice when you get a gift like today's.

But her attitude would get her nowhere, she was annoyed and exasperated, but they didn't deserve that kind of treatment.

"I'm sorry, but this is too much for me, I can't handle this alone and my attitude isn't helping anything. " Y/N commented, taking her eyes off her cigarette and looking at the people closest to her. "We should be in this together."

"I'm sorry, kid. I got upset that I couldn't help you, that you didn't know who sent you that." Tyler sighed, giving the girl a rueful smile.

"Don't worry about it, Ty. I'm really sorry, everyone."

The girl took another puff on her cigarette, letting the minty flavor cool her lungs.

"The FBI is here."

The announcement made everyone look at each other, taking their last breaths and letting Y/N finish what she was doing, the only thing keeping her sane at that moment.

"I'll see you downstairs, okay?" Felix left a kiss on the young woman's forehead, taking his leave to get on the elevator.

Y/N found herself alone in the room, again feeling disgust rise in her throat. She couldn't get the image of that package out of her mind, how was someone capable of writing those sweet words and sending something as grotesque as that.

The girl's hands gently stroked her cheeks, waking up and she shook her head. She would make one last stop to the bathroom before heading downstairs, so she could go more consciously for who-knows-what things would make her talk.

The BAU met up with a group of people who, thanks to the way Penelope was getting excited, could be sure it was Paradox.

All along the way, Spencer had listened to Garcia's theories and who it could have been. He loved listening to her talk, but his head was somewhere else, somewhere else but there.

Something inside him sensed something, something he wasn't sure what it was. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe it was his thoughts of the past that had been running through him since morning.

"Agent Prentiss, I'm Gerald Murphy, the manager of Paradox." The man shook hands with the woman, who was looking over his shoulder at three people. "These are the members of the band: Tyler, Shawn and Felix."

The three let out a wave into the air, giving them a smile of sorts.

Spencer knew they weren't entirely happy they were there, he read it in their body language.

"I understand there are four of you in the band, here I see three." Emily looked directly into Gerald's eyes.

"Yeah, Autumn, the vocalist, is upstairs finishing something. But she's coming down now, right?" Felix nodded, watching the FBI agents.

Felix crossed glances with Spencer, feeling that familiar air from somewhere.

Spencer felt that familiar air too, but maybe he thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

"Please, let's go somewhere more private. That way we can talk more quietly."

Gerald motioned to the three men, who plunged inside the room, followed by everyone else.

The BAU settled down in front of the four people seated on the couches.

"If you like, we can wait for Miss Autumn." Emily glanced at the group, all of whom nodded.

"It's for the best, she's the most affected." Felix looked in the direction of Tyler and Shawn, who simply nodded in unison.

"You've never received anything like this before?" Luke directed his question at the group of people, causing Tyler to let out a sarcastic laugh.

"You think that's a normal thing to receive, a human finger? Please, be realistic."

"Tyler, shut up." Shawn motioned, slapping the young man's knee.

"That's a stupid question of his, since when is getting shit like that going to be normal?"

"Tyler!" Shawn gave him a stern look, turning his gaze back to Luke. "I'm sorry, we're touchy about this that just happened."

"My question was out of line, it's my fault." Luke admitted, turning to look at the rest.

"When is Autumn getting here?" Felix's question seemed to work magic, smelling her best friend's signature scent.

A strong smell of cherries and menthol tobacco made Spencer shake his head.

It wasn't time to remember Y/N, it wasn't time to focus on something like that.

It felt like his head was playing a joke on him, as if she was suddenly here. But the smell didn't go away, in fact, it intensified to the point that Spencer could feel his head hurting.

"Sorry I'm late."

Spencer felt his entire body freeze, as if he were turning into an ice cube.

The voice he thought he would never hear again.

The voice that escaped so much in his dreams.

He could hear it there, like an echo in his head.

His head turned, catching the figure that had just entered with some haste.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Autu-"

"Y/N."

The girl looked up, meeting Spencer's hazel eyes.

No way, Y/N thought.

Her heart stopped, as did the time around her.

Standing in front of her was a much older and mature Spencer Reid, but with that same lotion that made her dizzy.

The woman's mouth opened slightly, feeling the air in her lungs catch and no words came out of her mouth.

Her lip quivered, her pulse altered.

"Spencer."

Oh fate, how cruel did you have to be?

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a lot of love, alme. ❀

[pilferingapples]

As brave and heartbreaking as Eponine's defiance of her father is here-- I think it's crucial that Eponine doesn't scream and summon The World in this chapter.

On the practical front, it would of course be so much worse for Valjean and Cosette if the cops and all Society were brought to their garden gate. Valjean,of all people, might be able to handle the Patron Minette-- but he can't handle public scrutiny. The criminals are less dangerous than the cops, and that's a running theme for him.

But for Eponine herself, I think it's maybe even more important. She's calling up symbolism here that links her hard with Javert; the dog child of a wolf, ready to turn their own father over to the law.

But while I certainly believe Eponine would , she doesn't. She gives her dad the small kindness of a chance to run away. Unlike Javert, she's not interested in punishing him just to see him punished. She really is focusing first on protecting the little sliver of a world she's decided to guard.

I really think this is key to why Eponine , for all her confusion, and for all she's about to make some major bad calls, ends up avoiding the lonely deaths she's forecasting for herself ; her life is not going be long or happy, but it will not be quite the ending she expects, and I think , by the power of the narrative, it's because she's willing to withhold social destruction from others.

[kentobb]

PRESAGE | CHAPTER SIX

Characters: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Female Reader

Genre: Angst ANGST Angst

Warnings: Foul Language and LOTS OF ANGST.

Author’s note: There’s a lot of Angst in this chapter. Beware.

Ushijima sat at the bar, his broad shoulders hunched forward as he nursed a glass of whiskey. The dim lighting cast shadows over his usually impassive face, revealing lines of worry and a vulnerability that Tendo had never seen before. Tendo, perched on the stool beside him, watched his old friend with a mixture of concern and curiosity. He had always known Ushijima as the unshakable pillar, a man of few words and even fewer outward emotions.

Tonight was different.

"Hey, Ushiwaka," Tendo began, trying to sound casual despite the knot of worry tightening in his chest. "What happened tonight, man? I've never seen you like this."

Ushijima took a long sip of his drink before responding, his voice a low rumble. "I kissed her.”

Tendo blinked in surprise. “Are you guys back together?”

"No, I just…" Ushijima said, his eyes fixed on the amber liquid in his glass. "It was a lot of things. Lots of emotions. I wasn't there when he was born. I wasn't there for any of it. I wasn’t there for her. And she only keeps pushing me away.”

Tendo let out a slow breath, trying to process the gravity of Ushijima's words. He had always seen his friend as an impenetrable fortress, someone who carried the weight of the world on his broad shoulders without so much as a flinch. But here he was, baring his soul in a way that was both heartbreaking and profoundly human.

"Listen, Ushiwaka," Tendo said softly, placing a hand on his friend's arm. “Everything may seem disastrous. But believe me when I say that things will get better.”

Ushijima looked up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I don't know if I can do it, Tendo. She hates me, doesn’t want me to met him. What if he doesn't want anything to do with me? He's out there, growing up without knowing who I am. And I... I feel terrible about it. He deserves to know. To know his father."

Tendo squeezed his arm reassuringly. "You can't think like that. The important thing is that you try. He might be angry, confused, maybe even hurt at first. But kids are resilient, and they understand more than we give them credit for. He deserves the chance to know his father, and you deserve the chance to be in his life."

Ushijima nodded slowly, the weight of Tendo's words sinking in. "You're right. I have to try.”

Tendo smiled, a rare moment of seriousness in his usually playful demeanor. "Exactly. And remember, you're not alone in this. I'll help you however I can. You're like a brother to me, Ushiwaka. We'll get through this together."

Ushijima's stoic facade cracked, a small, grateful smile appearing on his lips. "Thank you, Tendo. I... I don't know what I'd do without you."

Tendo chuckled, the tension in the air easing slightly. "Well, you'd probably be a lot less entertained, that's for sure. But seriously, everything's going to be alright. We'll figure this out, one step at a time."

The next day, Ushijima stood outside your apartment, his heart pounding in a way it never had before a volleyball match. He raised his hand to knock, hesitating for a moment, then rapped on the door. Moments later, it swung open, your eyes widened in surprise, jaw nearly dropping. The argument you had the night before was still fresh in your mind, tension lingering in the air between the two of you.

"Ushijima," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," he replied, his tone earnest. "Is this a bad time?"

You glanced behind you, into the apartment, then back at him. "No, it's fine. Asami took Asahi to school. Come in."

He entered the apartment and quickly settled into the living room. Ushijima sat on the edge of the couch, his hands clasped together, while you sat across from him, expression wary.

"Y/N," he began, his voice low and steady. "I'm sorry for the outburst yesterday. I was overwhelmed... I didn't handle it well. But I need—“

You nodded slowly, eyes fixed on him, waiting.

"I want to meet my son," he said, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. "I need to. Whether or not I deserve it, it’s my right as his father."

A heavy silence fell between the two of you, one that made him shiver. He could feel the weight of your gaze, the conflict in your eyes.

"I'm scared," You finally said, voice soft but firm. "I'm scared of how Asahi will react. I want to protect him. He's... he's everything to me."

"Don't you think I want that too?" Ushijima's voice was raw with emotion, his eyes pleading with yours. "He's my son too. I want to protect him just as much as you do."

You stood firm, arms crossed protectively over your chest. “I understand that, Ushijima, but it’s not that simple…Asahi…Asahi is only five. He doesn’t know you. Bringing you into his life suddenly could confuse and scare him.”

“I can protect him, too,” Ushijima countered, his voice rising. “I’m his father. I have a right to be in his life. You don’t get to decide that on your own.”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “I’m not trying to keep him from you. I’m trying to protect him. He’s been through so much already. I don’t want to disrupt his life.”

Ushijima took a step closer, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Do you think I want to disrupt his life? I want to be there for him, to support him, to love him. But I can’t do that if you keep shutting me out.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his eyes, but your fear for Asahi was stronger. “You don’t understand what it’s been like. I’ve had to make all the decisions on my own. I’ve had to be both mother and father to him. And now you’re here, demanding to be part of his life, but you haven’t been here. You haven’t seen what he’s been through.”

“And whose fault is that?” Ushijima shot back, his voice breaking. “You never told me. You never gave me the chance to be there.”

Your tears spilled over, voice shaking with emotion. “You left me to make your dreams come true, you would have done the same thing with Asahi.”

Ushijima's frustration had reached its breaking point, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them. “I would have stayed for Asahi, not for you.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You stood motionless, eyes widening in shock. Your face crumpled as the weight of his words sank in, the heartbreak clear and devastating. You looked away, unable to meet his eyes, body trembling with the effort to hold yourself together.

The room seemed to shrink around the two of you, the walls closing in as the voices echoed off the surfaces. Your heart pounded in her chest, a mix of anger, fear, and sorrow.

In that moment, Ushijima realized the gravity of what he had said. The anger and frustration that had fueled his words evaporated, leaving only a hollow regret. He wanted to take it back, to tell you he didn’t mean it, Fuck, but the words lodged in his throat, refusing to come out.

Both of you stared at each other, the tension thick in the air. After what felt like an eternity, your voice, was barely a whisper. “If I had told you back then… you would have stayed, but not because you loved me. You would have given up your dreams, and you would have resented me. You would have resented us.”

Your words cut through him, each one a knife to his heart. You wiped your tears with a trembling hand, your eyes still fixed on the floor. “I wanted to protect Asahi, but I also wanted to protect you. I didn’t want to destroy your dreams. And now… now I don’t even know if I did the right thing.”

Ushijima’s throat tightened, his chest constricting with unspoken apologies. He had never felt so helpless, so trapped by his own emotions. The realization that his words had caused you such pain was a weight he didn’t know how to bear.

You took a deep, shaky breath, your voice steadier but still filled with sorrow. “You’re right, Ushijima. You need to meet your son. But it has to be slow. We have to do this carefully, for his sake.”

You finally looked up, but your eyes didn’t meet his. Instead, they focused somewhere over his shoulder, as if you couldn’t bear to see him. That avoidance cut deeper than anything else, a silent confirmation of the hurt he had caused.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work,” you continued, voice devoid of its earlier strength. “But please, understand that this isn’t easy for me. I’m scared for him, and I’m scared for us.”

Ushijima nodded, though you weren’t looking at him to see it. He had gotten what he wanted—he would be able to see his son. But at what cost? The pain in your eyes, the heartbreak he had inflicted, made the victory feel hollow and tainted.

He wanted to say he was sorry, to reach out and comfort you, to take back the words that had caused so much damage. But the apology was stuck, the weight of his own guilt and frustration silencing him.

"I think it would be best if it happened in a place where he feels comfortable.” You began, voice steady but soft. “There’s this ice cream place he loves. It’s his favorite spot."

Ushijima nodded, sensing the importance of the suggestion. "That sounds like a good idea. I want him to feel at ease."

Your eyes softened, and for a moment, the tension between the two of you seemed to ease, or at least he thought. "It's called Sweet Delights. It's just a few blocks from here. We go there every Friday after school. Maybe... maybe you could meet us there this Friday?"

Ushijima smiled, a rare warmth in his usually stoic expression. "I’d like that. Thank you, Y/N.”

You nodded, "I'll talk to Asahi beforehand, let him know that there's someone special he’s going to meet. But I want you to understand... he's still a child. This is going to be a lot for him."

"I understand," Ushijima said gently. "I'll go at his pace. I just want him to know who I am."

"Alright," You said, voice shaky and painful, "Friday, at Sweet Delights. Around 4 PM." The pain in your tone was unmistakable.

"I'll be there," Ushijima promised.

Your face was turned away, but he could see the tension in your posture, the way your shoulders hunched as if trying to protect yourself from further hurt. The silence between was heavy, laden with unspoken words and raw emotions.

He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes never leaving your face. He could see the tears brimming in your eyes, ready to spill over at any moment. The sight of your pain was almost too much to bear. "Hey…” he began, his voice soft, laden with regret and desperation.

But you didn't look at him. You stood still, face turned away, every line of your body taut with tension. Ushijima reached out, his hand trembling, and tried to take yours. The moment his fingers brushed against your skin, you flinched and pulled away, the rejection hitting him like a physical blow.

You turned and walked to the door, movements slow and deliberate. When you reached it, you opened it wide, the gesture as clear as any words could be. You wanted him to leave. Without saying a word, you had dismissed him from your presence, from the fragile moment you had shared.

Ushijima took a deep breath, the air catching in his throat. His chest felt tight, constricted by the weight of everything unsaid. He took one last look at you, hoping for a flicker of something—anything—that would tell him you both weren't completely lost to each other. But you remained still, her eyes refusing to meet his.

With a heavy heart, he turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind him. The finality of that sound echoed in his mind, a poignant reminder of the distance.

Standing in the hallway, Ushijima felt an overwhelming emptiness settle over him. He had come here seeking a connection, hoping to start building a bridge to his son. Instead, he had inadvertently widened the chasm between himself and you.

He took a deep breath, the air feeling cold and thin. The emotions he had kept tightly controlled now swirled chaotically within him—regret, sorrow, anger at himself. He wanted to turn back, to knock on the door and say all the things that were trapped inside him. But the memory of your tear-filled eyes and the way you had pulled away from his touch held him back.

<3 Let me know in the comments your reaction. Comments, notes or reblogs are appreciated 🩷

[jexnkookie]

The Law of Attraction (Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader) [Part 3]

Story Synopsis: Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

Story Rating: M (18+) [Language, sex, depression, alcoholism]

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Characters/Pairings: Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader (feat. Jimin x Reader)

Chapter Word Count: 2.8k

Authors Note: I've been at home with not much to do today, so I decided to add the third chapter for you all before the weekend ends. Once again, thank you all for the kind words and taking the time to read this story. I've also decided to start a tag list, after being asked for it, so if you'd like to be included in that, please just let me know! x

Taglist: @khadeeeeej

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

The warm, morning sun peeked through the opening of the drawn curtains in your hotel bedroom, covering everything in a glowing light. Your mind slowly awoke, piecing together where you were, and what happened last night. You smiled at the thought, and reached out for your fiancé to hold him. But the side of the bed that was supposed to be his was cold and empty, making you open your eyes and furrow your brows. 

You got up slowly, walked out into the living room portion of your suite, and your eyes widened at the bottles of alcohol lining the coffee table. Jimin was there, passed out on the sofa, in a way you haven’t seen in a very long time. It made your chest ache for him, knowing he was slipping back into himself. 

“Honey?” You called out to no response. You walked over and kneeled down beside him, brushing his soft, blonde locks from his beautiful face. “Jimin…” 

He murmured something under his breath but refused to open his eyes, and moments later, he was back asleep as his body clearly tried to fight off the elevated alcohol levels in his system. You felt your eyes begin to tear up at the man in front of you, confused as to what could’ve sent him spiraling backwards. 

“You promised me you wouldn’t do this again, baby.” You whispered through spilling tears, knowing from experience that it was useless. He can’t hear you in his state. “You fucking promised me, Jimin… I-I can’t be around you right now, my love, I’m so sorry.” 

With that, you stormed into the bedroom and slid into a quick pair of leggings and a sweatshirt from your suitcase, grabbing your designer bag and phone. You began heading towards the door, but paused, looking back to the man you loved so, incredibly deeply. Not knowing what else to do to, you made your decision to look away from the heartbreaking disaster in front of you. You headed out the door, down the hall, and slipped quickly into the elevator to take you out of the building. 

The streets were busy, despite it being so early on a weekend morning. You loved the bustle of the city, as it offered a pleasant distraction. Watching people as you passed each other, you could easily slip into their life through your imagination. What job did they work? Were they single, or with someone? What did they like to eat? Did they have children? You could imagine it all, pretending to be somebody else in your mind, if only for a brief time. It was a coping strategy you learned as a girl, when you wanted to escape your own life, and the irony of it was never lost on you. You weren’t foolish, you saw the way people eyed your designer clothing, and you knew they must wonder what your life was like. They would never really knew that you would trade it all in for theirs, if it meant having a life that was just a little less complicated. 

Lost in thought, you had wandered several blocks down from your apartment, just exploring the beautiful neighborhood. You stumbled upon a homey-feeling American diner, with large windows on side, looking somewhat out of place built into the bottom floor of a large, very modern skyscraper. You could see in from where you stood across the street, and watched the staff bring coffee and delicious looking breakfast to each guest. The crosswalk light signaled green, so you began walking towards the restaurant, deciding to grab a bite to eat to clear your head. Maybe I could grab some yummy food for Jimin too, you thought, and talk things over while he sobers up. 

You entered through the front door, and the attached bell rang to alert the staff of a new customer.

“Good morning!” A sweet, red headed waitress with an apron tied around her waist called out in a sing-song voice from behind the counter. “Sit anywhere, I’ll bring you a menu!” 

“Thank you!” You responded, looking around for a place to sit. It seemed as though the place was a packed house, with every booth being taken. 

But there, in the back corner, you spotted a familiar face. Or, what you could catch of his face, as it was buried in his menu, with wide, boyish eyes looking over each option. You were thankful to see him, thinking it an intervention of some sort to keep you from having to be completely alone with your thoughts.

“Excuse me,” You walked over to the waitress who had greeted you. “That man in the corner there is a friend of mine, is he with someone?” 

“No ma’am.” She responded, shaking her head. “He likes to come in often and eat by himself.” 

“I think I’ll sit with him and surprise him, then. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t interrupting anything.” You smiled, which she returned. “Thank you.” 

You made your way over to him, with an unwavering grin on your face. When you arrived by his table, he still hadn’t looked up, lost on the seemingly endless food options on the menu. 

“Excuse me, is this seat taken? This place is so busy, I was wondering if I could join you?” 

Jung Kook’s eyes widened at the sound of that voice. The voice he would know anywhere, pleasant and gentle. 

“Y/N?” He responded, looking up at you. “What are you doing here? A-And of course, please, sit. Um, hi.” He mentally kicked himself for stuttering. Cool. He said sarcastically to himself. 

“Hi.” You giggled at his surprised and stumbling reaction. “I just decided to leave the hotel for a bit, and I spotted this place from across the street. It’s so popular, it must be delicious.” 

“Mhm, I come here sometimes and it’s always busy.” 

“Yeah? The waitress I talked to said she sees you in here often.” 

“O-oh… Yeah, I guess she probably does.” Jung Kook said shyly. 

You both made small talk over the food, the neighborhood and the local things to do that Jung Kook has discovered in his short time being here. While the conversation itself had little significance, happening over modest diner eggs, toast and coffee, the feeling Jung Kook had was indescribable. He never forgot, even after years of being apart, just how easy it is to have a conversation with you. The way you listen so intently, and keep your attention, as though nothing else in the world mattered. It made him feel so special and seen. Your voice was just as sugary as ever, and your giggles never changed, still able to make his heart race. He wanted to hear that laugh forever, and he wanted to be the man who made it happen. 

“Where’s Mr. Park this morning?” Jung Kook asks, suddenly noticing that you were alone. 

“Oh, Jimin?” You paused, hesitation not going unnoticed by the perceptive man sitting across from you. “He, um… He just wanted to sleep in. Jet lag and all that, y’know?” 

“Oh, right.” Jung Kook nodded, not wanting to dig deeper into your pregnant pause. It isn’t my business, he thought. “He seems like a great guy, by the way. You seem happy.” 

“Y-Yeah.” You stuttered, praying tears didn’t come to your eyes. “Jimin’s really amazing, he always has been. But um, what about you, Jung Kook? Are you seeing someone?” 

“No.” Jung Kook chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. “No, I uh… I broke off an engagement back in Korea before moving to the city.” 

“You were engaged?” You asked, making sure you heard him correctly. “I’m so sorry to hear that it didn’t work out.” 

Jung Kook paused, thinking back to the woman whose heart he broke, as he looked at the woman who he’s always truly loved. You’re the reason I couldn’t love her. He said internally, gazing at your face. 

“It’s ok. I just think she wasn’t the one for me.” 

“Yeah? It sounds like you believe that everyone has someone perfect out there, just for them.” You said with a smile, and Jung Kook looked at your face, adoring the way the morning sun attached itself to your skin, making you glow. “I think so, too.” 

“I’ve always believed that. Everyone deserves to find their happiness.” Jung Kook said, his tone shifting in a way you couldn’t quite place, but his chocolate brown eyes were delicate as he looked at you. He swallowed, his tone heavy yet genuine when he added, “I’m glad you and Jimin found each other.” 

Your lips parted, attempting to find words that weren’t there. So you just nodded and offered a polite smile. The silence was thankfully cut short by the waitress, who brought your check. You went to reach for your wallet, but Jung Kook pulled his card out first and laid it onto the table. 

“Please, let me.” He said, his voice warm. “We’ll call it a thank you, for surprising me. I’m glad you did.” 

“Ok.” You grinned, unsure as to why your cheeks were heating up at his compliment. 

While you and Jung Kook were lost in your breakfast and conversation, Jimin had woken up to an empty hotel room. His head ached, but no worse than his chest did when he realized your absence. He had wanted to crawl into bed with you, hold you tight, and apologize for what he had done in the best way he knew how; cover your body with love, and spend the morning buried between your thighs as he pleasured you with kisses and soft, pressured licks.  But when the bed was empty, the panic set in. 

Quick thinking led him to go to his phone, and find your location, as you always shared your location with each other. He spotted your little dot on his phone at a diner, just a few blocks away, and Jimin felt a bit of comfort wash over him. She was just hungry. He thought, taking a deep breath. Let’s meet her there, she’ll be surprised. 

But what Jimin had not expected, was to see him there. The puppy-eyed lawyer sat across from you, and Jimin could tell even from across the street than the man held on to every word you said. Jimin knew that look well, because it’s how he looks at you, too. Jimin grits his teeth, and sends a quick text message to his main lawyer, Kim Namjoon. 

9:11 a.m: Something needs to be done about the new rookie on your team, because spending time alone with my fiancé is wildly inappropriate. See to it that this doesn’t happen again, or I will be finding new representation.  

9:12 a.m: *image attached* 

Jimin takes one last look at the scene in front of him, and goes back to the hotel room. He orders three more bottles, and passes out once again. 

——————————————————————————————————

On Monday morning, Jung Kook was feeling light. He entered his law firm building as he does every day; a freshly pressed black suit on, his dark hair neatly styled, and a cup of coffee in his hand. But this morning, he felt a bit happier, attributing it to a simple breakfast shared with you the weekend prior. He wished he could have breakfast with you every morning, but buried that thought, not daring to spoil his mood with fantasies. 

He sat down at his office desk, and began looking through his weekly calendar and emails. This week was the final week or preparation before the Park Jimin case truly begins, and Jung Kook was fully ready to explain to his mentor why he had told him last minute he needed to recuse himself. It would be the right, responsible thing to do, and it would give him space from you. As much as he wished he didn’t need it, he felt that he needed to move on. You found your happiness. It’s time to let you go. 

Namjoon entered Jung Kook’s office, and closed the door behind him. Jung Kook looked up at his face, which usually held a gentle, welcoming smile. This morning, however, Namjoon was clenching his jaw like a father who was trying not to explode on his son. 

“Jung Kook.” Namjoon said, his voice scarily calm. “I want… No, I need you to be honest with me. What is going on with you and Mr. Park’s fiancé?” 

“I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to.” Jung Kook answered professionally, causing Namjoon to roll his eyes. 

“For fuck’s sake, kid, drop the act.” Namjoon deep voice was almost a growl. “I’m going to lose out on a top client because you can’t keep your nose where it belongs.” 

“What-” Jung Kook was stopped by Namjoon throwing his phone down on his desk, a picture illuminating the screen. Jung Kook squinted at it, to see a photo of himself and you at the diner. 

“How did you get this photo?” Jung Kook asked, his heart sinking. 

“Mr. Park saw you. He’s furious.” Namjoon explained, pacing back and forth. “He called it ‘wildly inappropriate’, and threatened to find new representation if it happens again.” 

“Mr. Kim, I’m so sorry.” Jung Kook panicked. “Please understand, it’s a misunderstanding. Nothing happened, we was just-”

The office door knob turned, and a hush fell over the room. Jimin and yourself stood there at the door, hand in hand. Namjoon and Jimin locked eyes, and Namjoon could see that the client looked worse than he did just a few days prior. Dark, prominent circles were under his eyes, and his hair was slightly messier than before. Jung Kook noticed none of that, however, and stared directly at you. 

You were wearing dark sunglasses, with no thought to take them off despite being indoors. Your hair was seemingly brushed quickly, notably and uncharacteristically  not put together well. Your loose fitting clothes seemed carelessly thrown on, not styled perfectly in your usual fashion. You were quiet, head down, tightly holding Jimin’s hand and appeared to make yourself smaller, like you wanted to vanish into thin air. Jung Kook wanted so desperately to bring you in and hold you, shield you from whatever it was that made you look so tired, in such a short amount of time. 

“Mr. Park.” Namjoon greeted. “Good morning.” 

“Good morning.” Jimin responded, his throat sounding hoarse. “I came to fill out any paperwork, and tie up loose ends before we meet again next week.” 

“Of course, I was just talking with Mr. Jeon. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“Mr. Jeon,” Jimin called out, his voice weak. “Mr. Kim informed me you were recusing yourself from my legal team for this case. I just wanted to thank you, for the work you’ve done.” 

“Y-You’re welcome, Mr. Park.” Jung Kook said, confused with the kind words. This wasn’t the furious tone that Namjoon had described. 

“My love,” Jimin turned to you, his voice extra soft and delicate. “Will you go with Mr. Kim to his office, please? I’ll be there soon, I just wanted to speak to Mr. Jeon privately about the case before he leaves us. I had some questions.” 

“Ok.” You said, your voice almost a whisper. Jimin squeezes your hand and kisses the top of your head before turning to Namjoon, who nods in understanding. 

“Right this way, Ms. Y/L/N.” Namjoon says gently, leading you out of the office. 

When you are out of sight, Jimin turns to you. The fury Namjoon spoke about is now prominent in his eyes, leading Jung Kook to realize that your presence is the thin defense that keeps his anger at bay. 

“Jeon Jung Kook.” Jimin spat. “I don’t know where you get off, eyeing up my fiancé in some cheap diner, but if I ever catch you sniffing around her again, I’ll ruin you. Do you understand me?” 

“Mr. Park, I never meant to offend you.” Jung Kook said. “Nothing happened. We just bumped into each other.” 

“I don’t want excuses, or explanations from you.” Jimin rolled his eyes. “I’m not a fucking idiot Mr. Jeon, I see the way you look at her. I’m warning you, to watch yourself. You’re from Busan, correct?” 

“Yes, Mr. Park.” 

“Then you know who I am, and who my father is.” Jimin’s voice was dripping in anger. “I will personally see to it that you never represent anyone in our city, or this city again, if you come near her. That’s a promise.” 

Jung Kook felt suffocated under the weight of the air and the weight of Jimin’s glare. Even in his disheveled state, his blonde locks dropping to his face couldn’t cover the anger in his eyes. Jimin stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind him, causing other office workers to startle and look into his room. Jung Kook buried his head in his hands, unsure as to what the right path to move forward is. 

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 30] || [Chapter 32]

Pairing: Soap x gn!Reader || Gaz x gn!Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.4K~ cw: love confessions. Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: Another cute one for the books, y'all.

Chapter 31: Uh-Oh.

Gaz came home early.

Some stuff in his mission that was, according to John 'above his paygrade'.

He wasn't particularly happy about it, mentioned to Johnny over the phone how it was 'bullshit', that it wasn't fair he didn't get to know.

Not that you'd know. Johnny knew. But you sure as hell didn't.

Because, as usual, you got home from work on Tuesday, and there was a wild Kyle Garrick in your apartment, sat shoulder-to-shoulder, knee-to-knee with Johnny on the sofa.

"Hi?" You greeted once you passed the door, carrying a couple bags of goods from the shop.

"Hi, bonnie!" Johnny greeted. "Look who's here!" He gestured at Kyle with grandeur.

"Hi, love!" Kyle greeted, all smiley and beautiful as only he can be.

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt again? Dear God, tell me you didn't get hurt!" You began to say immediately, as he got up from the couch, rounding it to come greet you.

"You should've warned me you'd come, I would've bought more things to make dinner, now I'm not gonna have enough for you and-" You ranted.

He shut you up, however, by cradling your face in his hands and dropping a kiss onto your lips, causing you to hum and soften, your eyes closing.

It was a slow kiss, one that told you just how much he missed you, his thumbs caressing your cheeks on either side, his nose brushing your cheek as his warm lips and wet tongue carefully probed at your mouth.

When he pulled back, he smiled at you. "It's alright. I'm alright. Don't worry so much." He murmured, then, his hands slid down and grabbed one of the bags off you, helping you take the shopping to the kitchen.

Having a second man to play house with was somehow better and worse.

There was also less space. Another part of your closet or your drawers full of male clothes, extra counter space in the bathroom taken up by his skincare and cologne, extra bath products in the shower.

There were more snacks in your pantry, protein bars and shakes and the like, energy drinks, another seat at the dinner table taken up by another laptop and notebook and pen, another set of shoes to trip on at the entrance.

The flat was still always clean, and there was always someone to greet you once you got home, sometimes dinner would already be ready.

There was always someone to cuddle to or be cuddled by, someone rutting into you and stealing greedy kisses and groping handfuls of your body...

Nothing to complain about, not really.

On Saturday, you crawled away from Johnny's embrace, padding around the flat, seeking food and a drink.

Kyle was in the kitchen when you came in, shirtless as usual, one of your bath towels falling off his hip, his skin glistening. You've noticed you tend to find Kyle right out of the shower often.

"Morning, lovie..." He greeted you as you approached, kissing your forehead and wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Hi..." You murmured and leaned into him, setting your chin right on his shoulder, feeling a bit of the dampness of his skin, and smelling the scent of his body wash and shampoo. Coconut.

"How are you feeling?" He murmured as he glanced at you, brown eyes twinkling to the sight of what was, indubitably messy hair and a sleepy face.

Your body was deliciously sore, your jaw too, though that one was more uncomfortable. A consequence of a night well spent, pressed between the two of them... They were younger than John and Simon, had more stamina... they were more insatiable.

"Good..." You ended up saying with a chuckle, which earned you a smirk too.

"Good enough to wanna go out with me?" He asked you with a cocked brow.

"Out where?" You asked him, eyebrows raising in intrigue.

"I have plans for the two of us this afternoon... as long as you're not too tired for them." He explained.

"Not going to make me do something physical, are you?" You quipped, causing him to chuckle, your jaw trembling from the contact between his pec and you head.

"No... Not after last night. Need a chill day myself." He winked at you.

-

As it turns out, Johnny isn't the only artist in your little polycule. (Can you even call it that?)

At 2 P.M., you found yourself in a little pottery studio-café thing that Kyle had, apparently, scouted out in Birmingham, one of the times he went home.

It was not something you expected, finding yourself walking in hand in hand with him, fingers interlaced, being given a smock and being given a lump of clay, a wheel, and having a very eccentric but adorable lady guide you through the steps of making small pinch pots, and your final piece, a mug.

After over an hour of that, you were allowed to wash your hands off, your projects (a very wonky mug made by you, and a surprisingly good mug made by Kyle) going to be put in the kiln, with a promise from the pottery instructor that they'll come out in the next day or so and that everyone could come back to get them, if they so wished.

Then, you and Kyled moved to a little table in the painting station where you could grab a finished piece of your own, a standard one, that is, and paint it to your heart's content.

You sat beside Kyle after he went and got you both drinks and a little snack each, each one of you busy painting your little projects. You picked a small plate and Kyle picked a mug, just like the ones you had been trying (and failing, mind you) to throw beforehand.

You glanced over at Kyle who was extremely focused on what he was doing, using the tiniest brush you've ever seen to dot small petals on the flower design he had chosen for his mug.

"That looks really cute... Is that cherry blossom?" You asked as you set your chin on his arm, his left one, not the one he was using to paint.

"Mhm... My attempt at it, anyway." He replied as he glanced over at your plate. "Polka dots?" He asks with a playful smile on his lips, which causes you to shrug.

"I didn't know what I wanted to paint. Flowers are overdone... No offense-" You chuckled.

"None taken." He replied and winked at you before leaning over and grabbing his paper cup, sipping his tea through the opening on the lid.

"And everything else would be too difficult. I'm in the mood to just draw little dots all over." You remarked with another shrug.

"Well, I like your dots." He told you and, very slowly, tapped the tip of your nose with his forefinger.

You felt something wet and sticky on the tip of your nose and you knew, immediately, that he had just painted your nose. You didn't even notice him dipping his finger in his paint palette beforehand.

You grabbed your phone and used the locked screen as a mirror to spot the bright pink dot of paint on your skin.

Turning to your boyfriend, you squinted at him. "Kyle Garrick, do you want to start a war you will not win?" You murmured as you pointed your paintbrush at him like a teacher with a ruler.

"No, no, never." Kyle murmured, raising his hands in surrender, though he had the biggest grin on his lips, and a shine in his brown eyes.

"That's what I thought." You added before you turned away to resume your painting.

Kyle snickered next to you, resuming his own painting, slowly painting the front of his mug, while holding it from the back with the greatest care in the world.

Unfortunately for him, he was too focused to catch the way you dipped your thumb in your own paint pallette, gathering your brightest red... And then dabbing it on his cheek twice, forming a heart shape.

Kyle turned to you with wide eyes, catching the same shit-eating grin in your lips, your teeth showing, before you started giggling. "Uh-oh..." You said, not at all ashamed of the revenge you just got on him.

Kyle shook his head at you, a smile on his own lips, before he leaned over, caught your face by the chin, and dropped a kiss on your lips. You melted into it, eyes closing and smiling against his mouth.

And, when he pulled away, he looked you in the eyes with the fondest look in his eyes, his head dipped at an angle before he whispered a: "God, I love you... What am I going to do with you?"

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling ,

@tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva ,

@emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes ,

@irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @cod-z , @frescoisnotinthemilitary ,

@leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @xxshadowbabexx , @severenswife , @enarien,

@agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind ,

@neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine ,

@kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 ,

@gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 ,

@kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust ,

@thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

[bethanysnow]

How I think Stray Kids would date a Plus Size Girlfriend!~ Makenae line!

Hyung Line

-Han

This man is going to deny his feelings so hard???? Like my god- he is gonna flirt with you, hold your hand, be an absolute adorable pain in your ass. Let you in, and if asked about it? Nahh, we are just friends. And its gonna crush you. But he knows as soon as it left his face he shouldn't have said it. He is just protecting his heart and he is scared.

He is so internal about his deep feelings that most people wouldn't be able to tell if he was upset, but if you see that his eyes are gonna light up like fireworks. We see how aware he is around Leeknow, how in the SKZ show he did with Minho he was able to tell like 'wait 10 seconds and if he sighs or huffs he didn't really wanna do it' THIS MAN IS SO DETAILED?! Like we know he is an angst boy, and loves writing heartbreaking songs, I don't think that he would change that about himself, but he would write about your troubles. How he is so desperate to see yourself the way he sees you. Which I think if he was to date a plus-size girlfriend it would unironically be a like Noona thing? We all joke and tease that this man is subby and needs a minho or a dominate woman, but I think he just likes to not have to be 'the pants' as it were. I don't get a super typical masc vibe so having someone who is on the other side of the spectrum is helpful. He isn't a dominant person, he doesn't like the attention a lot of the time. He reminds me of like very calm and collected kinda he will be your peace. He will remind you to drink water, and hold you when you're sad, but also wants to be held.

He will fall in love with you internally and grow to love your body. Which is a pain, but its true I think. First thing out of his boys mouth is how cute you are, and prepare to have your cheeks squished. Lots of demanding kisses, lots of hand holding. If you can carry him? OOO YOU'VE GOT HIM IN THE PALM OF YOUR HAND! He loves to be baby, but don't let that fool you that he is any less man than changbin or Channie or anyone else

-Felix

I think out of everyone (this may be controversial) this man is the one that is going to have the most internal problems with the idea. Where for hyunjin its a lot around his perception, but for felix its all internal. I say this because like Chan, he lived in Australia, and moved to Korea. He is going to have a lot of complexes regarding his looks. He went and starved himself for 5 ish days because he felt he needed to for a fashion show. (which isn't true) He did martial arts and as someone who dated a person who also did martial arts with a similar amount of awards, there is so much conversation around what your body can do? In that culture? Pushing past those limits, finding your inner strength. This is great in theory, but not so in practice if done poorly because it forces you to think far more critically and not constructively about yourself. He has on record talked about how not great he thinks he looks and it breaks my heart and I very much think that it would affect a relationship. Not that I think he is worried about public reception, but he might buy into a lot of the bad science that's out there around plus-size bodies. I also think him and Chan would make jokes that aren't that.... well-received?

But if he gets through all of that, you have an absolute dork on your hands. He is so ready to skip chapters and be 4 years married going to your daughter's dance recital. He will dote on you and lay on you, and just hold your face in his hands and squish your cheeks to make duck lips. He is I think like Han in that softer masculinity, not that it's any less masculine. He's just not gonna be very dude-bro about it. If you want to take the lead he's all for it. If you want him to be the lead he'll happily step up. I think like some other members of SKZ he wants to provide for you, he wants to make sure you are happy and taken care of and feel loved. If you have a love language or a attachment style he will research it, or if you have an interest he will look into it to try and talk to you about it. Being plus size I think it wouldn't affect him much and if you needed to sit he'd sit with you.

He knows shame, and so if you were stuck in a situation where you felt shame like going to dinner with friends or being invited to do a day outing and getting winded? He would defend you or try his best to make it suck less. He is such a quiet reliance that he will be your security when the world falls apart.

-Seungmin

This motherfucker doesn't give a single flying fuck about how you look. Or how you think you look or if you think you look bad. It will always go like this

"Whats wrong?"

"...It's nothing"

Punches you in tiny "what's wrong?"

"I just don't feel pretty okay? Or like I deserve you or just gahh!"

"..Well that's dumb. Of course you deserve me. We love each other."

and he will walk away, run back ruffle your hair or give you a kiss and walk away again. THATS IT! I think if it was really serious he would listen and try to help, but he knows hes not gonna change how you feel about yourself in some grand gesture. We know he teases a lot of people, but if you made him aware that 'hey lets not' I think he'd be considerate about it. He'd then tease you about something else, but he knows not to super cross lines set up. If someone around yall makes a 'joke' or tries to make fun of you I believe he'd either try and spin it in a way where its not bad, or he'd play threaten violence but you know its not as...play as people believe it to be. He is I think also in the line of softer masculinity, but is more leaning towards the hyung line of masculine than someone like Felix. (everyone has their moments of course)

He is one of those people that I see wanting an equal partnership, someone he can have banter with (not just be rude and see if you put up with it) but like actual witty banter. He is simultaneously baby but also is happy to hold you close. He doesn't care about looking stupid in public so don't let you think for a moment he wouldn't hold your hand in public. He would bring you up in any conversation, just so proud of you and your accomplishments. He is rather shy of a person, until you get to know him then he is a twerp so if you can bounce with that energy you've got a good relationship in spades.

-I.N

This man is such a dweeb! In a good way! But his clumsy ass would actually be falling head over heels! I dont think hes gotten a lot of outside experience in the dating scene due to school and then just instant idol life? So someone with similar youthful energy that matches his would do really well. I think he'd need someone his age too, unlike Han who would be interested in a noona. Noona stuff for him I feel is more kidding than real relationship material.

This is where I have to apologize to Jeongin stans, I do not have a single romantic or interested bone in my body for IN other than 'he is baby, let me feed him food'. I wanna take care of him like a big sister, not a girlfriend. Though because of this I will link some fics to hopefully make it better. (I haven't read these so be warned)

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

@7ndipity @kaciidubs @itshannjisung @dreamescapeswriting @moonlightndaydreams @cutesyh @maymayribee @hanjisunglover @ldysmfrst

[totheblood]

true blue. (four)

pairing: modern!ellie williams x reader

summary: ellie has a crisis

warnings: suggestive themes, drug/alcohol usage, cursing, descriptions of abusive behavior (neither ellie or reader engages in these behaviors)

a/n: MORE ELLIE JOURNALING.. this is the final part! i won't be writing any more true blue i apologize i didn't realize how emotionally taxxing this would be for me. also the ai audios are at the bottom! hope u like them THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD - I apologize. I would greatly appreciate any reblogs, comments, asks you have about this chapter. thank you for supporting me through this journey!

read the first three chapters here from the masterlist!

Ellie was on the verge of breaking down.

This pain was becoming all too familiar to her and the weight of it only grew each second she spent with you. Her fingertips had grown numb as she sat across from you in the restaurant as she wrapped them around the base of her glass. If she thought the heartbreak of Cat would take her out, she knew that the heartbreak of you would move her existence to a different plane of existence.

If she was really honest with herself, she didn’t really love Cat, but rather how Cat had made her feel. It was all-consuming, over the top, mushy love. The love you see in movies but never expect to happen to you, but it was all just words when it came down to it. The fact of the matter is, if you tell someone they’re your soulmate ten times a day they will start to believe it. 

It wasn’t oxytocin that Ellie felt around Cat, it was pure adrenaline. She was always looking to reach that high with her again as she pulled away from her, but as the rush died out and Cat continuously degraded Ellie, she found herself accepting less than she deserved or wanted. She wanted Cat to want her again, but Cat never wanted her. Cat never wanted anybody.

But it wasn’t like that with you. For starters, you didn’t tell Ellie you were in love with her on your second date. You didn’t try to convince her that she was made for you. You were just there with your sickly sweet smile and long eyelashes that made Ellie’s heart pound in her chest. You were good.

Or so she thought. 

She couldn’t quite explain why, but Ellie believed Cat. Cat was a manipulator and a bitch, but she wasn’t a liar. Plus, the way her face filled with joy at the chance to tell Ellie that her current fix hated her was too real. The sinister laugh was fucking genuine.

So here Ellie sat across from you at the dinner she had planned to ask you to be her girlfriend at, a sick rage burning in her chest. She didn’t know why she didn’t cancel but she didn’t know why she was doing a lot of things these days.

“Tell me about your day.” You spoke, breaking Ellie out of her trance.

“My day?” She questioned, eyes flicking up to you.

“Yeah, silly. Anything interesting happen?” You asked, the smile on your face stirring something evil in Ellie’s gut. You looked so fucking good today it’s almost if you knew she was planning on asking you out. 

“No.. not really. Ran into my ex actually.” She said simply, playing with the fork in her hand. She studied your face closely and watched as it slightly faltered at the mention of her ex. If she didn’t know you, she might’ve not caught it. 

“Oh, really?” You questioned, sipping your water and toying with the chain around your neck. It was a tell tale sign you were nervous. “You don’t really talk about your ex.” 

“Yeah, she was the worst so I don’t like thinking, or talking, about her all that much.” Ellie knew her tone was coming off harsh, but she didn’t care. The way your demeanor changed told her all she needed to know about you.

“Yeah… that makes sense.” You were obviously uncomfortable with how the air shifted but you were trying to keep the peace. “My day was good, I went to that thing in the Student Center. The therapy dog thing. It was so cute I almost died. Do you want to see a picture of me and the dogs?” 

“Not really.” Ellie replied, leaning back in her chair. The way your face fell would have made her put together heart break.

“D-did I do something?” Your voice was shaking a bit but your gaze remained steady. Ellie needed to leave.

“No, baby, I’m not really having the best day so I’m just going to leave.” Before you could even protest Ellie threw down three twenties, grabbed her jacket, and left. You didn’t chase after her, nor did you call that night, and Ellie knew it was sick of her, but that really bothered her. 

D: idk i don’t think pookiana would do that

E: Pookiana?? Seriously? This isn’t funny, Dina.

D: i know it’s not funny but are you really trusting cat

E: You should have seen her face when I said I ran into Cat. Plus Cat was too happy to tell me. It’s true, D.

D: well u should still talk to her about it, just abandoning her at a date is not cool

D: it’s cat behavior

E: Don’t do that.

E: I need to do something. I need to be out.

D: there’s a house party tomorrow? you could join

E: Will there be girls?

D: ellie what r u doing 

D: don’t do this don’t self destruct

E: Yes or no?

D: there are always girls 

E: I’ll be there.

The following night Ellie found herself taking several hits off her pen for courage. Deep inside she knew she wanted to be with you tonight, wrapped up in your comically large blankets watching a dumb movie or Planet Earth, but she couldn’t do that to herself. 

Plus, you hadn’t contacted her since the date and it was driving Ellie crazy. At this point she had assumed that you knew she caught onto you and had decided a fight wasn’t worth your time. So she decided not to care, an ability that seemed all too new to her.

The party was as fun as you could imagine, skins slick with sweat and the air dry and humid. Ellie was feeling adventurous and, for once in her sorry life, she didn’t stick to the side of the wall for the entirety of the night. She was socializing, laughing, and even dancing. On the outside she appeared happy and carefree.

On the inside, however, Ellie was beginning to panic. She knew escaping the reality of her life would only be a brief relief from the things that plagued her everyday mind, but she didn’t expect the high to die off so quickly. Her mind was telling her, run run run, but her feet stayed planted and her body continued to sway. 

In the dark of the party and the high still hanging over her head, she almost didn’t realize the girl dancing in front of her. She began to grind on Ellie, shaking her hips to the music and causing Ellie’s brain to short circuit. 

It felt wrong, mostly because it wasn’t you. Fuck fuck fuck, her brain rang again as it did many times before, but this time Ellie wasn’t stopping. Not only did she not stop the girl, but her own hands found her waist, holding on as Ellie pulled her in and swayed with the music. Ellie hated to admit it but she was turned on. Her touch-starved and emotionally rotting brain needed skin to skin contact to bring her back down to Earth, she needed to be held by someone. 

Unlike last time, however, she refused to find solace in crying on Dina’s lap again. No, this time she was going to find it in the lips of another. So as she danced she began to press sloppy wet kisses on the girl’s neck, making sure to take her skin in between her teeth. She was trying to elicit a response, any response that would tell her how good she was doing. And when she got that, a moan from the girl in front of her that rumbled across Ellie’s chest, she held her back to her chest and connected her lips to hers. 

It felt good, it felt foreign, and for a brief moment in time Ellie’s mind was completely silent. She wasn’t thinking about the name of the girl she was kissing. She wasn’t thinking about Cat. She wasn’t thinking of you. The only thought that consumed her at this moment was how her tongue was in a random person’s mouth and how amazing it felt. Until, she was being ripped off of the girl and met with your tear-stained face.

“What the fuck are you doing, Ellie?” You cried out, the person Ellie was just intertwined with now slinking off into a corner. The party went on, but others stopped to watch the scene you were beginning to make.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” She spat, anger written all over her face. Her heart was aching in her chest at the sight of you. She wanted to reach out to you, kiss the tears off your face and tell you everything was okay, but she didn’t have it in her to do that.

“It looks like you’re cheating on me.” You fumed, eliciting a gasp from the party goers. Dina pushed past a group of people to find the two of you staring down each other. She frantically ran up in between you and Ellie, grabbing both of your arms before pulling you up the stairs and outside. 

The air outside was cold. Under the streetlights you could see the tip of Ellie’s nose turn red, but what you now noticed was the red rim around her eyes. She had been crying but it was masked by the seemingly unprovoked rage she had for you. 

“I’m not cheating on you because I’m not with you… you are not my girlfriend.” She pointed out, her anger looking more like sadness. 

“I’m not your girlfriend… but I mean something to you, right?” You pleaded, letting your tears fall freely. 

“You meant something to me. Not anymore. I’m not doing this with you. I won’t be able to survive it if it’s you.” Ellie was almost sure she wasn’t making much sense, but her head was pounding and Dina was standing on the porch staring at the two of you with her arms crossed. All Ellie wanted to do was run, but if she ran she had a feeling she would be running from you her whole life.

“What did I do? Just tell me that. I thought we were happy.” You were sobbing, but everytime you took a step towards Ellie, she took a step back.

“Did you know about me before we met?” Ellie asked with a straight face.

“Wha-” You began.

“Did you know who I was before we met? It’s a simple question.” 

“Yes… but-” You were trying to explain yourself but Ellie wasn’t having it. For some reason you confirming her suspicions hurt more than she assumed it would and she was already turning around walking back towards the house. 

“Ellie, stop! Let me explain.” You pleaded, chasing after her hot on her tracks. She whipped around to turn back to you, her speed almost knocking you off your feet.

“No, you don’t get to explain. I trusted you. I liked you. I fell for you for fucks sake. I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend after swearing that I would never let that happen and it was all what? A joke to you? This isn’t fucking funny, this is my life. And you… you made it good for so long and to know that it was all fake? I’m not coming back from this.” Ellie was speaking without thinking at this point.

“You think this is a joke to me? Are you fucking serious? When were you going to mention that we shared an ex? Huh? You want to be mad at me for what? Not liking you 2 years ago when I didn’t know you? When my ex told me she was leaving me for you? This hasn’t been some revenge plot Ellie, it was two years ago. I moved on. Did I think I was going to move on with you? No, but I did and I can’t change that, but you don’t get to treat me like this for not sharing that piece of information with you. You don’t get to reduce my love for you down to that. Down to Cat.” Your tears had stopped flowing but your eyes and face were still puffy. 

“I didn’t tell you about it because I had decided to put it- Wait… you love me?” Ellie stopped herself, not realizing what you had said. 

“What? I never said that.” You argued. 

“You just did. You said, “You don’t get to reduce my love for you down to that.” She said, mocking your voice. 

“I don’t fucking sound like that, and we are having a fight right now. Can we get back to it?” You reiterated, but something in Ellie’s eyes had shifted. It was almost like she was expecting you to be the evil thing she thought you were, but you weren’t. But as the realization that you were, once again, innocent dawned on her, so did her guilt. 

“I just… I assumed you were doing this… dating me… to get back at me. Honestly, it’s because that’s exactly what I would do. But you’re not me, and I’m sorry. I don’t think I have ever felt this way about a person in my whole life. It was already freaking me out and then Cat told me that you hated me and my mind went to the worst. I’m just… I’m sorry.” Her voice was steady but she was panicking. All you did was stare at her with your puffy eyes and red lips and all Ellie wanted to do was kiss you. Give you a bath and rub your back till you forgave her. All she felt like she was doing was causing you more pain, and she wanted it all to stop.

“I love you.” It came out of Ellie’s mouth so quickly. Almost as a plea, but she knew she meant it. She knew she meant it a while ago but the idea of it becoming real terrified her. She watched as your eyes lit up then quickly dimmed again. Suddenly there were tears in your eyes and her confession felt more like an assault.

“Don’t do that. Don’t say that to me if you don’t mean it. I’ve healed from my shit with Cat but it still hurts, this hurts. Being led on. This back and forth. If you are saying you love me you have to mean it and you have to stay.” It was you saying this that made Ellie realize just how unfair she had been to you. She knew you had healed from Cat, but it was becoming painfully obvious how much work Ellie had to do. For fucks sake you had to watch her dry hump another girl just to have this conversation. And you were still here. You hadn’t left or avoided her, but rather gave her time to breathe. This was healthy. This was good. And Ellie felt like she didn’t deserve any of it.

“I do mean it. I love you. I love all the beautiful and weird things about you. I love you and I will say that until my face turns blue. I love the fuck out of you. I know I don’t deserve you, I know this is hard but I’m trying to grow. I want to stay. I want to be there for you, but I think I need help learning how. I’m not like you, I’m not there yet, but I want to be. For you.” Ellie was fidgeting with her hands, it was obvious she was extremely nervous and expected you to reject her.

What she didn’t expect was for you to close the gap in between the both of you and press a gentle kiss to her lips. 

“I’m going to stay, but if you grind up and make out with another girl again I’m leaving. No questions asked. Okay?” You were smiling a smile that said ‘I’m fucking serious’ and that made Ellie fall a little more in love with you.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t want anyone else’s lips except yours.” She smiled leaning down to press another kiss to your lips, then your cheek, and then your neck.

“Are you guys done? Can we go back to the party?” Dina yelled from the porch, having watched the whole scene unfold. Ellie just ignored her as she pressed another gentle kiss to your neck, her arms wrapping around your waist pulling you as close as possible to her. All you could do was laugh and allow Ellie to slightly lift you off of the ground with how tight she was holding you. 

“Real classy, you guys. I’m going back in.” Dina called out one more time, not knowing you and Ellie would never make it back inside.

One Year Later…

Excerpts from Ellie’s Journal:

My girlfriend is a saint… well obviously cause she’s dating me but she did the whole last part of our project. I was totally lost that whole class but my genius girl got us an A.. She did fail her pottery class. She’s so fucking bad at that shit.

I took her to a cat cafe for her birthday… she cried so much hugging the cat’s that we got asked to leave… we got asked to leave because my girlfriend was squeezing the cats so bad and crying into their fur. The barista said she was causing them emotional distress… I gave them one star on Yelp.

She came and visited Jackson over winter break… Game night with her and Joel was a complete nightmare, they are both so competitive. I had to hold her back because she tried to physically fight Tommy… God, I love her so much.

She got me a guitar pick with her initials on it for Christmas. Told me now I had to play for her, she didn’t know that her gift was the song I wrote her. My sweet little baby cried. It was so precious.

She’s so fucking talented with her fingerhiuoiji

We’re roommates next semester… I’m never going to get any fucking sleep. It’s fine because I like the trade-off but my grades are about to plummet.

I drew her when we were sitting together in the park today. It’s just getting warm again and she’s wearing shorter skirts… I know I sound like a perv but she looks really hot is skirts… anyways, I drew her and she cried.. Again. She’s so sentimental that it makes my heart ache.

I’ve never imagined in my whole sorry life that I could be this happy with someone. It’s easy. Whoever said love was hard wasn’t in love with my girl because it is by far the easiest thing I have done in my whole life. I sleep better at night, I smile more, I feel content. She has put the stars in the sky for me. I don’t know what I was so afraid of. Love is good. She is good. I love her.

It’s our one year anniversary and I can't believe this freak hasn’t killed me or herself yet (accidentally). She got a job at Bean and brings me home ice tea every day. We’ve started reading books together and she strokes my hair when she knows I’m tired. She knows me better than I know myself. I’ve learned things about myself while being with her. She encourages me everyday to grow and to try new things. I feel like a new person, but I still feel like me. Like the me who loves this girl with her whole heart. 

ai audios:

ai audios links:

what does it look like i'm doing?

did you know who i was?

you meant something to me

wait you love me?

i love you

yea yea

[furybymoonlight]

See Me (Now) - Part I

Pairing: Trent Alexander Arnold x OC/Reader

Warning/Genre: Age Gap (3 years), Angst, Suggestive Theme, Smut (not yet on this chapter tho’), friends to lovers

Part II

Part III (final)

***

“You’re not my sister.”

“Pfft how dare you? I’ve known you since forever. The least I deserve is to be your honorary si-”

“No, you’re not.”

He cut her off, his stare was sharp, but then it softened as he cupped one side of her face.

“You can’t be…in order for me to be able to do…this.”

Then his mouth was on hers and her mind short circuited.

***

She didn’t know exactly when things started to change.

Their parents had been friends since a long time, so they had known each other for almost as long as she could remember. She first met him when she was nearing six, and he was barely three. His parents were visiting her house for a brunch with him in tow.

She remembered his beautiful doe eyes, in the shade of dark coffee, gazing up at her with a shy smile tugged on his lips.

“Hi Trent, do you want to play with me?”

She smiled and asked the small boy. Her mom had told her the boy’s name that morning and that she should make friends with him.

“Sure!”

His eyes twinkled as she grabbed his smaller hand and led him to her corner at the living room, where she stored her toys and games. Trent ended up as her first living guest in her royal tea party. He refused to wear a crown, but she reckoned he was a much better guest since he was way more interactive than her plush dolls.

They played together almost every weekend. Being older than Trent, she viewed him then as a little brother. They had less playing time when he joined the local football academy but still saw each other often since his parents often invited her family to his football matches, among other things.

She was close to his other brothers as well, but her bond with Trent was tighter. As they got older, they saw less of each other but kept in touch through texts and social media. She went abroad for university as he continued to rise as a football prodigy. Still, they spoke frequently about anything. She told him about her challenges being away from home. She shared his laughter and his heartbreak as he surfed on the top league.

It was almost Christmas, and she was back home for the first time in almost two years, finding her cozy yet modest-sized home filled with people. Her parents had thrown a welcome back party for her in conjunction with friends and family Christmas gathering.

She was swarmed by hugs and questions from all sides. She hugged them back and talked with them, finding the need to take a breather after a while. Her parents were high on the extrovert scale. Her? She was not a recluse by any means, but she found that she needed some quiet moments when dealing with crowds.

Slipping away from the crowds, she had just taken a few steps up the stairs when she slipped, unaware of several car toys scattered around. A yelp left her mouth as she braced for her fall, but it never came. She felt a broad chest cushioned her back as a pair of strong arms enveloping her.

“Careful…”

The masculine voice was so familiar, and she turned around straight away to hug her savior, who also wrapped his arms around her.

“Trent! Oh my God, I missed you! How – whoa, you’re way taller than me now. Do you not stop growing?”

She said as she took in his height. The man just chuckled, looking effortlessly good in a pair of dark jeans and beige sweater.

“Can’t be shorter than you forever, can I?”

His warm chocolate eyes looked at her teasingly. She shook her head, smiling.

“Guess not, and look at yourself now, our very own world-famous footballer. I am such a proud sister!”

Just like that, amusement left his eyes, and he took a step away from her. Tension radiated from his handsome face.

“Trent? What’s wrong?”

“You’re not my sister.”

“Pfft how dare you? I’ve known you since forever. The least I deserve is to be your honorary si-”

“No, you’re not.”

He cut her off, his stare was sharp, but then it softened as he cupped one side of her face.

“You can’t be…in order for me to be able to do…this.”

Then his mouth was on hers and her mind short circuited. Because Trent was kissing her, plump lips moving against her frozen ones. Trent.was.kissing.her and she would have to plead for temporary insanity because at some point of time, she closed her eyes and found herself kissing him back.

Her lips parted slowly to welcome him then he drowned her even more. He tasted like a mixture of coffee, cinnamon, and a hint of spiciness that she couldn’t quite put a name on. He whispered her name between kisses, then pressed her smaller frame against the side wall, carrying on wreaking havoc on her senses. Her lungs burned, but she didn’t have the will to take a breath. All she wanted was more, perhaps so much more.

The sound of muffled yet loud laughter brought her back to reality, reminding her where she was and she pushed him back, or rather he also stepped away. Breathless, she just stared at the younger man, eyes rounded in shock of what just transpired between them.

She opened her mouth, but the fire in his eyes made her lost her words. Then she heard footsteps coming towards them and without even thinking, she ran to her room in a speed that would make even an Olympic athlete proud.

Leaning on the back side of the door, she sighed and closed her eyes, body temperature still running high.

What in the hell just happened?

Author's Note I've been holding myself back not to get sucked into what I called a Trentnado because God knows I have so much to do, but after he posted those summer pics, just had to write..something. Anyway, first ever Trent story. Apology for errors as I’m not a native.

[im-a-wh0r3]

fuck it, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands and write a fic about James Logan ‘Wolverine’ Howlett x reader. I intend to make this a long-ass series, lmk if you’d like that. I’m gonna do it anyway but would like to know if anyone would read it.

I haven’t written anything in like 4 years so it might start a little shitty so bear with me 🙏

Second Chance

Pairing: James Logan Howlett/Wolverine x Mutant!Magneto’s sister!Reader

friends to lovers to strangers to enemies to frenemies to friends to lovers (not all in 1 chapter dw)

Warnings: Historical inaccuracy (I’m not a historian pls 😩), afab!fem!reader, use of y/n, I’m shit at summaries so it’s gonna feel a bit bullet pointy (lmk if there’s more)

Added notes: considering the reader is Magneto’s sister, that would make her Jewish, you obviously don’t have to be Jewish to read this. I myself am not Jewish, however, I put myself very much into this character and I feel Magneto and myself are very similar personality-wise so making him the brother of the character that I have created made sense to me, their mutations are also kinda similar. What Erik went through during the Second World War isn’t mentioned in this because I felt that was incredibly insensitive of me considering I in no way relate to it, but if I do state anything that causes issue please inform me and I will change it. (tbh I tried not to mention the happenings of the war at all because I know very little about it but still, let me know)

Summary: You were only young when the war began. As a young woman in 1939 you could do very little to assist, so you became a nurse. What you didn’t realise was how much tragedy, heartbreak and indescribable desire this choice was going to bring you.

Word Count: 1.4K

Hope you enjoy <3

Nuremberg 1924, Jakob and Edie Eisenhardt had just given birth to a beautiful baby girl, y/n. You were an independent, strong-willed child, never ill, and learning to walk and talk long before others your age. So, when you were four, and your mother gave birth to your little sister Ruth, a sickly child, your mother’s attention was ripped from you, far more concerned with your sister's wellbeing, with her constantly slipping in and out of illness. Your father was also away a lot with work, leaving you to entertain yourself. You were never fazed much, preferring the company of your family dog, Otto, your playful 2-year-old border collie.

Your strange connection to the earth began to show not long after your little sister was born. Not thinking much at the young age of four, of the strange habit animals had of following you, the way the flames in the fireplace would dance whenever you were near, and how the wind would bend around you. Then, two years later, Max was born. He was just like you, strong-willed and stubborn. You adored your little brother, taking him everywhere with you. Walking with his pram with Otto through the fields that surrounded your home.

As you grew, you began to slowly notice not only your oddities but also your brothers. The way he would drop his knife or fork whilst eating dinner, and then command it straight back to his hand, the voice you thought was in your head, speaking to you as if it was- Otto?! Yes, very odd. You brushed it off, knowing that if you were to tell your parents, they would treat you as if you were a silly little child begging for attention. By the time you were fourteen, however, it was far too noticeable to just push aside. The flames began to roar in the fireplace, the voice which you refused to believe was Otto began becoming far too clear, and even the spiders you would remove from your house began to sound as if they were shouting at you. At least your brother had calmed down, with him being eight you supposed his childlike lack of care had faded away. One less problem to deal with.

A year later, the war began. Your father had insisted upon you taking your brother and sister to England with you, where you would be staying with your uncle in the countryside. Ruth came along easily, Max on the other hand refused to leave your mother and father, too afraid to be apart from them. After days of arguments, your parents gave in, allowing just you and your sister to travel to England, ensuring that Max would be safe with them. The following day, your bags were packed and you were ready to part from the only home you had ever known. You said your goodbyes and reluctantly waved your home farewell.

“Promise me they’ll be okay” Ruth pleaded, snapping you away from your train of thought.

“They’ll be alright Ruthie” you gave her a half smile, only half believing your own words. “Mother and father promised, remember?” you continued.

She gave a curt nod, continuing the silence.

Your life in England was different, to say the least. Your uncle Erich was a stoic man, never caring much for children, though you and your sister tried to do your best by him as thanks. At the age of 16, you left high school and began a nursing training program, in hopes of aiding those fighting in the war.

The three years were gruelling. The war had disrupted your schooling, having to break during your travels, leaving you behind the other trainees. You refused to let that hinder your progress, you feared for your family every day, the least you could do was help those who could be helped. As awful as the past three years had been, you made it through your training, and eventually, on the 10th of June 1944, you arrived in Normandy, to assist your wounded troops.

The medical tents are awful, to say the least. They’re cramped, sweaty and reek of... men. You make your way to the end of the tent and are greeted by a tall, tanned, gorgeous man. He seems unscathed, lying comfortably in one of the beds.

“Hey there soldier” you greet him. His deep brown eyes meeting yours. “Anything I can do for you?” you continue, eyeing him over once more.

“You tell me bub” his Canadian accent catches you off guard. “They sent me in here, told ‘em I was fine” There’s a slight humorous tone to his voice.

“I’ve seen all the bloodshed out there” you counter. “You trying to tell me you went through all that with not even a scratch to show for it?” he grins.

“Guess I’m just indestructible” he shrugs.

“Or just very lucky” you argue. “Well, if you’re completely fine I’d appreciate it if you could leave the space for someone who needs it” you give him a tight smile, not exactly wanting the beautiful stranger to leave, but needing to put your job first.

“I don’t see anyone out there waiting” he retorts. “James Howlett” offering you his hand.

“Y/n” you ignore his outstretched arm, staring quizzically at him.

“Well, Miss y/n” he stands. “It was a pleasure. I hope to be seeing you again” he grins at you once more and begins making his exit.

“I hope not” you shout to him, in hopes he can hear you, smiling quietly to yourself.

You continued your work for the next few days, aiding men with injuries far worse than you had seen before. Then, after the few days that followed, the stranger that you now knew as James, was back in your care once again, and just like the last time, you discharged him. It became routine, every few days, you would find James lying in one of your beds, completely unharmed. You would discharge him after a quick checkup, and then a few days later you’d find him lying there yet again, like clockwork. You began to form a friendship with the impenetrable soldier, dismissing his flirtatious remarks with witty underhand comments. The banter between the two of you came easily, taking jabs at one another constantly, and having conversations that came with no struggle. This continued for weeks, his visits becoming more frequent, your conversations once full of banter, now riddled with flirtation.

“Oh c’mon bub” his deep Canadian voice implored you. “You not even gonna check me over? I could be dying” he smirked.

you raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Oh yeah? Where are you wounded sweetheart?” you encouraged. “Here?” you placed a flat hand over his bare chest, slowly dragging it down.

“No.” he stopped you, your heart began to race, redness adorning your cheeks. Had you taken it a step too far, had you read his signals wrong, was he just- the clearing of his throat willed you back from your thoughts.

“Right here” he pointed his finger to his lips. “Heard kissing it better helps” that cocky smirk meeting you once again. He offered you his hand, this time not ignoring it, you outstretched yours. His fingers barely grazed yours, hand slowly rising to your wrist. He grabbed it lightly, giving you time to pull away, when you didn’t, he gave a sharp tug, causing you to topple into him. His eyes locked with yours, a feeling so familiar, and yet in this instance, so foreign. His hand, now placed on your lower back, moving slowly to cup the back of your head, the other grasping your waist. Your hands were firmly placed on either side of his head, unable to move in fear of falling. He slowly pulled himself up, your faces much closer than before. He waited, giving you one last chance to pull away, you didn’t, holding his gaze unwavering. You could feel his breath fanning your face, his stubble tickling your skin.

The kiss was soft. Far from rushed.

He held you gently, as if you were fragile, ready to break at any moment. The kiss didn’t last long, the sounds of the other patients snapping you both back to reality.

“You should go” you whisper into his lips, unable to now meet his gaze.

“I suppose I should” he agrees, grabbing your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. You stare once again into his brown eyes, the closeness allowing you to see the green specs that litter his irises. “Till next time, yeah sweetheart?” he gives me one last kiss before making his exit.

“Next time.”