#got the angst out of my system early

[fir-fireweed]

TELLUS NO MY BABYYYY 😭😭 I was already so attached to him and you had to take him from me. I lost a child today.

But more seriously this look so good already I can't wait !! <3

I’m sorry! It was honestly so hard to write Tellus and Fulmen and your mother because I KNEW what I had to do. They had to be lovable, you had to want to know them more, because that would make the loss really meaningful. But omg, every time I write a scene with Tellus I was screaming at myself “What is wrong with you?!” 😅😭

Chapter 2 will be full of fur babies and RO meetings and lots of pleasent and humorous moments, I promise!

[seventh-district]

7am, eating cold leftover teriyaki stir-fry for breakfast and crying over blorbos

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 10

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You and Michael finally discuss where you stand with each other…and the feelings rooting around in your heart.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: I’m a people pleaser at heart, so here’s the next one a bit early! (you guys are great omg thank you so much!)🥹

My current outline has sixteen parts + an epilogue, so seven parts to go! Still undecided if I want to wait around for season two to see if I should pick it back up, or just end it (but I’m so attached to them lol)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: age gap, mild angst, feelings, foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, finally some comfort

not beta read

You felt like you had stared at the large red ENTRANCE sign for an hour, but it was likely only a minute. Your heart was in your throat. You still had no clue what you really wanted to say to Michael; nothing felt adequate enough. How could you translate the anger, or the steadfast longing in your chest without crossing them? Without forgoing one and letting it fester?

Did you risk it all on the truth? Did you attempt to find a middle ground in just a friendship? Or would it be better to decide to cut it all off before it got worse? Your stomach rolled uneasily, your anxiety working its way through your chest.

Stepping into the emergency department waiting room, you noted how much busier it was. Frowning, you thought to just turn around and see her PCP, call Michael and apologize. Surely, he should understand.

Your eyes met the registration clerk—Lupe—and she waved you forward, stopping all the thoughts in their tracks. She smiled as you approached.

You pulled the corners of your lips up in greeting.

“I’ll let Dr. Robby know you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

You found a seat far off to the side, eyeing several of the other people warily. A good few of them looked far worse than you did, and all you needed were your stitches removed. Guilt worked its way through your system — you really should have kept your PCP appointment and just met Michael somewhere to talk.

It only took a few minutes before Michael was walking out into the waiting room, his face neutral. There was something flickering in his eyes, however, as they searched for you.

When your eyes met, they held steady — an entire ocean of things unsaid sitting between you, the last month of all the anxiety, the longing, the anger, the uncertainty, crashed into that waiting room. The room halted, and grew impossibly silent, your entire world centered on his brown eyes. It felt like meeting his gaze at the cafe all over again but with a knowing this time — just a shred of it, but it made your heart race.

Then he smiled and you finally relaxed.

You stood and walked towards him, ignoring the way several other people complained that you had only just arrived. His eyes centered you and you fought the heat crawling to your cheeks coming from his attention, overthinking each of your movements and trying to school them. You needed to hold onto some of your anger so you didn’t jump into the deep end too early.

There were still so many things you needed to talk about. So many things to figure out.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Robby.” You teased, though it came out clunkier than you had hoped and you internally cursed at yourself.

The corner of his mouth rose higher and he gestured for you to follow after him. You stepped into pace with him, side-eyeing him and trying to calm your racing heart. It was stupid that he could still have this effect on you, even when you were still a bit mad at him.

“Short notice is the name of the game in the Pitt.” He teased back.

Your nose scrunched, “The Pitt?”

He waved his hand to motion to the ER, “I call this place the Pitt. Affectionately, of course.”

You chuckled lightly, “Affectionately? Right, of course.”

He smirked, moving past the main desk and toward a room. The nurse who had helped you last time—Dana—watched curiously as you passed by. You tried to ignore the attention as several eyes glued to the side of your face.

You could see why the waiting room was so packed, there were no beds available in the back. Michael eventually gestured to an open “room”. The only privacy you would be afforded was a curtain. Heat crawled up your back, the kind of feeling where it was obvious you were being watched. You glanced back to the main desk, where several nurses had gathered, and Michael followed your gaze. When his eyes settled on everyone, they dispersed almost immediately.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you a room—”

“It’s fine. It’s not like I need to strip.” You said offhandedly, “It’s only my palm.”

His face was red by the time you looked back at him, but he adjusted it quickly and smiled softly. You sat up on the gurney. Michael tapped on the tablet for a few moments, before setting it aside.

“Alright, let me see.” He reached into the inside of his hoodie to grab glasses out of his scrubs pocket.

The black frames sat elegantly on his nose and your brain short circuited. You stared at him dumbly, barely registering his eyebrow raising.

You swallowed thickly, “You wear glasses?”

He blinked, glancing away from your face, “I know, I know. I look like such an old man—”

“No.” You said quickly. “Distinguished. Intellectual. Handsome. Poetic.” Fucking devastating in the best way, in a way that could ruin any restraint I thought I had, you thought before awkwardly clearing your throat, “Definitely not old.”

His ears got red, and his lips gave way for a gentle smile to break through. His eyes avoided you, looking down at the tray table and fussing with a few of the instruments. He moved to get latex gloves on, and you had the fleeting thought that you preferred his skin on yours.

“Thank you,” he whispered huskily as he moved closer to you. He grabbed your palm and assessed it. “It’s healing really well.”

The latex felt like the heavy conversation that needed to happen, keeping you from being skin-to-skin.

“It’s still fuckin’ itchy.” You said, a corner of your mouth quirking up.

Michael laughed, “You’ll still need to keep it covered.”

You scrunched your nose at him, “I was hoping this would be it.”

He shook his head at you, “Not quite. I’ll remove the stitches and then apply some adhesive strips, which you should keep on for another five days. Then bandages will be fine after that.”

You let out a long breath, “Trying not to stretch out my palm has been hard enough for just two weeks. It’s my dominant hand.”

“This shouldn’t hurt at all, but let me know if it does.” He said, bringing surgical scissors to your wound. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be trying to grab knives as they fall.”

You frowned, but an eyebrow raised in amusement, “I’m trying out for a juggling competition. Riskier the item, the bigger the reward.”

He smirked, “Yeah?”

“Totally, but this one guy lit his knives on fire, so I think he wins.”

Michael chuckled lightly, beginning to cut away your stitches, pulling away the pieces. He was right in the fact that it didn’t hurt, but you felt the tugging at your skin that felt odd coupled with the wound itching.

“I definitely don’t think you should be signing up for any competitions for at least a month.”

You faked a scowl, “I suppose I could, on doctor’s orders.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours. Neither of you moved for several beats of your heart.

“I don’t know if you’re busy later—”

“Do you want to—”

You stared at each other and each of your lips broke out into a grin.

Michael cleared his throat, looking back down to remove your stitches. “I don’t know if you’re busy later, but perhaps we could get together to talk? We could meet at a more neutral location this time, so you’re not uncomfortable.”

“Talking really wasn’t that great last time.” You said quietly, your stomach knotting together.

Michael frowned, a long breath of air escaping his nose, his eyebrows pulling together while he focused on the task. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

An awkward air swarmed into their space. You became painfully aware of the eyes again, and you not so subtly looked up to find Langdon hovering by a patient in the “room” to your right. A nurse was standing beside him and she avoided your eyes when you looked over at them. Averting your eyes, you tried to focus on Michael’s hands so the embarrassment wouldn’t creep in.

“I think we’re being watched.” You leaned just a bit closer to him, whispering as low as you could.

Michael looked up and then over his shoulder. He spotted the onlookers easily.

“Gossip hounds, the lot of them.” He told you, though not unkindly.

“We should probably talk elsewhere, then.” You said, “To clear the air, of course.”

“Of course.” He echoed, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips.

“Your place?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel—”

“No, I think it might be better than trying to have this conversation somewhere in public.” You told him with a small shrug.

He nodded in agreement, “Yeah, okay. I’ll text you when I leave tonight and you can meet me there.”

“Just promise me something?” You ventured, trying to look into his eyes.

He looked back at you, “Anything.”

“No more hiding. Just honesty.”

“No more hiding.”

—

Michael’s apartment seemed much more daunting than it ever had, even the first time you had been there. The last time you had been in it, you had kissed and then you had fled. What might have changed if you had stayed?

You shook off the what ifs and got into the elevator. Tapping your foot to try to get rid of your anxious energy before you walked in, fiddling with your fingernails. You knew bringing in the nerves with you would suit you ill.

There was still a lingering ache in your heart and your stomach rolled. Realistically, you should have prepped more for the worst, for the “I’m too old for you” and “you don’t want me” or even “this can’t happen”, “I don’t want you like that”. It seized the ache and made it burn — shame, embarrassment bleeding and drowning the shred of hope that was trying to grow.

Knocking on his door, you held your breath. You felt your heart pound against your ribs and you rubbed anxious circles onto your thigh.

His face did little to quell your concerns when he opened the door. He invited you in with a sheepish smile, still in his scrub bottoms but with a new shirt.

You sat awkwardly on his couch while he went to get you a glass of water, desperately trying not to bounce your leg.

Michael walked back into the living room, setting down your water onto a coaster before finally sitting beside you. The silence was crushing, the only sounds coming from your breathing and the hum of the radiators.

“Look, I really just want to apologize for what I said to you. I hurt you and I’m really sorry.” Michael told you softly, and you met his gaze, but struggled to hold it. “It was—it was unfair. More than unfair to throw that in your face. I think very highly of you, actually, and the agreement just kept getting in the way.”

“Getting in the way?” You questioned, “Of what? What you thought about me? That I was just—”

“No, no,” he sighed, “It was making me second guess my own feelings. If they were real. If it was okay. I was getting painfully insecure about it.”

You gave a nod and a pause stretched between you.

“I can’t say what I would or wouldn’t have done without the agreement, or if I ever would have approached you otherwise. We likely still would have never crossed paths, so I have to at least be thankful that we did, despite the circumstances.” You said.

“I just thought—I thought it was one sided, until you kissed me back and—” His voice grew tight, “You ran. It only made me run further from my own feelings. I felt so guilty. I felt like a creep. It wasn’t what we had agreed to and I eventually thought that you were just entertaining me. That it really didn’t mean anything. I wanted to end it to spare myself the humiliation.”

Blinking slowly at him, you digested his words. Feelings. He had feelings. For me.

“I wasn’t entertaining you. I forgot about the agreement sometimes, too. I didn’t really know how to bring it up without sounding like an idiot. Or for you to think I was just being naive. I was trying to save myself the embarrassment when I ran, of it just being a spur of the moment thing or something that didn’t actually mean anything to you. Because it meant something to me. I really wish I did stay, but I can be a coward sometimes. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t. I mean…spur of the moment, maybe, but I had thought about it before. I got scared because it meant something to me, too.” He said, voice quiet. “But the agreement made me feel weird about it—”

“Yeah.” You agreed. “It felt like that for me too. But I kept thinking about it every day after that.”

“You’re young—”

“That doesn’t negate my feelings.”

He stared at your face, absorbing your words. “You don’t need to be tied down to an old man like me.”

You shook your head at him, “With or without the agreement, I’m free to make my own choices. About what I want. About…this. About you.”

He watched you closely, eyes flickering across your face. His expression shifted, just slightly, like hope seeped in, his eyebrows raising just slightly. “My life can be a mess. And I’ll be honest in the fact that you can do so much better.”

You frowned, “I won’t beg, Michael, you don’t have to—I—my feelings for you are all out in the open now and I won’t take them back.”

“Okay,” he nodded, rubbing his hands along his pants while he looked away. “I promised I wouldn’t run anymore, so…I’m here. I want to stay. I want to figure out what this is, or could be.”

A breath of relief exited your nose, before you took another breath to steady yourself. “I want to forgive you, and I think I’ll still need some time—”

“—and that’s okay—”

“—but I like this. I want to see where it could go.”

“...you do?” He asked tentatively, eyebrows raising slightly.

You swallowed, your throat growing tight. No more running. “No more agreement. Just two adults…trying to figure it all out.”

“Frankly, I don’t know where we stand without it…the agreement, I mean.”

“We could start fresh,” you offered, sticking out her hand and introducing yourself. Like it was the first time you were meeting.

He glanced at you hand and smiled, taking hold of it with his own, “Nice to meet you. My name is Michael and I’d like to take you out to dinner sometime.”

An easy smile formed, “I’d like that.”

[ Next ]

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things @laurenkate79 @woodxtock @rosie-posie08 @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

Me being Peter 3: I love you guys😭

[sebscore]

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?

pairings: f1 grid x driver!reader (she/her pronouns)

warnings: angst. angst. angst. swearing. like a lot of swearing. i cannot write crashes/contact for the life of me. argument. lando and reader are assholes in this. 

author's note: dont even ask me why i wrote this, i got inspired and needed it out of my system. lol. 

masterlist

''Retire the car. Too much damage. Sorry, Y/N.'' Marco informed her over the radio, sounding frustrated and apologetic over her already finished race. 

The driver took a deep breath before answering. ''Too bad, it was going well. Thanks, guys.'' 

Her race had in fact been going well. She'd made a great start going from P4 to P2, and had managed to keep up with the Red Bull of Max. They weren't even halfway in the race or Lando tried overtaking her, causing contact, causing her to run off in the gravel with too much trouble on the car to continue. 

In her opinion, it had been reckless. The McLaren driver knew exactly she would end up being forced off the track by the overtake, and that her race would most likely be over because of it. 

As she trudged back to the garage, helmet in hand, she could barely contain her frustration. The team greeted her with sympathetic looks, but she didn't stop to talk to anyone. She headed straight for her driver's room, needing a moment to cool off before she could face the media. 

Her hands trembled with anger as she peeled off her gloves, tossing them onto a nearby chair. The season hadn't been going how she had hoped or even expected it to go. Last year she had been the vice World Champion, the undisputed second-best driver on the grid, the only one to essentially have been able to challenge Max's dominance. Now, she got lucky to even end up in the top five of a race. Her team's design of the car hadn't been meeting the expectations the engineers had set, and upgrades weren't helping in the way they had hoped. 

That is why this race weekend had been a great boost for the team's morale and confidence. Qualifying had gone really well, and for a moment they were able to fight for the win even. But the papaya car of No. 4 had shoved their hopes down the drain. 

Minutes later, there was a knock on the door. She turned to see Marco standing there, looking concerned. ''You okay?'' 

''Have I ever been okay,'' she remarked, a sarcastic chuckle leaving her lips. ''I'm just pissed, that's all. I had high hopes for today.'' 

''We all did,'' he smiled sadly. ''The stewards reviewed the incident, but he, uh, didn't get a penalty.'' He said softly, almost as if he was afraid of her reaction.

The young woman let out a bitter laugh. ''Of course he didn't, why would he?'' Her hands covered her face, briefly wiping off the sweat that had formed. 

Marco took a step closer, his expression a mix of empathy and disappointment. ''You drove brilliantly out there. Everyone saw it. The team saw it. It's just... racing politics sometimes.'' 

She dropped her hands, meeting his eyes with a mixture of anger and resignation. ''It's always like that, though. It's always the same drivers suffering the consequences of others, and they don't get shit for it. It is fucking annoying.'' 

Her engineer nodded, understanding everything she was saying. ''I know, we all know. But we keep fighting. We keep pushing. This season isn't over yet.'' 

''Yeah, true.'' She sighed. 

Marco gave her a reassuring smile. ''We'll be ready for the next race. We're all in this together, okay? We're all behind you.'' 

She nodded, feeling a small measure of comfort in his words. ''Thanks, I appreciate it.'' They shared a quick embrace, before he left to join the team again. Meanwhile she got herself ready to go to the media pen. As much as she wanted to hide away, she knew it was part of the job. 

Since she had an early exit, there wasn't much activity inside the area, though there were a bunch of reporters waiting for her. 

''Y/N, tough race today. Can you tell us what happened from your perspective?'' The reporter asked after briefly greeting her. 

''Yeah, it was, uh, challenging, I guess,'' she plastered a smile on her face. ''We had a great start, moving up to P2 and keeping pace with Max. Then, yeah, the contact with Lando. The car had a bunch of damage, and we decided to just retire the car.'' 

''Do you think it was a fair move by him?'' He followed up. 

She paused, weighing her response. ''Racing is always intense, especially at this level. I don't think it was the right move to make, but the stewards saw it as a racing incident.  I'll respect their decision, but it doesn't make it any less frustrating.'' 

''You and Lando are good friends, and have been racing against each other since your karting days. Will you talk to him afterwards or just forget about it?'' 

They had expected a question like this, so the media-trained answer came out very quickly. ''It was deemed a racing incident, so there is not much to say further about it.'' 

''How do you and your team plan to bounce back from this setback?'' The reporter for Sky Sports changed the topic. 

''We'll regroup and come back stronger,'' she answered, injecting as much determination into her voice as she could muster. ''This season has been tough, but my team and I are committed to pushing forward. We learn from every race, and today is no different.'' 

''That's great, thank you, Y/N.'' They wrapped up the interview, and she moved onto a new one. 

Once she had spoken to everyone she needed to speak to, she finally had a moment to herself. She knew the words she had just spoken were the right ones, but they did little to soothe the turmoil inside her. 

It didn't help that Lando managed to take the lead, and eventually get his first win. As she watched the remainder of the race from the sidelines, her emotions were all over the place. On the one hand, she was proud of her friend for finally making his dream come true. However, it had come at the expense of her race. She had pushed so hard this season, and to see her friend and rival celebrate his triumph while she stood there with nothing but frustration was almost unbearable. 

The cheers from the McLaren garage echoed in her ears. They celebrated wildly, the joy of his long-awaited victory palpable even from a distance. He was swarmed by his team as they shouted his name. 

The podium ceremony was even worse. As Lando stood on the top step, the British national anthem playing in the background, she couldn't help but replay the moment that had ended her race. She could see the excitement in his eyes, the genuine happiness that came with achieving a lifelong dream. But all she could think about was the contact, the gravel trap, and the wrecked potential of what could have been her race. 

Under any other circumstance, she would have been there for him. She would have run to the ceremony herself, just like he had done for her when she got her first win in F1 and made history as the first woman to do so. But it just stung too deep. 

''Lando, there was an incident with Y/N that resulted in her retiring from the race. Can you tell us what happened there?'' The Dutch reporter asked the race winner. 

Lando's expression shifted slightly, the euphoria dimming just a bit. ''Uh, yeah. I saw a gap and went for it. It was a tight move, and unfortunately, it led to some contact. But that's racing, you know.'' 

''Have you spoken to her yet?'' 

''Not yet,'' he admitted. ''But I don't think there is much to talk about.'' He chuckled, quickly glancing sideways, but his laugh seemed forced.

''She told Sky Sports that she didn't think you made the right move there.'' The journalist said, instigating a headline for them to be able to use. 

Lando frowned at his words, but recovered. ''Well, that's her opinion. It was just racing for me.'' 

''So you don't regret making the move?'' The reporter pressed on. 

The Brit took a deep breath before answering. ''I regret that it ended her race. But as a racer, you have to take chances. It's a fine line, you know.''

The older man in front of him nodded at his response, knowing they had gotten a glimpse of the tension that was present between the fan-favorite duo. ''Thank you, Lando. Congratulations again.'' 

''Thank you.'' 

With that, the interview wrapped up, and Lando moved onto the next reporter. As he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease. He didn't think he had done anything wrong, so why was everyone talking to him as if he had done something wrong? 

Y/N was struggling to unwind. The events of the day played over and over in her mind, each replay more frustrating than the last. She tried to distract herself by either watching some TikToks or TV, but nothing could drown out her thoughts. The texts from her friends, family and team certainly didn't help. It was a nice gesture, but she didn't want to think about the race anymore and the messages weren't helping. Finally, she decided to call it a night and climbed into bed, hoping sleep would offer some respite. 

Just as she was starting to drift off, another knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. It was unusual for someone to bother her this late, especially when she was winding down in her hotel room.

She frowned and got out of bed, opening the door to find Lando standing there, wearing his signature grin, acting nonchalant as ever. ''You wanna come celebrate with us? We rented a club.'' 

Y/N frowned at him, confused over his casual behavior. ''No.'' She scoffed, offended by the mere thought. 

It was now Lando's turn to frown at his friend. ''Why?'' 

She crossed her arms, incredulous at his obliviousness. ''Why? Are you taking the fucking piss out of me or something.'' 

His grin faltered slightly, but he tried to maintain his composure. ''If this is about the racing incident then you're being ridiculous.'' 

Her eyes widened in disbelief, her frustration boiling over. ''I am being ridiculous? You were ridiculous with that move you pulled!'' She retorted, raising her voice. ''You ran me off the track knowing how hard this season has fucking been for me. You know how much I needed a good result today and you ruined it for me!'' 

''Y/N, I get that you're upset, but it's racing. These things are bound to happen. I saw a gap and I went for it. The stewards didn't even penalize me, so clearly, it wasn't as bad as you're making it out to be.'' He was restraining from rolling his eyes, she could tell. 

She scoffed, shaking her head. ''Oh, so now you're agreeing with the stewards? Now that it is benefitting you? And there was no fucking gap, you were just being selfish. You knew what you were doing, and you didn't care how it would affect me.'' 

Lando's face hardened, his patience wearing thin. ''I didn't do it on purpose to screw you over, where the fuck are you getting that from? I saw an opportunity, and I took it. That's what we do out there. You know that better than anyone." 

''If that opportunity was ruining my fucking race, then yeah, you really took the opportunity, Norris.'' She rolled her eyes, voice tinged with sarcasm. 

He took a step closer, his frustration now matching hers. ''I'm sorry that you didn't get the result you wanted today, I really am. But I am not going to apologize for racing and doing my job, Y/N.'' 

She simply glared at him, disappointed in how he was acting towards her. They'd never really had an argument before, at least not one where they couldn't see each other's point. They'd been frustrated with each other before, but it was always in reason. 

''If anything, I should be angry with you- not the other way.'' Lando suddenly said. 

''Why's that?'' She sneered, almost in disbelief that he would have a valid reason. 

''Because you didn't even have the fucking guts to congratulate me,'' he snapped back, ''when you won Silverstone, I was literally one of the first people to hug you and congratulate you for your win. I stood next to your fucking parents, Y/N! And today you didn't even bother doing anything.'' 

Her mouth fell open, a mix of shock and anger flooding her veins. ''You are unbelievable… You ruined my fucking race, Lando! How am I supposed to stand there and cheer for you when you cost me everything today?'' 

He rolled his eyes while throwing up his hands. ''This isn't just about today. You're just jealous because my season has been going so much better than yours. You can't fucking stand that for one time I'm doing actually better than you.'' 

''Jealous… of you?'' The words came out like laughter, slightly hurting the McLaren driver's ego. ''You think I can't be happy for you because I'm not doing as well? That's so low, Lando.'' 

''Ever since the start of the season you've been so moody and distant, and now you can't even say or even fucking text me a congratulations for my first win. You're so pissed that I got a win before you this season, you can't even hide it.'' He shot back. 

''Oh, give me a break. Like you wouldn't act the same if you were getting all these shit results. Maybe I didn't congratulate you because I was too busy trying to scrape gravel out of my fucking tires.'' She remarked, throwing in the sarcastic comment. 

Lando looked unimpressed by her remark. ''You're just mad cause I'm outshining you. You can't fucking stand that I'm getting all the attention.'' 

''Outshining me? Are you hearing yourself?'' She mocked him, laughing bitterly. ''You get one win and you're acting like you're a fucking World Champion already. You've been riding Max's dick these last years hoping some of his success will rub off on you. Newsflash Norris, everyone is just fucking laughing at you.'' 

His face turned red, either embarrassment or anger. ''At least I'm not constantly whining about my car and blaming everyone else for my problems. Maybe if you spent more time focusing on your driving and less on complaining, you'd have more to celebrate.'' 

''You're a fucking spoiled brat who can't stand some competition. You think everything should be handed to you on a silver platter.'' She retorted. 

''And you're a fucking baby who throws a temper tantrum everytime you don't get what you want. It's time to fucking grow up, Y/N!'' He shouted, his voice rising with each word. 

She took a step closer to him. ''You should spend less time trying to prove yourself to people who don't give a shit about you, and more time trying to be a decent fucking human being. I'm ashamed to call you one of my best friends.'' 

That last sentence had clearly hit a nerve or several nerves. He shook his head, taking a few steps back. ''Fuck you, Y/N. Enjoy your pity party.'' Lando turned and walked away, joining his friends who were waiting in the lobby. 

She watched him go, her chest heaving with a mix of anger and heartbreak. She could feel the pulse of her racing heart, the adrenaline from their argument making her feel jittery and unsteady. 

A lump formed in her throat as she replayed the last few minutes in her mind. She cringed internally at the words she had fired at Lando, while also trying to ignore the sting from his own harsh words. She wondered how they would be able to come back from this. They had never been in a situation like this before, and she knew that she would never want to be in this situation again. 

The young woman knew that she had let her emotions get the best of her. She had always prided herself on being fair and understanding, but now she felt ashamed of herself. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of another door opening. George peeked out, concern etched on his face. ''Y/N, you okay?'' 

She shook her head, not wanting to deal with anyone else. ''Mind your business, Russell.'' She retreated back into her room, not before slamming the door behind her. 

As she leaned against the closed door, the weight of the evening pressed down on her. The room felt too small, her emotions too big. She slid down to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest, and let the tears she had been holding back finally fall.

Even when she finally got up, even when she tucked herself in again for the final time, and even when she tossed and turned the entire night, the same question lingered in her mind. 

Are they still friends? 

The question haunted her, gnawing at her thoughts every time she closed her eyes. She replayed the argument over and over, dissecting every word, every expression. The hurt in his eyes, the anger in his voice- it all felt so raw and irreversible. 

As the hours dragged on, sleep remained elusive. The darkness of the room mirrored the uncertainty in her heart. She knew they both needed time to cool off, to reflect, but the thought of facing Lando again filled her with dread.

The first light of dawn began to seep through the curtains, and she felt no more at ease than she had the night before. 

Are they still friends? 

story ideas are always welcome, but remember that it can take a while for me to get to it! :)

[jaikoyaki]

One more chance.

//kim minji x reader//Street racing AU// Oneshot //

— Tied her down to my Queen bed. Tease her just enough to hate me.

SYPNOSIS ❯❯❯❯ Rivals, exes, idiots with fast cars. you race, you fight, you kiss—sometimes not in that order. tonight’s supposed to settle the score. but when has that ever gone to plan?

WARNINGS ❯❯❯❯ Suggestive jokes/themes, Explicit Language, gayness

TAGS ❯❯❯❯ Street Racing AU, Enemies/exes to something, Fluff, Mutual Pining, teeny tiny angst, Underground Racing Culture, FEM!READER

WC ❯❯❯❯ 3.3K

A/N ❯❯❯❯ Bro. Why do all my writing sprees start at 1am. like thats my peak freak hour. I nearly titled this “fast & freaky” 😿🙏 and every time I reread it in the morning I cringe so bad oml. Also fuck tumblr i got this accidentally posted this twice

Minji looks stupid good under neon.

Always has, always will.

She’s got on this oversized firetruck red windbreaker, slung off one shoulder, and a navy cap pulled low so the bold “P” hides her eyes. Not that it matters. You know that look. You’ve memorized it. 

Her little crew is wrapped around her like she’s royalty but you know better.

She never needed an entourage.

She had you.

Once, you were the one by her side. Closer than any of them.

Now you’re across the lot, gripping the wheel like it’s her hand and praying your engine doesn’t stall the second she glances your way again.

You’re parked right at the edge of the strip—an old shipping yard they turned into a half-legal racetrack, lit only by flickering floodlights and the glow of brake lights. Smoke curls into the sky from burnt-out tires. The air’s thick with gas, sweat, and something else you won’t name.

People are everywhere, perched on hoods, crowding around the starting line, drinks in hand, phones out. Some are here to race, most are just here to watch.

“YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS!”

 The host’s voice crackles through the busted PA system, slicing through bass and bad decisions.

“Another night, another round of racing! Don’t cry when your bets flop! And don’t cry too hard when your car eats shit on the last corner!”

The crowd whoops. Somewhere behind you, someone lets off a firecracker.

You roll your eyes and lean back against your car, arms crossed over your chest.

“He’s getting more dramatic every time,” you mutter.

“Yeah,” Ryujin replies, slipping beside you, “but he’s right. Bet money’s gonna get ugly tonight.”

You shoot her a look. “You betting against me now?”

She snorts. “Please. I like my money where I can count it.”

 Then she elbows you. “You know Minji’s crew showed up an hour early just to scout the track?”

Your gaze flicks across the lot. Minji’s still there—right where you left her in your rearview mirror.

“Guess she’s worried.”

“Or,” Ryujin says, nudging your shoulder, “..she’s just taking it seriously. Word is a sponsor specifically requested this race.”

“What race?”

She deadpans. “The one you’re in. With her.”

You blink. “Huh..?”

Ryujin stares at you. “Did you not read the group chat?”

You definitely did not.

“Some hotshot sponsor asked for you two specifically. Said it’d draw a crowd.”

You frown. “Why? We always end up tying anyway.”

“Exactly,” she grins, “they eat that shit up. Everyone wants to see who’ll finally win.”

You sigh, turning your attention to the starting line where two cars rev. Another crew-versus-crew race about to start. One of the drivers signals to the crowd, standing half-out the window, hyping them up. His engine is loud like it's got something to prove. The other car flashes its headlights in response.

“Ten seconds!” the host calls out, voice echoing off rusted metal and sweat-slick concrete. A girl in fishnets raises her arms at the starting line, bandana fluttering from one wrist like a flag.

You and Ryujin watch in silence.

"That one’s from Jeno’s crew,” She murmurs, nodding toward the black Supra with matte decals. “He’s fast, but he always oversteers on turns. Cocky.”

You hum, eyes locked on the track.

The girl drops her arms.

Engines scream, tires screech, and the two cars launch forward like rockets.

The crowd erupts as they rip down the makeshift strip.

They drift the last corner hard, one nearly clipping the sidewall. It's messy, but it earns a cheer.

“Messy,” you mutter. “But ballsy.”

“Mhm,” Ryujin agrees. “Still won’t beat you, though.”

You flash her a small smile. But it fades the second you glance back across the lot—

Minji’s not in her spot anymore.

She’s moved closer to the track, standing just behind the barrier, closer than she needs to be.

And closer to you.

You spot her through the smoke just as another set of tires scream across the finish. She’s got that look on again—the one that says she’s thinking three steps ahead.

Well, fine. So are you.

You push off your car and stroll over, hands deep in your pockets, the smirk already forming.

“You finally come to get a better look?” you ask, stopping just a little too close. Like, you-can-smell-her-perfume close.

Minji doesn’t flinch. “Just wanted to see what kind of excuse your crew’s gonna spit out when you choke again.”

“Cute,” you grin. “You sound nervous.”

Her eyes slide to yours. “You wish.”

You laugh under your breath. “You always talk more when you're trying not to feel something.”

The parking lot was empty, save for the two of you and the occasional buzz of a streetlamp overhead.

“You should probably ease off throttle in that second turn. If the back end slips, counter-steering alone won’t be enough, you’ll need—” She paused, catching herself mid-ramble.

You raised an eyebrow, looking over. “Min.”

“What?”

“You’re overthinking again.”

Minji sighed, low and annoyed, more at herself than you. “I’m not.”

“Yes you are. You nervous?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes stayed on the dark stretch of road beyond the lot, and her voice, when it came, was tight. “It’s not nerves. I just... like to be prepared.”

You nudged her with your shoulder. “And I know when you’re lying.”

She glanced at you, and for a second, something softened in her expression—like she wanted to admit it, to just let it out. But then the wall came back up. She took another sip of her drink, voice casual again. “Then stop asking dumb questions.”

You smiled. “You don’t have to be scared of losing.”

“I’m not,” she said, too fast.

And that was all the confirmation you needed.

Her jaw ticks, just barely.

Bullseye.

“I talk more when I’m bored,” she fires back, deadpan. “And you’re a slow burn.”

You tilt your head, lips twitching. “Funny. You weren’t bored last time you were in my backseat.”

Her jaw tightens.

“Oh—we’re still pretending that didn’t happen?” you say, sweetly venomous. “Should I shut up before your crew hears how loud you were?”

Minji’s team starts glancing around awkwardly. Yours is already watching like this is the undercard fight before the main event.

“And here I thought red was your lucky color,” you muse, eyeing the way it clings to her. “Still looks better crumpled up on my floor.”

That does it.

She spins on her heel and stalks back to her side without saying a word.

You watch her go, a smug little curl tugging at your lips.

She’s rattled.

Exactly where you want her.

–

Minji stalks back to her side of the lot. The crowd’s still buzzing, cheers, engines, someone yelling about lost bets—but she doesn’t hear any of it.

Her head’s still full of you.

Of the way your voice dropped, just enough to make her pulse beat faster. The stupid smirk you wore like it was your default face. God, it’s like you know exactly which buttons to push, and worse, you do it on purpose.

She’s halfway to her crew’s car when Hanni materializes beside her.

“She’s so annoying,” Minji mutters, yanking off her gloves one finger at a time like they personally offended her.

“And hot,” Hanni chimes in like she’s checking off a list. “Annoying and hot. The deadliest combo.”

Minji shoots her a look.

“What?” Hanni shrugs, hands buried in her hoodie pockets. “You keep racing her. That can’t just be about pride. Either you’re trying to prove something to her, or you’re hoping she rear-ends you and calls it foreplay.”

Minji glares. “Hanni.”

“I’m just saying, man.” Hanni says, all innocent. “You get weird when she’s around. Stiff. Clenchy. Very Batman-core.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Hanni cuts in. “You were flirting and fighting at the same time. Flirting-with-enemies-to-lovers pipeline speedrun.”

Minji scowls, dragging a hand through her hair. “It’s not—she’s just… distracting.”

Hanni grins. “Awww. She gets under your skin. That’s sooo gay of you.”

Minji doesn’t respond. She doesn’t have to. Her silence says enough, especially when her eyes flick back toward the track. Toward where you’re standing.

She still remembers the last time you two raced. The tie. The after. The stupid, breathless laugh you gave her in the dark when you said, “Bet you let me win.” As if she didn’t push her engine harder than she ever had that night just to keep up.

—

Fifteen minutes later, the host’s voice crackles to life again, loud and electric.

“ALRIIIIIGHT! We’ve got a special matchup tonight, folks—one straight outta hell!”

The crowd roars in anticipation.

“Back by very popular demand—Minji of the NJZ Crew, and Y/N from the 88s! You know ’em. You love ’em. You fear what’s gonna happen if one of them actually wins this time!”

People scream. Cameras flash. Phones are up, recording, live-streaming.

Bets are flying, shouted across the space like war shouts. You even hear someone yell “Fifty grand on the 88s!” over the din.

You step toward the line, helmet swinging from your fingers, engine still humming behind you.

Minji’s already there, leaning against her MR2 like she's posing for a photo. Her windbreaker gone, now tied loose around her waist. She’s in a fitted white tank stamped with I ❤️ ME, Her track pants sit low, hips tilted just so— and okay—

You almost hate how good she looks.

Almost.

She glances at you as you approach, then back to her car, jaw tight.

No words?

You grin.

“What? Not even a ‘good luck’? I thought you were a gracious loser, Min.”

She doesn’t flinch. Just shifts her weight and leans into the door of her car, lips curling into the faintest smirk.

“I was just thinking…” she says, voice slow and deliberate, “how nice your car would look with my initials keyed into the hood.”

You blink. Your cocky grin falters for a second—just a second. Long enough for her to catch it.

She saw.

You recover quick, letting out a short laugh. “Dream big.”

She opens her door but pauses, glancing over her shoulder. “It’s cute when you pretend you’re not nervous,” she says, voice pitched lower now. Just for you. “But I’ve seen the way your hands shake after a close race. You still get that adrenaline high?”

Your jaw clenches.

“Why, you offering to help me wind down after?”

She looks at you then. Really looks. Her eyes drag down your figure like she’s memorizing you.

“Only if you win,” she murmurs. “But we both know you won’t.”

You recover fast—ish. Coughing once. twice. Covering your smile with your hand. Okay. She wants to play like that now?

“You always flirt when you’re desperate?” you ask, trying to steady your voice. It almost works.

Minji raises a brow, eyes gleaming. “Desperate?” She steps closer. “L/N, if I wanted to rattle you, I wouldn’t be using words.”

You open your mouth—ready to snap back, or maybe choke—but the host’s voice cracks through the moment.

You blink.

Wait.

You were supposed to rattle her.

-

"Let’s make it spicy tonight, shall we?” the host’s voice booms over the speakers, dramatic. "Winner takes ten grand from our very generous sponsor and... who knows—might just walk away with a real racing contract. That’s right, our mystery backer’s in the lot tonight, hunting for the next underground icon. Think of it as your shot at going pro.”

Racing contract.

cheers and gasps ripple through the crowd. 

That’s new.

That’s everything you’ve ever wanted

Your heart stutters.

You glance at Minji. Her expression doesn’t change, but you notice how her fingers tighten on the wheel, the knuckles turning white.

“And hey,” the host adds, clearly having the time of his life, “loser’s still the winner’s bitch for the night!”

The crowd explodes.

You smirk behind the glass of your helmet as you finally slide it on, slow and deliberate. Your hands find the wheel like they belong there.

Minji’s already seated, belt clipped, gaze straight ahead.

No more talking.

But you don’t need words to know what she’s thinking.

She wants this.

Bad.

Just like you.

The girl from earlier steps back onto the track, arms raised, bandana whipping in the wind.

Red.

Your foot taps the gas once—just enough to feel the purr of your engine under your heel.

Yellow.

Minji’s MR2 booms beside you, low and steady.

You glance once at her, just once, through the smoke and heat.

She’s already looking at you.

And she smiles.

Green.

The second the light turns green, you’re off.

Rubber shrieks against pavement as your tires fight for grip. The force slams you into your seat.

Minji’s MR2 launches beside you, her shift smooth, timing perfect. She’s done this a hundred times. Maybe a thousand.

She’s right there—mirror to mirror, heartbeat to heartbeat. You can feel her, even through the roar.

She's not holding back. Not tonight.

Streetlights flicker overhead, throwing shadows across the cracked asphalt.

You take the first bend a little too tight—there’s a trash bin sitting half in the road.

You overcorrect, swerve slightly, tires skimming the edge of the curb.

Don’t oversteer. She’ll never let you live it down.

Minji doesn’t flinch.

She sees your mistake and takes advantage, cutting inside and passing you cleanly.

Her MR2 hugs the turn perfectly, tires whispering instead of screaming.

Typical.

You spot an opening: a tight, flooded alley shortcut that most wouldn’t risk. You remember it from scouting earlier, but you hadn’t planned to use it. It’s too unpredictable. Still, you dive in.

Water splashes up the side of your car, and for a moment, the whole chassis shudders.

You're hydroplaning—

Breathe. Don’t panic. Catch it.

You do. Barely.

When you burst out the other side, you’re ahead.

Final lap.

Now it’s you she’s chasing.

The road curves into a long sweeping turn, then tightens into a brutal S-curve right before the finish.

You keep your line tight, eyes flicking between the mirrors and the road.

She’s gaining on you again. She knows this part too well.

She’s not even forcing her car just waiting for you to mess up again.

But then—

Halfway through the lap, right before the last turn, something goes wrong.

Minji’s car stutters.

You don’t stop. Can’t. Not now.

You tear across the finish line a second later.

You win.

The crowd erupts. Fireworks explode somewhere off in the distance, a streak of color lighting up the night sky. Your name’s being screamed, shouted, echoed all around you. Someone grabs your arm—probably Ryujin, lifting it high into the air. You barely hear them. You barely hear anything, honestly.

Minji’s out of her car by the time you circle back. She gives you a stiff nod, lips pressed thin like she’s biting something back.

���Congrats,” she says.

You want to say something—Thank you? Did I? Are you okay? Was that real?—but she’s already walking off, disappearing into the crowd before anyone can stop her.

And maybe the crowd’s still celebrating, but all you can think about is her jaw. Clenched. Her fists. Shoved too deep in her pockets. The way her eyes didn’t meet yours long enough to say what she really felt.

She’s pissed.

You know her.

All too well.

-

Later, when the chaos has faded, you find yourself steering your car toward the place you’re 99% sure she went.

An old lot, tucked behind an abandoned strip mall. No lights. No noise. Just the faint hum of a playlist she always swore helped her “focus,” even though half of it was just twice songs and alt-pop breakup songs.

Sure enough, her MR2’s there.

Hood popped. Headlights dimmed.

Minji stands with her back to you, sleeves rolled up, frowning at the mess under the hood like she’s trying to will it back to life.

You park a few spaces down and walk over.

“I thought I told you to replace the starter,” you say casually, eyeing the cables.

She jumps. Just a little.

“You stalking me now?” she says, not looking up.

“No,” you lie. “Just figured I’d find you sulking somewhere.”

“...Not sulking,” she mutters. “Just...processing.”

“Uh huh.”

You step closer. The smell of smoke and hot metal lingers in the air. You glance at the engine, then at her hands. She’s holding the wrench wrong.

You sigh. “You’re gonna strip the bolt like that.”

“I know how to fix my car,” she snaps.

You hold up your hands. “Didn’t say you didn’t. Just offering.”

She hesitates.

Then, quietly so quietly “...Fine.”

You take the wrench from her. Your fingers brush. She tenses.

And suddenly, it’s just the two of you again. Just like it used to be. Two grease-stained idiots under the hood, arguing about torque specs and spark plugs.

“Still a little dramatic,” you mutter, tightening a bolt.

“Says the girl who revved so loud the crowd thought a jet was landing.”

You glance at her sideways. “Eh. Admit it. You missed this.”

She scoffs. “You wish.”

You grin. “You let me win.”

That gets her. Her face twitches.

“No, I didn’t,” she says, but you catch it. That tiny, guilty shift in her eyes.

You step in closer, wiping your hands on your jeans.

“You knew how much I wanted that contract,” you say, voice quieter now. “It’s all I ever talked about.”

Her jaw tightens, and her eyes don't meet yours. She’s thinking—really thinking, like she always does when she doesn’t know how to feel.

You remember those late-night conversations, way before any of this. When it was just you two, talking about your futures under the glow of her dads garage lights. You used to tell her about your big dream of making it as a real racer. You said it like it was just some offhand joke, but she saw it. She always did. The way your eyes lit up when you said it. She knew.

And then, in the present, as the host’s words echoed in the back of her mind, she saw your eyes shine when they mentioned the contract. You were ready to take it, to take that chance, and she let you.

“Min,” you say, softer, “your car was fine five minutes before the race.”

She still doesn’t speak. Just looks away. Jaw tight.

Her lips tremble slightly, but she stays quiet. Always holding back. Always too in control. But not tonight.

You step in closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her skin. Close enough to see the way her fists twitch like she’s holding back from either hitting you or grabbing you.

You don’t say anything else.

You just wait.

And maybe that’s what breaks her.

Because a second later, she moves.

No warning—just a sharp inhale, and then she’s on you. Arms locking around your shoulders, body crashing into yours like she’s trying to shove all the distance out of the way. She hugs you hard. Desperate. Her breath hits your neck hot and ragged, and you feel the tension in her spine like a livewire.

Her grip’s bruising. Her nails dig into your back like she wants to hurt you for making her care this much. But you don’t let go.

You never could.

She buries her face into the curve of your neck, and the exhale she lets out sounds like a surrender as her hands slide down your sides, fingers pressing into your waist with a force that leaves no room for escape. Her lips graze your skin when she speaks, sounding shaky and too honest.

“I missed you,” she mutters, and god—it’s not fair, the way your heart jumps like you haven’t heard her lie a hundred times before.

Rivals, sure. Exes, yeah. But damn—her hands still remember the shape of your waist better than her steering wheel.

MINJI IN RED LIKE😻😻😜😜 RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

taglist: @arihiu @fruityg0rl @keiji-jin @strangercat @yjiminswallet @hazel-tanthamore22 @idkwhatim-doinghere101 @gtfoiydlyj @Mj.Db @gtfoiydlyjm @somedaydream @peranoo @syronns @angiisss @Drvirgus @aloneinacity @nnewjeansstuff @imsogay504 @sh1ba100 @tashasmywife

[shybunnie20]

BFF!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

friends to lovers

★Locations ★My Masterlist

Summary: Eddie calls on you to help him plan his first date, and you wish that you were the one going on it with him.

Author's Note: This isn't quite as polished as I'd like it to be. But, I'm pushing through my last few weeks of college, so I'm working with the few brain cells I've got left lol. I still love how it turned out and the ending is worth all of the self-loathing, I promise.

No use of Y/N, est. friendship, ages aren’t specified but E & R are approx. in their early twenties & it’s an early 90s AU, Reader has never been asked on a date before. Mild angst with happy ending!

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: Reader dwells on poor self-worth & feels undesirable, acts of eating and multiple mentions of food, contains profanity.

Nestled in the quaint corner of Campbell Ave and 2nd Street, you’re engrossed in a call with a customer, jotting down an order for two bouquets consisting of pink-white lilies and snapdragons. Your eyes follow the effortless glide of your glitter gel pen across the paper, detailing their contact information.

Similarly to Goldilocks, you’ve found a place of employment where the pace is just right. You can handle whatever tasks Joan, the owner, asks of you. Sweeping the wood floors with a stiff-bristled broom, tending to the plants, and arranging flowers adorned with decorative ribbon and crisp paper are all within your grasp.

This place gets steady business, but the concept of a lunch or dinner rush is nonexistent. However, you do face a unique kind of rush occasionally. Now and then, a frantic lover bursts through the doors, bug-eyed, having realized they’ve forgotten a special anniversary or birthday at the very last minute. 

As you recite the customer’s order and callback number into the phone’s receiver, their confirmational “uh huhs” cut through the buzz of the line. Suddenly, your attention is diverted by the sight of a van pulling into the parking spot out front, slightly askew. A small smile teases the corners of your mouth as you make a conscious effort to refocus on closing the conversation at hand.

The plastic shell of the phone clacks as you hang up, and you watch Eddie hop out of his van, and round the front of it with an unusual pep in his step—more than you’d see his best days.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Eddie’s voice carries across the room, accompanied by a genuine smile that lights up his face. He strides to the register counter you’re currently manning, wearing a vermillion polo shirt embellished with the neatly embroidered String and Strum shop logo on the breast. His hair is pushed back from his face with a black bandana, resembling a biker-like edge, tied firmly to ensure no stray curls disrupt his work as he repairs guitars and sells instruments for commission.

In seconds flat, he’s already scrunching his nose like a bunny, sensing a sneeze on the horizon. Being in a room packed with fresh plants is nothing short of hell, but he’s willing to endure it for the sake of seeing you. While he can handle flowers in small quantities, the confined space never fails to tickle his system like nobody’s business.

Vision blurring with mild irritation, Eddie blinks hard to disperse it. “Hey, how’s today going?”

You shrug, suppressing a giggle at the wiggle of his nose. “As good as it can, I guess. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Eddie sets a grease-stained paper bag on the counter that separates you, along with a cup of soda. “Figured you could use a midday pick-me-up.”

“Must be my lucky day because I overslept and didn’t have time to pack a lunch. Well, that and I found a penny on the sidewalk.”

Eddie crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Don’t give luck all the credit. I have instinctual powers, y’know. My Munson senses were tingling and I knew you were in need.”

“My hero,” You exclaim, clasping your hands and swinging them to the side like a swooning princess. 

Eddie chuckles with you, watching as you wipe your palms on your apron and eagerly dig into the bag, pulling out a foam to-go box. As you promptly open it and take a bite of your lunch, you can’t help but groan and throw your head back in satisfaction. Your eyes meet his thereafter, causing him to twist his mouth to the side and momentarily look away.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask, your words slightly muffled as you continue to chew.

Minnie, Joan’s cat, gracefully leaps onto the counter to greet Eddie. She perches herself beside the cash register, allowing him to scratch under her chin. “Nothin, consider it a favor,” He says with a wet sniffle, the tingling in his nose unrelenting.

The silence that falls is comfortable for you, but he’s seemingly lost in his thoughts as he continues to pet Minnie. Then, he looks at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Speaking of which, I just so happen to know a way that you can return the favor.”

Having taken a sip from your drink and another bite of your food, the inflection of Eddie’s voice causes you to slow your chewing. “And what might that be?”

“Come over later to find out.”

Your shoulders slump, eyes widened with mock defeat. “No! I can’t stand here and wonder all day. I'll die. The suspense will kill me.”

Eddie pouts mockingly, his sweet honey eyes betraying his faux-frown. “Then I'll be sure to have the prettiest floral arrangement for your funeral. Only the best for you.”

Your brows knit together in an authentic pouting. The irony of needing to meet an untimely demise to receive flowers from a guy isn’t lost on you.

He motions toward the untrimmed bundle of carnations on the workbench behind you. “Actually, if you’re not too busy, could you string those up for me quick so they’re ready to go for your wake?”

“Ha-ha.” You leer at him, taking the next bite of your food rather aggressively. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I beg to differ since I surprised you with your favorite from Val’s and all,” Eddie retorts, biting the inside of his cheek.

You grumble, “Yeah, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Eddie checks his watch and huffs. “Alright, I’ve gotta get goin’." He raps his knuckles on the countertop and beginning to walk backward. “See you later tonight.” He points at you before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop.

The bulky keyring on Eddie’s jeans jingles loudly as he steps onto the sidewalk. Abruptly, he stops in his tracks. For a moment he’s frozen, and then he braces himself against the nearby lamppost. It hits him like a brick wall and he sneezes mightily. 

Heads of nearby passersby turn in his direction, startled by the noise. As he straightens his posture, Eddie remains still, trying to find his center of gravity and regain his composure.

“You good?” You call out, your voice just barely reaching him through the propped-open doors. Taking a casual sip of your drink, you watch as Eddie steadies himself. Still clutching the street lamp with one hand, he manages to stick his other arm out and give a thumbs-up.

True to your word, you arrive at Eddie’s place straight after work. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow through the patio door onto the walls of the living room. The apartment is in its usual state of disarray, expectedly so, since it’s home to three guys who aren’t particularly concerned with tidiness.

Toeing off your shoes, you’re unphased by the subtle smell of dust in the air. What strikes you as odd is how quiet it is. Typically, at least one roommate is home, blasting the TV in the living room or music from their respective bedrooms. But the only sound permeating the silence is the erratic thumping and screech of the water pipes behind the paper-thin walls of the bathroom.  

As you snoop around the kitchen, hoping to find a box of saltine crackers or really anything to stop the gurgling in your belly. Having come up empty-handed, you turn your attention to the resilient plant that you challenged Eddie to care for—Keanu Leaves, as he so proudly named it. 

Finished with your fruitless search of the kitchen, you make your way into Eddie’s bedroom to settle comfortably into the chair that only you sit in; it’s your spot. While you get cozy, the beans rattle as they perfectly mold to your figure. You knock on the wall beside you, signaling your arrival to Eddie.

You resume the magazine left sitting open on the page you stopped on. You occupy yourself in the article about predicted spring fashion trends as you wait. After a minute or two, the pipes go quiet from the shower being turned off.

Eddie strolls into the room wearing nothing more than a clean pair of boxers. Droplets of water trickle down his toned and tatted chest. Harshly ruffling his curls with a bath towel, he smirks at you. “If it isn’t Little Miss Zombie, back from the dead.”

“Less than alive and in the flesh,” you reply, your annoyance at being made to wait all day still evident. You hold grudges better than anyone he knows, and Eddie is well aware that he’s not immune to being subject to it.

Your tummy rumbles loudly, the discomfort only emphasizing the sharpness of your tone. “When was the last time you got groceries? I didn’t see any preserved brains I could help myself to.”

“I’m definitely due for a restock,” Eddie says as he drapes his wet towel over the back of his desk chair. Then, he grabs the bottle of mousse from his dresser and dispenses a foamy dollop into his palm. “Funny you should ask, though. That’s sorta why you’re here.”

You flip the page of your magazine, not pulling your eyes from the glossy print. “You told me to come over to go grocery shopping?”

Eddie rubs his palms together to spread the product and then runs his fingers through his curls. “Not quite,” he starts, his tone cryptic. “I’ve been tasked with providing a meal, of sorts.” 

Finally, you look up at him. Watching him scrunch his damp hair with the remainder of the product that’s making his palms go tacky, you wait for him to elaborate.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the other side of the room, rather than meeting your awaiting gaze. “I have a date.”

You stare blankly at the back of his head, as still as a statue while your blinking intensifies. Dumbfounded, you struggle to survive the bombshell he just dropped on you. It’s as if a nuclear explosion has shattered your eardrums, leaving his continued words to sound muffled through the high-pitched ringing.

A million and one questions swirl in your mind, only adding to the disorienting whirlwind of emotions. Since when is he dating? Why all of a sudden? As you try to piece everything together, you note that he hasn’t had any recent romantic interactions, at least none that you’re aware of.

You always thought he’d confide in you if he was seeing someone, but now you’re not so sure; especially since you’re only finding out about this now. Without a doubt, Eddie has never had trouble attracting attention. But he’s always seemed so content with the ways things are. So why now?

Eddie turns to face you, a splash of desperation in his eyes. “I feel like doing this is the best way to know if she likes me back.”

Your mouth has gone dry, and you try to sound more curious than interrogative, but it doesn’t quite come off that way. “Who is this mystery woman, anyway?” A couple of names come to mind, some of the most beautiful girls in town—none of whom you hold a candle to.

His side of the room falls quiet when he’s hit with your question. Eddie’s eyes drop to the carpet. While it might seem like he’s lost in thought, it’s actually a glaring sign of evasion. You can’t help but feel a little hurt by his reluctance to tell you who it is.

A small smile forms as he leans back against his dresser, as though he can’t keep himself upright during his current daydream. Folding his arms across his pecs and rubbing his jaw, eyes still downcast, Eddie begins to gush about her. “She’s just- god, she’s something else. The way she laughs, it’s like... the sun coming out after a storm.”

“Sounds like quite the catch,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone neutral. You watch closely as blush tints Eddie’s cheeks and his smile threatens to grow. Without saying another word, Eddie walks out and returns to the bathroom.

You’re quick to follow, hopping up from your chair. “Do I know her?”

“Technically, yeah." Standing in front of the foggy mirror, he wipes it with the back of his forearm. Then, he starts rummaging through the counter drawer for his pair of shears.

You stand just outside the open door, the lingering humidity from his scorching hot shower kissing your skin as it disperses into the hallway. Leaning back against the wall, you cross your arms like he did moments ago, albeit far more tensely. Technically? It must be one of your ex-friends, then. That would explain why he’s been keeping you in the dark.

It’s your duty to be supportive, but right now, you could hurl. The thick nausea swirling deep in your gut is a storm raging within, overpowering your ability to stay present.

While trimming his bangs over the basin, the shears glint in the hushed light of the wall sconce. Eddie steals a glance in your direction, but his eyes dart back to his reflection too quickly to catch the discomfort etched on your face. “So you’ll help me, right?”

As you watch yourself anxiously wiggling your toes inside your sock, you mumble, “I can't if you won’t tell me who it is.“

“Sure you can, you’re a girl. You know how this stuff works.”

You scoff, your brows shooting up as your head jerks back. You open your mouth to object, but he promptly cuts you off.

“Ah, ah! Slow your roll." Eddie points the shears in your direction. “I’m not saying you’re all the same, but there’s gotta be some common ground of expectations, right?”

You don’t have the strength to argue, so you reluctantly allow for his generalization. “I guess so.”

“Like yeah, I could just study one of those lady magazines you’re always reading. But then I wouldn’t have a way of knowing what is and isn’t bullshit,” Eddie explains, his tone half-joking. “That’s why I’m going straight to the source, oh, wise one.”

Far too consumed with trying to narrow down who the chick could possibly be, you can’t be bothered to give him a huff of amusement through your nose. “Can I at least have a hint?”

“Nope.” The shears hit the countertop, their metallic resonance echoing against the porcelain. He pivots to face you, hands resting on his hips. “Alright, Sherlock. How about you quit trying to crack the case and help me pick out a tie.”

“A what now?” You squawk, eyes widening in disbelief.

Eddie chuckles softly and rinses the hair trimmings down the drain, then flicks off the bathroom light. “I have to dress for the occasion. This is a big deal for me,” he elaborates as he strides back into his room. “For her and me.”

Once again, you find yourself on his tail, trailing close behind back into his bedroom. You unfold your arms and instead, start to rub the inside of your wrist with your opposite thumb. “Yeah, I get that. Just seems a bit out of character for you.”

Rifling through his closet, Eddie pulls out a hanger with a navy button-up shirt and nonchalantly tosses it onto the end of his bed. “Maybe, but at least she’ll know I’m taking this seriously." Eddie reaches for the high shelf to retrieve a tattered shoebox. Lifting the lid, he presents it to you. “Here’s what we’re working with.”

You step closer, your fingers deftly plucking out the rolled ties one by one, laying them flat beside the slightly wrinkled shirt. Side by side, your shoulders nearly brush. Meticulously comparing the patterns and colors, neither of you seems drawn to any particular one.

“Here, maybe it’s better to do it this way,” Eddie suggests, picking up and beginning to slip into the shirt. His thick fingers falter as he attempts to maneuver each small white button through its corresponding hole. Once halfway dressed—having tastefully paired his plaid boxers with a dress shirt—he smooths out the material from his chest to his belly.

Eddie grabs the nearest tie and lays it against his shoulder. He faces you expectantly, anticipation evident in his gaze, awaiting your feedback.

Your eyes flit between the tie he’s holding, the array laid out on the bed, and the hopefulness in his round eyes. “These are easily the three ugliest ties I've ever seen. No offense.”

He blows a playful raspberry at your harsh criticism and shakes his head. “None taken, they’re not mine. But Wayne might be a little hurt when I call him next and tell him you said that.”

Shooting him a pointed look, your brows furrow in skepticism. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I just might,” Eddie teases with a smile before turning his attention back to the bed. He tosses the first tie aside and reaches for the mustard paisley one. “What about this one, does it compliment my eyes?” He bats his dark brown lashes.

You clutch your chin in contemplation, carefully assessing the combination of hues. However, the richness of his chocolate irises captures you. You wade in their depths. The hot flash that envelops your body is enough to break the trance he inadvertently put you under. With a disapproving shake of your head, you dismiss this tie as well. “Nope, next.”

Eddie looks at you for a moment longer, even though you’re not doing the same. A faint frown creases his features as he tosses the vetoed tie aside, forming a rejection pile.

You pick up the remaining tie and drape it over his shoulder, admiring the harmonious pairing of the navy in the tie with the shirt, accentuated by its white and black diagonal stripes. While you ponder, Eddie watches your face intently, holding his breath.

You nod, a trace of delighted approval in your expression. “We have a winner.”

“Hell yeah, blue on blue it is." He wraps the tie around the back of his neck but struggles to recall the proper technique for tying it. Attempting a few different nonsensical loopings, he groans, his determination waning. “Stupid son of a bitch, wouldya just-”

“Don’t hurt yourself. Let me do it," you offer. Not receiving protest, you step closer to him.

Eddie uses one hand to gather his product-enhanced curls into a makeshift ball, allowing you to access the collar of his shirt. He juts out his freshly shaved chin, granting you ample room to work. Standing this closely, you catch the clean scent of shaving cream lingering on his skin.

You begin to effortlessly tie the knot. Without pausing to consider what you’re about to say, the words spill from your lips. “Why’re you asking for my opinion on stuff like this, anyway? You should be doing what you think she’ll like, not me.”

“You always know best.” Eddie’s expression softens to something more vulnerable. “When you’re taking the next step in a relationship, you want everything to be as perfect as it can be, y’know?”

It’s common sense to him. No one understands him like you do, making you the perfect person for navigating this nerve-wracking experience. But for you, it’s perplexing. You’ve never been on a proper, formal date. The idea of one remains an unfulfilled pipe dream. Yet, here you are, agreeing to help Eddie plan his.

Your only frame of reference comes from romance movies and horror stories of dates gone wrong recounted by your girlfriends. Of all the things you could be in the world, you find yourself an unassuming tree. Sturdy and dependable, sure. You serve your purpose. But you don’t captivate onlookers with blooming petals like flowers do. Instead, you take pride in your intricately branched personality, valuing it as your true strength that often goes overlooked.

Even so, it feels as though your traits fail to enchant others regardless; nobody seems willing. You go unnoticed, and you’ve come to terms with that.

Beautiful wildflowers get plucked from the ground and carried away to be cherished. Meanwhile, you simply exist, rooted in no man’s land, devoid of admirers. You may stand tall, but you’re easily overshadowed by what other women have to offer.

Perhaps this is why you like working at the flower shop. It’s somewhat cathartic to witness the delicate petals fall from time to time. It brings you a strange sense of satisfaction to hack away at their stems. The best part, though? While it’s a little twisted, you know that those flowers that dazzle in their pristine state are destined to wilt. They’ll shrivel and brown.

Whilst among your shared group of friends in public, you’ve witnessed Eddie getting nudged by one of the guys to direct his attention to a smoke show walking by. You watched as they bit their knuckles and exaggeratedly gawked. You don’t compare, it’s not even apples to oranges. It’s like… apples to rocks. A delicious, shiny fruit compared to you, mere clunky chunks of earth.

If life were an album, you’re the track that everyone skips within seconds of hearing the intro. Except for those rare moments when someone half-listens by accident and they resonate with you—that’s how you and Eddie became friends. He’d stumbled upon his new favorite song, one worth revisiting. What he sees in you is what everyone else overlooks.

Eddie is the only man on the face of the earth who treats you like you’re worth being around. Only an oddball would prefer to spend time lounging beneath the shade of a crooked tree instead of homing a rose in a crystal vase. That’s one thing you love about your best friend; he doesn’t make you feel like you fade into the background.

All fairytale cliché bullshit included, you want to be sought out in a crowd. You want to light up the room for someone. Much to your dismay, that can happen platonically too, and it has in this case.

If Eddie only knew how much the little moments matter to you—the ones where he makes you feel prioritized and valued. You know you’re not anything close to special or remarkable, but he always made you second guess that thought.

Obviously, you hadn’t meant to fall for him. It was kind of like catching a cold; one day, there was a tickle in the back of your throat that you didn’t usually feel. Unsuspecting, the days went on, and that sensation only worsened. You started to panic a little but ultimately continued to deny your worst thoughts.

Before you knew it, you were bedridden, bitten by the love bug. You didn’t go down without a fight. You thought that you could be strong and deny it access to your heart, but it had already invaded. So, all you could do was wait it out.

You tried to distance yourself, hoping to recover and act like nothing ever changed inside of you. But Eddie didn’t let you get too far away.

It wasn’t love at first sight, rather, a creeping plague. There was no swooning and giggling, no struggling to keep your hands to yourself. The change was undetectable. You were a frog in boiling water, unaware of the gradually rising temperature until it was far too late.

It wasn’t until your chest started to ache every time you said goodbye at the end of spending time together that you realized you were in too deep. You genuinely debated going to the doctor to get the pang checked out, but luckily you didn’t. Otherwise, you’d have wasted a good chunk of money to find out that you’re a lovesick idiot.

Unfortunately, this is an illness you’ve been stuck with since, and you’ve at least learned how to distract yourself from it. But when you fail to do so, your imagination wanders. Naturally, you’ve wondered if pressing a mere kiss to his cheek would burn everything to the ground.

The forbidden territory beckons, tempting you to envision breaking those unspoken agreed-upon rules that forbid things like hand-holding and cuddling. The two of you uphold mutual respect, adhering to the expectations of friendship. Both of you reserve that level of touch for expressions of romantic affection. Actions such as those have no place in a true friendship.

That’s the most confusing part of this for you. How did you manage to catch such strong feelings for him when you’ve not crossed any lines? Sure, he’s a tactile person; maybe that has something to do with it. Eddie makes physical contact with those he trusts, but it’s not like he’s hanging off of you at any given moment. You receive the same treatment as the others in his inner circle: a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back, and a brief gripping of the forearm to get your attention.

You’re not supposed to want the touches to be more frequent, much less of a different nature. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and it’s been plainly drawn in the sand. You understand and accept that. But why, of all lines in the world, does it have to be this one that you want to cross so badly?

Most of your days aren’t all that miserable. But there are those days that are more difficult than the rest, though it’s not his fault. Last weekend, the two of you were at a mall, and some chick waved at him flirtily. He returned it immediately, though playfully enough that it was almost mocking. He was fucking around and had no intention of entertaining the idea of approaching her. Regardless, it was humbling for you, to say the least.

In that moment, the world reminded you that there’s a reason you walk at his side at a respectable distance, not tucked under his arm. If anything, it’s for the best. There’s a sense of liberation in admiring him without the burden of articulating your feelings. There’s no pressure to meet a girlfriend quota or live up to a higher standard. What Eddie expects of you now is what you’re capable of, and clearly, all that you’re good for. You’re good for filling the void, but apparently not so much anymore.

You’re not lustrous and aching to jump his bones, and you’re certainly not desperate enough to kiss him on a whim by not allowing yourself to overthink it. But perhaps you are just desperate enough that a man simply paying your emotions, interests, and existence of any mind can shackle you to him. That has to be what’s done you in; Eddie gives a shit about you.

In reality, there’s more to it than that. Eddie is selective about who and what he lets in. He doesn’t care for conformity and lack of individuality. The idea of blending in with the majority of society repulses him. You find the flawed aspects of the Munson doctrine fascinating and raw. He’s not perfect and Eddie doesn’t care what others think of him, to a degree.

Not unlike you, he’s complex. Eddie is anti-establishment but still prefers a bit of structure over chaos in his day-to-day life. He’s independent and cynical as hell, but he’s also appreciative of his support systems and isn’t ashamed to rely on them. He’s not much of a rule breaker nor is he rebellious, but he’ll happily stir up a little trouble in good fun if given the opportunity.

Eddie is a hypocrite in some ways and a walking contradiction in others. You love that he’s unapologetic about being that way. He owns it for the most part, and you admire that.

His presence overstays its welcome in your thoughts. You’ve often yearned for him to call you in the dead of night, admitting that he can’t sleep without the sound of your voice. Many times, you’ve fought the urge to do that. He owes you sleep, countless nights of it. It’s a debt that will never be repaid, an outstanding balance.

Despite the attempts at trying to talk yourself out of it, you still can’t bring yourself to stop loving him. Even as he’s actively pursuing someone else, you’re unable to shake this. You could be paralyzed from head to toe, and you’d still feel the love you have for him in your bones.

Once Eddie is officially with someone, he won’t have much time or energy left for you. The anticipation of being thrown aside for something new and far prettier has shattered your heart before any changes have occurred. Yet, any fragment of his presence surpasses total absence. The greed isn’t worth it, and you know you should be grateful for getting any piece of him at all.

The phrase fizzles on the tip of your tongue like a smoldering ember, threatening to sear through the muscle… I’m happy for you.

You should say it, but you can’t. Because if you did, that would be a blatant lie. It’s not even possessiveness that has you so bitter, it’s envy. You wish you were in her place.

“There.” You adjust the knot with a delicate tug, ensuring its tightness before letting the material slip through your fingers. Unable to meet his appreciative gaze, you offer a sad smile and take a half-step backward.

Your sigh, cleverly concealed as a deep breath, escapes as you settle back into your chair with a plop. “So, um,” you begin, picking at your cuticles absentmindedly. “Where are you taking her? Somewhere fancy?”

“Nah.” Eddie meticulously revamps his curls one final time in the mirror, wanting them to fall just right. Then, with great care, he tames his bangs to lay perfectly in place. “She’s gonna come over here. I thought it’d be more intimate. Besides, I can’t exactly swing a reservation right now. I’ve been tight on cash this week.”

Your fingers come to a halt, the stinging sensation apparent. Looking over at him, your eyes meet his in the reflection. “Ya big dummy, you shouldn’t have bought me lunch when that money could’ve gone toward buying her a nice dinner.”

“Don’t start with that shit,” Eddie warns as he digs through his dresser in search of pants to wear. “I’m happy to do that for you,” He pulls a pair of dark jeans from the bottom drawer.

“It really did make my day, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Having donned his pants, he nears his desk where his black grommet belt lies on the floor. Eddie threads his belt through the loops of his jeans, the buckle jingling before he secures it in place. “I felt better knowing you were taken care of.”

It’s only now occurring to you what he’s implied, and you think how absurd it is for him to host a dinner when he’s culinarily challenged. “Wait, since when do you cook?”

“Oh, I don’t. But you do.”

“Hardly.” You scoff, downplaying your abilities. Placing your magazine back in your lap, you flip the page despite not having read it. Unexpectedly, you feel the urge to quell his enthusiasm, to set him up for failure by trying to poke holes in his plan. “I mean, food is one thing, but atmosphere is another. Aren’t the guys going to be here?”

Eddie moves the clutter on his desk around in a quest to find something. “I kicked them out for the night.”

Like a spear plunged into your chest, you swallow hard. Not only is he having a girl over for dinner, but he’s gone out of his way to guarantee privacy because he’s hoping to get lucky too. More than likely right there, on that very bed, feet away from you. The cramped twin-sized mattress, where they’ll inevitably be body to body.

He turns to you after locating what he was searching for, fastening the slightly fancier watch around his wrist; it only supersedes his Casio due to it being analog, as opposed to digital. “I’ve been wanting to try that dish you keep raving about. You can teach me how to make it. Two birds, one stone.”

“It’s not difficult, you could handle the recipe.” You shrug away the opportunity to cook with him because the domesticity of it would more than likely kill you.

“I wanna do it together.” His voice softens, genuinely asking as nicely as possible. “Please.”

“Sure, yeah.” You maintain your downcast gaze and slump back in the chair, wishing for a black hole to open and swallow you up. “What if she doesn’t like it, or what if you don’t?”

“If you like it then it has to be good.”

Eddie’s seemingly endless compliments cause no sense of flattery. Instead, you’re consumed with persisting nausea as you envision a stunning girl seated across from him while they share laughter and partake in unspeakable activities in this very room.

Abruptly, a wave of heat washes over you, causing the soles of your feet and your palms to grow clammy. The scent of newly sprayed Old Spice floods the room and you’re overwhelmed by it, struggling to draw a breath. “I’ll be right back.” You all but choke on your words, swiftly rising to your feet and hastily leaving. Eddie watches curiously as you do.

In the living room, you push the heavy sliding door aside, stepping out onto the balcony to catch your breath. You inhale as deep as physically possible, and the stirring evening breeze cools the hot tears gathered along your lash line. Cars pass by, and you distract yourself by watching a person leisurely walking their dog. You do everything in your power to divert your thoughts away from him and the impending date.

A few minutes later, Eddie emerges from his room and slides open the door to the balcony, poking his head out to check on you. “Y’ready to go?” The shift in your energy is immediately evident to him, though he can’t quite pinpoint what’s amiss. He figures you’ve had a long day and you’re tired from your shift. Maybe you’re a little hangry, too.

With your arms folded on the balcony rail, you continue to look out into the neighborhood. “Go where?” 

“The store, duh. We’ve gotta get ingredients, do we not?” He says to the back of your head.

You nod meekly before turning to face him. “Right. Yeah, I’m ready.”

Eddie flashes a warm smile before sliding the door open wide enough for you to pass through. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand then, hot stuff. We’re losing daylight."

Arguably, you’re not losing daylight fast enough. You wish the sun would fall from the sky. That way, it would always be dark and you could hide in the shadows forever. You follow him inside and slide the closed with a subdued thud.

His car keys drag and jingle while he swipes them off of the counter. Once he reaches the entryway, Eddie drops the keys on the floor beside him as he kneels to put on his sneakers. A few seconds later, you’ve joined him to do the same. Eddie glances at you as he feels the evening breeze that slipped in finally reaching this side of the room. “It’s a little chilly out, wanna borrow a hoodie or something?”

Quickly tying your shoes to avoid prolonged eye contact, you get to your feet, hugging yourself as you do. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Eddie snorts and stands, his shoes now tied as well. “I’m getting you one." He heads to his room, gesturing for you to follow.

“I said I’ll be fine without one,” You opt not to follow, instead calling out to him to compensate for the distance and his half-open door.

“Shut up, I’m getting you one and you’re gonna wear it ‘cause I said so.” His tone drips with feigned amusement at your stubbornness. “Come in here.”

As you step into the room, Eddie offers you the hoodie, watching as you just stare at it. “Sweetheart, put it on. You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t. Then, I’ll have no choice but to cancel my super hot date because I’ll be too busy defrosting my ice sculpture of a best friend with a blow drier. You want me to blow you all night? I know you-”

“Okay, okay! I’ll put the damn thing on,” you agree begrudgingly, take it from him. “Happy?”

“Try elated.” Eddie smiles from ear to ear and winks at you, content that you’re allowing him to do what he deems best for you, knowing you’re too stubborn to do so for yourself. He’s got your back, always. Even if it means enduring a bit of attitude in the process. Eddie likes that about you, he always has. With a final glance, he leaves the room, flicking off the light switch.

Left standing in the dark bedroom, you blindly navigate the article of clothing to locate the opening. However, as soon as you go to put it on, it occurs to you that this hoodie is not fresh out of the wash.

The distant floral scent left behind by dryer sheets mingles with his natural aroma, enveloping you as you pull the sweatshirt over your head. He grabbed whatever was at hand, inadvertently submerging you back into the very sensory experience you fled from. The spicy notes from his cologne turn you into a human lava lamp, effectively melting you on the inside.

The mingling of Old Spice, tobacco smoke, his unique essence, and a hint of spring meadow flood your mind. You consider the idea of keeping the hoodie. You could tell him that you forgot to return it, and he’ll forget about it. Eddie can afford to lose one hoodie, he’d survive.

“Let’s go!” He barks, impatience peaking as nerves gnaw at him with each passing minute bringing him closer to the dinner.

Exiting his bedroom, you find Eddie stationed at the front door, propping it open with his foot. Once within his view, you extend your arms and twist your expression to emphasize your annoyed compliance.

“One last thing.” Eddie withdraws his foot, causing the door to slam shut, its latch clanging twice against the wood from the force. He reaches out and pulls the hood up, adjusting it to cover most of your head. “There.”

You stick your tongue out at him, your grin eliciting one from him in return. “Alright, let’s-” He begins, but instead of turning, he fakes you out and grabs both drawstrings. Eddie tugs them, causing the hood to cinch tightly around your face.

“You’re an ass.”

“Yeah, well.” Eddie turns around to leave this time and holds the front door open for you. “You’re stuck with me.”

With a narrowed glare, you fix the hood and your hair on your way out of the apartment. Eddie is close behind, closing the door and locking it. You take the opportunity to collect yourself and adopt a supportive, cheerful demeanor.

These are gonna be the longest two hours of your life.

You can’t fucking believe it. You’re preparing a meal for another woman, and doing so willingly. You tried to guide him through the prep process, but he grew frustrated. Now, he’s on dish duty, conquering the mountain of dirty dishes piled up on the counter. 

She may be getting a delicious and intimate dinner, but at least you get moments like these. But soon enough, she’ll have them too. If everything goes to plan, the memories of these moments will be all you have left of Eddie. As you lose yourself in the sound of his voice, the ramblings about a sale he made at work eventually circle back to the topic of his evening.

As he excitedly goes on, his voice carries a boyish enthusiasm. Unseen by you, Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet while standing at the sink. Ten minutes seem to fly by unnoticed as you both focus on your tasks.

After taking the food out of the oven, his demeanor flips like a switch. “Oh, it’s time for me to leave apparently.” You barely have the chance to take off the oven mitt all the way before he’s practically pushing you out of the apartment. “Be sure to heat it up at 375 degrees,” you suggest, struggling to put on your shoes fast enough.

“Sure thing. I’ll let you know how it goes!”

“Looking forward to it,” You lie. Eddie waves you off before closing the front door. Left standing alone in the hallway, you feel foolish.

Finally arriving home, you crawl onto your bed. The weight of reality crashes down upon you, and you physically collapse under the weight of your emotions. The pain in your chest burns up the back of your throat as you sob. This was a harsh wake-up call, but it’s what you needed to finally confront yourself.

It’s better this way. Not having to reject you outright or politely turn you down, Eddie doesn’t have to hurt simply because you are. This is best because Eddie doesn’t have to feel guilty or pity you. Just as you’ve loved him in silence, you can grieve the loss of him in it too.

Ten minutes pass and just as you’re starting to drift asleep from exhaustion, your telephone rings. The ringing in the kitchen pulls you from your room. You drag your feet on the way there, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath before answering the phone.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie sounds panicked. “Can you come back over? I forgot the most important fucking thing and-”

You cut him off. “Relax, I’ll be there in twelve." Abruptly ending the call without another word, you rub your sore eyes, blow your stuffy nose, and splash your face with warm water. The last thing he needs is for his night to be ruined because he notices how hard you’ve been crying. If your feelings get in the way of him having a good time with the girl he’s head over heels for, then you don’t deserve his friendship.

Entering the building and letting yourself back into his apartment, you’re caught off guard by how different the space looks. He worked his butt off to tidy the living room and make certain that everything is presentable. Besides being notably neater, you also notice the faint smell of air freshener.

The apartment is blanketed in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering flames of candles and the light from the table lamp in the living room. Hushed music emanates from the record player in his room. It’s a genre you wouldn’t have expected him to own, because of how slow and romantic it sounds. You wonder whether he bought it specifically for this occasion.

Upon hearing the front door creak open, Eddie halts his pacing in the living room. “Thank god, you’re here.”

You teeter on the heels of your feet, feeling out of place in the carefully arranged setting that isn’t meant for you. “I really shouldn’t be. It’s quarter to seven, she’ll show up any minute now.”

Eddie makes his way over to you, rounding the dinner table and draping his arm along the back of the dining chair farthest from where you stand. “No, no. Don’t worry about that, she’s already here.”

Your eyes flit towards the bathroom, expecting to see a sliver of light escaping from beneath the door, yet the hallway is pitch black. There’s no dolled-up gal standing in his room either. You look back at him with a furrowed brow, confusion etched on your face. “Where, exactly?”

He can’t think of a time he’s ever had to remind himself how to breathe correctly. Eddie holds his hand out to you, his anxiety mounting. With hesitation, you extend your hand and place it in his. He wraps his trembling fingers around yours.

Rarely have you been in this position, and in those instances, it was never an act with deeper meaning. It’s only ever happened in urgent moments, like darting across a bustling street to avoid being separated—a mere safety measure.

Eddie’s attention fixates on your hands, willing them to respond to his touch. Then he notices your puffy, reddened eyes. “What’s the matter?” He instinctively squeezing your joined hands.

“It’s stupid.” You pull away from him, retracting your hand to wipe away the smeared mascara beneath your eyes.

Rather than forcibly turning you to face him, Eddie gracefully moves around to stand in front of you once more. “I bet it’s not,” he says softly, his compassionate expression tinged with concern. He reaches for both of your hands this time, praying you can’t feel his pounding pulse through the contact.

Eddie delicately lifts your hands and peppers velvety kisses across the tops of your knuckles. The warmth of your skin against his lips sends a shiver shooting through his core, goosebumps rising across his body.

You emit a wet giggle from the shock, uncertainty, and embarrassment bubbling within you. “What the hell are you doing?”

He chuckles a little too, his eyes sparkling as they reflect the dancing flames behind you. “What’s it look like? This is all for you.” Eddie presses one more featherlight kiss to your hands before lowering them, but he doesn’t let go, keeping them securely in his own. “It’s our first date.”

You’re the prettiest little package of unusual. From the moment he first heard your song, he couldn’t shake you. Eddie couldn’t get your tune out of his system, but it’s not like he wanted to. Never before had anyone shown him such unconditional care; no one had ever gone out of their way to get to know him like you did. You’re the safest thing he’s ever known, but you’re also the scariest, in the best ways possible.

The thought of confessing how you make him complete, unlike anything he’s ever experienced, is nothing short of terrifying. Yet, the fear of not seizing the opportunity to love you outweighs the fear of rejection. There’s no turning back now.

Your eyes wander to the table, taking in the details: the thoughtfully arranged mismatched plates and silverware, the glasses filled with expensive wine. At the end of the kitchen island sits a teddy bear beside a bouquet. In addition to the flower petals, there are red, white, and pink balloons scattered across the floor.

You turn away before he can see your face contort, biting your lip harshly to suppress the sob rising in your throat. It’s all useless, though. A broken cry escapes your lips.

Eddie’s stomach lurches and pressure builds behind his own eyes. The change he just caused is palpable, the damage has been done. He releases both of your hands and plants his on the sides of his head, stepping away. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m such a fucking idiot. I read this all wrong.”

“You’re not and you didn’t. They’re happy tears now.”

His frantic expression mellows out, his arms drop to his sides, and the tension in his body gradually dissipates. “Happy tears?”

You respond with a soft hum and nod, a grin forming as you admire the table setting and gifts once more before looking back at Eddie.

“Oh,” he chirps, wearing a cheek-splitting smile as he brings his palms to your face. He wipes away your fallen tears with his thumbs. Eddie studies your expression intently. “I didn’t mean to make you cry sad ones.”

“It’s not your fault.” You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his fingers calmingly swiping along the apples of your cheeks.

“It is and I’m sorry.” Eddie inches closer, his toes now touching yours. “I wanted it to be a surprise ‘cause I thought spontaneity would make it more memorable.”

You look at him questioningly. “It’s not exactly spontaneous when you had me cook my own dinner.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got me there.” Eddie thought it was a foolproof plan. If you made the food, there was no chance that you’d hate it. “I went about this all wrong, huh? I should scrap the whole thing and start from scratch.” He becomes distracted, his train of thought shifting to how he’s going to clean this up and figure out a different approach.

“Don’t do that. Just ask me.” You grasp his forearm to regain his attention. “Ask me out and maybe I'll say yes.”

“Maybe?” Eddie scoffs airily, unsure if you’re teasing or genuinely undecided. He clears his throat and theatrically composes himself, gesturing with a downward motion of his hand in front of his face. “Okay, uh, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“No.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open.

“I’m fucking with you.” You smile devilishly and wrap your arms around his middle.

Finally, he can hug you the way he’s always wanted. Eddie brings you in close and tight, his arms encircling your head. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He murmurs into your hair, inhaling deeply to indulge in every aspect of you he can.

“A little.” You laugh. You remain in each other’s embrace for a moment longer before easing apart, though still connected by your pairs of lassoed arms.

Eddie’s laughter melds with yours, the relief in his tone evident. “Now that the cat's outta the bag, I can finally tell you that I absolutely love when you’re a crybaby.”

You pull a comical expression, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes. “What, why?” You take in the scattering of freckles across his T-zone while he responds.

“Honest to god, it’s mesmerizing to watch you experience things so intensely. It’s fucking beautiful.” With nothing but adoration in his eyes, Eddie strokes your hair, relishing the way it feels against his skin. “Can I call you my crybaby?”

“No, you cannot!” You swat at his chest and attempt to push him away, but he laughs smugly and brings you back in close. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, surrendering to him entirely. Locked in each other’s gaze, time seems to crawl.

Eddie’s hands, having made their way down to caress your hips, settle on the small of your back. “How about just baby?” He nudges the tip of his nose against yours, his voice taking on an almost sultry tone. “You like the way that sounds?”

All you can do is nod dumbly, watching his eyes fall to your lips.

Eddie mumbles, “Me too.” His hands flex where they lay, tugging you slightly so that your bodies are flush and you have no choice but to lean against him. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” Eddie licks his lips, his eyes finding yours again, the chocolate pools of his irises swirling.

You nod, slide your hands up his shoulders, and wrap them around his neck. The air was stolen from your lungs, rendering your voice a ghost. Eddie leans in and his lips hover over yours, your eyes fluttering closed in time with his. Then, you feel the gentle pressure of his lips against your own.

For a few moments, you’re out of sync, a mere beat behind due to nerves. But after taking a brief breath, you find each other without trouble. When you slot your lip between his, it’s as though there’s a sunrise in his veins; a new dawn spreads through his body. You tug a fistful of curls at the nape of his neck, your lips clicking wetly with one another, chests heaving in unison.

When the two of you finally have to part to breathe, Eddie whispers, “Jesus Christ.”

“You can say that again.” You exhale, releasing the grip you have on his hair and soothingly scratching the area with your nails.

“I mean I could.” Eddie borderline purrs, tightening his arms around your waist. “But I’d much rather keep kissing you.”

“Hard to argue with that." You smile against his lips and give him a quick peck, which he happily returns. Then, your mind begins to wander. “You got me flowers?”

He can’t discern if there’s a trace of disdain or disbelief in your tone. Eddie knows that you consider flowers cliché and overrated; after all, you deal with them all day. But just because you see them that way doesn’t mean he does.

Eddie pulls away slightly to get a good look at you. “Yeah, of course I got flowers for my flower. How could I not?”

Truthfully, he’s bummed about not being able to find a bouquet as exceptional as you. You’re unlike anything from this world, resembling something from his cherished sci-fi novels. You’re resilient, showing up any old rose or daisy. You unfurled your petals solely for Eddie and allowed him to see you bloom. Nothing on earth compares to you. So, a regular bouquet would have to do.

You comment with a slightly teasing tone, “I had no idea you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Too much?” Eddie bites his lower lip, afraid that you’re offended.

“No, not too much." You remove your one hand from his hair and rest it on his chest, drawing mindless shapes while you avoid eye contact. “Far more than I deserve though." You’re slightly taken aback when Eddie cups your face without hesitation, forcing you to look at him. Despite his assertiveness, his touch is tender.

“Sweetheart." Eddie’s eyes carry an intensity you’ve never seen, brimming with affection and sincerity. “You deserve everything good that this world has to offer. I can’t give you that, but I can give you all of me. That much I can promise.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

tags:@nj01@tlclick73

[navybrat817]

Hardpack

Pairing: Motocross!Curtis Everett x Female Reader

Summary: Curtis isn't in a good mood and takes it out on you.

Word Count: Over 2.5k

Warnings: Eventual enemies(ish) to lovers, tension, swearing, nicknames, light angst (sick parent), Curtis doesn't want to admit he wants you; he's a bit of an asshole (and he's a warning, okay?), and both of you are moody.

A/N: More Rusty and Princess! Maybe I can start a Motocross Monday sort of thing? Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated! ❤️

Curtis needed a drink after the shift he had. He tried not to drink much during the week and definitely not when he had practice or a race, but today was a domino effect of everything that could go wrong going wrong. It was like that some days. Shitty day or not, he was still going to wish his boss a good night.

Seeing you sitting in your dad’s chair when he went into the office, he sneered and decided he might have to have a double when he got home. How was it that you were still so clean and pristine after walking through a salvage yard? Why did you look so beautiful?

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, crossing his arms when he stopped in front of the desk.

You didn't spare him a glance as your fingers flew across the keyboard, not at all phased by his intimidating stance or voice. “Rusty, always a pleasure.”

He had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping. You weren’t the cause of his mood, but you loved pushing his buttons. To be fair, he pushed yours, too. “You didn't answer my question.”

“Didn’t realize I had to answer to you,” you said, pausing to take a sip of water. “But if you must know, my dad had to leave early again, so I’m helping him out.”

“You?” he asked.

“Yep. Me,” you smiled sweetly. He wasn't sure why he was surprised. You weren't an employee, but you knew the system thanks to your dad, and it wasn't the first time you stepped in to assist. “Don't worry. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“Good,” he muttered, catching a flicker of hurt in your eyes before you went back to typing. He tried not to stare when you bit one side of your lip. Did you realize you did that when you were concentrating extra hard? Why did he know that? “If he needed help, why didn’t he just ask me?”

Not that the rest of the guys weren’t hard workers, but everyone knew Curtis ran the show when your dad wasn’t around. The funny thing was he hadn’t planned to be a leader, but he had a knack for it and your dad taught him a lot. You on the other hand had your own career that didn’t involve the salvage yard, so he didn’t understand why you were there. Sure, you knew the system and you were incredibly smart, but he was computer savvy when he wanted to be.

You sighed and stopped typing again. “Maybe because you had your own work to do and we didn’t want to add more to your plate.”

“We?” he growled. “Just like you don’t answer to me, I don’t answer you. I answer to your dad.”

You shrugged. “Then you can talk to my dad tomorrow.”

“I will, and I’ll remind him that I can handle the extra work, even if it’s desk work.” Curtis took his hat off and scratched the back of his head. He swore you were checking him out, but your gaze went back to the screen when he took a seat in the chair. It was fine. He didn't want you checking him out.

Yes, I do.

“I don’t mind helping,” you said.

Curtis scoffed. “You don’t belong here. Minus your dad, no one asked you to be here.”

The flash of fire in your eyes didn’t scare him, but he had to shift in his chair since it turned him on a little. “What the hell is your problem? Seriously?”

“You are my problem.” He leaned across the desk and made sure you were looking him in the eye when he said, “And you don’t belong here because you’re a fucking spoiled stuck-up brat, Princess.”

Silence filled the air, minus your sharp intake of breath. The words tasted extra bitter on his tongue as he sat back in his seat. He should’ve gotten up and walked away instead of snapping at you. It didn’t matter that he was in a bad mood. You were the boss’s daughter and speaking to you like that could have consequences. Not to mention, you hadn’t exactly deserved that.

Of all of your reactions, he didn’t expect to hear a quiet laugh. “Of course, that’s what you think when you look at me, Rusty, because you know everything, don't you? I must be spoiled and stuck-up since I’m not covered in dirt and grime like you.” He gritted his teeth when you pointed at him. He bet you never got a spec of dirt under your manicured nails, and he wondered what they’d feel like digging into his back. “Excuse me for taking a bit of pride in my appearance.”

“I wasn't-”

“Or maybe you think I'm spoiled and stuck up because your job involves physical labor and mine doesn't,” you continued, typing so hard and fast he was shocked sparks didn't fly from your fingertips. “I take pride in everything I do because my dad taught me the value of hard work, you judgmental asshole.”

Curtis opened his mouth and shut it when you leveled him with a glare, making him think about his talk with Daisy after he met you. He had judged you and she was quick to defend you, trying to make him see that maybe you weren’t spoiled or stuck up just because you dressed nicely. But he saw how women who dressed like you looked at him after a shift, like he was beneath them. It was easy to lump you into the same category as them when that wasn’t really fair.

You didn’t work with your hands, but you were still a hard worker according to your dad and Curtis had witnessed it, too. He witnessed your kindness as well. You never demanded praise or thanks when you brought food for everyone or when you checked in on the crew, and you never made it feel like it was charity. Even now, helping your dad, you weren’t acting like a martyr. Had he not gone into the office, he likely wouldn’t have even known you were there.

And while you liked to tease him you never once acted like you were better than him.

He really was a judgmental asshole, and Daisy would tear him a new one if she knew what he said to you. Not that he’d blame her. He wanted to kick his own ass for it.

“Sorry,” he said above a whisper.

“Mmhmm. Sure you are.” You didn't sound happy and it made him feel worse. “There. All done. I’m out of your buzzed hair now.”

“Wait.” Curtis stood up when you did and moved to block your path. He didn't want you to leave angry with him.

You didn't hide your irritation when you asked, “Why the hell should I?”

He almost took a step back, half expecting you to knee him in the crotch so you could go. “It’s not like your dad to take off and not let the crew know,” he mused when he should’ve said he was sorry again.

You avoided his gaze when you put your phone in your bag, some of the anger leaving your body. “He was running late for a doctor’s appointment,” you said easily, but there was a hint of something in your voice that concerned him.

“He had another appointment?” he asked. Your dad had just gone to the doctor recently and he was the pillar of good health from what he knew, but looks could be deceiving. You were living breathing proof of that. “Is he okay?”

This time, you hesitated. “I don’t know,” you whispered.

Curtis’s heart seized in his chest, remembering the day he saw you leaving with tears in your eyes. Was it because of your dad? And here he was giving you shit when you had to be worried. Jesus, he really would have to kick his own ass later. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, taking a step forward.

He wasn’t sure if he’d consider himself to be a comforting sort of man, but seeing the worry in your eyes had a soft side itching to get out. Not that you’d accept his comfort after what he said. He probably fucked up any chance of anything with you after he ran his mouth.

“You can do two things, actually,” you replied, taking a deep breath. “First thing is a favor.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Princess needs something from me?”

You rolled your eyes, and he was happy to see some of your spark back. “My dad's birthday is coming up, and I thought it would be nice if you and some of the riders came out to help him celebrate,” you explained. Your dad stopped racing years ago, but the guys all knew and respected him. “I was hoping you could pass the details along to the others.”

“Can't do it yourself?” he asked.

“I don't have their phone numbers or social media accounts, but I’m sure you do. And it’ll make up for you being an asshole if you can just pass along the details.”

He sighed. You had a valid reason for asking him, and he sensed a couple of the guys would tease him because they’d know he did this for you. “Listen, I don't-”

“Please, Curtis,” you said softly, all of the hostility between you gone. You didn't say Rusty or any other nickname. You said his name. Fuck, he loved hearing you say his name. Loved hearing you beg.

No, now wasn’t the time to think about that.

“Fine,” he relented. There was no reason not to. It was for your dad and for you. “I’ll do it on one condition.”

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. “What condition?”

He smirked and motioned for you to follow him outside, your perfume filling his senses as you did so. You stood a foot away while he took a glove off and swiped his finger in the dirt. “If you let me get a little dirt on you,” he began, holding up his finger for you to see as he moved closer. “I’ll pass the info along.”

You went rigid, but didn’t back away. “You are not getting dirt on this blouse.”

“Not your blouse,” he assured you, not wanting to deal with the hassle of paying to have it cleaned or replaced. Part of him though wanted to get your clothes dirty. And you.

“Then what…” Your breath hitched when he stared into your eyes and brushed his finger along the swell of your cheek. Your skin felt so soft under his rough touch. And of course you looked gorgeous with a smudge of dirt on you. You were so fucking beautiful it hurt.

“Dirt looks good on you, Princess,” he said gruffly, backing away before he did something stupid like kissing you. There was undeniable tension though. He couldn’t be the only one who felt it.

Holding your head high, you didn’t make any attempt to wipe the dirt away or smack him. It impressed him. “Yeah. You got me dirty,” you said, a sultry note in your tone. It was good to know he affected you, and he wished he could get you really dirty. “So, you’ll pass the information along?”

“I’ll need your number so you can text me the details. Once you do, I’ll send it,” he said. With your number, maybe he could talk about more than just the party with you and convince you to go to a race.

“What’s your number?” you asked, not passing your phone over when you took it out of the bag. That was fair since he had dirt on his hand.

Once he gave you his number, you quickly typed something out and hit send. His phone vibrated a moment later. “There.”

“I’ll send it,” he promised. He'd have to tell Daisy about it, too. Maybe she could go with Steve. “You bringing anyone to this party?” he asked, though it wasn’t any of his business.

“If you’re asking if I’m bringing a date to a party I’m throwing for my dad, no, I’m not,” you replied. He was glad to hear that. “Do you plan to?” you asked casually.

If he didn’t know any better he would’ve thought you were jealous at the idea of him showing up with a date. He wasn’t interested in anyone else. Not since you showed up. “No,” he answered.

You exhaled. “I should get going,” you said after a moment.

“Hang on.” He blocked your path like he had in the office. “What was the second thing you wanted me to do?”

“Oh. Yeah. Just keep my dad in your thoughts, okay? And please don’t mention anything to any of the guys since we don’t really know what's going on yet,” you said, a bit of shine in your eyes. He wanted to pull you into a hug and assure you that he’d be just fine, but he also didn’t want to give you false hope if something turned out to be wrong.

“That’s three things you’re asking of me, Princess,” he joked, but he did hope your dad was okay. He was a good man. “I won't say a word.”

“Then I guess I owe you one, Rusty. Thank you.” You tried to walk away again and narrowed your eyes when he once again stepped in front of you. “Okay, what the hell? Why won’t you let me leave? Weren’t you the one who said I don't belong here?”

Curtis sighed. He should’ve sensed that you were rightfully still upset. “About that… I was in a bad mood and I shouldn’t have said that.”

You scoffed. “Then let me make your mood better by leaving so you don’t run your mouth again and I don't smack you.”

“No, I just…” Why was he screwing up so badly? “You’re not a stuck-up spoiled brat, okay? And I don’t have a problem with you.”

You were fighting a smile. “You don’t?”

“No, I don’t,” he replied, his shoulders slumping as he admitted it to himself, too. “I’m sorry.”

There was more he wanted to say, but now wasn't the time.

Your gaze softened and a smile tugged at your lips. “You already apologized. It was a mumbled half assed apology, but still an apology.” Your fingers brushed his arm when you went around him, making electricity crackle through his veins. “And I accept it.”

His happiness was short-lived when you walked on. “Wait, aren’t you supposed to say I’m not a judgmental asshole?”

“But you are kind of a judgmental asshole. It’s part of your charm.” You gave him a full-blown smile when you looked over his shoulder and it was enough to take his breath away. Enough to drive him crazy. “See you at the party?”

“Yeah,” he smiled back, his bad mood almost completely gone. “I’ll see you there.”

And if he had his way, he’d see you much sooner than that.

Oh, the sex will be amazing once they get there. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist

[yurishots]

CAFE AU ━ o. miya

GENRE ━ fluff + the smallest amount of angst

WC ━ 770

Ever since Osamu has aged and settled into his new life as a shop and home owner, it seems like couples have been miraculously popping up everywhere he looks. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a bit of loneliness seeing couples in booths sharing the food he made. Him being a romantic never helped either—the fantasy of seeing his s/o after a long day at Onigiri Miya plagued his mind constantly, as well as the domestic feeling of coming home knowing that someone will be there waiting for him. 

The brunette began to put himself out there more, but not like his blonde counterpart. It was more subtle; making more conversation with his patrons and posting a little more on instagram. He became a fanatic for a short while—constantly stalking his notifications and dm requests even though he knew there would be nothing new. He contemplated giving up on the whole romance act, maybe it's a luxury only certain people can have. 

Sighing for the fifth time this morning, Osamu shoves his phone into his back pocket. A past friend of his posted some pictures from his wedding. “Must be nice,” he mumbles under his breath. After washing his hands, he prepares to head to the back before hearing a delicate voice break the silence of his early morning shift. 

“Hi, can I get a coffee?” Osamu froze as he heard the voice of this customer, he’s never heard anything like it. He looks up to see a smile adorning your face as you wait for him to confirm the order. The shop owner hopes he doesn’t look stupid as he quickly wipes his hands on his apron and clears his throat. 

Osamu quirked up his brow in curiosity,”just a coffee?” The request was quite vague, there’s a million coffees in the world, he’s not a mind reader after all. 

“What kind? we carry a bunch of flavors y’know!” He watched as an amused expression took over your face as you listened to him. 

“Well, I actually don’t know since your menu up there is quite empty.” Osamu looked up at the digital menu screen above him to realize that it is indeed—blank. a wave of embarrassment washes over him as he grabs the remote off the counter behind him and presses the on button. The menu soon lit up with a bunch of options for you to continue your less detailed coffee order from earlier. 

“I'm really sorry about that,” his face feels flushed from the embarrassment of the moment and because of the sound of your laughter entering his ears. 

“It's fine, I'll take an espresso.” Osamu nodded as he entered your order into the system in front of him. “And your name?” You looked up quickly with a small ‘hm?’ and gave him your name, “Y/n L/n.” The tapping noise resumed as he typed in your name, smiling softly at the fact he knows you a little bit more. As you leave the counter to find a seat, the shop begins to fill up slowly as people come in for breakfast. 

Usually Osamu calls out his customer’s names for them to grab their items, but he felt as if you deserved the delivery. He calms his nerves before walking over to your table by the window, “Here you go Y/n,” he says softly as he hands you your mug, telling you to be careful because it's hot. He slowly retreats back to his spot behind the counter to make the orders since his coworker has shown up to take them. Watching you out of the corner of his eye, he smiles seeing that you’re enjoying your drink as you gaze out the window. “Osamu!” His co worker snapped to get his attention, the amount of drinks he had to prepare had piled up. Sending her an apologetic look, he got back to work. 

After making and sending off the last coffee, he looked over to where you were sitting to see an empty table with a lonely mug. Osamu sucked his teeth, he planned on asking you if you enjoyed it. As he walked over to the table to clean it, he noticed a slip of paper poking out from under the mug. He grabbed it and read its contents. 

“Y/n L/n: XXX-XXX-XXXX. here’s my number, I’d like to talk to you some more. P.S: I saw you staring at me ;p.” 

Smiling to himself, he pocketed the note and cleaned up the previously occupied table. Maybe this romance thing isn’t so hard after all. 

[penvisions]

services requested {chapter five}

Pairing: Kept Man! Joel Miller x Sugar Momma! Reader

Summary: Being in a city far away from daily life allows you to open up to Joel in a way you didn't think anyone would accept, but he continues to surprise you with just how good of a man he truly is.

Joel opens up in return, giving you pieces of himself he's yet to give anyone and his emotions are beginning to spring up as he spends more time with you.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: no outbreak au, modern au, age gap (joel is mid 50's, reader is early 30's), reader is more of an oc written in the x reader style, reader is described to have a scar and tattoos, power dynamics, sexual undertones, mutual pining, flirting, casual touches, mutual attraction, light angst, mentions of infinitely (not joel or reader, mentions of past trauma, allusions to power imbalances within the tattoo world, heavy make out session, and some other....stuff hehe, caretaker joel, shopping spree, reader spoils joel, mentions of past physical abuse (fleeting), reader has scars that were the result of an attack (not described in detail), i think that'sit!

A/N: this chapter means so much to me, we see a rawness in both of them- giving into their emotions and being soft with one another is something i want in life right now. this is me living vicariously through my babies. love y'all and hope you enjoy this installment!

ao3 || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

“Okay, so we’ve got your flight taken care of and upgraded because there is no way I’m gonna make you squeeze into a regular seat with your broad shoulders. Now we need to get you a bag and some clothes, you seem okay with using my stuff I had the hotel stock, a pair of shoes maybe? Definitely a small thing of your cologne, ooooh maybe we could get some bath bombs!”

You feel Joel’s attention on you as you confidently maneuver through the thick LA traffic with an iced coffee held in one hand, your phone in a the little storage space in front of the cupholders and gear shift where it’s lighting up with notifications while it charges.

It’s bright and sunny, your sunglasses big on your face while Joel just has on his regular pair. He left his in the truck when he handed the keys over to the airport valet.

“Don’t need to much, Sarah said she got me a few gifts and knowing her it’s some clothes.” He sips from the juice you both got to share, him unsure of the thick green texture of it but curious enough to linger on it when he saw it on the menu back at the lobby restaurant.

“Yeah, but we’re here and the malls are insane. Might as well. I don’t mind.” You smile over at him as you signal to turn onto another street. You don’t have the navigation system reading out directions but you know where you’re going. The warmth and the scent of salt in the air is comforting, even if you know you’re rambling to keep the events of this morning in the back of your mind. There was no use in wondering if the man beside you had…taken care of himself while you finished up your shower….

“I, uh, haven’t used the card you gave me yet.”

“Is something wrong with it? I didn’t set up a code so you could do that yourself. And then the deposit, did it go through your personal bank okay?”

“I didn’t feel like I deserved to use it- after the way I blew up at you. But yes, the deposit came through okay. Used part of it to get the flight out here and valet for the truck.” He sets the drink down and drums his fingers on the denim over his jeans.

“Okay, well, that’s…that’s good that it went through.”

“Sweetheart, I want to explain myself.”

“Joel, please, you don’t…it’s okay. You thought I was married. I’m okay, we’re okay, I promise.” Sliding your coffee into a cupholder, you reach for his hand and squeeze it once, his warmth surprising you even now. He’s always so warm. You wonder if it’s because he’s such a big man or if it’s simply because he’s a man. Micah was always warm to the touch too, but it was never comforting like Joel’s- it was more sticky and suffocating as the tension rose between you two, an obvious sign of the disconnect that formed.

“I want to tell you, I want you to know.” His expression is so open, words so soft in their quiet confession.

“You can, Joel. I just…let’s run these errands first okay?” You don’t want to push him, to make him feel like he has to share his past with you know that he knows the worst of yours. Time will help him decide if he really wants to and you kind of want things to be casual today. No heavy stuff, just the sun and the beautiful sights of mountains and him at ease beside you. It’s probably been years since he’s had time like this to just be a person- to be himself. Not a dad, not a contractor, no jobs to worry about, in a new area to explore as himself.

“Okay.” His fingers squeeze yours back and then you’re pulling your hand away to fit the rental into a parking spot right outside of a large parking structure.

“Okay.” You shift the gear into park and turn off the rental, closing the windows so they’re cracked as to not buildup heat while you two walk about. “Now, where do you get your cologne? We can get you a little travel size if you don’t want to do the whole checked bag thing.”

“’m fine with just going to a department store. Normally get a new bottle around the holidays when they have those big blowout sales. I can get it too, the stuff I need.” You know he’s not insisting out of some macho defense that he can support himself, but because you know he’s still feeling a little guilty and new to the whole dynamic. You had checked the account you set up for him for supplies, no transactions

“This is your little vacation too, I want to treat you. You deserve a little pampering, we both do.”

It’s such a treat for you, to watch as Joel gathers a few things that catch his eye around the large department store that you enter through one end of the giant mall. He’s got a few pairs of jeans of different cuts and sizes, some nicer looking t shirts in basic colors, two buttoned short sleeves with patterns on them, and one flannel. His shoulders disappear behind the door he picked out in the dressing room, and you wait patiently for him in one of the chairs set up in a small seating area outside of it. In case he needs different sizes or doesn’t like something.

He found you, dropped everything to run after you and be by your side. His help at getting the rental car, checking into the hotel, all of it was so him, so in line with who you know he is at his core. A caregiver, a protector, someone who takes the trust of others given to him and cradles it in his chest right beside his heart. He’s a good man, a truly good man.

Your eyes rove over his figure as he swings the curtain aside to exit his dressing room, the little sitting area is empty save for you both and he’s got a thick hand curled around a way too loose waistband to the slacks he has on.

“Wasn’t sure if the waist was the same on these type of pants…” He looks so bashful, but your eyes are glued to the way the that the fabric is caught between his legs, right beneath the zipper. The soft, silk shirt he's got on with it does nothing to hide the bulge where it’s mussed up above where he holds the pants up. The outfit....is something that looks far too good on him, despite being completely different from anything you've ever seen him in before, the gold chains about his neck tying it all together in a dizzying way...

Biting your bottom lip, you feel a wash of heat roll down your back at the twitch as he realizes you’re not really paying attention to him, but only a part of him.

“S-sorry!” Um, what size did you grab, I’ll go get the next one down.” You’re up and swiftly walking away, barely catching the measurement he mumbles as you go. Huffing, you try and shake the image of what he would look like with less clothes on from your mind. He’s your employee, who hasn’t once brought up the intimacy clause. There’s no hiding the attraction you feel towards him, he’s handsome- devastatingly so. The way he carries himself, who he is- makes him even more so.

He’s thoughtful, enough to remain on his side of the bed when you all but summoned him into the bed beside you. Neither of you can meet each other’s eye as you hand him a smaller pair of the pants he was trying out, his mumbled words of explanation that he just wanted to try and see if he could pull off the look something you try very, very hard not to respond to with a dirty comment. He could pull off anything, you’re sure of it, his frame thick and muscled, age softening him in a homey and comforting way.

He pats his hands against the back pockets of his regular jeans at the register, but let’s you hand over a card to cover the cost of what he decided to keep from his search.

Easy conversation and soft laughter fill the time as you both walk around the shops, dipping into some together or separately. His beautiful blush when he almost followed you into a lingerie store and multiple brushes of hands against each other, the way he insisted on carrying the bags accumulated.

When you exit the colorful shop with a nice little bag with pink tissue paper, he’s got a soft pretzel and a small thing of cheese to dunk it in, paired with a frozen lemonade. As you approach him, a man walking by on his own turns around to look you up and down but you don’t catch the movement as he approaches you.

“I don’t mean to bother you, but your pieces look amazing.” He’s around your age, you figure as you turn toward his voice at the soft brush of his hand on your bare shoulder, sleeveless dress displaying nearly all of the pieces you have done. You debated the outfit for a good fifteen minutes, self-consciousness telling you that it wasn’t something you could pull off, but when you exited the bathroom to find something else in your bag, the heat seeping into the hotel room from the open balcony door and the glint in Joel’s eyes convinced you to keep it on.

“Oh, um, thank you. I did a few of them myself, but most of the compliments go to my friends.” Joel is a bit aways, closer to the railing that looks down onto the first floor of the sprawling mall. You look over your shoulder when you feel his gaze on you, but you don’t want to be rude to the man in front of you even if you aren’t fond of the way he casually touched you.

“I’m Rick and you are?” He holds out a hand, even if his eyes rove over you in an open leer. Sighing quietly, you reach out to shake it and notice his eyes drop to your cleavage when he pumps your hands roughly twice before taking his hand back.

You give him a fake name, not too willing to share your real one or even the nickname you’re known to go by. If he manages to track you down and find either of the shops you work at or the one you plan on opening yourself, you’re sure he would just be more trouble than the paycheck would be worth.

“You got a shop around here? I’d love to stop by and see some of your books.” The man’s eyes look you up and down unabashedly, his eyes widening when he sees the label on the lone bag in your hand.

“I’m just visiting, little birthday vacation for this one.” You motion over to Joel, eyes rolling as you look over at him, he catches the motion and approaches. The hand not holding the bags and lemonade curls around your waist and his fingers pull you slightly into his side. A clear message to the man not getting the hint that you don’t really want to talk. Too blinded by his ill placed confidence, though his lips do twitch and his eyes narrow at the paint stained shirt and worn jeans Joel wears with his cowboy boots.

You happen to think that he looks rugged, but Rick obviously sees him as something lesser than standing there in his dress pants and collared shirt with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He’s clean shaven where Joel is dark, greying facial hair. He’s slicked back straight hair where Joel is dark curls.

“Oh, I see. Well, I’ll look you up. Could always use an excuse to get outta the house and away from the girlfriend, am I right?” He’s got the nerves to give you a wink, completely leaving the line he crosses as soon as he approached you by the wayside.

“Our parking meter’s almost up, best get going. Have a nice day.” And Joel’s ending the uncomfortable interaction with a mild glare and guides you away. The deep timbre of his voice displays his Southern drawl, Rick frowning at the way it twangs between them. Joel doesn’t take his hand away from where it rests in the curve of your waist, soft skin tingling beneath the thin fabric that separates them from it. When you turn down another hallway, he finally speaks.

“Figured we should refuel, dunno if you like these but Sarah and Ellie devoured them up anytime we went back to school shopping.”

“It’s perfect, thank you.” You follow him as he makes his way to one of the little sitting areas that connect the two upstairs aisles together. With the bags secure between his feet, he carefully breaks it in half and hands it over to you with a few napkins. Dunking it into the cheese sauce you’re suddenly ravenous and take a huge bite, groaning around the salty goodness.

You blink a few times as he reaches across to swipe a thick thumb over your bottom lip, the digit coming away with a bit of the sauce. He licks it from his finger, and you feel heat swell up low in your belly as his tongue peaks out between his lips.

“Little messy, ain’t ya?” He offers you a playful smirk, even as his eyes darken with something more.

You suddenly look away, unable to handle looking at him and his chuckle sounds into the air, full and hearty. His protective side from a few moments ago to this playful one is a dizzying shift. He’s so fucking charming and it has your insides all squirmy the more you see him relax and enjoy the time out here.

The rest of the errands go smoothly, dropping him off back at the hotel so he can take a breather after the hustle and bustle of the crowded roads and the busy stores. You know he isn’t too keen on constant interaction, especially in such a different setting than he’s used to back in Texas. And you have a nail appointment to get to, the agreement was for dinner when you get back.

You certainly didn’t expect to end the day in his arms with his lips firm against your own. But you sigh as you melt into him, hands moving to surround his neck as you surge up on your tip toes to press closer to him. He groans at the feel of your chest pushing up against his own, the soft give of your body something so foreign to his work strained muscles. His hands trail down your back, fingers prodding and caressing as they do, earning him soft moans that he licks straight out of your mouth.

His lips are so soft against your own, slick and warm as you return his kisses just as fervently. It’s intoxicating, to feel him against you, to have your hands curl around his hair and pull slightly, allowing you to hold his bottom lip between your teeth gently before letting it go with a glint in your eye he catches as he gazes through hooded, pupil blown eyes down at you.

He's suddenly bending his knees and gripping you firmly behind your thighs sneaking underneath the hem of your dress, easily lifting you up as you hop into his hold and wrap them around his waist. You cradle his face in your hands, nails hushing as they run over his scruff and you connect your lips back to his, openmouthed and hungry for more. For anything he’s willing to give you. You feel the twitch of him against your inner thigh and you can’t help the whine that fills his mouth as he swallows it greedily from yours. He spins, plopping you carefully down atop the desk.

But it doesn’t matter how careful he is, your back twinges, scar tissue pulling and a pained hiss breaks your mouth away from his. Your back curves, leaning forward and slouching as the pain stings sharp on the left lower part of your back. Your forehead thuds into Joel’s chest as he freezes, hands stilling where they cup your bottom.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t- I’m so sorry.” His breath is heavy as it muses your hair, his scruff brushing your forehead. Reaching back a hand, you hold it over the pink, textured scar and focus on breathing in and out.

“N-not your f-fault, it’s t-the scar here.” You manage to sooth him, breathing in harshly. “I just, sometimes i-it’s hard to move like t-that.”

“I shouldn’t have- I didn’t even think about it, I know it’s there.” Joel doesn’t move, body rigid as you try your best to move as carefully as you can to relieve some of the pain. But you need heat. Trailing your hand down, you lay it over Joels and guide it up to where the scar hides underneath the fabric of your dress. Its not enough and you inhale sharply as another hot streak of pain strikes up your back.

“Fuck, okay. Joel, I need to get to the bath.”

“Whatever you need, I gotcha.” And he’s so steady as he steps back and holds his hands out to you to use for leverage. Getting down from the desk pulls your back but arousal pools hot in your core when you recall the way he picked you up to put you there. Joel settles you down onto the side of the tub and leans over to turn on the faucet. He ensures it’s the perfect temperature before he activates the stopper and kneels down in front of you.

“Gonna get these off for ya, if that’s okay?” He looks up at you from where he holds one of your boots in his hands. At your gentle nod, he begins to unlace them and pull them one by one off your feet. You worry about him seeing up the skirt of your dress, the damp front of your pale underwear. But the thought only sends another gush of arousal into the fabric and you tense your thighs together to keep it hidden. He smiles wide, a dimple appearing in his right cheek when your socks underneath are revealed to him. There’s a glint of heat behind his eyes even as he tends to you, they flick to your lap where the skirt bunches over them.

“Care bears?” He teases, delighting in the discovery.

“They’re cute.” You huff lightly, bracing your arms on the tile underneath you. Your nails tap against ceramic as Joel removes your other boot, the colorful socks following suit. His hands slowly trail up your ankles, your shins, tracing the lines and shading that decorate the skin.

“You’re mighty cute too.” He murmurs, eyes watching his hands trace the contour of feathers that frame the bottom of your knee cap. Your breath rushes out and you can tell he likes the way his words effect you, if the way his hands sneak up higher to trace over your thighs. His soft, earnest touch has you parting them, leaning back on your hands as your chest heaves in delicious anticipation.

“Fuck, you’re mor’n cute. You’re…amazin’.” He leans forward to kiss each knee cap. His lips light you up like a match, pleasure building low behind your hips drowning out the faint ache that persists in your back. “This okay? Don’t want to….overstep or pull anything on ya.”

“Whatever you’re okay with, I’m okay with.” You whisper, head knocking back when his hands grip more firmly and pull your thighs apart to fit between them. The skirt of your dress pulls taut, exposing the front of your underwear to him and he lets out a tortured groan at the sight. The peak of your dark hair beneath the pale fabric isn’t something you have to worry about turning him off. You’re sure of it, with the way he bites into his bottom lip as he reaches to run to a thumb over the damp fabric.

A small moan bursts into the air, doing nothing to cover the wet squelch of your swollen lips as Joel presses harder between your thighs. If you were paying attention, you would have seen the way his eyes roll back in his head as the sound settles deep in his belly.

“Much as I wanna do this right now, we should get you into the bath.” Joel doesn’t move despite the words he utters, hand gently caressing your folds. You can’t help but circle your hips, as gently as you could without putting any more strain on your back. Suddenly his breath is hot on the fabric, pulling a startled gasp from you. “But first I gotta get a little taste, if that’s alright?”

“God, yes, please,Joel.” You moan out, a desperate sound echoing around the bathroom as you feel the tip of his gorgeous nose press close and the way he inhales deeply.

“Fuck, you smell so sweet, darlin’.” His tongue swipes wide over your entire core, not once but twice before he’s pulling back and looking up at you where he crouches between your legs. “Taste sweet too.”

He moves away momentarily to stop the faucet from running, steam rising from the water filling the tub before he’s diving back between your thighs. He licks at the front of your underwear like a man possessed, pointing his tongue to swirl in search of that little bundle of nerves. Your hands fly to tangle in his hair, pulling lightly to make him hum against you. Just as two of his fingers sneak underneath the gusset, your head snaps back up.

“W-ait!” Your pant, panic rising and dousing the fire Joel was stoking low in your belly. As soon as the word leaves your lips, he’s pulling his hands back to you and leaning back. His eyes are wide, worry at doing something wrong or pushing for too much breaking through the darkness of them. You don’t move to clench you thighs but your heart beats so fast in your chest, for a completely different reason now as you realize Joel was about to see you.

“It’s not, you’re,” You breath deep and exhale slowly, closing your eyes against the burn of tears suddenly springing up. “Joel, that was- amazing, but…I- I don’t look…like other girls.”

“Everybody looks a little different, ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of.” He assures you gently, cupping your knee to comfort you. “But if you say stop, we stop. No arguments or hard feelings, you bein’ comfortable is the most important part of this.”

“It’s…it’s not that. The scar on my b-back….it’s not the only o-ne he left me with.” You bury your face into your hands as hiccups distort your confession. You startle slightly when his arms wrap around you, holding you close to his still kneeling form. He cradles the back of your head and whispers quiet reassurances where he presses his lips to the side of your head.

You don’t know how much time passes as your tears cool and subside, but Joel holds you the entire time, you don’t feel crowded but wrapped safely in his embrace. Your muscles twitch and you suck in a breath as the pain washes over you, the position on the tile not helping the initial reason for being where you are.

“Gonna fix the bath again. I won’t look and I’ll step out, but I do want to help you get into the tub.” Joel pulls back, face holding one side of your puffy face as his thumb traces underneath your eye. “You need just relax, we don’t have to rush anything, we have time.”

He groans as he stands, the bulge in his pants obvious as he palms it in an attempt to tame it.

“Joel,” Your eyes linger even when his hand falls away and he busies himself with draining the now tepid water from the tub and running the hot water once again. He reaches for the bath bombs that he unpacked while you were gone and plops one into the tub. It’s eucalyptus, with bath salts encrusted around it beginning to dissolve and scent the air.

“’s okay, it’ll go down. More worried about you.” He gives you a smile, something small and genuine, washing away the little strands of guilt that lace through you even as you begin to feel the exhaustion from your tears and anxiety. “So, uh, how do you wanna do this?”

“I-I think I can manage, really,” You need to be alone, your thoughts firing over each other. You’ve come to enjoy the time you spend with Joel but it’s still a lot to handle. Especially in the wake of the emotions of the past few days, the ups and downs

“I’ll bring your phone in and give you your space.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, pausing for a moment that draws on long as you close your eyes and just settle in the moment of casual intimacy.

“My bag too, please?” Voice quiet, you can hear how raspy it is from the onslaught of emotions. He doesn’t look too rattled from the whiplash of the last hour and you’re grateful for his calm demeanor.

“Okay, you need anythin’ and you holler.” And then he’s giving you the space you asked for, like the gentleman he is. Proving to you that he truly is such a good man at his core.

Steam and the scent of eucalyptus wafts through the humid air of the bathroom, you’ve refilled the tub and let the act of washing your body with a soft buffing loofah calm your nerves.

His enthusiasm makes you feel like your own feelings aren’t so unfounded…

Heat flares behind your cheeks. He really did, happily pushing between your thighs in pure desperation to get a taste of you. But he….he hasn’t told you that he thinks you’re something he likes. It fuels something small and ugly inside you that you try so hard to keep pushed down and in the back of your mind. Sexual acts result from a lot of different things, and attraction isn’t always at their core.

He says he likes you, that he wants to kiss you, but…you feel so insecure. You feel like a failure because of how your marriage dissolved, if it was even a real attraction and connection to begin with. The feeling of being just another in a long string of younger bodies in Micah’s shop and bed. But he had asked you to marry him, though that too could have been his way at keeping control as your popularity grew.

Ruined in more ways that physical, your mind runs in circles until the water cools and you decide it’s time to drain the bath.

 On the other side of the door, Joel’s own feelings bubble up.

Joel sees the pack of cigarettes in your bag and before he can think better of it, he’s grabbing it and the lighter stuffed into the side of the duffle alongside it. He opens up the sliding door to the small balcony and leaves it cracked behind him, just in case you call out for him. He’s worried. He’s overwhelmed.

He’s fucking livid.

The man’s face who hurt you surfaces in his mind and he lights the end of the cigarette with a little more force than necessary. Almost daring the light breeze to blow out the lighter as he does so. That pathetic, piece of shit excuse of a man did so much damage. He not only cheated on you and attacked you, but now Joel suspects that he took advantage of you. It all sits heavy in Joel’s chest.

That man at the mall today, too, had looked you up and down. Like you were something for the taking.

And he feels absolutely shitty for the feelings of desire that swirl low behind his hips. The thought of the few times he fisted his cock to memories of you making him feel sick. He knows there’s no true comparison of what your ex-husband did but he doesn’t like any part of feeling like he’s taken advantage of you and your kindness, your friendship.

His fingers tingle as he inhales deeply, recalling the way he could taste the same menthol faintly on your tongue as he sucked it into his mouth. Fuck, you had felt so perfect in his hands- all soft skin and enthusiastic. But he needed to be careful, for your sake and for his. You both carry so much trauma, relationships and the one you two have isn’t exactly a conventional one. He knows he said he doesn’t care what it looks like on the outside, but he kinda does.

He knows he looks his age and you look yours. He’s an old man and you’re…a beautiful younger thing. All supple skin and soft eyes. Taking another long pull from the filter, he looks out over the dark cityscape, the room high enough to make him feel like he’s above it all on a cloud. It’s so crowded, even now. Cars fill the streets, pedestrians fill the sidewalks, windows to shops bright and full. Headlights and taillights trace the curve of the highways that tangle all up in the scene, overwhelming him even now as he looks down at it all.

But today…being by your side, it hadn’t felt like too much. His attention laser focused on you and the effortless way you picked things out and allowed him to hope that you want him the same way he wants you, though he knows it just could be fleeting and spontaneous. He isn’t sure if there’s a depth to the way you feel and he’s too much of a self-conscious coward to ask you outright.

You seem to bridge the gap, slightly dewy skin from the bath scented so fresh as you sidle up to him and take the second cigarette he’s lit since being out on the balcony.

“Joel, I think it’s pretty obvious, but I kinda like you. A little bit beyond friendship.” You say it as confidently as you can muster, despite the nerves of being so direct. But that kiss…the way he pressed his mouth to the front of your underwear, his soft words and willingness to stop if it wasn’t what you wanted…it fuels you to find out the truth. Because if he did like you the same way…

“I kinda like you too, sweetheart.” Smoke billows out from between you lips at his reciprocation, heart stuttering as you look over at him out of the corner of your eye from where you stand side by side. He goes even further and calms the doubts you have about the contract being the only reason he’d feel like he needs to say something similar, though you know he’s not the kind to front false ideations, it’s still comforting to hear. “I don’t want you to think I’m just here for the money and…the uh, sex.”

“I don’t think that’s what you’re here for.” You whisper, eyes focusing on the way that too many bodies mingle about down on the street.

“I really appreciate you, so much. You…you were a pleasant surprise in my life and I wouldn’t change a damn thing, except maybe take back the storming into your house part.” He inches closer, gently corralling the cigarette from you to take a drag of his own. He could very well light up his own, but you rather like that he wants to share one instead.

“I was an ass, even if it came from…a place of insecurity. I was married, once upon a time. But she wasn’t interested in being a wife and mother, she got caught up in the spiral of what her life was supposed to be- college classes, parties, figuring out who she wanted to be. But we got pregnant young, Sarah is my whole heart, my reason for everything. But for her, it wasn’t the same. And she decided to find something to help her cope with it.

First it was a glass of wine in the evenings, then two or three. Then a whole bottle. Then a little joint here and there, edibles turned into the stronger stuff and eventually I came home one day to her high as a kite and fucking her drug dealer in our bedroom while Sarah cried her little head off. Put my foot down and told her she needs to get it together and deal with it in a better, healthier way or she needed to sign over full custody to me. That’s why the thought of you having an open affair set me off.”

“I’m so sorry, Joel…” Your phone pings, an alert for the delivery of the takeout you ordered while in the bath. You look from it to the front street of the hotel down below and then to the man beside you. The one bearing it heart and past to you in such an open way. “I had no idea, that…that’s an awful thing to come home to.”

“I thought I’d made my peace with it, but it still affects me. And that’s okay, I clocked it and reached out to someone who’s helped me before. Therapy ain’t easy, but it does help me, even if it isn’t something I ever anticipated needing.” He leans over to press a kiss to your temple, while a hand wraps around you to gently cage you between his front and the railing of the balcony you were both leaning against. “You didn’t deserve that initial reaction but believe me when I say I will never do something that you don’t want or makes you uncomfortable.”

“I believe you,” You press back into him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest firm against your back. “I won’t either and I…I do trust you to be honest with me as we, maybe….take things slow?”

“You have my word, sweetheart.”

Another ding and Joel is glancing at your phone in your hand. He tells you he can run down to the lobby and get the food, that he wants you to relax and set something up on the television for you to watch before bed. The sun setting late, casting deep oranges and pinks across the clear sky. When he returns, he doesn’t tell you about how the delivery person was a young man hoping to interact with you- the disappointment that Joel was the one to receive the food. Between that interaction and the one at the mall, Joel knows he’s got no true claim over you, but the protective and jealous streak he knows he possesses still flares.

He knows you’re surrounded by beautiful people in your world, the work you do, the fantastic art you create and design for people bringing them into your orbit. He’s just an old man, but he hopes that you like looking at him just as much as he likes looking at you, that there’s more to your connection than physical attraction, because for him- he knows his insecurities are something he’s still working on, yours he can help to ease as well.

The sentiments wouldn’t do much but showcase insecurity, something that’s tired you both out already after a busy, full day. Time, he thinks, is something that will work in both your favors and you have plenty of it.

A movie plays calmy in the background while you share a plethora of appetizers and a few entrees- sampling each and easy laughter bubbling up at genuine reactions. Neither of you bring up that his flight leaves tomorrow evening, basking in the moments you have left in the privacy of the hotel room.

Once the food is long gone, a second movie playing while you both get ready for bed, the couch remains as such and Joel slides underneath the covers of the bed beside you. As soon as the lamp goes out and the tv volume gets dimmed, his hand reaches for yours above the duvet, fingers tangling with your own and making the day that much more special.

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[peachhcs]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 ʷˢ²

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

things become too much for the youngest hughes causing everyone around her to worry for her well-being

wc: 4.1k

some warnings incase: some mental health struggle, burnout, struggling to reach out for help

i've had this one in the drafts for awhile and i finally finished it. wanted to write some more angst of the harder side of samy's collegiate life, but luckily she's got a real good support system by her side! (also trying some new things with my titles) (p.s. heading home again for winter break in 2 days so i’ll get to everyone’s requests then!!)

au masterlist

there was a lot riding on this season now that samy was officially named 1st alternate captain. after lots of success and making it to the ncaa finals last year, the umich coaches decided to name the star freshman their alternate captain going into her sophomore year. she had proved herself with all the goals and strategies from last season and the girls on the team agreed no one else deserved the position more. samy couldn't be more grateful for the honor knowing how much her team was going to look up to her in the coming season to pull off the same thing and hopefully win the championships this year. 

being alternate captain meant that the youngest hughes was pulled up incase any of the captains now couldn't fulfill their role, so she had to be in attendance to every captain meeting with the coaches and the other girls relied heavily on her since she had the strategy. it was rewarding, but also really draining sometimes. 

on top of this, samy had a full course load to manage while also still finding time to hang out with her friends and keep in touch with everyone else. her busy schedule kept her out of the apartment most days and nights, not coming back in until hannah was fast asleep and sometimes samy hardly slept herself. her rushing around allowed little time for her to slow down and be in the present with what was happening. 

she got up early for practice, saying a half-hearted goodbye to her roommate, and then was out the door with the chance of not returning until later that night. whenever there was downtime, samy's attention was stolen away by a girl on the team needing something or calling her parents and boyfriend, so in reality, she had very little time to herself. 

it was starting to take a toll on the brunette. the sleepless nights left dark, heavy bags under her eyes and the caffeine consumption was at an all time high that just left her jittery and shaky the rest of the day. even trying to do homework and study made samy restless because she just couldn't sit still knowing everything else she needed to do. 

however, if there was one thing about the hughes siblings, it was that they never asked for help. growing up in a constantly competitive environment led the four to become extremely independent and asking for help with even the smallest things was out of the question, especially samy who worked her whole life to prove that she could be just like her older brothers. 

so even if she was struggling with balancing everything and taking care of herself, samy would not ask for help. 

will learned this one the hard way growing up with the youngest hughes and now that he was all the way in california, he had no way of knowing if she was taking care of herself. he knew she was named 1st alternate captain and the work that came with it, but the text messages weren't enough to suffice if samy was still making time for herself. will started worrying when the messages from her started becoming vague and a lot less, more so when she kept putting off their nightly facetime calls claiming she was caught up with other stuff. 

he knew she had a game in boston in two days, so will decided to reach out to the boys to make sure they seriously checked in with samy to make sure she was doing okay. 

"i'm just a bit worried about her," will explained to gabe over the phone the night before the game. 

"you know she's really good at hiding that kind of stuff. she's never asked for help when she's struggling," the darker-haired boy said which made the blonde sigh. 

"yeah, i know which is why i want you and the guys to just check-in with her and see if she's okay. i'm worried she isn't properly taking care of herself," will said and gabe nodded even though his friend couldn't see him. 

"yeah, we will, don't worry. leno and i have plans to get lunch with her before the game so we'll see how she is," the boy's words sent some relief to will's chest. 

"okay, thanks. i appreciate it. we'll talk later," the two exchanged goodbyes and will tried not to think too much about it for the rest of the night or else he'd stress himself out. 

he knew samy could take care of herself, but he just worried that with everything she had going on this semester it was becoming too much and she wasn't reaching out for help. 

with the night game, samy had time to catch lunch with ryan and gabe downtown that afternoon. she entered the restaurant they discussed meeting at with a bright smile on her face. it'd been since late july that the three saw one another, so she was excited to have the chance to catch up with them. the boys spotted her at their table near the back, excitedly standing up to greet her in hugs. the girl jumped over to them with her arms already open. 

"hey! it's so good to see you guys again," she cheered, embracing gabe first. the darker-haired boy grinned, wrapping his arms tight around her torso. 

he noticed the change first. 

as he wrapped his arms around her, she felt..different. or at least gabe thought so. he couldn't quite place what was different, but..she felt..smaller? lighter? he didn't know how to explain the change, but he definitely noticed it, especially when the girl pulled back and he saw the very obvious bags under her eyes. 

he didn't say anything though, letting her go so ryan could hug her. when the two pulled away gabe glanced at ryan, speaking with his eyes by asking if ryan noticed anything too. the brunette was too caught up in the menu though that he didn't catch his friend's glance. 

"i already know what i want," ryan hummed. 

"of course you do. i haven't been here in so long," samy giggled, perusing the menu herself while gabe did the same. 

"how've you been though? you're a big soccer captain now," the brunette hockey player roughed up the girl's arm making her flush. 

"not quite captain, but i'm getting there. i've been..good. busy, but good," samy's hesitation made gabe look up at her briefly. he tried reading her expression, but she just looked back down at the menu. 

"that's so awesome you got 1st alternate captain. what a status. you think you'll be real captain next season?" ryan kept talking. 

"i mean i hope so. our head coach really likes me and so do the girls, so it's a possibility." 

"we're excited for the game later. i think almost all the hockey boys are coming to watch you play," gabe finally chipped into the conversation. 

"aww, that's so cute. i'm excited too. it should be a good game," her bright smile made the boys smile and maybe she really was doing okay, she was just super busy. every college student hit a really busy point in the semester that caused bags under their eyes and slight weight loss. 

gabe decided not to pry now because he knew samy just wanted to enjoy lunch, so he eased himself into the conversation and listened to all the things him and ryan have missed since they last saw her. 

if the three could keep talking, they totally would, but after two hours, they had to cut it short because samy needed to be back for enough time to get ready and get to the field for warmups. ryan and gabe graciously paid (even after samy told them they didn't have to pay for her) and walked back out onto the busy boston sidewalk. they exchanged a few last hugs for now. 

"see you at the game! look for us, we'll have big signs," ryan chuckled as he embraced the brunette again. she smiled. 

"i can't wait to see them." 

gabe hugged her last, still not shaking how there was something different about the youngest hughes, he just couldn't put his finger on it. "good to see you, hughesy. we'll see you soon." 

"see you super soon. thanks again for lunch," she patted gabe's cheek making him flush. 

"of course. you're doing okay, right?" he stopped beating around the bush and lowered his voice a little. 

samy gave him a quizzical look, a flush coating her own cheeks at his somewhat personal question like he just saw right through her or something, but she quickly played it off. 

"yeah, i'm good. why?" 

"no reason, just wondering. being nosy. being protective," gabe shook his head. 

"i'm good, i promise. i'll see you guys later," samy finally said her last goodbye and they walked in separate directions. 

gabe chose to believe her because if samy said she was fine, she was fine. she did know herself better than anyone else and who was gabe to say that she didn't look good? so he let it go and would tell will samy seemed fine, just tired. 

later, at the game, gabe realized he should've poked more about his friend's well-being. 

the lady wolverines had a big lead on the eagles. they were up a whopping 5-2 in the second half with no chance the lady eagles could catch up to them. at this point, the michigan girls were just playing to see how many goals they could rack up in one night. 

the hockey boys definitely got a lot of strange looks when they took turns holding up various signs they made for samy and screamed her name as she ran up the field with the ball in boston's student section. 

"hughesy, hughesy, hughesy," ryan got a chant going to which the boys and the small michigan student section joined in on. 

"stop fucking cheering for the other team!" someone yelled in the middle of the chant, obviously annoyed that people from boston were cheering for michigan. 

"shut up! she's our friend!" aram yelled back at the stranger who just rolled his eyes. 

"they're gonna kill our girls," drew chuckled when samy's team scored yet another goal bringing it up to 6-2. 

"honestly, i saw it coming. our soccer team is kind of shit compared to michigan, no offense," fowler shrugged a bit and the other guys snickered because they knew he was right. boston's soccer program wasn't the best even though they had gotten a bit better since last year. they just needed a star player to come in and change it around like samy had done for michigan. 

the wolverines earned themselves a corner kick when the eagles rolled the ball out of line. samy hurried over to take the kick, but as she began slowing down to get into position, she felt a bit light-headed. her team worked to get into position for her kick, but the more the youngest hughes finally slowed herself down, the worse she felt. she stood in front of the ball trying to ground herself and get her bearings back, but instead, the whole field spun in her vision. 

"is she okay?" teddy wondered from behind the sophomores as they waited for samy to make the kick. 

gabe watched her from the stands and the way she swayed on her heels like she may pass out. his heart dropped and he cursed to himself. he knew there was something wrong. 

despite samy's vision spinning, she attempted to make the kick knowing the team and refs were waiting. however, as soon as she moved she went down, landing face first in the turf. 

the ref blew his whistle. people in the stands gasped and gabe was on his feet not even thinking twice as he ran down the bleachers and ignored the calls of the others. "shit," ryan muttered and ran after him. 

the two boys were down on the field a second later, not caring that they weren't supposed to be down there. the refs who didn't quite know what to do let the boys in as they kneeled down to samy's side. 

"samy? hey, samy?" gabe tried shaking the girl awake. her coach was across the field a second later while the others tried keeping everyone else away. 

"what happened? is she hurt?" coach klein asked in concern. 

"i think she passed out," gabe informed, gently tapping samy's cheeks to wake her back up. 

a full minute passed before the girl's eyes fluttered back open and a wave of relief washed over everyone hovering over her. she saw gabe first and the concern written all over his features and she knew something bad happened. 

"thank god. are you okay?" the darker-haired boy wondered. 

"w-what happened?" the brunette rasped out. 

"you passed out, hughes," coach klein informed before the boys could. 

samy's face paled even further because she knew the exact reason why and that she definitely lied to gabe earlier when he asked if she was doing okay. 

"oh," was all the girl managed. 

"let's get you up. you probably need water and some food," gabe said gently as him and ryan helped her to her feet. 

"you guys got her then?" coach asked and the boys nodded. 

they supported samy's weight as the crowd in the stands clapped that she was up and the refs restarted the game with someone else taking the corner kick. ryan and gabe led the girl into the sports facility, finding the nearest bench to sit her down on for the moment. 

"go find her some water and get her food from one of the vending machines," gabe instructed and ryan did as told. 

samy's head hung low as she avoided gabe's lingering gaze knowing what he was about to say to her. she felt him sit down beside her, "i thought you promised me you were fine?" 

his tone wasn't angry or anything, but she could hear the disappointment in it and that seemed to hurt worse. 

"i don't really know what happened," samy frowned still not meeting the hockey player's eyes. 

"samantha, come on. tell me what's going on," gabe using her full name meant he was being really serious and she grimaced at the use of it. 

"i guess..i just haven't had a lot of time to slow down and it's finally catching up with me," she finaly admitted to which the boy sighed. 

"have you been taking care of yourself?" he wondered. 

"i..i guess not really. i haven't really been eating or sleeping properly. i've been caught up in a lot." 

"you know that's not an excuse to not be nourishing yourself and sleeping right," the boy pointed out softly, not wanting to anger her. 

"i know," samy kept admitting her defeat. 

ryan came back down the hallway with a large gatorade and about five different snacks in his arms. he set it all down on the bench beside the girl and then exchanged a glance with gabe. 

"will just called me asking about what happened. i told him you passed out. he wants you to call him," the taller brunette explained. 

"i'm sure i have to call a lot of people. my parents are probably blowing up my phone right now," samy sighed, her head falling into her hands. 

the two boys exchanged another glance where they spoke with just looks, "you know we're always here for you if you need to talk or need anything, right? just because we're in different states doesn't mean we don't wanna be there for you and help carry some of the weight on your shoulders. the same goes for will," gabe said gently as he rubbed his hand across her back in soothing circles. 

"i know, i know. i just thought i'd be able to handle it and it'd become easier, but i guess it just kept piling up," the girl frowned again. 

"is it something about the alternate captain position? has that been too much?" ryan wondered. 

"it's definitely a lot and maybe i just didn't expect for it to be as much as it is. i've been kind of falling behind in work too," her words made the boys frown. 

"do you think there's someone you can talk to about this to help you manage a little better? like your coach? or one of the other captains on the team to see how they manage it all? it might be helpful especially since you might be an actual captain next year," gabe offered because him and ryan knew eamon powell had a lot to balance being captain as well, but he also wasn't afraid to ask for help when he needed it. he actually relied a lot on the team when he was looking for new suggestions. 

"yeah, yeah. i can talk to them," samy nodded. 

"we're just worried about you, hughesy. we know you don't really like asking for help, but it's not a bad thing. it doesn't mean your weak or anything or any less. a lot of people ask for help. i'm sure your brothers do too," ryan tried his best to comfort the girl as he also joined in with rubbing her back. 

"it's just so hard when i grew up thinking asking for help is a sign of weakness and i wasn't capable. like i know i can ask, but something in my brain is stopping me and i just can't do it," she leaned back against the wall, defeat clear in her system. 

"well, maybe that's what you can talk about with your coach and she can refer you to a sports psychologist or someone who can help you work through these things. i'm sure your team and coach wants you to be at your best, but they can't help if you don't reach out," gabe hummed. 

"i'm sorry i didn't tell you guys the truth at lunch today. i should've. i don't know why i didn't," samy shook her head and finally took a few sips of the gatorade. 

"don't apologize, it's okay. we just hope you'll reach out to any of us when you do need help again. we were just freaked out when you passed out like that," the darker-haired hockey player said. 

"a mix of not enough sleep or enough food knocked me off my game i guess."

"well, we're glad you're okay. try eating some more and then we'll walk back out to the field with you," ryan smiled softly which samy appreciated their soft tones. she probably could not handle them being angry with her and lecturing. 

coach kept samy out of the rest of the game just so she wouldn't overwork herself again. once the game finished, the youngest hughes called her parents to update them and tell them she was okay and then her brothers who also blew up her phone because they were watching the stream and saw her pass out. 

"yeah, i passed out, but i'm fine," she told them. 

"shit, samy. you freaked us out when you just fell like that," jack huffed. 

"i'm sorry. i guess it's just been a long few weeks and i haven't really been taking care of myself," samy explained with a frown. 

"oh shit, sorry. are you okay?" luke asked. 

"i will be. i just gotta figure out how to balance it all. probably talk to my coach and reach out to one of the sports psychologists," the girl informed the three older boys. 

quinn, who hadn't said much since calling, was the most observant sibling out of the four and he also started realizing how neither of them reached out for help when they needed it most. "hey squirt, i know we raised you thinking getting help showed you were weak, but you know that's not true right? that was never our intention. getting help when things are hard is really beneficial," the oldest hughes commented. 

"yeah, i know," samy said. 

"yeah, i mean it's been a learning curve for all of us, but we always reach out when things get to be too much. we're always here to help too. plus, mom and dad are always good shoulders to lean on if you need to rant," luke chirped up and samy smiled at their words. 

"yeah, thanks guys. i promise i'm gonna reach out to balance it all better," she nodded even though they couldn't see her. 

"good. we want you taking care of yourself, seriously," quinn said. 

"i will, i promise this time. i'll talk to you guys later, yeah?" the four exchanged heartfelt goodbyes and samy had one more call to make which was the one she was the most scared to make. 

will knew her all too well and he already knew how hard it was for samy to reach out for help until it got way too overwhelming, so she worried he would be mad at her for not reaching out sooner. 

"hi baby," will answered immediately. 

"hi will," samy leaned against the hallway. 

"are you okay? ryan said you passed out," the blonde wondered and the girl grimaced. 

"yeah, i'm okay now."

"what's been going on? has everything been okay?" his soft tone took samy by surprise and for some reason, it just made her break down. 

she sunk herself to the ground and basically started sobbing through the phone. will's heart broke hearing her cry and he couldn't do anything about it besides stay on the phone with her. he hated being so far away in moments like these that he couldn't physically be there for her. 

"baby, talk to me. you're okay. i'm right here," he tried. 

"i'm sorry will. i'm sorry. i'm just so tired and exhausted. i haven't had like any time to myself at all and i haven't been doing any studying and i already feel so burnt out from everything," it all poured out from the girl as she told her boyfriend everything that was going on. the blonde's heart tightened and twisted into a knot hearing his girlfriend sound so defeated and he was on the opposite end of the country. 

"samy, don't apologize. there's noting to apologize for. i'm so sorry you've been feeling this way. i wish there was something i could do," will sympathized with her. 

"i'm sorry i haven't been calling you either. i was scared to admit to you that i haven't been doing well and i didn't wanna burden you—"

"samy, nothing you do or say could ever burden me. you know that. i wanna talk to you. i wanna hear your problems. i wanna try and help you, i promise, but i can't do that if you don't talk to me," will cut her off. 

"i know, i know. i guess i've just never felt this overwhelmed before, but i'm gonna reach out more, i promise. i'm gonna talk to my coaches and explain how i've been feeling," the brunette wiped her eyes from her tears. 

"it's okay to feel overwhelmed, baby. no one is gonna be mad at you for setting boundaries and taking time for yourself, okay? we're all here for you," the blonde made sure he was firm so she knew. 

"yeah, thank you. gabe and ryan took care of me and made sure i ate and drank some stuff," that made the hockey player smile a bit knowing his friends were always looking out for her even when he wasn't there. 

"i'm glad they did. i wish i was there to take away your hurt and pain," the boy frowned. 

"i wish you were here too. i miss you like crazy." 

"i miss you a lot too, but i'll see you real soon, okay? hang in there for me, yeah?" 

"yeah, i will. i promise," samy managed a smile. 

"good. i'm always here for you. i love you," she heard will kiss the phone bringing a laugh from her lips. 

"i love you too. i'll call you later," samy knew she needed to get herself together to get back on the bus in a few hours. the couple hung up and the girl stood up to wipe the rest of her tears and compose herself. 

once her backpack of things was back together, she went to go find the boys who promised they'd wait up for her to continue catching up before she left. for once since the semester started, samy was gonna be in the present with them and choose not to think about anything else. 

gabe saw her first, opening his arm up to bring her into the circle. the others excitedly said hi to her and then her and gabe exchanged a knowing glance. she nodded to say she was doing a lot better now and she felt him squeeze her arm as they continued talking with everyone else. 

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 2

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You and Michael have some late night phone calls. He struggles to open up.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: wow! Y’all are really so nice omg, I really appreciate all of you who took the time to like, comment or reblog. I also appreciate all you silent readers too! I’m genuinely surprised with how much traffic part 1 got, so thank you all so much! Contemplating adding this to my AO3 account from the perspective of a f!oc, but still undecided (I prefer to keep my reader works strictly for tumblr, idk why). This is definitely going to be multiple parts (my rough outline currently has ten chapters whoops).

I don’t know much about sugar babies aside from what I’ve read, so I took some liberties with my guesstimates.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: age gap, slowburn, foul language, allusion to a panic attack, work stress, Robby trying to avoid his feelings/anxiety, my basic understanding of accounting, angst

not beta read

“You’re lucky. Someone only looking for companionship is a small pool of men. Not as lucrative as a traditional sugar baby, but if that’s more your speed, maybe reach out to some more.”

Your smile twisted, “I’m already uncomfortable with just one. Thinking about adding more makes me feel icky.”

Erin rolled her eyes, “Why? They know what they signed up for. If they wanted fidelity, then they should get a girlfriend.”

“I’m telling you, I could hook you up with a shift or two a week at the bar. I make great tips.” Marsi said, her eyes not flickering from her laptop.

You frowned. “I already gave him my number. My Google Voice number, but yeah.”

“That’s my girl!” Erin praised with a laugh.

You wondered if it was a mistake. He had not reached out since you had sent the number on the app, nearly four days prior. Perhaps he was having second thoughts. Anxiety filled your chest at the thought of having to go through the whole process again.

Or just drop it and take Marsi up on her offer.

—

Your night passed slowly, studying with your friends until dinner time, when they left. You kept your focus on the Excel spreadsheet in front of you, checking over your homework with careful eyes. Numbers were easy, they did not hold the complexities of human beings—

Your phone buzzed on the table, immediately pulling you away from your work.

You have any time to talk?

It was an unknown number. You watched as the three dots appeared immediately after, though it wasn’t hard to guess who it was.

This is Michael by the way.

So formal, you found yourself thinking with a small smile, quickly adding him to your contacts.

I have time.

It only took a few more moments before your phone started ringing. Anxiety thrummed through your system, heart beating like a drum against your ribcage. You took a long breath through your nose before answering the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” He answered awkwardly.

“How are you?” You asked out of habit.

There were several moments of silence. “I want to say I’m okay.”

“But you’re not?”

“But I’m not.” Came his quiet reply.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Another measured silence. “No. Yes? I don’t know.”

You hummed. “I understand your hesitation, we don’t know each other. But isn’t that the whole point? I’m unconnected to your life and you basically have anonymity. I won’t pry, so we can talk about something else, if you’d like.”

He was silent for a long time. You checked the call to make sure it hadn’t dropped. The seconds ticked away on the call, so he was still there. You waited.

“Just a…rough day.” He said, his tone sounding stressed. “I think I’d rather talk about your day right now.”

“My day?” You questioned, surprised.

He only hummed in response.

“Do you want the play-by-play or the cliff-notes?”

Michael exhaled a ghost of a laugh, “Give me all of it.”

You cleared your throat, “So my alarm went off at 5:20, no! 5:25, and then I got out of bed—”

He laughed, bringing a smile to your lips.

“I have early classes on Thursdays, so I was up earlier than I usually like to be…”

“Night owl?”

“Guilty.” You smiled. “But it was my forensic accounting class, which I’ve been enjoying, so I wasn’t too upset getting out of bed. Add in my morning coffee, and I was a pretty happy camper.” You paused, but he was quiet on the other end. “I had taxation today too, and despite the fact I love the numbers, learning tax law just isn’t my favorite thing.”

“Why do you like it? Accounting?”

“Oh, um,” you paused, deliberating. “I like turning unreadable stuff into a well-crafted report, turn a mess into an easy to read story of a company’s financial history. Plus, numbers are a lot less complicated than human beings.”

There was his quiet laugh again. “Yeah, I can see how that can be true.”

“As a doctor, I can imagine you would.” You were smiling.

“I’ve seen…a lot of complicated people.”

You waited a few moments, but he didn’t elaborate. People were the primary reason you had left the medical field early on in your college career — while you enjoyed being helpful, people could be too overwhelming.

“And my shift today was good, busy and boring, but easy enough.”

As you went on about your day as a payroll clerk (though vague about the company details), Michael was quiet. It was clear he needed the distraction from whatever his day had been. You explained your studying routine with your friends and your love of baking. You got the occasional hum of acknowledgment, but it was clear he just wanted to listen to you talk. You moved from topic-to-topic without complaint, pausing occasionally to make sure he did not want to comment, or change the subject.

It was late when you realized the time: 11:08.

“Michael? I’m sure I could keep going, but I’m not sure you want to hear my opinions on office politics.” Your tone was jesting.

Still no response. Furrowing your brows, you listened silently to the other end.

Small puffs of air, slow and steady, in and out. In. Out. He had fallen asleep.

Your first instinct was to be offended — no telling how long since he had drifted off or how long you had rambled to no one. But then you relaxed. He had clearly needed the distraction from what was going through his head when he first called, enough to quiet his brain. Or perhaps he was just that exhausted. Either way, you did not take it personally, you would have likely been up this late anyways.

You ended the call at two hours and seventeen minutes.

—

Are you available at 9?

You checked your phone when you moved into the living room, dinner cooking in the oven, finding a text from Michael. Per your agreement, you usually talked about once a week. He usually gave late notice, though it usually reflected how bad his day had gotten. Your last talk, however, had only been three days prior.

In addition to the one only days ago, you had talked two additional times since your first, typically at night, where you did most of the talking. You almost found your talks therapeutic; plus you were getting paid to just talk. Though, you wished he talked more — part of you felt like you were taking advantage of the situation and he was barely getting anything out of it.

He had already put money on the prepaid Visa card you had picked up after your first phone conversation. Michael thought the card would be more discreet and confidential than Venmo. The $400 dollars you had agreed on for the month had done wonders with relieving the pressure on making your rent payment.

Erin had encouraged you to set up an online wishlist as well, adding things periodically in case he wanted to buy something extra for you. “As a tip,” Erin had told you, a wide smirk on her face. That same day, Erin had coincidentally brought her new Valentino canvas bag that you were sure cost more than your rent payment. You held off on the wishlist, but you kept a few things in your notes app. Just in case.

You sent him a confirmation that you were fine with nine. He must work late hours. He had said he was a doctor, but you wondered in what specialty or where, but you had never broached the topic. You both valued your privacy when it came to your arrangement, not wanting to muddy the waters.

Surprisingly, he did not call at nine. He was usually pretty punctual when it came to a time he asked for. You waited patiently for several minutes before moving to start some hot water for tea, looking out the window at the rain. You figured to give him a bit of extra time before turning in.

At 9:24, your phone rang. Part of you nearly picked it up on the first ring, but you gave it a few moments before picking up. When you answered, he spoke first.

“Please just talk. About anything.” He sounded out of breath, talking quickly. His tone sounded more stressed than you had heard before.

“Are you alright?” Was your first instinct instead of doing as he asked, standing from your chair at the dining table, mug of tea forgotten.

“Fuck. No, I’m not. Please just talk to me. Your day. Your job. The fucking traffic this morning. Anything,” Your name was so quiet on his tongue, you nearly missed it.

It sounded like a plea.

You swallowed, pulse quickening, before running with it, “This asshole actually cut me off this morning, which considering his bumper stickers, wasn’t all that surprising. No blinker, nothing. I swear, sometimes the subway is less stressful, though I hate the morning crowds.”

Suddenly realizing talking about stressful things might not be the best way to calm him down, you pivoted, pacing across your apartment. Deciding quickly on something boring to most, you began to explain your most recent accounting assignment. How you came up with the financial analysis from the numbers your professor had given, to the tax implications of several of the (fake) business’s decisions. You explained it as best you could in layman's terms, trying not to make the math too complicated, before walking him through your report and your thoughts about how to help the business improve.

You paused long enough to hear his breathing, not quite as ragged but still loud and quick. “I don’t need you to respond, but think of five things you can see.”

Oh this was cliche, but you did not dwell on it.

After a few moments, “Okay, four things you can touch.” You paused, finding four things of your own to ensure he had time. “Now three things you can hear.”

“You.” He croaked, much quieter than he had been. “I can hear you.”

“That’s good. Now two more things.”

“…the rain. The cars outside.”

“Good,” you breathed out. “Two things you can smell?”

He didn’t answer, though his breathing had slowed tremendously from when you had first answered his call. It felt relieving, and you finally made your way to sit on the couch.

“Last is one thing you can taste.”

He let out a long deep breath, but kept whatever it had been to himself.

“Are you okay?” You asked again after a few moments.

“No.” He said. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

You nearly huffed, but the annoyance was fleeting. You smiled, “I can tell you more about accounting, but most people find it incredibly boring.”

“You seem to really enjoy accounting. Though, I can’t imagine being cooped up in an office all day.”

“Well I wasn’t quite cut out for psychiatry, and I’ve always enjoyed a good spreadsheet.”

“Psychiatry?” He sounded surprised. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

“What does that mean?”

“You would’ve been good at it.”

Oh?

“Thank you.” You whispered. “Um, can I interest you in what my professor assigned today or how my manager nearly fucked up payroll this week?”

He cleared his throat, “I’ll take ‘how my manager nearly fucked up today’ for $200, Alex.”

Your lips quirked back up at the Jeopardy reference, trying to shake off the feeling his praise had given you. With a long sigh, you rubbed your fingers along your hairline.

“He messed up the new employee’s tax deductions by misclassifying his title. When he backtracked to fix it, he cleared out the entire category — thankfully I caught it when I was putting my own numbers in for the small team I oversee.” You told him, looking at your nails. “Led to quite a frustrating day.”

Despite the fact that it had led to quite a hectic start to your workday, adding several tasks that interrupted you workflow, you felt mildly pathetic knowing his day had clearly been so much worse. You tried not to compare, your days had just as much value as his, but it was still a creeping feeling in your gut.

You continued on after a beat of silence on his end. Fixing the problem hadn’t necessarily been the issue — it was redoing every employee's numbers that led to your annoyance. That, and the lack of accountability from your manager.

Time ticked on, Michael only adding in his thoughts here and there, mostly staying quiet.

He coughed awkwardly during a lull in your conversation, “Uh, thank you for tonight.”

Beginning to feel your exhaustion, you smiled tiredly. “No thanks necessary.”

“Goodnight,” there was your name again.

“Goodnight, Michael.”

[ Next ]

want to join the taglist? shoot me a message!

[idyllicwillowtree]

God Eddie, You're So In Love With Me.

Genre: Eddie Munson x Henderson!reader, fem!reader, angst/fluff, hurt/eventual comfort, friends to lovers

Summary: Being in Hellfire, you’ve been exposed to your fair share of bullying. One day, Jason takes it a step too far.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: bullying, anaphylaxis, poisoning, no physical descriptions of Y/N so you don’t have to look like Dustin, reader wears makeup, reader uses she/her, reader has a peanut allergy, reader is called princess, swearing

Author’s note: I got this idea from an episode of Freaks and Geeks (which is an awesome show I totally recommend). Peanut allergies weren’t so common in the 80s so that’s why Jason is so ignorant and dismissive about it.

Sorry I haven’t written in a while, I was hibernating.

Enjoy!

Main Masterlist

Part 1:

Eddie proudly sauntered into first period with his head held high and a smirk on his lips. His mouth was watering in anticipation. He plopped himself down in the seat next to yours, wide eyes and a wicked grin plastered on his face, an eager hand open towards you.

“Wow Eddie. It’s 7:29, you got here with a minute to spare,” you said as you leaned over to grab the bite size Laffy Taffy from your backpack to place in Eddie’s hand. “I think this candy reward system is really working.”

“Of course it worked, it was your idea after all. But today’s a special day, I was definitely not going to not be here,” Eddie said with too much energy for this early in the morning. He stuffed the yellow taffy into his mouth and chewed it like a happy 5 year old, wiggling in his seat with excitement.

“Are you talking about the photo?”

“Yeah! Hellfire finally gets a spot in the yearbook. We shall finally leave our mark on this cesspool we call a school,” Eddie said through the glob of candy in his mouth. He swallowed the treat harshly as he got a good look at you, “you look great by the way.”

“Yeah?” you said shyly, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. You started fiddling with the hem of your Hellfire shirt, “I thought I’d go with a bit more eyeliner today.” 

“Yeah, you did a great job princess.” With the excuse of admiring your eyeliner, Eddie was able to take a moment to study your features. Your gaze stayed on your hands, picking at a loose thread.

“God, Eddie. You’re so in love with me,” you said with a teasing smile. 

Eddie barked out a laugh, dimples on full display as he tried not to let your words affect him too seriously. 

“Great, the flirting freaks are back at it again.” Jason remarked from a few rows behind you. Both of you turned around in time to see Andy dramatically fake gagging.

Before you could hurl an insult back at them, Eddie took notice of what Jason was snacking on.

“Hey asshole, you can’t eat peanuts in class.”

“Yeah? And who’s gonna stop me, Munson? You?” Jason said through a full mouth, spitting out chunks as he laughed obnoxiously with Andy.

You simply rolled your eyes at Jason, annoyed with the jocks and their willingness to tease and fight so early in the morning.

Eddie’s grip tightened on the back of his chair. His white knuckles caught your eye and you reached out to sooth him, hoping he wouldn’t start a fight he couldn’t finish. The second your hand landed on his, the tension in his shoulders deflated and the fire in his eyes was snuffed out as he sent you a reassuring smile. 

Jason waved around his ziplock tauntingly, “Seriously freak, let’s see if you can actually take these from-”

“I’ll take those,” Mrs. O’Donnell said as she walked in behind Jason and snatched the bag. “Mr. Carver, you know you’re not allowed food in my class, let alone peanuts.”

“But coach said we have to protein-load before the game tonight,” Jason wined.

“Too bad. Some allergies can be very serious,” You shrunk in your seat as the other students turned to stare at you, knowing you were the one she was referring to. “You can get these back after class,” Mrs. O’Donnell said as she rounded the corner of her desk to address her students. “Now, everyone, please open your textbooks to chapter six.”

You, being the diligent student you were, immediately followed orders. Eddie on the other hand didn’t even remember to bring his book bag to school, but at least he got his candy. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m serious guys, I might have a crush on Mrs. O’Donnell now,” Eddie said to his bandmates as they sat in their unofficial assigned seats in the cafeteria.

“Just because an older female authority figure agreed with you and shut down Carver, doesn’t mean you should crush on your teacher dude,” Gareth said, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

“Besides, you already have a crush,” Jeff added with a teasing smile, the metal on his teeth catching the fluorescent lights.

“Are you guys talking about my sister?” Dustin said while throwing his lunch tray on the table, taking a seat next to Eddie. The rest of his sheep following close behind.

“No-”

“Yes,” all three of the older Hellfire members said in unison.

Eddie shot them a look that would’ve shut them up if the metalhead’s pale cheeks weren’t tinted pink. 

“Gross,” Dustin added.

Mike’s brows did their signature furrow under his dark bangs, “I don’t get it, why doesn’t he just ask her out?” he said, purposefully ignoring Eddie’s presence at the table.

“GROSS,” Dustin repeated, hoping the subject would change. 

Eddie was right there with him, picking up a pretzel and hurling it at Mike’s head, “I’d rather not share the complexities of the friendship-to-relationship pipeline with a baby freshman. And I. Don’t. Like. Her.” He growled, punctuating each word with a pretzel.

The metalhead’s angry scowl melted off his face at the sound of your laugh echoing through the high ceilings of the cafeteria. You were standing near the entrance with your Wonder Woman lunchbox in tow, tilting your head back as you chuckled at something Robin Buckley told you. 

That was until Jason and his entourage of goons followed him in.

He had that damn bag of peanuts in his hand, swinging it around mockingly. Eddie watched as you became tense, eyes wide and glossy. You are practically hiding behind a fuming Robin.

Before the blonde could hurl her trumpet case at the jocks, Eddie stepped up behind you both, placing a ring clad hand gently on the small of your back to let you know he was there. 

With his hand grounding you, you finally found your voice, “seriously Jason, if I come into contact with a peanut I could die.”

“Oh come on,” Jason said through a chuckle, “you’re that much of a freak that a little peanut is enough to kill you? I think you might be overreacting just a little.”

“Actually,” Dustin said as he came over to stand next to Eddie, “Anaphylaxis is incredibly dangerous. Allergic reactions to the proteins found in peanuts are cause by immunoglobulin E antibodies and can trigger severe inflammation and-”

“Dude, even her brother is a fucking dork,” Andy spat.

“Hey, don't talk to him like that,” Eddie said, stepping forward. You have always admired his fierce determination when defending your brother and the other freshmen. It’s part of what drew you to him in the first place. But this time there was no snarky comeback to Jason’s bullying. The severity of the situation on top of the jocks’ disregard for your safety was just pissing him off, making him uncharacteristically no-nonsense. 

The group of letterman jackets erupted in a chorus of ‘oooohs’. The leader just licked his lips, eyeing Eddie before smirking at you.

"You know, you might be pretty if you actually tried." 

It doesn’t have the effect on you that Jason had hoped, you could care less if he thought you were pretty. But before your athletically inexperienced friends could take on the basketball team, you plastered on your best fake smile. 

“Thanks Jason, see you guys later,” you said as you pulled your friends away leaving him confused and unsatisfied by your reaction.

“What the hell, you’re just going to let him talk to you like that?” your brother protested.

“He’s never going to change, Dustin. I might as well play into it since he’s just trying to get a rise out of us.”

You wave bye to Robin as she went to sit with her band friends, all of them decked out in their extravagant green and yellow uniforms. Eddie slid Dustin’s tray away from the spot next to him so you could set your lunchbox there and sit at his left hand side. Dustin was muttering something about losing his seat but still scooched down, knowing there was no use in fighting it. Eddie always had you right next to him.

The next few minutes of lunch went by rather smoothly. Groups of students were taken out sporadically to go to the photo room and get their yearbook club photo taken with Nancy. Occasionally, you’d catch Jason sending you angry glares but you just ignored him in favor of listening to your fellow Hellfire members. They were rambunctiously throwing out theories about tonight's campaign while Eddie just sat there with his version of a poker face, not willing to spoil anything with a teasing grin plastered to his mouth.

His eyes connected with yours, feeling you staring at him. The moment he looked at you you bashfully lowered your eyes to the cup of applesauce you were stirring around. Eddie kept his gaze on you until Nancy walked up behind him.

“Alright Hellfire, you’re up,” Nancy said with a smile. 

This was the first year Hellfire club was getting any sort of recognition in the yearbook. Previously, the teachers and students didn’t want to draw any more eyes to the alleged cult and their leader. Now that Nancy worked for the school, she played a big part in securing a photo for her brother’s club in the yearbook. Even though Eddie never liked conforming to frivolous High School expectations, he still felt honored. It was his last year after all (hopefully) and he wanted to make his mark.

You and the rest of the Hellfire members left your things at the lunch table and walked out of the cafeteria for the yearbook room down the hall. Your open applesauce was forgotten about as you followed Eddie out.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your shoulders were still buzzing after taking the photo. Eddie had thrown his leather clad arm around you, pulling you closer to him, while his other hand did the sign of the horns. The smell of his cologne and the texture of his battle vest overwhelmed you so much you hoped it didn’t show in the photo. Although, the smirk Nancy sent you tells you it might have.

You and the rest of Hellfire sat back down in your original seats, besides your leader. As expected, Eddie had a lot of things to say in honor of your club getting recognized so he opted to stay standing.

“Hear ye, hear ye! Rejoice, for this day shall be etched in the annals of history as a testament to our unwavering spirit and valor!”

Going back to your lunch, you scoop up the velvety applesauce to resume eating. Expecting the familiar taste of sweet and tart, you flinched at the salty crunch and swallowed it on instinct. 

“Let it be known that we have weathered the raging storm of schoolyard bullies, and emerged victorious! Our banners flying high, unfurled in the winds of destiny,” Eddie continued, not noticing your trepidation.

You frowned at the tickle in your throat that only continued to build as you tried coughing discreetly. The rest of the boys grinned, believing this was your way of hinting at Eddie to wrap up his speech.

“Let us raise our voices in jubilation, for today, we have proven that nothing is insurmountable to those who believe in their cause!” Eddie looked to you, hoping to see you looking up at him and smiling that way you do whenever he uses his renaissance voice. Instead he met your panicked eyes.

“Hey Henderson,” Jason called from across the cafeteria. “What happens now? Should we call an ambulance?” Andy shoved at his shoulder playfully and chortled alongside Jason.

Panic gripped you as you connected the dots.

“Yeah,” you wheezed, “call an ambulance.”

Part 2

[scoutofmymind]

Momma I request a prompt inspired by a song of your choosing (: I L Y

Couldn’t Make It Any Harder — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: mental health issues, mentions of past trauma, TorturedArtist!Reader, Empath!Luigi, Luigi says “go birds” after flipping off a woman, confused feelings, situationship, reader is just Very Confused in general, angst, eventual romance.

Wc: 5,107

I couldn't make it

Any harder to love me

Oh, one day, believe me

You’ll want someone who makes it easy

This has been floating around in my asks for awhile, and I wasn’t feeling practically inspired by any songs lately until Sabrina released Couldn’t Make It Any Harder and I couldn’t stop thinking about writing it.

This work was done quickly between my other ongoing Luigi projects, so I apologize for any inconsistencies or skipped backstory (you know I’m a backstory bitch) but I simply needed to get this out of my system, and remembered that an anon had asked me to write something based off of a song quite awhile ago!

Also, how could I leave you hanging on Valentine’s Day? Even if I’m posting this at 2 AM….

It's 8:30 AM at your usual coffee spot — that tiny café two blocks from Luigi's apartment where the barista always draws terrible attempts at latte art, and you’re still wearing yesterday's mascara, not because you've been crying, but because you spent the night in your studio, channeling your frustration into a new piece that's all sharp edges and bold strokes.

"I mean, we had a great time!" You're gesturing with your coffee cup, nearly spilling it. "We went to that new gallery opening, and he actually understood my rant about contemporary minimalism. Then dinner, drinks, great conversation — and now? Radio silence. Three days of nothing."

Luigi, sitting across from you, is trying not to smile at how animated you are, his laptop open beside him — he's probably got a Slack channel blowing up with messages from his dev team, but he rushed to meet you for this emergency coffee session, anyway.

The startup's dress code might be casual, but he always manages to look put-together in that effortless way that makes other tech bros look like they're not trying hard enough.

"Maybe I'm just-“ you pause, stirring your coffee aggressively, "too much, you know? Too loud, too passionate, too-"

"Stop," Luigi cuts in, closing his laptop and fixing his gaze on you again, "You're not too anything. You're exactly enough. So don’t even go there with me.” He massages his temples, “Too early for it.”

"I know that," you say firmly, because you do. "That's the thing — I like who I am. I like that I can talk about art for hours. I like that I get excited about things. I like that I feel everything so intensely. I'm not going to make myself smaller just because some guy can't handle it."

"Then don't," Luigi says, and there's something in his voice that makes you look up from the foam disappearing from your cappuccino. "The right person won't want you to."

"Exactly! And you know what? If Jake can't handle a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to say it-“ you trail off, reaching for your sketchbook. You start absent-mindedly drawing on a corner of the page.

“Ugh,” Luigi’s face screws in mock disgust, “His name was Jake?”

Putting down your pen, you lean back in your chair with a frustrated sigh. "But then again, if I'm so great, why does this keep happening? Three first dates in two months, Lu. Three. And they all end the same way."

"You mean with guys who can't handle someone who actually has opinions?" Luigi takes a sip of his coffee, his fingers tapping absently on his closed laptop. A notification buzzes on his phone — probably his team wondering where he is — but he doesn't even glance at it.

"No, see, that's just it," you lean forward, your hands moving expressively as you talk. "They love it at first. They think it's so fascinating and refreshing that I'm 'not like other girls', or whatever." You roll your eyes at the phrase, hating the taste of the words in your mouth. "But then it's like they realize I'm actually serious. That I'm not just putting on some manic pixie dream girl act for their entertainment."

Luigi's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Heaven forbid you be a real person with actual thoughts and feelings."

"Right? And I know — I know I'm not too much," you say, but your voice wavers slightly. You start fidgeting with your rings, a habit Luigi's seen a thousand times when you're wrestling with something in your head. "But sometimes I wonder if-"

"If what?"

"If maybe I should just- you know.. tone it down? Just a little? Just at first?" The words sound wrong coming out of your mouth, and you can see from Luigi's expression that he knows it, too. "No, you're right, forget I said that. That's stupid."

"It is stupid," he agrees, but gently. His eyes catch yours across the table again, his gaze steady and genuine. "Remember that installation you did last month? The one about authenticity?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you tell that bag of bones professor who said it was 'overwhelmingly honest'?"

A smile starts to spread across your face. "I told him that was the whole damn point."

"Exactly." Luigi checks his watch and starts gathering his things — he's definitely late now. "So maybe the problem isn't that you're too overwhelming,” he pats the top of your head, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “maybe they're just underwhelming."

•

You're standing in front of your last piece, forcing a smile that feels like it's splitting your face in half, as another guest explains to you what your own art means.

Behind you, you can hear snippets of conversations that make your skin crawl.

It's a bit... aggressive, isn't it?

Not quite gallery standard... these nepo kids..

Experimental, but perhaps too experimental..

Your hands are shaking, so you clasp them behind your back. You've been doing this grim waltz for two hours — nodding, smiling, explaining yourself over and over to people who look through you rather than at you, and the gallery owner keeps shooting you these looks, these little disappointed glances that make you feel about two inches tall.

You catch Luigi's eye across the room.

He's been watching, you realize, while pretending to be deeply invested in a conversation with some tech entrepreneur who probably thinks art is a good investment opportunity, and he tilts his head slightly — a question.

You shake yours — you’re not okay.

"The brushstrokes here," the current patron is saying, pointing at your most vulnerable piece, "they're rather — well, chaotic. Unorganized. Muddy. It’s strange to see. Was that intentional?"

Something inside you splinters.

"Excuse me," you manage, your voice surprisingly steady for how the room is tunneling, how your fingers begin to tingle, how your lungs have lost the ability to draw in a full breath. "I need some air."

You make it through the gallery, past the whispers and the stares, past the owner who starts to say something about maintaining appearances, past the front desk and around the corner to the back alley.

Then your legs give out.

You're gasping, trying to remember how breathing works, your back against the cold brick wall. The dress — that stupid yellow dress that Luigi said was his favorite — feels too tight. Everything feels too tight.

You tear at your collar, needing air, needing space, needing- "Hey." Luigi's voice, close but not too close. "I'm here."

"I can't-" you choke out. "I can't breathe, I can't-"

"Yes, you can." He moves slowly into your space, hands hovering but not touching. "Look at me. Just look at me. I’m right here. It’s all good.”

You shake your head violently, sliding down the wall. "They're right. They're all right. I'm not- this- This isn't-" Each word feels like it's being ripped from your throat, bloody and raw and dishonest and horrific. They aren’t right. You know they aren’t.

"Bullshit." The sharpness in his voice makes you look up. He's crouched in front of you now, his tie completely undone, his eyes fierce. "They're not right. They're not even close to right. They're looking at fireworks and complaining about the noise. Old fuckin’ bunch’a assholes.”

A sob catches in your throat, half laugh, half cry. "That's a terrible metaphor."

"Made you look at me, though." His voice softens, his hands resting on your clammy shoulders. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

You try to match his exaggerated breathing, your hands still shaking. "I put everything into this show," you whisper after your second deep breath. "Everything."

"I know."

"And they just- they- they just-“

"I know." He shifts, sitting beside you against the wall, careful to leave space, but still your shoulders bump together. "But. Want to know what I think?"

You turn your head to look at him, makeup probably ruined, dress definitely stained from the alley ground, but you’ve already abandoned ship, you’ve waved your white flag — there’s no use in pretending you haven’t crumbled in a New York alleyway now. "What?"

"I think they're terrified of you."

That startles a real laugh out of you, “What?"

"You heard me." He's looking straight ahead, but there's something fierce in his profile. "You walked in there with your soul on full display, unapologetic and raw and real, and they don't know what to do with that. People like that, they're comfortable with art they can hang in their dining rooms and forget about.” You watch him blink, gathering the words, “Your shit doesn't let them forget. It makes them feel things they don't want to feel."

You nudge him gently, a laugh flaring your nostrils. "That's a lot better than the fireworks metaphor."

Now he does look at you, a small smile playing at his lips, his cheeks blushed crimson from the wine he’d gulped down just to make himself a bit more sociable. "Yeah, well, I've had three glasses of their overpriced wine. I'm feeling poetic."

Another laugh bubbles up, watery but real. You let your head fall against his shoulder, just for a moment. "I don't want to go back in there."

"So we won’t." He doesn't move, letting you lean on him, his head leaning atop yours. "Let's go get real drinks instead. You can tell me all the things you wanted to say to that guy who tried to explain color theory to you."

"God, he was the worst." You straighten up slowly, wiping at your eyes. "Did you see his socks?"

"I was trying not to."

•

You're standing at the open bar, counting the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave, when Madison — a college friend you haven't seen in years, who always seemed to help herself to open bars beyond her means — sways over.

Her champagne sloshes dangerously close to your dress, but for some reason, you don’t step back.

"Oh my god, it really is you!" Her voice carries just a bit too loud, and you can feel a few heads turning in your direction. "I almost didn't recognize you without, you know-“ she gestures vaguely at all of you, that sick smile still on her blush pink lips. "All the paint and shit all over you.”

You take a long sip of your drink, hoping it would wash away the rising tide of anxiety in your core. "Good to see you too, Mads.”

"So,” She leans in conspiratorially, her breath smelling of booze and mid-tier champagne. “I heard about your gallery show last month. The one at The Maxwell? God, that must have been-“ She trails off, eyes wide with what looks like concern but feels like something else entirely.

Your hand tightens around your glass. "Must have been what?" Your lips tighten into a line, “It was an- an honor to have the opportunity.”

Words your father had always said to you growing up echo in the far depths of your mind; Honor and Integrity.

There’s a humility in it, in accepting such a nightmare as privilege.

"Well, I mean — I saw that article that was going around Instagram. About how you just up and left? In the middle of opening night?" She takes another sip of champagne, watching you over the rim with her big, stupid brown eyes. "Is that true? That you didn't even come back to collect your pieces? God, that's crazy!"

The word crazy hits like a slap, and you can still feel the panic from that night, the walls closing in as people whispered, pointed, discussed your work like it was a car crash they couldn't look away from and did nothing to aid.

"It's not exactly-"

"And after everything with Matt, and then Jason- ugh,” She shakes her head. "I mean, I get it. Using art as therapy. But maybe actual therapy would be — I dunno — you know, beneficial?”

"Madison-"

"I'm just worried about you," she continues, reaching for your arm and her fingers feel like serpents, coiling around your skin, suffocating you. "We all are. First the whole thing with your poor father — god, remember how he used to say you were just too-"

"Don't." Your voice comes out sharper than intended, your brows furrowed at her like she’d backhanded you. “Don’t you fucking say another word.”

Madison almost gasps, clutching her necklace. “See? This is what I mean. All this reactionary stuff. The anger. The intensity. Have you thought about getting help? My therapist says sometimes when we've been through things-"

The garden somehow feels too small, the fairy lights too bright, the music too loud. Across the room, Luigi is trapped in conversation with the bride's uncle, but somehow he must sense something because his eyes find yours, his head tilted at you, his usual question.

Everything okay?

This time, you look away from him.

"I’m going to leave this conversation before-“

"No, wait, listen." Madison's grip on your arm tightens, slithering, sneering, hissing. Fangs, poison. “That show — people were talking about it for weeks. How raw it was. How fucking uncomfortable it made everyone. One of the pieces — the one with all the broken mirrors? Someone said it looked like a cry for help."

You can feel your pulse in your throat. "It wasn't a fucking-“

"And then you just disappeared! Like, who does that, girl? Just leaves their own show? The curator had to pack up your pieces himself. That's what the article said. Is that true?" She may as well have a microphone beneath your trembling lips, taking on the role of some cheap reporter for a local shittalking magazine.

Of course she read the article.

Everyone read the article.

The one that called your work a disturbing glimpse into a clearly troubled mind. The one that suggested your artistic breakdown was inevitable given your history of emotional instability.

It was laughable, truly, and anyone that knew you well enough had known so much to be so very far from the truth.

"I had my reasons," you manage, but your voice sounds distant even to yourself. “I had reason for leaving the way I did.”

"Obviously you did. That's what I'm saying. Maybe if you got some help, you know, dealt with all this and found ways to properly cope-“ She waves her hand vaguely again, like swatting away a pesky fly. "Then maybe you could make art that's more you know.. accessible. Enjoyable. Less-“

"Less me?" The words come out before you can stop them. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t know, Madison. You haven’t seen a single one of my shows, haven’t shown yourself at any of my gallery openings-“ your cheeks burn red hot, your glass of wine discarded and your hands balled into fists. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking pop that smirk right off your-“

"That's not what I-"

“It is exactly what you fucking-“

“No, it’s not! Look at yourself!”

"Hey!” Luigi's voice cuts through the rising panic. He's suddenly there, solid and real. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have that thing that we have to get to-“ he loops his arm around yours, and he swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you, hot and quivering like a volcano deciding if it’s time to erupt just yet or not.

Madison blinks at him, her nostrils flared at the sudden interruption. It seems as though this is exactly the reaction she wanted, and was pissed the show had called curtains so quickly. "What thing?"

"That very important thing," Luigi says firmly, already guiding you away. "Great catching up. Green is not your color. Go Birds.” As he turns you both, he raises his middle finger behind your back — not because you needed defending, but because that's who Luigi is; all sharp edges and fierce loyalty, a guard dog with his teeth bared in your honor, though, you catch the gesture in a reflection, and something warm unfurls in your chest.

Not because you needed saving, but because he'd always take your side, no matter the circumstances. He didn’t need to know why you were barking at this girl he’d never met before — he already knew you had good reason to do it.

You make it to the venue's back garden before your legs give out, and the fairy lights blur through tears you refuse to let fall. "Did you— fuck,” Your voice shakes as you reach to wipe away the tears before they even get the chance to glide down your cheeks. "Did you actually hear what she was saying or just see it?”

"Caught the greatest hits." His jaw is tight, his hand resting on your lower back as he hunches forward, clearly concerned but approaching all of it carefully.

You can’t help but wonder then how many times you’ll find yourselves like this — Luigi rescuing you from yet another mishap, and that alone could become a new reason to feel sorry for yourself.

And him.

"The article." You wrap your arms around yourself. "She read the fucking article."

Ironically, you had originally taken the article well.

Too well, in fact.

You'd invited them all over — Luigi, Anna, Theo — for what you called A Reading of My Professional Obituary. You'd spent all day in the kitchen, channeling your grandmother's stress-cooking legacy; bouillabaisse simmering for hours, Tarte Tatin caramelizing to golden perfection.

The good wine came out, the kind you'd been saving for a real occasion.

Perched in your chair like it was a throne, wine glass dangling from your fingers, you'd performed dramatic readings of the choicest quotes. "Sources close to the artist describe a history of emotional instability," you'd intoned, affecting a pompous art critic voice that had Luigi choking on his wine. "An unsettling collection that seemed less like art and more like a cry for help.”

The evening devolved into a tipsy game of "Guess the Snitch" — everyone taking turns suggesting increasingly ridiculous candidates for the mysterious source. "It was Gabby, in the gallery, with the emotional manipulation!" Theo had declared, wielding his bouillabaisse spoon like a gavel.

But Luigi had watched you through it all — the way your hand shook slightly when pouring wine, how your laugh got a little too loud to be genuine, and how you'd spent three hours making a perfect French dessert like your life depended on proving you weren't falling apart.

"We all did." Luigi reminds you, his voice gentle but firm. "Christ, we turned it into dinner theater. Remember how Anna did that dramatic interpretation of ' the unsettling collection'?" His hand finds your knee, squeezing. "And it was shit. Not only was it shit — it was cowardly. Didn't even have the spine to name you."

You tilt your head back, using the stars as gravity's help against the tears threatening to spill. The fairy lights from the wedding garden blur into little halos. "I know, but — these people, Lu." Your voice catches, and you hate how it betrays you. "They believe it. They're all walking around thinking I'm some unhinged artist who needs to be sedated and locked away from sharp objects." A laugh escapes, but it's wet and hollow. "God, I wish I'd understood what that article would do. I wish-"

But there's no point in wishing.

The damage was done with surgical precision.

They hadn't needed to use your name — everyone knew exactly whose exhibition had opened at Maxwell Gallery on August fifteenth.

Yours.

•

The hotel room feels smaller with each passing hour.

You've mastered a careful choreography — sliding past each other in the narrow spaces, maintaining precise distances on the king bed as you both pretend to watch some mindless cooking show. But sometimes, despite your best efforts, you slip. His hand brushes yours as you both reach for the room service menu, your feet touch under the shared blanket; each accidental contact sends you recoiling like a startled cat, though you used to fall asleep during movie nights without a second thought.

When your knee accidentally bumps his as you shift position, you jerk away so violently you nearly fall off the bed.

"Okay." Luigi mutes the TV, turning to face you. "We need to talk about this."

"About what?" But you know exactly what, can feel heat creeping up your neck and it makes you want to run.

"About how we used to share my twin bed during college when you crashed at my place, but now you act like my skin is fucking toxic." His voice is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of hurt that makes your core ache. "Remember that road trip to Detroit? You slept on my chest the whole way back because the car heater was broken.“ he looks desperate, grasping at the last straws of you. “I feel like we hardly look each other in the eyes now.”

You stare hard at the geometric pattern on the duvet, picking at a loose thread. "Things were different then."

"Were they?" He shifts closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Or are you just scared they weren't?"

You get up abruptly, needing to put physical space between you and that question, the Chicago night spreading out beyond the window, a constellation of lights blurring through unshed tears; each one feels like a witness to this moment, to your cowardice.

"You know what changed," you say finally, arms crossed tight against your chest like armor. "After Maxwell, after the article, after everything became public consumption — I can't be that person anymore.”

"Why not?" His voice is closer now — he's moved to the edge of the bed, but he doesn't approach further. Giving you space while refusing to let you run.

Very classic Luigi.

A laugh escapes you, bitter and dry. "Because now everyone's watching. Waiting for the next shoe to drop. And you-“ You turn just enough to catch his reflection in the window, superimposed over the city lights. "You're too important to me, Lu.”

"So you'd rather just — what? Keep pretending?" There's frustration in his voice now, raw and real. "We both know that's not sustainable. Not when we used to-“ He trails off, and you recall the many countless nights on his cramped couch, your head on his chest, his heartbeat your lullaby to the most restful sleep you’d ever known.

"Maybe not," you admit quietly. "But it's safer than the alternative."

"Safer for who?"

The question almost knocks you off your feet.

Because he's right — this careful distance isn't protecting him. It's protecting you. From vulnerability. From the possibility of loss. From the terrifying reality that despite everything, despite all your jagged edges and dark corners, he's still here.

Still looking at you like you're something precious instead of precarious.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with all the things you're afraid to say, all the ways you're afraid to need him, and even more terrified of the way he needs you.

Eventually, you turn from the window, facing him. "It can't be simple. I won't let it be." Your voice catches. "I push and I pull and I keep everyone at arm's length until they prove me right by leaving."

Luigi stands slowly, like he's approaching a wild animal. "You've been trying so hard to make it impossible," he says softly. "Creating distance, convincing yourself I'll give up." He takes another step closer. "But loving you has always been the easiest thing I've ever done."

"Don't." The word comes out choked, your hand pressing against his chest in hopes that he’ll back away. "Don't say that when you know how complicated — how- how difficult-"

"Difficult?" He's close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, stood firm but not inching any closer. "You want to talk about difficult? Try watching you date other people. Try sitting across from you at coffee shops for years and watching you cry over them. Try fucking loving you quietly through every gallery opening, every crisis,“ his brows furrow, his nostrils flare, “you don’t get to tell me what loving you is like.”

Your breath catches as he reaches for you.

"You think you're pushing me away?" His voice is barely above a whisper, his hands finally cradling your face, tears dampening your cheeks that blaze with warmth. "I've been yours since that first night you fell asleep on my shoulder during finals week. Everything since then — it's just been waiting."

You clench your jaw, your heart a wild thing against your ribs. This tightrope you and Luigi have been walking for years — this delicate balance of almost-but-not-quite, of maybe-someday-but-not-now — has finally frayed beneath your feet. All those careful steps, those perfectly maintained distances, those nights of pretending your skin didn't burn where he almost touched you.

They’ve led you here, to this hotel room in Chicago, where the fantasy of staying safely suspended between friendship and something more has finally given way to gravity.

And what, you wonder, has Luigi seen in you to make him want to dive deeper into your chaos?

He's already witnessed the 3 AM phone calls when your mind won't quiet, the obsessive cleaning episodes that leave your hands raw and your apartment sterile. He's held you through the tears that come without warning, weathered the anger that burns hot and fast like summer lightning.

You're no manic pixie dream girl — you're the real thing, messy and unpredictable, with a heart that bleeds all over everything it touches.

He's either a storm chaser or a fool, you think.

Some hopeless beast tamer who hasn't realized that some creatures aren't meant to be gentled, that some storms leave nothing but wreckage in their wake.

But that's the thing — to Luigi, you've never been a storm to weather or a beast to tame. He doesn't look at you like you're broken machinery in need of repair, doesn't treat your edges like something to be smoothed away.

Instead, he's spent years matching your pace, stepping back when you needed space, stepping forward when you needed anchor. And now, finally, the weight of all that careful patience has brought him here — raw and honest in this dim hotel room, asking you to either meet him in this space between what you are and what you could be, or lay him to rest.

"Touch me," he says, the words falling soft but heavy in the space between you. His eyes hold yours, steady and sure, "Or let me go.”

The city lights paint his silhouette in gold and shadow, and you realize you've never seen him look so vulnerable, so stripped of the careful composure he always maintains. Your Luigi laid bare — not the patient friend, not the steady shoulder, but a man who's finally reached the end of his endurance.

"What if we break?" The question slips from your lips, small and honest, carrying all the weight of your fears that kept you at such a distance all these years — shattering to pieces, left broken by the man you’d loved the most.

Luigi's eyes soften, and something like a smile — sad and sweet and knowing — tugs at the corner of his lips. "Then we break," he says simply, his thumbs swiping away the tears that slide down your cheeks. "But I'd rather that than spend the rest of my life whole and wondering."

His hands haven’t moved. Patient, steady Luigi, who has never pushed but never fully retreated, either. Who has somehow found this perfect middle ground between staying and going, between asking and waiting.

And maybe that's what finally does it — the realization that he's offering you both beginning and end in the same breath. That he's standing here saying yes to all of it; the possibility of breaking, of shattering, of ending up with nothing but deadly carnage between you.

That he knows exactly what he's asking for, and he's asking anyway.

Your hand moves before you can think yourself out of it again, crossing the space between you like a prayer finally answered. When you cup his face, the scrape of stubble against your palm is both foreign and achingly familiar — like a song you used to know by heart, now half-remembered.

His eyes flutter closed at your touch, and you feel the slight tremor in his jaw, the way he leans into your hand like he's been starving for it.

His breath catches, shaky and soft, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion. "There you are," he whispers against your palm, like he's greeting someone long lost, like you've finally come home after years away. "There you are."

His lips brush your palm once more before he lifts his gaze to yours, eyes dark with something between hope and heartache. "Tell me to pull away," he whispers, voice rough. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll go. I'll understand."

But his body betrays him — the slight tremor still present in his jaw under your touch, the way he's still leaning into your hand like he can't help himself. He's offering you an exit, even now. Steady, selfless Luigi, always making sure you have a way out, even when it's killing him to do so.

And that's what breaks you finally — not his touch or his words, but this endless capacity of his to put your needs first.

To stand here offering everything he has left and the chance to walk away from it.

His hand finds your waist, fingers pressing into soft flesh with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. That small sound seems to undo something in him — his control fractures, and suddenly he's pulling you down to him with a urgency that matches your own, your hands bracing against his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath your palms.

"I've thought about this," he confesses roughly, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes heat pool low in your stomach, his thumb tracing a burning path along your hip bone. "Having you like this.”

You can feel the tension coiled in him, the way he's still holding back despite everything. Even now, he's giving you the chance to set the pace, to decide how far this goes. But you're done with hesitation, done with the careful distance you've maintained for so long.

You lean down, letting your lips brush against his ear. "Show me," you whisper, and feel him shudder beneath you. "Show me how you wanted me."

He moves with a swiftness that steals your breath, flipping your positions in one fluid motion. Now he's the one hovering above you, his forearm braced beside your head, other hand still at your waist.

The weight of him, the heat of him so close — it makes your head spin.

"Like this," he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. "Just like this." He holds you like you’ll run from him — just like he’s watched you run from everything before that doesn’t run from you first.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way he's trembling slightly despite his strength. "I'm here," you whisper back, one hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

[justmeinadaze]

Don't Be So Hard Part 2 (Steddie X Plus Size Reader)

Warnings: Older Steddie (Early 30s), Dom Coach Steve Harrington/ Dom Professor Eddie Munson/ Sub (Early 20s) Plus Size Fem Y/N

SMUT! Jealousy fueled smut, mean!Steddie, punishment (spanking), degrading (whore, slut, dumb), hair pulling, semi public (in Eddie's office on campus), use of the stop light system (Yellow mentioned), aftercare of course.

ANGST! Angsty, angsty, angst (because I'm me), Steddie gets jealous when reader starts dating a boy she acts with on stage even in the beginning they push her away to "protect her". They do catch her with him after they both have particular bad day/evening.

Mentions of Chrissy and their scars again. Mentions of what happened with reader and the football player in the last chapter (brief).

Word Count: 4349

Chapter 1 Here

As your alarm went off that following Monday, you stayed completely frozen in bed. That Sunday morning prior, you awoke to an empty house and a note telling you that your car was outside and your things were by the door whenever you were ready to leave. 

You were unsure of what to do. Do you leave your number? Do you wait and confront them? Did they just want this to be a one-time thing? Were you supposed to pretend nothing happened? 

Now with the new week starting, you had brand new concerns like if Martin would be in class and what would he even say or do? 

Braving the outside world, you got dressed and headed for your first class. As you stepped inside, you were thankful Martin wasn’t there but your bliss was short lived when a hand lightly but firmly ushered you forward. 

“Find a seat Miss Y/L/N.”, Eddie commands without so much as a cursory glance your way as he heads towards his desk. As the class continues, he avoids your eyes, choosing to look anywhere else as he speaks making you feel extremely self-conscious as you hug your arms around your body. 

“Alright, you guys are free. Get out of here. Miss Y/L/N, can you stay behind please?”

“Yeah, of course.”

While you wait for the class to leave, your eyes take in his slightly agitated frame. His hair was a bit more messy than normal and his clothes were not as put together as before. The aroma of cigarettes was heavier around him and even as you slowly walked towards his desk at the front of the room, he still didn’t look your way. 

“D-D-Did I do something wrong?”

“Uh, no, Y/N; Steve and I did.” When his beautiful hues finally met yours, they seemed so hollow as if he hadn’t slept. “What happened was a mistake and can’t…WON’T…happen again. To avoid any further confusion, I would recommend you get a transfer to another literature class or drop my class entirely. I’d be more than happy to sign a form for you.”

Your eyes widen as he speaks completely thrown off guard. You could understand if they wanted it to be a one-time thing but to say it was a mistake…that hurt.

“I don’t want to drop or transfer.”, you whisper. 

“Yeah, well, this isn’t just about you, sweetheart.”, he responded curtly making you angry.

“Fuck you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Fuck you. If you didn’t want me you should have just took me back home.”

“Forgive us for considering your feelings and shit. We wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“By fucking me like a whore!”

“Lower…your…voice.”, Eddie growled as he started to step around his desk, pausing when you backed away.

“I didn’t think it was a mistake.”, you mumble.

The professor chuckled condescendingly as he folded his arms over his chest. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to, little girl, but like I said, WE fucked up. Go back to your pathetic little life and forget about us.”

“Did you give Chrissy Cunningham the same option?”, you sass under your breath, immediately regretting your words when his chocolate irises shift your way and you see the pain behind them. 

“HEY!”

You jump at Steve’s booming voice as he enters the classroom and promptly hang your head feeling like a small child getting caught saying a bad word. His presence towers heavily over you as he places himself just inches in front of your frame. 

“That’s your professor and MY partner. You will show him respect.”

Blinking away tears, you find the courage to meet his equally annoyed gaze.

“Or what? You’ll punish me? I’m a mistake according to your partner!”

Grabbing your arm tightly, the coach starts shoving you towards Eddie’s office in the back corner with the professor himself slamming it closed behind him. 

“Lower your goddamn voice.” Sighing, he turned to his boyfriend. “Did you tell her?”

“I emphasized that we made a mistake but she doesn’t seem to agree.”

“Why are you doing this? Did you…I thought…was I that bad?”, you ask in a small voice that shatters their hearts to pieces and falters their hardened demeanors. 

“No, Y/N—”

“I don’t understand then. I thought you were attracted me.”

“We were…are…—”

“Were you just using me? Is that why you two were gone when I woke up?”

“STOP INTERRUPTING ME! Jesus Christ! I’m trying to fucking tell you something here! You did NOTHINGwrong. Do you hear me? Nothing. Eddie was right. You’re a twenty something student who’s so fucking beautiful she deserves to be seen and live her fucking life! We’ve been hiding for 10 years, Y/N, I assure you it’s no picnic.”

“Sweetheart, we liked being with you and not just the sex the part. It was nice to feel needed for once… but like he said…It’s not just because you’re a student. There’s so much more to it. You deserve better.”

Wiping your eyes, you nod as you stand up straighter. 

“You could have just said that… Um, I’m sorry for what I said to you, Mr. Munson and giving you both attitude. I-I-I would like to stay in the class please. I promise I won’t…make trouble.”

Eddie nods as you flash them a small smile and quickly run out the door to collect your things. 

#############

The next month went by with little to note as you floated through your days. Eddie barely looked your way during class and when you ran on the track Steve was never there. The one time you did see him was as Martin’s father was stomping out of the locker room and you got a glimpse of the coach fuming in his office.

Focusing on your production, you continued to rehearse your lines repeatedly till you had them down to a T but when it came to your scenes with the boy playing Rocky you found yourself slightly nervous and it wasn’t just because he was gorgeous to look at. 

Every time he glanced your way during any scene he was in made you blush. One day, you were doing a dress rehearsal with him wearing only gold boxers and you with your bra, panties, and a lab coat. When he walked out your eyes immediately ran over his delicious looking abs before averting your eyes so you didn’t get caught. 

“Brad. Janet. What do you think of my creation?” 

“Oh, well, I don’t like a man with too much muscle.”

The boy beamed in your direction before ducking his head like he was supposed to. As soon as you finished, you expected him to disappear to quickly put on some clothes but he lingered behind with you on stage.

“You’re really good at all this.”, he grins as he gestures around the auditorium.

“Oh, um, thank you. I haven’t seen you in any of my classes or any other productions. Are you a theater kid or did you just transfer?”

“Naw, the school said I had to have some kind of arts credit and I thought this would be fun. Mrs. Lilah comes to the arcade that I work at sometimes so I know she’s a cool, easy-going lady…kind of like you…but not as pretty.”

You giggle as you push some hair behind your ear and he smiles. 

“Can I, um, may I have your number?”

After giving it to him, his smile grows as he extends his hand out to you. 

“I’m Theodore but my friend’s call me Theo.”

“Y/N.” 

As your hand connects with his, he playfully bows and kisses the back of it. 

“I’ll talk to you later.”

You grin as you watch him run off stage but it’s wiped clean off your face when you turn to grab some of your things, coming face to face with Eddie who had been watching your interaction from one of the rows in the auditorium while your teacher was talking to him. 

*** 

Throughout the week, Eddie began appearing at all the rehearsals and the last few times he brought Steve with him. You ignored them as best you could, doing your scenes and listening to what your director was telling you. 

It wasn’t until the evening you had your scene with you ‘naked’ in the container with Theo that they said a word. 

“Hey Liliah! Are you sure this play is a good idea? I mean having them getting caught being intimate and then you have two students that close together in front of an audience…like that.”, Eddie critiqued as you pretend to not be listening.

“Huh. Out of all the people in Hawkins I thought you would condone this more. Its expression and these students are consenting adults. Y/N! Theo! Do you two feel uncomfortable about the scene right now?”

“No ma’am.”, the boy responds with zero hesitation. 

“No ma’am. I feel extremely comfortable and safe next to Theo here.”, you coo as you lean your head on his shoulder and he in turn wraps his arm around you.

As the night came to a close and you gathered your things behind the curtain, you were surprised to hear both men’s voices as they continued to sit in the auditorium.

“I fucking hate this, I hope you know that.”

“I know but we both agreed this was best.”, Steve exhaled heavily. 

“Fuck, every time his hands touch her I just wanna—“, Eddie growls as his partner chuckles.

“Yeah and every time she allows it, I wish I could just throw her over my knee. You know she’s getting off on it though; making us jealous.”

“Well, it’s working because I want to fuck her so hard and make her scream my name repeatedly till she fucking remembers who she belongs to.”

A small groan leaves your lips at his words. You desperately wanted that to but they pushed you away. Theo seemed like a good man and if they insisted on not being with you there wasn’t much you could do. 

############

Sitting in the bleachers Friday night, you clung to Theo’s hand as you two watched the football game unfold. Since Martin was removed from the team, Steve had a new quarterback in play and everyone was talking about it. Every missed throw or tackle had him growing angrier as he paced back and forth fuming. 

People around you speculated what could have happened and parents condemned him for removing his star player from the team. If only they knew… Hell they’d probably take Martin’s side. Everyone in the town had a backwards way of thinking.

“Hey, are you alright?”, Theo asked, not realizing that you had squeezed his palm tighter. 

“Yeah, just, um…hearing people talk…”

“About what happened with Martin?”, he inquired with a low tone so no one would hear. “The game’s almost over. Do you want to go for a walk?”

He grins when you nod, leading you down the row and towards campus. 

“I’m sorry you went through that. Guy is a fucking dick.”

“Yeah, he is, but…”

“But nothing. Just because he’s king badass or whatever doesn’t mean he can hurt you like that. Have you heard anything yet from like the dean or anyone?”

“No, not yet. I haven’t even see Martin. I’m terrified what he’s going to do when we do run into each other.”

“I’ll protect you.”

“Oh, you will, huh?”, you smile as he flashes you his own.

“I will, babe. These abs just aren’t show!”, Theo chuckles. “So, um, are you like Janet? Are you not into guys with muscles?”

Biting your bottom lip, you blush as he grabs your arm to stop you two from walking down the hall. 

“Because I can get some flab if you want me to. I can gain like a sexy paunch and—”

You laugh before tilting up on your toes to tenderly kiss his lips. 

“I think you’re sexy just as you are.”

Theo’s hand slides behind your neck and brings your lips back to his, kissing you with much more passion as he walks you back into a classroom. Feeling something hard against your back, the boy doesn’t miss a beat as he lifts you onto the desk and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you as he grinds his hips against yours. 

“I’m not…moving…too fast am I?”, he pants between kisses causing you to vigorously shake your head. “Good…your lips…taste really…really fucking good.”

“HEY!”

You both jump apart as Eddie and Steve angrily enter the classroom. 

“The fuck do you think this is?! A bedroom!?”, your professor shouts. “Sex and making out on campus is prohibited but it’s definitely forbidden on my fucking desk.”

Glancing around the room, you realize you were in his classroom.

Shit.

“I swear, Mr. Munson, we didn’t know this was your room?”

“So, that makes it better?”, Steve snaps sharply. “You disrespecting other people’s property by grinding on it?”

“No, sir.”

“Please Mr. Munson, Coach Harrington, this isn’t her fault. I brought her in here—”

“She doesn’t have a mind of her own? From what I saw she was a willing participant.”, Eddie cut him off. “Get out of my sight and be lucky we don’t tell the dean or Lilah about this.”

“Yes, sir, thank you.”

Taking your hand in his, Theo starts to lead you to the door before Steve grabs your bicep.

“No. Don’t want you both leaving together and ending up in another room on campus. You can wait a few minutes, Miss Y/L/N.”

As soon as the door shuts and your date leaves, the coach tugs you roughly towards the office before Eddie bangs the door behind him.

“I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know—”

“Face the wall.”, the coach commanded, growling when you hesitate. “I said face the wall and place your hands against it.” 

Slowly, you do as he says, gasping when he roughly takes hold of your hips and brings them out more before lifting your skirt to expose your panty covered ass.

“I’m surprised she has panties on. Fucking little slut seemed so desperate for his cock.” Steve’s palm came down hard and you jerked forward at the feeling. “Don’t move! Keep your ass out.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Harrington.”

In quick succession, he spanked you a couple more times, his hand grabbing at your flesh before delivering another. Fingers aggressively yank down your underwear and he spanks you again. 

“Jesus, Ed, look at her. Fucking pussy is dripping. You’re so fucking needy aren’t you, little girl.” When you didn’t respond, he hit your behind much harder than before. “Answer me!”

“Yes…yes, sir, I’m a needy girl. Ahhhh…”, you whine as he hits you again.

Hearing him back away and shuffle around behind you causes you to turn your head but he immediately forces your face forward with his palm as he smushes your cheek into the wall. 

“Don’t fucking look at me. You want to be a whore? We can treat you like a whore, Y/N.”

Running his tip through your folds, he guides himself into your entrance and sets a brutal pace allowing you no time to adjust like they had before. Out of the corner of your eye, you see one of his hands fall on the other side of your head as his other spanks you before gripping your hips.

“Is this what you—mmph—what you fucking wanted, little girl? You think that little boy can fuck you better? Huh?”

“No—mmm—no, Mr. Harrington.”

“That’s fucking right.”, Steve grunts as he slows his rhythm but not his intensity as he slams his cock deep inside you.

“Oh…Oh my god.”

“Yeah, you little slut? That’s the spot. I know, baby. I know how to please desperate, needy things like you.”

“I…I don’t…understand…”, you whine.

“What? What doesn’t your dumb little brain understand? Why you’re being punished?”

“Yeeeesss. This is what you—fuck—what you wanted.”

Pulling out, he spun you around, hooking his arm under the back of your knee to lift your leg and slides his length back inside of you.

“This is what we wanted? For you to fuck some other guy on Eddie’s desk? To…to touch him on stage while you’re practically fucking naked?”

Your hands tug on his hair forcing him to meet your lust filled gaze.

“I-I wanted you two.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as you cling to the base of the neck and cum hard around him. Steve’s head falls onto your shoulder as he pounds his cock harder into your cunt chasing his release before gripping your hair tightly in his fingers and pushing you to your knees. 

“Open!” You do what he says, moaning as he forces his dick into your mouth. “Look at me! Don’t take those eyes off me.” When your irises meet his honey ones, they flutter slightly as he thrusts his cock down your throat. “Th-That’s it, baby. I want this burned into that dumb little brain of yours. MMM! That way when you’re on your knees for him, you think of me.”

Steve grunts and his grip tightens as he spills down your throat. Your eyes never leave his as you swallow every drop he gives you. 

As soon as he steps back and out of the way, Eddie’s on you, lifting you to your feet and manhandling you to the couch against the wall of his office. Spreading your legs open wide, you groan loudly as he shoves his face into your pussy, open mouth kissing between your folds as his tongue flicks your clit.

“P-Please…Please, Mr. Munson.”

Your hands try to tangle in his hair but he promptly grabs your wrist and holds it against the sofa. Tilting back, he spits into your hole before maneuvering his cock out of his jeans and guiding it into your heat. 

“No, little girl. You don’t get to fucking touch me. Your hands have been all over your new boyfriend.”, he says with disgust as he rolls his hips hard making his length slam roughly into that spongy spot inside you. “Fuck, sweetheart. Have you fucked him yet?”

When you don’t answer, his palm spanks you hard. 

“No.”

“No what.”, he growls as he hits you again.

“N-No, sir.”

“Shame. I’d love to—mmph fuck—know what that little fucker says when he realizes you’re ruined.”, Eddie spits as he pumps into you a bit faster. “You begged us to, baby, remember? To split you in half a-and stretch you open. Fuck. Still so fucking tight for us but little prick like him…”

“Eddie…”

Leaning down to hover over you, the metalhead grips your throat tightly between his ringed fingers.

“You say it correctly, whore. You’re in MY office in MY classroom.”

“F-Fuck…I’m sorry, Mr. Munson…feels so…good..”

“I know, baby. I know it feels good. You know what didn’t? Watching you flirt and swoon over that asshole on stage. Watching him touch you and you not pull away. Didn’t take you long to move on from us. What did—mmm—we fucking expect. You’re meant to be a toy, Y/N. Just a fucking slut for men like us to use.”, he growls in anger, completely oblivious to the tears that had begun to fall from your eyes. 

“Yellow.” Your word comes out barely above a whisper; so small you’re surprised he heard it. Eddie lifted his head as his movements stopped, his eyes scanning your face as he blinks back his anger and worry replaces it. “I didn’t move on. I wanted you…I liked being with you. You pushed me away… Y-You said so many mean things after class…”

Your professor sighs as his forehead falls on yours.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so fucking sorry for hurting you. Can I make you feel good? Can you say it?”, he requests when all you do is nod. 

“Yes, sir, you can keep going.”

When he starts thrusting into you again, it’s much gentler than before. 

“We didn’t use you that night, Y/N. Fuck, you have no idea how much we still think about you.”

“We talk about you at night while we’re in bed.”, Steve adds in low, soft voice behind your head. “It almost always leads to us playing with each other as we talk about how tight you were or how much your whimpers made us hard.”

Your eyes flutter closed at their words as Eddie picks up his rhythm once again. 

“Shit. You feel so good. We-We don’t just talk about your body but we like how kind you are and so fucking smart, princess. I love reading your essays about the books I assign. You have this—oh my—this unique view of the world…”

“Why-Why did you push me away?”

Falling flat against you, he clings to you back as he rolls his hips and his cock pushes impossibly deep inside of you. 

“Because this is wrong, honey.”, Steve answers for him. “So fucking wrong but…fuck…watching you with that kid…”

“You’re ours, sweetheart. Fuck, baby, cum.” Grinding your waist, you thrust up to meet his movement till you feel your body tremble as the coil breaks. “Good girl, Y/N. Good girl.”

It doesn’t take long for Eddie to follow and his eyes squeeze shut as you feel him warm your insides. 

Nobody speaks as he pulls out of you and grabs your hand to help you sit up, petting your head as you wince slightly at the pain in your behind. Steve quickly comes between your legs and cleans you, tenderly kissing your knee when you whine at the soreness.

Both their heads hang when he comes back to take a seat beside you.

“D-Did you guys win?”, you ask, sighing when the coach shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington.”

“Steve…” Your gaze shifts his way as he mumbles his name. “You can call me Steve when we aren’t out there or playing.”

“I’m sorry we made you uncomfortable, Y/N.”, Eddie exhales. “We didn’t mean to be so rough. We’re just…passionate people.”

“That’s an interesting way to say you were jealous.”, you tease as they smile. “It wasn’t the roughness. I like rough. It was the implication that…you used me solely to get off that night…After what you said to me in class, it just…hurt my feelings.”

“I understand. I’m sorry, baby.”

“We’re just trying to—”

“Protect me, I know. I just don’t understand from what. At first I thought it was because your faculty and I’m a student but then you said it was because I deserve to be seen… yet here we are… and I still feel you…pulling away. What aren’t you two telling me?”

“Did you just interrupt me again? Jesus Christ. IS it me? Am I just not as intimidating as him?”, Steve tries to joke and deflect.

“Does it involve what happened with Chrissy Cunningham?”

The metalhead grumbled as he exhaled, turning to face you with a newfound fire in his eyes. 

“We gave you rules that first night, remember? Don’t ask about our scars. Maybe that rule deserves some expansion. Don’t ask about what happened 10 years ago AT ALL. Not only do we not want to talk about it but we CAN’T talk about it. If that’s a fucking problem then we can fully end this thing now. No little games or what happened tonight. Hell, I’ll even tell the dean myself what I did so he can fire me.”

At this declaration, Steve growls and when you glance his way you’re surprised to see annoyance, not towards you but to his partner. 

“Ok, I understand, Eddie. I won’t ask any questions anymore but I need you to know…whatever happened I’m not afraid. I never thought you did anything to them and I trust you both. I know they say Hawkins is cursed but I feel like it’s more the people here that are said curse. I’ve been bullied most of my life by people like Martin. These backwards citizens condemning you for no reason and then hurting Steve because he’s your friend… it’s bullshit. I’m sorry you went through that and if anything happens again I’ll defend you.”

“We know, honey. That’s what worries us.”

“You don’t want to go through what we did, Y/N, trust me. We don’t want you to experience the pain and loss we have.”

“You’re implying my life has been devoid of pain and loss up to this point.”, you breathily laugh causing them to exchange a concerned glance. “I, uh, I should head back to my dorm. Theo’s probably calling to make sure I’m not dead. He really is a nice guy.”

“Do you want to come back to our house? You can take a bath and we can make you some dinner.”, Eddie offers nervously.

“Decide now. I can’t go back and forth with you two. If you want me to be yours I can be that. But if you’re going to push me away again or I’m going to wake up alone, I’d rather go back to my single dorm room and call the guy that seems to genuinely like me and isn’t afraid to say so.”

“We aren’t afraid, Y/N. This right here is more complicated than all that but we aren’t afraid to say we like you.”, Steve answered as he rose to his feet, reaching for your hand to help you do the same. “Can we take this one step at a time? Don’t forget, this is new for us to and a lot more is on the line. We could lose our careers and reputation.”

“And I don’t have much of one in this town to begin with.”, the metalhead joked making Steve roll his eyes. 

“You’re willing to put all that on the line for me?”

“Of course.”, they responded in unison with zero hesitation making you grin. 

“I did it for Eddie countless times and I’d do it again.”, the coach coos as he grabs the man’s cheeks and brings his lips to his own.

“Ok…one step at a time.”

##############

@joannamuns9n @dckweed @corkadymu @lilaclazer @aol19 @nailbatanddungeon @dashingdeb16

[captainsophiestark]

Did I Forget to Mention?

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Day Twelve Prompt: "Did you hear that?"

Summary: Nik's SO *might* have forgotten to tell their Mystic Falls friends about their relationship with a certain hybrid. But it's not going to stay secret for much longer.

Word Count: 2,381

Category: Fluff, little bit of Angst

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Okay, I'm calling it! Semesters suck, I'd give anything to be on a quarter system if it meant not having homework on spring break."

My friends laughed, even as I groaned and collapsed back into the couch. I got one week to take a break from school, and a small window to reunite with my friends back in Mystic Falls who'd all gone to Whitmore. We were supposed to spend the whole week having fun starting tomorrow morning, but they'd surprised me by showing up at my house tonight to get the party started early. Unfortunately, a few of my classes had given me homework, and I couldn't give in to spring break until I took care of it.

"I have a feeling you're gonna be singing a different tune in May when you're out of class and we've all still got another month left," said Bonnie with a smile.

"You're just lucky we want to enjoy the break with you," Elena added. "Otherwise we'd be getting payback for you showing up to campus during finals week to 'relax and tan'."

"Hey! I also showed up as moral support, thank you very much!"

"How was that morally supportive?" asked Caroline.

"I brought you coffees! And I was exemplifying the light at the end of the tunnel for you guys, when you finished your tests and could join me in summer fun!"

"Oh! Okay, of course," said Caroline in a tone that I knew should make me concerned. "I forgot, you're right. We'll go make some drinks and leave you to finish this, maybe play some music, so we can model that spring break fun, light at the end of the tunnel for you."

"No," I whined, flopping back onto the couch again. "Point taken, and I'm sorry. Just please don't leave me to this homework alone."

"We won't," Elena reassured me, reaching out to rest her hand on my arm. "But... the three of us might make drinks anyway."

I groaned, grabbing a pillow and burying my face in it. Finally, I sighed, sitting upright again.

"Fine. You know where all the stuff is. Just... try not to get so buzzed you tell me to edit a bunch of ridiculous stuff into my paper, okay?"

"No promises!" chirped Caroline as my three friends all stood. I sighed, but before they could get any further out of the room, a loud thud came from the direction of the kitchen.

All three of us froze in our tracks. We'd spent way too much time dealing with supernatural headaches not to go on high alert after something like that.

"Did you hear that?" hissed Caroline. We all nodded, so I gestured for the four of us to head towards the kichen and check it out.

If it was a vampire, it had to be one who'd already been invited in. If it was a different kind of supernatural creature, between the four of us, we should probably be able to handle it. Still, it never hurt to be cautious. Surprises happened all the time, and they could be deadly.

We took up positions just outside the kitchen, then Caroline counted us down with her fingers. When she dropped the last one, all four of us whirled around the corner, ready for action.

I stopped dead at the sight of Klaus Mikaelson hovering by my kitchen island, my heart dropping in my chest. Caroline and Elena both looked ready for a fight, but Bonnie beat them both to it. She raised her hand, and Nik dropped to the ground, holding his head.

"Stop!" I cried, rushing forward and yanking Bonnie's hand down. She stared at me, shocked, outraged, and confused, but to my relief I saw Nik stand up out of the corner of my eye.

Silence settled over the kitchen. Every single person was looking at me, my friends all with incredulous looks and scowls, Nik with a faint smile. For my part, I actually found myself wishing I could go back to my classwork. Just as long as I could be anywhere but here.

Unfortunately, I didn't get my wish. Nik took a deep breath in, and I knew if I didn't speak quickly, he'd take over the explanations for me. As bad as this situation was, I knew that would only make it worse.

I'd been invovled in the Mikaelson drama with the rest of my friends while they'd been living in Mystic Falls, but once they left, I hadn't really given them much more thought.

That is, until I ended up going to college in New Orleans. Klaus and I had run into each other at an art exhibit, and it functioned as a kind of neutral territory. We were both pretty opinionated, and we'd ended up spending the most of the day together, first talking about the exhibit but quickly moving on to other topics, too. We'd had a strange kind of reconnection, although we hadn't really been connected in the first place, and within a few weeks he'd asked me on a date and I'd said yes. We'd been dating since that freshman fall, and recently, I'd caught myself thinking the word love more than once. But I'd been serioiusly, seriously putting off telling my friends back home.

I'd managed to dodge telling them for two whole school breaks now. But apparently, with spring break, my luck was finally running out.

"Alright," I started, holding up my hands before Nik could jump in. "So... Nik and I have been... together... for a while now. We ran into each other again in New Orleans and just kind of hit it off. I didn't want to tell you guys becuase, well... I didn't think you'd take it well."

No one said anything for a moment, like my words were on a slight time delay. Then, all three of my friends started shouting at once.

"Are you kidding me?"

"What were you thinking?"

"Out of every single person in New Orleans, in the world, why the hell did you pick him?"

Nik stepped up beside me as all three of my friends had their reactions. Honestly, I couldn't blame them. It was a justified reaction, especially after how seriously they'd been blindsided. Nik didn't seem the least bit phased as he wrapped an arm around my waist.

"I'm sorry, love," he muttered into my ear. "I didn't realize your little friends were over."

I just sighed. "It's not your fault, Nik. I should've told them a long time ago. Don't worry, they'll be fine."

As one, our attention returned to my friends, who were now glaring at the two of us. I grimaced, but Nik seemed to enjoy the negative attention. He grinned and pulled me in closer to his side.

Bonnie looked on the verge of using magic again, and Caroline seemed about two seconds away from charging Nik to start a fist fight, so I gave his shoulder a squeeze and gently stepped away from him.

"Guys... I'm sorry. I should've told you a long time ago, and I shouldn't have put you in a situation to find out like this."

"Or, how about you shouldn't be dating the guy who tried to kill us all in the first place!" Caroline shouted, unable to contain herself anymore. I grimaced, but didn't step any further away from Nik.

"That's... a fair reaction. But seriously, I'm happy. Happier than I've ever been. And it's not like he's trying to kill any of us anymore-"

"At least not right now," chorused Nik and Bonnie in sync, with two very different tones to their words. Bonnie fixed him with a fierce glare, and I winced.

"Okay, maybe we should all sit down and talk," I said. "Or the four of us can talk, and I can ask Nik to come back later-"

"No way," said Caroline, raising her hands and taking a few steps back as she shook her head. "If he's staying, I'm not."

"Caroline-"

"I need a walk."

With that, she turned and vamp sped out of the house. With a look at me, Elena followed her. Bonnie started drifting in that direction, too, but she paused first, with a scowl at Nik before giving me a slightly less hostile look.

"I'm glad you're happy. Really, I am. But you might want to consider the cost that happiness is coming with."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room. I sighed the minute she was out of sight, slouching against the corner and sighing. That could've gone much, much better.

"They took that better than expected," mused Nik from beside me. I groaned, and I heard him huff a laugh.

When I straightened up and met his eyes, however, I noticed the slightly guarded expression behind his eyes. It had taken a lot of work to get good at reading Nik, and I still couldn't do it with 100% accuracy. But even so, I knew he wasn't nearly as calm and unaffected as he looked right now.

I sighed. My friends weren't the only people I needed to have a serious conversation with.

"Nik..." I started, taking his hand and settling into one of the stools at the kitchen counter. I pulled him onto the one next to mine, scooting closer until our knees were pressed together and I could keep him close for this conversation. "I'm sorry. I should've told them a long, long time ago. And I want you to know... I didn't tell them because I didn't want to deal with the reaction I knew they'd have. Not because of anything to do with you."

Nik's eyes flickered, scanning my face. I gave his hand a squeeze, but I could tell we weren't out of the woods yet.

"Isn't their reaction everything to do with me?" he asked, his voice low and serious. I recognized the edged glint in his eye as something that usually spelled trouble. I sighed.

"Their reaction is because they don't like you, yes. But my decision not to tell them had nothing to do with you. I would've been just as hesitant to tell them I was dating a guy they didn't like in our class at Mystic Falls. But with you... I should've told them earlier."

"And why's that? You wish they hadn't found me in your kitchen? Wish you could've told them while I was a few states away, so no one would have to face the reality of the two of us being together?"

"No, Nik. I mean, yes, I wish they'd found out differently than this. But I should've told them earlier because... because I have serious feelings for you. And they're serious enough that I don't want to hide them or you. Ever."

Nik raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth lifting up in the faintest hint of a smile. I smiled too, recognizing the shift in his mood.

"And what, exactly, might these 'serious feelings' be?"

His tone was mostly teasing, but I decided to take it seriously. I took his other hand, then pulled both into my lap, holding them tight. I met his eyes, making sure he understood just how much I meant my words.

"I love you, Nik. I've been feeling that way for a while now. I'm honestly happier than I've ever been, and you're a big part of that. I love my friends, and I know they'll come around eventually, but until they do? That's their problem. You mean the world to me, and... I mean, yeah, like I said. I love you."

A smile had been growing on Nik's face, and by the time I finished, it was a full-on grin that I only got to see from him every once in a while. He pulled me closer, off of my stool until I stood between his legs, chest to chest with him.

"You love me, do you?"

"Yeah." I nodded, my heart beating out of my chest in my rib cage. I felt pretty confident that Nik returned my feelings, but that didn't take away any of the nerves. "Can't you tell? You're supposed to be able to hear heart rates, aren't you?"

Nik chuckled, pulling me even closer to him for a kiss. I melted against him, happy to feel him smiling against my mouth as his arms wound around my waist. After a few breathless moments, Nik pulled back just enough to speak.

"I love you too," he said, his voice low and his breath fanning against my lips. "Don't worry for a moment that I don't. I would do anything for you. And it's a bit ridiculous how much I mean that."

I smiled, closing the distance between us again as I kissed him.

"I'm glad you came to visit me," I whispered when we paused just long enough to take a breath. "I'm glad my friends know. I'm glad you're here with me. I'm glad you know I love you."

"I agree with all of the above," Nik said with a smirk. "And I'm glad your friends are gone, and that we have the house to ourselves."

Nik leaned forward to deepen the kiss, but I leaned back. I put one hand on his chest and grimaced. He raised an eyebrow.

"Is there a problem, love?"

"...I may or may not have a paper to finish. Tonight."

"Are you sure it has to be done tonight?" asked Nik, his voice low and silky smooth as he ran a hand over my hip. I just sighed.

"Yeah, babe, I'm sure. But... if you can help me get it done, then I'm all yours for the rest of the night."

Nik pulled back quickly, looking at me with one eyebrow raised and an eager expression on his face. I put a hand to my mouth to stifle a smile at his 180 degree mood shift.

"Well then, what are we waiting for? Let's get that paper finished, love. I've got quite a few ideas for tonight."

I just laughed as I followed Nik into the living room. I had a feeling we were in for a rough ride the rest of this spring break dealing with my friends. But I really did love Nik. I was happy with him, and if we could find a way to stay together in our own little bubble of bliss despite the crazy supernatural shenanigans in New Orleans, I knew we'd be able to figure it out in Mystic Falls, too.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

[ultimate-marysue]

How I feel my Batfam ships may or may not have children (please don't take me seriously I just need wholesomeness):

Dickkory: multiple bio kids, I'm pretty sure this is canon in some future/alternative universes. I think DC should set Kori free on a PTA meeting with no one explain to her the absurd social rules Karens set. The shitty mothers would hate her because she's over here, playing dumb on purpose until they're forced to admit they're just being annoying/egocentric and not actually asking to better their kid's education. Also, career day would be crazy considering Dick changes jobs every few months to get involved into whatever business he's investigating. Like, one year he's a cop, next he's a super model, next he's a college professor somehow. Kori thinks it's really funny so she insists on Dick being the one to go.

Dickbabs: they either don't have kids (just adopt a bunch of rescues) or maybe have one adoptive kid. Other than Cass who is Babs daughter I don't care what anyone thinks. Just Dick, Barbara and Barbara's daughter who is also Dick's sister. Also, Babs got lucky with Cass being homeschooled, the second she has to deal with the school system she's on the phone with the president blackmailing him to fix it. Easy to say, Dick deals with school exclusively from them on.

BabsDinah: they're the lesbian aunts (that end up doing a lot of the parenting because they can't help themselves). Like, neither of them would really want to have kids of their own, but the second a young vigilante with a shit ton of issues gets dropped in their doorstep it's on. Like, officially they'd be mentors, but they all see each other as family.

Stephcass: Cass is a ticking bomb, she's going to find an ex-murderer kid in need of guidance and just bring them home. Steph is not thrilled at first because they're so young still until she realizes "oh wait no, we're like, adult adults now" and then she has a crisis (unrelated to the child). Also Steph would love love to prove she's better than her father (but would be terrified of messing up). At first they're really chill but soon enough they turn it into a competition with the other Bats. Not a competition between their kids, mind you ("no Cass, that's bad parenting") but a competition of who's the best parent. Jason is terrified of them, but the rest are absolutely down.

Jayroy: asides from our beautiful wonderful and just overall fantastic Lian Harper, I think they might end up adopting some kids. What can I say? I think Jason should have Bruce's adoption gene, but specially for kids in dangerous/hard situations. I'm talking the older kids that never get adopted or younger kids with some sort of disability that need extra accomodations. I think Jason would try very hard to avoid them being vigilantes at least until they're 18. Roy is more chill with vigilantism because well, Lian turned out fine, but he respects Jason's opinion. Most important, no child of his is going to be a Robin to Bruce fucking Wayne. Also, everyone in the PTA would love them, they'd be super involved and Jason would make sure to bribe the appropriate people with muffins.

TimKon: test tube baby, not on purpose though. Like, I don't see Tim as someone actively wanting kids (especially not biological ones) and Kon wouldn't want his kid having to face the problems he did. But like, if Cadmus pulls some weird shit and there's a super baby for the taking, they would both want to make sure they give him the most loving upbringing possible. Another option is Tim accidentally creating their baby while trying to clone Kon while he was dead. That one's plausible and has a lot of angst hurt/comfort potential. Also, Teen Dad Tim after being extremely parentified during his early teens taking care of Bruce (while grieving everyone!) is evil , but a compelling kind of evil. Like a trainwreck you can't look away from.

TimBer: dual income no kids kinda queers. They're over here taking their various nephews to Olive Garden and Disneyland only to drop them off and go live their lovely stress free lives. They may adopt a kid, but that would be only when they really settled down. Let Tim enjoy his 20s (if he ever gets there) my boy has been through enough.

Dukeizzy: again, maybe it's because Duke's still pretty young so he hasn't showed much interest or inclination toward parenting, but I don't have a lot of info to go with. Personally either Dual income "take the kids to do airsoft" kinda uncle/aunt, I can see both of them being really good at giving advice to younger vigilantes (the whole situation of We Are Robin gives you a lot of insight in the power of child vigilantes separated from any mentors, so they're in a particular good spot to mediate between the kids and adults). In the case of them having kids, I think they should inherit Dukes autism (I love that headcanon) and both he and Izzy would be those parents making damn sure their kids get the accommodations they need specially at school. If their kids choose to become vigilantes you bet they're gonna be unionized.

Also, I don't have any particular ship for Damian but you bet that if that boy ever becomes a parent they'd be the softest, sweetest father in the world.