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arkaiveofurown · 1 month ago

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Almost Enough (Part II)

Pairing: Sabo x Strawhat Reader

Click here for the Part I

You swore you were done with him. But fate doesn’t let go so easily. When you see Sabo again during Dressrosa, everything floods back—every scar, every silence, every heartbeat you tried to forget. Even after the pain, you can’t look away. And when war strikes again at the Reverie, you’re the one who finds him broken and bleeding, just like you were once.

Word Count: ~6,000 words

tags: hurt/comfort, yearning, after timeskip/back to strawhats, let’s pretend dressrosa happened long after lol

my masterlist here ♡

——

a/n: thank you @arlecchinoftl for requesting to add the “call me joe, call me will” scene from the series “The Capture” hope u like it (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

——

It started with a feeling.

You’d grown used to danger—the prickling sense of eyes on your back, the chill that whispered before ambush. But this was different. Softer. Familiar. Like a ghost pressing a palm to your spine, not to hurt, but to remember.

You were in a quiet port town on a supply run, the crew scattered through market stalls and dockside taverns. The sun beat down on cobblestones as you moved through the crowd, a basket tucked in your arm, your eyes alert—half for threats, half for something else.

Something you couldn’t name.

You paused at a flower vendor, pretending to examine the petals. But your gaze drifted—down an alley, across a rooftop, toward a figure that wasn’t there.

Or so you thought.

“Something wrong?” Nami asked beside you.

You shook your head, frowning. “Just… thought I saw someone.”

But no one stood where you’d looked.

Still, the feeling lingered. Like you’d been inches from a memory.

What you didn’t know—couldn’t know—was that just beyond the sunlit square, in the narrow space between two worn buildings, someone was watching.

Sabo stood in the shadow of a balcony, cloak drawn tight, hat tilted low. His hand slipped into his pocket, brushing the edge of a folded vivre card—the one he made for you, back when being by your side still felt like a promise, not a memory. He’d made it so he could find you in case of danger, if the world ever turned cruel. He never thought that this was the way he would use it—just to follow you from afar, unseen, and remind himself of the person he once had.

You laughed softly at something Luffy shouted in the distance, and the sound hit him like a wave.

He closed his eyes.

He didn’t deserve to hear that laugh again. But he needed it. Needed you.

Just to see you, even once, like this—alive, unbroken, radiant in a way the world hadn’t managed to dim.

His heart ached.

He couldn’t stay. Couldn’t risk being seen. He’d promised himself this wasn’t about longing.

But he didn’t move.

And then, for the briefest moment, you turned. Looked directly at the alley.

His breath caught.

But you only blinked, frowning slightly—then looked away.

He let the air out of his lungs. Leaned back against the wall.

He shouldn’t be here.

He should’ve left an hour ago.

But he couldn’t stop watching.

Couldn’t stop loving you from a distance he forced between you both.

You shook your head and turned back to your crew.

He waited a beat longer, then slipped into the shadows, hand still gripping the vivre card like a lifeline.

He would watch from afar. Admire from a distance. For now, that had to be enough.

Almost.

——

The market was crowded, a sea of people pushing through narrow streets filled with the sounds of chatter and the smell of street food. You weaved through the crowd, trying to focus on the stall in front of you, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

When suddenly a group of friends, too loud and too carefree, rushed by, chasing each other through the crowded space. One of them collided with you, knocking you off balance. You stumbled, but before you could hit the ground, there was a blur of motion—too fast, too precise.

Strong hands gripped your arms, steadying you. The grip was familiar, grounding, but you couldn’t place it. You whirled around, eyes scanning the crowd, heart pounding—but the space behind you was empty.

You stood frozen, your hand still hovering in the air as if something lingered just out of reach. The world around you kept moving, but in that moment, the noise of the market felt muffled, distant. There was something you couldn’t explain, something that tugged at you.

You stared into the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of him—of the person who had been there, who had steadied you. But there was nothing. No trace, no hint of familiarity.

You stared into the crowd. Into nothing.

He was already gone.

——

The streets of Dressrosa burned with rebellion—citizens screamed, the Birdcage loomed, and Doflamingo’s men crumbled. But your world narrowed to a single rooftop.

You landed hard, panting, blood trickling down your temple—and saw him.

Sabo.

Fire licked up his arm as he stood with Koala, his back to you.

Your breath hitched.

He turned. His eyes found yours through the smoke and debris.

And the world stopped.

You hadn’t seen him since that night—since you told him goodbye and left him in the med bay with a broken heart and a hollow silence.

He stepped forward.

You didn’t move.

Luffy’s shout echoed from behind you. “Y/N! Come on!”

Your spell shattered. You turned, running to your captain’s side without looking back.

Sabo didn’t chase you.

But you felt him watching. Like always.

——

The scent of ash and decay hung heavy in the air of Kyros’ home, the room dim and still after the chaos.

You sat alone, staring at the floor, unsure of what you were supposed to feel. The Straw Hats had scattered, tending to their wounds, but you couldn’t bring yourself to join them.

A soft knock at the door broke the silence, and then it creaked open.

Sabo stepped in, quiet, hesitant.

You didn’t look up.

“I didn’t know if you’d still be here,” his voice was rough, laced with smoke and guilt.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

“I figured you’d want some space,” he added. “I thought maybe you’d want to talk.”

You let the silence stretch between you. It was safer that way.

“Why now?” you asked, finally meeting his gaze. “After everything… why come now?”

“I… I didn’t know how to reach you. I was afraid I’d make it worse.”

You stood, your back straight, feeling the old wounds flare. “You could’ve tried,” you said. “You could’ve sent a letter. A message. Anything.”

“I wrote a dozen,” he whispered, “but I burned them all.”

“Of course you did.”

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “That you’d moved on. That you’d hate me. That I’d ruin whatever peace you found without me. I never stopped caring, Y/N. I couldn’t.”

“You don’t get to say that now.” The words were sharp. Bitter. “Not after what you did.”

He looked like you had slapped him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted that. Please believe me.”

You blinked back the sting in your eyes. “Then why did you go to her first?”

“I was stupid. I panicked. I thought she needed—”

“I needed you too!” The words exploded out of you, hoarse and raw. “I was bleeding. I was shaking. And you walked right past me like I wasn’t even there.”

He stepped forward. “If I could do it over—if I’d seen you—I would’ve chosen you. Every damn time.”

Your voice dropped. “But you didn’t.”

Sabo’s breath trembled. His hand curled into a fist. “I miss you so much it makes me sick.”

You froze.

“Every morning, I see you,” he whispered. “When I open my eyes, I reach for you—and you’re not there. Every night, before I sleep, I close my eyes and hope it’ll be different. That I’ll wake up with your head on my chest. But it never is.”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to fall.

“I see you in crowds,” he went on, voice breaking. “In every quiet moment. I rehearse what I’d say if I could just… make you hear me again. If I could make you believe I’m not that coward who let you walk away.”

You shook your head, voice catching. “I don’t even know who you are anymore. After everything—after how long it’s been—Fuck, Sabo! I don’t even know what I’m supposed to call you. I don’t even know if I’m still supposed to call you.”

That broke something in him.

His voice dropped low. Shaky. Desperate.

“Call me whatever you want,” he said, his voice low and desperate. “Call me stupid. Call me an idiot. You can call me that fucking liar. Call me in the middle of the night. Call me happy, sad, sick—” He moved closer, his lips brushing against your hand in a silent plea, his eyes shutting closed. “For favors, for sex, for a laugh, for a cry—just… don’t ever stop calling me.”

“I have never loved someone like this before,” he added, breathless, like it physically hurt to admit it. “And I don’t know how to stop. I don’t even want to.”

His voice cracked on the next words. “But it’s still me, Y/N. The Sabo who fell in love with you.” He looked into your eyes pleading. “I just didn’t know how to make you feel safe enough to stay. But I now know better.”

“I would make it right now,” he whispered, like a vow. “I’d love you the way you want to be loved. I’d be the man you deserve—the man I should’ve been all along.”

Your heart pounded. His words were a balm to wounds you’d tried so hard to heal, but the pain was still there, raw and lingering.

The weight of everything unsaid sitting heavy on your chest. Regret. Love. Anger. All of it.

But you couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

So you turned.

And left him standing there��reaching, breaking, aching for a version of you that had already walked away.

But as you walked, the ache in your chest only grew. I still love him, but… The thought lingered, bittersweet and uncertain. I don’t know if I can go back, if I should ever let him back in.

——

The crew had docked the ship earlier that week, staying in a small hotel nestled at the edge of town while things settled. Quiet. Temporary. Just long enough to catch your breath.

You found it draped over the railing just outside your room—the old scarf you lost during the final battle at Dressrosa. Burnt at the edges. Still smelling faintly of smoke and something soft beneath it. Something him.

You frowned, stepping closer, fingers ghosting over the fabric.

No note. No explanation.

But you knew who had brought it back.

Later, Robin would mention seeing Sabo slipping through the alleyways just before dawn, the scarf in hand.

He didn’t try to talk to you. Didn’t force the moment.

He just… returned something you thought you’d never see again.

An apology, unspoken.

——

“Hey,” Luffy said one evening, mouth full of meat as usual, “Sabo told me to give you something like… two weeks ago. I forgot.”

You blinked. “What?”

He dug through his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “Oops. This.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you opened it.

The handwriting was rushed. Uneven. Like he couldn’t get the words down fast enough.

I saw you laughing with Nami today. You looked happy. Lighter.

For a second, I let myself believe you’re doing okay—maybe even better without me.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about it after.

You looked like the you I fell in love with.

And all I could think was… I hope I didn’t ruin that.

I still think about you. All the time.

I don’t expect anything. I just needed you to know I’m still here. —S

You stared at the note long after Luffy wandered off, your chest tight.

He hadn’t asked for forgiveness. He hadn’t asked for anything.

Just made sure you knew he was still there.

——

You hadn’t eaten all day.

The others didn’t mention it, but you caught Sanji glancing at you with quiet concern. Still, no one said anything outright.

That night, when you finally returned to your room, the door creaked open to a faint warm light.

A plate sat waiting on your desk—still warm. Your favorite.

Next to it, a folded napkin. Balanced on top was a small glass jar of honey. The good kind. The kind you only ever found in certain mountain towns.

No note. No explanation.

But you remembered Sabo mentioning, once, in passing, how you always added honey to tea when you couldn’t sleep.

Your gaze lingered on the jar longer than you meant it to.

You didn’t touch the food right away. You stood there, heart a little too full, breath a little too shallow, wondering when exactly he’d slipped in.

And whether he’d waited—just out of sight—to make sure you saw it.

——

You weren’t supposed to be there. The Reverie wasn’t your battlefield—not officially—but when news reached the Straw Hats of suspicious activity involving the Celestial Dragons, you and Robin had infiltrated Mary Geoise under the cover of diplomatic shadows.

You split up to cover more ground. That’s when you saw it—a trail of blood, smeared across the pristine white marble like a gash across the heavens. Your instincts flared, every step echoing louder than the last.

Your eyes followed the crimson streak to a quiet corridor. And there—half-hidden behind a collapsed column—lay a body.

“Sabo?”

You dropped to your knees.

His Revolutionary cloak was shredded, his bare chest streaked with dirt and blood. His breathing was shallow, and burns laced his arms. His hat, the one he swore on once, lay forgotten beside him, crumpled and soaked.

“Sabo,” you said again, voice breaking. “No—no, no, come on.”

You shook him gently, and his eyelids fluttered. “Y/N…?” he rasped, voice cracked like old paper.

You exhaled a breath that hurt. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His eyes—barely open—tried to focus on you. His hand lifted weakly, reaching out like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

“You’re not… a dream?”

You caught his hand and pressed it to your chest. “I’m real. You’re not dying, not on me. Not here.”

He coughed, winced. “The world gov—”

You pressed your hand against his side, trying to slow the bleeding. “Don’t talk. You’re safe.”

“Didn’t think… I’d see you again,” he murmured, words slurring as his consciousness faded.

Your throat tightened. “Yeah? Well, lucky for you… I’m not done yelling at you.”

You stayed like that—kneeling in a palace built on cruelty, clutching a boy who once held your heart and now bled for a world that tried to break him.

And this time, you didn’t leave.

⸻

You didn’t leave. You hadn’t since you dragged him off that blood-soaked floor.

His breathing hitched, and you were on your feet instantly. His eyes fluttered open, slow and unsure, before they finally found you.

“…Y/N?”

You exhaled shakily. “Still here.”

His voice cracked. “You stayed…”

“You needed help,” you said, reaching for a damp cloth to dab gently at the sweat beading on his forehead. “I couldn’t walk away..”

You paused, your voice softening. “I couldn’t turn a blind eye for someone dying just because I was bitter.”

Your fingers lingered on his skin for a moment, as if the weight of your words and actions still held you there.

Silence stretched between you—fragile and full of history. You didn’t ask if he was okay. You didn’t ask why he was here or how badly he was hurt. Because the only thing that mattered now was that he’d woken up… and he remembered your name like it still meant something.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely.

You paused. “…For what?”

His eyes were tired, but there was clarity in them. “For everything. For not noticing your pain. For not reassuring you enough. And especially… for that day. When I went to Koala first.”

Your hands froze.

He continued. “You were hurt too, I know that now. I saw the bruises afterward, the blood on your collar—but I was in panic mode, and when I saw her first—I let that cloud my judgment.”

You looked away.

“I should’ve seen you,” he said, voice raw. “I should’ve picked you.”

Your throat tightened. “But you didn’t.”

“I did,” he said, suddenly fierce, pushing himself up against the pillows despite the pain. “Y/N, listen to me. If I had to choose again—if I had seen you—there would have been no hesitation. You. Always you. Over anyone. Over anything.”

You stared at him, disbelief warring with the ache in your chest.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel second. I was stupid and blind and scared. But if it cost me you, then I deserve the pain I’ve lived with since.”

You sat back down beside him slowly, tears stinging your eyes.

“I know I hurt you. And I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to show you I’ve changed. I’m not the same person who made those mistakes.” He paused, his breath shaky, but there was something in his voice that felt unwavering. “I’m ready to fight for you, Y/N. Even if it means taking it slow. Even if it means proving it day by day, I’ll do it. Because I’d rather die trying than live with the regret of losing you forever.”

“You have no idea how long I wanted to hear that,” you whispered.

His hand found yours, weak but warm.

“And I’m gonna spend however long it takes proving I mean it.”

⸻

He was stronger now—able to sit up without gasping, able to meet your gaze without guilt consuming him entirely.

Finally, he reached for you again. “If there’s still a part of you that feels anything—anything at all—I’ll fight for it.”

You closed the space between you and laid your hand against his cheek.

“There’s still a part,” you admitted. “But it’s scared.”

He leaned into your touch, eyes glassy. “Then I’ll be patient. But I won’t give up.”

It was the first time in a long time that your fingers reached for his without flinching.

You sat beside him, leaned your head against his unbandaged shoulder.

“You’re lucky I found you here,” you said.

He let out a soft laugh. “I’d say it was fate.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Silence fell between you—but this time, it was soft. Easy.

You turned to him. “If we do this… it has to be real. No walls. No more pretending I don’t matter.”

“You’ve always mattered,” he said. “I was just too blind to show you.”

“Then show me now.”

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re not almost enough, Y/N. You’re everything.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time they weren’t just from pain.

He reached a hand toward you, tentative. “Can I touch you?”

You didn’t answer—you just crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him.

His embrace was immediate, firm despite his injuries. His hand buried in your hair, and your face pressed to his neck, breathing in the scent of ash and safety and him.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

“I missed you more than I know how to say.”

He pulled back just enough to see your face, and then—so gently—it was like a promise, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It was soft and aching, the kind of kiss that says I’m sorry, and thank you, and don’t go again all at once.

When you pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking. “I’ll keep saying it until you believe it. Until I deserve to say it.”

You smiled through your tears. “You already do.”

He kissed you again, slow and deeper, like he was trying to make up for every second lost. You let him. You kissed him back like you’d never stopped.

But when your hand grazed over his side, he flinched.

You pulled back immediately. “You’re still healing.”

He nodded, breathing a little heavier. “Yeah. I just… I didn’t want to stop.”

You rested your hand gently over his heart. “We don’t have to rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

And he looked at you like those words were the first breath after drowning.

——

It was late, the kind of late where the world held its breath. Sabo had been healing—his injuries less visible now, though the deeper ones still lived behind his eyes.

Tonight, he let you undress him slowly, not with haste but with reverence. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t hide.

For the first time, he showed you everything.

The burn scars over his ribs. The faded marks on his arms. The raw places that had never quite mended beneath the skin. His body told stories he’d never spoken aloud, but tonight—he didn’t stop your hands. He didn’t look away.

“I never let anyone see me like this,” he murmured. “Not even myself.”

You touched the edge of a scar gently. “Why now?”

His gaze met yours, steady despite the vulnerability in it. “Because if I want to be yours again, really yours… I have to give you all of me. Not just the pieces I think you can love.”

Your heart cracked open at the truth in his voice.

“I want you to see everything,” he added softly. “Not just who I was when we met, or who I was after I lost you. But who I am now—wounds and all.”

You answered without words, only with your hands, your mouth, the way you held him like nothing about him scared you. What followed was quiet and slow, a rediscovery. His fingers trembled when he touched you, like he was afraid it would break the spell.

And afterward, with your head resting on his chest and your bodies tangled in the soft hush of the room, he kept talking.

He told you things he’d buried. The guilt. The mistakes. The nights he woke up choking on regret. He traced your skin while whispering the truths he had never dared to say aloud.

You listened. You held him. And in return, he let you in completely.

No walls. No secrets. No armor.

Just Sabo—raw, scarred, and finally, yours again.

And for the first time in a long time, you both believed it:

This love was enough.

You were enough.

He was enough.

At last.

#sabo x you #sabo x y/n #sabo angst #fanfiction #sabo x yn #sabo x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #sabo hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #exes to lovers #trafalgaw law x reader #portgas ace x reader

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gothy-froggy · 2 years ago

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Astarion Headcanons

Fluff dating headcanons

This man deserves it. Astarion x Gn! Reader

(Bg3 Astarion spoilers?) + not proofread

As we know that Astarion is not used to this kind of treatment or care. For 200 years he used his body to lure people for his master. And was treated poorly on top of that. This is something he isn’t used to.

Small physical touch

A simple squeeze of the arm, putting a hand over his, Astarion craves for it.

They’re so simple, yet, holds so much meaning.

Such pure and innocent intentions behind them. Intimate, not sexually. Just so much emotion and such a strong connection from a simple touch.

He likes it.

Even a simple, quick or a lingering kiss is just so nice. Astarion has kissed, slept, and held many, but not like this. It’s quite exciting.

The feeling of his beloved’s finger softly running through his hair got a sigh of content out of Astarion. His eyes fluttered closed. The way the their fingers goes through his curls, barely scratching his scalp. It was peaceful.

This was peaceful.

“Star.” They whispered. Astarion opened his eyes. He sat up from laying on their lap, facing his partner. A shaky breath aired out as his eyes shut as they placed their hands on his cheeks, brushing along his jawline. No words were exchanged. None had to.

Their feelings, thoughts, and love for each other were so loud despite not one opened one’s mouth.

No words could describe how much they cared for another.

Astarion grew to return such acts with the intention and his feelings being present. It was difficult at first. It was…odd for him. It was either awkward in his mind, or the spiral to disgust and the feeling of tainted leaking through the cracks of his heart and mind, perhaps his soul at well.

But the reassurance from his lover always pulled him back.

Nicknames

The nickname given to him? Star. It was definitely a shock to him hearing that as his nickname. He can’t help but be a little flustered.

He loves it. Astarion would live for it. Astarion loved it even more once he figured out the reason why his lover calls him Star.

Of course, he calls his dear, love, treasure, other sweet pet names, but the one his love gave him doesn’t seem to be defeated.

The night was chilling as the stars twinkled, dancing in the moonlight. Astarion sat on a big rock with his lover. Their gaze focused on the balls of light in the dark sky. Astarion’s was locked onto them.

“Do tell, my dear. Why ‘Star’ as my nickname?” He would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. Their eyes meets his, a small, gentle smile appearing on their face.

“Your name has star in it. A-s-t-a-r-i-o-n. Stars twinkle, they’re beautiful , like you.” Astarion let out a huff. Perhaps a small scoff.

“Well, I am beautiful.” A charming smile plastered over his face. His lover laughed, placing a hand over his as they leaned forward.

“You’re my star.” They whispered, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. Astarion paused, processing their words and the simple touches.

“You really are full of surprises.” Astarion whispered.

‘Their Star.’ He thought. It brought swirls of warmth inside his chest

Astarion’s love for the pet name Star becomes addictive. He gets slightly annoyed and disappointed when his partner doesn’t call him Star.

Hell, his treasure could even make him beg to be called Star if they wanted to.

It honestly irritates him how much he enjoys the silly little pet name. They really don’t hold much value or worth anything…or is that him and enslavement to Casador for centuries?

Nether the less, his love is here to show him what real is. What true love really is.

Perhaps the pet name is a spark of light for him.

His comfort (lover’s scent and warmth)

Nothing is more precious than holding someone with such passion. True passion.

Astarion struggled most on this. Surprising as it is, but the comfort involves holding someone. Being so close to their body with trust, letting your guard down,

But getting comfortable with having comfort is the most troublesome.

The fear of it being taken away becomes dread.

His nightmares are over, but they still plague his mind, making it hard to break through and open up. After a while, he did. He regrets not being able to break through before.

Whether it was a nightmare, or the utter crave of affection and his comfort, he always gets it. Astarion creeps into the tent, sliding an arm under his love’s, wrapped around their waist and pulling them close.

He presses his face into their neck, taking a slow and small sniff. Just smelling their scent, not just their blood, brought so much warmth and comfort. The warmth, the feeling of their body made all his stress move away. Astarion smiled to himself, pressing a lingering kiss on his lover’s shoulder, before whispering:

“Wherever you go, wherever you are..” Astarion paused, hesitant to continue as the fear and feeling of disgust creeps back in. Trying to pull him back to what he knows. Yet he fights it. The arm around their waist caused a small squeeze as he took a shaky breath before continuing.

“Is forever my home.” He whispered, forcing them out and choking over his words out.

“You are my true home.”

Maybe, just maybe, the fight for something new is worth it.

#fan fic writing #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 astarion #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion headcanons #bg3 x reader #fluff #astarion fluff

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rootedinrevisions · 5 months ago

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Better Late Than Never

SUMMARY: After years of friendship and one too many broken promises, Glen realizes he might lose the person who means the most to him. As he works to prove he’s ready to be the man she deserves, she wrestles with whether to risk her heart on the one person who’s been there all along.

The actress named is an OC that I gave a random name to. She is not based on any real life actresses or any co-stars Glen has ever been asscoiated or worked with. Just a random OC for the purpose of the story.

A/N: Thank you to the person who sent this request in. I am so sorry it's taken literally months to get this written. I hope it's worth the wait and that you enjoy it!

As always I'd love to hear what you guys think! I love seeing your comments, reblogs, and thoughts/feedback on my writing!

WORD COUNT: 11.1k

TAGS: In Comments.

The smell of cinnamon and freshly brewed coffee greeted you as you stepped into the cozy café, escaping the brisk December chill. The place was buzzing with holiday cheer—soft jazz versions of Christmas carols played in the background, and twinkling lights were strung across the windows. You tugged your scarf loose as your eyes scanned the room.

And then you saw him.

Glen was seated at a small table near the back, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he scrolled through his phone. His hair was messier than usual, a few strands falling onto his forehead, and he was dressed down in a flannel shirt and jeans, looking every bit like the guy you grew up with rather than the Hollywood star the rest of the world saw.

As if sensing your gaze, he looked up, and his face lit up with a grin that made your heart stutter. He stood, opening his arms wide.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite munchkin,” he teased, using the nickname he’d given you in high school.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face as you walked toward him. “Still holding on to that old nickname, huh?”

“Always.” His voice was warm, and before you could protest, he wrapped you in a bear hug, lifting you slightly off the ground. “Wouldn’t call you it if you weren’t so short.”

You laughed as he set you down, the sound muffled against his chest. “It’s good to see you,” you said, looking up at him once he released you.

“Good to see you too,” he replied, his smile softening as he held your gaze. “It’s been way too long.”

The two of you settled into your seats, the café’s warmth and the hum of conversation making it feel like no time had passed at all. Glen slid your drink across the table—a latte, just the way you liked it.

“You remembered?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course. You’re predictable,” he teased, winking. “Although I almost got you a peppermint mocha just to mess with you.”

“Ha, ha,” you said dryly, taking a sip of your drink. It was perfect, of course. “So, what brings you back to Austin? Don’t you have some big premiere to attend or a magazine spread to shoot?”

“Please,” Glen said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s Christmas. Had to come home for the holidays.”

“True,” you said, glancing out the window where people bustled by, their arms full of shopping bags and scarves wrapped tightly against the wind. “Austin does Christmas pretty well. Even without snow.”

Glen smirked. “You’re still holding out for that miracle snowstorm, huh?”

“A girl can dream,” you shot back with a grin.

The conversation drifted easily, filled with updates about his work, your job, and mutual friends. It wasn’t until you mentioned your upcoming birthday that his playful expression turned more serious.

“So,” you said, casually swirling the foam in your cup with your spoon, “my birthday’s in a couple of weeks. You still think you’ll be able to be here?”

His brow furrowed for a moment, as if the thought of missing it hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Of course I’ll be here. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“Really?” you asked, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice.

Glen leaned forward, his expression earnest. “You’ve been there for every big moment in my life. There’s no way I’m skipping yours.”

A warmth spread through your chest, and you quickly glanced down at your drink to hide the blush creeping up your neck. “Well, in that case, you’re invited to my very fancy celebration.”

“Fancy, huh?” His lips quirked into a grin.

“Super fancy,” you said with a smirk. “We’re talking margaritas, tacos, maybe a dive bar. Real high-class stuff.”

Glen’s grin fell as his face scrunched up in mock horror. “Please don’t tell me we’re spending your birthday at that awful dive bar on South Congress.”

You burst out laughing. “What, you don’t miss sticky floors and karaoke with questionable sound systems?”

He shook his head, leaning back in his chair with a dramatic sigh. “I’m just saying, with a couple of phone calls, I could get us into literally any place in Austin. Rooftop bars, private clubs—your pick.”

You rolled your eyes. “And spend the night dodging people trying to take selfies with you? No, thanks. Besides, you know those fancy rooftop bars aren’t my style.”

Glen chuckled, his playful grin returning. “Fine, munchkin. Dive bars and tacos it is. But don’t come crying to me when someone tries to serenade you with a terrible rendition of ‘Don’t Stop Believin’.’”

You smirked, raising your cup in a mock toast. “It wouldn’t be my birthday without it. Besides, it’s not about where we are. It’s about the people I’m with. My favorite people, to be specific.”

Glen pointed his spoon at you, smirking. “You really don’t have to keep buttering me up, you know. I already told you I’m coming. Whole weekend, no distractions. I’m all yours.”

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism creeping into your expression. “No distractions, huh? Not even work?”

He held a hand to his chest in mock offense. “What kind of friend do you think I am? I told my team: no calls, no events. You get my undivided attention. Pinky promise.”

He held out his pinky, and you laughed despite yourself, hooking your own around his. His hand was warm, and the contact lingered just a little longer than necessary before he pulled away.

“You better not bail on me, Powell,” you warned playfully, but there was a faint edge to your voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his expression softening. “You’ve been there for me through every big moment in my life. I’m not missing yours.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten, and you quickly glanced down at your drink, trying to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks. It wasn’t fair how easily he could make your heart skip a beat without even trying.

“Now, tell me about this party. How many people are we talking? And how many of them are single?” Glen said, flashing you a wink.

You rolled your eyes, smirking. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, you still put up with me.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to fade away. It was just the two of you, laughing and teasing like you always had, but the thought lingered in the back of your mind: maybe, just maybe, you wanted more.

* * * * *

A FEW WEEKS LATER

Your room was a mess of clothes—sweaters, jeans, and dresses strewn across the bed in a chaotic attempt to find the perfect outfit. You stood in front of the mirror, holding up a navy blue dress, then tossed it onto the growing pile with a sigh.

“Too dressy,” you muttered to yourself, reaching for a soft cream sweater instead.

Dinner with Glen wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, but still, you wanted to look nice. It wasn’t every day you got one-on-one time with him, especially since his life seemed to revolve around premieres, photoshoots, and packed schedules. Tonight, though—it was just supposed to be the two of you. A low-key dinner, catching up like old times.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the screen and saw Glen’s name pop up, a text notification lighting up the room. Smiling, you grabbed the phone, already anticipating something cheeky or playful.

Instead, your smile faltered as you read the message:

GLEN: Hey, I’m so sorry, but something came up, and I can’t make it to dinner tonight. I’ll definitely be there for the party tomorrow, though. Promise."

Your chest tightened, and you reread the text, hoping you’d somehow misunderstood. But there it was, plain as day. He wasn’t coming.

You sank down onto the edge of your bed, staring at the message. A flicker of disappointment stirred in your chest, and you tried to push it down. It wasn’t like he’d done this on purpose. Glen was busy—always busy. You knew that.

Still, tonight had felt different. It wasn’t just any dinner; it was the start of your birthday weekend, and it had been his idea to plan something special just the two of you to start the weekend off.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond. You didn’t want to come off as upset, even if you were.

Finally, you typed: No worries. I’ll see you tomorrow!

You added a smiley face at the end, hoping it would mask the sting of disappointment.

Glen’s reply came almost instantly: Thanks for understanding. I owe you one. Tomorrow’s going to be amazing—I promise!

You set your phone down and exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the letdown. It wasn’t the end of the world. You still had tomorrow, and it wasn’t like you weren’t able to make other plans tonight. Maybe you’d text a friend and see if they wanted to grab a drink or hang out.

But even as you stood up and started putting the clothes back into your closet, the nagging feeling lingered. Glen had been your best friend since forever, and deep down, you’d hoped tonight would feel like old times again—just you and him, laughing over tacos and margaritas like nothing had changed.

As you finished hanging up the last of your clothes, your phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t a text—just a notification from Instagram. You picked it up, your thumb mindlessly tapping the app out of habit.

The screen lit up with familiar photos from friends, coworkers, and influencers. You scrolled past a shot of someone’s latte art and a blurry concert video before something caught your eye.

It was Glen. The photo, posted by a good friend of Glen was unmistakable: Glen, standing in the corner of a lavish party, his arm casually slung around her.

The caption read, "Celebrating with the one and only @GlenPowell and the incomparable @AlannaNorris at her wrap party tonight! 🎬✨"

Your heart sank.

You tapped on the image, zooming in despite yourself. Glen looked every bit the part of Hollywood star—broad smile, hair perfectly tousled, a drink in hand. And then there was Alanna Norris, the co-star he’d been talking about for months. She looked just as radiant as she did on screen: long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, wearing a dress that seemed to shimmer even in the dim lighting of the party.

Your thumb hovered over the screen as you stared, frozen.

“Seriously?” you whispered to yourself, the word sharp in the silence of your room.

You clicked over to Glen’s profile, hoping—praying—it wasn’t what it looked like. But there it was again, a short video he’d just posted to his story.

The camera panned across a glittering rooftop, strings of fairy lights glowing against the New York skyline. Glen’s laugh echoed in the background as he toasted with a group of people, Alanna sitting right beside him, leaning into his shoulder like they’d known each other forever.

Your stomach twisted.So this was what had "come up."

You locked your phone and tossed it onto the bed, the dull thud breaking the heavy silence in the room.

It wasn’t just the fact that he’d canceled on you for some Hollywood event. It was because it was her. Alanna, the gorgeous, talented, larger-than-life actress Glen had gushed about every chance he got. You’d listened to him talk about her on phone calls, how brilliant she was, how hilarious, how effortlessly cool.

And now, she wasn’t just a co-star. She was at the center of his world tonight.

You sank onto the bed, feeling a lump rise in your throat. It wasn’t like you could compete with someone like that. You were just... you. The girl Glen had known since middle school. The one who knew all his secrets, his quirks, his favorite stupid jokes. But suddenly, that didn’t feel like enough.

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you rested your chin on them, trying to push the image out of your head. Tomorrow was your party. Tomorrow, Glen would be there, and everything would be fine.

* * * * *

THE NEXT DAY

The next morning, the sound of your alarm pulled you from restless sleep. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, but the heaviness from last night hadn’t lifted. Today was supposed to be a good day—a celebration. You tried to focus on that as you showered and got dressed, slipping into a casual outfit for your plans with the girls.

By mid-morning, you were seated in a cozy pedicure chair at your favorite spa, surrounded by the laughter and chatter of your closest friends. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus filled the air, and the soothing warmth of the foot soak should have been relaxing. Should have.

“You’re quiet today,” Maggie said, glancing at you over the top of her magazine. She was seated in the chair next to yours, her dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. “That’s not like you. What’s going on?”

You shook your head quickly. “Nothing. Just tired, I guess.”

“Uh-huh.” Maggie raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“Girl, you’ve been off all morning,” your other friend Taylor chimed in from across the row, her toes painted a vibrant red. “Spill it. What’s wrong? Is it birthday stress?”

“It’s nothing, really,” you said, avoiding their eyes.

Maggie closed her magazine with a snap and leaned closer. “Liar. Something’s up, and we’re not letting you out of here until you tell us.”

You hesitated, your stomach twisting. The last thing you wanted was to drag your friends into your Glen drama. But as the silence stretched, their expectant looks wore you down.

With a sigh, you finally admitted, “Glen canceled dinner last night.”

“What?” Maggie looked genuinely surprised. “Why?”

You bit your lip, debating how much to say. “He said something came up... but then I saw on Instagram that he was at a party for Alanna Norris.”

Taylor let out a low whistle. “Oof. That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, staring at the bubbling water swirling around your feet.

Maggie gave you a pointed look. “Wait. You’re upset because Glen ditched dinner, or because he ditched dinner for her?”

“I’m upset because he canceled, period,” you said quickly, a little too quickly.

“Uh-huh,” Maggie said again, her voice dripping with skepticism. “Come on, we’re not blind. You’ve been into Glen for years. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I’m not... It’s not like that.”

“Oh, please,” Taylor said, rolling her eyes. “You’ve had heart eyes for that man since high school. And now he’s a big-shot actor, and you’re still acting like he’s just your childhood best friend. It’s obvious to everyone but you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Maggie cut you off. “Look, we get it. You’re hurt. And yeah, him blowing off dinner for Alanna is a crappy move. But you know Glen—he wouldn’t miss your party for anything. He loves you, even if he’s too dumb to realize how he loves you.”

Taylor nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Don’t let this ruin your weekend. You’re amazing, and tonight’s about celebrating you. If Glen has half a brain, he’ll show up and spend the whole night groveling.”

You let out a small laugh despite yourself, grateful for their attempts to cheer you up. “Thanks, guys.”

“Anytime,” Maggie said, leaning back in her chair as the nail technician started painting her toes. “Now, let’s focus on the important stuff. What are you wearing tonight?”

The afternoon passed in a blur of laughter and pampering, and by the time you and the girls left the salon, your nails gleaming and your spirits lifted, the tension from earlier had eased. The golden glow of the setting sun filtered through the car windows as Maggie drove you all back to your place, the playlist of nostalgic throwbacks you’d put together for the weekend blaring through the speakers.

By the time you stepped through your front door, the mood had shifted to one of excited anticipation. The smell of vanilla candles filled your apartment, mingling with the faint scent of perfume and hair spray as you and the girls scattered to your respective corners to finish getting ready.

“Are you sure about this outfit?” you called from your room, stepping into the hallway in your dress. The shimmering fabric caught the light, hugging your figure just enough to make you feel elegant, but not over the top.

Taylor popped her head out of the bathroom, her lips lined perfectly in a bold red. “Girl, yes. You look amazing. Stop overthinking.”

Maggie appeared behind her, fluffing her curls. “She’s right. You’re the birthday girl—own it.”

You smiled, turning back to the mirror to smooth down the dress and fasten the delicate bracelet Maggie had given you earlier as a gift. The room buzzed with energy as you applied the final touches—adding a swipe of gloss to your lips, slipping into heels that clicked lightly against the hardwood floor, and making sure everything was just right.

As the clock ticked closer to party time, you took a deep breath and glanced at your friends. “Okay, how do I look?”

Taylor gave you an approving once-over. “Like a total knockout.”

“And like someone who’s about to have the best birthday ever,” Maggie added with a grin.

You laughed, feeling their support buoying you. Whatever happened tonight, one thing was certain: you wouldn’t face it alone.

* * * * *

The hum of conversation and clinking glasses surrounded you as you sat at the long table, margarita in hand, trying to match your friends’ enthusiasm. The restaurant was buzzing, its warm lighting casting a golden glow over the colorful decor. Everyone you invited had arrived, chatting and laughing, and the margaritas flowed freely.

Everyone except for Glen.

You glanced at the empty seat next to you, the one you’d saved for him. Twenty minutes had passed since the reservation time, and while you’d tried to hold on to optimism, your patience was wearing thin.

The waiter approached again, balancing a notepad in one hand and a practiced smile on his face. “Are we ready to order, or would you like a little more time?”

You hesitated, glancing at your phone for what felt like the hundredth time. The screen lit up with no new notifications, just the same string of unread messages you’d sent Glen earlier.

YOU: Hey, are you on your way?

YOU: We’re already here!

YOU: Everything okay?

With a sigh, you set the phone face down on the table and nodded to the waiter. “We’re ready to order.”

As everyone began calling out their selections, your mind wandered. Glen had canceled dinner with you last night, and now he was a no-show for your birthday dinner without even a text to explain. You tried to shake off the pang of disappointment creeping into your chest, but it lingered. You couldn’t help but wonder how much you really meant to him if he couldn’t be bothered to show up for this.

The waiter left with your table’s orders, but the mood around you was still light and cheerful—at least for everyone else. You swirled the straw in your margarita, staring at the melting ice as your friends chatted around you.

You glanced down at your phone again, lighting up the screen. Still nothing. Your chest tightened with a mix of frustration and disappointment.

“Okay, that’s it,” Maggie said suddenly, pulling your attention away from your phone. She folded her arms, giving you a knowing look. “Hand it over.”

“What?” you blinked, startled.

“Your phone. Give it to me.” Maggie held out her hand, her expression leaving no room for argument.

You frowned, clutching your phone tighter. “Maggie, come on, I’m fine. I’m just—”

“Obsessing,” she interrupted. “You’re obsessing, and it’s driving you crazy. Glen’s not here, and if you spend the rest of the night staring at your phone, waiting for him to magically show up, you’re going to miss all the fun. So, hand it over.”

Taylor leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she watched you with an amused smile. “She’s got a point. You’re spiraling, babe.”

You let out a sigh, holding your phone against your chest. “He probably got caught up with something. You know how busy he is—he’s always working or—”

“Or going to parties for his co-stars,” Maggie cut in, her tone sharper than before. “Yeah, we know. And yet somehow, he still managed to ditch your birthday dinner. I’m sorry, but that’s not okay.”

Taylor raised her eyebrows, backing her up. “Mags is right. This isn’t about work, and you know it. You don’t need to make excuses for him.”

You hesitated, the sting of their words hitting harder than you expected. “I’m not making excuses,” you said quietly, though even you didn’t sound convinced.

“Babe, you are,” Maggie said, her tone softening slightly. “I get it, okay? You care about him. But he’s not here. And we are. So stop letting him ruin your night and let me take the damn phone.”

You bit your lip, glancing between Maggie’s outstretched hand and your phone. The last thing you wanted was to let Glen off the hook, but part of you still hoped he’d show up. That maybe he had a good reason for being late. That maybe—

“Mags is right,” Taylor said, leaning back in her chair with a sigh, crossing her arms in a way that said she wasn’t budging on this. “You need to forget about him for now. Besides, you know he’s going to show up tomorrow and flash that stupid grin of his, and you’ll forgive him in a second.”

The words hit harder than expected, and a small laugh escaped from the table, though it wasn’t as lighthearted as it should’ve been. Everyone was looking at you, their eyes full of sympathy, but the teasing tone only made you feel more exposed. Your face flushed, and you fiddled with the edge of your napkin, not wanting to meet their eyes.

“I don’t—” you started, but your voice wavered.

You didn’t want to admit it out loud, but deep down, you knew Taylor was probably right. You’d forgiven him before. The way he could flash that charming smile, act like nothing happened, and suddenly, all would be forgiven. You hated that it worked on you, every time.

Maggie raised her eyebrows at you, a knowing smile on her face. “What? You think we don’t see it? Girl, you always forgive him.” She leaned forward, her hands clasped together on the table as she tilted her head, her tone softening a little. “You care about him, but right now, he's not here. And you deserve better than waiting around for someone who’s too busy to show up for you on your birthday.”

You didn’t have a response for that, not immediately. Part of you wanted to defend him, explain that there had to be a reason, but then you realized—he hadn’t even sent a text. Not a word, not a single message to let you know he was running late.

“You know, you’re right,” you said quietly, the sting of the truth washing over you like a cold wave. “I always forgive him, no matter how much he lets me down.” You forced a laugh, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Maggie’s smile softened, and she nudged you gently with her shoulder. “Because you want to see the best in him. But right now? You need to let go and stop thinking about him. Just for tonight.”

Taylor, always the playful one, smirked and added, “Let’s be real here. He’s gonna show up tomorrow, all sorry and sweet, and you’re gonna melt, like you always do.” She winked.

That earned another small laugh from the rest of the table, but you felt your cheeks burn. You could feel the heat rise up your neck, the familiar twinge of embarrassment that always crept in when they were right.

“I’m not that predictable,” you mumbled, even though you knew it wasn’t true. Your friends had seen you with Glen enough times to know exactly how you’d react.

“You are, and it’s adorable,” Maggie said with a smirk. “But for now, let me take care of this for you.” Before you could protest, Maggie reached over and snatched your phone out of your hands with the speed of a ninja, tucking it safely into her purse before you even had a chance to stop her.

“Hey!” you protested, reaching out instinctively. “That’s mine!”

Maggie looked at you, her expression all business. “Not anymore, it’s not. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.” She grinned, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “We’re here to celebrate you, not him. So, no more phone checking, no more waiting around. Tonight is about you, birthday girl.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, a part of you appreciated her determination. The thought of not having that distraction tugging at you was oddly comforting.

“Fine,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’ll try to have fun. But if he doesn’t show up tomorrow—”

Maggie held up her hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry. We’ll deal with that when it comes. For now, focus on the people who are actually here, okay?”

Taylor raised her glass. “Exactly! We’re going to make sure you forget about him. For tonight, you get to be the center of attention.”

A slow smile crept across your face as you lifted your own glass. “I guess I can get on board with that.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted back to lighter topics. But even as they joked around, you couldn’t help but wonder: Would you really be able to forget about him?

The night had shifted. After a couple of drinks, some terrible karaoke performances, and endless rounds of laughter that made your stomach ache, you finally felt yourself beginning to relax.

The weight of Glen’s no-show was still there, lingering like a stubborn cloud, but your friends had done a good job of distracting you. You sat at the back of the dive bar in a cozy booth, the group of friends scattered around you, making the most of your birthday despite the slight disappointment that had marred the night.

“Okay, but if you’re telling me that was your best dance move, I might need to revoke your birthday privileges,” Taylor teased, nudging you with her elbow as she leaned back in the booth. She was a little tipsy now, her cheeks flushed and her grin wide. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’ll have you know that was art,” you teased back, rolling your eyes but feeling lighter than you had when you first arrived.

The night had gotten progressively easier to bear. It wasn’t the dinner with Glen you’d hoped for, but your friends were here, and you knew they wouldn’t let you wallow for long. You took another sip of your drink and leaned back, letting yourself enjoy the music, the chatter, and the familiar, laid-back vibe of the dive bar. It was the kind of place where time seemed to stand still, and no one cared what anyone else was doing.

Just as you were about to reply to another one of Taylor’s jokes, you noticed Maggie was starting to make her way to the bar, probably to grab another round. You were about to call out to her when your gaze shifted, locking onto a figure that made your heart skip.

Glen.

You could see him scanning the room, his tall frame immediately standing out from the crowd. He was wearing that familiar smirk, the one that made you feel both crazy and happy at the same time. Your stomach tightened, and even though you were trying to enjoy the night, the disappointment washed over you again.

But then, something unexpected happened. Maggie, who’d been walking toward the bar, paused as she caught sight of Glen. Without missing a beat, she took a few steps toward him, intercepting his path just before he could make it toward your table. You could see her arms cross, her posture shifting into one of those rare, no-nonsense stances she had when she was about to call someone out.

You couldn’t hear the conversation from across the room, but you could see the way Glen’s smile faltered as Maggie leaned in. Her body language was firm, her expression serious. Glen’s hands went up, trying to appease her, but Maggie wasn’t backing down.

After a few moments of what seemed like intense conversation, Maggie pointed over her shoulder toward your booth. Glen glanced over, his gaze immediately landing on you. His face softened, but Maggie quickly cut him off, saying something else before gesturing toward the door.

GLEN’S P.O.V.

Glen was halfway to the booth when something—or someone—stopped him cold. He turned to see Maggie, of all people, standing in his path, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. She didn’t look pleased.

“Look, I get it,” he started, trying to brush past her with a smile, but she was having none of it.

“Do you?” Maggie’s voice was sharp, her tone cutting through the music and chatter of the bar. She didn’t give him an inch, holding her ground.

“Yeah,” he said, his smile faltering. He had hoped tonight would go smoother, but as soon as he bailed on dinner last night, he knew he was going to have to face this. “I know I messed up, okay? But it wasn’t like I didn’t want to be there—things just...came up.”

Maggie didn’t flinch, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. “You know better than this, Glen,” she said, voice firm. “She’s been waiting for you, and you cancel on her, then don’t even bother to show up for her dinner tonight. You can’t just waltz in here like nothing happened.”

Glen’s gaze softened. He could feel his stomach twist with guilt. He should’ve been there for you—he knew that. But in the back of his mind, he was still rationalizing everything, trying to make it make sense.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I swear, I’ll make it right. Just—let me talk to her.”

Maggie’s eyes narrowed further, and she leaned in, lowering her voice as if she wanted only him to hear. “She better have your full attention tonight, or you can turn around and leave. No excuses, no more half-assed apologies. She’s been let down enough by you already.” Glen opened his mouth to respond, but Maggie wasn’t finished. She jabbed a finger toward the door, a clear, no-nonsense gesture that left no room for negotiation. “You get it right tonight, or I’ll make sure she never gives you another chance.”

Glen’s stomach dropped, the weight of Maggie’s words sinking in. He was used to being the charming, smooth-talking guy who could talk his way out of things. But this? This was different. Maggie wasn’t just looking out for her friend—she was looking out for someone who deserved better than his latest screw-up.

“Alright,” Glen said, nodding, his voice tight. “I get it.”

Maggie gave a single, sharp nod, satisfied, before turning on her heel. Glen watched her walk back to the table and, for the first time all night, felt the real pressure of the situation. He couldn’t screw this up again. Not with you. Not tonight.

He swallowed hard, steeling himself for what came next.

YOUR P.O.V. AGAIN

Maggie came back to your table just moments later, her face a mix of amusement and mild annoyance.

“Well,” she said, dropping into the booth next to you, ��he knows he’s going to have some explaining to do. But I think he got the message.”

You blinked at her, trying to mask the surge of conflicting emotions that had hit you all at once. “What did you say to him?”

Maggie took a long sip of her drink, not missing a beat. “Told him it’s not cool to bail on you like that, especially not when you’re trying to celebrate your birthday.”

You stared at her, a little wide-eyed, unsure if you should feel relieved or mad. Part of you felt grateful for Maggie’s boldness in standing up for you, but another part felt like you should’ve been the one to confront him. But that didn’t matter now.

“Well,” Taylor said from across the booth, glancing over at you with a grin, “at least he knows he has to earn his way back into the birthday girl’s good graces. If he’s smart, he’ll make tonight all about you. And then maybe he’ll show up tomorrow with a damn good explanation—and maybe a gift.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the weight in your chest starting to lighten. You weren’t sure what was going to happen with Glen. You weren’t even sure what you wanted to happen.

Glen took a deep breath, steeling himself as he made his way toward your booth. His heart hammered in his chest, his mind racing with a mix of regret and nervous anticipation. The guilt from the previous night was still fresh, but this—this was his chance to make things right.

As Glen neared the booth, your eyes locked onto his. You straightened your posture, resisting the urge to immediately brighten at the sight of him. Instead, you leaned back slightly, arms crossed, attempting to project an air of indifference.

"Decided to show up, huh?" you quipped, your tone light but edged with subtle annoyance.

Glen paused, his lips tugging into that familiar, crooked smile—the one that always seemed to chip away at your resolve. “Of course I did,” he replied smoothly, his voice warm but tinged with something softer, almost hesitant. “You didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun without me, did you?”

You raised an eyebrow, determined not to let him off the hook so easily. “Could’ve fooled me,” you shot back, your words casual but pointed. “I mean, you’re only—what? Several hours late?”

The flicker of guilt in his expression gave you a small sense of satisfaction, but before you could revel in it, Glen crossed the final steps to you and, without warning, wrapped you in a bone-crushing hug.

“Wait—Glen, I—” you started to protest, but the words dissolved as his arms tightened around you, pulling you against him. His embrace was warm, firm, and so familiar that it disarmed every wall you’d been trying to build in those few seconds. Despite yourself, you melted into him, your hands sliding up to rest against his back, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

The scent of him washed over you, and you felt your resolve crumble. There was a comfort in his presence, a steady reassurance that you didn’t realize how much you’d missed until now.

“I’m sorry,” Glen murmured, his voice low and close to your ear. “I shouldn’t have missed dinner. I shouldn’t have been late. That was on me, and I know I messed up.”

You wanted to stay annoyed, to hold onto the frustration that had simmered since the night before, but the sincerity in his tone—paired with the way his arms tightened around you like he couldn’t bear to let go—made it impossible.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart skip. “I mean it,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “I’ve put my phone on Do Not Disturb. Tonight is all about you, and I’m not going to screw it up again. No distractions, no excuses. Just you.”

For a moment, you stared at him, torn between wanting to push him away and wanting to pull him closer. “You’ve got a lot to make up for,” you muttered, your voice lacking the bite you’d intended.

“I know. And I promise I will.”

He gave you a quick squeeze before letting go, and you couldn’t help but feel the absence of his warmth as he stepped back, his smile now tinged with that boyish charm that always made it hard to stay mad at him.

With a small, tentative smile, you sat back down, Glen following suit as he slid into the booth beside you. His presence was comforting now, though the distance between the two of you would take some time to bridge fully.

It didn’t take long for your friends to start giving him a bit of a hard time, teasing him about how long it had taken him to show up. But he took it all in stride, shrugging with that playful grin of his that had always been hard to resist. He made light of the situation, joking that Maggie had given him a “talk” that was definitely more intimidating than any red carpet interview he’d ever done. The table erupted in laughter, and you couldn’t help but chuckle too.

Glen fit in like he’d always been a part of the group. He didn’t just charm you—he charmed everyone. Your friends, the boyfriends, the husbands—everyone seemed at ease with him, and for the first time tonight, you felt a bit of the tension dissolve. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good. You were starting to enjoy yourself again.

“You know,” Maggie said, her voice cutting through the chatter as she leaned toward you, “I never thought I’d see the day, but I think Glen’s actually winning me over.” Her teasing smile made you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t deny that there was something endearing about the way he was engaging with everyone.

Glen grinned, clearly pleased by the compliment. “Well, I aim to please,” he said smoothly, sending a wink Maggie’s way before turning to Taylor’s boyfriend, Lucas, who had just shared a funny story about a mishap at work. Glen jumped right into the conversation, laughing along with the group, and before long, the entire table was at ease, chatting, laughing, and passing around drinks.

As the evening progressed, your glass had been refilled a few times, and the warmth from the drinks had made you a little looser, more relaxed. But you could feel the buzz starting to hit you, the tipsy weight settling in, and you knew it was probably time to call it a night soon.

A voice from the other side of the table broke through your thoughts. “Another round, anyone?” Lucas asked, his hand raised toward the bartender.

You smiled but shook your head, giving a small chuckle. “I think I’m good for now,” you said, but your voice was a bit more playful than you intended. “I need to slow down if I’m getting myself home tonight.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, Glen’s gaze snapped to you. His brow furrowed for a moment before his lips curled into a smirk. “Oh no, no, no,” he said, shaking his head as he placed his hand on your arm in a gentle but firm way. “Not happening. I’m not letting you drive after all that tequila. I’m driving you home tonight.”

Your eyes widened for a moment, surprised at his sudden offer. “You’re taking me home?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “

“Yeah, me.” Glen replied smoothly, his voice playful. “I’ll make sure you get home safe and sound.”

You glanced over at your friends, who were all nodding in agreement, clearly amused by Glen’s sudden shift into ‘knight in shining armor.’ You couldn’t help but smile a little, the warmth from the alcohol making the whole situation feel lighter.

“Alright, fine,” you said with a sigh, giving him a playful look.

The night had started winding down, the boisterous laughter and endless rounds of drinks giving way to softer conversations and a general sense of contentment. You leaned back in the booth, your cheeks warm from the tequila and the laughter that had filled the evening. The air in the bar felt a little heavier now, and you knew it was time to call it a night.

Maggie glanced at her phone and let out a low whistle. “Alright, it’s officially way past my bedtime,” she said, sliding out of the booth. “You’re lucky we love you, or I wouldn’t still be out at this hour.”

You grinned at her, your head buzzing just enough to make your movements feel slower. “I appreciate your sacrifice, Mags.”

One by one, your friends began gathering their things, exchanging hugs and goodbyes. Glen stood off to the side, his hands in his pockets, patiently waiting while you said your farewells.

Taylor, always the protective one, lingered a little longer. She turned toward Glen, her expression a mix of playful and serious. “You’d better take care of her, Hollywood” she said, jabbing a finger in his direction.

Glen raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin on his face. “I’ve got her.”

Taylor narrowed her eyes at him, clearly still skeptical, but you stepped in before she could say anything else. “Taylor, I’m fine. He’s fine. Stop trying to scare him.”

“I don’t scare that easily,” Glen quipped, but his tone was lighthearted, and even Taylor cracked a smile as she gave you one last hug.

With the goodbyes finally wrapped up, you turned back toward Glen, feeling a little unsteady on your feet as you grabbed your jacket.

“Okay, let’s go,” you said, your voice softer now, the buzz of the evening starting to settle into a tired warmth.

Glen didn’t say a word, just stepped closer and gently placed his arm around your shoulders. The gesture felt surprisingly natural, his hand resting lightly as he steered you toward the door. You could feel the heat of his touch through the fabric of your jacket, grounding you as the two of you walked out of the bar.

The cool night air hit your face as you stepped outside, and you breathed it in deeply, relishing the way it sobered you just slightly. Glen’s arm stayed firmly around you as he led you to his truck parked just down the block.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, glancing down at you, his voice soft against the quiet of the night.

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I did,” you admitted, your voice a little hazy but sincere. “Even if you did crash the party.”

He chuckled, his grip on you tightening just slightly as if to steady you. “Is it crashing when I was invited?”

“It is when you show up late. Maggie had basically uninvited you, you know?”

Glen laughed softly, the sound warm and deep in the stillness of the night. “Maggie never liked me much anyway,” he teased. “Pretty sure she was just looking for an excuse.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “That’s because she thinks you’re too cocky for your own good.”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Well, she’s not wrong. But if memory serves, you kind of like that about me.”

You snorted, pretending to be unimpressed, but your smile gave you away. “Maybe I’ve just gotten used to it.”

Glen stopped walking for a moment, pulling you gently to a halt as well. His hand slid from your arm to your lower back, steadying you as you swayed slightly on your feet. “Used to it, huh?” he murmured, his tone playfully skeptical. “Guess I’ll take that as a win.”

You glanced up at him, the soft glow of a streetlamp illuminating the curve of his jaw and the faint stubble dusting his skin. “Don’t let it go to your head,” you warned, though the faint smile tugging at your lips betrayed the sharpness of your words.

He grinned, leaning in just enough to close the distance between you. “Too late.”

Before you could respond, he began walking again, his arm still snug around your waist. The rhythm of your steps fell into an easy cadence, and the quiet between you felt comforting rather than awkward.

As his truck came into view, Glen broke the silence. “So, Maggie’s got her opinions about me,” he said, his tone light but curious. “What about you? Think I’m too cocky for my own good?”

You glanced at him sideways, your expression caught somewhere between teasing and genuine. “I think you’re...” You trailed off, pretending to give it serious thought. “Complicated.”

“Complicated?” He raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “That’s not exactly glowing praise.”

“It’s not an insult either,” you countered, shrugging. “It just means you’ve got layers.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You make me sound like an onion.”

You laughed, your voice light and unguarded. “Maybe. But onions can be sweet, too.”

By the time you reached the truck, Glen had that playful smirk back on his face, but there was something softer in his gaze as he looked at you. He opened the passenger door, his hand brushing your arm lightly as he helped you climb in.

“Sweet, huh?” he murmured as you settled into the seat. “I’ll take that.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth blooming in your chest was impossible to ignore.

The truck came into view, and Glen pulled his arm away just long enough to open the passenger door for you. He held out his hand to help you climb in, his touch steady and warm.

“Alright,” he said once you were settled in. “Let’s get you home.”

You leaned back in the seat, your head resting lightly against the window as you watched him round the front of the truck to the driver’s side. There was something about the quiet way he moved, the care he took in making sure you were okay, that made the lingering frustration in your chest soften just a little more.

As the engine roared to life and the truck pulled away from the curb, you couldn’t help but glance over at him, a thousand thoughts swirling in your tequila-clouded mind.

The hum of the truck’s engine filled the quiet as Glen drove through the mostly empty streets, the city lights casting faint shadows on your face. You felt the tequila working its way through your system, loosening your thoughts and your tongue. The warmth in your chest wasn’t just from the alcohol—it was Glen’s presence, steady and comforting, that made you feel safer than you wanted to admit.

You glanced over at him, his profile illuminated by the passing streetlights. “You know something?” you said softly, your words slurring ever so slightly.

“What’s that?” Glen asked, his eyes flicking toward you briefly before returning to the road.

“I think you might be my favorite person,” you admitted, leaning your head against the window and smiling to yourself. The words felt easy, natural, like they’d been sitting on the tip of your tongue for years.

Glen let out a low chuckle, glancing at you again with an amused expression. “Your favorite person, huh? That’s a big title to hand out. What about Maggie? Or Taylor?”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile stayed on your lips. “I’m serious,” you insisted, turning your head to look at him. “You’ve always been there for me. You show up when it matters. Well, except for last night.” The teasing lilt in your voice faltered at the end, the weight of your lingering disappointment creeping back in.

Glen’s playful smirk softened, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “About last night—”

You cut him off with a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “It’s... I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” he said firmly, glancing at you again. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

You hesitated, your fingers twisting in your lap. The alcohol buzzed in your veins, giving you just enough courage to let the words slip out before you could stop them. “All I want is for you to look at me the way you look at her.”

Glen’s brows furrowed as he processed your words. “Her? What are you talking about?”

You huffed, leaning back against the seat and avoiding his gaze. “Alanna. Last night. You were looking at her like she hung the moon or something.”

His confusion deepened as he shook his head. “I wasn’t—wait, you saw those pictures? You think I—”

“Forget it,” you muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” Glen said, his tone insistent now. He glanced at you, his voice softening. “Hey, talk to me. Please.”

You bit your lip, debating whether to keep the rest of it bottled up or just let it out. Before you could second-guess yourself, the words spilled out in a rush. “I love you, Glen.” The air in the truck seemed to still, your confession hanging heavily between you. You didn’t stop, the floodgates open now. “I love you, and I hate it. I hate that I feel this way because you’re... you’re the total package, Glen. And I’m just... me. You’re way out of my league, and it’s stupid, and I wish I didn’t feel this way, but I do.”

For a moment, Glen didn’t say anything, his silence deafening. Then, he let out a light laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, you’ve definitely had too much to drink. You’re just saying that because you’re tipsy.”

His attempt at brushing it off felt like a slap, and your chest tightened painfully. You laughed bitterly, though it sounded more like a choke. “Right. I’m just drunk.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” Glen said quickly, his tone shifting to concern.

“It’s fine,” you said sharply, turning to stare out the window, your body stiff with regret. “Just take me home. Please.”

Glen opened his mouth to say something else, but the set line of your jaw and the way you refused to look at him made him think better of it. The rest of the drive was silent, the easy warmth from earlier replaced by a tense, aching quiet.

When Glen pulled into your driveway, you were already unbuckling your seatbelt and reaching for the door handle, eager to put some distance between you and the awkwardness still hanging in the air.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said quickly, your voice clipped as you stepped out of the truck. You didn’t wait for him to respond before heading toward your front door, your keys jingling in your shaky hand.

“Hey, wait up,” Glen called, catching up to you in a few long strides.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, fumbling with your keys. “You don’t need to come in. It’s late. You should go.”

Glen’s hand gently closed over yours, stilling your movements. “Hold on a second.”

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see the pity or confusion—or worse, the rejection—in his eyes.

“What?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You said you love me,” Glen said, his voice equally soft but steady. “Did you mean it?”

You let out a strained laugh, trying to tug your hand free. “Like you said, I’ve had too much to drink. Don’t read into it, okay?”

“Stop,” he said, his tone firmer now. He stepped closer, his presence warm and steady. “Don’t brush it off. I need to know. Did you mean it?”

Your throat tightened as tears prickled behind your eyes. You swallowed hard, shaking your head as if that could somehow make the whole moment disappear. But Glen wasn’t letting go—not of your hand, not of this conversation.

“Fine. Yes I meant it,” you finally bit out, your voice trembling. “I do love you. Happy now?” You felt the tears welling up, threatening to spill over as you stared down at the ground, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. “It doesn’t matter, Glen. You don’t have to say anything. Just... let’s forget this, okay?”

Glen didn’t let you retreat. Instead, his hand tilted your chin up, gently forcing you to meet his eyes. His expression wasn’t one of pity or discomfort—it was something softer, something that made your breath catch.

“You think that’s a bad thing?” he asked quietly, his thumb brushing lightly along your jaw.

You blinked, stunned by the question. “What?”

Glen took a small step closer, closing the space between you. “You think loving me is a bad thing?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out.

“I’ve liked you for a while now,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t…I was scared you didn’t feel the same way, and I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

Your breath hitched as he reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was so gentle, so tender, that it made your heart ache.

Impulsively, you leaned in, closing the distance between you and Glen. But before your lips could meet, he gently stopped you, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders to keep you from leaning in further.

“Not like this,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You frowned, your cheeks flushing. “Why not?”

Glen chuckled, his thumb brushing lightly over your shoulder. “Because you’ve been drinking. And I don’t want our first kiss to be something you regret or something you can blame on tequila.”

You pouted, the alcohol in your system making your emotions harder to control. “I wouldn’t regret it.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he said, his smile growing as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “But I want it to happen when you’re sober. When you’re completely sure about what you want.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

Glen laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, I’ve been told.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “We’ll talk more in the morning, okay? Get some rest.”

You sighed, but a small smile tugged at your lips as you nodded. “Fine.”

“Goodnight, munchkin,” he said, his voice warm.

He took a few steps down the path toward his truck, hands shoved deep into his pockets. But something in the air stopped you, a shift in the quiet between you both that pulled you back.

“Glen?” Your voice came out more fragile than you intended, halting him in his tracks.

He turned, brows furrowing in mild confusion. “Yeah?”

You shifted your weight nervously, feeling the weight of the moment. “Would you... stay? I mean, just for tonight. On the couch,” you added, the words tumbling out faster than you'd meant.

His brow raised, caught off guard. Then a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, soft and understanding. “Are you sure?”

Heat rushed to your face, and you swallowed. “Yeah, I just—” you glanced down, unsure how to explain. “I’d feel better with you here. That’s all.”

He studied you for a moment, then took a step back toward you, his smile gentle but sincere. “Okay,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll stay.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, offering him a small, grateful smile.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Glen said as he put a hand on your back and guided you through the dimly lit hallway.

“You don’t have to,” you murmured, your words a little slurred as you swayed on your feet. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” Glen said with a teasing smile, but his tone was gentle, careful, as though he was holding back. “But humor me, okay?”

You reached your bedroom, and he paused just inside the doorway, his hand still warm at the small of your back. He lingered there for a moment, watching you with an unreadable expression. “Think you can manage, or do you need some help?”

You nodded, though your movements weren’t exactly graceful. A soft chuckle escaped Glen’s lips as he crouched down and carefully removed your shoes, setting them neatly to the side as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’ve got it,” you said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and fumbling with your jacket, your fingers a little uncooperative.

“Uh-huh,” Glen replied, his gaze never leaving you. His eyes softened as he watched you struggle with the zipper for a moment before he stepped closer, his hands moving with a calm efficiency as he undid it and eased the jacket from your shoulders.

He straightened, giving you a pointed look. “Want to argue about this too, or can I just help you?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. Glen’s grin widened, and he moved to pull back the blankets, gesturing for you to lie down. You sank into the mattress, the cool sheets pressing against your warm skin like a balm. His hands were gentle as he tucked the blanket around you, slow and deliberate, as though trying to make you feel as safe and comfortable as possible.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now.

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as the exhaustion of the night started to pull you under. “Thanks, Glen. For… everything.”

He lingered for a moment, his gaze soft, his eyes searching your face as if trying to memorize the moment. Then, his fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, warm against your skin.

“Get some rest,” he murmured. “I’ll be right out here if you need anything.”

He straightened, his presence still warm in the room even as he moved toward the door. He pulled it halfway shut behind him, the sound almost imperceptible. You barely had time to notice before sleep claimed you, his presence lingering like a comforting weight, filling the quiet space with an unspoken promise.

* * * * *

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the cocoon of blankets wrapped snugly around you, a comfort you didn’t remember arranging for yourself. Blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, you took a moment to orient yourself.

The events of the night before came rushing back in fragments—Your confession, Glen’s confession, your own vulnerability.

With a groan, you rolled onto your side, pressing your face into the pillow. Embarrassment washed over you in waves, but it was tempered by something softer: the memory of Glen tilting your chin, his thumb brushing your jaw, and his quiet admission that he’d been in love with you for a while.

Pushing yourself up, you padded out of your room, your footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor. You froze when you reached the living room.

Glen was sprawled out on the couch, his long frame somehow folded in a way that almost looked comfortable. A blanket you vaguely recognized from the back of the closet was draped over him, and his face was soft with sleep, his features relaxed and boyish. His arm rested on his chest, rising and falling in time with his even breaths.

Your heart squeezed, a rush of warmth and affection flooding through you. For a moment, you just stood there, watching him, your lips curving into a small smile.

Shaking your head, you tore your gaze away and headed to the kitchen. You busied yourself with the coffee maker, the familiar routine grounding you as your thoughts raced.

The sound of footsteps made you glance over your shoulder. Glen appeared in the doorway, his hair adorably mussed and his eyes still heavy with sleep. He leaned against the doorframe, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

“Morning,” he said, his voice gravelly.

“Morning,” you replied, turning back to the coffee maker. You focused on pouring two mugs, hoping the act would calm the sudden flutter in your chest.

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the weight of unspoken words. You handed him a mug, your fingers brushing his briefly, and he murmured a quiet thanks.

As you sipped your coffee, Glen set his down on the counter, crossing his arms as he leaned back against it. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and it made your stomach flip.

“So,” he began, his tone casual but his eyes serious, “are we going to talk about last night?”

You stiffened, your grip tightening around your mug. “What about it?” you asked, your voice a little too light, a little too forced.

Glen arched a brow. “You know what I��m talking about.”

You sighed, setting your mug down on the counter with a soft clink. “I think I made a fool of myself, and I’d rather just pretend it didn’t happen.”

His expression softened, and he took a step closer. “You didn’t make a fool of yourself.”

You avoided his gaze, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Look…I said a lot of things I probably shouldn’t have.”

“You mean the part where you said you love me?” he asked, his voice gentle.

Your head snapped up, your cheeks flushing. “Glen—”

“Because if you did mean it,” he interrupted, his tone earnest, “then we really need to talk about it.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his gaze making it impossible to look away. “I... I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just—last night, it all came out. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Glen’s lips quirked into a small smile. “You seemed pretty clear to me.”

“Glen,” you said, exasperation creeping into your tone. “This is exactly what I was afraid of. I don’t want to ruin what we have. I can’t lose you. And I can already tell that things are different. You’re being all weird about it.”

He stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. “You’re not going to lose me,” he said firmly. “But we can’t just ignore this.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. “What if this changes everything?”

Glen reached out, his fingers brushing yours. “Maybe it’s supposed to,” he said softly.

The honesty in his eyes, the quiet strength in his words—it made your chest ache. You wanted to believe him, to trust that taking this leap wouldn’t send you crashing to the ground.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “Let’s talk.”

A slow, relieved smile spread across his face. “Good. Because there’s a lot I need to say.”

“Why don’t you start? What do I need to know about what you said last night?” He asked.

Your heart pounded as you scrambled for something coherent to say. “I, uh… I wasn’t sure if we needed to… I mean…”

Glen’s amused chuckle cut through your nervous rambling, and you looked up to see his familiar grin. His hazel green eyes softened as he stepped closer, plucking the mug from your hands and setting it on the counter.

“Hey,” he said gently, tilting his head to catch your gaze. “Relax. You’re overthinking this. It’s just me. Just talk to me.”

You swallowed hard, trying to tamp down the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “I just don’t know if you—if we’re—”

Glen interrupted again, this time by pulling you into a warm, steady hug. His arms wrapped around you like they belonged there, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“Okay let’s try something else. I meant everything I said last night,” he murmured, his voice low and steady near your ear. “Did you?”

“Yes.” You hesitated, your cheek pressed against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your own. “But…where does that leave us?”

Glen pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. His expression was earnest, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something deeper, more serious.

“I’d like to see where this goes,” he said simply, his tone confident yet careful. “If you’re okay with that.”

Your chest tightened, warmth spreading through you like sunlight breaking through clouds. “I’d like that too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

A slow smile spread across Glen’s face, one that made your knees feel a little weaker. He reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Good,” he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek.

Then, as if drawn by some invisible force, he leaned in. You met him halfway, your lips finding his in a kiss that was both familiar and completely new. It wasn’t rushed or hesitant, just easy and natural, like it had always been meant to happen.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. “So… does this mean you think you’re officially off the hook for last night?”

Glen chuckled, his hands sliding down to your waist. “I don’t know about that. I think I’m gonna have to work a little harder to earn full forgiveness.”

You smirked, your hands resting lightly on his chest. “You’re lucky I’m a sucker for you, Glen.”

“And you’re lucky I plan on spending a lot of time making the last few days up to you,” he replied, his tone playful but his eyes shining with sincerity.

Before you could come up with a witty reply, Glen’s expression shifted, the teasing glimmer in his eyes giving way to something more intense. He leaned in again, his hand cupping your cheek as his lips pressed to yours.

This kiss was different—deeper, more deliberate. Your heart skipped a beat as warmth bloomed in your chest. Without thinking, your arms lifted, wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

Glen’s hands slid to your waist, his touch firm yet careful, grounding you as he gently pulled you against him. The world around you seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you in the quiet kitchen, bathed in soft morning light.

When the kiss finally broke, you stayed close, your forehead resting against his as you both caught your breath. A faint smile tugged at Glen’s lips, and his thumb brushed lightly against your jaw.

As the morning light filtered through the kitchen window, the air between you felt lighter, filled with the promise of something new and exciting. Whatever came next, you had a feeling it was going to be worth the wait.

#Glen Powell #Glen Powell Fic #Glen Powell Fanfic #Glen Powell Fanfiction #Glen Powell x reader #Glen Powell x you

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nineteenninety-six · 1 month ago

Note

Could you write abbot x daughter when daughters childhood best friend dies during pittfest and like she was there but fine without a scratch which makes it all worse for her which leads to her on the roof cause she knows her dad and the hospital , and she goes up just brushes part there alone after hearing time of death and like Jack finds her and he’s approaching like she’s a scared animal and she hasn’t even realised she’s on the wrong side cause she’s sobbing

Okay love you thank you!!!

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ Roof Ledge

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Daughter!Reader

TW: mentions of Pittfest. mentions of suicide of the shooter. death. etc

AN: Sorry I did change it slightly but I hope you like it regardles. Also this is short so I apologize.

Your ears ring as you hear the doctor call time of death, scribbling it on the wrist chart before stepping away and hurrying toward another critical patient.

You only get one last glimpse of your friend's face before a sheet is pulled over them and then moved away. Once they've disappeared out of your sight, the ringing faded and the noise of the hectic emergency department floods your ears and overwhelms you. Your legs tremble as you search for a place where you could get some fresh air, you turn to the ambulance bay before remembering that it's being used as a triage spot along with the countless vehicles arriving from Pittfest. Then you remember about your fathers favourite place in the hospital, the roof.

You stumble out of the emergency department knocking into people as you try to rush towards the elevator. Once you stagger into it, you mash the buttons for the top floor and fall into a crouch, unable to support your own weight anymore.

Tears and sobs escaped you as you cried into your hands and the t-shirt you were wearing quickly became soaked with tears as you tried to wipe your tears to no avail.

The fresh cool air greeted you when you stepped out onto the roof and it calmed you slightly. The chill breeze cooled you down and the fresh air helped you regulate your panicked breathing.

Automatically, your feet take you to the edge where your dad frequently visits and you slip underneath the safety rail and sit down, your legs dangling off of the hospital.

Your tears of sadness turned into tears of anger. You were so angry, so so angry. You just lost a friend, a friend you had known your entire life and now they were gone- dead and she wasn't the only one.

No doubt there were more people who died at the hospital but there were countless more that died at Pittfest on the field. Some instantly, some who couldn't get medical attention in time, some who were crushed in the rush to escape...just so many lives lost needlessly.

You were so lost in your head that you didn't hear the roof door open until your father called out your name.

He stood halfway across the roof, his hands held up as if he was dealing with a wild animal.

"Hey kid" Your dads voice was soft, "I heard what happened... Do you wanna talk to me?"

You only sob in response, the sound echoing around the empty roof.

"C'mon kid, step away from the edge for me please." Your dad begged, "Come talk to me over here"

"It's not fair! Why her at all people?!"

"You're right, it's not fair." Your dad agrees. "She didn't deserve it nor did anyone else who died."

"A- and I-" You gasp and stutter, "I'm fine! I didn't even sprain my ankle, I'm fine and she's gone."

Your dad joins you on the edge after realising that you were not moving anytime soon. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, "I'm sorry kid, I really am."

"Do you have to tell her parents?" You whimper.

Your dad shakes his head, "No. Robby will do that."

"They'll never forgive me" A fresh set of tears streamed down your face, "I' m the reason she's gone."

"You are not the reason" Your dad corrects, "The person-the man who did this, is the only one responsible. Not you, not me, only them."

"Do they know who did it? If they found him"

"They found him, he killed himself", Your dad scoffs and shakes his head, "He killed a swathe of people and killed himself…"

You scoff, "Fuck him, fuck this, fuck everything."

Your father doesn't say anything and there's a few minutes of silence as the two of you watch over the Pittsburgh skyline, listening as the cars drive past nearby and sirens in the distance.

"Do you want to see her? Say goodbye?" Your dad breaks the silence.

"Can I?" You hiccup.

"Yeah c'mon, let's step away from the ledge." Your dad stands up, offering his hand out for you to pull himself up with.

Your legs almost give up beneath you as you stand up but your father easily supports you as you walk over to the door and return to the hospital.

"You're alright kid, you'll survive this. It may feel like you're drowning right now but we will take it one day at a time."

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #dr abbot x reader #dr abbott x reader #daughter!reader #daughter reader #the pitt #jack abbot #jack abbott #dr abbot

303 notes · View notes

hockeyluvrr · 2 months ago

Text

no I’m not in love || ck9

series masterlist main masterlist

summary: You’ve convinced yourself that your feelings for Clayton Keller are nothing more than a passing infatuation. But when the Utah Hockey Club forward starts inching closer to your heart, you’re left wrestling with emotions you swore you’d never entertain.

warnings: denial, pining, no clue what else though lol

author’s note: this is definitely one of my favs, hope you guys like it too because clay deserves some love! also side note, completely unrelated but as I’m posting this I’ve hit 300 followers 🥹 can’t even believe it!

word count: 2,209

The rhythmic clatter of skates against ice fills the arena, the crisp chill in the air wrapping around you as you settle into your usual seat. You tell yourself that you're here for the game, for the love of hockey—but your eyes follow #9 a little too closely, lingering just a second too long when he glides past with a flick of his wrist and an effortless goal.

Clayton Keller. The name alone sends an inconvenient warmth through you. But it's not like that. It can’t be. You’re not one of those people who falls for a guy just because he has a killer smile and the kind of talent that turns heads in an instant. You like to believe you’re above all that.

And yet…

You shake your head, dragging your gaze away from the ice. It’s just hockey. He’s just a player. The way your heart picks up speed when he glances up at the stands? Coincidence. The way you find yourself at nearly every home game, your eyes searching for him the moment he steps onto the ice? Routine. Nothing more.

Nothing at all.

———

“You coming out tonight?”

Your best friend nudges you as you step out of the arena, the lingering roar of the crowd still buzzing in your ears. Utah won, and Clayton played like a man possessed—two goals, one assist, and a dazzling move that had the entire building on its feet.

You should be celebrating. But your stomach is tied in knots, and you can’t figure out why.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets. “I’m kinda tired.”

“Bull. You just don’t want to admit that you’d rather go home and overanalyse every second of that game, especially where a certain #9 is concerned.”

You glare at them. “That’s not true.”

They smirk knowingly. “Sure. And I’m the next first-round draft pick.”

You groan but say nothing, because denying it feels like feeding into something you shouldn’t even be considering. The truth is, you don’t know what’s happening inside your head. Or maybe, more accurately, inside your heart.

———

The bar is already alive with energy by the time you step inside. Warm light flickers across polished wood, the steady pulse of music thrumming beneath the hum of conversation. It’s the kind of place that feels both intimate and chaotic, where time stretches and blurs under the influence of good drinks and even better company.

You slip through the crowd, finding an open spot at the bar. The familiar weight of a drink settles into your hand before you even have time to second-guess this whole night. You take a slow sip, the burn of alcohol grounding you, drowning out the thoughts you don’t want to acknowledge.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

The voice is smooth, edged with quiet amusement, and it cuts through the noise with an ease that makes your pulse stutter.

You turn your head—and freeze for half a second before catching yourself.

Clayton Keller stands beside you, one arm resting casually against the bar, his body angled toward you like he’s been here all along. His hair is still damp from the shower, and the sleeves of his jacket are pushed up just enough to reveal the veins along his forearm. Up close, he’s even more magnetic than he is on the ice—sharp features softened by something unreadable in his expression, an easy kind of confidence that doesn’t demand attention but holds it effortlessly.

You blink, forcing your brain to catch up. He’s never spoken to you before—not in the weeks you’ve spent watching him from the stands, not in the moments when you swore his gaze lingered on you between plays but convinced yourself you were imagining it.

And yet, here he is. Talking to you.

You raise an eyebrow, masking the way your heart picks up its pace. “And you look like you don’t have that problem.”

His lips twitch into something that isn’t quite a smirk but feels just as dangerous. “Guess that depends on the company.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Smooth.”

His eyes flick over you, assessing but not in a way that makes you feel scrutinised—more like he’s committing details to memory. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

“First time,” you admit, swirling the ice in your glass. You hesitate before adding, “Got dragged out by a friend. Thought it might be a mistake.”

“And?”

You glance at him, considering. “Jury’s still out.”

His grin is slow, easy. “Guess I’ve got work to do, then.”

The way he says it is light, almost teasing, but there’s something else beneath the surface. Something careful. Like he’s waiting to see if you’ll meet him halfway.

You should be more composed about this. You should be asking yourself why Clayton Keller is standing here, making conversation like he’s been looking for an excuse to talk to you. But instead, you let yourself hold his gaze, feeling the weight of it settle in your chest.

“I’ve seen you at games.” His voice is quieter now, not quite hesitant, but deliberate. Testing.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your drink. “Oh?”

He leans in just a fraction, close enough that you catch the clean scent of soap and something else, something uniquely him. “Yeah. A few times.” His gaze flickers over your face, searching. “Thought I might be imagining it was you at first.”

Your breath catches, but you refuse to let it show as you make a pathetic excuse of a joke. “And now?”

He exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Pretty sure I wasn’t.”

The air shifts—just slightly, but enough that you feel it, enough that the noise of the bar seems to fade into the background.

You should say something. Shrug it off, play it cool, make some effortless remark about hockey players and their egos. But all you can do is watch him, pulse thrumming in your throat, and wonder what would happen if, just for a moment, you didn’t pretend you hadn’t been hoping for this all along.

And that? That might be the most dangerous thought of all.

———

Days pass. Then weeks. And somehow, against all logic, Clayton becomes a fixture in your life.

You don’t know when it started happening, not really. One moment, he was just another player on the ice, a name you cheered for from a distance. The next, he was everywhere. Inviting you out after games. Sending texts that made you roll your eyes and smile against your will. Standing too close when he talked to you, like he thrived on testing your patience.

And the worst part? You let him.

Because as much as you hate to admit it, there’s something about him that makes it impossible to walk away.

“You’re staring again.”

You blink, snapping out of your daze to find him watching you, amusement flickering in his eyes. The two of you are sitting on the hood of his car, parked outside your favourite diner, a late-night tradition that’s started to feel dangerously close to something real.

“I’m not.”

He smirks. “Liar.”

You roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly. He laughs, but there’s something softer in his expression now, something that makes your breath hitch.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter this time, “you can stop fighting it.”

Your pulse stumbles. “Fighting what?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you, really looks at you, until you feel like he’s seeing every thought you’ve refused to say out loud.

“You know what.”

And maybe you do. Maybe you always have.

But saying it? Acknowledging it? That would mean admitting that everything you’ve tried to convince yourself of—that this was nothing, that you didn’t care—is a lie.

And you’re not sure you’re ready for that yet.

———

The realisation comes when you least expect it.

Maybe it’s the way he looks at you after a game, searching the crowd like he needs to see you there. Maybe it’s the late-night conversations that stretch into dawn, the easy way he makes you laugh when you’ve had the worst day. Maybe it’s the way he touches you—light, fleeting, like he’s waiting for permission to make it something more.

Or maybe it’s just him. All of him. And the fact that, somewhere along the way, he stopped being just another player to you.

You hate it. Because it means you’re already in too deep. Because it means that every wall you’ve built is crumbling under the weight of something terrifyingly real.

And that scares you more than anything else ever has.

———

“You’re running.”

His voice stops you in your tracks. You should have known he’d catch on.

“I’m not.”

Clayton steps closer, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Then tell me why you’re pulling away.”

You swallow hard, but the words won’t come. Because how do you explain that you’re terrified? That you never meant for this to happen, that you don’t know how to handle the way he makes you feel?

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I like you, you know.”

Your heart clenches. “I know.”

“Do you?” His voice is softer now, more careful. “Because you keep acting like this is something you don’t want.”

You look away. “Maybe I don’t.”

He studies you for a long moment, then shakes his head with a small, knowing smile. “Liar.”

The silence stretches between you, thick and weighted, as if the air itself is daring you to say something—anything—that might change the course of whatever this has become.

Clayton is still watching you, gaze steady, like he already knows what you’re going to say before you even say it. It’s infuriating. But more than that, it’s terrifying. Because you know he’s right. You’ve been running. And the worst part? You don’t even know if it was from him or from yourself.

Your fingers tighten at your sides, nails pressing into your palm as you force yourself to meet his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

His jaw tenses for a fraction of a second before he exhales, shaking his head. “Yeah, it is.” He steps closer, close enough that the warmth of him cuts through the cool night air. “You’re the one making it complicated.”

The words sting because they’re true.

You don’t know how to do this—the whole letting someone in thing. It’s easier to pretend that feelings don’t exist, that the way your chest tightens whenever you see him is just admiration, that the thought of him not being around doesn’t make your stomach drop.

But deep down, you know. You’ve known for a while.

And the way he’s looking at you right now? Like he’s waiting, like he’s always been waiting? It makes you want to stop pretending.

You inhale sharply, the words catching in your throat before you finally force them out. “I like you.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but from the way his expression shifts—just slightly—you know he heard you. “I just… I don’t know how to do this.”

Clayton’s gaze softens, and the tension in his shoulders eases, just a bit. He’s quiet for a moment, then murmurs, “We’ll figure it out.”

And maybe that should scare you, the idea of stepping into something so uncertain. But when he says it, it doesn’t sound scary at all.

It just sounds right.

His hand brushes against yours, tentative at first—giving you a chance to pull away. You don’t. Instead, you let your fingers curl around his, the warmth of his skin grounding you, steadying you.

A slow smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Was that so hard?”

You roll your eyes, but the flush creeping up your neck betrays you. “Shut up.”

He laughs softly, then, in one smooth motion, lifts your joined hands and tugs you just a little closer. The space between you disappears, and for a second, all you can hear is your own heartbeat, pounding loud and insistent in your ears.

You should look away. You should say something to defuse the moment before you do something reckless. But then his gaze flickers to your lips, and suddenly, you don’t want to defuse anything.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, voice barely audible.

You don’t.

Instead, you tilt your chin up, just enough to close the distance, just enough to let him know exactly what you want.

That’s all it takes.

His lips meet yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorising the shape of you, like he’s making sure this is real. And god, it is. The warmth of his hands against your skin, the way he pulls you in just a little closer—it sends a shiver down your spine, but for once, it’s not fear.

It’s everything you’ve been too afraid to admit you wanted.

When you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“So,” he murmurs, a small, teasing smile playing at his lips. “Still running?”

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “No.”

And for the first time in a long time, you mean it. Because, god…maybe you are in love.

224 notes · View notes

gtgbabie0 · 11 months ago

Note

Hello! May i request another cute moment with Cregan Stark and his son? Maybe Cregan was starting to teach his son how to use the sword. Idk if this is a good idea.

I love this!! thank you for requesting, enjoy my lovelies💕

Summer in the North was not so different from the winter, save for the slightest change in the air and the fact that the sun made an appearance every now and again. The people also seemed happier too, lighter without the weight of worry that sat heavily upon their shoulders.

This meant that Cregan had more free time, the afternoons now spent with his son, Rickon, out in the training yard. The echos of their laughter filled Winterfell with a warmth, it was infectious.

You stand underneath the stony overhang, watching the pair of them with a content expression. Cregan shows him how to hold the wooden sword, giving him pointers on how to stand correctly and how to swing the sword without hurting himself.

“There we go son, getting the hang of it.” He beams proudly, watching Rickon swing the sword against the hay-filled man before ruffling his brown hair with a chuckle. He was so patient with him, never once rushing him.

The sound of your clapping makes the pair of them turn around, each of them wearing the same love-filled expression and dark messy hair.

“Momma!” Rickon giggles, dropping his sword before rushing over to you with a toothy grin and bright eyes. It still makes your heart leap with joy whenever he calls you ‘momma’ despite the fact he isn’t yours you still love him like he is, he’s practically your other half.

You reach down to brush the snowflakes from his hair, your hand brushing against his rosy cheek as hugs you sideways. “Are you not too cold my sweet?” You ask softly, watching as he shakes his head.

“No… but did you see me, did you? I’ll be using real swords soon!” He exclaims excitedly, jumping up and down in pure joy as Cregan joins the pair of you, resting his hand against the small of your back.

“I did, you’re a natural.” Your words only make his smile brighten, his hands clasping together with a giggle. The sight causes Cregan's heart to melt, tenderness blooming through his chest.

It fills him with adoration, the way you treat his son with such kindness, how you’ve learned all about his interests and the way you read to him nightly. The love he harbours for the pair of you was stronger than the winds of the North.

Rickon rushes off back to the training yard, shouting for you to watch him before picking the wooden sword back up.

“Here… you look cold, my love.” Cregan notes, taking off one of his furs before draping them gently over your shoulders to protect you from the chill that lingers in the air. He takes your hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles in hopes of warming them up.

You look up at him with a warm smile, watching as he guides your hands to his mouth, his lips peppering gentle kisses along your knuckles and the back of your hands. “Thank you, always so attentive.” You whisper, your tone carrying a certain twinge of playfulness.

“Of course, you’re carrying my child now, you deserve only the best.” He says firmly, pressing another kiss against your temple, his hand caressing your back comfortingly.

You hum in acknowledgement, leaning against his sturdy frame as he holds you close to his chest. The pair of you watch Rickon as he swings the wooden sword into the straw man with vigour.

“Do you think he’ll be excited?” You ask, tilting your head to look up at him, his hair half tied up to keep it out of his eyes.

“Oh, he’ll be over the moon.” His words soothe the worry in your heart, suddenly replaced by excitement as he continues with a chuckle, “I can already picture him, as soon as they can walk he’ll be dragging them out here.”

You giggle at the thought of Rickon teaching his younger sibling to sword fight, your hand falling to the slight swell of your stomach. The idea of the Winterfell castle being filled with a litter of mini Starks, their laughter and bickering, it brought a giddiness to the both of you.

Rickon continues to practice for a few more minutes, running towards the straw man with the sword grasped tightly in his hands only to slip, falling against the gravel on his knees, you gasp softly in worry as Cregan goes to walk over to him.

“I’m okay!” He calls out to the pair of you, standing up with a bright smile, brushing off his knees before running back over to you.

“Gods be good.” Your husband sighs, shaking his head with a small twinge of amusement flickering through his eyes. “Let’s get you both inside, hey…”

1K notes · View notes

pastryfication · 6 months ago

Text

how can it be christmas?

pairing: lando norris x ex!reader

part three of my advent celebration

the christmas market was alive, the kind of place where people came to forget their troubles. families bustled between stalls, children clutched sweets in mittened hands, and couples huddled close against the cold, their laughter mixing with the carols drifting through the air.

but for lando norris, it was a graveyard of memories.

his sister had insisted he come. “you need to get out,” she’d said, her voice gentle but firm. and so he’d let her drag him here, to this swirl of lights and music and joy that felt entirely foreign to him.

he walked a few steps behind his family, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his head low against the cold. he wasn’t sure why he’d let her convince him. christmas wasn’t the same anymore. not since he’d lost you.

the memory of last christmas was a ghost that lingered everywhere. the way you’d begged him to take the weekend off so you could visit a market just like this one, teasing him about how grumpy he’d been about the cold. the way your eyes lit up when you found that snowflake ornament—the one he’d insisted wasn’t worth the price, only to buy it behind your back and surprise you later.

that snowflake now hung on his tree at home. the only ornament he’d put up this year.

he hadn’t expected the memories to hit him this hard. every laugh, every couple holding hands, every damn strand of lights reminded him of you. and the worst part was knowing that he was the one who ruined it. he’d made the decision to let you go, convinced it was for your sake. that you deserved better than a boyfriend who was always gone, always distracted, always in a different time zone.

but the truth was that he’d been a coward.

he hadn’t wanted to admit how much you loved him, how willing you were to fight for a relationship he hadn’t been brave enough to believe in. and so he’d walked away. left you standing in the doorway of his flat, your voice breaking as you’d asked him why he was doing this.

he could still see your face. still hear the way you’d said, “i would’ve waited, lando. i would’ve tried.”

he shook the memory off, forcing himself to focus on the present. he trailed his sister and her kids as they stopped at a stall selling roasted chestnuts, his mind a million miles away.

then he heard it—a laugh.

it wasn’t loud or particularly distinct, but something about it cut through the noise of the market like a knife. his heart clenched, and before he could stop himself, he turned toward the sound.

and there you were.

at first, he thought he was imagining it. he hadn’t seen you in months, hadn’t let himself even check your social media because the pain of seeing you move on felt unbearable. but now, here you were, standing just a few meters away.

you were bundled up against the cold, a scarf wrapped high around your neck, your cheeks pink from the chill. for a moment, everything else faded away, and all he could do was stare.

you turned slightly, laughing again at something someone said, and that’s when he saw him.

the man standing beside you.

he was tall, with an easy smile and an arm draped casually over your shoulders. he leaned close to you, his face tilted toward yours, and you responded by leaning into him, your smile soft and effortless.

lando’s stomach twisted violently.

he couldn’t move. couldn’t breathe. he’d thought about this moment so many times, imagined what it might feel like to see you with someone else. but nothing had prepared him for the reality of it.

you looked happy.

more than happy. you looked alive in a way he hadn’t seen in so long, and the sight of it broke something inside him.

he told himself he should look away, that he didn’t have the right to stand here and watch you like this. but he couldn’t. his feet were rooted to the cobblestones as he took in the way the man handed you a steaming cup of something, his hand brushing yours. you smiled up at him, your eyes bright, and lando felt his heart shatter all over again.

you’d moved on.

of course, you had. he was the one who left. the one who broke your heart and told you that it was for your own good. he’d told himself he was doing the right thing, letting you go so you could have a life that didn’t revolve around his career, his absence, his shortcomings.

but it wasn’t for your good—it was for his. he hadn’t been strong enough to hold on to you, to let himself believe he deserved you. and now he was standing here, a hollow version of the man he used to be, watching someone else live the life he’d thrown away.

his throat burned as he forced himself to look away, his hands trembling in his pockets. he turned and walked aimlessly into the crowd, his mind racing, his chest tight.

how had he let it get to this point?

he passed a lamppost strung with lights and leaned against it, sucking in a shaky breath. the air was icy, biting against his skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache in his chest.

“lando?”

his sister’s voice cut through the haze, and he looked up to see her standing in front of him, her brow furrowed in concern. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” he said quickly, his voice rough. “i just needed some air.”

she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t push. instead, she glanced back toward the crowd. “we were about to grab hot chocolate. want to join us?”

he shook his head, barely able to meet her eyes. “no. i think i’m gonna head home.”

she hesitated, her hand brushing his arm. “are you sure?”

“yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’ll see you later.”

she didn’t look convinced, but she nodded and stepped away, leaving him alone.

lando stayed there for a long time, staring down at the cobblestones as the market buzzed around him, before he finally forced himself to move, his legs heavy, his heart heavier. he didn’t look back, didn’t risk another glimpse of you.

it didn’t matter. the image of you—your smile, your laugh, the way you leaned into the man beside you—was burned into his memory.

as he walked away, the snow falling softly around him, lando realized something he’d been too afraid to admit.

this was what he deserved.

and no matter how many christmases came and went, it would never feel like christmas again.

309 notes · View notes

valiwrites · 4 months ago

Text

reincarnation ✧.* formula 1

part 2 part 3

: ̗̀➛ pairing: formula 1 x senna!reincarnation!male!oc (nico santos) : ̗̀➛ warnings: strong language, people shipping drivers but nothing serious, bromance, hate comments : ̗̀➛ author’s note: i wrote this before and got a lot of hate for it. if it’s not your thing, just scroll past—no need to spread negativity. i didn’t write this just to read mean comments.

: ̗̀➛ smau

masterlist

danielricciardo ✔︎

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, nicosantos and 1.3m others

danielricciardo the funniest part was... i had to held him back so he didn't murder anyone yesterday

view all 345k comments

user1 reason 727390 why daniel and nico are my fav duo

user2 showed my dad a picture of nico and he said he hasn't seen anything of senna in years i had to explain to him that this is not senna 😭

user3 my mom said that too!! but nico hates being called senna

charles_leclerc i haven't seen nico that mad ever

user4 why is the first picture so wholesome tho omg

user5 because danny is wholesome

user6 nico was ready to commit a whole crime and daniel said ✨no✨

maxverstappen1 i was lowkey scared for my life not gonna lie

user7 danny out here being the emotional support human for a guy who could probably fight god

user8 nah but the way nico looks at daniel in the vid… y’all seeing this or am i delulu

user3 the way his eyes soften when he looks at daniel is so cute

user5 y'all are so delusional he didn't even look at daniel 😭

lando nico was pacing like a dad whose kid just crashed his car 💀

user9 why does every chaotic duo have one guy who keeps the other from getting arrested

user10 danny being the only thing between nico and a felony is so on brand

nicosantos ✔︎

liked by danielricciardo, mickschumacher, lando and 3.2m others

nicosantos mood after yesterday

view all 743k comments

user1 help nico really wanted to throw hands 😭😭

nicosantos you know it

user2 nico has a cat???

user3 it's max's cat lmaoo

user4 he kinda fine

user5 i have been saying that but no one listens to me

user6 the way he just crouched by daniel’s car like it’s some kind of secret mission 💀

user7 lowkey nico should’ve been in the movie ‘mad man on the edge'

user8 no way you can look at them and not see the chemistry. it's so obvious

user9 nah, the way nico looks at daniel in that video is giving ‘you’re mine’ vibes

user10 no wtf don't say that...

user11 why do i feel like nico is totally in love with daniel and he just doesn’t know it yet?

user12 why is everyone suddently shipping them hello

user13 bc daniel hugged nico at the press conference 😭

nicosantos ✔︎

liked by lando, danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 2.5m others

nicosantos ok, so we look alike. i get it. but let’s be real, i’m not him. just because we share a lot similarities doesn’t mean we’re the same person. i’ve been getting a lot of hate in my DMs, and honestly, it’s getting old. so, can we all just chill and let me live my own life? respect is all i’m asking for

view all 954k comments

user1 literally, it’s just a resemblance, relax people

user2 the hate is so uncalled for. nico deserves respect not this mess

user3 people acting like he’s actually senna’s clone, chill out

user4 he's trying really hard to be 🙄

user5 the fact that nico has to explain this is crazy. let him breathe

user6 you can’t just deny the resemblance though, it’s a little weird you’re acting like it’s nothing

nicosantos i’m not denying it, but i’m also not claiming to be someone i’m not. it’s not that complicated

user7 he’s just salty because people keep bringing up senna. get over it

user8 he doesn’t owe anyone an apology for looking like someone. leave him alone

niconews ✔︎

liked by 47k users

niconews eyes never lie... this was nico just a day after all the hate he’s been facing recently. in a raw moment during an interview, when asked, "you seem pretty pissed at the situation," he didn’t hold back. nico responded, "well, people stick their noses in everyone’s business without thinking about feelings. i didn’t ask to be born the way i am, i’m just trying to live my life." his voice cracked, and despite trying to hold it together, tears started to form. it was a moment that showed just how much this constant pressure has been affecting him. in a world where we all expect people to be perfect or fit into certain molds, nico's vulnerability spoke volumes.

view all 9k comments

user1 it's heartbreaking to see someone so kind and real get treated like this

user2 the pressure he must be under is insane. we forget these are real people

user3 this is so unfair, just let the guy breathe for once

user4 he’s literally milking the whole senna comparison for attention. stop pretending like it’s all ‘the haters’

niconews if you think that’s what this is about, you clearly missed the point

user4 he’s literally crying over people pointing out how much he looks like senna? get over it niconews it’s not about looks, it’s about respect. maybe try understanding that

nicosantos ✔︎

liked by lando, carlossainz55, danielricciardo and 4.1m others

nicosantos bromance is real

tagged: lando

view all 1.4m comments

user1 aww the senna cap

user2 i love nico he's adorable

user3 lando 😭😭

user4 lando is always the funniest person in the group

user5 nico with the senna cap is a whole vibe. love the respect for the legend

user6 this is the kind of bromance we all need in our lives

user7 nico wearing the senna cap but being his own person? love that for him

nicosantos see now i can't tell if you're being sarcastic or fr 💀

user7 i was being fr 😭😭

user8 someone tell lando to stop being this extra, i can’t keep up

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rageserenity · 1 year ago

Text

It's 2024. Are you still thinking about movieverse!Cherik? Because I am.

For the past several months, there's only been a very slow trickle of posts/fics in the xmcu cherik tag. Let's try to breathe some life back into this incredible pairing!

With one clear winner of my poll, here's thirty prompts for the thirty days of April. (This is a super chill, laid-back event---do these in any order, interpret them as loosely as you like! Create in any medium! Fic, art, gifs, meta, incoherent screaming about the otp…all winners in my book.)

The only rule here is to cherik too close to the sun. Alright. Here are the prompts.

Mutual Pining

Doesn't really even need elaboration! Write that horrifically slow slow-burn. Gif every time McAvoy made insane fuck me eyes on screen. Make a playlist of songs about impossible love.

2. Alternate Meetings

There are endless quotes about how these two complete each other in a way no one they'd met before or after ever did. How else could they have met?

3. Erik Has A Telepathy Kink

This is basically canon. Let my boy get freaky!

4. Canon Fix-It

All the times Fox fucked it up. There are endless options.

5. Hurt/Comfort

Put them in that Situation. Put them in that Blender. Break them apart and put them back together ❤️‍🩹

6. Canon Compliant

Draw that missing scene! Gif your favourite cherik moment!

7. Beach Divorce

Make it worse. Make it better. Show it to us exactly how it was. Break it down in a 3,000 word meta. Go wild!

8. Domestics

Sometimes you just want to see them doing normal couple things. Erik put the gun down.

9. Found Family

The real heart of x-men!

10. Time Travel

There are SO many possibilities here. Stick them in a time loop. Give them a chance to change their past.

11. AU

Love a good AU!

12. There Is Only One Bed

Had to get this one in here. What better way to amp up the tension?

13. Genosha

By some miracle, cherik actually did end up together at the end of 2019s trash bag disaster Dark Phoenix. We aren’t making a big enough deal about this.

14. Declaration(s) of Love

Who says it first? How do they say it and when? Have they said it…without saying it?

15. Jealousy

Need I say more.

16. Reunion

These two have absolutely no chill.

17. Soulmates

Classic prompt, had to get this in here too.

18. The DOFP Aircraft

The TENSION here. Break it down for me. How does Charles feel about his injury? How does Erik feel about his injury?

19. Gay Mutant Road Trip

You already know.

20. Body Swap

SO fun when people have superpowers.

21. First Kiss

When? How? Who initiated it?

22. The Mansion

Mansion!content is a genre of its own.

23. Conflicting Ideology

Give me your theses. Who’s right? Can they ever reconcile completely? Write a fic where it drives them apart.

24. Sebastian Shaw

A trope unto himself.

25. Team As Matchmaker

They had to have known something was going on, didn’t they?

26. Cooking

Charles deserves a good meal. Also, imagine Erik using his powers in the kitchen. The sheer domesticity…

27. Hurt No Comfort

Plenty of scope with these two 🥲

28. Growing Old Together

Giving Sirs Ian Mckellan and Patrick Stewart their props as well!

29. Making Up

*pushes chess board across the table* sorry babe

30. Charles Xavier Did More For Mutants Than You'll Ever Know

Rising to each other’s defense. Only I can insult this man.

I will be tracking #revivecherik to reblog stuff! Here’s a fic collection for the same. Let’s get this ball rolling! Please feel free to send me an ask if you’ve got anything to say! And most importantly, let’s all have fun 😁

*I know a few of you preferred something like a gift exchange because of the commitment factor—I’m super down to organise a tiny one for the handful of us! If this promptathon doesn’t flop horribly, we can hopefully do a whole bunch of stuff :)

If you read this post all the way through, please reblog for reach! Thank you! Hoping you participate come April.

Shoutout to @inmymagnetoera for reaching out and helping with this!

#revivecherik #cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #xmfc #james mcavoy #michael fassbender #x men days of future past #x men #charles x erik #magneto #professor x

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barcameowski · 6 months ago

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𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 ⁻ ruben dias

genre: smau

pairing: ruben dias x reader!established relationship

face claim: flavy barla

warnings: none

𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽𐬼𐬽

liked by rubendias , joaofelix79 , ivandias03 and 298,000 others

yourusername: gorgeous view, oh and rubens there

view comments

rubendias: wow.

⇝ yourusername: its okay, i still like u

⇝ rubendias: LIKE? YOU’RE MY GIRLFRIEND

user1: i love this relationship

user2: god really does have his favorites

user3: hot boyfriend + even hotter girlfriend

user4: im so jealous

user5: hes so papi coded

⇝ user6: ....dats...bold

yourfriend: where you staying at mamacita?

⇝ yourusername: *insert radio rebel meme*

ivandias03: i like you more and more every day

⇝ yourusername: im flattered, but i have a boyfriend. sorry

⇝ ivandias03: ....

user7: we've all seen the pictures. shes absolutely stunning, and hes...there

user8: my bi awakening

⇝ user9: my goal in life is to date one of them. i dont care which one

user10: i dont get the hype about her

user11: BOOM SHAKALAKAAAA

user12: i want this kind of relationship

user13: when i grow up i wanna be like yn (im 26)

liked by rubendias , carlossainz55 , sophiaaemilia and 319,000 others

yourusername: apparently not a ’bowling night’ outfit 😔

view comments

rubendias: thats not what i said

⇝ yourusername: thats exactly what you said

⇝ rubendias: meu amor i said you looked great

rubendias: o mais bonita 😍

⇝ yourusername: eu amo te velho 🥰

user1: their banter is so cute

user2: hannah montana said nobodys perfect, but here she is

sophiaaemilia: pretty 🤩

⇝ yourusername: youuuuu

user3: i love women

user4: the comments made me realize I’m so single and depressed

user5: perfect people don’t deserve perfect relationships 😭😭😭😭

user6: I fear I’m more in love than ruben

user7: he definitely isn’t winning on the field but he’s winning off the field

⇝ liked by rubendias

user8: all wags are gorgeous PROVE ME WRONG

user9: I need 90 minutes to rethink my entire life and any decisions I have ever made

user10: take me to portugal i want to find a man like ruben

⇝ user11: I don’t need a man like ruben I need ruben

user12: am i the only one that misses single ruben?

⇝ user13: hell no, single ruben was miserable at least with this blonde lady he is happy

user14: who even is she?

⇝ user15: someone you’re jealous of

liked by yourusername , ivandias03 and 418,000 others

rubendias: event of the year only because she attended

view comments

yourusername: I ❤️ u

⇝ rubendias: spell it out correctly

⇝ yourusername: I LOVE YOU

⇝ rubendias: damn chill

⇝ yourusername: shut the hell up

ivandias03: get yo ass out of here

user1: I love this relationship more than I love my mom

user2: okay when is it my turn

user3: why am I single

user4: you’re so sexy post yourself

user5: she’s so sexy post her

user6: impeccable taste in women

⇝ rubendias: thank you for noticing, I try really hard

user7: and boyfriend of the year goes to…..

user8: I want to be their dog I can bark

user9: okay time for me to turn my phone off

user10: I want a refund

user11: I’m sobbing, I want a boyfriend

user12: at first we all thought she was a gold digger but I feel like this is real love

liked by rubendias , georginagio and 312,000 others

yourusername: my old favorite person, ruben and my new favorite person, simba

view comments

rubendias: do you actually love me

⇝ yourusername: yes, of course 😘😘

user8: DO YOU NEED ANOTHER DOG?? I CAN STILL BARKKK

user1: I love this lil family

user2: is it bad I want to be a dog?

user3: this is my roman empire

user4: I can’t wait til they have kids

⇝ yourusername: simba is my kid ? wdym?

user5: cutest dog ever

⇝ rubendias: cutest woman ever

⇝ yourusername: cutest man ever

⇝ user6: are we interrupting something…

user7: if this didn’t break my heart idk what will

user9: I want to be the dog

user10: that puppy is the luckiest puppy to ever walk the earth

#x reader #man city #manchester city #ruben dias #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias x you #smau #football x reader #football #barçameowski #erling haaland

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diagonal-queen · 1 year ago

Note

Omg you're backkkk<3 I hope uni's going well for you!

Maybe the Hunting Dogs with a s/o who's kind of mean/petty?

Hunting Dogs with a mean S/O

♡ pairing: Fukuchi Ouchi, Jouno Saigiku, Tecchou Suehiro, Teruko Okura (platonic), Tachihara Michizou x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How are the Hunting Dogs with a mean and petty S/O?

♡ cw: Swearing, u r a BULLY >:((, dw it's pretty chill though, non-graphic NSFW with Jouno, teensy bit of NSFW with Tachihara, mentions of violence, crime and torture

note: ahhh hello yes i'm back! uni's pretty great actually. i love being able to tell people i go to law school lmao, it makes me feel smarter than i am. uhh but i've been swamped and a bit busy, and i'm going back home for a week so i might not be super active over the next couple weeks, i'm so sorry my babies </3 but i'll still be lurking in case you wanna chat! as always, apologies for errors and i hope you enjoy x

Fukuchi:

Mf you think he cares?? He hired Jouno and Tachihara because they committed crimes, and he's more than happy to keep Teruko around. Bro doesn't give a FUCK that you're mean

If you're dating Fukuchi you clearly do give a shit about the welfare of society and world peace, so your individual quirks are just that. Quirks

He will fully let you just be a dickhead sometimes, because...like, why not?

I feel like Fukuchi is obviously often a very intimidating individual who strikes fear and commands respect from everyone else. But you? You just walk all over him

In some ways for him it's probably kind of refreshing to have someone around him who doesn't idolise him at all, or look up to him as a superior. It gets exhausting, for sure. Sometimes he just wants to be humbled and that's so okay Fukuchi, you deserve it actually /mean-spirited and condescending

Don't get me wrong it's not like you're an abusive partner! You're still obviously nice to your partner and you love him, but you definitely don't go out of your way to sugarcoat things or try to avoid any necessary confrontations

And Fukuchi genuinely really respects that about you. He's pretty similar like that, though still definitely goofier than you

I mean he won't want you sitting around with an RBF when he's at formal events and whatnot, because that really wouldn't have the best impression, but he's usually very gung ho about letting you be yourself

You're lucky he loves you man...lmao

Jouno:

He loves it. Full stop.

You two are just sadist central over here. Like he'll be torturing a suspect and you're just watching. Bored. Not a care in the world

(Jouno, I don't think you're legally allowed to invite your partner to watch you do your job- much less one like this, but...eh...)

You two are always just talking shit about people to each other, and like when you're out in public on dates you're just whispering to each other and judging people T-T

Lowkey kinda gets turned on when you guys argue. He thinks it's hot when you get heated and angry. Usually it ends in rough "passionate hugging", and the pillowtalk is when you both actually resolve the issue (dumbasses)

He might even purposefully rile you up sometimes because mf is just THAT much of a horny degenerate. You guys can call him classy and gentlemanly all you want, but we all know he's secretly deranged

Like an angry, horny goblin with a knife...someone stop him

Tbh you should probably bully him a little bit every now and then. I think he needs to be taken down a peg sometimes

Hey, he's more likely to listen to you than Tecchou, isn't he? Besides, it's nothing genuinely malicious. Just couple's banter

Oh, you guys are fucking LEGENDS at the couple's banter. Though you never do it in public, because a lot of the times the things you both tell each other as jokes can come off as really cruel jabs

Nah your senses of humour are just not family-friendly (violent and malicious)

You guys have very strange ways of showing your love and affection. But, hey, it works for you and that's what's important :)

Tecchou:

Ah yes, arguably the least meanie of all of the Hunting Dogs. Yeah uh he doesn't really like you at first

Tecchou doesn't understand being mean just for the sake of it. I mean like, for Teruko, she uses it in her career, and Jouno is sadistic and weird and also uses it in his career. You're just petty because you can be

But the more time you spend together the more he realises that you're really not that bad- you're really just more of the loveable asshole type

An acquired taste, yes, but this is Tecchou we're talking about! That's his thing!

He learns to appreciate the things about you that many others would probably consider flaws. He influences you for the better definitely...

...BUT you also kinda make him worse

He will adopt your 'deal with it bitch' attitude sometimes, but it doesn't hinder his relationships or work so it's fiiiiine

(Jouno isn't a huge fan of it though...but at the same time he kind of respects you)

Tecchou probably won't admit it but he really likes to listen to you rant and bitch about people you don't like. He just likes to listen to you be angry about trivial things, he finds it equal parts endearing and entertaining

If you're mean to someone who deserves it? Well I mean...who is he to stop you?

At the end of the day you're definitely emotionally self-sufficient, so that's one less part of you for him to fret over. All's well that ends well or some shit idk

Teruko (platonic):

You guys are literally the best of friends

She's the loud fiery kind of mean and you are the 'I will straight up meticulously ruin your life' kind of mean

You on some r/nuclearrevenge type shit and she fucking loves that for you

Like she's fully willing to plot and scheme with you and do whatever mean shit you suggest. You two are menaces and she should absolutely not be a military soldier

Teruko WILL smite your enemies. And by smite your enemies I mean she will actively do what she can to ruin the lives of people you don't like, with absolutely no remorse (pretty sure she actually commits crimes to do this)

She LIVES for your cruel one-liners and clever insults. Every time she hears one she absolutely hollers

Teruko enjoys it when you're mean to the other Hunting Dogs (except Fukuchi). They can handle a couple bitchy words so it's not a huge deal, but she's just extra amused by it

For the record you're not *mean* mean, you're just...humbling them (which let's be real they could use from time to time (Jouno, again, looking at you))

Nobody is surprised by your guys' friendship really

You're a dangerous pair. Please stop

Teruko kinda likes that you hold grudges so frequently because she'll never tire of hearing you shittalk the same exact people and events over and over again

She'll shittalk them too

Dia doesn't approve of this friendship

Tachihara:

You guys know that scene in B99 where Jake says that he can't decide if he's scared of Amy or turned on by her and then decides that he's both? Yea, that's Tachihara with you

He is a good person at heart, and outside of his mafia gangster persona he's really not that mean, and as such he does not encourage mean behaviour. But like, when you do it? Mm...

Bro is WHIPPED

Lowkey he probably gets some of his mafia persona ideas from you 💀

His mafia coworkers have no questions about how you two get along, and they generally like you. The other Hunting Dogs have a few more questions

Tachihara isn't some shy, quiet introvert, but he is generally pretty chill and a nice person. They like to playfully tease him about how different the two of you are (though if it gets too far he knows he can count on you to rip them a new one with no issue)

Dw they still like you though! Especially Teruko

He has absolutely no problems with you for being cold and blunt. It's nothing he himself can't handle, and in some ways it actually makes talking to you easier

Again, I'll stress that you're not mean to him, you're just not the most lovey-dovey person out there. But you DO put effort in and that's what Tachihara cares about, even if it isn't in a stereotypical way

If anything else, you're certainly loyal!

Tachihara loves you for all of your different eccentricities, and he's also kinda turned on by them. Win-win? Win-win.

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fyodorhatr, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl, @kokoenjiandco, @pinkiipeachiikeen

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hitlikehammers · 24 days ago

Text

🧋That One Time It Went Soulmate v. Soulmate, Double-or-Nothing Between 🍦Robin and Eddie🎸, Because No One Could Deserve Robin’s Plantonic Soulmate EVER, but Eddie Can (and WILL) Count The Ways That He’ll Fucking ✨TRY✨

☕️OR: 5/5 times Steve/Eddie talk to anyone but each other about their feelings (for each other), +1 (other time they turn around and talk to one another)

Robin’s staring openly at him after he places their order with an extra shake to go—to take home with him for when Steve gets off work.

“You sure that’s what he wants?”

Eddie turns to her slowly.

“He’s my favorite person in the world,” Eddie says simply; “I know what his favorite flavor is.”

In fairness: it does change. He has a baseline that’s good always but, this time of year, the chill in the air? After a shift, especially one without Robin? Here, from this diner, with its stupidly weird-ass menu?

Caramel Waffle. No question.

“Hmm,” Robin hums around her straw as they go to take a seat—he’ll grab Steve’s when they’re done so it’s not melted to fuck before he can get it in a freezer.

“So,” she pops her lips together as he slides in across from her—he was waiting for this tone. She’d been cagey all afternoon. They hang out enough on their own for him to have clocked it when he picked her up: she had a mission. An agenda.

Eddie was pretty sure from the jump that both of those things were just…him.

He just wasn’t sure yet about the why.

“I want you to know that it is not out of a lesser opinion of you, or our friendship, that I am asking you this,” she starts, almost businesslike but he also sees how earnestly she means it; “and honestly I am cautiously optimistic on all fronts, but,” she bites her lip before straightening up a bit and tilting her chin, full-on resolute.

“He’s too important,” she says it, uncompromising. “And cautious optimism is not sufficient.” She nods to herself, takes what looks like a fortifying drink of her milkshake and then forges into…something not wholly unlike battle:

“What are your intentions toward my Platonic Soulmate?”

Eddie’d figured it was Steve; the mission. The agenda.

Even when they hang out on their own, Steve’s too big a part of both of them for him to ever be absent. Not for real.

But, this particular mission? Like…

“We exchanged rings, Birdie,” Eddie says, kinda at a loss; “you were there.”

She was the witness-they-didn’t-technically-need and the best-woman-that-counted-for-everything when they very-not-legally threw a barbecue to pledge for always out loud with the people they loved, when as many of those people as possible could gather and see it and know it—make it feel a fraction as big as it is in Eddie’s chest, for some slice of the world to know it explicitly, out loud.

And see it.

Robin purses her lips and stares him down, unimpressed.

“You know what I mean.”

And…yeah. If he thinks on it, he…probably does.

He doesn’t agree that it’s necessary by any means but: he can agree that Steve is too important for anything to be left to assumptions; to just ‘cautious’ anything.

Steve deserves only whole-hearts. All-in. Absolute certainty for always, when it comes to loving. To keeping and cherishing.

To having and holding.

So what she means is more than the rings. Goes beyond the so-called honeymoon period everyone’s got a comment about, which Eddie refuses to call as such, or acknowledge as anything like that at all, because like…okay, look.

His heart feels easy in his chest, now, in a way it never had before Steve. It felt that way on the worst days of PT, through the worst of the pain. It felt that way sometimes even that first time trudging through hell, without even knowing the man. Eddie hadn’t even realized his heart was all sludged up and calcified until he looked at Steve and it shivered so hard that all of that gunk sloughed off and he was made brand new.

That’s not a honeymoon period. That’s the start of the rest of his whole fucking life, where a certain vibrant level of joy is the baseline. Is their rule.

But, for someone outside Eddie’s chest: he understands. Robin means past that thing she thinks she’s seeing. She means…past Hawkins. Past the Upside Down and all the heartache. Past…forever.

What are his…

“I don’t think I believed people had souls, in like, the sense that people say it?” Eddie starts, because Robin of all people deserves the fullest truth he can offer.

Also—and fuck if he ever admits it out loud—but it’s also because if she’s gonna question his heart, in this, no matter how entitled she is to make sure?

She can damn well be subjected to the full extent of his capacity to wax poetic upon just how overwhelmingly, impossibly, marrow-deep in love he is.

“Definitely not the churchy sense,” he clarifies with a wave of the hand; “I thought they were abstract, just a word for an idea, y’know?”

She knows—she’s told him that she felt something of the same.

Before Steve.

“But he made me believe in them,” Eddie says, and fuck you, maybe his voice is already a little shaky, but he wants her to know how honest he is, how committed he is, how deep his runs—just like how she learned what it was to be Steve’s soulmate, too.

“Because it’s the very real thing that makes me feel alive like I never knew I could feel,” and his left hand reaches up a little awkward to his chest to feel what it is to be alive that big with his own palm, and the sensation of it against the ring on his previously so-long-empty finger there, now the safe-keeper of Steve’s Grandad’s ring, the one he paid some fancy jeweller with his own paycheck—we will use my family’s money, together, he’d told Eddie later, days into what actually was their literal honeymoon; this is from me, like, from my heart to yours and if Eddie’d cried a little about it, naked between rounds in their hotel bed, and if he’d kissed Steve senseless about it a lot at the same time? Damn right he should have—but pressing his hand to his chest with the now-familiar weight and warmth of that ring?

Fuck, but does he feel alive. And as far as his soul goes?

“He is where mine lives.”

It’s Steve. It’s all Steve.

“Or how mine lives. How it came to be,” Eddie still hasn’t puzzled it out entirely, the specifics; isn’t sure if he ever will. “Or both.”

Not that it matters, really. It might be the only puzzle in his whole fucking life that his brain’s willing to let lie not-wholly solved, because again: whatever the details could possibly be, they’d just lead back to a piece or part of a single entity.

The singular love of his life.

“I will kill you if you hurt him,” Robin jolts him back into the now, where he thinks maybe more silence has gathered than he thought, between the last words he did say and now.

She looks at him…not mean, not like daggers: more just really honest. Wide-eyed and more serious than he’s ever watched her be, even when they were almost certainly walking toward their own deaths in battle.

“Please do,” Eddie answers her, automatic. That is, like, not a hard thing to figure out a response to.

“Like, they’ll never find the body,” Robin leans forward over the table, almost knocks her milkshake over and frowns as she slides it aside further out of her way and takes her position again: “I’m serious.”

“Me too,” Eddie says simply before taking a long suck of his milkshake. “If I hurt him, the way you’re talking?” He spreads his arms and gestures wide to himself, all his most vulnerable parts on display because, like:

“Do me the favor. Please.”

He hopes it’d still be easy, splayed with all his squishy vital parts to hit, just bone in the way; hopes all the scar tissue wouldn’t make the job too difficult.

“Why?” Robin asks, a little…not sharp exactly.

Pointed.

But Eddie doesn’t understand why the question of whyeven needs to be asked, especially from her. It’s fucking obvious.

“If I hurt him?” Eddie shrugs, takes a sip again of his shake to keep his throat from getting too thick with any emotions at…entertaining an impossible thing.

“If I did that, I wouldn’t deserve him anymore, even if I didn’t automatically drive him away by default, for the hurting. I’d lose him either way,” and the shake doesn’t even taste right for how wrong those words feel, the bile underneath them, but it’s still mostly making the horrible words…easier.

Given the topic.

Because Eddie doesn’t care really for himself like that—though Steve, outside this unnerving and frankly fucking stomach-churning hypothetical and instead in the blissful beautiful now: Steve would get all frowny at him and scold him like one of his no-longer-little-nuggets for making idiotic choices or saying dumbass things—but Steve isn’t here.

And Eddie means this shit.

“I don’t really know if I’d even want to,” he swallows hard, thankful for the cold of the shake to keep his wits somewhat together; keep him on task to the fucking point: “to be a person, without a soul,” he leans back in the seat and crosses his arms over the squishy bits of him now, because in the now he hasn’t done anything to jeopardize the best thing that’s every fucking happened to him; that ever will.

“Not now that I know what it’s like to live with one, like this.”

And Eddie feels his lips curving at…well. Basically it’s kind of unavoidable, trying to keep a smile off his face when he thinks on Steve:

“Like this. With him.”

Robin matches him, leaning back and crossing her arms, eyeing him oddly.

“It’s not healthy to base your life around whether another person’s in it.”

“Says the platonic soulmate,” Eddie literally snorts, glad he’s not drinking for it—ice cream up the nose fucking sucks; “sounds like those codependency talks your parents were sneaking in took root somewhere, if you’re spouting them back at me.”

Eddie may not have been present for the months post-Starcourt where the Buckleys had struggled with whether Steve was a suitor or a playboy, for how often he and their daughter dogged each other’s steps, but he’s heard the stories. He knows it took them a while to…if not entirely understand it, at least to accept it.

Steve’s been known to watch the game with her dad when Wayne’s not home. Steve plies her mom with baked goods that she used to signal her acceptance of him, her welcome even, after breaking down to ask for recipes.

He gave them to her, or most of them, but won her fully over by promising he’d never be so far away not to make them for her himself.

“I never said I believed it,” Robin grouses, a little defensive; “let alone agreed with it. It was just a statement.”

Eddie expected as much. But he’s not above wanting to poke holes in her flimsy-ass attempt to set him off-balance. To…test him, however she’s trying to.

“But that’s not what I meant.”

He knew that, too. But he’s not absolutely sure what she meant instead.

Despite his myriad suspicions. He does have a formidable knack for imagining potential scenarios.

“I would have answered the same way, so,” Robin huffs; “I didn’t need that ‘why’.”

Eddie bites back a little smirk at her streak of indignation—not the time.

He’s actually getting better at that. Appropriate timing. It helps, appreciating what it means to have so many people he loves.

And then, one person who defines all that love is, all on his own. Every breath he breathes.

“I meant,” Robin finally leans in again, pins him with her stare, with meaning; “why do you love him?”

He doesn’t…expect that. Not from Robin.

But her tone doesn’t question it. Doesn’t question her dearest friend, her closest confidant, her Captial-P soulmate.

She’s…not testing him. But she is weighing him.

And somehow that’s very different.

“Why?” he still can’t help but huff a laugh. “How does anyone not?”

She squares her shoulders, but as formidable as she makes herself, as formidable as she is, her eyes are all heartbreak. But the protective kind.

“A lot of people are stupid,” she spits; “have been so goddamn stupid.”

Eddie knows she doesn’t mean him. It’s not directed his way. He agrees with her, and appreciates that if the time ever comes, he has the best second in command at his side to stand guard for the heart he loves more than his own.

He gets what she means, why she’s asking—why any of this is happening, today.

She’s seen more than him, but not even half, betweenthem, of the people so stupid, so reckless as to trample his beautiful husband’s heart.

Their soulmate’s heart.

And now that he gets it, he has so many ways to ease whatever fears she has, concerns that aren’t about him, but linger because she cares that much.

He can easily give her what she’s looking for.

“I love his smile,” Eddie says with his own, because it’s not about the way it looks, so much as the lights that glow through in him for it. “I love when he hugs me,” he’s so good at it, it makes a man feel safe as much as cherished, protected with strength and cradled with care. He feels Steve’s heartbeat against his sometimes like that, held close enough, pressed tight enough.

“And then when he < I>holds me,” when it’s all of that, but more. Longer. Sustained and Eddie can drown in it. In him.

“He kisses like it’s an Olympic sport where he’s the reigning gold medalist for always,” because sure, Eddie hadn’t had a vast amount of experience but he’d been kissed, even if only dirty and sloppy and never any further, but he’d thought they been at least decent.

Little did he fucking know.

“But then, at the same time he treats it like it’s his favorite pastime.”

Because Steve doesn’t just deal in the breathtaking, world-rewriting approach; he also dives in thorough, devoted down to his cells.

Breathtaking, world-rewriting all in its own unfathomable way.

“His laugh,” and Eddie’s smile grows as his chest feels like it expands, like it always finds a way to do just when Eddie thinks it can’t swell any more, like, for the laws of physics.

He did eventually pass physics, but. They never covered anything to do with love.

And even if they had, it couldn’t have been the kind of love Eddie feels, now.

“The way his brow furrows when he’s confused, or frustrated, like he,” and Eddie sees it, the little crinkles, the soft sparkling behind his eyes as he tries to sort something out behind them, like the fires of his mind at work, and it’s a beautiful thing.

“But mostly so I get to smooth it out,” Eddie admits because: it’s a beautiful thing. And it’s likewise a temptation.

All of Steve is kind of both at the same time, always.

“I love that he lets me take care of him,” and not just for the way it makes him feel proud of being trusted that much, where so few have ever passed the bar for entry into the magic of who Steve is, in his wholeness.

“Not least because taking care if him is one if the best things in the whole world,” because Steve doesn’t hide anything anymore, and he’s so open, so honest with every vulnerable piece, and Eddie feels like he could conquer the world with the might of that confidence, that faith; “like when your heart and your mind and your body all align right and agree, this is what you were made for,” and he believes that. He was built to meet Steve Harrington, and to be bound to every part of him. To be his partner in all things. To love and to honor and to cherish. For all of time.

“I love him for seeing me,” because it works both ways, and the feeling of having Steve is only rivalled in perfect measure by what it feels like to be had and held by Steve in kind: “and letting me see him.”

Always together. It still steals Eddie’s breath almost painful, but too sweet to ever try and tamp it down.

“I love falling asleep on his chest,” Eddie’s eyes close of their own accord, can feel it like that’s where he is, here and now, the bed of curls between those delectable nipples, the softness of his skin. “He runs so warm, like just, like when his heart beats, it’s pumping safety and comfort as a rule and when you’re pressed against him, it just emanates into you,” and that’s it, that’s exactly it.

“I love his heartbeat,” not just because he’d sought it out with desperate need after their last fight with the monsters, when it’d been Steve they almost lost. “Like the sound, when I’m against him,” because now, it’s a lullaby, an embrace, a declaration, every assurance Eddie doesn’t strictly need anymore but never passes up an opportunity to listen to and bask in, every opportunity he gets.

“I love how it feels when,” he starts, pauses when Robin’s face scrunches a little, like she’s bracing for a blow and it clicks, what she’s expecting.

He…wasn’t not going to at least skirt the edges of that part of their relationship. What often comes before he sleeps on Steve’s chest. But.

“Don’t worry, Birdie,” he assures her, dramatically folding his hands over hers with cloying sincerity; “I won’t defile your virgin ears.”

“If I have to listen to the retelling of your sexploits from him,” Robin smacks his hands away with a grimace; “I think once is enough.”

Eddie cackles as Robin groans.

“More than.”

He waves her off as he catches her breath; he won’t make her relive it herself. He’d love to, for his own sake and enjoyment but, he does love Robin. He doesn’t want to orchestrate her torture.

At least not today.

“I love how he eats his breakfast,” how he starts with a rich boy’s manners and ends like a starving man, with bits of egg on his cheek.

“I love how he brushes his teeth,” smearing toothpaste around first then going back to brush in tiny circles all around.

“I love how weirdly and, like, inhumanly quick he does his hair?” It’s record setting, seriously, like how can you get that height and that coif so perfect so fast. “But then how what always makes him almost late is picking the right shoes.”

Robin laughs, then reins herself back; it’s true though. How the clearly color-coded collections of the same fucking tennis shoes befuddle him for choice is hilarious, but so fucking endearing as hell.

“I love how I can tell him that I love him,” because for one, and the least of it all: Eddie never thought he’d find himself in a future where that was even the slightest possibility. But when it’s Steve? When it’s…when it’s this, with Steve?

When Steve lets Eddie love him? And flushes and smiles and melts for it, every goddamn time? Because of Eddie, and the size of Eddie’s love, or however much of it can be conveyed in the dearly limited medium of puny words?

“It’s him, but it’s,” Eddie shakes his head, beaming stupidly he knows, feels it in his cheeks, tugging his scars—he knows, but see, he couldn’t possibly give one single shit about it because his heart is so full, because he gets to love Steve Harrington, and—

“Loving him has been the greatest thing I’ve ever known. It’s not a privilege. It’s not a joy. It’s not a blessing,” Eddie laughs, just once: the limits of language are…offensive, almost. Because no.

It’s none of those things.

“It’s like I said, loving him?”

He waits for Robin to meet his eyes so she sees what the words can’t hold, never could, and while he’s not banking on his gaze carrying the whole of it, he’s more confident it can weave together at least some of the gaps.

“It’s what lives in me now and tells me I’m alive,” and that’s honest, that’s honest to all and every god, and all that surpasses them in the whole of being. “Maybe reminds me there are things to be alive for,” Eddie licks his lips, lets himself feel the way his heartbeat’s ramped up simply because he…he loves.

Because he loves.

“It is meaning, and it is light, and it is purpose and it’s what makes you open your eyes and feel that soft settled gratefulness that you get to do any of it, because he’s next to you,” Eddie’s words come without needing to think, or plan, for all he once scripted speeches on tabletops, or in notebooks to guide a narrative: this is his life. And more importantly: his love. His heart and his soul.

He wouldn’t want a script for any of it.

But more than wanting: he doesn’t have a single fucking need for it.

It is in his cells. He is made of all this, now. Of course it comes out of its own accord.

As blinding and as certain as it damn well should.

“He’s the reason for all of it,” Eddie finally says, voice a little shaky but it’s just because his breath’s a little shaky first, with the vastness of it all. “What would be the point, without it? Without him?”

He doesn’t need an answer, and Robin doesn’t try to give one. But he will ask, just as much without any need of a response:

“If that isn’t the same thing as a soul, then what the fuck is?”

It rings kinda quiet for a few seconds. Then minutes. Robin glances at her now melted remnants of milkshake.

Eddie looks to his own almost-full glass of wholly-unfrozen chocolate malt, and the condensation pooled underneath.

When he looks up, Robin’s eyes are on him. Shining and much less confrontational than they’d been.

“What?” Eddie asks, mostly confused but still a little suspicious. He’s been as flayed-wide as he can be, and is proud to be, and he trusts Robin implicitly but…he was being weighed and measured in order to be judged somehow.

So, he thinks it’s only smart to be at least a little bit cautious.

“Just glad,” she says, and smiles honest, no agenda left now. “You’re one of my favorite people,” and Eddie knew that in theory, at least by implication—still feels very nice to hear it.

“But you’re not my Platonic Soulmate.”

Eddie knew that, too. More than in theory. He respects the fuck out of it.

He appreciates that people beyond Eddie love Steve as fierce as this. Just as he deserves.

“It would have sucked to have had to take you out if you didn’t deserve him.”

Eddie snorts, because he knows she fucking means it. He’s almost honored that she thinks the idea of having to gut him in Steve’s defense would have been paired with any level of remorse.

“Mind you,” Robin goes a little serious again, but not…not like before.

“I don’t know if anyone deserves him,” and she says that more like I don’t think anyone could. Eddie doesn’t disagree.

But he thinks that’s the end of it, and decides he’s not going to let good ice cream go to waste just because it’s more an…extra cold Yoo-hoo slushie.

And how could he even consider letting that go to waste? Who would he even be if he did that, he wouldn’t even recognize himself—

“But you.”

Eddie looks up to meet her gaze with his lips still on the straw, mouth full of creamy chocolate. It’s not his most dignified look.

And she’s…she’s still kind of assessing, but…more like she’s made up her mind, by now. Finished her mission, fulfilled her agenda. Has the weight of him.

Possibly approves, even.

“You’re close enough.”

And goddamn, that is some glowing praise from Robin Buckley.

Especially when it comes to her Platonic Soulmate.

And yeah, maybe Eddie does drink the rest of his Yoo-hoo slushie with a little bit of pride for it.

He knows it tastes sweeter to the last obnoxious half-air-filled sip, either way.

1: Gareth // 2: Mrs. Harrington // 3: Wayne // 4: Chrissy // 5: Robin // +1: Steve // +2: ???

🍦💚 📼

✨also on ao3

💫for @penny00dreadful—happiest of happy birthdays, my lovely 🖤

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divider credit here, and oddly: me, too 🖤

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #5 + 1 fic #fluff #sappy sappiness #schmoop #like UNAPOLOGETIC schmoop #established relationship #true love #outside pov #robin buckley #soulmate v soulmate #LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLE!#or: more accurately #let’s get ready to defend steve harrington!!!#shovel talk #or more kinda-shovel-talk; it’s belated and not REALLY that—because SOULMATES #robin cannot believe anyone deserves her platonic soulmate #eddie will count the ways he agrees but will give his last breath and then some to give his romantic soulmate EVERYTHING #how does eddie love steve? let him count the ways #codependence is the baseline of a healthy relationship after enough interdimensional brushes with death #that’s just the facts; I don’t make the rules #platonic stobin #stranger things #gift fic #penny00dreadful #hitlikehammers writes #hitlikehammers v words

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