#and I just really freaking loved that so much and then I searched the real lyrics which are great too

[connecting-the-stars]

Cody’s Song:

If I were a weapon, you said I’d be a gun. Lethal at close range I guess, with silencer and stun.

But I feel more like a needle, always pulling on the thread. Always making the same point again, and wondering if you heard what I just said.

Well, if I am a that weapon, I am pointing now at you. So just put down the hostage and we’ll talk it down until we see this through.

[ktownshizzle]

Terms & Conditions | Chapter 1

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Managing Min Yoongi as one of your encoders during his alternative military service should’ve been simple. He is quiet, punctual—and can apparently type as fast as he can rap! Not to mention the fact that he is easy on the eyes and keeps wanting to help you. You’ve signed an iron-clad NDA, detailing the full terms and conditions of his temporary employment, so you’re supposed to keep things professional, but what happens if neither of you wants to?

Genre: Fluff, eventual smut, co-workers to lovers, office romance, idol!au

Warnings: Purely speculative regarding Yoongi’s alternative military service and how this is really done in SK, I might include scootergate in a future chapter but please know it will be written sensibly imo and with so much love for our Yoongi (I just wanna protecc him at all costs even thru this silly story!), some cursing, boss/employee relationship sorta but there's no power play involved, reader and Yoongi are within the same age range, tbh nothing too bad in this chapter

Word count: 6.3k hehe (approx. 25 mins to read)

Posting date: October 9, 2024

Notes: So it’s my birthday, y'all. 🎂 Hope you enjoy this little treat! 🎈And let me know if anyone wants to be tagged for future chapters. Just leave a comment. Formatting this better soon, really just wanted to get this out!

Your first meeting with Min Yoongi goes exactly as you expected: awkward as hell.

The day kicked off with some solid foreshadowing. 

On the subway, you somehow managed to sit directly on someone’s hand, giving yourself a completely unsolicited grope for breakfast. Awkward. 

Then you hit your usual café, chatting with your mom on the phone while waiting for your drink. Just as the barista handed over your order, you wrapped up the call with a bright and cheery “love you!”—only to realize too late that the barista thought it was meant for him. Awkward.

Things only got weirder from there. As you checked your emails on your phone, you walked straight into a pole, and you made eye contact with a cat who just looked at you, tail swaying, like it was somehow pleased with your suffering.

So naturally, you hoped that your first day with Min Yoongi wouldn’t follow the same cursed trend. But, of course, you weren’t that lucky.

You can feel the office buzzing with excitement as you step in, but you’ve all been told to keep it low-key. Nobody is allowed to make a big deal about him, but in some ways, that just makes it an even bigger deal. You’ve refrained from searching his name on Naver. It’s enough that you know him as 1/7 of South Korea’s biggest boyband. You don’t need to stalk him because that’s just gonna make this weird.

Speaking of weird, the female security guard gives you a wink as you clock in, and you return with a simple nod back, because honestly you’re tired of being treated like you wanted this. Like you asked for this “opportunity”. Some of the girls have called you the "blessed one" to have been chosen to work alongside him in your small, shoebox office. Truthfully, you don’t really care as long as he gets the job done.

But you're feeling scared for many reasons you can’t quite express, the pressure mostly coming from the fact that every fucking person in this office is so motherfuckin’ wet for this dude. Is he even that hot? Nobody is that hot for real. Unless it’s Cha Eun Woo (you just picked up the new Vogue issue and ooof)–now that is a different story.

Your throat is dry as hell, and your stomach is in knots. There’s no time to freak out though as you just received a ping that he’s on his way. 

You clear your throat, adjust your stance, and try to appear composed and professional, despite the fact that your insides are churning. You spot your tiny plastic garbage can on the corner of the room, in case you need to hurl, but the garbage lady forgot to line it again for fuck’s sake.

You pull your knit sweater down to cover the tiny belt that holds your linen pants, the only thing holding something together in this room, ‘cos you are actually spiraling–kind of?

Fuck he’s here.

The doors to your office open, making the little wind chime you hung there tinkle, and you spot the top of his head from behind the pudgy middle-aged guy that walks in front of him—your boss. Two men flank him, one of them you know as someone from his company, because he was the one doling out NDAs the other day like how they do beef jerky samples in the supermarket. The other, more buff guy, his bodyguard, most likely. Until you know their real names, you’ll call them Beef Jerky and Beefy.

Okay, focus.

Min Yoongi finally steps into your line of vision. 

Dressed in his military uniform, he was quiet, unassuming, expression unreadable. His eyes were pretty sharp, a bit intimidating, like he was thinking about something more important than whatever this is. His hair was a bit messy in the front, but somehow it worked for him. He wasn’t huge or anything, just lean and kinda laid-back, with this easy posture that made it seem like he didn’t really care who was looking. Honestly, nothing too special. 

But then, there was his aura, something you couldn’t quite ignore. It wasn’t flashy or loud, but there was this energy about him, like the room shifted just a little when he walked in. He didn’t have to say a damn thing, yet somehow, you found yourself aware of him. It wasn’t just his looks. It was the way he carried himself, calm and confident, like he didn’t need to prove anything. Must be nice to be rich and powerful…

“Miss?” Beef Jerky leans to his side to get into your sightline.

Shit, what did he say? Anyway, you shake your head, and proceed to just introduce yourself.

“Hello, I’m the manager,” you bow, perhaps too stiffly. “I’ll be overseeing your work during your service here.”

He bows politely, too, eyes briefly meeting yours before looking away. “I’m Min Yoongi, pleasure to meet you,” he says in a tone that feels blunt, almost rehearsed.

Your boss Hyun-woo, who you recently found out is his distant uncle, stands beside him, clapping his shoulder. “You are in good hands here, Yoongi. She’s my best, most trusted employee in this entire office.”

You blush at the compliment, feeling a wave of self-consciousness as you struggle to make the interaction less awkward. You close your fists willing yourself to get a fuckin’ grip.

“I will leave you both to get acquainted.”

Your boss along with the two individuals leave the room. The door closes with a soft click.

Annoyingly, something is stuck in your throat and you clear it with a quick sip from this comically huge-sized tumbler your roommate got for you when you had a pesky bout of UTI last year.

“I’ve, uh, prepared your tasks for today.” You gesture to his desk, quickly pulling up the list of assignments on your tablet. You show him his username and password scribbled on a post-it by the monitor. He picks it up and inspects it. You spend time explaining the basics of the work here. Word processing. Nothing to it really. It’s about efficiency, accuracy, and confidentiality, because of the many private government records that you handle day to day.

“Do you have any questions?”

Crickets.

The office feels larger now, the silence between you echoing awkwardly. “Ooo-kay. If you don’t have any questions, that’s fine. But don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything I can help you with,” you add, hoping to sound approachable but instead sounding robotic, like an email sign off. You wince inwardly.

He just nods again, offering nothing more. He sits and picks up the paper on the top of the file. You guess that’s your cue to leave. And by leave, you mean round his table so you can sit on yours, the one across from him.

You walk back with this weird stutter in your chest. For a moment, you wonder if he finds you too formal. It’s not like you’re trying to be intimidating, but professionalism has been your go-to ever since the promotion. And it’s not like you need to wow him with your personality, so you can become fast friends. If the NDA you signed was to be taken to heart, it would be better to not establish any form of relationship with him outside of team lead and team member, what with the exorbitant number of potential violations and potential fines for breaking it.

When his keyboard starts clickety-clacking, dread sinks in your stomach that it’s going to be like this every day—strictly business, no small talk, no casual exchanges. You’re not the most sociable person, but once in a while, you do appreciate a bit of interaction. You sigh internally, returning to your own tasks, trying not to overthink the situation anymore. For now, at least.

Throughout the morning, you cannot help but steal glances at him. Damn, what skin care does he use? He literally looks radiant, like he’s glowing from within. Fuck, you have to look away because this is precisely why they trusted you to take him under your wing. You are a consummate professional, not a creep like the girls from accounting, especially trampy Danbi. You chalk it to unfamiliarity and curiosity, which you know you will quickly overcome. But for now you cut yourself some slack. Obviously, there was a legit celebrity in the room, and he seems to radiate some undeniable aura. It also feels strange to have someone else in this tiny office that you’ve occupied alone for so long.

Honestly, you’re still baffled as to why he was assigned to you, specifically. Well, that’s not entirely true. You know it’s because Hyun-woo has blind trust in you, having seen you as one of his go-to employees. Truth be told, you think he treats you like a niece. Is that weird? Maybe. He lets you assist some of the other artists who’ve come through for personal or one-time projects and you have always delivered for him, never engaging in any office gossip.

But still, you can’t shake the feeling of frustration. Why did this have to happen to you? You just got your promotion and were so excited to mentor someone, to be that “cool boss” you always envisioned. But now you’re stuck with this temp—who’s really not a temp but a world-renowned idol. It’s all so awkward.

Once in a while you catch him yawning, so in a desperate bid to cut through the tension, you ask, “Um, do you like coffee?”

He shifts to sit straighter. “Nah, I’m good. Thank you.” he responds, quickly looking your way and training his eyes back to the screen, hands typing away.

You nod, feeling slightly deflated. “Right. Got it.” 

The day drags on, and you can’t shake off the feeling of being an over-eager manager trying too hard. 

Within the first week, you discover very quickly that Yoongi is all about business. He is just here to finish his service as discreetly as possible. He clocks in on time, disappears for an hour for breaks, and clocks out on time as well. You don’t know where he disappears during those breaks, but you suspect in Hyun-woo’s office to get more privacy. He barely speaks to you. He greets you with a small bow in the morning and responds with a grunt or a hum. It’s all very… whatever. It is what it is, so you stop trying to be anything but his boring manager. You hand him his tasks every morning, check his output by EOD, like clockwork.

Unfortunately, it was one of those manic Mondays. The pile of documents grows faster than you can manage. Calls keep coming in, requests needing immediate attention, and your desk looks like the utter chaos that is the inside of your brain. You glance at Yoongi across from you—he’s focused, calm, completely unfazed by the sudden rush.

“Do you need help with that?” His voice startles you, low and soft. You honestly even forgot how it sounded, having little to no interaction everyday.

Before you can respond, he’s already pulling the spare chair from the corner and is at your side, sorting through the forms. His hands move with unexpected speed, and soon, the paperwork starts shrinking. You offer a weak smile, trying to appear professional. “Thanks. I wasn’t expecting today to be so hectic.”

He only nods in response, his focus entirely on the task at hand. You glance at him, noticing for the first time how sharp his features are up close—dark eyes, cute pointy nose, and freckles dusting some parts of his cheeks. His tongue, pink and moist, peeks out from the side of his lips as he concentrates. Ok, you need to look away RIGHT NOW.

You’re aware of the attraction most women probably feel for someone like him. Exhibit A—Danbi, who cornered you that morning in the toilet “for the scoop” and you’re sick of her. But if you’ll be honest, it’s hard not to notice that Yoongi indeed has a… pleasant face. But you are a professional. Yes, you are. This whole mysterious, brooding vibe is not going to get to you attracted to him in any way, shape, or form. You’re his manager. You signed those NDAs. Never mind that his lips are just the perfect shape, pouty, plush… and smirking.

Shit. He’s smirking because you’re caught.

You look away hastily and start opening some random file in your computer and pretend to be immersed reading it. In truth, you need some air, but it would be too damn obvious if you stepped away.

A few minutes pass in silence. You’ve quelled the initial onslaught of hormones and are back to work mode. You’re happy that he is so efficient and you smile as you get through the initial bulk of paperwork. You’re starting to relax, getting into the familiar groove of getting a file and processing it, until your fingers accidentally brush against his while reaching for the same folder. The touch is brief, but it sends a jolt through you, your heart stuttering in response. You glance up, half-expecting another awkward moment (because you can’t stop feeling like such a fool in front of him), but Yoongi remains composed, as he pulls his hand away and waits for you to take the document.

You do, but your pulse quickens. Just an accident, you tell yourself. He probably didn’t even notice. And if he did, he probably doesn’t care.

But now, as you continue working side by side, there’s an unspoken understanding. You realize, despite his quiet demeanor, he’s someone you can rely on, someone who won’t leave you stranded when things get tough. And that’s actually really nice. It’s what you wanted when Hyun-woo said you were going to have a team. Granted it’s just the two of you for now, but still, it’s nice to have a partner.

Later in the week, you find yourself in the break room, needing a coffee fix. There was a place down the street with cheap and good coffee, but unfortunately you didn’t have the time to pop in with so much work on your desk. So free and awful coffee it is today. 

You enter just in time to see Yoongi struggling with the coffee machine. You have never seen him anywhere else in the building apart from your office, so this was quite a surprise. 

“Need a hand?” you ask tentatively, stepping closer.

“I think I broke it,” he replies, hearing exasperation in his voice for the very first time. 

“Hang on, let me,” you unplug and plug the machine, fiddle with some of the buttons, waiting for it to sputter to life. 

You’re leaning against the counter, waiting for the coffee machine to wake up. You know it takes forever, but it’s too familiar at this point. Yoongi stands next to you, his usual quiet self, hands in his pockets. 

“I’ve timed it,” you say dryly, glancing at him. “Two minutes and forty seconds.”

He watches the machine as if expecting it to hurry up. “Been here for more than that.”

You smirk. “Maybe it’s on a break.”

He quirks an eyebrow, barely suppressing a smile. “I’ll try that excuse next time.”

You hand Yoongi his coffee, mumbles a thanks, and waits for you to finish yours before both of you settle into the break room’s small table. It’s past lunch, and you know neither of you have eaten, so you reach for the cold ham and cheese sandwiches stashed in the fridge. “Hope you don’t mind,” you say, sliding one across to him.

He looks at it for a moment before picking it up. “I’ve had worse.”

“High praise.”

He takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Could be worse. Could be that coffee.”

You raise your cup in mock agreement. “Fair point. Don’t even know why I drink this shit. I mean this thing.” You slap a hand over your mouth. Did you just curse in front of your subordinate? Government offices are a stickler for these things, being on the traditional side.

He chuckles at your shocked expression, and teases, “Isn’t that a code of conduct violation?”

You gnaw at your lip, suppressing the smile that wants to stretch out, but you fail. “It is. But you’re no snitch.”

He motions to zip his lips and throws an imaginary key over his shoulder. Dork.

The conversation lingers in that easy rhythm. You talk about the workload, the other departments, nothing too personal. You glance over at him, noticing how more at ease he seems, as if he’s getting used to being here—around you.

“How long have you worked here?” he leans back, stretching his arm out on the back of the chair beside him.

“Five years,” you respond, tapping the side of your lip with a napkin.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” he asks suddenly.

You blink, slightly taken aback by how blunt he is. You clarify, on guard, “Tired of what exactly?”

He gestures around. “The office. The routine.” He keeps his eyes trained on you, which is a rarity as he always seems to be looking at you but never directly like that. That’s when you knew his question was sincere. That he wasn’t trying to offend you, just trying to get to know you.

You shrug. “Sometimes. But it’s not that bad. Besides,” you smile wryly, “now I have someone to talk shit about this coffee and sandwich with.”

He chuckles, light and throaty, a sound that you realize is tickling something in your brain. “Guess we’re in this shit together now.”

You nod, feeling something warm settle in your chest. The wall between you is thinner now, not entirely gone but close enough to see past.

“Same time tomorrow?” you ask, half-joking, half-hopeful.

He raises an eyebrow, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “I have two years here. Hope the coffee machine doesn’t beat me to my discharge date.”

Two years. The thought makes you smile. You really don't mind spending that amount of time with him. In fact, it kinda made you a little happy.

As you step into your cozy apartment, the familiar scent of home hits you. Your roommate’s been cooking again, so it also smells like galbi jjim. Yummm.

Your place isn’t much—a small two-bedroom in Yongsan you’ve shared with Chae since Uni—but it’s got character. You both moved in when it was bare and bland, but with a little effort and a lot of creativity, you’ve turned it into something that actually feels like home. The furniture is mostly Scandi-style—clean lines, muted tones, and a lot of beige—but you’ve sprinkled in your own touches everywhere.

There’s that round white table you scored second hand, now always topped with whatever flowers Chae picks up from the market, and the rattan pendant light that casts this soft, cozy glow at night. The tiny kitchen still feels big enough when it’s just the two of you, with mismatched mugs stacked up and a bright orange pan hanging on the wall for no real reason other than it looks cool.

In the living room, a hybrid shelf is stuffed with books, vinyls, and random trinkets from all the places you’ve been. A Chinese lucky cat sculpture from that street market trip. A polaroid of you two drunk at noraebang, one of many others tucked under the glass coffee table. Trendy prints hang on the walls—well, some lean against the walls, because you’ve never gotten around to actually hanging them. It’s perfectly imperfect. It’s not much, but it’s home.

You hang your bag on the rack by the door and head to the kitchen, where Chae is stirring a pot, hips swaying to the music blaring from her phone. Of course, as she holds a silver spoon, she belts out the lyrics from the BTS song with the same title. And you only know this because she has made you watch some edits to this song that left an impression on you.

The thought of revealing this thing you’ve been holding out on her has your stomach in knots. But again, there’s an NDA involved, and you don’t want to violate anything. But just the same, you’re desperate to talk to someone about this strange new development in your life. You just hope you don’t regret risking your job by telling her.

“Hey, Chae!” you call out, and she turns, beaming at you. “How was work?”

“Busy as usual,” you reply, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. “But I have something to tell you.”

Her eyes sparkle with curiosity. “Ooh, do tell!”

You hesitate, but excitement spills out. “I have a new workmate. And you know him.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s one of my exes.”

“No, no.” You take a quick swig of water and twist its cover back in place.

“From Uni?”

You shake your head, water still swirling inside your mouth.

“Is it one of my weird cousins?”

You gulp. “What? No! Also we haven’t talked about why you gave one of them my number. He’s blowing up my Kakao.”

She cackles unapologetically, “Sorry, I need to get them off my back. So, are you going to tell me who this mysterious person is?”

You breathe out a sigh. “Min Yoongi from BTS.”

It’s like a bomb explodes in your roommate’s brain. She drops the spoon, and you wince at the clatter. “What?! No!”

“Yeah…”

“Don’t you even joke right now.”

“I’m not!”

“Are you serious???”

You nod, half-amused by her reaction. “Yeah, he’s assigned to my department for his service.”

“Min Yoongi?” she repeats, eyes wide, almost breathless. “You… I… Do you know how famous he is? He’s like a fuckin’ national treasure! He has a diplomatic passport and everything, keys to the White House… ”

You chuckle at her enthusiasm, but you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. “I mean, I guess? But I signed an NDA. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

She pulls you to her room, and you follow, rolling your eyes. Her space is a shrine to Bangtan, shelves lined with albums, posters, and even plushies. You’ve never given her shit for it, because you also had an EXO phase, but you got rid of most of your stuff through ebay when you needed some extra money.

“Wait, you have to understand him!” she exclaims, rifling through her collection. “You need to learn about his music, his artistry. He’s incredible!”

“Honestly, he has an above average WPM, that’s all I need to know.”

“WPM?” she asks.

“Words per minute. He’s an encoder.”

She gives you a WTF look, then shoves her photocard album in your arms. 

“Open that,” she tells you before she flops on her bed with a wistful look. “What's he like? You have to tell me. I need to live vicariously through you.”

You can’t help but laugh at her excitement, flopping down on the bed next to her. “Well, he’s a quick study, very efficient, and also very reserved.”

“…and very hot?” she asks, winking.

“Chaeee!” you groan, burying your face on one of her plushies, the brown one. “I mean, he’s not… bad-looking.”

“Not bad-looking? Girl?! He is sexy as fuck!” she grabs the plush off of your face and you try to school your face to seriousness, but fail.

“I dunno. It’s just work.”

“Just work?!” she echoes again, eyes sparkling. “You’re working with a literal genius! Do you know how many girls would kill for this opportunity?”

Don’t you know it? Danbi and her crew are still up on your face everyday trying to get any morsel of information you’d be willing to throw their way. You sigh, but smile at her enthusiasm. “Alright, I’ll tell you more. But just remember: NDA.”

When your roommate seems satiated, she leaves you a trail of crumbs that unknowingly leads you to a rabbit hole. Two words, she said mysteriously, before you disappear into your room. “Agust D.”

That night, curiosity gets the better of you. You grab your laptop and fall down said rabbit hole, watching every Agust D music video, concert clip, and interview you can find. With each passing moment, you become more entranced, not just by the music, but by the man behind it. The raw passion in his lyrics, the confidence in his delivery—it really is quite… in Chae’s words: sexy af.

As the weeks progress, you have graduated from robotic nods to actual smiles. The greetings feel more familiar now, almost like you're becoming friends. 

You walk into the office, a small smile creeping onto your face as you see Yoongi already at his desk. He looks up and meets your gaze, returning the smile with a scratchy hello. The atmosphere feels lighter today, a far cry from your first awkward encounter.

“Ready for another exciting day of paperwork?” you tease, taking your seat.

“Dope,” he replies dryly, but there’s a playful glint in his eye.

Moments later, Yoongi’s head pops from the side of his monitor so that he’s in your view. “Uh, I have a bit of a problem with this file,” he says, brows furrowed with a hint of frustration in his tone.

You immediately jump into action, eager to help. “Let me take a look.”

As you move closer to his desk, you can’t help but notice the way his fingers move over the keyboard, veiny and strong. Images of him playing “Seesaw” on the guitar flood your mind. How can you unsee that?

You shake your head, trying to refocus. “Okay, let’s see…” But your brain keeps drifting, and you find yourself more distracted than ever. His mouth, and his deep voice, as he mumbles his troubles with the document, keeps pulling your attention. You try to push the thoughts away, frustration mounting.

“Is this the line you were talking about?” you ask, forcing yourself to concentrate on the screen.

“Yeah, that’s the one. I just can’t seem to make sense of it,” he replies, glancing at you.

“Let me just…” You lean closer, your heart racing as his shoulder brushes against yours. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

How can you focus on work when all you can think about is this thing he does with his tongue. It feels impossible.

Yoongi watches you, an amused smile playing on his lips. “You look like you’re trying to solve a complex equation.”

“Honestly, I’m starting to think my brain is broken.”

Yoongi glances at you with a smirk. “If your brain is broken, then mine’s completely fried. I tried to make toast this morning and almost burnt my apartment down.”

You laugh. “Maybe you should stick to Uber eats.”

“Agreed. It’s safer for everyone involved,” he quips, his eyes sparkling with amusement, before it turns into something slightly more serious. “Not that there’s anyone else, umm, involved. I, uh, live alone, so…”

His comment makes you smile, and you can’t help but feel a rush of warmth at the way he stuttered the last bit out. You don’t know what to make of it, so you just left it at that. 

About to clock out, Yoongi stands from his desk, bag over his shoulder.

“You know, despite my toast incident, I’m actually a pretty great cook. That toast was a fluke,” he declares, his tone half-serious, like it has been bothering him for quite some time.

The way he looks worried that you may think he is terrible in the kitchen, is not lost on you. You raise an eyebrow, “Is that so?”

He shifts the bag on his shoulder, narrowing his eyes at you. “You don’t believe me.”

“Give me a taste then,” you say, biting your lip. You made it sound really suggestive, but you can’t take it back now. Not when he seems to get it, and he seems kind of into it.

He leans with a playful glint in his eyes, “Alright. I’ll bring kimchi jeon, but you also have to give me a taste.” he pauses, pushing his tongue on the inside of his cheek, before continuing. “Of your…”

“Pasta.” You say, cheeks warm, but voice steady. “Friday?”

He smirks, then he’s out the door.

You bury your face on your palms, smiling like a fool as your heart beats loudly in your chest. What the actual hell is happening?

It’s Friday afternoon, and the office is quieter than usual—most of the staff are already winding down, eager for the weekend. You glance at the clock, knowing it’s almost time for the little food showdown you’ve been looking forward to all week.

You and Yoongi walk together to the break room, both armed with your dishes. His kimchi jeon and your pasta. 

You warm your containers in the microwave before you settle down on a corner spot.

“I hope you’re ready to lose,” you tease, sliding the container of Carbonara across the table. Yoongi raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair with that infuriatingly calm smirk.

“You seem confident,” he replies, popping open the lid of his dish. The scent of kimchi fills the room, and you have to admit—it smells incredible.

“Smells good,” you say, trying not to let your surprise show.

“Of course it does. I told you I could cook.” He clips a piece of the jeon with his chopsticks and holds it out to you. “Try it.”

You lean forward, the chopsticks brushing against your lips as you take a bite. The flavors hit you immediately—spicy, savory, just the way you like it. You chew slowly, pretending to think it over even though you’re already sold.

“Not bad,” you admit, leaning back with a grin. “But it’s gonna take more than that to beat my pasta.”

Yoongi scoffs, but there’s amusement in his eyes as he picks up a fork and twirls it into your pasta. He takes a bite, and you watch him carefully, waiting for his reaction.

He chews, then pauses, glancing up at you through his lashes. “Alright… I have to admit,” he says, his tone casual but the look in his eyes a little too serious, “this is really good.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s it? Just ‘really good?’”

He leans forward on his elbows, his gaze steady on yours. “Fine. It’s amazing,” he says, his voice softening just a bit, though there’s a teasing smile on his lips. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, it’s already there,” you quip, biting back a smile. 

Yoongi laughs, a sound that’s more relaxed than usual, and you catch the way his eyes linger on you just a little longer than necessary. “You know what? I’ll give you this one,” he concedes, sitting back with a defeated sigh, though the smile never leaves his face. “You win.”

You hoot, then immediately cover your mouth with your hands, remembering you are in your place of business.

He grins as he takes another bite of your Carbonara, forking pieces of bacon straight to his mouth. There’s something different in the way he’s looking at you now—something softer, like he’s seeing you in a way he hasn’t before. You are thrown for a loop. Maybe it’s the way he keeps sneaking glances at you between bites, or the quiet hum of satisfaction when he takes another forkful of your dish. Whatever it is, you want it and you like it.

You push your chair back, stretching your arms above your head as the day finally comes to a close. It’s been a long one, but productive—and surprisingly enjoyable. After sharing lunch with Yoongi earlier, things felt lighter, less awkward. Still, when you glance at the window, seeing the sheets of rain coming down hard, your shoulders sag slightly. It’s pouring, and you didn’t bring an umbrella.

As you slip on your parka after snapping the detachable hoodie on, Yoongi catches your eye, “You’re not planning to walk in this, are you?”

“I can take the subway,” you say quickly.

Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head as he shows you his keys. “Just let me give you a ride, it’s not a problem.”

You hesitate, but eventually, you sigh. “Okay, sure. Thanks.”

The two of you dash out into the rain, laughing softly as you both get soaked within seconds. By the time you’re in his car, your hair sticks to your forehead, and the chill of your wet clothes clings to your skin.

But you’re glad that you’re finally inside. He blasts the heater and the warmth is immediate, fogging the windows as the downpour intensifies. He fiddles with the stereo as you settle in, and Epik High’s "Born Hater" comes through his car speakers.

“Born hater!” You announce, and you catch yourself, embarrassed at the way you had to say the title of the song so emphatically.

“Cute,” Yoongi mumbles as he looks at you like he is actually endeared and you think you would catch fire despite being soaked.

“Ok hater, what’s one thing you hate?” He asks as he puts the gear on reverse.

The question is sudden, casual, and it throws you off for a moment. “What?” You laugh, furrowing your brow. “Like, what do you mean?”

He shrugs, his grip loose on the steering wheel. “Just one thing you hate. Something small. What’s something that drives you crazy?”

His arm moves behind your seat, while one hand takes the wheel and maneuvers the car seamlessly back out of the parking spot—and you don’t quite understand why you think that lone action is so sexy. It’s a miracle you’re still able to think and respond to his simple question. “Okay… I hate it when people chew with their mouth open.”

Yoongi chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Yeah, I’m guilty of that.”

“What about you?” you ask, feeling more at ease. “What’s something you hate?”

Without missing a beat, he grins. “Mushrooms. I can’t stand them.”

“Mushrooms?” You snicker. “What, like all of them?”

“All of them,” he says firmly. “They taste like dirt.”

“Wrong.” You shake your head, laughing. “They do not. You’re just picky.”

He turns to you, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Nope, I’m right. Name another thing.”

“Pickles,” you say.

“Get out of the car,” he deadpans and you both laugh.

“Not even on pizza? I actually can’t eat pizza without it.”

“Yeah, it’s still a no for me,” you say, rubbing your palms on your pants.

“Are you still cold?” He asks.

“A little,” you say, your damp clothes still causing a bit of a chill.

At the next stop light he reaches for something in the back seat and places a folded scarf of some sort on your lap. Grateful, you mutter a thanks as BIGBANG’s “Haru Haru” comes next.

You sigh, smelling his faint cologne on the garment, and melt in your seat as you pull the fabric over your shoulders, “I love this song…”

“Me too,” he says. “I listened to this song a lot when I was in high school.”

“Yeah, me too,” you share a smile before his eyes go back on the road as the green light comes. “What were you like in school?” you ask.

He raises an eyebrow, considering your question for a second. And his response was blunt, as he tends to be.  “Was a loser. Kept to myself. Worked on music when I could. School wasn’t really my thing.”

“Figures,” you tease.

He doesn’t glance at you, but there was an amused grin playing on his lips. “What about you? You look like a popular kid.”

“Oh, I was definitely a loser, too. Overachieving student who tried way too hard to please everyone,” you say with a self-deprecating laugh, looking at the pouring rain outside. “I always thought if I did everything right, I’d end up happy, but…”

“… but now?” Yoongi asks, tone softer than you’ve ever heard him before.

You hesitate, unsure why this feels like a deeper question than it should. But you wanted to give him some honesty. A tiny piece of you to hold on to if he wants. “Now… I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out, I guess.”

“You will,” he promises, glancing at you in the corner of his eyes and you meet his gaze with a shy smile.

“Thanks.”

Silence falls between you. The music fills the space as the rain lets up, and the streets blur outside the window. It feels like a moment—one you don’t want to think too hard about, because thinking too hard about anything with him feels dangerous.

He pulls up outside your apartment, the car coming to a smooth stop. You don’t move right away, letting the last bit of the song play out as you sit in the warmth of the car.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, finally unbuckling your seatbelt, but your voice feels quieter than usual.

“No problem.” His eyes meet yours for just a second, and it lingers—like there’s something else he wants to say, but doesn’t.

You step out into the cool night air, still feeling his gaze on you as you make your way to the door. When you glance back, Yoongi is still parked there, watching you, and just to lighten the mood you call out, "Bye, loser!" He shakes his head with a tiny grin, "Later, loser!" before he finally pulls away.

Your heart’s racing the whole way up the stairs, each step making it louder, faster, like it’s echoing off the walls. You enter your apartment and press a hand to your chest, trying to calm yourself down, but it’s useless—he’s been stuck in your head since you stepped out of the car. Hell, he's been there for days. You wonder if he could feel the headrush too, all the way from Hannam, where he went completely out of his way just to drop you off. 

What you don’t know is Yoongi, back in his apartment, though a little later, is doing the same—sitting there, trying to calm his pulse, still thinking about the long drive, and why he didn’t mind the distance. And as he lay awake in his large bed, smiling like a lunatic, replaying the moments of the day, he knew there really was only one reason:

He likes you.

A/N: What do you think??? I'm so excited for this series!!! Again, just leave a comment if you want to be tagged on the next chapters! Thank you so much for reading! ~k

Edit: Answer this story-related Poll

Chapter Two >

[f14fun]

pixelated love (!simmer x mv1) - chapter 2

synopsis: in which the famous three time world champion max verstappen wants to learn how to play the sims 4. except, he doesn't really know how to. so what does he do, search up a youtube tutorial. low-and-behold, y/n's video is the first he watches.

smau ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ prev | next | series index ˚୨୧⋆｡

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yourusername:

yourusername: WATCH LIVE ON TWITCH: i dominate my sub (max verstappen) as we play the sims 4 together - he's streaming too, ig 🙄🙄

(pls subscribe to my patreon and all of the cool cc looks that I put together)

view comments:

maxverstappen1: That is not the picture that we agreed on you to post, Y/N.

yourusername: deal with it max emillian 🙄

maxverstappen1: I look horrible, please delete it.

yourusername: max, i mean it in the best way possible, but you look so babygirl 😍😘🥺

maxverstappen1: This? Means me?

yourusername: SEE?!? the word fits u, totally 😁😁😁

maxverstappen1: ???

user1: LMFAO MAX??!

user2: this is the most unlikely pairing/collab of the year, i'm bewildered

user3: ABSOLUTELY LIVING for this unhinged duo >>>

user4: the way they type is COMPLETELY THE OPPOSITE FROM EACH OTHER

user5: and we are totally living for it??

user6: they match each others freak in the phattest opposite directions its so funny everytime they interact

user7: this is the type of deluluship that i aspire to have one day

yourusername: DWAI! you will reach my level of mental illness and one day have to live in a mental insane aslyum like me! (my bedroom playing sims twenty-four seven)

user7: oh!- 😀 (trembling)

maxverstappen1: It's spelled as asylum*** @/yourusername.

yourusername: 😐😐😐 not funny

user8: ☠️☠️🫵🏾

user9: love to see a set of people constantly being able to humble each other, prime entertainment

user10: guys, the stream is so fucking funnny PLS WATCH IT RN.

user10: like my mom came in to tell me to eat dinner and she heard HOW FUNNY and UNHINGED it was and decided to join me 😭

yourusername: w mother fr ‼️‼️

yourusername: now max, this is a PRIME EXAMPLE of a MILF.

yourusername: watch and learn, okay!

maxverstappen1: I am still very confused...

yourusername: mom i'll learn from >>> mom i'd like to fuck

liked by maxverstappen1

maxverstappen1: Ohhh, I see

user11: the BLATANT gaslighting has me IN TEARS. 💀💀

user11: like this is what she chooses to do the minute she gets noticed by a f1 driver HELPPPP

user12: this is MORE UNHINGED version of everything in the yt video i beg for u guys to join in on the stream i swear, NO REGRETS FRRR

user13: when she started teaching max the words to club classics by charli xcx mid stream 😭😭😭

user14: NOT A REAL EXPERIENCE. LMFAO.

yourusername: what can i say, i just need to educate this man in pop culture 😁

yourusername: i swear he is gen-z guys, just with a tinge of millenial in him (we are working on fixing that!!)

maxverstappen1: Yeah, I wanna dance to me, I wanna dance to A.G, I wanna dance with George @/georgerussel63

georgerussel63: ???

georgerussel63: Eww mate, I will not dance with you Max

georgerussel63: You can't dance well, so no thanks 🙃

yourusername: i already like you george

yourusername: you are very funny

georgerussel63: Why, thank you. May I ask who you are?

yourusername: only the funniest girl on earth ‼️🎀🌍🫨🌋

georgerussel63: I'll give that title to my girlfriend, thank you very much, but you can take a close second

yourusername: i'll take it 😁😁🤣

maxverstappen1: ☹️☹️

user15: it's okay max, you can be babygirl in the corner with me

user16: george russel once again rendering max bitchless, in front of a hot girl nontheless ☹️

yourusername: it's okay, max is my bitch 😈💦😼

user17: girl, i'm astonished everytime you open your mouth

liked by yourusername

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taglist: @hiireadstuff @sinofwriting @mehrmonga @the-untamed-soul @glai1023-blog @loloekie @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @sheastri @llando4norris @gwginnyweasley @carmenita122

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author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾 part three will be out sometime within the next week, comment if you want to be added to the taglist! ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

[jlheon]

꒰ THAT’S YOUR BOYFRIEND? ꒱

03. i’d love to meet you soon

peng’s note. bye this is so couple cringe core + written section under the cut ! ( wc. 444 )

your phone immediately starts buzzing after you press send on your message.

the contact picture of your boyfriend’s dog flashed upon the screen.

technically you’ve seen him now but you wish he would be comfortable enough to show you his face, especially now that he’s seen yours.

but there’s no rush really.

sure, you’re friends may think he’s a little sketchy but you don’t care. whatever he looks like doesn’t matter because he’s the best boyfriend you’ve had yet. despite never seeing his face and meeting him in person he always finds a way to call you and check up on you throughout the day.

he manages to do all of that with his packed schedule.

though you always wonder what school he goes to that requires the dance team to work in such rigorous conditions.

“hi baby,” riki says when he answers the phone, his voice raspy from the run through before another tour stop.

“hi rik,” you reply, pulling the covers over your body and getting comfortable under your sheets. “how was dance?”

“exhausting,” he groans. “but i’m fine now that i’m talking to you.”

“you’re so cheesy riki,” you giggle, turning over on your side.

“you love it when i’m cheesy,” riki retorts. “i bet your blushing right now.”

“no i’m not!” you say while turning on your camera. “see!”

in a turn of events riki finds himself blushing.

“you’re so cute,” riki whispers as he smiles in his dark hotel room.

“thanks babe,” you shift your phone away from your flustered face.

“i wish i could see you in person,” he sighs.

“i wish so too,” you pout. “nobody ever believes me when i say i have a boyfriend.”

“i’m sorry i can’t bring my self to show you what i look like.”

“it’s okay! i understand!” you panic.

“i’d love to meet you soon,” riki says cautiously. “only if you’re up to it though.”

“of course i want to meet you!” you’re smiling so much it hurts.

“maybe when i’m back,” he says.

“you don’t even know where i live?” you chuckle.

“i’ll get to you regardless.”

“you shouldn’t spend money just to come to me…” you frown.

“we might live closer than we think,” riki says optimistically. “but i’ll have to show you what i look like before then.”

“whenever you’re ready, ki.”

tired from rehearsal riki quickly fall asleep to your soft voice telling him about your week. debriefing him on everything that’s happened during the week that you couldn’t just text him.

you notice he stopped replying and soon fell asleep yourself.

riki hopes you won’t freak out once you find out his real identity.

prev ୨୧ mlist ୨୧ next

SYNOPSIS. it’s been three months since you met your now, online boyfriend, riki. he’s so sweet, matches your humor, but you have yet to see his face. your friends see this as a major red flag but you know riki told you he is just shy. due to this your friends joke that you could very well be dating a catfish. but what happens when riki finally sends you a picture of himself and your friend reverse searches the image to be ni-ki from enhypen?

[monkepawbz]

Scars

A Deadpool x (female) Y/N oneshot about Wade hating his body and Y/N comforting him through the self hatred and heartbreak of losing Vanessa. (This takes place somewhere after Deadpool 3!)

"Let me see your face...take off the mask, Wade..." she pleaded, wanting to see Wade's real face. For years he had always kept the mask on, as well as the rest of the suit, and Y/N had finally grown tired of her friend/crush never letting her see the real him.

Wade's eyes fluttered closed as he hesitated for a moment, his hand reaching up to remove the mask. As he slowly removed it, he winced in shame.

"Y/N... You're really going to make me do this, aren't you?" Wade laughed joylessly, shaking his head slightly. He slowly lifted his gaze, revealing the gruesome extent of his disfigurement. His light blue eyes gleamed with a mix of vulnerability and intensity as he gazed at her. "This is what I've become. This is who I am now." The man frowned, not able to look at the woman in front of him.

She smiled softly at him, her eyes full of love and sincerity.

"You're wonderful..." she breathed, reaching up to softly caress his cheek. The mutated skin was rough against her softer fingertips, the contrast sending electricity through her veins.

Wade's expression faltered, his eyes searching hers as if trying to understand her words.

"Y/N..." The merc trailed off, his voice caught in his throat for a moment. He continued to look at her, expecting this to be some sort of trick.

"You're not supposed to say things like that. I'm a fucked up freak, remember? A walking disaster with a face only a mother could love. Shit, not even a mother could love this dumpster fire!" He looked away, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Promise me this isn't some fucked up prank or something...okay?" He pleaded.

She nodded. "I promise it's real, Wade. I think you're incredibly handsome. I just wish that you didn't hide your face away from me for so long..."

She heard him let out a long sigh, leaning back on the couch and slumping a bit dejectedly.

"I know...so much for being a good buddy, huh?" He muttered.

Wade had been friends with Y/N for a few years now, the two of them meeting when he ended up saving her from one of the people he was hired to kill. They hit it off afterwards and found comfort in one another's weirdness. It was a friendship that was deep, however...Y/N eventually fell in love with him. Watching Wade be with Vanessa was one of the hardest things she had to go through, however the relationship seemed to end as the two of them seemed to want different things in life.

"Wade...how are you doing? Are you doing okay since she..." Y/N trailed off, her throat constricting with anxiety. She looked up at him, expecting Wade to be upset. He made a small noise, his lips pressed into a straight line. After a moment, he attempted to smile.

"I'm fine, Y/N. I couldn't be better, actually! I saved the world recently! Got a cool new roommate! I call him Wolfy but he fuckin' hates it. I also have the cutest little puppy in the world now!" He beamed. Despite the happiness he tried to convey, there was something deeper in those baby blues. She looked at him, scrunching her face in concentration as she tried to read him. His eyes darted around the room, confused.

"What's all this about?" He pointed at her with a gloved hand. She shook her head and shushed him.

"You're lying. There's something else." She retorted, not convinced.

"Fuckin...alright FINE, Y/N, you got me!" He threw up his hands in mock surrender. "I like you, okay? And I've been trying to figure out whatever the HELL I'm feeling so I don't drag you down to the firey pits below with me! I mean, shit! You're a decently normal person and I'm a ticking time bomb waiting to ruin some other person's life." Wade rambled, hurt apparent in his eyes.

Y/N gently pulled him into a warm hug, and he froze.

"What is...?" he was shushed by her as she gently rubbed circles into his back, the Deadpool suit's texture feeling good against her skin.

"You don't have to be okay right now. You are hurt, and you loved her. I'm not asking you to love me right away, or even at all. However, I have to admit I have loved you for many years now. And I think you are incredibly handsome, charming and funny to be around." She explained. Wade hesitated, pulling away and standing.

"What are you saying, Y/N...?" He asked, eyes wide in shock. She looked up at him and smiled.

"I love you, Wade Wilson. I always have, and if you ever want someone to help mend that broken heart...I would like to volunteer. And I love you, scars and all." Y/N's words were soft and sweet, and Wade felt how genuine she was being.

"I...need some more time...but...yeah. I think I would like that, peanut." He gave her a lopsided smile.

"Then...how about this. We can start slow. I can try to give you healthy if you try to give me the same. We can figure this out together, even if it's messy." She held his hand in her own, giving it a light squeeze. Wade nodded.

"Deal." He said, and for once he seemed to actually believe that maybe, just maybe, someone didn't mind his scars.

[iouinotes]

Good gone bad | Coriolanus Snow (part one)

pairing: young!Coriolanus Snow x female!reader

movie: Hunger Games: The ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

warnings: dark!character, smut

word count: 3,8k

summary: You are childhood friends and very close with him. When his behaviour starts to change for the worse, you try your best to hold on to his real-self.

a/n: I adored Snow the first half an hour, because he was a gentleman and cared so much! Then his character became dark, obsessive and murderous and it really was a game changer...but I definitely want to read the book, so I can describe his character in my following stories better!

part 2 here , part three

"I will call my new discovery just like you, Mr. Snow. The best student and the future of this world. No one will stand in your way, when the blizzard blows over the people. And because it will work so well for your little infatuation, it will function for every other naive creature too."

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

"Coryo!" I shot his name across the hallway, when I see his blonde locks, ignoring the looks from my classmates around me. At the sound of my voice, his head turns in my direction and I run faster towards his figure. As soon as I catch up with him, I meet his curious eyes and look further down to his smiling lips.

"Good morning to you too. Let me guess, you have something really important to announce or are just very happy to see me." Holding the door open for me, I try to catch my breath, wanting to ignore the lovely tone of his voice and the way he looks so outstanding beautiful.

"Well, both, but I heard some gossip about the upcoming ceremony tomorrow. Details who is gonna get the scholarship." Now, while entering the room, I have his full attention.

When I heard about the changes, that were made I immediately searched for him, clearly knowing how much he was ready to sacrifice for this academic possibility.

As he stops walking and places his hands on my shoulders, stopping me in my foodsteps and searching my gaze, I feel my pounding heart.

God forbid this man to look at me this way.

As I try to avoid his intense glare, his hands gently move to my cheeks to focus my eyes on him. I feel myself blushing, fiddling with the rings, that are attached to my fingers.

"No time for jokes, please. What do you know?" I clear my voice, trying to ignore our close gap or the way his curls lay on his forehead and how his skin shines beautifully in the light- No, wait. Not good. We're just friends. I don´t like him that way. Nope.

"I- uh, so please don´t freak out on me, but rumor says it's not up to the student with the best grades to get the scholarship..." I watch his posture straighten, see the how his facial expression turns blank and the irritated change in his mood. And I promise you, it´s not good.

When he lets go of me to strike forward, I try to hold him back. "Wait- you are angry and disappointed, so talk to me first before you let your emotions out on the others, okay?" I catch his left hand and hear his upset breathing.

"It's just- you know, more than anyone, that I deserve this scholarship the most! And now the only possibility to help my family and to become successful are at risks, because someone decided to change the rules? God, I worked my ass off to be the one they choose and now I'll probably get laughed at, cause I didnt get it!" I nod, trying to calm him down by listening to his outburst.

"You do deserve it, I know that. But you still have the chance to stand out more than the others. You are intelligent and brave, very ambitious and you care a lot. Not only for your family and friends, but for everyone. You are the best candidate and if they don´t choose you, then it is the wrong decision. Because they need someone like you. Just like I need you, believe me." I hold his hand close to my heart, trying to convince him of his abilities and his good heart, to show him that he deserves every recognition he gets.

And it works, because he relaxes slightly and after another second passes, I feel myself being embraced in a tight hug. His hand holds the back of my head and I hear his quiet "thank you".

"Always, blue. I am here for you." His lips linger for a second on my forehead, the kiss leaves me feeling warm and in love.

Even if I try to deny it.

"It's been a while, since you called me that nickname." I look in his eyes, when he pulls back. Admiring the shining blue that follows my dreams.

I only smile at him, shrugging when we have a normal distance between us, that helps me to concentrate again.

"It slipped out, I guess. But you are right, the last time I called you that, we were in primary school. How fast the time goes." Nodding we gently smile at each other and I clear my throat, when I get more and more enchanted to him.

We have known each other for so long, but nothing has changed about us.

Expect my feelings for him. They seem to never go away.

So, when I step forward and his eyes follow me, I start to walk to class again.

"Come on, we're being late. The greatest student of all time does not come late." He shakes his head, smiling at me and when I feel for a moment that something is different between us, I brush it off.

When he's finally catching up with me, I order my thoughts.

Don't fall in love with him.

Pretend, you didnt fall in love with him.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

I am good at pretending, really. It normally helps me to focus on the important things in my life, for example school, my grades, studying and getting accepted by a college. Did I mention, my academic success needs to be excellent?

But now, the only thing I can concentrate on is him. And I can hardly pretend, not for much longer, that I am not in love with him.

Because his life is in danger, now that the Hunger Games have started and he is the mentor of the tribute of district 12, a girl named Lucy Gray, everything is different.

He is different.

I know him long enough, that I see how much he cares for her. And because I'm good at pretending, I can see right through his actions.

He maybe likes the girl, but even though he tries to hide it, he cares more that he is the victor in the end.

And that is something that I find quite odd. I mean, he always wants to win, wants to be the best and on top or ahead of everyone. But he was always fair, human and supportive.

But his behavior changed as the days passed. Of course, it's obvious that the violence and torment that the game brings with changes you. More for the worse, than the better.

But it's not only the pressure he is under or the tension that he feels, because he needs the girl to win. It's something different and I notice that none of this is doing him any good. Especially for his heart.

Because he is being distant, he talks less, smiles less, is acting like a person I don´t even know anymore.

And it scares me, it hurts to see him losing himself in the process of being successful.

The last time we talked, he said something to me that left me awake all night, thinking about the decisions and sacrifices he has to make to achieve his goal.

He said: "I will become president and when I am on top, the world will be as cold as the snow in the winter. Nobody will oppose me."

It scared me. He scared me.

And maybe it was the change of his behavior or the cold look in his eyes, with which he looked at everyone or maybe it was because I started to fear him, that I distanced myself from him.

And even though I thought, he wouldnt notice, he did.

And it made everything complicated.

He tried to approach me, talking and joking like we always did, but it wasnt the same. Because he wasnt the same. Even though the color of his eyes was still as bright as the sun, the way he looked at me hid something that was as dark as the night.

I didnt know how I felt anymore.

Because when fear is equal to love, do I fear him then?

I guess I did and it made me sick in the stomach. He lied, he betrayed, he murdered, he did things, I would hate anyone for.

He did things for that I started to hate myself, because I couldnt hate him. Not when he really was the victim in this cruel world, even when he presented himself as the victor.

But for me, he didnt win. Because he rather lost something.

My trust for him.

And that made him angry, so much that he started to manipulate his way into my life again, when I decided that I didn't want anything to do with him anymore.

At first it would be small things. He continued opening the door for me, even though I didnt walk to class with him anymore.

He always saved me a seat next to him, although I decided to sit somewhere else. Then he started bribing the teachers, so that I had to do my assignments with him, he started showing up by almost every place I would go to.

He would give me roses that I wouldn't accept or visited me at work, always with a smile on his face. But I could tell it wasn't real.

He wasn't his real-self after all. He pretended to be someone else and I couldnt trust this new version of him.

He cut his hair short, nowadays wears expensive and neat clothes, always speaks in a formal voice and does polite gestures.

Small smiles, fake laughs, adoring looks which he uses to hide his real intentions behind a facade.

He enchanted the whole world.

But his magic didn't work on me and he became more and more aware of it as the days went by and I continued to ignore him.

And then, on one evening he visited my dorm and before I could close the door, he stood in my apartment and said something, I will forever keep in mind. His presence began to feel like a short movie, captivating me with each encounter.

"I know that you don't like the way things are now. But I am doing this to maintain peace, to keep the people in the place they belong. And I want you to know, that you just need to understand my actions and start to trust me again."

As he spoke, he started to walk towards me, looking me in the eyes, trying to convince me. I had no way out, all I could do was to back up until I hit the wall and he was standing right in front of me. Starring at me, like I needed to be on his side.

I tried to avoid his gaze and the deep blue that somehow always successfully convinced me. Until now.

"Please look at me, I´m telling you the truth. You know me, I´m still the same guy. Why don´t you believe me?" His hands brush my cheeks, roughly holding my face in his hands to keep my eyes on him.

It wasnt new to me that he loved to manipulate. I overheard some of his lies, the hidden betrayal of his own best friend and I couldnt be sure, that he wouldnt do the same to me too.

The only thing I knew was that his striving for power was taking over his being and I seemed powerless to do anything against it.

"I can´t trust you anymore, Coryo. You are acting different and all the things you did-" his face gets closer to me and my heartbeat becomes faster the less distance there is between our faces.

I can´t deny it.

He looks so beautiful.

Even though I want to talk, he leaves me speechless. As if the cold blue of his eyes froze me into a stature, that can only listen to him.

"Everything I did was for you. I know you love me, always have and always will. But you don't admit it to yourself, you don't want to admit it. I know how you feel for me, sweetheart and you have no reason to stop loving me now."

His words are like magic, his eyes like a hallucination, that everything is fine. His hands so warm and familiar that it's hard for me to remember the bad things he did.

That he's trying so hard to make me forget about.

His fingers move around my neck, his body comes closer to me until we touch, until I can only see him and only he matters.

His face is so close to mine and my eyes flutter - out of fear or anticipation, I don´t really know - until I feel his breathing on my ear.

"If you just let me make you remember the old time. Everything we did, the fun we had, how much we trusted each other. How much I still care and appreciate you. Stop thinking and let yourself feel."

His lips touch my skin and I have to suppress a whimper. I can breathe in his scent, his hands around me confuse my thoughts. My dreams from back then, imagining being able to have him, love him and touch him - they make me insecure about my decisions.

I wanted him for such a long time, that it now seems impossible for me to actually call him mine.

But coming to my senses, realising he is no longer the sweet gentleman I fell in love with, I want to stop him, by holding my hands out to push him back. However his hands react quickly and enclose mine with a firm grip to press them against the wall.

"No, listen to me. I never told you, but I heard you dreaming about me once. You whispered my name, like your heart longed for me, in a way you would never be able to truly understand your feelings for me. Like I am the god you pray for and I promise you, if you would just let me, I would fulfill your every wish. Because, together, you and me, we can become holy in our own, untouchable way. "

When I try to shake my head, his hands change so that one of them is holding both of my hands and the other one is grabbing my face.

"Don´t fight against me, darling. It wont work. You know it, I always win."

And as his hands hold my chin and I can hear my loud heartbeat, his lips meet mine in a wild kiss, clearly showing me the control he has over me.

And it's addicting, but so so dangerous.

His lips are soft against my own and he roughly kisses me, like he's the devil trying to steal my soul.

His body feels warm against my own and I'm weak for a moment, gently kissing him back, enjoying the way he smiles at my reaction.

His kisses becomes more heated, his hands are roaming over my nightgown and his fingers caress the exposed skin. Everything feels too good to be true.

But I can´t let myself enjoy this, I need to focus.

"No- Coryo. We cant-" I try to studder, breaking the kiss and hating the way he makes me feel. Because I feel so good, like only he can make me feel this way.

When I interrupt our kiss and while I try to assert myself against him, I notice his anger becoming more and more obvious.

"What I do is only to make you happy, why dont you understand? I want to see you happy and because of that, I have to do certain things. Just like now." His intense gaze is focused on me.

Without being able to do anything, I suddenly feel a liquid on my skin, that first makes me shiver because of the cold, but in the next second, I feel as hot as if I was standing in the desert and would be dying of thirst.

His touch begins to feel like the only solution and I want more. So, I lean into his touch and literally melt against his body as his lips brush mine.

"Fascinating, as Dr. Gaul said. It becomes one with the skin and intoxicates the senses." He whispers, but I can't figure out what he means by that. The only thing I can concentrate on is him. Why was I here again?

"You need me. You said it yourself, I'm here to remind you." His voice is quiet and I feel my thoughts dissolving. Only the sight of him remains in my head.

His look, those beautiful blue eyes, they distract me and I can´t ignore the desire that his lips are about to meet mine again. We're just centimeters apart and even if I try to stop it, my emotions change. I stop thinking about all the things he did.

Instead, all I can think about is his touch, his lips. And now that I know the ghost of his touch, I wouldn't want anything else.

So, I lean myself forward and kiss him.

It feels like my insides burns with desire, something that is so indescribable, that I don't even know, if I'm capable of feeling this love for too long.

My hands move to his shoulders and to his head, but my control is quickly suppressed as he pushes me back against the wall. So that I almost can't move.

His fingers lift my chin up, I see him grinning smugly at me in triumph.

"Good girl, you only need to listen to me. No one else." And I want to believe him so much, that I suddenly want to forget my doubts.

So, I let him make me forget. His hands roam my body, freeing me from my clothes and holding me where he wants me.

And I let him because I remember that I always wanted him to have his way with me. And when I look at his face, I no longer differentiate. For me, only my Coryo exists.

I close my eyes and lose myself in these sensations, the heat of his words and his actions.

His lips are soft, his kisses leave me with an unknown want and I can't do anything other than just take everything he gives me.

When he strips me out of my pants and unbottons my blouse, he lifts me up against the wall. His hips are pressed against my waist and his kisses travel from my lips down to my chest.

"Everything I do is for you." His words sound familiar.

"You will never doubt me again, I promise you. I'll make sure of that. From now on, you will feel this good forever. Because of me, you hear me? Only because of me, always me." His words cover me like a veil, but I'm unable to process them. My head is so empty and just like he said, I only feel.

I've never not thought about nothing and even if it should unnerve me, I can't even remember to be bothered about it.

As my hands try to move further down to his back and my nails leave marks on his back, his hand squeezes my neck like a warning.

"I am in control, you do as I say. Now take off my pants, so I can fuck you until you believe in me again." I can't think straight, when his hands are undressing me, cupping my breasts and turning me on in a way, I only want to be here with him.

As soon as my hands undress him and his pants are pulled down, he tears my panties apart, meeting my lips in a wanting kiss.

I feel one of his fingers slipping through my wet folds, pumping roughly two fingers inside me. My mouth opens and moans escape me, while I hold myself onto his shoulders.

"You needed to play hard to get, huh? Look who is at my mercy now." My body is still pressed against the wall and as my eyes close on their own, I suddenly feel his tip at my entrance.

And when I want to protest, he places his hand on my mouth to keep me quiet.

"No talking back to me. If you don't listen, I will make you." He pushes himself into me and I feel every vein as his hands direct mine against the wall behind me.

When he starts fucking me, I'm sure I'll pass out.

"C-cant take- too big, please" I dont even know how to speak properly anymore. His hands hold me tight and his thrusts are so brutal, that I barely have enough concentration to breathe.

"What did you say? You want to please me? Then shut your mouth and let me use you." With every harsh thrust, I feel my muscles become more and more relaxed and only he is holding me up now. I can't concentrate on anything else other than him inside me.

My thoughts begin to only focus on being good for him.

I feel like my soul is leaving my body. All I can hear is the dull clapping of our bodies, my loud moans and his heavy breathing.

As he buries his head in the crook of my neck, I softly whimper his name.

I feel how he tenses, when he react to me calling his nickname. His eyes shift to me and suddenly he lets go of my arms and I put them around his shoulders without hesitation. The position now is much more intimate and I scratch his back as his thrusts become even deeper and harder.

I hear his heavy breathing and feel his arms wrap around mine too.

"Tell me you want me." His voice is menacingly quiet. When I don't answer, too focused on his hips thrusting into me, he lets go of the wall and lays me on my bed.

"Fine, I will make you say it then." He sits down and pulls me onto his lap with my back to him, sliding his cock into me again. I moan so loudly, that I notice him grinning contentedly against my shoulder.

"You like that? Good, everyone will know how me you like me, when I'm done with you." His hand directs me so his chest touches my back and one of his hands moves to wrap around my neck.

"You will get used to doing what I want and you will do it, because you want to. You hear me? You won't stay away from me anymore, you belong to me. Everything you do is for me and only me." My thoughts are so confused, I can't think straight anymore. All I know is that I have never felt so good and that he is the reason for my pleasure.

"But I fucked you dumb so it seems. Pretty, little thing. You are like my personal doll, that I can use as I please. This turns me on even more than I would have thought." He pushes me further down on him, making me bounce until that one special spot in me is abused over and over again. And all I can utter are useless words and loud moans.

"B-blue" I hear him chuckle darkly in response.

I'm no longer certain, that I'm even laying in the arms of the person I once loved so much.

"You should have let me fucked you much sooner. It would have destroyed any resistance you had towards me. Just like now and just like I wanted." His voice whispers in my ear and my head leans against his shoulders, my mouth opens and I feel every inch of him inside me.

His hand strokes the skin, where my heart lays and I feel his lips brush against my ear.

"If this heart ever beats for anyone else other than me, everyone in this world will die and I won't be afraid to tell you that it is entirely your fault."

I collapse in his arms, when I come, going completely limp and vulnerable, unable to move. This time I only seem to be physically present.

His arms wrap around me and he let me sink onto him again, then I hear his voice whispering promises into the dark room.

"You cant ever escape me. I will always find you and I will always get you."

[chubbyheadquarters]

May I have a Request of LMK Wukong and Macaque x Reincarnation Reader but separately. If not it's okay.

Genre: Romantic Pronouns: Gender-Neutral TW/CW: Mention of Death Character(s): Sun Wukong-Monkey King, Macaque-Liu Er Mihou

I've already done something like this, but I'll mix it up a bit. 🤙

☀️Sun Wukong☀️

He wanted you to eat an immortal peach, but you were scared to live forever. Scared of one day getting bored and never finding anything to do. Secretly scared that he would leave you. So he respected your wishes. Even on your death bed, he stayed by your side, promising to find you again.

He waited for so long, hoping to find you, but never could. He couldn't help the feeling of fear that crawled into his heart. Fear that he may never find you again. That he'd be alone forever. Still, he had hope. He made you that promise, and he's not gonna break it.

When Mk was named successor, he was hoping that the trips to the city would help in his quest to find you, with Mk promising to help out, even if he wasn't told much. Though, it didn't take much longer, with you finding Mk, recognizing the staff and asking him to take you to Flower Fruit Mountain. He's a bit confused, but does so.

When you arrive, you realize that nothing on Flower Fruit Mountain has changed, and it brings tears to your eyes. The little monkeys are immediately bombarding you in hugs and cries, leaving Mk even more confused.

Wukong comes to see what the ruckus is about and immediately freezes upon seeing you. With tears in your eyes, you embrace him, and though it takes him a sec to realize it's really you, he's spinning you around, laughing with joy and refusing to let you go. After all this time, he's finally been reunited with you!

The others are happy, with Mk being the most curios, following Tang. There aren't many tales with you in it, and you're happy to tell them what the book doesn't. Seeing you get along with the others has him happy. It reminds him of old times.

And one day, he's eating a peach, ready to take the last bite, when you take it away and eat it yourself. He's freaking out, about to tell you what you just ATE-"Babe, I know what it is. I'm eating it because I WANT to". He's crying for the first time in a real long time, and you're by his side to comfort him. Knowing that this time, he won't have to say goodbye, it makes him happy.

🌙Macaque🌙

Macaque always thought that fate was cruel, giving him a shitty hand time and time again. And this time was no different, with you being taken away from him, all because of some disease spreading through your village. You promised to find each other, him promising to spoil you, to keep you safe, to always stay by your side. And you promising to give him your everything, to be with him for eternity, to love him and him alone.

When you passed, he waited and collected all sorts of things to give to you when you'd meet again. Traveling in hopes to find you again, along with gaining stories to tell. He wants your days in the future to be filled with wonder and gifts, so many that you won't know what to do with all of them.

Even after his death, he searches for you in the Underworld, and when he doesn't find you, he takes any chance of gaining life, only to go back and see that everything's changed. Time moved forward, and you could be anywhere. He searches high and low, traveling once more to find you. At one point, he's so tired, even BEGGING fate to let you both meet again.

And when he does, a wave of emotions hit him. Though he snaps out of it when seeing you all alone and on the verge of tears. His heart breaks, and he's rushing to you side. He knows he should play it safe as not to scare you off- You may not even know who the hell he is-but he's been so lonely without you.

And you have no idea how thankful he is when you scream his name with joy. It takes a bit to calm you down, but you go on about how you've been all around the world trying to find him, and tonight had you down because this was the last place you had to check. And you were scared since there didn't seem to be a single trace of him anywhere.

Your words have him in tears, with him telling you how he's been looking for you too. That he never stopped and now that you're together, he'd do his damned best to keep you safe, no matter what. You're elated by his words, just happy to be by his side.

The gang, mainly Mk, are glad that you've come into Macaque's life. Since doing so, he's become much more calm and relaxed, and even began to open up a bit more to the others. If you get along with Mk and Bai He, then that's even better. Also, welcome your new adopted daughter Bai He-

[awkward-walking-potato]

Oooh! May I request a Wade Wilson x Reader (gender neutral pronouns preferred ^^!) where the reader comforts wade at his time of need because he feels insecure in his own skin? The reader explains that they understand what he’s going through and they show them their burn scars from a fire that they survived through years back :o???

Beneath the Surface

Wade sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at his hands. His mask was off, discarded on the floor, leaving his scarred face exposed to the dim light of the room. Usually, he was the life of the party, the one who cracked jokes and kept everyone laughing, but tonight, the weight of his own insecurities was suffocating.

You watched him from across the room, your heart aching at the sight of him so lost in his thoughts. Wade had always been good at hiding his pain behind humor, but you knew better than to be fooled by the bravado.

“Wade?” you called softly, stepping closer.

He didn’t look up. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the floor, his voice barely above a whisper when he finally spoke. “You ever just… feel like you’re stuck in a body that doesn’t belong to you? Like you’re living in a nightmare you can’t wake up from?”

You hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside him. “Yeah… I do.”

He glanced at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of pity. When he didn’t find any, he turned his gaze back to his hands, clenching them into fists. “It’s like… no matter how many people I save, no matter how many jokes I make… I’m still just… this.” He gestured vaguely to his face and body, his expression filled with self-loathing.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to do. “Wade, I want to show you something.”

He looked at you, a flicker of curiosity crossing his features. “What is it? You got a secret stash of chimichangas somewhere? Because that might help.”

You smiled softly at his attempt at humor but shook your head. “No, it’s something else.”

Slowly, you reached for the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to reveal the scars that marred your skin. The burn marks were old but still noticeable—evidence of a fire that had nearly taken your life years ago. You watched as Wade’s eyes widened, his usual snarky demeanor melting away as he took in the sight.

“This… this happened a long time ago,” you explained, your voice steady despite the memories that surfaced. “There was a fire. I was trapped, and… well, I barely made it out alive. These scars… they’re a reminder of that day. But they’re also a reminder that I survived.”

Wade stared at your scars, his mind reeling. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected you to share something so deeply personal. He felt a pang of guilt for wallowing in his own self-pity when you’d clearly been through so much yourself.

“Why are you showing me this?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

“Because I know what it’s like to hate what you see in the mirror,” you said softly, pulling your shirt back down and meeting his gaze. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’re trapped in your own skin, to feel like no one could ever see past the scars. But I also know that those scars don’t define who you are. They’re just a part of your story.”

Wade swallowed hard, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. “But… look at me,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I’m a freak. I look like a monster.”

“No, Wade,” you said firmly, placing a hand on his. “You’re not a monster. You’re a survivor. And you’re so much more than what’s on the outside. I see you, Wade. The real you. The one who cares, who fights for the people he loves, who makes me laugh even on the worst days.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like someone truly understood. You weren’t just saying empty words to make him feel better—you knew what he was going through. You had lived it.

Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them back, not wanting to break down in front of you. “How do you do it?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “How do you live with it?”

You smiled gently, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “By remembering that I’m more than my scars. That I’m still me, and that I deserve to be loved and happy, no matter what I look like. And you do too, Wade. You deserve to be loved, and you deserve to be happy.”

Wade stared at you, overwhelmed by the depth of your words. He had never allowed himself to believe that he could be loved, not with the way he looked. But here you were, showing him that it was possible, that you cared for him in a way that went beyond the surface.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, right above his scars. “You’ll never have to find out, Wade. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Wade closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—he was worth it after all.

[elordilover]

Could you write a soft book shop meet for reader x renee

omg yes i love this idea!!! thank you for the request! 🫶🏻

bookstore meeting

summary: you and reneé meet each other unexpectedly

warnings: nothing! not proof read, sorry if this sucks

————————————————————————

you felt the cold february air blow through your hair as you quickly walked down the street to one of your favorite spots, barnes & noble. you adjusted the strap on your tote bad and put your airpod in your ear, you decided to play some phoebe bridgers.

you opened the door and immediately felt at home, you felt comfortable. this was your favorite place to be on a cold winter day. you waltzed over the the romance section to find the book you were looking for: beach read by emily henry. all of the colors were merging together, it was hard to find it when every single book had a colorful spine.

when you finally found the shelf with her books you scanned over it until you found the book that you came here for. it was perfect. you searched around to find the one that was in the best condition.

“um, excuse me, sorry”, you heard a soft voice from behind you, you quickly turned around and moved out of the way while also taking out your airpod at the same time.

“oh, i’m sorry”, you replied feeling your heartbeat quicken seeing how beautiful this girl that was in front of you. something about her felt familiar but you couldn’t tell what.

“oh my god! is that beach read? i literally adore that book! it’s the cutest thing! you are going to love it!”, the blond said, catching you off guard.

“really? i’ve heard lots of good things about it!”, you replied, feeling nervous talking to a girl that could easily be a greek goddess. you noticed how she was looking for a book but couldn’t find the exact one.

“what book are you looking for?”, your mouth blurted out before your brain could comprehend what you were saying. you felt your cheeks turn red when she turned to look at you.

“it’s called the flat share, it’s by beth o’leary. i don’t know if you’ve heard of it but online it said it was right here so i’m not sure if why i can’t find it”, the ranted.

“huh”, you hummed out while scanning the shelves for her book this time. you spotted exactly what she was looking for.

“oh here! i found it”, you said to her while handing the book over to her. while you were doing that you noticed how perfectly her hands and nails looked, she had too have just gotten them done.

“thank you so much!! finally”, you could tell how excited she was.

“of course! i’m glad i could help”

“what what was your name?”, she asked you. you were not ready for this question and barely got it out of your mouth.

“Y- Y/N”, you nervously stated.

“Y/N”, she repeated to herself, “i’m reneé”

your cheeks started to heat up when she said your name. your name never sounded as beautiful as when she said it. it never sounded as important as when her lips shaped the sounds that created it.

when she said that her name was reneé you knew exactly who she was. reneé rapp. it didn’t hit you. you are standing right in front of reneé rapp.

after a few moments of awkward silence, she spoke again, “umm can i have your number?”, she hesitantly spoke, “you seem really nice and i’d love to get to know you”.

what. how is this real life. reneé rapp just asked for your number. you were internally freaking out.

“oh um yeah”, you replied while you told her what it was.

“okay perfect! thank you”, she said happily while she entered the numbers into her phone.

“wait this is how you spell it right”, she said while passing her phone over to you.

“yeah it’s perfect”, you replied after checking. a lot of people got your name wrong, and it bothered you a lot of the time, but if reneé got your name wrong, you would never want to be called something else ever again.

you guys walked up to the register and paid separately. then, you walked out of the store together, dreading having to leave her.

“bye reneé”, you said as you waved toward her.

“bye Y/N! i’ll text you!”, she yelled back you two walked tour separate ways.

once you got home you saw a text on your phone that read: “hey :)”, and you immediately got butterflies.

————————————————————————

let me know if you want a part 2!! also please send feedback!

send more requests! i love them, im also working on a couple others right now!

🍓🍊🫧🎀🪷🐞🌎💌🪻🪩🐝🥥🫀⭐️♥️🪸🫶🏻

[chocolattekinq]

do you perhaps have any…. Shadowpeach headcanons 😎👉👈

OH DO I

Idk if you meant like ship headcanons or just general monky hcs so i ll give you both lol

Only three for each bc i can't be here all day

WUKONG

• He's actually a really good cook. He rarely cooks for himself though, opting for snacks, fruit and takeout, but during his studies with Subodhi and during the journey he got really interested in the process. So sometimes he treats his monkeys with something tasty.

• /tw for alcoholism/ Wukong has an alcohol problem: he can't stop until he physically has to. Once he starts drinking for real he won't stop until he's passing out. It's an old habit of his, that started rather innocent, but with his growing self doubt it became a coping mechanism. But! He would never allow himself to drink or be drunk in front of MK.

/Additional hc, this habit started with Brotherhood, when Wukong (the smallest of the group) continuesly tried to outdrink others/

• Despite his strong dislike for himself bc of his mistakes, he absolutely loves being a demon monkey. And he's ecstatic that now he gets to teach MK demon monkey things.

MACAQUE

• /my personal favourite hc/ He's unreasonably scared of butterflies. When he was young he used to freak out to the point of literal panic attacks. In the present he just freezes with anxiety and wait for it to fly away. He himself can't rationalize his fear.

• He didn't grow up on FFM. His careful and forceful habits are the product of him fighting for his life from a very young age. He traveled a lot before he found FFM and decided to stay bc there are a lot of food and it's relatively safe. That's when he met Wukong

• Continuing the previous hc: he doesn't like fruit on FFM much. Most of his life he had to fight for his food, and it was way easier to find things like meat, vegetables and leaves, than actually tasty fruit, so the ones growing on FFM are just too sweet for him. He eats them as a treat, but he can't stomach the idea of fruit being his only food option.

✨Gay Monkeys✨

• Wukong fell first, Macaque fell harder

• /cw for cheating?? possibly suggestive??? idk/ Both of them does not feel loyal to each other anymore, but Wukong is a jealous ass. Wukong likes to flirt around for attention, but he absolutely can't stand when Macaque gets ANY romantic attention from anyone. Macaque feels generally indifferent to romance, so he usually just ignores the flirting.

Unless Wukong is watching.

He likes to make his blood boil.

• They share moments of (nonsexual!) intimacy after an exhausting battles. They used to full on cuddle before the journey, but now it doesn't feel right. Now they just crash next to each other on the ground, silently listening for the other's heavy breathing, intertwining their tails in search for comfort. They lie until one of them is rested enough to get up and leave. They will never discuss these moments.

[fanfic-inator795]

Spoilers for Puss in Boots: Last Wish (specifically Perrito) below

My bff and I were talking about this last night, but I figured I’d write it all out here: one thing I really do appreciate about Perrito is that while other characters may see him as naive and innocent, the film never treats him as overly naive or foolish.

The best example of this is when he’s explaining his backstory. It would have been SO easy to have him be still searching for his family/litter mates, believing firmly that they still wanted him/were still playing ‘hide and seek’. If they’d done this, then Perrito really would have been an extremely naive character (as well as all the more unnecessarily tragic). It also would have been easy to have this be Perrito’s wish, as well as the lesson that he needed to learn - that he doesn’t need his former (and incredibly crappy) fam, and that he can/should move on from his tragic backstory, letting himself be with his new friends instead.

But the film doesn’t go this route... Because Perrito has already realized and internalized this lesson.

Think about it. For as much as he may seemingly still see the whole ‘swim in the river’ incident as an extra challenge to a game of Hide ‘n Seek, outside of the “Guess I’m still It!” joke, Perrito doesn’t dwell on the fact that he never saw his family again. Just as he never dwells on nearly drowning. He only brings up his past when others ask him about it, otherwise he’s only focus on the present - which is why he’s so satisfied with things to the point of not needing a wish.

When it comes to his backstory, he instead just sees the brighter side of things regarding it (getting a new ‘sweater’ that he was able to grow into) and focuses on moving forward and meeting new friends, instead of going on an endless search for those who left him behind. Even while he’s at Mama Luna’s, he still tries to socialize with the other cats - though he backs off when they hiss at them, still understanding that he isn’t exactly well-liked there.

What’s more, it’s made VERY clear that Perrito’s tendency to trust in people without hesitation is not out of naivete: it is out of choice. He knows that people can be cruel (we see him briefly get scared of Jack Horner and the Bears when he gets kidnapped, even if he ends up making friends with the latter) and he knows that he can’t exactly fight back against that, being such a tiny dog. But he’d still rather give people a chance instead of just hiding away from the world. He never tries to claim that every person has some good in them or anything like that, he simply states “well, you have to trust somebody”.

What really drives this point home - aside from the excellent advice that Perrito gives throughout the film, showing just how thoughtful and wise he is, even when he seems totally clueless in other moments - is his moment in the film’s climax with Jack, where he’s finally able to do the cutesy eyes. The joke is how Jack is ‘dead inside’ and would never fall for such a ploy, and how Perrito is (or rather, would be) dumb for thinking that simply being cute would stop this heartless bastard.

But the twist is that Perrito already knows this. There isn’t a moment where it’s shown that he thinks this act will work. No, Perrito meant it as a distraction the entire time - he wanted to try and help, and he trusted his friends to catch on and take the shot once the distraction worked. And I freaking LOVE THAT! I love that Perrito is so much more than just ‘diet Donkey’ or ‘innocent and naive dog that doesn’t know how the real world works’.

He knows how it works, he just chooses to still see the bright side in things in order to improve others’ lives as well as his own, because there’s a difference between naively trusting people who haven’t proven themselves and just giving people a genuine chance to be your ally/friend. And I’m just so happy that Dreamworks not only made a character like this but just did a fantastic job writing him.

[superblysubpar]

masterlist | the music

19.7k words | Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

A/N: I have a really long one here - so I'll just say thank you once again and that I love you. Also, another special thank you to @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz💛💛

chapter warnings: very brief mention of religion (but not reader participating or believing in one in particular) | small mention/description of reader's maternal death and cancer symptoms | teeny tiny spoiler for the ending to the movie 'when harry met sally' | use of dialogue from the movie 'My Best Friends Wedding'

Why do we want to believe in things like fate or destiny - divine intervention? Why do some put their faith in religions with blind following? Why do we look to the stars in moments of despair, when we’re desperate for hope, when we’re lost? 

We seek out answers from something we can’t see but we want to believe in. Whether it’s a fortune cookie in your take out, a penny head’s up on the sidewalk, a community of like minded souls coming together for prayer or worship, or a horoscope you read on your morning Instagram scroll - the reasons have to be the same for choosing to believe, for the hope that starts to rise in you for the promise these things try to offer. 

We look for solutions to problems. We need reason. We need purpose. We need to feel like we’re not alone. We need confirmation that it’s all gonna work out even though nothing can really guarantee that. 

When you look up at the stars that work hard to shine through clouds and a full moon, your chest rises with air trying to fill your lungs and you wonder if they’re up there. Your eyes blink up at that indigo sky, searching. Steve sits next to you and Leigh waves, whispering their hellos. His hand rests next to yours on the plaid blanket, he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. It’s all too stiff, too on edge, and you hate it. That attempted deep breath is unsuccessful, lungs deflating as it catches in your throat, and your thoughts wander back to the stars again. They wander to him, and them, and seek answers. 

What if they are up there, watching, like it’s one of those movies your mom was always putting on and your dad and you boo’d at from your spot playing cards. When he walked in with her with that on her finger, your mom would have gasped, she would have paused the movie, she would have yelled at you and your dad about the plot. She would have thrown popcorn at the TV and declared there’s something going on, he couldn’t, no way - there was no way. She’d have calmed herself down, rationalized there was still time left, gone to the pantry for more chocolate, kissed the top of your head and your dad’s cheek as she passed. By the end of the film, her prediction would have been right, she’d be crying and sighing at the couple who got their happy ending.

So could Steve declare his feelings for you here in a dramatic scene? Tell you it was all a big misunderstanding - that he’s sorry, that it was a rocky road but being together is worth fighting for? Could you leave here, hand in hand, as a top forty song plays and the credits roll? 

Of course not. 

Because this isn’t a rom com your mom would have loved. Life is not a movie full of soul-mates and cosmic connections. People like your parents are the exception to the rule. The couples who make it work - the ones who don’t let the trials of life take their love away like Allie and Noah, Kate and Sam, or Westley and Buttercup, are fictional characters. They’re stories to escape into when the despairing reality of yours is too much to read or write anymore. It’s exactly why you don’t like most movies or stories like theirs. Because eventually, the movies end, the credits do roll, and you have to face real life once again. Love like that doesn’t exist off the big screen, and you’re just kidding yourself when you fall into their traps. 

Knowing this simple fact of reality doesn’t stop the hope though. 

That painful, aching hope that clings to your skin like honey when you can feel the heat from his arm even through the sleeve of your sweater - like your bodies burn hotter when closer together - too close to the sun. It feeds the hope that your brain tries to squash away but your heart thuds harder for. The what if, what if, what if replacing each beat of it. Hope that makes you want to cry out ‘please let this just be a bad dream’ to the universe. Hope that tries, but can’t escape the gnawing pit in your stomach that’s growing wider, threatening to swallow you whole. Hope that makes you wonder why this can’t be a story - why can’t you just be the grandson, yelling at his grandfather that he can’t be telling it properly? Someone is getting the story wrong. He can’t be marrying her, you’re just sure of it. Screaming at him, at someone, to please, just get it right. 

You wonder if someone were watching, would they be feeling the despair you are? Is this the moment? That scene in the movies is always the gut punch - for the audience and the character. It’s meant to hurt, make you hold your breath. Made to be dramatic - yell at the screen, break your heart, make the character in the action get back up and fight. They’re moments made to ignite that hope - but really, it’s the double tap - coming right after the feeling catches flame, that’s made to shatter you completely. 

The moment that extinguishes the what if for all it’s worth. When the audience’s heart's already breaking for the grandson, only for the grandfather to ask who says life is fair? Where is that written? When the knife is entering your chest, but the mask falls and the killer turns out to be someone you thought you could trust. When you’re untethered in space only for your last moment of consciousness to be watching a friend cut the cord. The person who sucker punched you is now kicking you when you’re weak, taking it one step too far, leaving you crumpled on the mat. It’s all enough to make that fight, that urge to be angry instead of scared or hurt, disappear. It’s enough to knock you down so hard, you can’t possibly get back up - the hope is extinguished, and the story seemingly over. 

Robin squeals quietly, pulling Leigh’s hand across you to admire the ring, knocking Steve on the shoulder and saying something about the Dingus doing good. Your gaze flits down to the brown sugar and apple donuts in your lap, convinced you’re about to get sick right on top of them. Not because he’s marrying her, but because instead of being angry with him, you feel like you’ve been squashed, you’re hurt, you’re betrayed. Despite your better judgment, despite the past several years, you’ve let a man make you some pathetic, sad, heartbroken, and weak version of yourself. 

When Leigh’s hand retreats from Robin’s, lifting and curling a piece of hair behind her ear, diamond sparkling in the moonlight as she smiles over at Steve, your story’s end is written, and you need to accept it if you ever want some semblance of normalcy to return. You can’t lose him and them. But when Steve’s pinky brushes yours and you look over, his eyes resemble the broken beer bottle from the football game all those weeks ago. Shattered emerald and amber, cutting you to shreds with each shard of glass as he murmurs, “Can I tal-“

“I’ll be right back!” You whisper-shout, cutting him off and squeezing Robin’s shoulder as you get up. 

She yanks on your wrist, halting your attempt at an exit. Her eyes narrow as she interrogates, “Where are you going?”

Swallowing harshly as her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She can probably smell the desire to run on you. Remembering your vow that Steve won’t take them away from you, a not quite a lie falls from your lips as you gesture to the concession food trucks, “You don’t have those cinnamon roasted almonds. They were my mom’s favorite and the smell is driving me crazy. Promise that’s all.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t come back, I will literally come stand outside your window on the sidewalk and scream-sing Monster Mash until someone calls the cops and I’ll drag you down with me.”

Her eyes blink, features incredibly serious despite the amusing threat. Your laugh mixes with Leigh’s and you ignore the shared moment, tugging your wrist free. “Would expect nothing less Robin.”

She motions she’s watching you, fingers to her eyes then yours, lips twitching in the corners before she turns back to the screen. 

Your feet feel heavy as they drag through the damp grass, and come to a stop to wait in line. It shouldn’t be a surprise after ordering when you hear his voice behind you. It floats through the air, soft, barely audible over the popping kettle corn, “I really didn’t know you’d be here. I wouldn’t have…” he sighs, settling on restating, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Your shoulders fall and your eyes stay focused on the truck. You’ve had time, since that night on the sidewalk, but your hurt still sits fresh under your layer of armor - tender like an open wound you need to keep protected. Your palms slide further under the sleeves of your sweater, clinging to the garment like the shield you’re willing it to be - you don’t want to fight with him anymore, no matter how hurt and angry you are. 

So the tone you respond with aches to sound indifferent, if not a tad harsh, reminding him you’re mad and pretending there isn’t any spark of hope within you still. It’s over, it has to be over, and all it ever was to him was something to kill time - fun and no strings exactly what you wanted. So your words are really just a reminder to yourself, another layer of the wall you need to keep up around him, “It’s fine Steve. Would have been nice to get a head’s up,” your shoulders shrug, “But, well, that’s probably too generous for the girl you were just fucking while waiting for the one, right?”

The people next to you clear their throats and you can’t find it in yourself to care, to be embarrassed. 

Steve moves in front of you, his face filling your vision. He shaved - no more scruff you like. His jeans are dark again, with fresh, new creases, and a light blue sweater pulls across his chest and shoulders. He’s picture perfect, his polished uniform in place.

He shakes his head, eyes bouncing between yours as he asks, “Is that really all it was?”

Your shoulders shrug again, because it’s easier. It’s easier to try to deny, to ignore the flutter the question causes in your stomach. Easier to bite back the words that try to form on your tongue. Because of course that’s not all it was, at least not to you. You wouldn’t feel the way you do right now if that were true. But what’s the point in telling him that though? What happens? Can you forgive each other for the words said, that, no matter how true, can’t be taken back? Things like this only end in heartbreak - because what happens if you tell him how you were starting to feel - does that change anything for him? And even if it did, that means a broken engagement, it means complicated truths coming out, it means attempts at forgiveness. And even after all of that, life won’t give you a guarantee. There is no promise of zero fights, of nothing bad ever happening. There is no happily ever after where the possibility of a break up, of losing everyone you’ve grown to care for deeply, doesn’t exist. 

So yes, it’s easier to not say any of that, because you know. This isn’t how life works. This isn’t a movie. No one is immune to life’s misfortunes. These sorts of open-ended questions and complicated emotions that come from his simple ask are unmeasurable and unreliable. Wondering and giving into those feelings only open you up to be used as a target for someone else’s shooting practice. You’ve known this, but you allowed yourself to forget, hating it was Steve who had to remind you. 

Which is why you look away from his eyes as you say, “I believe that is what was established a few weeks ago at that party Steve. You were there, remember? You were dressed as a pirate.” 

His head drops, hands running through his perfectly styled hair as he laughs, breath shaky, like the laugh is covering up any feeling in his voice. “So, that’s it? We’re just gonna act like none of it happened? You don’t wanna talk. You run away every time we get a chance to do so, a beer in my face and-“

Your hand rising in the air cuts him off, his mouth clamps shut as you make eye contact with him. “You deserved that and I’m not apologizing for it.”

He takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching towards you, then back into his hair, second guessing himself. “I’m not asking you to, and I’m not apologizing for what I said either.” Steve swallows, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground then back up at you, “What I said wasn’t a lie.” 

He breathes out the next words, both of you staring at each other with the weight of what he says hanging in the air between you.

“You couldn’t tell me.”

Your hands shake from the confrontation, from his request you left unanswered that night. The emotions that still want to bubble over, the time apart did nothing to cool either of you down. That what if, what if, what if that replaced your heartbeat grows louder, but your brain only shuts it down harder. If you hurt now, how will it feel if you keep feeding the flame only for him to extinguish it again?

The beat of your heart and those hopeful words thud in your ears as your head shakes and your voice tries not to, barely audible as the words leave your lips, “I don’t want to do this anymore Steve. We’re just going in circles. You’re getting married. You didn’t tell me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you were really my friend while you were clearly getting engaged this whole time?”

Blue light flashes from the screen, catching the corner of your eye and illuminating his, their gaze bouncing over your face. Your bodies move closer like they can’t help it, like they know they won’t be this way again. Steve’s tongue darts over his bottom lip before his breath blows out, your name a whisper on it. The way he says your name with that look in his eyes, chests almost touching, it’s easy for your head to tilt with familiarity. Your breath out is his breath in, and it’s even easier to forget the last time you were this close. Sounds other than his harsh swallow and your heartbeat fade away. Time freezes, just a little, and the air pulses with a tangible possibility of hope. 

A shrill classic horror movie scream shatters the bubble. Your name is called, you blink, and take a step away. Guilt washes over you as you see your friends staring intently at the movie you’d practically forgotten you were there for. Leigh and Robin talk quietly and your eyelids flutter as you will whatever wants to escape down your cheeks away.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore Steve. I just want to go hang out with my friends. I need this to be over. Can it please be over?” You stare intently at the ground, one single tear slipping past your lashes. It feels like it rolls down your cheek for an hour before Steve finally answers. 

“Okay,” he quietly agrees. 

Your head nods once and you brush past him, barely choking out a whispered ‘by the way congratulations’ as you grab your snack. Hand swiping at the stray tear as you make your way back to the blanket slowly. 

When you sit back down, Leigh’s typing on her phone. She squeezes Robin’s hand before whispering a goodbye to everyone. She jogs over to Steve, cocking her head at him. He pushes his hands through his hair again, giving her a short smile. He runs his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose, swiping under it with the back of his hand. His other extends towards her as she reaches him, fingers lacing together as they walk out. 

Robin’s shoulder nudges yours and your head turns to find her with eyebrows pinched together. She leans in and quietly asks, “Is he okay? Did he say something about leaving to you?”

Your head shakes, and you extend the bag to her with a tight smile. You will just keep lying to her. Steve and you will move on, and maybe, one day in the distant future, you’ll be able to tell her. It’ll all work out.

She mirrors your sad smile, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she takes a small handful and turns her attention back to the movie. Or she tries, but you watch as her eyes glance down to her phone every few minutes, until it lights up with his name and she quickly starts typing a response. 

It’ll all be fine. 

“Said ‘I’m fine’ but it wasn’t true. I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you…”

The pop song playing overhead makes your teeth grind, your skin itch, it pries at your armor. It clangs its melody like fists on the metal plates around your heart, screaming to let it in. 

Fuck Taylor Swift and her poetically relevant lyrics. 

You’re fine. 

“Mommy, why is that lady wearing pajamas?”

“Well, sometimes people, um, well maybe they’re sad or-“

“Not sad,” you call over your shoulder, but spin as you decide to face the stranger. The poor, unsuspecting stranger who is unprepared for the wrath of a person wearing blue, fuzzy pajama bottoms with ducks all over them, yellow smiley slippers, and holding several pints of Cherry Garcia in her arms. “Could just be sick. Or lazy. Could be a lot of different things, but sad is not one of them, and it’s rude to assume there’s any reason at all. I could just have wanted to stay comfy today, you don’t know!”

It’s almost laughable, if it wasn’t so humiliating or awkward. A practically audible record scratch kind of moment. Conversations of several other customers quiet then stop altogether. Eyes blink at you in concern and pity under too harsh of fluorescent lights, surrounded by neon advertisements and packaging trying to convince you the world isn’t shit as long as there’s junk food. The poppy beat overhead seems to play even louder, yet a pin could drop and people from another state would hear it. 

The mother’s hand runs through the small child’s hair next to them as she stammers an apology, “I really…I’m sorry, I just-“

“No, no, I’m so sorry. It’s fine…I…” You close your eyes and turn back around, mortified beyond a depth you ever thought possible. The pints of ice cream tumble onto the sticky counter-top, lottery tickets beneath it staring up at you and mocking ‘hey wanna test your luck even more?’. Your hand flies up into the face of the cashier as you grumble, “Not a word, Keith.”

The employee you’ve come to know on your late night and early morning snack runs snorts. His mouth closes, slurping his Mountain Dew through a straw as he rings up the ice cream. His lips leave the red plastic, squeaking it against the lid harshly, about to tell you the price you already know, when a bottle of wine is placed on the counter with a low thunk. A leather clad arm extends across your vision, a second bottle landing beside it. A deep and familiar voice from behind your shoulder calls out, “These too. But definitely not because she’s sad.”

Turning, you find Eddie just as you knew you would, his brown eyes the same as they have been since you met. Full of warmth that’s contagious, except now something darkens them, they’re colder. Reminiscent of how they looked in a bathroom that feels like you were in it ten years ago instead of a month. They’re kind, but they’re hurt, confused, and most importantly - disappointed. 

“Right,” you clear your throat and look away from them. Embarrassed, but adamant in your denial of the purchase and your appearance having any connotation with the emotion they all think you’re feeling. “These are not sad items.”

Despite the look in his eyes, Eddie’s lips twitch in a fight of a smile. He looks over your outfit and the hint of amusement disappears. His mouth turns down in a grimace. He faces Keith, hand waving across your form, “Right. Sad people don’t wear duckie pj’s to the store to buy ice cream and wine, they just don’t. People who ignore their friends though, they might…”

Honestly, the call out is nicer than what you deserve. You hadn’t dared to miss a text or call from Robin again, but all other group contact had gone unreciprocated for two weeks - convincing yourself it was easier for everyone that way. Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes blink up at him apologetically, hopeful you can fix a small part of the mess you’ve made still. “Yeah. But if a person,” your hands wave as you speak, “Who isn’t sad,” you quickly tack on before continuing, “Did ignore their friends, it was probably for a good reason and she probably feels really bad about it and-“

“Jesus Christ, pay for your sad shit and get out,” Keith groans, snapping his fingers and then waggling them for payment. 

Eddie mashes his lips together, a genuine smile threatening to break as he hands over a bill. He salutes as he grabs the bag of items. “Keep the change, dude.”

“See you tomorrow, new shipment of Ben and Jerry’s at nine A.M!” Keith calls to your retreating forms. Eddie and you turn in tandem, flipping him off. 

“Mommy, what did that mean?”

Eddie snorts, his laugh finally bubbling out of him as you hide your eyes under one of your hands. The door swings closed behind you as the brisk November air does little to cool off your embarrassment.

His laughter trails off in a sigh and yours in a groan. When you peek at him from behind your fingers, you hold your breath as they fall to your side. Eddie’s eyes seem to poke and prod at you with their gaze, like you’re a frog laying open on a table for dissection. Like he already knows what he’s about to find, but he’s giving you an opportunity to just say it before he makes the first cut. 

Gesturing towards the bag in his hand, your eyes drop to the ground as you clear your throat. “Thank you, you didn’t have to pay. And I really am sorry for going radio silent. I’ll get better at that.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you risk a glance up. His brows are furrowed, meeting under parted bangs, brown eyes glued to your pajama pants. Eddie nods slowly, tucking his tongue into his cheek before clicking it against the roof of his mouth. Rocking back on his heels, the plastic bag swings at his side. “Sure. What are friends for?”

His eyes meet yours again finally, and as your lips part, he keeps going, his voice a little crisper than it’s been to you before. “Cause, we are friends. Right?”

Head nodding as your brows bunch together from the tone delivering the question. That and his gaze makes something under your skin itch, your feet restless against the pavement like a horse before a race. 

Hesitation heavy in your words as you respond, “Yeah, of course…listen, I have to get back but-“

“Great,” he spins on his heel, heading down the sidewalk like he was waiting for those exact words to leave your mouth, “I’ll walk with you, sad girl.”

Blinking at his abrupt interruption, hand still raised to take the bag from him, it takes you several seconds for his words to register. He’s already halfway to the corner, your apartment just around it and you have to take a quick few jogs to catch up with his long strides as you call out, “I’m not sad.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie nods, flicking a zippo in his hand, converse scuffing against the sidewalk as he kicks a pebble, “And I’m the King of England.”

Tired of his tone and demeanor you didn’t invite or ask for - you don’t need this. Eyes rolling as you huff past him, your shoulder bumping his harshly as you do. Eddie scoffs, but falls back into step close behind you, not letting you get away. “Quite the attitude to have with the friend who just bought your sad girl treat, even threw in the wine.”

Your shoulders hunch at his words, eyebrows pulling together and face growing hot as you fiddle with the first key to the apartment building. “Well, I didn’t ask you to buy it and if you only did to just rub it in my face you’re not really my friend. And I didn’t ask you to come here.”

Eddie’s hand lands on the door above your shoulder as you push it open, arm blocking you from entering. “Quit the tough girl act, you’re not fooling anyone.”

Your skin burns at his accusation, hands balling into fists at your sides. “I’m not trying to fool anyone, Eddie, or do anything. I literally don’t know what you’re talk-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can keep trying to sell this shit to everyone else, but I’m not buying.” He points inside, “Let’s go.”

Face feeling hotter than when you were six and scolded in public, you stomp through the entryway, each step echoing across the old tile. As you turn to head up the stairs, if only to get away from his all seeing eyes, the realization of what your apartment looks like and how extremely not ready it is for guests has you pausing mid stride. 

When your gaze makes contact with his again, Eddie simply makes a statement. Flat, disappointed, and no question in his tone, “It’s worse than I think isn’t it.”

Before you can argue, before you can tell him to leave, the keys in your hand are snatched by swift fingers, and Eddie’s long legs are jumping up the stairs, skipping over several steps and disappearing around the landing. Chasing after him, the thundering of both of your feet is dulled by the faded and dingy carpet and the shriek of his name leaving your lips. 

Watching as he pushes the key into the lock, turning the knob, you sprint down the hallway. Your body barrels into his, but it’s too late. Eddie falters from your weight crashing into him, but he remains upright, although slightly hunched, as your body clings to his, trying to drag him down. The door swings open and he winces, and you drop to the ground, defeated. 

For the first time in a few days, you take in the state of your living space from an outside perspective. You watch as Eddie reviews it all for the first time - the take out on your counter, the empty beer bottles pushing the lid of the recycling up. The stack of Double O Seven DVDs on the coffee table. The couch covered in blankets because you’ve been sleeping there, your bed still sitting free of sheets in the other room. The bag of chips and the tub of frosting. It’s not a pretty picture. 

Eddie suddenly crouches, hands grabbing at you and you push him away shrieking, crawling into your apartment and away from him. Both of you swat at each other, hair flying in faces and grunting like you’re siblings fighting over the remote. 

 “Go-get off! What the hell is your problem! Eddie!”

He manages to grab your phone out of your sweatshirt pocket and you leap towards him, arms over his shoulders, you reach for the phone, and he holds himself up on his knees, arm extending it away from you. He manages to tilt it just right to get your face to unlock it and you growl, thumping on his bicep as he shoves you off. He presses the familiar green icon on your home screen while you accuse, “What is your deal? What the fuck are you-“

Eddie groans, holding up the screen displaying the last song you’d been listening to and getting to his feet. He points towards your bedroom. “Go put on some jeans. No more sad girl music. No more cheese out of the can. Field trip. Let’s go.”

Your hand holding a slipper that had fallen off in the scuffle points towards the open door, any neighbors paying attention getting a hell of a show. Your scowl meets his frown. “Um, you can go. Don’t basically break into my home and insult Britney and Easy Cheese in the same sentence asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, they disappear under his bangs and he looks at you as if you’re the child you’re determined to act like. He sighs, voice dripping in drama as he heads into your kitchen, “I really didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me with no other choice.” He spins the cheap metal cap off of one of the bottles of wine theatrically, flicking the cap onto the counter before turning the bottle upside down as he stares at you. “I’d get going. The ice cream is next.”

Your eyes roll as you scoff, “You’re not gonna do shit to the Ben and Jerry’s, you and I both know it.”

He starts on the second bottle, both ringed hands holding tight to each, red liquid splashing the sides of the sink. “I will literally drag you back out of here in your sad girl jammies to a very public place. I’m generously giving you the opportunity to avoid that embarrassment, but if you insist…”

Eddie sets the bottles down in the sink, stepping over to you in two strides, hands on your waist as he moves like he could toss you over his shoulder.

Your hands push at his chest. “Fucking fine! Give me a few minutes.” You start towards your room but spin sharply on your socked heel, one foot still in a slipper that skids as your finger points in his face. “Touch my ice cream and see what happens.”

He snorts, crossing his arms. “Big, tough words coming from a girl with chocolate frosting on her chest and ducks on her ass.”

You turn away from him, slamming the door on his call of, “If you ever want to see your precious Ben and Jerry’s again, you’ll be back out here in five minutes!”

When you make eye contact with the chocolate stain in the mirror, you have to suppress your groan. 

Eddie’s Jeep tires crunch over gravel before coming to a stop in a homemade parking lot. Tan dust kicked up and floating through the air partially obscures where he’s taken you. 

The entire twenty minute drive had been enveloped in stilted silence. He had managed to dump one of the pints while you changed, claiming to have thought you weren’t coming back out, and now he was on the receiving end of one of your finest silent treatments. His hand flexes on the gear, moving the car into park. As his jaw clenches while yanking the keys out of the ignition, you start to rethink your silence. There’s a part of you that wants, maybe needs, to run back to your apartment, lock the door, and never speak to him again. But there’s another part, far larger, and riddled with guilt, that made you follow him. 

Staring out the window at the dilapidated bar, your voice feels scratchy from the lack of talking as you push out, “What are we doing-” Eddie’s driver’s door slams, and the end of your question falls into the empty car, flat, as you blink at his back walking away from you, “Here.” 

As Eddie makes his way to the building, you hoist yourself out of the Jeep and begin to follow despite the cold shoulder. You’re willing to appease him and participate in whatever this field trip is if it means you can somehow get the apology you definitely owe him out - try to make things right for the mess you’ve pulled him into. 

A faint and familiar sound echoes in the quiet and practically empty parking lot. The distinct whip of a ball and the ting and harsh smack of metal meeting it, mix with the crunch of rocks under your rubber soles. Behind the tired and washed out brick building, chain link fencing rises, hinting further to what the sounds are and where they’re coming from. The large red letters above the doorway spell out “Murray’s” in distinct vintage lettering, hollowed out with unlit bulbs reminiscent of an old theater’s marquee lights. You pause beneath the sign, stealing a deep breath because something tells you Eddie has officially pinned you to the table, and the first inevitable cut of the dissection is imminent. Your fingers curl around the gray, metal door’s industrial handle and pull, and you step inside. 

Billie Holiday’s voice croons from somewhere deeper in the building. Voice and music crackling and staticky, like it’s playing off a real vinyl. The urge to find out why Eddie’s brought you to a place seemingly stuck in the past draws you deeper down the dimly lit hallway. Rich, red paint on the walls partially covered by framed photographs line the entire space. Black and white film prints of American icons, with individual golden lamps lighting up each from their spots attached to the frames. Your feet carry you past Elvis, Jackie Robinson, then Marilyn, and Michael Jackson before you enter a spacious and circular room. 

Red vinyl booths line the curve on one side, small round tables meant for two lit by glowing lamps scattered across the floor. A stage and space for what appears to be a dancefloor sit opposite of you, nestled between the booths and a bar running across the opposite curve. Speckled and worn mirrors behind the bar reflect the wide range of liquor bottles and the different glassware in a variety of shapes and colors, clearly thrifted antiques, hanging above them. Eddie leans against the bar talking to an older man, neither of whom spare a glance in your direction. 

This room’s photographs on the walls are covers of Life and Time, clippings from other renowned news outlets - all famous headlines like when man went to the moon and the JFK assassination, the Cubs winning the world series, spanning all the way to current events. As you spin, you see the vintage photo booth, much older than the one you and Steve took photographs in at Replay, and you push the memory away, focusing on the bulletin board next to it instead.

The flier for Corroded Coffin has your attention as the song crackles on it’s end notes, the next from the album playing softly. Billie’s voice sings the familiar lyrics of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ and your heart drops into your stomach, palms sweating profusely. Why the hell are you here? Why this song? Why, why, why.

“Ouch. Who broke your heart?”

The unfamiliar voice asks the same question Eddie had asked you back in September, and this time you’re even more unprepared for it. Your head whips to the side, gaze looking over your shoulders that hunch. Your body turns to face them head on, but your arms cross in defense. The man Eddie had been chatting with now has his focus solely on you. Wire rimmed glasses frame eyes that stare intently at you as he wipes down a glass. His balding head of hair and the confidence he carries, along with the way he tosses the rag over his shoulder before leaning on the bar, has you feeling like you’ve suddenly entered a sitcom. 

Eddie continues to ignore you, one foot resting on the metal of stool as his ringed fingers crack peanuts. He avoids your gaze as you turn your frown on the man who seemed to have read your mind. You keep your voice as neutral as you can when you ask, “Excuse me?”

“Written all over your face, kid.” The nameless man, but you have a hunch the name of the establishment and him are one in the same, winces with his words. He pulls down three amber colored, short glasses, then a bottle of vodka. Before you can argue, he keeps going as he pours, “Well, maybe you’re not in love. Not yet anyway,” he muses to himself, “Or maybe he is and you don’t know how to let the poor sap down?”

His eyes lift from the glasses of alcohol to yours and he squints. Pausing before pouring the third glass, humming, “Wait, no, well…maybe.” Keeping his eyes on you as he tips back one of the generous shots before he breathes out with finality, “No.”

Eddie smirks into his own shot, as the man snaps in his face, but technically commands, “Name.”

Your mouth opens to stop this nonsense and analysis you absolutely didn’t ask for, but Eddie beats you to it. Eyebrows raised, mouth pursed as he offers up, “Steve.”

The man behind the bar hovers the liquor bottle above the now empty glass, blinking wide behind his frames. He sets the bottle down, pressing his palms to the bar top. Scoffing with an incredulous tone, “You’re kidding.”

“Excuse me!” You try to interrupt, but the man shakes his hands, ignoring your objection. 

“We’ll deal with that little slip in the simulation some other time,” pushing the third glass down the bar towards you as he continues, “So, Steve,” he laughs a little, licking his bottom lip, “Right. So he loves us, maybe, but perhaps it is us who loves Steve? Mm, tragic, because he doesn’t reciprocate? Or are we too scared to tell him how we feel?”

Your shoulders are up to your ears now, arms wrapping around yourself even tighter, trying to make whatever see-through, vulnerable shield this man can penetrate more resilient. Your gaze is harsh on the side of Eddie’s face, death stare glaring and attempting to burn his cheek with only your eyes as you ask again, “What are we doing here?”

“The cosmic question, isn’t it?” The bartender muses, pouring another glass for himself. He raises his eyebrows at Eddie in a silent question who shakes his head no. 

“I’m leaving.” You start to turn towards the door, but Eddie’s call behind you makes you freeze.

“Have fun walking back then!”

Your hands go to your pockets, searching, even though you know they’re empty. When you look at him, you see your phone in his fingers and his brown eyes that have turned to stone. “Yeah, I still have this. So either you can participate in the field trip, or you can walk all the way back home to your sad girl cave.”

“I’ll just have him call me a cab.” Gesturing to the nameless man with your solution. 

“Murray,” he offers with a toothy grin and head nod, confirming your assumption. 

Eddie laughs, cold, tossing a peanut shell on the bar, “Yeah? And pay for it how?”

You’ve been very, very, dumb, because it’s only now you realize the empty pockets would also mean you don’t have your wallet. Your eyes close in defeat. 

When you open them, Eddie is staring at you and it feels an awful lot like that scalpel is resting just over your heart, waiting for any final words. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he says, “I’ll take those quarters now.”

Murray rolls a tube across the bar to him, eyes darting back and forth between you two like he is watching a ping pong match. 

Eddie grabs the roll, storming past you and down a different hallway, out the back door of the bar. The chipping black paint flutters as the door swings closed, a slam as it meets the frame making you flinch. The final notes of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ finish and you release a shaky breath. 

“And I suppose I’m to follow him and his mysterious quarters?”

Murray’s lips twitch and he raises his hands in surrender. Your sigh and step towards the door has him dropping his hands though, nudging the still full glass of vodka towards you. Figuring it’s his way of telling you to clean and sterilize the wound before the prodding at it begins, you take a step closer. Hesitating slightly, your finger wraps around the amber glass, a deep breath leaves you as you tip it to your lips. 

He nods his head towards you and raises his own glass, and as the liquid flows into your mouth, he toasts, “To Steve.”

The liquor sits on your tongue longer than you’d like it to as you glare at him. Swallowing it down, you blame the harsh burn in your throat for the prickle that’s forming behind your eyes.

Spinning on your heel to follow Eddie, Murray’s voice calls out quietly, making you pause.

“I’d tell him sooner, rather than later.”

Looking over your shoulder, he puts the glasses in a bin underneath the bar, not looking back at you as he quietly adds, “In my experience, there’s always space to dive deeper into the story. Things are often not what they appear to be. And well,” he chuckles to himself, “Harrington’s got a lot more going on under all that hair than meets the eye I think.” Your brows furrow as Murray looks up at you, patting his hand over his heart with a smirk on his lips, “And I’m not talking about the stuff on top of his head.”

Normally, the joke about Steve’s chest hair would have your lips twitch into a smile, a roll of your eyes, but instead, his words float through the air until they arrive in your gut, sitting heavy and dragging you down. They try to ignite that hope again, but you know it’s no use in letting it light anymore. 

Your feet push forward, stomping down the hallway without a word back. As the door swings closed behind you, your eyes blink, adjusting to the harsh sunlight you’d forgotten was shining outside. The sounds from earlier now connecting to what’s before you. Several enclosed batting cages sit just beyond a wooden and covered back patio of the bar. There’s two older men with their bags of gear sitting at their feet. Each drinking a beer at a small wooden table, rubbing their shoulders. Eddie is inside one of the cages. His leather jacket hung on the fence, a blue helmet squishing down his curls. The white cotton of his baseball tee stretches over his flexing back muscles as he swings at a ball released by the machine. 

As your feet scuff against the deck and then the gravel, you take another deep breath, mouth opening to just blurt out some sort of apology to him. Eddie stops the machine with a harsh smack to a button on the side of the cage. He comes out the door, holding the helmet and bat out to you, chest moving up and down with each ragged breath. He offers a closed lip smile as he says, “Your turn.”

“Eddie, I really don’t…” you trail off until you settle on just asking, “Why?”

“Would you just do it?” He frowns, tone annoyed as he extends his arms towards you further. 

Eyebrows raised in anticipation he nods once as you take the items with a huff and stomp into the cage. As you place the helmet onto your head, and stare down the machine, you exhale and press the button. It whirs back to life as your hands wrap around the bat and you step up to the metaphorical plate, Eddie’s voice calling from over your shoulder as you do. 

“So, wanna tell me why you’re sad? Talk about anything Murray said?”

Your fingers curl tighter around the grip, shoulders going up in defense again. Your jaw clenches before you grit out, “For the last time Eddie, I’m not sad. I’m fine.”

Eddie snorts behind you as you swing at the first ball released, missing.

Strike one. 

“Sure, figured that’d be your answer. So,” he sighs heavily and you hear the fence rattle like he’s kicking it, “Why’re you avoiding us again then?”

You knew this topic couldn’t be dodged forever. It’s true, you’d been pulling away again since Halloween, and getting the save the date was the nail in your friendship’s coffin. As the wedding looms in the not so distant future, it’s easier to pull away from him, from all of them, because you know that they were and always will be Steve’s friends first. Intentions of not letting Steve keep them from you seem futile now, when you know the history and depth of friendship you’re up against. You’re not gonna say that to Eddie though, so as the next pitch is released, you swing and stammer out a pathetic lie. 

“I-I’m not.” The ball makes contact, causing your forearms to vibrate from the bad swing. Your grip tightens so the bat doesn’t fall from your fingers as the ball pops up and behind you, rattling the fence. 

“Well that’s a load of crap. Wanna know what I think?” Eddie yells, not pausing for you to refute and sarcastically continuing, “Great, I’m overjoyed to tell you.”

Your heel digs into the gravel and your eyes narrow on the whirring machine, waiting for him to sink the scalpel into you, defenseless - trapped from running away from him, stuck in this cage with nowhere to go to avoid what he’s about to tell you. 

“I think you are sad. I think Murray was right and you don’t wanna admit it to him, to anyone, and especially not yourself. Instead of an easy fix of talking about it, you wanna sit in your pity and throw a party.” Eddie’s voice takes on a dramatic, high pitched imitation of you as the next ball is released and you swing, “I’m Y/N! Woe is me! I’m all alone! Nobody loves me!”

You miss the ball again, shoulders hunching in, desperate to make yourself smaller with each of the words that he shouts at your back. Turning to look over your shoulder, you glare at him. 

Strike two. 

Eddie leans against the fence, glaring right back at you with his eyebrows raised as you hiss, “You’re being an asshole.”

“Yeah? At least I’m an asshole who’s got friends,” he gestures towards you, “You clearly think you don’t.” You twist your toe in the gravel deeper, returning your focus to the machine and taking a deep breath as he keeps going. “I’ll have Murray pour you some more vodka and you can sit here and think about how your life is horrible. Truly tragic.”

Your eyes narrow from his bored tone, lifting your chin and elbow, adamant to ignore him. 

“You have nothing and no one.”

Another exhale, your chest rises and falls with a deep inhale and your shoulders relax. Straining to hear the hint of the ball being released instead of Eddie yelling at you. 

“Maybe you’ll get a cat one day, but ultimately you’re gonna die alone!”

SMACK.

Your bat meets the ball and it soars to the end of the cage and you spin on him. Face hot, your emotions bubbling and ready to explode. Anger mingling with adrenaline coursing through your veins from the hit, amping up how the words fall out of you in an angry cry. 

“Yeah! I am Eddie! And that’s what I want! So fucking lay off!”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s easier!” 

When he yells right back, without pausing, asking you for a reason, the excuse falls out of you easily. Your mouth closes immediately after the words tumble out in your scream, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as Eddie’s narrow. He shakes his head, volume lowering only slightly. 

“Nah, that’s just fucking running. And take it from someone who ran for a long time, it feels easy, but it’s the furthest thing from. Eventually, you are going to get tired, and your problems will be right on your heels. 

Facing the machine again so you don’t have to look into his eyes any longer, you shake your head no at him, letting a ball hit the end of your bat, popping forward limply as you try to speak with confidence. 

“I’m not running from problems Eddie, I’m just…it’s easier to be the one who does the leaving than to be the one who’s left, okay?”

The words float through the air, unable to be taken back, and their weight makes something in your chest squeeze and constrict. 

“That’s some next-level, glass half empty, pessimistic, depressing shit. And who the hell said anyone was going anywhere? You’re refusing to see that if you looked back for one second from the door you’ve been half out since you got here, that nobody else even has their shoes on.”

The squeezing in your chest only intensifies, his cut getting deeper as he searches for answers, and your bat hesitates halfway through your swing, sending a ball straight up into the air above you. You breathlessly ask, “What?”

Eddie waits until you look over your shoulder at him, emphasizing each word. “Nobody’s leaving you.”

His words hit you harder than your bat has hit any of the balls. It feels like one was pitched right into your gut, expelling all the air from your lungs and causing the tears that have been right behind your eyes to well up hard and fast. You spin to avoid his gaze again and square up for another pitch. 

Eddie doesn’t know that it’s not a promise anyone can make - life doesn’t care. 

Your head shakes, tears brimming on your lash line as you argue, “You can’t know that Eddie, not really. It’s better this way.”

SMACK.

A tear slips over your bottom lashes, trailing down your cheek as the bat makes good contact again and Eddie digs the scalpel in for his final cut. “Fine. Believe that. But you need to admit that you’re slamming the door on our faces and pretending like no one is still standing on the other side, knocking and asking to be let back in.”

The machine whirls, it wooshes with the release of a ball as another tear, and then another falls. Your vision progressively grows fuzzy, the world around you blurring as you swing again and his voice washes over you. 

“Did you know that Nancy is a freak just like you, and I’m sure she’d be happy to split some Cherry Garcia any time? God help you both for liking such a disgusting flavor.”

You let the tears fall openly, but silently, as you swing harder this time. The weight in your stomach - the knots that have been forming since the very first lie was told - twist and tug harder. 

“I know you’re not stupid enough to think I wouldn’t come have a beer with you, or take you to Target to get some new sheets or food that doesn’t have the Frito-Lay logo plastered on it.”

Another ball pops up and behind you as you clear your throat. Refusing to believe what he’s saying, you wonder if he can see the tears hitting the tan gravel beneath you and darkening it like drops of rain.

“And Robin! She’d love to watch Double O Seven with you. You should hear her Sean Connery impression. It’s terrible.” Eddie laughs a little and you twist the toe of your converse into the gravel, covering up a dark spot. 

“But no. Instead of any of that, you just gave up. You didn’t give any of us a chance. Steve Harrinngton’s dumb ass is the only thing to blame for all your loneliness, sadness, and problems. So keep ignoring the footsteps running behind you and the knocking, or open the fucking door.”

You want to believe Eddie, you really do. But what happens when you come to rely on someone, need the support to lean on, and they’re gone?

Your head shakes harder, a sob stuck in your throat as you barely murmur, “Eddie, I can’t.”

His voice is softer than it has been all day as he asks, “Can’t or won’t?”

More tears fall past your lashes. The last ball is pitched and you choke out, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t attempt to swing at this one and it hits the fence behind you. The machine whirs one final time then stops. 

“Yeah, me too.”

Heavy, suffocating, disappointment lingers in the air around you. 

It takes several minutes, even more tears falling quietly, for you to remove the helmet from your head and drop both it and the bat on the ground with a clang. When you turn around, swiping at your cheeks, Eddie isn’t there. 

Each drag of your feet inside is an active fight. Limbs heavy, heart even more so, because you know what awaits you inside before it’s confirmed. 

Murray looks up from a keg he’s tapping and simply nods to the end of the bar. Your phone and wallet sit there and you know the Jeep and Eddie will be gone when you push out the door crying. 

You’ve somehow done the leaving and were left this time. 

Strike three. 

It’s literally a symptom, or as some like to claim - stage - of grief. 

Denial. 

We lie all the time. We tell lies to spare or protect feelings, and more importantly, we lie to ourselves, instead of facing truths head on. 

Because it’s easier to lie - to avoid, to shut something down, or deny its existence when it’s too hard to look at directly. Which is interesting. Why has there not been some sort of evolutionary transformation from this reaction? And really, the longer you wait to face something, the harder the truth is going to hit you. The time you give a truth to sit untold, unacknowledged, it only grows larger. That truth takes hearty roots, and your avoidance in the form of lies, whether to yourself or others, or both, only allows it to spread more rapidly. 

Eventually, you will have to stop lying, to stop running, and that truth will have grown in strength. It has sprouted new truths or problems because your lies only fed it the fertilizer it needed to do so, and now it’s suddenly not the one thing you have to face anymore, but the multiple harder truths. 

Which may be why you’re still outside, staring up at Nancy’s brownstone, where all of your friends, or well, the people you hope are still your friends are-

“Out of the bike lane!”

You jump forward onto the sidewalk just in time for a man in bright yellow spandex to zoom past you shouting some sort of curse as you clutch the dessert in your hands tighter. 

Grateful you had a firm handle on it to begin with, it's one of the few family heirlooms you held onto along with the recipe it’s holding. Hoping to gain some sort of courage from deep within it, like your mom can offer you some through the dish, you make your way up the brick steps. 

The only reason you're here, the only reason you’re facing this day the way you’re feeling just so happens to be the one to open the door before you can even ring the bell. 

The door is flung open and her bright blue eyes fight to sparkle behind squinted eyelids that are almost shut she’s smiling so wide at you.

“Happy Friendsgiving!” Robin shouts louder than she needs to and holds her arms out in a dramatic greeting. She’s covered from fingertips to elbows in thick, orange goo, her clearly thrifted oversize old man sweater sleeves pushed up to her shoulders. You smile your first genuine smile in weeks as she goes to hug you and you both pause, rethinking it. 

“Fall in a pumpkin?” You quip as you balance the dessert in your hand to shrug off one arm of your coat. 

Robin wiggles her fingers and hands spirit and jazz style with a beam that shows off her dimple as she corrects, “Sweet potato casserole.”

“You fell in a sweet potato casserole?” Following her deeper into Nancy’s, you take in a long breath, the tight chest you’ve had since Eddie left you at Murray’s loosening with each word exchanged between you and her. But knowing you have to face him, Nancy, Steve and her, and continue to pretend nothing is wrong while around Robin, has the constricting pressure around your heart returning quickly. 

Robin rolls her eyes, turning and walking backwards and making a face at you. She huffs as she turns back around, “No. Steve is making his famous mac and cheese and apparently I was annoying him, can you believe it? So him and Nance put me on mashing duty to keep me busy like a toddler.”

“You said it, not me!” Steve calls, his wine glass stopping before his lips when he makes eye contact with you. 

Weeks of not seeing each other after the way you left things was going to be hard, you knew that. But you really weren’t prepared for how he looks today, or how it would affect you. 

He’s got a burnt orange, almost brown, thick sweater on with light wash jeans. You’re sure both are from the section of his closet you stumbled upon months ago. That part holding his clothes he doesn’t wear often for whatever reason. He looks comfortable, casual, content. Down to the tube socks on his feet and the worn brown leather of the band of his watch. Your chest aches a little as you wonder if it’s Leigh that’s gotten him to relax into this version of himself. Even his hair, longer than a few weeks ago, is different than you’ve seen from him. Far messier than usual - like it hasn’t seen products or been styled lately, and several days of facial hair evident on his jaw. He looks like a version of Steve designed to torture you - a Steve who you’ve only gotten glimpses of and you miss before you’ve even really met. 

“Hi,” he says quietly, smiling closed-lipped at you.

“Hi,” you offer with your own hesitant smile. Your fingers fiddle with the tinfoil over the edge of the dessert from your spot where you linger in the doorway.

“How are you? Do you…wine?” Steve stammers over his questions, cheeks turning pink. He spins and starts pouring you some without waiting for your answer. It gives you a small bit of relief that he’s as anxious as you are, neither of you knowing what comes next. Do you ever return to normal? And what is normal for you and Steve?

“Sure, yeah, good. You?”

Steve nods his head too quickly, spinning to face you again with the wine. “Good, yeah, thanks.”

“Good.” 

“Yeah.”

Steve blinks at you, hazel eyes bright under the soft glow of Nancy’s pendant lighting hanging above her island. As you stare at each other, unsaid words float in the air, it was silly to think it could ever just be over with him. You miss entering a room and not sharing this awkward, palpable, tension - when it was a smile or joke exchanged instead of forced greetings, a warmth and joy felt instead of dread. 

You hate that you don’t hate him. 

You hate that there’s this horrible ache in your chest, like words want to tumble out but you physically can’t say them - why can’t you both just apologize? Why can’t that save the date be ripped to shreds? Why can’t it all work out? 

“You two are acting weird.”

Robin’s voice bursts whatever bubble you were both in, and you clear your throat, looking down. Steve’s fingers adjust on the wine glass and he shakes his head. 

Steve stammers, “N-no, we’re g-”

“Good?” Robin questions, eyebrows raised, “Yeah I gathered that.”

Before either of you can say anything in response, Nancy’s voice calls from the front door, “Crisis averted! I found a bag!”

Her brown curls bounce against her cheeks as she jogs into the kitchen. Dressed up in black suede boots and flared jeans, her tan peacoat left open showing off a silky black blouse. She pauses, mid stride, bag of marshmallows held aloft and her smile faltering as her gaze darts around the room.

Feeling warm under Robin’s sudden perceptiveness, you’re grateful when Nancy springs into action, relieving the awkward tension. 

“Geez Robin, did any sweet potato end up in the dish? I left you alone with them for twenty minutes.”

Robin’s lips twitch slightly, eyes finally leaving Steve’s as she looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers, the orange goo becoming stiff and hard on her skin.  

Nancy gives you a look, her eyes narrowed in a question but smiles when Robin looks back up. She places the marshmallows on the counter and grabs her hand. “Well, Y/N, can finish up.” She directs her next words to you, head nodding to a pan on the counter, “Put those marshmallows on top and stick it in the oven. Steve, your cheese isn’t gonna grate itself. And you,” Nancy tugs Robin out of the kitchen, smiling sweetly at her, “Are gonna come get cleaned up with me.”

Robin’s entire face turns pink, freckles standing out on her skin, from the way Nancy stares at her intently, like no one else exists. You look down, hiding your smile when Robin coughs, sputtering out something that you’re sure is supposed to be a yes. She eagerly nods and Steve huffs loudly, which makes her turn to glare over her shoulder at him, but it quickly turns into a smile as you call out, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” to their retreating forms. 

Their footsteps fade and Steve reaches out with one hand, looking at the dessert as he asks, “I can grab that from you?”

As the door to her bedroom clicks closed, you breathe out an exhale, unsure of how much longer you can keep it all up. His eyes are warm as his fingers brush the dish and you pull it back from his reach a bit, whispering, “It’s really fragile.”

Steve’s eyes bounce over your face, setting the wine down, both hands reaching for the dessert as he promises, quiet and sure, “I got it.”

Your fingertips graze each other as he takes it, and the electricity of just one more touch from him is enough kindling for the hope to spark. The heat from his stare has your cheeks warming and his turning pink. Steve’s lips twitch slightly in the corners as he glances down at the dish, then back up at you. 

“So, this just from Mariano’s then?” 

Your eyes roll hard at his assumption, scoffing as you turn to rip open the bag of marshmallows and keep your back to him. “You would ask if it was from there instead of Jewel.”

Steve knocks the faucet off from washing his hands, shaking them into the sink and flinging water across the stainless steel before drying them. He sucks his teeth with a wince as he turns to the counter, his shoulder next to yours. “Yeah, okay that’s fair.”

You laugh quietly, popping a marshmallow in your mouth in between placing them haphazardly across the orange mixture. Steve sighs next to you and gestures to the dish. “See, this is why I asked. No way you baked something. Didn’t think you could do anything in the kitchen except keep your take out menus impeccably organized.”

“Impeccably huh? That your word of the day on the calendar Robin got you?” You toss another marshmallow in your mouth with a smirk. 

“Actually, no today’s word was assiduous.” 

The veins in his hands flex as he grates the cheese, and he gives you a look as he says the word with confidence and emphasis, eyebrows raised.

You stall, taking a sip of your wine and hiding your smile in the glass before asking, “What, am I supposed to be impressed or something?” 

He dumps the cheese into the pot and turns to you, cocking his head, tongue in his cheek before he frowns. “You’re not?”

Steve’s lips twitch, his facade breaking easily and you both laugh. Your shoulders relax further and so do his. Why does it have to be so easy with him, yet so hard?

“Actually, I think it will be you who’s impressed,” you start, making the marshmallows a little more purposeful and pretty for his sake. 

“Oh yeah?” 

You hum, nodding, “I made that pie from scratch.”

“No you didn’t.”

Looking up, you see him shaking his head. He makes eye contact with you and he shrugs, adamant, “Nope. No way.”

Your hands land on your hips as your tone turns indignant. “Yes I did! I made the crust from scratch, cold butter into flour and everything. Rolled it out, doctored up the filling in a pan on the stove. Brown sugar, the works.”

His hand stops on the second block of cheese, eyes narrowing at you as he questions, “Really?”

A laugh leaves you from the tone of his suspicion as you slide the pan holding Robin’s dish into the oven. “You sound like my dad when my mom made it the first time.”

Steve doesn’t say anything and your lip tugs between your teeth as you remember the moment between your parents. Maybe it’s the holiday, maybe you’re just tired, maybe it’s the few sips of alcohol that let the story fall out of you so easily. 

“She was really awful at cooking,” you laugh, taking a sip of wine and waving your hand in the air, “I mean like, awful. She could serve you a grilled cheese that was somehow burnt but the cheese was cold? She got better, but anyways, I really don’t know why she thought she’d be any better at baking…”

Steve’s eyes meet yours briefly as he takes his own sip of wine and you look away, grabbing some of the cheese and deciding to help as you keep talking. 

“I don’t remember how she decided to do this, but my dad was out of town for work, and she wanted to make him something special, and to her that was a pie, I guess? But she was adamant that it be from scratch. Made and baked with love. And so we did. We went and got all of the ingredients, and we destroyed the kitchen, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had with her. We listened to Dolly Parton and drank wine all day, totally got flour and butter everywhere, I told her about classes, and the guy I was seeing…”

Your eyes drift off the counter, remembering it was right before you knew she was sick and your chin trembles as a watery laugh leaves you, “And then my dad got home. Oh my god, his face. He, he…” you blink away tears as you start laughing harder, “He just dropped his duffle bag on the ground and shook his head looking around in shock and my mom yelled ‘We made you a pie!’ and my dad just raised his eyebrows and said ‘Sure looks like you made somethin’.”

The last words come out shaky and it isn’t until you feel a pressure on top of one of your hands that you realize you had been grating the cheese down to almost nothing, stealing it from him. Glancing up through blurry vision, tears continue to fall down your cheeks as Steve quietly asks, “But it was good?”

You snort, more tears leaving you as you shake your head no. “It was inedible,” you laugh harder, “Like raw, but somehow dry and clumpy, so bad.”

Steve squeezes your hand, eyebrows furrowing together as his confusion settles deeper in his face and he starts cautiously, “So…you…made an inedible pie for us tonight?”

Your head shakes more and you take a deep breath, laughter and tears slowing. “No, after that, she, um…” closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and push out, “She needed to keep her hands working…” 

When you open your eyes again, Steve’s staring intently at you, waiting. You wonder why he can wait patiently for this story, look at you like he’d wait an eternity for you to tell him the ending, but he couldn’t wait for you. But, would you have wanted him to? When you’re certain that the potential of losing him, all of them, completely, isn’t worth the risk. Would he have waited forever for you to change your mind?

Your voice breaks as you finish, “Her chemo…she started to get neuropathy, and making the crust and keeping her hands and brain busy helped. So she kept practicing until it was perfect. And now it’s one of the last things I have from her. The dish too, we went and searched for the right one…” Fingers of your free hand form quotation marks as you roll your eyes with a laugh, remembering her ridiculous insistence on it and the day of estate sales and thrift stores.  

It’s silent as the unsaid ending washes over you both, the importance - the weight - of the dessert and the story. The immediate need to take it all back rises up in you hard, wishing you could put the entire thing back inside yourself and rewind the last few minutes. The vulnerability leaves you cracked open and exposed to him and you’re not sure you can handle his reaction. 

“I’m sorry,” your brows furrow, “I don’t know why I just…”

Steve’s fingers wrap around yours tighter and he squeezes. Your eyes meet the moss and honey you want to avoid because you’re sure they’re looking at you with that look. The pitying one, the one that everyone gets before they tell you a sorry that doesn’t help. 

But Steve’s eyes shine with something stronger - admiration and amusement as he winces, “So, see, that story tells me that your mom practiced and practiced to make a perfect pie not you and-”

Your hand smacks at his chest lightheartedly, laughing around a protest. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, “Hey, hey, okay!” 

Both of your laughter subsides and he smiles, a genuine smile, one side of his lips twisted up as he looks at the pie then you. “I’m sure it’s great. I’m excited to try it. Thank you for telling me that…I wish I could have met…”

As he trails off, your fingers brush against his on the counter, your bodies shift closer, letting the story and laughter pull you into each other’s gravity once more. Maybe it doesn’t have to be hard - there’s a reason you can fall so easily back into each other. A reason you can offer up a story you normally keep close if he’s the one listening, a reason you can forgive. There has to be a reason your body wants to be closer to his, a reason you want to feel his lips on yours again. Maybe there are cosmic connections, unexplainable phenomena of the universe, fate and destiny and invisible strings. 

Hope flourishes inside of you, it catches on every bounce of his eyes over your face, the way his finger nudges against yours just like they did in that car ride to a lake so many weeks ago. It sparks and drifts into the air, it floats around you like embers from an actual fire as he breathes your name out and your body takes one step closer, making you chest to chest. One easy tilt of your head, one bend from his and maybe it’d all be okay again.  

The doorbell rings, making both of you jump apart. The reality of the situation hits you, like someone dumped an entire bucket of water over the hope as Steve looks toward the door and frowns. You keep letting yourself end up in this position and eventually it’s going to hurt so much you’ll never be able to come back from it. 

You’re not his, he’s not yours, and it’s too late. Another girl calls him baby, he calls her honey, and they go on and have the life you were certain you never wanted - all because you can’t let him in the way he wanted you to. This isn’t a movie, there is no rewind, there is no pause, and it’s time to move on. 

“I’ll go get that, you have cheese to…uh…” 

“Y/N, wait-”

You’re already out of the kitchen, speed walking to the front door. Dreading the girl you’re certain is on the other side, you start to pull your shoes back on. Maybe you could slip out with an excuse and leave. Your destiny isn’t Steve, it’s to always run, to always be alone. 

The door swings open and you look up from your crouched position, one shoe on. Eddie is standing in the doorway, holding a bag of Hawaiian Rolls and looking at you, eyebrows raised in wait.  

He holds open the door and gestures outside as he asks, “Should I leave this open?”

Your stomach swoops, thinking of the chance he’s giving you, the opportunity to do what you want, no questions asked. But your heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears at the opposite side of the coin - the other chance he’s giving you. 

A deep breath is exhaled as you shakily ask, “That depends…are you still knocking?”

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe. Only one way to really find out right?”

Nodding once, you stand. A limped step over to the door with one shoe on, and you close it. Your palm rests flat against the wood as you take another calming breath. The sounds of the others in the kitchen are muffled as you turn around and look up at Eddie. You kick off the shoe, take a step forward, and mime opening a door.

Letting a tear slip past your lash line, you shrug, standing in the metaphorical open doorway and hold your breath. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Thank god, my arm was getting really tired.”

Another watery laugh starts to escape you and you wrap your arms around him in a hug. “I’m sorry. For everything, for dragging you into all of this and for leading you on and…and…”

He extends his fingers, counting his points as he sighs, “You forgot for being stubborn, for not asking me to be the Inigo to your Buttercup, for-”

“I’m sorry.” You force every ounce of meaning behind the words as you squeeze his waist tighter and he finally meets your hug, long arms wrapping around you. 

“We’re all good sweetheart, don’t sweat it.” He pats your shoulder and takes a step back, cocking his head, “But that’s not all…” he taps his finger to your forehead, “What else is going on up there? Why were you leaving?”

“Y/N, please don’t…” Steve trails off as he comes into the entryway. You duck your head and sniff quietly, hoping there’s no evidence of your tears that escaped and break away as Steve clears his throat. “So-sorry. I thought you were…nevermind.”

Steve turns quickly on his heel, back towards the kitchen where the sounds of Robin and Nancy arguing about something echo louder down the hall. Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes at Steve’s back, and gestures for you to go before him, quietly whispering, “We’ll chat later about that.”

“Why does it smell like that? What did you put in it?” Nancy is bent down, looking at the dish you placed in the oven. Her hair is damp, curls weighed down against her cheeks, but her sleek outfit is back on, sans coat, sleeves rolled up. 

Robin’s hair has a towel twirled on top of it, though she’s otherwise back in her jeans and sweater, her hands on her hips. “I don’t know! I did exactly what you said!”

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, tossing the bread onto the counter. 

“You don’t smell that?” Nancy shakes her head, hand held out to the air in exasperation. 

Steve’s back is to you as he dumps cooked noodles into his pot of melted cheese and Eddie shakes his head no. Your nose starts to wrinkle though the longer you sit in the space. 

Your hands raise, “I swear I just put the marshmallows on.”

It takes Nancy gagging on a bite she tries to eat of the casserole and Steve going through his spices next to his pot to realize Robin used paprika instead of cinnamon. A lot of paprika. 

She throws her hands up in the air as she storms out to the deck, where you’ve all decided it’d be better to eat, bundled up from the cold, than inside trapped with the smell. “You know what, I never asked to cook anything so eat you’ll eat your paprika sweet potatoes and like it!”

As everyone sits at the table, Eddie looks around and asks, “Shouldn’t we wait for one more?”

“What?” Steve asks him, tone a little sharp, sitting down in the seat across from you.

“Your fiance? Isn’t she coming?” Eddie prods, meeting Steve’s cold attitude with an equal sting and rolled back shoulders. 

“I’m sure she was earlier,” Robin mumbles into her wine glass, “Ow.” She glares at Steve who kicks her under the table. 

Nancy rolls her eyes as Steve shakes his head no, clearing his throat, “She’s…we haven’t…she’s with her family already.”

Robin sighs from her spot next to you and your eyes meet Steve’s before jumping down to your plate. The pressure around your heart squeezes even tighter - maybe it was only easy with him because she’s not here, and that is not always going to be the case. Your fingers itch, neck rolling from the tension. You want to get up and walk away, but Eddie’s knee nudges yours and your shoulders relax slightly. 

Nancy raises her glass, changing the subject, “Okay, before we dig in, I want to say that I’m very grateful for you all, and here’s to many more years of Friendsgiving.” She smiles at Robin when she uses the name. 

Robin beams, holding her glass up too, “Here, here! Now everyone take two scoops of the potatoes.”

Glasses clink and laughter shared, it's easy for you to believe Nancy. Easy with Steve smiling across from you and Eddie and Robin bickering about the food next to you, with her not there, to believe that you’ll be a part of their stories. Maybe - 

“So, Dingus, it’s time to spill all the details about Leigh.” Robin leans forward on the table, her eyebrows raised as Steve’s glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “We don’t know anything and you’re getting married in like five months.”

Nancy and Eddie’s bites and glasses also freeze, not so discreet looks at you from both of them. Nancy finishes swallowing and shakes her head, “Robin, we know enough! Let Steve-”

“No we don’t! I don’t know how you met, or if she’s moved in, and how he proposed and why on earth he didn’t tell his best friend! I have him cornered finally and you’re all gonna help me. Don’t act like you guys don’t want to know either!”

“Robin,” Steve starts licking his lips as he looks at her then you, “Can we not do this right now?”

“Time’s up bub,” Robin frowns, shaking her head, “I promise we like her, she’s cool. But you’ve been dodging the questions and me for weeks now. Start with the easy one, how’d you meet?”

Steve looks at you like he’s in physical pain and you look down at the liquid in your wine glass, swirling the red wine around as you wait for the story that is sure to kill you. You wish he’d just rip the band-aid off, get it over with.  

“We, uh, met through my parents.” Steve swallows a large gulp of wine. 

Your head whips up at the comment and Steve stares at you, frowning before he looks up at the sky. 

Robin’s brows furrow as she asks, “Your parents?” Equally shocked as you are. It isn’t a secret that Steve and his parents aren’t always on the same page. 

Steve rubs at his forehead, closing his eyes before he sets the wine glass down. He straightens, rolling his shoulders back, “Okay, it’s all going to come out anyways so…our parents set us up. It’s been arranged for awhile, we didn’t really date or anything, we’re getting married because that’s what we do. She’s from a good family and I’m from a good family, it makes sense. For business and life and…that’s it.”

The table is silent as Steve’s lips twist, waiting for someone to say something.

Your heartbeat isn’t loud in your ears, your stomach doesn’t swoop - it’s like all noise has left the planet. It’s like someone actually hit pause as his explanation and the last few months catch up with each other in your brain until they meet in a loud explosion. It’s an actual glass shattering sound effect. Heartbreak and hope and disbelief and anger swell inside of you like a wave ready to devour anyone who was stupid enough to enter the unpredictable ocean. 

It’s surprising to everyone, including yourself, when you’re the one to break the silence. The question leaves you so quietly, you weren’t even certain you asked it out loud until he looked at you. 

“So you’re not in love with her?”

As Steve stares at you, the table floats away, it’s just you and him. His mouth parts, but no response falls from it. You stand abruptly, chair scraping against the wood deck harshly as you push back, muttering something about needing to put the dessert into the oven. Your stomach that’s been twisted into knots for months feels like someone pulled one loose thread and it’s unraveling inside of you. A box of bouncy balls released, an unpredictable canon of confetti, trapeze artists, butterflies, boulders, and a deep ocean swallowing you. All of it, finally coming together and creating catastrophe. 

It’s like every single moment you’ve been angry with him is turned up to eleven, but so is every look and touch. Every single one feels like a lie, a slap to your face - he was just using you because he was indecisive, scared, afraid to give up his single life. Steve Harrington was just like every other man. Your entire last few months swirl around inside your brain, replaying every moment, every emotion like a favorite movie. But it’s like someone took that film and told you every single thing wrong with it. Like they pointed out how everything you loved was just covering up the real and horrible plot - bright lights and pretty sets to convince everyone they had a good time, when in reality it was cheaply made and not worth it. 

Your hands shake as you start to rip at the foil covering the pie, and his voice calls out behind you, “Please let me answer that question. Please let me explain.”

A scoff leaves you, eyes closing as you bite back, “It’s fine Steve. Clearly I was just some placeholder for you the whole time.”

“Placeholder?”

You spin, hands in the air as you search for words to make him see how much this hurts you. “Yeah, yes. Some, I don’t know. Last hurrah!”

“What?” The word comes out sharp, like he truly doesn’t understand what you’re saying. His cheeks are pink, his hair blown from the wind outside, eyes wide and blinking at you like you’re crazy.

“You heard me! I was just some fun fuck before you sealed the deal on your spoiled brat fate.”

Steve’s mouth falls open, then quickly closes, taking a step closer, hands clenched into fists as his brows furrow. His jaw tightens with each word, “I’m not a spoiled brat!”

Another scoff, a cold laugh as you wave your hand again. “Oh please Steve! You used me to bide your time and prolong the inevitable! You were just avoiding looking at the contract you signed!”

Steve stands over you, both of your chests rising and falling in time, the air inside the kitchen warmer from the oven being on all day and your words shouted at each other - the sparks leaping from your bodies and engulfing each other. 

“I didn’t use you! You offered! It was all your idea! I’m so sick of this-”

You shove at his chest and he grabs your wrists, as you mock him, voice dripping with fake pity, “Oh, poor Steve Harrington. I have to get married and say goodbye to my single life, but let me use this girl-”

“This isn’t about me, I have to make decisions that affect my whole family, I can’t just say no! And what was I supposed to do? The person I want doesn’t want me!” HIs voice cracks as he drops your hands, fire cracking and sizzling between you both. His admission, the chance to tell him he’s wrong, that you do want him, makes your heart beat turn rapid, like it’s actually trying to punch its way out of your body. 

You shake your head, pushing down the flames of hope threatening to burn you alive, pushing him away. “You saw an opportunity to postpone but not fully deny. It’s fine Steve, I get it. It was the safe option.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Grabbing the pie, you sob, “Security. Money. You couldn’t say no to them. And then when I offered to fuck you no strings attached? Man,” you scoff out another laugh around your tears, “You probably thought you won the lottery, huh?”

Steve grabs for the pie, his eyes wet as he shakes his head. Voice hoarse as he argues, “You’re so unbelievably wrong. I couldn’t fucking wait for you to maybe, hopefully, open up one day! I have to move on! And it’s not like she’s a bad person, and I don’t know why we’re arguing about this again, because clearly you’re with Eddie.”

You tug harder on the dish but Steve doesn’t release as you cry out, “Oh! No! Don’t even try that! Eddie and I aren’t together and we never were! You’re using that as an excuse! Tell me Steve. Tell me you love her, that you want to marry her.”

“I-”

“Is that what your future looks like? Huh? Ten years down the road, it’s her? That’s what you imagined and not your parents?”

“Y/N, it’s not that simple!”

“It is! What do you want, Steve?”

You need him to tell you and he needs you to tell him and neither of you will - because you’re scared, stubborn. Two suns burning too hot and close together, and it was inevitable for it to end this way. You both stood on the edge of that cliff and saw the end you’d meet and you jumped anyway. Was it worth it? 

“I can’t believe you two.” 

This is the moment. 

It wasn’t when he showed up at the football game with her. It wasn’t the party. It wasn’t the engagement.

It’s the look Robin is giving you both from her spot in the doorway. It’s the pie and the glass dish hitting the floor in shards of sapphire blue and orange peaches. It’s Steve and you both turning to her, shaking your heads no, saying her name in the same pleading way.

Her bright blue eyes turn to glass as she chokes around a tearful laugh, “I knew, I knew you both were hiding something, I just…why? Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Nancy reaches for Robin’s wrist, “Robin, they didn’t mean to…”

Robin recoils, swiping at her cheeks. She looks at Nancy, then at Steve whose head falls, his hands in his hair. Eddie looks down too when Robin turns to him and she steps back again. “Everyone knew, huh? You all have been lying to me this entire time? Why? I don’t…” She shakes her head again and runs past you both, down the hall and slams the door. 

Steve starts to go after her when a small frame stands in front of him like she’s twice his size, hand pressing to his chest. Fury burns in Nancy’s eyes as she blocks the hallway. Her voice low and far more angry than you’ve heard it be before. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“Nance, come on, that’s not fair,” Steve steps forward again and when she stops him with two hands now, his voice turns sharper, “Don’t act like you’re the only one who cares about her.”

“Yeah, well you’ve got a funny way of showing it Steve.” Nancy looks at you, “I think you should leave. All of you.”

Eddie grabs your elbow, speaking quietly, “I can drive you home.”

Steve laughs, “Oh, I’m sure you can.”

“Steve,” you start and he interrupts you, hands running down his face. 

“No. It’s fine. It’s all my fault right? I’m the only one in the wrong?” He pushes past you, shoulder hitting Eddie’s hard and the door slamming even more so behind him. Pictures rattle against the wall, Nancy and her family's smiling faces tilted in their frame. The world turned off its axis. 

It’s Nancy’s quiet knock from down the hall, Robin’s shouted ‘leave her alone’ and Eddie’s sigh of ‘fucking, christ’. It’s that there you stand, the door closed behind him, the mess you made, literally, surrounding you. 

This, the consequences of all of your actions - is the double tap. 

You let the mess build, you let the avoided truths take deeper roots and spread lies to cover them up. All because you wanted the hope to stay - you wanted it both ways - despite telling yourself different, despite lying to yourself for months.

Now, it’s too late. You’re just a girl who isn’t in a rom com with a happy ending. You’re alone, and the hope that maybe you wouldn’t be for once isn’t just gone, it’s ripped from your fingers. 

The book is closed. The knife drips in the killer’s hand as the victim’s chest stops heaving. The spacesuit floats through a noiseless and lifeless galaxy. The body doesn’t get up from the mats and a silence falls over the crowd. 

“Fuck!”

Your hands smack the steering wheel, a sob leaving you as your forehead falls against it. 

You’ve been driving around for hours, hopeless. Your heart hasn’t stopped its erratic and hard beats since you ran out of Nancy’s. Somehow your body still courses with adrenaline, fight or flight still at war inside of yourself. Every time you think about the look Robin had on her face, every time you think about how much you hurt her, or how you may not see her again, you feel real, visceral, pain and panic. Your hands start shaking, the crying starts its cycle over from scratch, and you have to pull over until the snot sobbing stage settles into a calm, sort of silent cry. 

This is a mess, and it’s your mess. Despite wanting to put all of the blame on Steve, you simply can’t run from this truth anymore. It was you who came up with the plan. Steve was hesitant immediately, bringing Robin’s thoughts up right away. It was you who came up with the Red Hot Ranch code, who kept going. It was you who called it off and started it up again despite knowing how it would all inevitably end. It feels like you pushed Steve off the cliff and thought it was okay because you were diving after him. 

As you stare out the windshield, you know you have to stop running. Eddie’s words ring through the air.

Open the fucking door. Nobody’s leaving you.

You have to at least try, right? You have to apologize to her, to tell her it was all your fault so if she at least doesn’t forgive you, maybe you can offer a crack in the door to her forgiveness for the others. The others who simply got caught up in your lies, tripping over the tangled knot of roots they took.  

You’re certain Robin and you met how and when you did not by chance, the universe gave you each other for a reason. You’re certain that there are soul mates, they’re just not in the form you always suspect. And you’re certain that if you don’t try to make things right, you’ll be miserable and truly alone for the rest of your life.

Robin once told you that she was there, and that she would be there when you were ready and you hope the offer still stands. Maybe you can’t make everything right, you can’t rewind, but you have to at least try to make the ending bearable. 

When you turn the key in the ignition though, your car sputters. Your face twists into an expression of disbelief, only deepening when it does it again and your mouth falls open in shock when it suddenly starts to rain, mixing with snow that melts immediately on the ground. You laugh, looking out the windshield at the bleak and miserable sky, washing out the city in a dull gray. 

“Of fucking course,” you mumble under your breath. Getting out of the car, you sigh as you lock it. You shield your eyes as you stare up at the sky and laugh, “You’re real funny. Great joke.”

Maybe it was a sign from the universe that you needed to really work for it, maybe it was bad karma, maybe you really deserved it, maybe it was even supposed to be a blessing - washing away the past to clear the slate for the future. 

Regardless of reason, you don’t take the train, and you make the slow and wet walk back to where you came from. 

The buzzer for her place rings with no answer. You know that she’s home because the light is on, and you intercepted her take out. 

“Buckley I’ll keep buzzing, your egg rolls are getting cold!”

When she doesn’t answer again, you sigh, pressing your wet forehead to the cold brick and hold it down again, pulling out the big guns. “Okay, Robin, I, listen. I am so sorry. And if you want to hate me and never see me again, that’s totally fine, I understand. Because honestly, I am…I am scum for lying to you. I am pond scum. I’m lower than pond scum. I am the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

You release the buzzer and when there still isn’t a click of her responding your chin trembles. Maybe you really did fuck it up that badly and there is no coming back from this. It was silly of you to think she’d ever forgive you, especially when she has Steve. You’re about to set the food down and buzz again to tell her you’ll leave when the front door opens. 

“You’re lower actually.” 

A sob leaves you as Robin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her favorite Hawkins Band sweatshirt. The fuzzy lime green socks with banjos on them that you got her for her birthday on her feet.  

You nod, swiping at your tears with a free hand. “You’re right. Lower than the fungus. I’m the pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

Robin’s lips twitch, but she rolls her eyes before they look at the ground. “Quoting Julia Roberts is really unfair. You know how much of a sucker I am for her. Cheap shot.”

A crack in the tightness in your chest starts to pry open as you whisper, “I almost bought roses and had this plan to blare classical music from my car but it broke down and…well, here I am anyways, asking for forgiveness and a chance to explain.”

She raises her eyebrows, waiting, and your chin trembles as your voice shakes, “Robin I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to lie to you about it all for so long. And there were so many times I wanted to tell you. I was selfish and wrong and scared I would lose you - that you’d pick his side and shut me out - but I’m here trying now…please don’t hate me forever. And don’t hate Steve. He did nothing wrong. Or Nancy, or Eddie. It was all me and I’m so, so, so, sorry, please let me explain everything and give me another chance to be even half the amazing friend that you are.”

It’s silent, for what feels like forever, until her eyes meet yours. Shining from tears and her nose wiggles as she sniffles, “You were going to Pretty Woman me?”

You nod, tears roll down your cheeks and mingle with the rain that coats them. 

Robin sighs, choking on her own tears as she laughs, “You just get me.”

She engulfs you in a hug and both of you cry into each other’s shoulders as she says, “I’m still mad you all lied. You’re not off the hook. I think giving me limitless veto power for movie nights is extremely fair and nonnegotiable.” 

Your body feels lighter than it has in months as your arm tightens around her as you agree with a teary laugh, whispering another apology while silently vowing to never let her go. It doesn’t matter what happens next, because at least you have her, and you know you always will. 

Robin trips on a heel as she emerges from her closet. Tilting your head at the dress she holds up, your nose scrunches as you shake your head no. 

She sighs, throwing it on the no pile and groans, “Ugh! This is hopeless!”

As she flops onto her bed with a huff, you laugh and swap places with her, “No, no, come on. Tell me again.”

Robin sits up, staring at her dresser with a furrow forming under her bangs. “I want to look professional, put together, but not like it’s an interview, you know? I want them to take me seriously, but I want to look like me. Ergo, I am doomed.”

Your fingers trail over her clothes, eyes searching again after they roll. “Ergo, you’ve been facetiming Dustin too much.”

A black dress catches your eyes, velvet and cinched at the waist. Pulling it from her closet you hold it up. “What about this? I’ve never seen you wear it. Is it new?”

Her head tilts, “Huh. I forgot I bought that for…” she trails off and looks at you with a sad smile. “Right. Yeah, you don’t think it’s too low cut?”

You shake your head no, taking a deep breath at her change of subject, thoughts drifting to if she bought it for the wedding or something related to it. Maybe you could ask, but you’ve sort of had a non-verbal agreement to not discuss Steve the last month and it’s been working. After explaining everything to her, including how you felt about him getting married, your complicated feelings, it just felt easier to not discuss anything relating to him. 

“Throw a nice necklace on, you’ll be perfect babe,” you make an a-okay symbol with your fingers, “The Wheeler’s aren’t gonna know what hit em.” You smile and look at the clock on her nightstand, handing the dress out to her, “Get to it though, or you’ll be late.”

Robin makes no move to get up, holding the dress in her hands and staring at it. 

She shakes her head no. “I can’t do this.”

Sitting next to her, the bed bounces lightly and you grab her hand. “You absolutely can do this. It’s just meeting the parents and siblings, all of whom you’ve met already.”

“But not as her girlfriend. When I met them she wasn’t even out. What if they hate me? What if I spill something? What if I order the wrong wine?”

Laughing, you hold her panicking face in your hands, taking a deep breath to encourage her to do so too. “Robin. Breathe.”

She does, her exhale shaky and you smile, head tilting as you let her face go, fixing a curl you smooshed. “You really love her don’t you.”

It’s not a question, but Robin answers anyway. She nods vehemently, words tumbling out of her like she can’t help it. “God so much it’s scary. But also not? I want to spend every second with her. I want to tell her about every dumb little thought that pops into my head and I want to hear what she ate for lunch every day. I want to wake up and fall asleep next to her and that’s insane! How can you love a person like that so quickly? Like everything in your body is screaming for it? It’s…it’s that kind of love I’ve only heard about before? That kind of love…” she trails off, maroon polished fingers covering her smile before she keeps going, “It’s easier than breathing. It is breathing, you know?”

As she says the words that prick at something inside of you, prodding on thoughts you’d locked away, her skin pales, looking like she’s going to be sick. “Oh my god I really can’t do this. I can’t-”

“Robin. One step at a time. Change your outfit, you can do that right?”

She laughs, head falling to your shoulder, a sing-song lilt to her voice, “We’ve been here before.”

“Yeah and look at what happened.”

Robin sits up, biting her lip, nodding once and standing. “Right.”

As she changes, you assess her jewelry box. Your eyes roam over the mirror of her vanity, smiling at the pictures. You pause at the one of her and Steve that’s new to you. He has his tongue out, her arm around him and your fingers touch the corner, an ache in your chest wondering what they were doing and what stories they’ll have from the day. 

“Have you talked to him?”

Her question startles you and your shoulders lift. Clearing your throat, you hold the necklace out to her. “No, um, I haven’t. He’s good?”

Robin starts to hook the necklace as she hums, “I think so. It’s hard to tell some days.” She hesitates, her face pinched into a familiar look to you, the one that looks like she’s physically holding words in, a true test for her. She bends down to buckle her heels as she asks, “Is it always going to be this way? Avoiding talking about each other? Seeing each other?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just need some time. I’ll be okay.” Shrugging with a smile, you grab your purse and coat. 

Robin’s blue eyes sparkle under shimmering gold eyeshadow and she tilts her head, a smile forming on her lips as she nods, confident in her words, “You will be. One step at a time.”

“Cute,” you muse, and take a step back. You twirl your fingers for her to spin and she rolls her eyes but obliges. The black velvet dress cuts off at her calves, hugging her curves in a sexy but modest way and the gold pendant on her necklace matches the blocky old-fashioned heels. You yell out, “Ow-ow!” 

Robin laughs, waving you off and grabs her phone. “Okay picture!”

“Ew, Robin no! You look so good and I am literally in my sweatshirt with the mustard stain on it.” 

She shushes you, “Tough tater tots toots.”

She pulls you in as you laugh, both of you easily falling into a goofy pose as she snaps a selfie. She nods her approval and grabs her coat, “Oh yeah, that one’s definitely going on the board.” She clicks her phone closed and you both head towards the stairwell. 

As you step out of her apartment building, Nancy is getting out of an Uber, an emerald peacoat wrapped around her and she stops, eyes only on Robin. 

“Hi,” she whispers, smiling, “Wow. You’re so beautiful.”

Robin’s face turns as red as her nails and you duck your head. “Well, I think that’s my cue to leave. Have a good night,” you squeeze Nancy’s hand, “Tell your brother and El hey from me?”

She squeezes it back, confirming she will, and holds the door open for Robin, then jogs around to the other side and you have to smile at her lack of wanting to scoot across the seat or maybe it’s just her old fashioned, secret romantic side coming out. 

As you start to walk away, you hear your name and spin back around, Robin is leaning out of the window, smiling wide as she asks, “Benny’s tomorrow? 10?”

“I expect a full report!” You cross your arms over your chest, fore and middle fingers crossed in a good luck to her that she mirrors as the car drives away. 

The walk to the train from there is short, your car still out of commission, and you pop your airpods in, debating how your evening will go. Eddie is already home for Christmas with his uncle in Indiana, Robin and Nancy together tonight, and Steve…

Before them, an evening alone like this never would have bothered you. Eating what you wanted to eat, watching what you wanted to watch - you got good at being alone, enjoying it actually. Now, there’s a funny little feeling that pulls at a thread inside of you, trying to unravel the work you’ve done. 

As you wait for the train, pulling your winter hat tighter over your ears, you watch a couple come up the stairs. They have shopping bags in their hands, dressed in warm, wool coats. Giggly, pink cheeks, gloved hands clinging to each other. They sit just down from where you stand against the railing when you get on, huddled together as they look at a map on his phone, and you wonder what their story is - where they were, where they’re going, and if they love each other. It seems like they do, and you wonder if it’s the kind of love Robin explained.

How can anyone love like that aside from fictional people in the movies? How can you love someone so deeply and intensely, without fear of it being ripped away?

But maybe people do fear it being ripped away, and they love regardless. Fear doesn’t make love disappear, it makes it stronger. Because what if that person is gone one day? What if you never told them how you felt? What if you never even got the chance to see if you could love like that? Isn’t it better to try than never know?

As you look out the train doors, the sky is turning a soft pink and purple. The sun is setting over the city in one of those perfect nights, slow, like each color being revealed is a purposeful brushstroke, hand painted. A sign. 

Sunsets. Steve. A good song. Steve. Your friends. Steve. Your family. Steve. 

Easier than breathing. 

An undeniable, unavoidable, unforgiving wave of heartbreak rolls over you. But it’s not alone, it’s hope, it’s questions and answers, it’s relief and clarity and you know what you have to do. 

You unlock your phone, a desperation and need to get all of it out now, fueling each press of your thumbs to the screen. Maybe the story is wrong, but you’re the main character, narrator, and author and you can change it if you just put in the work to do so. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks, and you let them, unashamed, finally free of the place you’ve kept them locked away. Pressing send on the message, you hold your breath, hoping she’s not already too preoccupied with Nancy. 

The train doors open and you rush down the stairs. Each step slams against the sidewalk, sending shocks up your spine, cold air filling your lungs as each stride brings you closer to him, but not fast enough. You have to try to change the story, you have to tell him.  

But when his location is just out of your reach, when you see him, you slow down. 

Steve stands beneath the gold twinkling lightbulbs of the old brick theater, the white marquee sign displaying the title ‘When Harry Met Sally’. He has a black beanie on, hair sticking out and curling slightly. A dark gray peacoat flutters against the back of his thighs in the wind, open to reveal the yellow sweater he has on and your feet come to a skidding stop. His phone is pressed to his ear as he looks up from where he was scuffing his Nike against the sidewalk and makes eye contact with you. 

Your heart beat has thoroughly been replaced again as your hands start to shake, each slow step to him stretched out and lingering, lasting for what feels like minutes instead of seconds. 

What if. What if. What if.

The phone slips, hand falling to his side. His brows furrow just under his hat and you want to reach forward and brush the worry away with your thumb. His greeting leaves him quietly, a puff of his breath and the word floating in the air just a few feet from you.

 “Hi.”

Gesturing with a trembling hand to the sign above that you can no longer see, fully under the gold lights, you blurt out, “Did you know that it came out in 89’? So technically it’s a bad 80s rom com. I was wrong.”

Steve shakes his head, the twinkle of the lights highlighting the brown in his eyes, warm and sweet and deeply confused as he starts, “What are you-”

“I was wrong about a lot of things, Steve. And I know I’m late in saying that. I know I’m late for a lot more, but I think it’s better to say it late, to say it now, than to never tell you and wonder for the rest of my life.”

Steve’s lips part, your name a whisper on them, but you take a deep inhale and prepare to get it all out fast and without fear of needing a breath akin to the way Robin speaks, just so you can leave yourself open and vulnerable despite knowing that it could, and most likely will, hurt. 

“I’m sorry if Leigh is inside or she’s gonna be here soon, but I have to tell you. I…Steve I’m sorry. I wanted to be friends with benefits because I was selfish. You were right. I wanted it both ways. At first, you were just this guy who was hot and funny and knew what he was doing and I didn’t want to lose that. But then, then I got to know you and that’s when it got complicated, because I really didn’t want to lose you then.” You swallow as Steve freezes in front of you, no longer stepping towards you and his shoulders hunch like he’s holding his breath as you keep going.

“I wanted you, but I was scared to commit, scared that if I did commit, I’d lose you all anyways. And I still am scared. Terrified,” you laugh a little as tears start to roll down your cheeks, “But I think being scared is worth it if I’m doing it with you. Because…” Inhaling, you take a step closer as Steve blinks at you, willing the words to keep coming.

“Because I think we could be something special if we gave it a real chance. And I think that we can’t know what’s going to happen, maybe it all blows up in our faces, but at least we tried and we’ll know and we won’t spend our lives wondering what if.” Tears blur your vision as you leave it all out there, words that feel like they’ve wanted to tumble out of you forever just keep coming, faster and faster, your hands gesturing wildly with each one, stepping closer and closer to him.

“And I want to try so badly Steve. I want to hold your hand in public and go on dates and tease you and make memories with you and I think we could fall in love, I think I was already starting to. Like real love. Like that undeniable, scary, kind of love, and I’m sorry you’ll have to wait for me to get there to say it, but if you give it a chance…I think we’re worth the wait. I don’t care that I’m saying all of this too late, I don’t care that you’re getting married because at least I said it and if you wanna stand up there and say I do to her in May then that’s fine, I can move on, maybe, I think, because at least I’ll know I tried and-”

“Woah, woah, woah.” 

Steve grabs your shaking hands, interrupting you. Cedar and mint hit your nose as you inhale, his cologne lingering on his scarf. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. One hand leaves yours, fingers curling under your chin as he murmurs, “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re…” you hiccup a laugh through your tears, “What?”

He tilts his head and clears his throat, repeating it as his thumb brushes a tear from your cheek, fingers squeezing your hand. “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re not getting married,” you repeat it again, quieter, letting the words sink in. 

Steve shakes his head no, the back of his knuckles brushing more tears from your cheek as he lets out a shaky breath. “I called it off the day after…after everything.”

“Oh,” you swallow, eyes blinking up at him under wet lashes as the reality of the extremely vulnerable words you practically just shouted at him sit unreciprocated still, unable to be taken back. 

Steve’s lips twitch on the right, like he’s fighting a smile, eyebrows furrowed deeper as he sighs, “Yeah. Quit my job too.”

“What? Steve, why, what-”

His fingers trace your jaw as he shakes his head again, rolling his eyes but the smile fighting on his lips wins. “This girl that drives me crazy basically quoted The Notebook scene at me and I decided I’d rather have the life I wanted, have her, or have nothing at all. But I didn’t think she felt the same way, and I wasn’t going to push her again.”

You smile, a laugh bubbling out of you as you shake your head, “You’re crazy about me?”

Steve laughs, his hat bumping yours as your foreheads touch. You drop his hand, both of yours pressing to the soft yellow material against his chest. His breath warm against your cheek as you ask, “So what happens now?”

He pulls away, forehead leaving yours and creating a small space between the two of you, you already want closed again. The lights make the green almost disappear from his eyes, golden, sunshine pulling you in and making you beg for more of it to light you up, a tether, your gravity, just like they’ve always been. 

Steve clears his throat, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing over the apples of them as he declares, “Well, rule number one, we tell Robin.”

“Deal,” you tilt your head, playing his game. Your hands slowly crawl up his chest, wrapping around his neck, playing with the collar of the coat as you throw out, “Pet names?”

Steve nods dramatically, pinching his eyes closed, “Oh yeah. So many.” He leans in, nose tracing up the line of yours slowly, foreheads knocking together as the tips of your shoes meet. “I’m gonna call you babe and honey loudly at the grocery store for no reason other than I can.”

“Yeah?” Your top lip hits his with the lift of your smile and question.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Steve’s hands cup the back of your head, tilting you open for him as he ducks down, mouth hovering above yours as he speaks like you’re the only two people in the world. 

“But right now? Right now I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Which bad 90s rom com you steal that one out of, Harrington?” You whisper against his lips. 

Steve smiles, gaze tracing the curve of your lips then meeting yours as he takes a deep breath. 

“You liked it.” 

And maybe the marquee lights twinkle above you a little brighter as you finally meet in a kiss. Maybe snowflakes start drifting down from the clouds lazily, covering everything in a fresh start right at the moment his hands wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer, your back arching from the passion of his kiss. Maybe a terrible top forty song blares out of someone’s car as it drives past, your foot popping off the pavement a little when he pulls away for a breath only to lean and kiss you deeper and slower. 

The universe can’t guarantee anything for you and Steve, but it is giving you a chance. There is nothing, not even love, that can keep away the inevitable struggle, heartbreak, or loss life will be sure to throw at you. Which is scary, but doing it together, his hand in yours, makes it less so. Yes, it won’t always be easy, but the hard work you’ll both put in when it isn’t, means it’s real. There is no one other than yourselves who can decide if your relationship could be like the movies. The two of you are the only ones that can calculate if there’s still time for a happy ending in your story. Only Steve and you can be certain that the fear of heartbreak or pain is worth taking the risk, because if you don’t, if you let the chance slip away, you’ll never know if one day you could have called it love. 

WCIL Taglist: @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii @silkholland @redbarn1995

[pascha-chan]

Bleach fans how do you think Aizen's inner world looks like?

This my idea

in his world there is day and night cycle, at night there's always a full moon reflecting on the surface

Day

Night

I imagine a seamless world of sky and the ocean.Like you cant really tell where the sky ends and where the sea begins,kinda representing the whole aspect of illussions he can make(or the fact that he hides his true self and you dont know which is the REAL him)

Also the vast ocean represents both his ambition,thirst for knowledge but at the same time his lonelyness!

Usually the need to explore the ocean means our need to discover something new,be brave enough to get out there and find new horizons, new worlds..It makes you feel free right?

But on the other hand the thought of being stranded in the middle of the ocean is terrifying,you feel hopeless and guess what, lonely!!!

Which is something Aizen always felt!!

Yes his world is limmitless but he is the only one there no other life not even an island or something exists.

It's just him on a boat sailing into the endless sea searching for someone to understand him but no one can (except for Ichigo,but he had to become a freak of a powerhouse and even then he got a glimpse)

So when Aizen couldnt find anyone equal his world from this beatifull vibrant place turn into a moonless dark place instead

It looks breathtaking but it still you cant help yourself but to feel isolated and maybe by the time we get to the hell arc Aizen' world is complete enveloped in darkness!! (Aka depression,like when Ichigo is grieving in his world it rains so much the buildings go underwater)

Anyway this is my thought about this subject,feel free to comment your own ,i would love to read it!!

[moonshynecybin]

what would you consider essential marc and rosquez watching? i don’t mean races but the stuff happening around it, there seems to be so much and idk where to start 😭

BIG ass question. i think it depends what you want outta this and how you best interact with content slash consume information. for me (not to brag but. winner of multiple historical essay writing competitions in high school. for context on the kind of freak i am bringing to the table here.) the research is kind of the fun part ! like i just started googling shit! i would go to inactive blogs and just search 'marquez' on them to see what would happen ! a lot of the times that works ! but it also takes a lotttt of time lol so i'll chuck some good resources your way, why not...

okay im not sure how basic we're talkin here but um. background. so the documentaries are, i think. the best place to start. theyre entertaining and offer a good amalgamation of clips to provide context for the actual racing. and like i know you de-emphasized racing (which is fine lol who cares) but it really is like the most important thing in the world to these fools and its a pretty visual sport so i think its at least helpful. like yes sepang IS about the press conference, but its also about the conversation they have ON the race track using their motorcycles. which is also somewhat a conversation that they HAVE been having all year long...

i'd start with hitting the apex (2013), its a GREAT introduction to the "characters" that does a lot of legwork to contextualize everything. lays the scene for where vale is at coming into his relationship with marc (both personally, wrt to marco simoncelli, and career-wise concerning his flop at ducati), and also how insane marc's whole deal is in general. the second half is. materially a study on what him entering the premiere class did to the sport as a whole. the introductory chapter in many respects

marc marquez: all in. MY introduction and blissfully free online. marc comma in his own words, with all the implications of that. a self-produced documentary where he is giving feedback about the edit of said documentary straight to camera and no less vulnerable because of it which is very marc imo. revealing both intentionally AND unintentionally about his whole deal with injury, vale, and his image.

motogp unlimited. im gonna be real kind of boring. like i would still watch it ! but do it kind of later, once you know the major players so youre automatically more invested. it doesnt really give you more than marc says himself in all in tbh, and i get the sense him and vale were NAWWWT interested in doing more than the bare minimum for it.

marc's rookie doc. free and subtitled on the youtubes. the first half of this is deadass just him wanting to fuck vale so bad while every comment from vale has me saying GIRL. out loud because the foreshadowing would be genuinely shocking if this was fiction. anyways the laguna seca of it all....

next i would hit up PODCASTS ! i think it makes sense after the documentaries, because these are all podcasts that arent strictly about rosquez (even if they are in many ways the main characters lmao) and personally it helps to put faces to lesser known names that might pop up before i listen to a purely audio product and get lost in the soup of sounds. the paddock pass podcast has two retrospective episodes about the 2015 season that are really good at context, oxley bom pod has a fun recent episode on valentino that i love, again just poke around a lil

videos. these guys have never filmed a lot of content together tragically. what i wouldnt give for someone to make them do an escape room. anyways ranch visit HERE (post explaining the ranch visit here). sepang presscon (sowwy) here. vale unhinged podcast interview the month after marc's documentary came out here. vale retirement interview where he gets asked about marc here. vale talking about asking marc to the ranch here. vale postrace at argentina 2018 here. UCCIO postrace at argentina 2018 here. theres a lot moreeeee just go on my blog archive and filter for rosquez and vids its easier lol

journalism. hello. okay so you should genuinely spend some time reading through mat oxley's stuff he can write (theres a paywall but you can run that shit through wayback machine). he also loves an insane comparison which i do enjoy.... again this is one that can be solved by googling his name and tacking on 'marquez' or 'rossi' or a specific time period or race it will probably reap some dividends. in terms of specific ass articles this one is kind of load bearing in terms of sepang and some of the interpersonal competitive tensions at play. that being said there are manyyyyyy crazy interviews and snippents of articles from other journos floating around motogp tumblr (like literally too many to link) adn its fun to dig around to find them, but mat oxley gets a shoutout because i was reading this article TODAY !

other content. honestly one of the best resources I'VE found for plotting out the arc of their relationship is @kingofthering's everyrosquezpodium series. you can REALLY see it play out lol. also her tagging system rules she very neatly lays out years and races... so if something jumps out at you, CLICK ITTTT ! also all of @ricciardoes fave presscon moments series. insane.

all this to say a small little rpf fandom like this rewards some digging! i would just recommend following narrative threads that interest you ! its also a small fanbase that is pretty research oriented, so if youre ever confused about somethin, just shoot an ask or run a search on someone's blog (@kwisatzworld has endless vale resources and @batsplat is one of the most thorough researchers ive ever seen, for example) like for real theres so much... i also have a primer that i made forever ago that has some links on it so you can peruse that if you so wish. but frankly a lot of it is just using those research muscles and being sufficiently deranged enough to be screenshotting reddit threads at one am so you can post them to tumblr because they mentioned marc and vale in the same sentence and that lit up some of the neurons in your brain

(and i know you said outside of races but i think theyre good benchmarks as turning points soooo you should do some diggin on laguna seca 2013, jerez 2015, argentina 2015, ASSEN 2015, sepang 2015 obvi, argentina 2018, and misano 2019. those are the big tentpoles of insane rosquez relationship drama imo. i mean theres many more but. im limiting myself.)

[kodydrs]

don’t stay at my house - j. kirstein

a/n : i need him in a way that’s terrible for feminism. I’ve been in love with this man since day freaking 1 and i think if i search hard enough there’ll be fanfics i wrote abt him when i was 15 (they will not be getting posted). but anywhos. why not send in a request, or ask?!

warnings: jean x fem!reader, jean x marco!sister!reader, fxm, smut (mdni), friends with benefits, brothers best friend type fwb, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it), titplay (not really), mostly fully clothed, not proofread (it’s never proofread), I’m bad at tagging still

ib: this one fanart i saw on pinterest

request: yes / no

rule number 1: no feelings. it’s called off straight away if either of us catch feelings

rule number 2 : don’t tell anyone

rule number 3 : all things must be discussed previously before trying

rule number 4 : consent is key

rule number 5 : MARCO CANNOT FIND OUT

It’d been a boring day. You had no classes, and you’d done as much study as your brain would let you. You probably could’ve invited Sasha or Mikasa over, but they both had partners to hang out with, as well as other stuff.

You were single. There was no real reason why. There were boys & girls that’d happily go out with you if you gave them the chance, but dating just didn’t appeal to you that much. Not when there were so many strings attached. But that doesn’t mean you were a slut. You didn’t jump from person to person’s bed or anything. You were happy with your situation.

‘Hey.’

‘Oh. I didn’t realise you were over.’

Jean stood at your door, arms folded and leaning against the frame. He chuckled lightly, walking into your room and sitting on the edge of your bed.

‘I’ve been here almost all day. Marco just went into town to grab stuff so the house is empty. How are you feeling?’

‘I’m fine, thank you. How about you? I haven’t seen you in over a week.’

‘I’ve been great.’ He says, pushing his hair back. ‘But I was kinda wondering if… um… I wanted to see your smile.’

He grinned widely, and the flicker from your eyes to your lips didn’t go unnoticed. You leaned forwards, closing the gap between you slightly.

‘You’re allowed to kiss me, Kirstein.’ You whispered, smiling at his unsubtlety. His grin growing, he brought his hand to your cheek, caressing it lightly before brushing his lips against yours in a sweet, gentle kiss.

‘I love your smile. You know that?’ He pulled back slightly, his hand moving down to gently squeeze your thigh beneath your blanket.

‘I know.’ You reply, moving your hand to hold his jaw before smoothing along the bone. His eyes closed, melting into the soft touch of your fingers on his skin.

He leaned in again, and this time their kiss deepened, his other hand moving up to grip your waist, pulling your bodies closer.

‘Jean…’ You breathed, bringing your hands to his chest. Their placement made me groan softly, heart racing.

‘Yeah?’

‘We can’t right now. Marco could get home any minute.’ You pulled back, pressing your foreheads together to maintain proximity. He muttered a quiet ‘damn it’, aware that you were right. He sighed and took a deep breath, trying to calm his body down.

‘I know this isn’t the best place or time, but I can’t stop thinking about you.’

You could only give a sympathetic smile to his words. You took his hand and rubbed your thumb along his palm.

‘You’ll have to stop it then. You remember the rules. No feelings.’

‘Yeah. Yeah. Got it. “no feelings involved”.’ He said, holding your hand. ‘But you don’t know how hard that is when it's you I could be with. Like, I keep catching myself thinking about things we could do together. It drives me nuts.’

You listened to him, but the inside of your mouth was being abused by your teeth, distracted by his words.

He leaned in to kiss you once again, but this time, your hand came between your mouths, pushing his face away.

‘Look. Jean. I do really like you, ok. But Marco and… if he found out, then that’s the end of it. You won’t be invited over anymore.’

There was a look of hurt in his eyes when you met them. His hands wrapped carefully around your wrist, pulling your hand away.

‘Please say you aren’t pushing me away right now.’ You couldn’t keep looking at his eyes, so they diverted to your wall, holding your breath like you were about to cry.

After a few moments, Jean’s grip on your wrist loosened and you felt the bed adjust as he stood.

‘Yeah. You’re right. We can’t do this.’ You wanted to look at him. You wanted to pour your heart out to him and get him to stay, but the thought of his friendship with your brother being destroyed seemed to keep you quiet.

‘You… You should probably go back to Marco’s room. Pretend the house is actually empty.’

‘Yeah. I should.’ He hesitated for a moment, but he gave you a small smile before he left, closing the door gently. As soon as his footsteps faded, you burst into tears, clutching your shirt to cover your mouth.

Jean left your room hurriedly, face flushed and heart racing from the feelings he’d just tried to suppress.

‘Shit.’ He sat down on the stairs, putting his face in his hands as he took deep breaths. ‘Fucking shit.’

It’d been a few months since the “incident” if you’d even call it an incident at all. You hadn’t seen each other since, and you had no clue if it was because he hadn’t come over, or because you barely left your room. But it didn’t matter to you at all. You had exams to focus on.

‘Hey Marco. Do you have any spare batte-‘ You opened your brothers door, only stopping when you saw he had company. ‘-ries.’

Jean looked up from where he lay on Marco’s bed, face flushed and burying his head down as if it’d hide the fact you’d already seen him. Marco went unphased, opening his drawer to rummage through.

‘What type do you need?’

‘Do you have like, 2 9v ones? Preferably lithium but not too phased.’

He found the first one pretty quickly, but it felt like a mission finding another one. After about 3 minutes, you both gave up and closed the drawer.

‘I’ll pick some up later when I go into town. Do you need anything else?’

‘No. I should be right. Take him with you when you leave.’ You nodded towards Jean. Jean who still had his face hidden. Marco gave you a look, but you just closed the door. You froze outside for a minute, letting out a deep sigh before you went back to your room.

You’d told Marco about what happened. Told him everything from the first hook up to the “break up”. He was a little weirded out at first, but he didn’t seem to care otherwise.

A few hours had passed when you heard the rustle of shoes before a soft knock on your door, followed by your brother's head poking in.

‘I’m going now. Don’t die while I’m gone.’

‘Take Jean with you.’ Marco opened the door fully, folding his arms across his chest.

‘You haven’t been phased by being alone in the house for the past month, so why now that you know he’s here?’

‘Because I know he’s here.’ You emphasised each word, trying to prove your point. ‘It’s like when there’s a serial killer in your house. You aren’t phased until you know they’re there.’

‘That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?’ A deadpan reaction was the only reaction he was getting out of you. ‘Whatever. Just don’t burn the house down.’

‘Thank you.’

Like any brother, he didn’t close your door properly, but you heard the front door close, followed by his car leaving and that was enough reassurance that you were alone in an empty house.

You only worked for another 30 minutes before dehydration set in. Usually you had your drink bottle on your desk or in your bag, but today seemed to be an exception because you couldn’t find it at all. So you stood, pushing your chair back and walked to the kitchen.

Like you wanted, the house was empty and quiet. It was always like that considering it was only you and Marco that lived there.

The house was big enough to fit more people, but living alone just out of the city meant it was mostly silent, mind the few cars that drove past into work or to one of the neighbouring houses. But it also meant that if you needed to, you could catch a bus to your classes.

You were reaching for a glass when you heard footsteps on the lino. It made you flinch, nearly dropping the glass when you saw Jean trying to escape quietly.

‘Why are you still here?!’

He froze, stepping back like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t meant to. Not that he wasn’t meant to be in your house. Just not at that exact moment.

‘Look. I didn’t even know you were here until you came into Marco’s room. I thought you had classes today.’

‘Is that your excuse?’ You asked. Your tone showed how pissed off you were if your expression didn’t. You left the glass on the counter, suddenly well hydrated before storming out of the kitchen.

‘Wait. Please.’ You felt hands grab around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. ‘Just… let me talk. Please.’

You maintained your frown, making it obvious you didn’t wanna hear what he had to say, but you were more respectful than that, so you stopped pulling against him.

He released a sigh and let go of your wrist.

‘Alright. Can I start off by saying I’m sorry? I should’ve checked you weren’t here before I came. That part is fair for you to be mad about.’ You stood, arms folded and leaning against the counter as the brunette continued. ‘And I want to apologise for how things turned out back then. I still really fucked up, and I’m not denying that any of it was wrong, because I pushed you and I shouldn’t have. You didn’t deserve any of that.’ You watched as he ran a hand through his hair, an action you noted hasn’t changed in your time apart. But you couldn’t meet his eyes, so they looked down at the floor, the same way you looked away when you last spoke. He sighed again, moving closer to you so his hand gently brushed against your arms.

‘Look. I know I’m not the best, and you probably have plenty of other options that you could go to, but… I still really like you. A lot. And I’ve done everything I can to try move on-‘

‘Jean.’ You interrupted sternly. It’s not like how you used to say it. You used to breath his name with so much love that it drove you both crazy. There was no love in the way you said it now. ‘Stop.’

‘Stop what? Talking to you? Even if I did, I wouldn’t stop thinking about you.’

‘Just stop it!’ There was anger boiling in your voice, but he seemed so clouded that he couldn’t see it.

‘Why? Why do you hate me so?’

‘Because if I don’t hate you, then I’m going to fall in love with you again!’ Tears brimmed your eyes as you finally confessed.

Jean’s heart skipped a beat. He moved closer, placing a hand on your chin and gently raising it until your eyes met.

‘That can’t happen.’ He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

‘Don’t you dare say that. Because I’ve been trying not to for months.’ You’re looking up at him, leaning against his hand. Reaching down, he cupped your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

‘I’ll fight it with everything I have in me but…’ He trailed off, leaning in so his lips barely brushed against yours.

‘But..?’

‘But I can’t promise I’ll win.’

He kissed you slowly, his hands sliding off your face and down your back, pulling you closer. The kiss only deepened as emotions ran high between the 2 of you.

You kissed him like a starved man, quick to get your hands beneath his shirt to feel the dip

Jean moaned against your lips, hands following suit as they slid along your thighs, gripping your hips tightly.

‘God. I’ve wanted this everyday since I last saw you.’ He whispered before pulling away slightly, looking into your eyes. You were quick to pull him back in, whispering against his lips.

‘Then don’t stop.’

He was hesitant for a moment before leaning down to once again taste your lips. He grabbed you around the waist, wrapping his arms around you as your legs wrapped around him.

‘I love you.’

You paused for a minute, almost like you were scared of the words, before you pulled away and kissed his jaw up to his ear.

‘Show me then.’

With a smile, Jean hoisted you atop the counter, positioning himself between your legs while he attacked your neck. A soft whimper came from your mouth, and your fingers tangled with the hair at his nape.

‘You like that?’ He nipped at your neck again, hips grinding languidly against yours. You grinded against him, making you both breath deep as his hands pressed you against the counter. ‘You haven’t changed.’

You grinned, pulling his chin up to look at you.

‘Will you fuck me on the kitchen counter?’

‘You’re a hot mess, aren’t you?’ He chuckled, his judgement clouded by lust and desire. You shurgged.

‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’

‘You’re so slutty.’ He teased and pecked your lips, but still started to undo his belt. Your grin widened, and you took his free hand, trailing it up your torso to massage your tit through the fabric of your shirt.

His breath hitched, and his fingers searched for your hardened nipple as he pulled his erection free of its restrictions. Seeing his throbbing cock, you slid your shorts and underwear to your ankles, revealing yourself to the man.

‘Fuck. You’re gorgeous.’ He stepped closer, swiping his tip through your wet folds and groaning as he sank into you.

Head thrown back, you gripped his hand that was on your breast, while your other held his nape, keeping you upright.

‘Holy shit-‘

‘That’s right, baby. Just like that. Take it all.’ He started with moving slowly, dragging himself along your walls with a string of soft grunts. But as he felt you relax around him, he picked up speed, skin slapping together in rhythm.

Damn did you miss this. Both of you missed it. Missed the way he’d tease you by changing pace, but just not enough teasing to annoy you. Missed the way you had to keep a hand over your mouth so the neighbours couldn’t hear you being fucked by your brothers best friend.

Jean leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, his thrusts growing deeper and more intense as he felt you clench around him tightly.

‘Jean.’ You whimpered, interlacing your fingers.

‘I know, baby.’ He bit your bottom lip, feeling the pleasure coursing through you both. He could tell by the way your body was reacting that you were close, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t either, noticeable by his movements becoming more desperate.

You did your best to grind your hips to his timing, making you both groan. Eyes rolled at the overwhelming sensation, unable to hold back any longer.

‘Fuck. I’m gonna cum.’

‘You can cum inside.’ You panted, pulling his lips back to yours. With a few final thrusts, he groaned as he released his seed deep inside you, feeling your wall clench around him in the most perfect way. You came hard at the same time, trembling against him as the aftermath washed over you both.

‘Fuck, baby…’ Leaning heavily forwards and stabilising himself on the counter, he pressed gentle kisses along your neck and collarbone. Your hand on the back of his neck found its way to his hair, running your fingers through the strands.

‘T-That was good.’

He sighed, an unmatched sense of comfort in your presence. Arm wrapped around you, he pulled back to look in your eyes.

‘God. I want you.’ His face was flushed, like he was embarrassed to admit it. You smiled, brushing his hair out of his face.

‘Then you can have me.’ His heart races at your words. searching your eyes like they would tell him how serious you were being. You just grin, pulling him back down for another kiss. Another kiss, just as the front door opens.

‘Shit.’

© kodydrs

all rights and reserves are copyright to kodydrs on tumblr. this material is not to be copied or translated.

[elliespeach]

you belong to me | part two

 

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: ellie’s crush seems to spiral out of control one day on patrol and now she’s left to face the consequences.

warnings: 18+, strong language, sexually explicit descriptions, ellie and reader smoke weed together, possession and jealousy, david bowe? sandra

wordcount: 3k+ (periodt)

author note: thank you guys for so much love on the first part, i appreciate it more than you know that people enjoy my writing! i saw a tiktok about how moonage daydream is probably one of ellie’s favorite songs and i HAD to jump on it (i dont know who made the tt im sorry) i love that song and personally, i totally see ellie loving it so u know i had to incorporate it somehow. i hope you guys like this one! w loveeeeee

ellie held open the door for you once you reached her garage behind joel’s house. the small but cozy little apartment was familiar to you, the smell of weed and ellie was pungent but delightful as always. a small smile appeared on your lips as you glanced around ellie’s room, you’ve seen it a hundred times but it just screams ellie and you loved every knick-knack. ellie couldn’t help but stare, twiddling with her fingers ever so slightly but when you caught her eye she dropped her hands and her eyes darted to the wall. 

“uh– dina and i smoked my last blunt, gotta roll a new one.” ellie stammered, suddenly really aware of her movements. she made her way to her small couch, gathering her supplies to make the perfect blunt for you. she could roll with her eyes closed, but you made her so nervous and she was worried her shaky hands would spill her stash. 

normally, ellie wasn’t like this around you but given the circumstances, she couldn’t help it. 

fuck oh my god ellie just fucking roll like you’ve done a thousand times. she made the mistake of glancing at you, seeing you looking around her room. her heart nearly lurched from her chest, you fiddled with her paint brushes, leading your finger to the comic book she had open on her desk. rollrollrollrollroll.

“what’s this?” 

“my amazing-spiderman comic, i read it like a thousand times already.” ellie had regained control of her shaky hands, putting all of her focus into it. you let out a small laugh, causing her to lose focus and look up at you.

“nerd alert…” you said under your breath in a joking tone, locking your eyes on her stereo. 

“excuse m–” 

“what tapes do you have?” you searched through her tape box, landing on david bowe, you let out an exaggerated gasp “oh, perfect!” 

ellie scoffed lightheartedly, “i have the blunt ready, when you’re done bullying me.”

“oh please, i could do worse,” you skipped to moonage daydream and pressed play. the music erupted through the speakers and you turned it down to a reasonable volume and turned back to ellie, who was watching you diligently. “thank you.” 

ellie held out the blunt for you and you took it while settling in on the couch, the song vibrating throughout the small garage. “don’t sweat it, anything for you.” 

keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe, put your ray gun to my head

“no, really thank you, for everything.” you said, taking a hit from the blunt. feeling what little nerves you had left diminish into thin air. being around ellie had calmed you down a lot more than you had anticipated, and this was noticeable to ellie as you got more comfortable on her small couch. she watched your every move, fuck you look good hitting the blunt. 

press your space face close to mine, love, freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah

“like i said, anything for you,” you reached out, offering her the blunt next and she took it with ease. “can i ask you something?” ellie asked, her confidence coming back with the high creeping up on her. 

“shoot.” you responded.

“what did you see in her?” along with her question, she passed the blunt off to you, and you hit it while contemplating your answer. 

don't fake it, baby, lay the real thing on me

“i don’t know, if i’m being honest. she asked me on a date and we had a good time,” you took a beat. “it was nice, for a little. i guess.” 

“she didn’t deserve you, you know?” ellie remarked, taking the blunt back. “i’m not saying that because i kissed you, im saying it because i really mean it.” and because i kissed you. because you deserve someone like me. 

not someone like me. just me. 

“yeah, i know.” you answered softly. 

the church of man, love, is such a holy place to be

a silence fell between you and ellie, and she took the time to inhale the smoke into her lungs and back out. it was nearly out now and she ashed it into the tray. you loved the way she looked when she smoked, her hair in a messy bun, eyes red. your mind raced to the thought of her hands on you like they were a few weeks ago, aggressive but polite. the way she treated every curve of your body like it was a piece of artwork, you’d never admit it but you yearned for that feeling again. 

“well, can i ask you a question?” you asked her and she nodded bringing the blunt back to her lips, which somehow gave you small flurries in your stomach. “why did you kiss me?” 

she raises her eyebrows slightly, cocking her head to the side with a smirk. “you kissed me back you know? didn’t we just vow never to speak of it again?” she said in a mock accusatory tone. 

“i asked you a question,” you demanded, half joking. “and we're high, so it doesn’t count.”

make me, baby, make me know you really care, make me jump into the air

she looked down to the blunt between her fingers, choosing her words carefully. “heat of the moment, i think.” lie.

“c’mon ellie, i was honest with you.” you persisted with a laugh, knowing she was keeping the truth from you. 

she breathed out your name and her red eyes bore into yours, “why do you think i kissed you?” ellie spoke softly, as if anyone else would hear. 

she wanted to kiss you again and images of you on your back and your arms wrapped around her neck flooded her mind. it clouded her to say the least, as if the weed wasn’t doing that already. the way your body felt against hers, the electricity she felt when she kissed you and above all, you moaning in pleasure by ellie just simply touching you made her weak in the knees. 

keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe put your ray gun to my head

“i wish you would’ve done it before i went out with her,” you stated, unsure if that was the right thing to say. ellie’s eyebrows raised and you admired her eyebrow slit and how it suited her face well, even if it was an accident. 

“i wanted to ever since you got here,” ellie remarked, thinking about the day you arrived in jackson, she smiled at the memory. “but you were so…you, it made me nervous.” admitting that to you made her cheeks flush bright red and she could feel the heat she was radiating off. 

“oh, wow. i make the infamous ellie williams nervous?” you flaunted, theatrically throwing your hair over your shoulders. 

“shut up.” she playfully pushed your upper body.

“you shut up!” you laughed, pushing her back which resulted in her dropping the small blunt on the floor. you both immediately went to go pick it up, your hands touching as they reached the blunt. you were leaning further over than ellie was, face close to hers and you could swear you felt her breath on your face. 

press your space face close to mine, love, freak out in a moonage daydream, oh

the feeling that came over her the day in the woods was back again, this time in fuller force. every nerve in her body was heightened and her mind was screaming, kiss her you idiot! over and over again until she couldn’t fight the urges anymore.

swiftly, she cupped your face in her hands, pulling you into a deep kiss. it wasn’t hungry or lust filled, it felt sweet and you all but smiled as she did. your hand involuntarily moved up to grab her forearm, desperate for her touches again. and as if she could read your thoughts ellie gently pushed you down so she was over top of you on her small couch. 

the song in the background faded out slowly, the only sound was the heavy breathing of both of you. your legs went around her waist and she lowered herself into you. she pulled away from the kiss, staring at you longingly. a small smile splayed across her face and she reached up to brush away a loose strand of hair from your face. she pushed it behind your ear, following your hair down to your neck with her finger, just looking as if she was committing you to memory. and she was. 

“els?” 

“yeah baby?” she cooed, still hovering her eyes all over you a new found confidence in her, knowing you were just as crazy for her as she was for you.  

her green eyes found yours, “i have patrol in the morning,” you all but whined and ellie groaned playfully, burying her face in the crook of your neck. “i should try and get some sleep,” ellie kissed your neck, sucking on one spot below your ear which made your body twitch. “williams!” you laughed and her face was in front of yours again. 

“stay here tonight?” she asked, almost begged, her puppy eyes nearly bulging out of her head. 

“course,” you replied and she very hesitantly got off of you to go to her dresser. as you sat up on the couch, you noticed the blunt still on the floor. picking it up and seeing it was definitely ashed by now you looked around for her trash can. 

when you went to throw it away you saw crumpled up papers in the bin, ellie wasn’t one to waste and when you reached down to investigate she yelled from across the room, “don’t!” but it was too late, the paper was being unfolded in your hands and when you saw what she didn’t want you too, you understood why.

she had drawn you, on your horse looking out over jackson from the patrol look-out. ellie came up behind you and snatched the paper away from you, replacing it with a large t shirt of hers. “you’ve been drawing me?” you asked sweetly. 

“maybe,” she tried to deflect, “cmon, change. you need your sleep.” you obliged, letting her take the picture which she flattened out on her desk instead of throwing it away again. she was embarrassed about it but you adored it and wondered if that was the first time she had done that. it wasn’t. 

ellie often found herself sketching you, even if she didn’t mean to. she was practicing eyes and thought they looked familiar until she realized they were yours. those were crumbled up as well, probably long gone by now and she cursed herself for it. 

you changed and despite the moment(s) she had with you, she turned away as you did letting you have some privacy. she was waiting patiently, looking at her old books on her shelf when you came up behind her and took her hand in yours. she felt electricity in her hands as you touched her, the feeling not going away as you pulled her into her own bed. 

you fell asleep listening to ellie’s heartbeat in her chest, her arm wrapped tightly around you. there wasn’t much said, the high putting you both to sleep and when morning came ellie was alone in her bed, her clock reading 9:06 am. 

for a scary moment, she thought she had dreamed the whole thing. she got too high and hallucinated you flirting back with her, kissing her sweetly and wearing her t-shirt. she rolled over and noticed a small indent in the bed and could still smell the springy smell that belonged to you. not a dream…

right, you had patrol. but why wouldn’t you wake her? ellie groaned and sat up in her bed, regretful she wasn’t able to say a simple goodbye before you left. she knew from previous trips you’d be back in about an hour, so ellie got up and got ready for the day and set out for the front gates. it was the middle of spring, she decided to wear a short sleeved blue button up with ripped jeans and her converse that desperately needed replacing.

as she approached the gates, the familiar sound of bustling jackson townies filled her ears. she could smell the breakfast from the only restaurant in town and her mouth filled with water, but she was determined to make sure you got back safely first. 

she was approached by dina, who looked tiresome. “thank god we have the day off, im exhausted.” normally, she would agree. patrolling could get boring as often as she did it, the same routes she’s always taken, fighting small groups of infected here and there. but today she wished differently, her eyes darting from dina and the still closed gates, she wished she could have come with you. 

“yeah,” was all she said at first, contemplating telling her friend about the events of last night. sandra breaking up with you, taking you back to her place, how you kissed her back passionately. it made ellie think about how you could have ever been with sandra, and if you ever kissed sandra like that, felt her the way you did with ellie. a feeling of jealousy swarmed over her, glossing over her thoughts and destroying them. had you done all of that with her? did you think about me when you were with her? were you with her like that?

she decided against speaking about it, scared that she would burst into flames on the spot. “i’m switching back to morning patrols next week.” ellie announced to dina who raised her eyebrow in question before coming to her own conclusion about why. 

“so things are good with you guys again?” dina asked, biting into a sandwich and the sight made ellie’s stomach grumble. 

ellie looked everywhere but her friend. “yeah, i guess so.” she figured dina had no idea what transpired last night being so enveloped in jesse, but dina knew something was off even if ellie had stated you two were okay. 

“so, what happened? all the gritty details, please.” dina said in between bites, ellie’s eyes still wandering to the gate. 

“where’s jesse? shouldn’t you two be off, i don’t know, making babies?” ellie said defensively, having no effect on dina being as she's used to ellie’s snarky remarks. she glanced back from the gate to look at her friend whose mouth was agape. 

“oh my god, ellie williams what did you do?” 

ellie scoffed, crossing her arms. “i didn’t do anything!”

“tell me right now, ellie. malcom owes me some favors and putting your name on horse clean-up will be no problem.” dina threatened. 

she sighed, looking to the ground in defeat. “sandra broke up with her and i made her feel better, okay? that’s all.” 

“you boned her the night she got broken up with?” dina asked, astonished at her friend. 

“jesus christ,” ellie sighed. “no, i didn’t bone her, asshole. we just smoked and talked for a while and…” 

“and what?” dina cut her off quickly. 

“she may have spent the night.” dina’s shocked expression changed into a soft one and ellie immediately huffed, looking back to the gate. still not opening. 

“dina!” they both heard jesse’s voice behind them, dina turned to see her boyfriend waving her on. 

“i have to go, but i want details when i see you later!” she stated swiftly before patting ellie on the shoulder and sprinting to jesse. ellie said a quick goodbye before hearing the familiar sound of the creaking gates, indicating you had returned. 

before she knew it herself, her legs were moving her towards the gate as the horses started to stride in. she waited anxiously, scanning faces of all the morning patrols before landing on your beautiful face, but when she glanced over to see your patrol partner, her hand clenched into a fist by her side. 

it was sandra, her horse keeping the pace next to yours as if on purpose. ellie’s face went red, feeling the heat burning her cheeks she thought she would have burn marks from it. she watched as you looked at sandra, laughing. that laugh you had been blessing her ears with the night before. “the fuck…?” ellie said to herself in a low whisper. 

you made eye contact with a disturbed ellie, quickly glancing back to sandra as if to say bye. and as ellie approached you and your horse, she helped you dismount without a word. “hey els,” you said happily, hoping to see her face relax. it didn’t, but ellie handed off the reins to a stable keeper before taking her hand in yours. 

she basically dragged you away from the stables, taking a quick look back to see sandra looking at you two with an unrecognizable expression. “ellie, she was already scheduled–” 

jealousy pouring out of her, ellie responded, “i don’t care about that, what i do care about is her playing with your feelings.” she said in a huff. her hand was still firmly in yours, leading you away. 

“she’s not playing with my fee–” 

“what was that, then?” she turned to you, stopping both of you in your tracks. “did she even apologize to you? does she even know how much she hurt you?” 

“well– uh… not really.” you responded shyly.

“exactly,” she let out a deep breath, she had stopped you in a small alleyway between unoccupied houses, the sound of the town around you seemed to drown out behind ellie’s heavy breathing. 

“i know what this is,” you said with a playful smile. “you’re jealous.” you pointed a finger at her chest and poked her jacket. 

“what?” she asked, half listening. her mind was racing with the thoughts of you and sandra on patrol together, laughing together, being together. 

“you’re jealous,” you said simply, reaching your hand up to her chin gently, redirecting her eyes to you. “its sweet really. but you don’t have to worry about her anymore.” you planted a small kiss on her burning cheek. 

ellie’s eyes closed in comfort at your touch. you pulled away, your intoxicating scent leaving her swiftly before her eyes opened again, peering at yours intensely. your faces just inches from her’s, ellie pulled you into a kiss. wrapping her arms around your waist to bring you even closer.

“okay,” she breathed, finally feeling herself relax with your reassurance. suddenly feeling a little self-conscious of her actions she cleared her throat. “let’s get some breakfast, yeah?” you nodded before wrapping yourself around her arm and continued walking further into town.  i don’t have to worry about her anymore, she repeated to herself. you belong to me.