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rhaenella · 1 year ago

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CL16 | Is It Over Now? | pt.4

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader

genre: social media au

summary: you and charles have been everyone's fave couple on the grid, but when you somewhat unexpectedly break up, you turn to songwriting to cope with the pain

face claim: léon

a/n: all songs mentioned are by léon and some of taylor’s from the vault. also a massive thank you to my part time french teacher @xeresmalfoy for helping out and checking my grammar ❤️

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Liked by taylorswift, selenagomez and 1,131,489 others

y/n: Your reaction to Is It Over Now? has been nothing short of incredible. I feel your love 🤍 And that’s why I decided to give some of that love back to you. Besides my new music video, we’ve been secretly rehearsing for a special little something…

It’s been a busy couple of weeks but I’m very excited to announce that I will be playing three small, intimate “one night only” shows in London (7/11), Paris (7/12) and New York City (7/15) next week. I can’t wait to see some of you there, let’s make it a good one x

🔗 Link to tickets in my bio!

View all 22,362 comments

sophiet: Yasss girl🔥see ya next week😘

Liked by y/n

landonorris: Surely friends will get a discount, no?

y/n: Hmm… we’ll see

yourmanager: No.

user7: i can’t waittttt!!!!!! see you in new york 😍❤️

user8: y/n really said i’m gonna use my pain and turn it into a creative outlet and i think that’s so beautiful and inspiring ♥️

user9: I CANT BELIEVE I MANAGED TO GET TICKETS

user10: omggg you’re so lucky they sold out so fast

user11: yeah i was too late :(((

user10: hopefully y/n will do a bigger tour🤞🤞

y/n: Sooooonnnnn 🤫

user10: OMFG

3 July

Liked by user23, user29 and 43,119 others

wagsf1update: Pierre, Kika, Charles and Maddy attend day eight of Wimbledon!

View all 2,235 comments

user23: charles and pierre look so gooddd 😍😍😍

user24: clone is cloning

user25: the way charles was only really talking to pierre during the game

user26: maddy and charles look so happy and in love in those pictures……. NOT

user27: so far i haven’t seen either of them smile in each other’s presence

10 July

y/n’s story

Seen by alex_albon, kellypiquet and 3,979,114 others

11 July

landonorris’ story

Seen by y/n, danielricciardo and 3,788,531 others

11 July

danielricciardo’s story

Seen by landonorris, alex_albon and 3,244,091 others

11 July

landonorris’ story

Seen by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 3,743,160 others

11 July

danielricciardo’s story

Seen by yourbestfriend, charles_leclerc and 3,028,340 others

11 July

Liked by y/n, lilymhe and 301,882 others

alex_albon: Our professional opinion: this new up an coming artist was not too bad 🧐 (and fun fact: her post-concert cravings are REAL)

View all 2,911 comments

y/n: Omg Alex…

y/n: DID YOU HAVE TO POST THAT PICTURE

alex_albon: Yes

danielricciardo: Starving performer devours a burger 🍔 by alex.jpg

lilymhe: I told alex not to do it but he never listens to me

alex_albon: I can’t help that’s what she looks like when she eats

carlossainz55: This is true, I’ve witnessed this myself

y/n: I hate all of you

maxverstappen1: But secretly you still love us

y/n: Careful champ, there’s a fine line between love and hate

landonorris: Go on, please hate them so I will get all the love since I’m the only one here taking the banger pics

Liked by y/n

12 July

Liked by kellypiquet, yourbestfriend and 998,267 others

y/n: London was an absolute dream. Thank you for an unforgettable night❣️à demain Paris 🇫🇷

View all 18,432 comments

user18: absolute dream? ABSOLUTE FIRE ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

user19: BEST. NIGHT. EVER.

user20: it was emotional but oh so fucking powerful

user21: say don’t go is my new favorite song, i love it so much 😭❤️

Liked by y/n

user21: you were spectacular!!!!! please come back soon

user22: j'ai hâte de vous voir demain, j'attends de vous voir en live depuis des années!!🙊💕

Liked by y/n

12 July

—

It was late. Way past midnight. Maddy had already gone to bed a few hours ago. But Charles was still up, slouched on the couch in his five-star suite, a frown edged deep into his forehead.

He silently scrolled through his social media, switching from Twitter to Instagram to Twitter and back to Instagram again. You'd just posted new photos of your show in London tonight, looking as beautiful as ever.

The stage was where Charles knew you felt most comfortable, somewhere you weren’t scared to open up your heart and be vulnerable. The atmosphere you were able to create during your concerts couldn’t be put into words. It was truly something one of a kind. The way you effortlessly connected with the audience… it always left him speechless and usually with a wide, beaming smile.

In other words, he would never tire of watching you perform.

Charles had always been proud of you. And still, as he sat there reading through the thousands of posts by your fans and even some by his colleagues, he couldn’t help but feel that same sense of pride swell inside of him.

Though, that pride was mostly overshadowed by a feeling of intense guilt. Guilt that kept nagging at him ever since the moment you’d packed your bags and left his apartment with tears running down your cheeks. His heart clenched painfully as Charles thought back to that particular day. It was his fault. All of it. He had been stupid. No, beyond stupid. It had started out as a drunken mistake. But you can’t make a drunken mistake twice, let alone thrice.

When you’d found out and had confronted Charles, he hadn’t denied it. And in that moment, he’d witnessed that last bit of hope you’d stubbornly clung to, shatter before his eyes. Along with your heart and your trust.

As the reality of the situation had slowly dawned on him, he’d gone completely numb. Charles had wanted to fight for you harder, but he hadn’t. If he had, his current situation could’ve possibly been entirely different. Your new song—which he had already listened to three times—made that perfectly clear.

But he had decided on another path. A decision that resulted from losing the love of his life by his own hand. Did it make any sense? To choose to stay with the girl he’d betrayed you with? In his loneliness it had made some weird type of sense. Because if there was one thing Charles couldn’t handle well, it was being alone. And boy, he’d never felt more alone than when you’d closed that door behind you, making him believe there was no longer hope for a future together.

Now, all he wanted was to focus on moving on and stick to his decision to be with Maddy. Was he in denial about his true feelings and the pain he tried to bury deep inside of himself? Perhaps. Probably.

Charles was still mindlessly scrolling when Maddy emerged from the bedroom, leaning against the wall studiously. He hadn’t even heard her until she cleared her throat, speaking to him softly but with a tinge of annoyance.

“Charles, are you finally coming to bed?”

“Ouais, je serai là dans une minute,” he answered absentmindedly.

Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.

She rolled her eyes. “How often do I have to tell you: speak English. I’ve no clue what you’re saying.”

“Mhm, désolé…”

Charles paused, quickly looking up as he realised his mistake.

“Seriously,” Maddy scoffed.

He winced at her irritated look. There was no denying Maddy had a temper, her moods changing as quick as lightning. The countless fights Charles and her had had in the past few months were enough proof of that.

“Sorry,” he tried again.

She huffed, stomping away in the direction of the suite’s bedroom, harshly closing the door behind her.

He rubbed his temple, sighing. He was just tired. And speaking in his native tongue when he was tired or upset was something he did without thinking.

Years ago, you’d quickly figured that out as well. However, you never judged him for it. No, you were understanding, trying to acquaint yourself with his language to understand him better. To be there for him. In the end, you knew him so well that you could almost always accurately read him, the language barrier between you no longer an issue. Not that it had ever been one in the first place.

He thought back to one of the tweets he’d read before Maddy had come barging in.

‘Charles made the biggest mistake of his life. I hope he realizes it.’

He squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head lull back against the couch’s headrest. And just like he’d done ever since that fateful day, he willed all of his doubts, guilt, and pain into a neat little box, unable to face them. Charles sighed again, pushing himself to his feet, wearily following in Maddy’s footsteps towards their shared bedroom. But as his hand hovered over the door handle, one single truth echoed through him, unwavering.

Oui, he thought. Je le comprends.

Yes. I do realize it.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Tags: @sukisheadlights @eviethetheatrefreak @blueflorals @kiskso @dessxoxsworld @treehouse-mouse @dangeroustacoalienbiscuit @clown-fc @stopeatread @vanishingcherry @bb-swift @leclercdream @scenesofobx

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x singer reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc fake instagram #charles leclerc fake social media #formula 1 smau #formula 1 fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc blurb #is it over now?

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fairene · 5 months ago

Note

hello!! i LOVE your work you write the most interesting dynamics and your style always completely sucks me in! i saw you mentioned in the tags that requests were welcome and if it sounds fun, i'd love to read something with lando and a tennis player!reader, not just bc i love tennis lol but also bc it could be interesting to have him with someone who has experienced the same level of pressure. i'd love anything you wrote though!❤️

say less, my love.

pressure / ln4

a/n ⋯ a short pause from the one of your girls dual part. this was a beautiful request, and as a huge challengers enthusiast, i had to put it to paper. thank you so much for the request. also i am aware that the u.s. open takes place in new york, but for simplicity sake, we'll say its in miami.

music ⋯ link

warnings ⋯ no smut, fluff, angst, insecure thoughts, anxiety.

wordcount ⋯ 2.6k (unedited).

“you’re going to do amazing, my love.” lando’s words were soothing as he held you firmly against his chest. it was a saturday night in miami, both of you were dueling your own matches for the weekend. you were in the finals of your tournament held for the US open, whereas he was debuting in the miami grand prix the following afternoon.

your head shifted into his chest, nose burrowing into the fabric of his shirt with a soft hum. you knew he was right, but the pressure waned on you. how could it not? your entire career balanced on your performance, and thousands of people would be watching you. not only were you lando norris’ girlfriend, but also an up and coming star in your own career.

you kissed the fabric of his shirt, knowing the sentiment held little, but he appreciated the gesture regardless. his hand found the back of your head, threading his fingers through your hair. his touch was gentle, kind, one reserved only for you. it was moment’s like these that the pair of you found solitude in one another.

“i know, i just…” you hesitated, lifting your head so your chin rested on the center of his torso. he tightened his hand around your hip, cradling you against the firm shape of his body.

“what, baby?” he said with a soft tone, velvety to your ears. you couldn’t resist him. couldn’t hold anything back from him, despite wanting to spare him the worries you held. the last thing you wanted him to do was worry about you. especially when he had a huge event of his own.

but all he did was worry about you.

day and night he would dream both through the sun and beneath the moonlight of you. you. it was always you that he was concerned about. you, that he searched for atop his podiums. you, that he would attend all your matches when he could.

this was one of the rare events where they overlapped. he would only be there with you in the morning to see you off before your matches. then, you would reconcile with him in the evenings. post race, post tournament. it would be a tough day to manage on your own, but he felt the same way. you were the light to all of his races, the focal point of which he could relax. his anxiety roared in these conditions, but you somehow soothed him at every turn.

he needed you. but you couldn’t be there.

“i want you there.”

his features softened. there was a cloud of guilt brewing a thunderstorm above his head, threatening to rain down tears in your obvious distress. he hated seeing you this way, and most of all, he hated being the one who caused it.

“i know.” his thumb stroked across your cheek. “i would if i could.” you believe him. he was your number one fan, just as you were his. a match made in heaven, one might be able to jest. “‘nd i want you there, tomorrow, with me on the radio.”

you blushed, letting your face drop into the fabric of his sweatshirt. you felt his chest bellow with a deep laugh, centered at his core, letting his lids flutter at your bashful expression. your teeth even went as far as biting at his sweatshirt, which had him grumbling and pulling your hair up into a makeshift ponytail, raising your head to meet his eyes.

“you’ll be the death of me,” he uttered, saying with pure love. your relationship with him was full of complexities, but overall dominated by your fatuous love for one another. the pressures you both face in consequence of your performances…

“you’re going to win tomorrow.” you sat up on his lap, straddling his hips. you were both in your shared bed in the hotel, lounging in your sleepwear in the messed up sheets. tonight was between you two and no one else. lando slammed that ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door the minute the pair of you walked in for the evening. “i can feel it.”

“you think so?” he gulped, both his hands coming to run up the skin of your thighs. you shivered at his touch, but you were determined to keep a clear mind.

“i know so.” you watched his face relax with relief. your words of comfort meant ten times than anyone else's, and you would always give him the truth. its what he loved about you so much. your blatant honesty, your charisma, your ability to power through every obstacle in your life. but he knew just as much as you did that you wouldn’t be able to do any of it without each other. it was one of the many little beautiful things about your relationship.

lando’s anxiety would gnaw at him every chance it got. but since he’s entered a relationship with you, he feels like a fucking king, but he was nothing without his queen.

“don’t know,” he said, breaking the silence. “you’re my lucky charm.”

you rolled your eyes. “you’ve scored points at every race this season,” you pointed out. it was a fact. he was one of the only contending drivers to have such a prosperous season. you were delighted for him. “with or without me there.”

but he didn’t like your excuses. he squeezed your plush thighs beneath his calloused fingers, which had you gasping.

“don’t do that.”

you quirked a brow. “do what?”

“pretend like you don’t mean the world to me.”

you blushed and fell forward on his chest, your head falling into his neck. you giggled against his skin, unable to contain your smile. “stop that,” you insisted, blushing fiercely. a hand of his came to hold the back of your neck in a comforting grip.

“loving you?” you caught his gaze, bleary with love. “i don’t think i can.”

you were up at 5:30 that morning getting ready. lando was still sound asleep, snores being heard from the ensuite bathroom as your brushed your teeth and fixed your appearance. you wore a white tennis dressed, sponsored by fila, and just left when you made your way to the bed.

your hand brushed over lando’s exposed hip, shirtless in the bed with only a pair of boxers. he moaned in his sleep, pulling a pillow closer. but he was wide awake when he realized the pillow was made of feathers, and not you.

“come on, my love.” you said to him in the dark room, looming over him with your hair undone and bright white dress. he turned to face you, sitting up against the headboard. his hands came to rest over his head, stretching.

then he leaned in for a kiss, his hand cupping your cheek. you met him half way, sucking on his lower lip. he groaned, and you felt yourself shift, but couldn’t fall into his trap of desire.

“ah, ah.” you pulled away before his hand came to snatch you down into the bed. “you promised me breakfast.”

he fell back into the bed with disappointment. you laughed to yourself and made your way to the foyeur. you didn’t have to wait long when you heard him shifting and getting ready for the day ahead.

when you arrived to the courts that morning, lando was carrying most of your things. it had you smiling with appreciation, insisting that you could carry your wilson tennis bag. but he refused, saying that you worked too hard for this day to be carrying your own bag. let me help you, and you were sold.

you caught on to how much the crowds began to fill in. you were a sensation. but the notion would consistently fly over your head.

you were tense and lando could see that.

“hey,” his hand came to rest on your back. you leaned into him. “you’re going to do great, baby.”

you sucked in a tight breath. but what if you didn’t? what if, that these set of matches, would damn your career to near ruin? what if you could never be perfect?

your breathing became erratic. lando’s eyes widened, jumping into swift action as he covered your body with his. he backed you into a corner where no one could see the pair of you, and wrapped his hands around your body tightly.

“match me.” he said. the words were so familiar to you. the both of you had discovered a coping mechanism when things got too much, too overwhelming, and too over pressured. you’d fall into each other’s arms and hear one another breathe.

your lip quivered with tears. but you did as you were told.

with an ear pressed to his chest, you could hear the steady beat of his heart. the strength in his muscles. the blood rippling through his veins. most importantly, the rise and fall of his abdomen against your own.

with your thummering heart, you found pace with him. “in and out,” he would soothe, saying into the top of your head where he left kisses in his wake.

he stroked the small of your back, thumb running circles over you. you fell completely into him.

“what if i’m not good enough?”

the words broke him.

“then the world is full of fuckheads, i’ll tell you that.” his tone was firm, but ebbed with softness as he spoke into your scalp. his attempt at humor had you breaking into a soft chuckle. you appreciated him in this moment. “i’d kill all those fuckers, you just tell me who–”

your head broke away with a smile, finger coming to shush him.

“lando!”

“what? it’s true.”

you loved him.

“maybe so,” you reached up to kiss both of his flushed cheeks. “but i want you here. with me.”

his forehead connected with yours.

“you’ll always have me.” he placed his hand over your heart, and you placed yours over his.

“always?”

“always.” he promised.

the matches were flawless. you played to your body’s ultimate limit. you were skating across the base line, the volley line, snapping your shoulder with everything you had for your serves.

“love, all.” the announcer began.

you were up serving first.

this was it.

the final match out of six. whoever won this, won the title.

you thought about lando. you thought about his breath against your neck. the texture of his stubble. the pride in his eyes. sweat dribbled from your forehead as you let the tennis ball bounce a few times before you to get a feel for the clay courts.

and with one fluent swing and leap, the ball was set into the air.

the cockpit was hot. lando was sweating profusely in the miami air. the humidity had changed their course of strategy at mclaren, but he agreed with his engineers wholeheartedly. there had been a safety car, and he abused it. attack it.

when he was rounding corner after corner, lap after lap, he only thought of you. he thought of you in your pretty tennis dresses. you and your bright smile. you and your comforting touches, kissing him goodnight. it had his racing heart relaxing, fingers flexing against the steering drive.

you were perfect. his perfect fucking girl. you were all his– his soon to be championship winner. and he wanted to make you a promise that he would win. he would win this for you.

‘you’re going to win tomorrow,’ you said idly from atop his hips. you looked towards him with such riveting devotion. such intimacy that he never imagined was possible for someone to convey. but with you, anything was possible.

the two of you were not so different from one another. the pressures you both faced were immaculate. it’s what held you both so heavily bonded to one another. you needed each other’s comfort. the touch of your hands. the sweetness of your lips. he didn’t give a fuck about codependency. fuck who ever came up with that.

he’s going to fucking win. he will win for you. whatever it takes, he will stand on that podium in the firelli hat, and dedicate it all to you.

the score was 40-40.

your body shook with adrenaline, muscles pounding beneath your layer of skin. your body pumped with red hot blood, blood of a future champion. this title would be yours. you knew that the minute you walked onto this court with your opponent.

he was a smug gentleman. too smug. you wanted to wipe that fucking look off of his face. bruise it black and blue if you could.

though your anger could be taken out on the court. you let it.

your strokes were harder. faster. your serve pace was up to 140mph. he couldn’t even get to most of them with how your body contorted mid air, slamming it down and leaving an indent into the clay. you were a powerhouse. a machine. a gauntlet of beauty.

and when you scored the winning point after an intense rally, jumping high into the air for an ace, you rocked back into the balls of your feet. your hips swung, racket thwanging, and you cheered; “come on!”

your anger for him was palpable. it blinded you enough to forget the crowds. the only thing you had on your mind was winning, and that you did.

the stadium lit up and you were met with a flushing amount of cheers. you were handed a towel from one of the members of your team before being swarmed with paparazzi.

they all complimented you. congratulated you. asked about certain points, but there was one member that caught your eye.

“lando’s in the lead!” a cameraman said from the back. your head raised, brows quirking.

“what did you say?” you forced a path for the man to walk forward. he accepted your invitation, holding up his phone screen in one hand.

sure enough, you saw the standings. lando was in first. your boy was in first.

your eyes widened. “this is live, isn’t it?” you were panting, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the lemon-scented towel.

the man nodded, holding a microphone to you.

“how do you feel right now?” you kept watching. lap 55.

you kept quiet, and the rest of the paparazzi did too.

lap 56.

your hands clasped together, raising them to your mouth.

“come on, baby…” you said beneath your breath. this was the longest minute of your life, you were sure of it.

and when he crossed the finish line, he was only thinking about you.

lando norris, first time grand prix winner, shrieked with joy over the microphone.

you did, too, jumping up and down from your place on the court. the paparazzi swarmed you again, anticipating what you had to say for the both of you.

“he’s incredible, isn’t he?” you gushed with a smile on your face, tears dripping down your cheeks.

“what a day for you two, isn’t it?”

you couldn’t agree more. “i’ll cheers to that.”

you practically ran through the paddock. your tennis dress was still on, your team was irritated that you didn’t stay for press. you didn’t give a fuck. you just wanted to see lando. you had the rest of your life to deal with the press, but he only had one maiden win.

you were greeted with a plethora of congratulations from the mclaren team. zak brown even caught a glance at you, waving you over.

“podiums just about to start.” perfect. you made it in time.

and when you saw him there, standing idly as they played the national anthem, you were brought to the front. the camera panned on you and your weeping expression, hand covering your mouth from your sobs.

he saw it from the distance and his head snapped down to find you. his own emotions couldn’t be contained, not with you there– you, here, looking beautiful in the sea of people– and the tears slid down his cheeks.

your face broke into a smile when he saw you. he was yours.

and you were his. and you were in this together.

forever and always.

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bbangtans · 7 months ago

Text

daybreak | jjk | oneshot teaser

Summary: One of your favorite things to do when you were in your early 20s was stay up late where reflective conversations eventually blurred into nonsense as the sun rose alongside someone you thought you would spend the rest of your days with… Now you’re stuck in New York City for one night due to a delayed flight with that very person standing there in his leather jacket and guitar case in hand across from you at the airport gate. See, fate is a funny thing and Jeon Jungkook could always find the humor in anything.

pairing: rockstar!ex!jk x f!reader genre/tropes: angst, fluff, exes to ???, right person wrong time/second chances, jungkook is so romance film lead coded – charismatic and well-spoken and genuine and ughhhhh i be fawning frrrr, this takes place where both jk and reader are 28ish, jk is a lead singer in a band with tae-jimin-yoongi, and y/n is a working professional rating/warnings: M | alcohol consumption, lots of swearing, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (don’t be all willy nilly with this tho!!!), dig bick jk lmfao, oral (f receiving), heavy petting, multiple orgasms. a/n: inspired by my faaaaaave movie before sunrise bc if there’s anything namjoon and i have in common, it’s that we are yearners 🤝 word count: ~10k POSTED: link

You cursed every cliched metaphor referencing the elusiveness of time… the grains of sand slipping through fingertips, the ticking of clock hands that echo in the back of your head, the passage of breezes, and the eventual rising of the morning sun.

Jungkook smiled gently, wiping away a tear with his thumb which you didn’t even feel form as it fell down your cheek. “Don’t worry.”

“I just want you to know that I loved being in this moment. Sharing this night with you, that tonight it felt like New York was all ours. I could have never seen its beauty and experienced its magic the way I did with you.” Barely managing through your cries, you gasped for a breath as you tried to make out the next words. “But why did things have to turn out this way?”

The loud caws of the seagulls as they flew over the pier and the cold morning air fell onto forgotten senses as the only thing you could feel was the intensity of Jungkook’s stare on you. From your forehead that he placed a tender kiss upon, to your eyes that mirrored that silent longing his contained, the nose that he nuzzled against his, and chin that he held softly in his rough hand… It was like he was taking a picture of you at that moment. A moment where he was not rockstar Jeon Jungkook, but the Jungkook who always found a way to make you laugh and the Jungkook you dreamed of sharing matching rings with. And you were not the person living too fast for anyone to keep up with, but a person who could find the beauty in anything and the person that Jungkook could write a million and one songs about.

“Shh,” he comforted you as his arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. “I really can’t thank you enough for tonight… I’ve never hated to see morning as much as I do now.” He chuckled dryly at the irony of all.

You pulled back, surprising the man who towered over you. You held his confused face in your hands and smiled. “Me, too. I hope you know that.”

“I do now…” He whispered as though louder words could break the moment before placing a chaste kiss on one of the hands that cupped his face.

“Now what?” Your hands fell from his face and rested on his chest.

Jungkook sighed in contemplation as he peered past you into the blossoming orange horizon before recentering his eyes on you and grin losing its warmth and being replaced with sadness. “Good morning, I guess.”

The gravity of the situation settled upon you both silently.

“None of that dramatic ‘goodbye’ shit in the morning!” You tipsily pointed at Jungkook with your beer who only laughed at your theatrics as some foam spilled.

Between chuckles, Jungkook was barely able to let out. “Okay, then what do we say at the end? When it’s morning?”

“What people always say at that time – ‘good morning’ and not goodbye. Let’s make it a nice ending for us, I feel like that would do us both justice.” Your gaze was too hazy to see the seriousness that lined his face but he shook it off and plastered his signature smile despite the storm in his heart. “I know it’s a little cheesy, but I don’t want to be sad in those last minutes with you.”

“Okay, we’ll bid each other ‘good morning’ when dawn comes then we go on with the rest of our lives. No sad stuff.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

“Good morning, Jungkook.” No matter how dazzling your smile was, Jungkook could never be distracted from the tears that lined your gorgeous eyes.

No physical closeness could ever combat the weight of what daybreak meant for you both.

#jungkook #bbangtans ff #bts fanfic #bbangtans jk ff #bts #bts x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts x y/n

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s1utlvr · 9 months ago

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Welcome to New York 🏙

Synopsis: Cutesy little smau where you and luke go to New York!!!

a/n: yeah back on the smau train what about it!!! No warnings um yeah just pretend that the og cast of Hamilton is still on broadway and also some clarisse x reader sprinkled in cause duh

y.n/y.n tagged lukecastellan_ in a post

liked by wise.girl and others

y/n.y/n History is happening in manhattan….☆

lukecastellan_: and we just happen to be….

y/n.y/n: IN THE GREATEST CITY IN THE WORLD!!

c.larue: ew

lukecastellan_: 😘😘

c.larue: Y/N GET YOUR FUCKING DOG⁉️

y/n.y/n: he don’t bite

seaweedbrain: your neck says otherwise

y/n.y/n: can you not

c.larue: 🤢🤢🤢

lukecastellan added to their story

best view in the city . @y/n.y/n

y/n.y/n replied 🫶🫶🫶

♪ Feels Like by Gracie Abrams

liked by lvrgrl and others

y/n.y/n day 2 with my boy <333

lukecastellan_: 2/10 would not watch Hamilton again why does he look like my dad?

c.larue: womp womp

DIRECT MESSAGES

c.larue: I’m in your city you tryna link????

y/n.y/n: Clar wtf

c.larue: worth a shot

c.larue: but fr where are you staying let me 3rd wheel

c.larue added to their story

I hate happy couples 🤢

lukecastellan_ replied YOU ASKED TO COME?

c.larue: YEAH CAUSE YOUR GIRLFRIEND IS FINE??

y/n.y/n added to their story

MY FAV <33333 @c.larue

lukecastellan_ added to their story

third wheeling the third wheel wtf 😔

c.larue replied: womp WOMP!

#luv aubrey <33 #pjo series #smau #pjo smau #luke castellan x reader #luke pjo #clarisse pjo #charlie bushnell #dior goodjohn #percy jackson

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norrizzandpia · 1 year ago

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Masterlist 1

- Disclaimer! All of these have happy endings, I am not one for sad endings lol

- More works on Masterlist 2 which you can find the link to on the pinned post on my blog

Lando Norris:

Reckless Driving

When McLaren thinks its funny to put Y/n in a sports-car with her boyfriend and a set of question cards. Spoiler Alert: She doesn’t!

The Infamous Stream

When Max streams and the chat goes wild for Lando and Y/n’s sappy love.

I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You Pt. 2

What if love isn’t enough? What if the obstacles are too great and all the whirlwind romance ends up being is the right person, but wrong time?

Call Your Mom

Y/n’s struggle with mental health and the journey, accompanied by Lando and her best friends, she goes through in order to get better.

London Boy

In which she falls in love with a London boy as an American girl.

Flowers

After the Silverstone Grand Prix, Y/n wants to do something nice for her successful boyfriend, but she quickly finds out her kind gesture means a lot more to him than what she expected.

Used Pt. 2

A bet can do more harm than good.

She Doesn’t Know Who I Am Pt. 2

Lando’s in New York and no one knows who he is. Especially the girl who asks for his number.

Enemies To Lovers, Ya Know?

They’ve always hated each other. Always. Right?

Gentle

In which Y/n’s past is a little haunted, but Lando knows exactly how to make her understand that she is safe with him.

Spa

When a reality check causes Y/n to worry about him coming home to her every day for the rest of their lives.

The Softest Launch

He tried to be a secret, but the eyes never lie.

The Video Pt. 2

Y/n and Lando’s club dancing sends the F1 world into a frenzy.

Lando’s Biggest Fangirl Pt. 2 Pt. 3

His girlfriend. Lando’s biggest fangirl is his girlfriend.

I’m Sorry To Go

She’s not quite ready to have him leave just yet.

What Are You Doing Up?

She can’t go to sleep when he isn’t there.

Happy Birthday

It’s his favorite person’s birthday.

Lacy Pt. 2 (Oscar Ending) Pt. 2 (Lando Ending)

To the song “Lacy” by Olivia Rodrigo, that should be enough summarized.

I Love Your Body

It was the mirrors.

Boyfriend Lando

Where the chat goes crazy for Boyfriend Lando.

Longing Glances and Whispered Confessions Pt. 2

In which, in the darkness of the night, Lando Norris loves Y/n Fewtrell, only for the pain of their secrecy to plague them in the daylight.

Oscar Piastri:

*I also have another Oscar imagine under the Lando section. It is titled Lacy and has an Oscar ending, something you will see if you look at it. It is the second part to an imagine focused on reader loving Lando when he loves someone else. The Oscar ending was incredibly popular and one of my favorites to write! Hope you stumble across this and find that Lacy (Oscar’s Ending)*

Let Me Love You

A friendship where the lines are incredibly blurred is risky, but it’s even more risky to fall in love with a girl who won’t let anyone in romantically.

This Is About Oscar?! Pt. 2 Pt. 3

Y/n’s new song exposes a side of Oscar no one knew about.

I’ll Be The Fred To Your Daphne

He’ll always be the Fred to her Daphne, the peanut butter to her pb and j, and the salt to her pepper.

Best Friends To Benefits To Lovers

They’ve been dating for months after being the closest of friends for years. The question is, however, did they start out as best friends with benefits?

Hurt Me Once Pt. 2

In which they just miss the childhood best friends to lovers trope.

Let Me Help

She’s got a math test the next day and unfortunately, she can’t do math. However, her boyfriend can.

Loving You in the Shadows Pt. 2

They’ve been together for years. Well, they haven’t been together for years. Yet.

Cover It Up

That one piece of clothing was covering so much and Oscar just had to take it off.

She’s Missed You

In which Nicole and Chris welcome Oscar’s longtime girlfriend to live with them after he leaves, only to not tell him and have to update him when he shows up for a surprise visit.

Charles Leclerc:

Edits

When Carlos exposes Y/n watching edits of her boyfriend on Instagram. She’s incredibly embarrassed, but after an interesting conversation with the man himself, should she really be?

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tearueful · 11 months ago

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Play With Fire ( Homelander x Reader)

18+ for language, female (plus size♥) reader | You walk into an elevator with Homelander...💋 [AO3 Link] Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, AO3 Link

You can only stare at Ashley’s cold dismissal. Not Ashley Barrett, of course. You’re not high up enough to get personally fired by the CEO. Her assistant is the one doing it, also Ashley.

There were too many fucking Ashleys in this office.

Your head is buzzing and you can’t exactly focus on the words that spill out of her mouth. She has such a pleasant smile plastered on her lips. A fake, corporate smile as she tells you that as of today? You no longer work at Vought International. A job you had scraped and clawed for. Survived an unpaid internship in fucking New York City for, moonlighting as a waitress in a diner where patrons had sticky hands even for one such as you.

You stare at her, having no idea what words her placid smile makes. Something about turning your badge in at the front desk on your way out. That they’ve packed everything up at your desk already and it will show up to your house in two to four business days. An easier transition, she says. How kind.

Neatly packaging your existence away and shipping it off in the post as if it didn’t fucking matter. You blink and you’re already stalking out of the office. The dismissal had been clear. They had saved it for when you normally would be packing up for the day. Less drama. Always better to fire someone on a Friday afternoon. Not many witnesses. At least you can slink out with some scraps of your dignity. Before you realize it, you’re fast walking through the hallway to the elevator lobby. All your mind can focus on is getting in that elevator and escaping this fucked up place. That is your one goal as your insides churn with bitter anger and your brain buzzes.

Your rage is impotent, with no outlet. What could you even do? Nothing against Vought. Not with their airtight security. You knew how Vought paid everyone and anyone off to make undesirables vanish. How they mopped up the ‘accidents’ of their precious supe products. How your firing was another one of those casualties, dismissed at a whim of the Seven. You knew specifically who. That star-spangled blonde bastard. One typo led to one tantrum from the supe and you had to suffer for it.

Rage pushes your feet to move a little quicker as you spot the open elevator doors. Someone must have just exited, you see the retreating forms of a handful of people down the opposite end of the hall. Perfect, except those doors are closing and you’re too impatient to wait in the lobby a moment longer.

At the sight of the closing elevator doors, your feet pick up their pace. You can’t stay in this building a moment long, not in this hallway with the chance of spotting anyone you know who may recognize the set of your face as something amiss.. Some of them know you well enough to know that would mean something’s wrong, or they knew the bad news before you. That gives you the motivation to snap a hand out to stop those closing doors, praying it’s empty so you can take a breath alone. You need it.You deserve it. It’s the least the universe can do for you at this moment. The universe is not kind today.

The doors stop at the presence of your hand while you slip through the opening. Your regret is almost instantaneous as you step into the re-opening doors because there stood Homelander.

Fucking Homelander in his stupid suit, looking all the world like Uncle Sam shat out the perfect Boyscout. Except, you know far better. There was a monster in that human suit.

He looks ever the caged predator within the confines of the enclosed metal space, wholly uninterested in you. There’s only the briefest of glances your way before his attention is back on the elevator’s LED number display. Oh, but you hate him. Stuffed up supe, high on his own importance.

You’d seen him about the office, from a distance. A wolf among doting sheep, bleating for his attention. How did anyone dare to get close when he flashed those canines? You should flee, but the elevator doors click behind you with a finality. No, fuck it. Fuck him. You don’t care. All you care about is getting out of this shit hole and this elevator ride will be your last here. One way or another. The white hot rage is back to roiling in your gut and you feel as if you’d choke on it.

Homelander’s cold blue gaze flickers over you once more as you stew, taking you all in within an instant. Your badge and your name. Another useless Vought employee, a wriggling worm at his feet. The Hero Management Department by the logo on your badge, but he’s never noticed you. No wonder. You’re too short. Someone who could get lost in a crowd. His lips turn up in a cruel sneer. Fat, too. A pudgy, little grub. At least you’re dressed well. You need to be if you work here. Almost demure in that dress that must have cost half your pathetic paycheck. He wants to be disgusted by you, but you meet his eyes. People rarely did that. There’s fire burning in those wide eyes. A defiance he’s not used to seeing often. Especially not from something as breakable as you. It gives Homelander pause. He’s puzzled. That sort of volatile hatred was usually reserved for dear William, but you? It was almost comical seeing such a delicate thing like you sparking with it. You looked like a little firecracker about to go off and Homelander wonders what sorts of sparks you’d show.

Your expression was utterly, almost eerily calm yet he could feel the rage rolling off of you, it was a palpable taste on his tongue. An almost bitter tang that made Homelander reflexively lick his lips. That gets your attention. Previously, you’d let your eyes dart around the elevator in your unrest. Now your eyes fixate on the flick of Homelander’s tongue while the wheels within your brain begin to whirl. What is the stupidest thing you could do on your last day at Vought? Something reckless and impulsive. Suicidal even.

He watches you with interest now that you’re daring to meet his gaze, scrutinizing this little mortal confined in the elevator with him with anger steaming off your body. Normally, Vought employees fawned over him while reeking of fear. They cowered and all but tried to tongue his taint in their need to appease him and soothe Homelander’s volatile moods. Yet here you were, looking as much like a caged animal within the confines of the elevator as he felt most of the time.

Homelander senses the shift in you, from anger to something else. He can’t pinpoint it, not yet. Not with how the adrenaline pumps through your veins as you fix your eyes on his face, a heady perfume if there ever was one. It’s a little like prey backed into a corner, finally deciding fight over flight. Homelander doesn’t fear you or any possible outburst you could throw his way. How could he? He’s a god and you’re an ant. Still, he’s curious as to what you’ll do. Homelander can see the tension in your body, how your muscles coil before a pounce.

You weren’t quick, by any means. Homelander could have deflected you with his pinky finger, but the determination in your eyes kept him still. What were you even planning to do to him, of all people? Seeing you unleashing your anger on him would amuse the supe. Give him a valid reason to crush your fragile skull in his fist with a satisfying wet crunch. Yet, you surprised him. All that anger and vitriol boiling over shifted into something else entirely, but it still burns. It burns so much that you need to let it out. Which you do, by pressing your lips against Homelander’s. It’s pure impulse and oh so reckless. He’s killed people for lesser slights but you don’t care. Not in that moment. You want this, maybe even need it. Need to vent out all your frustration on the man who caused all this in the first place.

So you dig your nails into the leather fabric of Homelander’s suit, having to get up on your toes to press your lips against his own.

They’re surprisingly soft, Homelander’s lips. You hadn’t expected it. A contrast to the lack of give against his body because leaning into Homelander is like leaning into a brick wall. Unmovable. The only give is from his lips and you suspect that’s because you took the supe by surprise.

The audacity of this little bug!

Homelander’s eyes are wide, shocked even at your brazen act. Staring down at this impertinent little human daring to touch him.There’s a desperation in your act, in how your face is still twisted up in rage and confusion but softening as you stubbornly keep your lips moving against his own.

Still so curious.

He lets you kiss him, even goes as far to settle into the kiss himself. He can’t help it. Softness was a rare thing for him to feel and you really are oh so soft against him. Pliable and willing now that you’ve settled into properly kissing him. You’re not bad at this either, knowing exactly what sort of coaxing pressure to give him while teasing Homelander into giving back more.

So he does.

Homelander hooks you in the steel grip of one hand, fingers digging into your waist and he finds you yielding. Soft and giving as your lips. He should have expected that given your size, but he finds that he likes it. He can dig his fingers in a little deeper with no fear of snapping ribs with the slightest of pressure.

Homelander is kissing you back. Fucking Homelander! You half expected to get thrown across the elevator shaft for your action, but he was almost holding you gently. Almost. This close you can feel the restrained power of him that all but hums through the supe’s body. It should frighten you, but it’s thrilling having a monster yield so readily to you of all people.

You need something to ground yourself because this can't be real! You grab for Homelander's hair, sliding your fingers through it. Idly, you muse at the softness. It wasn't gelled and hard to the touch as you expected. Leave-in conditioner, that must be it. The thought makes you smile into the kiss, tightening your hold on Homelander's hair with a playful tug to coax his mouth closer.

You don’t expect the needy moan Homelander releases against your lips at the gentle tug. Would have never expected such a sound from a man like him. You greedily swallow it up, using it to your advantage to slide your tongue over his lips. They part under the pressure and then you’re kissing Homelander deeper. This is far from an innocent, impulsive act now. He’s meeting your fire, consumed by the flames as much as you are. More so because now Homelander seems intent on devouring you as he fits his lips to yours, bruising them while his tongue slides slick over your own within your mouth. He growls. Homelander fucking growls into the kiss and you feel that tremor down to your toes, arousal a white hot flash through your system. Thus it really can’t be helped when you mold your curves into the hard lines of his body, fingernails scraping at Homelander’s scalp while you try to taste every corner of his mouth. His free hand even comes up to take an ample handful of your ass as he pulls you flush against him properly, and is that- Holy fuck.

The chime of the elevator hitting the ground floor snaps you both out of the moment. You jerk apart and even in his surprise, Homelander’s grip is loose enough for you to step away safely. You stare up at him a beat, taking in Homelander’s flushed features and how he pants.

You did that. You did that to the most powerful supe of the Seven, possibly the most powerful supe in the world. Smug satisfaction settles on your shoulders for a moment.

You can see the rage building in his eyes, disgust twisting up Homelander’s features and there’s even the glaring threat of red sparking in his gaze. Holy shit. Your heart squeezes as the smugness shifts to the instinct to survive. It’s time to flee or die.

Homelander sneers at you and you know he’s about to say something scathing to put you in your place before he obliterates you. Instead of cowering, you flash him a thousand watt smile. The sort you’ve employed on dates with hapless men to get them giving dopey grins right back to you. It works well enough.

He blinks, the red glare vanishing from his eyes. People in this tower never smile at Homelander like that. Another surprise. You exit stage left before he recovers, almost running into someone on your way out of the elevator. It’s Ashley. CEO Ashley this time, with tablet in hand.

Her gaze flicks up from the screen as she gives a little start before suspicion tinges her features. “Weren’t you fired?” She whispers the words under her breath, brushing past you before stiffening up at the sight of the supe still within the elevator. “Homelander! There you are!” She chirps out with faux cheerfulness and a dead smile. “I’ve got fantastic news on your latest numbers!” That gives you enough time to slip away, with Ashley crowding up to Homelander eagerly to stroke his ego so he’s kept calm for another day and no one dies. You certainly didn’t die. Personally, you think the supe’s mind will be occupied by other things today. You turn your badge in at security’s front desk with a self satisfied smirk.

For his part, Homelander silently steps out of the elevator with eyes fixed on your retreating frame. He doesn’t register Ashley’s yammering as she tries to tell him the good news about a ten point boost. No, Homelander’s mind is too busy contemplating what he will do to you. Little bugs like you can’t get away with taunting gods.

A wide, shark-like grin spreads Homelander's lips now that he has revenge on his mind. He snaps his attention to Ashley, voice sharp as Homelander lifts a finger in her face for silence “Ashley. That woman. Give me her name, now.”

#Homelander x Reader #The Boys #fanfic #Homelander #homelander fanfiction #the boys fanfic #drabble #gods help me I wrote a thing #Ash writes

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house-of-lovin · 2 years ago

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legally binded - 3

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. ♣ prev part | next part

Chapter 3: Movie Premieres, SNL and Quarrels

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: dual!pov, famous!reader, actress!reader, mentions of hard substances, intoxication, mature language, real people (do not read if any of these makes you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: Otherwise known as the One in New York. What do you guys think about R and Jenna's dynamic so far? 👀 (taking a break for a few days/maybe a week after I post this, I think I've kept you all fed for a bit while I'm gone lol, in the meantime, send asks I'll try to answer all of them!😋)

Word Count: 6.4k+

“You get on that plane and I’ll drop you as a client.” Jake’s voice rings out from your work phone.

“What the fuck, Jake, are you serious?!” You seethe, practically red in the face.

You have been on the phone with Jake for the last hour – Liv refuses to pick up your calls after you blew up the group chat, rehashing your argument with Jenna. Desperately pleading to fly back home because you couldn’t stand being in the same city as the actress, at the moment.

You couldn't even think about her words without it making your blood boil.

“Fuck yeah, I’m serious. Do you know what time it is here?”

Glancing at the clock it read 3:46 A.M. EST, you roll your eyes. “It’s just past midnight in L.A. You won’t die if you don’t get eight hours of sleep.”

“Be quiet. I don’t wanna hear another word from you.” He nearly shouts and you imagine that one vein popping through his forehead. You liked to stare at it when Jake goes off on his shouting tangents at you.

He never notices that you're not paying attention.

“Maybe we should get Liv on the phone or maybe Sarah?” Link glances at you worriedly.

He hates seeing you so riled up, so he often played the middle-man with your quarrels against Jake and Liv.

“Liv says she doesn’t wanna hear it. Sarah says forget it and I’m saying, I’m not fucking around this time Y/N, this is your last chance. I’m over your shit.” He hangs up the phone, leaving the line dead.

You jump face-first into the stiff bed, groaning loudly.

“Looks like you’re outta luck.” He pats you back, leaving you to sulk alone as he shuts the door. “Try to get some sleep.”

There was no way you ended up in this situation.

You guess, it was fair to acknowledge your recent streak of bad behaviour. First, it was tame — ignoring your phone, running away to party, getting mixed in the wrong crowds – eventually, Link had to start dragging you out of bed by the legs (sometimes kicking and screaming) just to make it in time for a gig.

You’re not sure when all of this started. All you knew is that you were so tired. You just wanted one second to breathe; to feel like that young child again, with hopes and dreams. But no, someone was always hovering over your shoulder ready to drag you away to another event you could care less about.

You close your eyes, allowing the jetlag and exhaustion to set in as your body moulds into the mattress.

–

The next day, you find yourself standing in front of Jenna’s hotel room. The large double door looks menacing and faintly, you can already hear a bustle on the other side. You really didn’t want to knock but you know what was on the line so you swallow your pride and raise a fist to knock.

But before you can knock, the door is opening revealing a girl, with dirty blonde hair bearing a semblance to a certain actress. “Oh, hi!”

“Hello.” You greet warmly.

“I’m Aliyah. Jenna’s younger sister.” She holds her free hand out.

You shake her hand, “Nice to meet you, I’m–”

“I know who you are.” She smiled then laughed, “Everyone knows who you are.”

You chuckled, shyly nodding. “I guess.”

“Are you two done?” Jenna suddenly appears, yanking the door wider so you can see her. Her makeup complements her well; the green bustier two-piece looked expertly crafted just for her; and the way her hair fell in soft waves framed her face nicely.

“Hi…” You say a little vacant-sounding.

You don’t say anything else.

From the corner of your eye, you see her sister’s raised brow but you think you’re imagining it because you can’t keep your gaze off of Jenna. The actress raises her brow at you, impatient.

“What did you need?” She asks.

“Uh—I wanted to talk, about last night."

Jenna watches you momentarily before rolling her eyes; pulling you inside with a rough yank. “Get inside before someone sees you — Aliyah close the door.”

You stumble, still a little dazed but the smaller girl’s nails are gripping your arm painfully making you snap out of it.

“Ow, ow, ow.” You whisper, not inattentive to the multiple people scattered around the large room.

“Guys, this is Y/N.” She ignored your complaints and pulled you past the foyer into the living room – her entire team had taken refuge in the room to get the star ready for a day of press interviews.

Various echoes of your name and greetings are sent back to you but you certainly don’t miss the awkward tension in the room started by your sudden presence.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I can just go.” You point behind you.

“Nonsense.” An older woman that looked kinda like the actress waves off. “It’s great to have you here, Miss L/N. Jenna was just talking about you.”

“Oh please, just Y/N is fine.” Shaking your head bashfully, briefly wondering what she could be telling her family and team about what kind of person you are.

“I’m Jenna’s mom. That’s her dad, her other sister Mia, and her brother Markus.” She points and you try to keep up with the names of the people she’s throwing at you; Jenna’s family and team included.

“It’s so great to meet you all. It’s not hard to see that Jenna is so loved.” You say sincerely.

“We try our best.” Her dad says looking appreciative of your words. You smile at everyone and it seems to ease a bit of the tension in the room.

You didn’t see Jenna rolling her eyes again (her favourite to do around you) disregarding the encounter; she hides the surprise she feels from your genuine compliment.

Last night's argument with you, still burning in her brain.

“What did you want to say?" She says a little bluntly.

Watching as everyone turns to go back to what they were doing, you look down at Jenna. “Um… I wanted to apologize for last night. And call a truce, maybe over dinner?

She looks surprised not expecting you to be the first one to give in. “Oh…”

“Yeah…”

“I appreciate it.” Jenna cuts in, “I’m sorry too… a truce sounds good. Sarah got mad at me too, for what it's worth. She even said I was whining.”

Jenna jokes, dropping her walls a bit.

You rub a hand on the back of your neck, chuckling, “Good to know.”

“I can’t do dinner though.” She shuts her eyes as if remembering something.

“Oh, that’s okay. Maybe another time.”

“Or maybe… you can be my date to the Scream cast dinner?” She offers, looking a little hopeful.

“Are you sure?” You chew your lip. Ignoring the word date.

“Yeah! Totally, you can meet everyone, it’ll be great. Not to throw anyone under the bus but they’ve been trying to meet you.” She says sheepishly.

You laugh, dropping your walls just a tad. “Sure I’ll be there.”

She smiles warmly, satisfied with your answer. “Yeah, it’ll be great. I guarantee there’ll be paparazzi, so it’ll be good for publicity. They’ve been hounding me since I landed, my dad nearly pushed a guy in the airport. I couldn’t even walk to the door by myself at the SNL dinner cast party.”

You lose a bit of the smile but Jenna doesn’t see, laughing at her memory of the paparazzi. You blink around, making sure no one saw you, it might give them the wrong idea. “Uh, yeah sure. I’m good with whatever.”

“Okay, cool.” She shoots a thumb up, walking away from you. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Mhmm.” You smile, waving goodbye to everyone and booting it out the door.

Unsure where the tension in your chest is coming from you swiftly walk to the elevator; aggressively tapping the button as if the elevator would come faster that way. And practically throwing yourself in the metal box as soon as it opens.

You miss the entire pandemonium that implodes in the room when you leave.

“Holy shit?” Mia exclaims.

“Language.” Her mom chastises.

“No, holy shit, indeed. Jenna oh my god what did you do to that poor girl?” Aliyah walks past Jenna to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

“What are you talking about?” She looks at her sisters confused.

Mia’s rolling her eyes, standing up from the couch. “Did you not see the way she was looking at you?”

“No? How was she looking at me?” She turns to her mom who had a hint of a smile on her lips as if she knew something. Jenna was starting to feel left out.

“She likes you, Jen.” Her brother speaks up, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

“What? You guys are crazy. We barely know each other.” Jenna starts shaking her head furiously, turning to Enrique, her stylist and close friend. “Enrique, tell them they’re being crazy.”

But he shrugs, sharing that same Cheshire grin her mom had. “God, not you too.” She clamps her eyes shut with her hands.

“Hey! Watch the eyes!” Her makeup artist warns.

“Dad?” She drops her hands, pleading at the silent man, who, she knows is listening. Why do Dads do that thing where they let everyone argue, only stepping in when the Mom asks for backup.

He remains in character – staying silent.

“You guys don’t know what you’re talking about. She was literally here for five seconds. How could you possibly think she likes me from that.” Jenna turns to everyone else.

“I don’t know, Jen. The eyes never lie.” Mia says, privy to the way your smile fell when Jenna mentioned being spotted for publicity tonight.

“I’m– I’m late for interviews, I need to go,” Jenna mutters, grabbing her purse and walking to the door.

–

“This is gonna blow up.” Your producer says from beside you.

“I don’t know. I still think it’s missing something.” You sigh, sliding the headphones off as you slump onto the plush leather seats.

You sneaked off to the studio not too far from the hotel in lower Manhattan. See you would have told Link or anyone really, but you were trying to be discreet. And Link is one ‘ol snitch and the personal fun police.

It seems after your fight with Jenna, Jake and Liv put you under strict instructions not to leave the hotel unless accompanied by someone from your team.

You’re not a fucking child. You don’t need a babysitter. So here you are, with your producer in the studio trying to record this damn song you’ve been stuck on for three months.

“Maybe it’s time to scrap the song then.” He offers. “It’s never gonna be done before Coachella.”

Immediately you are shaking your head. No, this song is special, you can feel it. If only you can get your head out of your own ass long enough to find the damn words.

“No, just– just put it on hold. Let’s work on something else.”

He sighs, clicking the screen to pull up another file. “Your call.”

The buzzing of your phone against the wooden table echoes into the silence that grew as you waited. “Ah fuck.”

Reaching over, you grab the phone and are bombarded by a flurry of texts and missed calls.

Some from Jenna, some from your bodyguard and driver, most from Link.

Jenna’s is the first one you click.

The phone rings three times before it gets picked up. Muffled, loud voices are all you hear at first before she eventually speaks up, “Hello?”

“Hey, I am so–”

“Where the hell are you? You’re ten minutes late. We’re all waiting for you.” Her tone is sharp and snipped.

You had fucked up.

“Fuck… I’m sorry, I’ll be right there– there was…. uh.” You stand, gathering your jacket and silently bidding your producer goodbye as he looks on confused. “There was a lot of traffic. I am so sorry, I’m trying to make it as fast as I can.”

She sighs through the phone, “It’s…fine. Just get here as soon as you can, please.”

A little white lie never killed anybody.

You make it to the restaurant in record time. Pushing through the paparazzi camping outside the restaurant doors. Do they have no shame? Clearly not as they shout Jenna’s name at you; asking if you were there to see her, trying to get their piece of the scoop. Thankfully, the security guard had seen you and personally ushered you to the cast‘s table. Someone must have informed them that you were coming.

You’re still blinking away the spots in your vision from the camera flashes when you feel an arm pulling you down to sit.

“What took you so long?”Jenna asked assertively, scanning you.

“I told you. Traffic.” You plaster a smile at all the eyes on you, subtly shrugging Jenna’s arm off yours with a little bit of attitude.

You don’t miss her clenched jaw. Plastering a smile in front of her costars who were trying their best not to gawk at you. "Well, where were you then? No one could get a hold of you, we were worried."

You tried your hardest to school your genuine surprise at her worry. "Sorry. I was working. My phone was off."

“Hi! I’m Melissa, it’s so nice to meet you, I’m a big fan.” A brunette extends her hand from across the long table – interrupting Jenna before she can say anything else.

You make the usual greetings, introducing yourself to Jenna’s costars and colleagues. You felt a bit like a trophy wife if you were being honest. Like eye candy on her arm, serving only to make her look good. Upon that realization, you feel a little flushed. You’re not sure why, that is the whole point of this whole thing.

Her castmates have been sending you two knowing eyes over dinner — giving Jenna inconspicuous smirks and smug grins as if you couldn’t see. You keep your head down after the pleasantries are over and the main courses are brought out.

Grateful, you don’t have to talk about your upcoming projects any longer.

“What’s wrong?” You nudge her elbow, noticing how she was pushing away some pieces of food on her plate.

“I don’t like apples.” She mutters.

You can’t fight the smile that creeps on your lips but you don’t tease. “Just push them off to the side and I’ll eat it.”

She looks at you. “You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.” You shrug taking a sip of your wine.

“That doesn’t gross you out or anything? I know some people are weird about that sort of thing.” Jenna explains.

“Dude, I’ll eat your apples, chill.” You laugh.

“Okay, thanks…” She mumbles, still looking at you but you turn, talking to Mason and his girlfriend.

Jenna feels a nudge on her side. “What?”

“You two are cute.” Jasmin smirks. “And Y/N L/N? Not a bad catch at all.”

“Stop.” Jenna blushes. Unsure if she feels uncomfortable that some of her close and respected friends believe this lie so easily.

–

“Hey, give them some space!” The security guard shouts as the paparazzi come rushing toward the door as soon as the cast steps out.

You were standing in the lobby waiting for Jenna. “Shit…” You hear her mutter, watching as she searches for something in her bag.

“What’s up?” You ask.

“I forgot my sunglasses in my room. The flashes hurt my eyes.” She frowns. Wordlessly, you fish the pair you stashed in your jacket.

“Here, wear mine.” You hold the glasses out, watching as she just stares at it. Rolling your eyes, you push it toward her. “Dude, just take it.”

“Thanks…” She mumbles, sliding them up her hair.

You walk ahead of her, holding the door open as everyone trickles out. You’re regretting giving Jenna your only sunglasses cause the flashes are bright and it’s making your eyes water.

“Go ahead,” You usher, only leaving once everyone’s gone ahead of you. You trail behind ignoring the various men with large cameras chasing you as you walk down the sidewalk.

“Y/N over here, please! Just one photo.”

“Y/N, just one photo of you and Jenna, please!”

“What do you have to say about Vegas?”

You ignore them keeping your head down trying not to fall behind.

“Where’s Y/N?” You hear over the sea of nameless faces.

“Right here.” You say, sliding in beside her.

You miss the subtle sigh of relief she lets out.

“You can’t just walk behind everyone like that.” She grits, frustratedly.

"I tried to keep up." You mumbled like a scolded husband.

The shouting increases when you stand beside one another; practically rendering you blind with all the flashes. “Dammit.”

You place an hand on her back, pushing her forward. “Put on the sunglasses and walk.”

“Y/N, please over here. Jenna!” The shouting is constant and blurs altogether all at the same time.

“Ow.” You feel Jenna tumble when someone bumps her side causing her to bump harshly against you. Firmly, you grab her arm to preventing her from falling and pushed back against the crowd to check on her.

“Are you okay?” you ask worriedly as she fixes the lopsided glasses. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Hey. Watch it–” You grit at the closest person holding a camera. “It wasn’t me.”

The man insists, still shamelessly snapping flashes directly into your face and you begin to grow angry, slapping the camera out of his hands. “I said fucking watch it, asshole.”

You glare for a brief moment as the shouting gets impossibly louder. Knowing if you didn’t pull Jenna out of this, chaos would ensue. You link hands and drag her through the crowd, briskly walking to her castmates who shared looks of concern.

“Are you okay?” You ask, still walking but now barricaded by security and her friends.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I promise.” She squeezes your hand but then sighs, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

You scoff, “Are you serious? That guy pushed you.”

“It was an accident and you kinda overreacted.” She whispers lowly.

You clench your jaw, dropping her hand — Not wanting to blow up in front of her colleagues, you walk swiftly ahead.

You don’t talk even when you are both side-by-side being driven back to the hotel. Her driver has the partition up halfway but you see the nosy glances he keeps making at the rearview mirror as you and Jenna sit in silence; acutely aware to the growing tension between you and the actress.

You refuse to speak, just looking out the window as other cars pass by on the street.

“Are you done ignoring me now?” She speaks up but you still don’t want to talk. “Seriously?”

“Y/N all he did was push me. A little shove, that’s all. I’m okay. What’s not okay is the phone call you know we’re going to get from Liv and Sarah about that guy’s camera.”

“He deserved it.” You mumble through the palm holding your head up.

“I’m not saying he didn’t but you can’t just be aggressive to paparazzi like that. It’s exactly what they want.” She reasons, turning to you. Hoping you’ll finally look at her.

“I know…”

“Look at me, please?” She places a hand on your arm.

You turn, keeping your face impassive.

She sends you a shy smile then laughed. “I mean it though, thank you for having my back. My Dad is gonna think this whole thing is hilarious.”

“Why?” You can’t help but join in.

“He’s a cop, so he’s a little protective. He’s been waiting to shove away a pap for the longest time. He’s gonna be so mad you beat him to it.”

You laugh imagining her father’s reaction.

–

“You haven’t seen Scream? Not even the original?” Jenna turns bewildered like it was the most blasphemous thing she’s ever heard. You were in her hotel suite, watching movies. For some reason, Jenna invited you over to her room after being dropped off at the hotel. “How? You’re an actress.”

You couldn’t think of a good reason to say no so you accepted.

“Yeah, sorry. Jeez. Way to sound like a film snob. I didn’t know there was a checklist of movies to watch before becoming an actor.” You snort reaching for more popcorn from the bowl beside you.

��Shut up.” She hits you with the remote. “How have you not seen any of the Scream movies? You’re literally going to my premiere tomorrow.”

You hold up your hands in surrender, throwing a couple of kernels in your mouth. “Sorry, they’re not really my cup of tea.”

She rolls her eyes, snatching some popcorn from your hand, ignoring your protests. “Oh sorry, I forgot we have an action star in our midst.”

It was your turn to hit her arm, “Shut it. I just mean… I haven’t found the time to sit and watch them. They’re not exactly short films.”

“You’re in the MCU and Dune. Don’t talk to me about long movies.”

“Touché…” You can’t beat her there. They are ridiculously long movies. Probably why you’ve only ever seen them during premiere night and never again. “Well, put one on then. Let’s see what all the hype is about.”

She grins scrambling for the remote. “You’re on.”

You wait for her to pull up the Scream catalogue, chuckling at her visible excitement.

“Hey, why did you become an actress? and singer while we’re at it, Miss Grammy winner.” She nudges your shoulder.

You snort, shoving her lazily. “Shut up… Do you want the press interview answer or the real one?”

She raises a brow, immediately deciding. “The real one.”

You nod, feeling like she would say that.

“My mom... She was a rising star in the 80s but something happened and she never got to live out her dreams. When she had me she put me through all of the arts. I bumped and failed with most of them but acting and singing kinda stuck… I guess she saw those were the only two things I could stand so she pushed and pushed, it led to Jake discovering me and here we are.”

Jenna stays silent processing your story, she doesn’t miss the slight solemness your tone had taken. "Why do I feel like there's more to it than that?"

You chuckle, licking your lips. "Caught me... it's why I don't talk to my parents anymore."

"Oh..."

"Yeah. As soon as I turned eighteen I cut ties with them. She got too controlling, wanting money, wanting autonomy over my career so I took Link with me and moved to L.A. and did it on my own. I think... at some point acting became a spite thing with me because of her.

“Spite?” Jenna asks?

“Yeah… it was all I’ve ever known for a long time until I started making music. Probably the only time I’ve ever felt sure about a decision.”

"Oh..." Jenna finds herself saying again.

"Uh–sorry. I didn't mean to make it weird. We can just forget about it." You curl into yourself, tugging the blanket to your lap.

Jenna blinks, feeling dumb that she's made you think her silence is a bad thing.

"No..." She grabs your wrist. "Thank you for sharing with me."

You look into her eyes, feeling a bit small at her kind eyes. You know it's not out of pity but you couldn't help but want to close up again.

Pulling your hand away from her grip, you cough. "Of course, we're friends now."

"Oh, are we?" Jenna ignores the drop in her chest when you pulled away like that. “Okay, what’s the press answer then?”

“That I watched the movie Cabaret when I was younger and wanted to be like Liza Minelli.” You admit.

Jenna scoffs, “That’s literally my answer.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah except, it’s Dakota Fanning in Man on Fire.”

You chuckle, “doesn’t Denzel die in that one?”

“Yeah and what about it?” She raised a brow.

"But see, don’t fight it we’re meant to be friends... we even share the same answer."

"Shut up, dummy. Every actor has some sort of answer like that.”

Eventually, the two of you start a marathon of the Scream franchise. Which in hindsight, is kind of a bad idea seeing as it was way past midnight and the other actress still has a long week ahead of her. It seems like the events of the day catch up to her cause you feel a head slipping on your shoulder; distracting your focus halfway through Scream 3.

Jenna had fallen asleep with her head on your shoulder. You fight the urge to tense up not wanting to wake her up. She looked like she needed the rest and you relate more than anyone to her exhaustion.

“Jenna…” You lightly tap, “You fell asleep, you need to go to bed.”

She grumbles, whining in her slumber. You feels your cheeks warm when she unconsciously moves to snuggle closer to you, throwing an arm over your waist.

Fuck.

Really?

God, I am not your strongest soldier.

“Jen, seriously. Wake up.” You shake her arm.

“What?” She complains, her words muffled by your collarbone.

“You need to go to bed.”

The feeling of her soft lashes brushing against the material of your shirt as she blinks sends a shiver down your spine. “Oh…”

Jenna mumbles mortified. Quickly pushing herself off of you, unable to look you in the eyes. “Sorry.”

You don't mention how she might have punched your stomach and that you were desperately trying not to cough.

“S’okay…” You shake your head softly. You couldn't help but notice the way her hair fell over her eyes messily.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asks once she regains her senses, waking up from her short slumber.

Something tells Jenna she won’t be sleeping with how fast her heart is pounding; uncertain as to where her sudden anxiety is coming from.

“Yeah… I’ll be waiting for you inside.” You stand gathering your belongings.

“Wait, you’re not walking the carpet with me?” Jenna pulled a face.

You raise a brow, “No? At least, I wasn't told I had to. They just said I had to show up.”

“Oh… okay.” She nods then sighed, long and profound.

You continue to raise a brow but don’t say anything. Not wanting to push her. You remember the last time you guys fought and are immediately turned off. No thanks, not trying to open that can of worms.

“Okay. Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” She leans against the door.

Her premiere is a success. After borderline shoving you inside a tinted Cadillac, Link brushes your vintage Prada gown down; making sure you are in tip-top movie-star shape. You don’t walk the carpet, instead heading straight inside – making headlines.

Your every damn move is a headline these days.

Silently thanking whatever God was out there that you didn’t because the way your jaw dropped when you see Jenna was downright embarrassing. Your reaction would surely have been a running piece if cameras were around.

Your managers would love it though.

Link had to forcefully elbow your side as Jenna walks up to greet you.

“Wow…” You manage to say. “You look stunning Jenna.”

Jenna was glad for the dim lights in the theatre, “Thanks.” She blushes, casting her eyes down.

“You look great too.” She scans you up and down, suddenly feeling warm under her gape.

Maybe it was the way her makeup is done or the deconstructed tuxedo for a dress that she had on tonight but she looked more mature, intimidating? Like she could throw you around a little and you’d just gladly ask her to do it again.

Wait, what?

“Thanks… Link and I should head to our seats but I just wanted to congratulate you. This is seriously amazing.” You express sincerely.

Jenna flushes more, waving you off with a huff and a lazy hand. “Please.”

“Seriously!”

Link coughs loudly, interrupting the bubble you and Jenna found yourselves in. “Okay, someone’s a little impatient. We better go.”

A hand reaches out, grabbing you. “Do you wanna, maybe, I don’t know. Sit beside me?”

You turn, surprised. “Oh? What about Enrique?” You glance at her stylist standing just behind her pretending like he wasn’t listening; fiddling on his phone.

“I’m sure he won’t mind switching to sit with Link, right Enrique?” She turns, asking her friend.

He grins widely, “Nope. All good with me!”

“Perfect!” She smiles at you, still grabbing your arm.

“We’ll be down there!” Jenna calls out to Link and Enrique linking your fingers out of nowhere as you walk to beside her costars.

You still don’t say anything when Jenna wraps herself around you when you make it to your seats, waving as people cheer with a large smile before pulling you to sit down.

Only then did she pull herself away, “sorry about that.”

“All good.” You mumble after realizing what happened; turning to face the large screen.

Perfect photo op.

“Hey is that sharpie on your dress?”

“Yes.” She sighs.

The rest of the night goes off without a hitch but you can’t stop the growing unpleasantness in your chest. You decide to brush it off and save face for Jenna’s night. Your sulking and feelings can wait in the privacy of your own four walls and definitely not at a high-profile movie premiere.

By the time you found yourself at the NBC building in a random dressing room at the SNL studio, waiting for Jenna’s monologue you forget all about it. You lay lazily on a stiff and most likely old couch, scrolling through your phone.

A knock on the door has you pulling off your headphones. “Come in.”

“Hey Y/N.” A head peaks in making you sit up briskly. “Aliyah, hey. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just uh– Jenna’s asking for you.” She sends a sheepish smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

“Oh,” Your head perks up. “Is she okay?” You question, following the smaller girl past hallways that all looked the same; trying not to bump into the various stagehands buzzing around.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s kinda freaking out, though and… we can’t get her to calm down.” You both stop at a closed door.

“Oh… why me?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“Uh… okay she didn’t exactly say you but I saw your episode and you were hilarious and who better to talk her down than someone who’s done it before.” She flashes a large grin before opening the door and shoving you inside.

The room is empty save for Jenna dressed in a short-legged suit. You force yourself to blink, reminding yourself that you are on a time crunch.

“Jenna.”

She snaps her head at your voice, and a noticeable tremble in her fingers is the first thing you see. “What–what are you doing here? I thought you’d be in your seat by now.”

“Your sister asked me to come.” You admit, walking forward.

“I’m fine. Go to your seat, I’ll see you after the show.” She turns her back to you, looking over sheets of paper with multi-coloured inked notes scribbled on every open space.

“Take a deep breath for me, Jenna.” You walk closer, slowly bringing the hand tightly clutching her notes down. The bones in her fingers relax as she drops the paper. She doesn’t say anything when you don’t disconnect your hands.

You find yourself standing much closer to her.

“Take a deep breath.” You repeat.

Jenna closes her eyes, inhaling a long, deep and audible breath in then out. She clutches your fingers as she does so, unconsciously leaning back against you to ground her bubbling anxiety.

She stays in your hold with her back against your chest: a death grip on your fingers. Your swipe a thumb over the skin of her hand. “It’ll be okay…”

“Thanks…” Jenna looks into your eyes, taking one last deep breath.

Briefly, you hold her gaze feeling tepid under the intense look in her eyes. You can’t tell what they're saying but for some reason, the way her dark pupils seemed softer under the fluorescent lights had you under a spell.

And for a fleeting second, you thought she was leaning in closer to you — eyes flickering to your lips.

“Don’t mention it.” You drop her hand immediately, taking wide steps back.

Not liking the way her eyes flickered down.

You don’t like what that could possibly mean.

Jenna’s turning rapidly, pretending not to notice as you take sizable steps away from her. “What did my sister say?”

You laugh, shoving your hands in your jacket. “That she liked my SNL episode and thought someone who’s done it before can talk you down.”

“Talk me down?” She scrunches her nose.

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” You shrug.

“Your episode was okay.” Jenna turns away to face a mirror, brushing away her bangs.

You take the bait, glad she wasn’t trembling anymore. “Okay? I got the whole cast to break, it’s considered a classic. It was nominated for an Emmy that year.”

“It didn’t win though.”

You scoff playfully, “I’m leaving. You clearly don’t need my help anymore.”

She laughs obnoxiously as you stomp out of her dressing room. “Wait.”

You stop just before you open the door. “Yeah?”

“Thank you… for talking me down.” She tucks a hair backs, a little shy.

The small smile creeping on your face is hard to subdue. “Don’t mention it. Now, go. You’re gonna kill it.” You wink, exiting the dressing room.

“She’s all good.” You tell her team.

“That’s it? She hasn’t calmed down all day, it takes you – what, five minutes?” Enrique crosses his arms. Jenna’s mom smirks, patting his back then walked past him and into the room as the rest of her family slowly trickled in; her sisters staring at you intensely.

“Uh sorry?” You blush furiously, walking off in the other direction to find your seat.

Jenna kills it, but that was never a surprise. You can tell she’s nervous throughout her monologue but after Fred Armisen does his bit – from beside you, which had been a pleasant surprise. She begins to grow confident, feeling pleased with your embarrassment when the camera pans to you and Fred.

You’d get her back for that. Making a mental note to cook up a special revenge plan, just for her.

Eventually, she falls into the role naturally. Nailing her punchlines perfectly, working the crowd like an expert, and exquisitely performing her skits. It’s a shock to you when you overhear someone behind you say she’s never done live stage work before.

She's so natural at it.

It's a privilege to watch her perform.

You nearly die when she changes into a red suit as she introduces the musical guest of the night.

Actually, you begin to slide off your seat when she comes out in a pinstripe suit — a reference to the Addams family you overheard in passing.

When credits roll and the ‘LIVE’ sign turns off. You remain in your seat. Unsure if you are just admiring her or if it’s ‘cause your legs no longer functioned. You can’t fight that admiration as it grows when you see how supportive her family is as they cheer her on and celebrate this win as one unit.

You smile, wishing you can relate. At least some people had that in their lives.

A part of you thinks it makes the whole world’s difference, having a support system like that. But you would never know.

Silently, you slip out the stage doors and back to the random dressing room you’ve decided to take refuge in.

You narrowly miss Jenna trying to find you through the masses; her smile dropping a bit when she realizes you’re gone.

–

You don’t get a chance to personally congratulate Jenna because Link was bursting into the dressing room — after complaining about trying to find you for ten minutes. Rambling on how you’re needed back in Los Angeles and there was no time to say goodbye.

When you catch the other actress it’s by pure stroke of luck. You're going through checkout at the hotel, waiting for Link to do all the work as you wait behind him.

You feel slightly guilty that you're just leaving without warning.

You should send Jenna a text, right? But would she even care if you left so suddenly? She did want you out of the city just a few days ago.

But then, you two literally just, might’ve, maybe, almost kissed/shared a moment in her dressing room, so who knows what you should do at this point.

You feel a migraine forming at the base of your skull, the longer you thought about the other actress.

“Y/N?” A voice breaks your self-deprecating thoughts. You turn to see Jenna with her team and family trailing beside her.

Jenna’s smile falls when she sees your bags. Her family walks ahead but you certainly don’t miss their curious eyes as she stops in front of you.

“Where are you going?” Her eyes keep flickering between you and your bags.

Link avoids her sharp, accusing eyes.

“Back to L.A. sorry I was just about to send you a text, actually.” You confessed, a little ashamed.

It felt like you got caught doing something you shouldn’t be doing… like when you lie to your long-time partner about the real reason why you want some time apart.

“A text?” She raises an unamused brow not liking your answer.

“Yeah, Jake wants me back in L.A. Uh– sorry, was I supposed to tell you?” You ask, a bit confused.

“Tell me?” She scoffs, face dropping. “Yeah, you’re supposed to tell me. I was going to invite you to dinner to celebrate with my family and the SNL cast tonight. But you weren’t even in the audience anymore by the time I finished.”

“Sorry… I thought you’d want to celebrate with your family.” You shrug lamely, torn between feeling guilty and confused at her reaction to the news of your sudden departure.

She made it feel like you were trying to escape.

“Well, I thought–”

She cuts herself off with a huff then looked back as her family waits for her by the elevator.

“Thought what?”

As if remembering she was still out in a very public setting, after hosting one of the most recognizable programs in America; Jenna blinks out of it. Shoving her feelings down.

“Nothing. Have a safe flight back to L.A. I’ll see you in a few days… or weeks” She mumbles with an edginess to her words, walking away before you can say anything else.

“Tough break, buddy.” Link pats a comforting hand on your shoulder as you were rendered speechless. Unsure if you should chase her down and apologize.

Damn can she walk fast in those heels.

But, why would you be apologizing for having to do your job?

But the way her brow creased like she was actually upset caused an unpleasant drop in your chest. Not enjoying how she was upset and that it seemed like it was all your fault. You? Nah. Maybe she’s still dealing with other stuff and is just taking it out on you.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“What. Just. Happened.” You turn, aggressively snatching your card from the hotel worker who definitely enjoyed the show.

“Are you blind?” He scoffs then walks away from you.

“What do you mean? Link… what do you mean?”

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ladykailitha · 23 days ago

Text

Icarus Part 25

Damn. I actually hate seeing that number up there. Because that means it's done. Eight months, twenty-five chapters, 52895 words, and one hell of a ride.

I'll start posting the sequel on Tuesday, and will post Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays until it's done. I hope to get it done before October's end. But that's not looking likely at the moment.

But once it's done, I will post the epilogue. This was actually written first and was a way for me to flesh out the band members. Then I just wanted to dive right in to writing the full story. A link to the original idea here.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

The rest of the American tour while it had its ups and downs was pretty much was uneventful. When Steve got back to Cali, he got some actual therapy from someone Gareth’s therapist, Dr. Sam Owens recommended to him. To not only deal with the abandonment issues left by his parents and Nancy but to help deal with the sudden onslaught of fame.

It was going well.

It was the therapist that had strongly recommended going on the vacation with his two best friends. That really helped put his life in perspective.

They were out celebrating Gareth’s one year of being sober and everyone had been invited. Jeff, Brian, and Eddie, of course. Even Vickie made it out. Dustin, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Ellie, Hopper, Robin, all the members of The Fallen, sans persona. Gareth had really become friends with all of them, yes even Steve. Gareth and Shane became really close. It was nice to see.

“Cheers!” Jeff said holding up their glasses of sparkling apple cider that they had all brought to share.

“Cheers!” the rest of them cried, clinking their glasses together.

They had rented out a nice surf and turf restaurant for the occasion and everyone was catching up. The owner was a friend of Jonathan’s, Argyle Rivera. He had gotten his start with a pizza food truck and it just exploded.

“So what did you and Mike decide to do?” Steve asked when there was a lull in the conversation. “I know you two weren’t sure the last time I was in Hawkins.”

Mike and Will shared a bashful look before Mike said, “I wrote a children’s book and Will illustrated it. We sent it out to a couple of different publishers so we’re just waiting to hear back.”

“That’s amazing!” Dustin cried. “You guys are going to be awesome.”

“Yeah,” Will said brightly. “I finally convinced Jonathan into going in to photography at the local community collage and he’s doing really well.”

“Nancy is going to school, too,” Mike said quietly, knowing how most of the group felt about his sister.

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? What is the once great Nancy Wheeler going to be studying?”

Mike perked up a little that someone had taken a interest in what he said. “She’s actually going into journalism. Especially to be a war corespondent. After everything rightfully fell apart after the incident with The Fallen and Corroded Coffin, she took a hard look at her life and decided she hated the person she had become. So she’s been in therapy and has gotten into her dream school of Emerson.”

“That’s good,” Steve said quietly. Robin gave his a hand gentle squeeze and he returned it with a grateful smile.

“What are doing next, Ellie?” Brian asked. “Designing more epic costumes for the rich and famous? I saw that dress you designed for Lupita Nyong’o for the premier of her new movie. That was a gorgeous shade of purple.”

Ellie’s face dimpled in the force of her wide, happy smile. “Something like that. I’m just glad the dress turned out so well. I’ll be heading back to New York, to stay this time. I got a job at a fashion house that I’m really excited for.”

“What about you and Dusty?” Lucas asked, tilting his head. “I thought things were going great.”

Both Dustin and Ellie share a blushing smile.

“We’re still together,” Dustin replied. “I’ll be in Boston and she’ll be in New York. We’ll going to try and make it work.”

Max nodded. “Long distance can suck, but if the other person is worth it you can make it work.” She nudged Lucas’s shoulder and he grinned back.

“So you didn’t get traded to Lakers like you wanted?” Gareth asked Lucas.

He shook his head. “Maybe next year. But in the mean time, Max has a couple interviews at Tony Hawk’s video game company as a mo-cap performer for the female characters in his games.”

Everyone oohed and ahhed and congratulated her.

“I don’t have the job yet,” she muttered, but happily soaked up the attention anyway.

Dustin turned to Steve and Robin. “When are you two going to do something with your lives?”

Eddie winced and Steve and Robin didn’t even have to glance at each other to be suddenly on the same wavelength of doom.

If this was an anime you would have have seen the dark waves behind their heads.

“We make good money doing what we do,” Robin said darkly. “Yeah, it’s a bit jack of all trades, but it’s fun. We’re never stuck doing the same thing. We get travel all over the world. We get to meet famous people and all the perks of fame with the drawbacks of having our privacy invaded on the regular.”

“Jack of all trades, but master of none,” Dustin said to be pedantic. “Don’t you guys want to do something specific, like a teacher or a doctor?”

Robin snorted. “No.”

Chrissy hand covered hers, and Robin gave her a squeeze back. She was fine, just annoyed.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “And I don’t why being a jack of all trades is bad thing. Focusing on one thing is great for the people who can do it, but I love the different jobs. Roadie one tour, PA another, then EMT the next. It’s great.”

Dustin frowned, stabbing his plate with his fork.

“My therapist says people are like plants,” Gareth said, “some people are trees and they grow up slowly. Some are bamboo and in the right environment shoot up super fast. But some people are like periwinkle and grow out sideways. Robin and Steve are like that. It’s still growth, just not the growth you want them to have.”

“I guess,” he huffed. He looked up at Steve. “Are you happy doing what you do?”

Steve and Eddie shared a glance. “Yes, for all its faults, I am very happy.”

He nodded and they went back to celebrating Gareth’s year of sobriety. But under the cover of the loud celebration and raucous laughter, Vickie and Simon chatted quietly to themselves.

Steve and Eddie lay on the bed in Eddie’s mansion curled up together after sex.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked Steve when he had curled up under his chin and held on tight.

“We were out celebrating,” he murmured, “and I couldn’t even tell them we were in a relationship.”

“Most of the people there already knew, babe,” Eddie murmured. But when Steve didn’t say anything it clicked. “You wanted to tell the kids. Especially after the bomb Mike dropped about Nancy moving on.”

Steve nodded.

Eddie scooted down the bed to look Steve in the eye. “Whatever you do or don’t tell them is entirely up to you I don’t care either way.”

“You don’t care that we’ll never get to go on dates or be seen holding hands or kissing?” Steve asked seriously.

Eddie shook his head. “Do you want to know why?”

“I guess,” Steve said with a half shrug.

“Because when I first got into the music business,” Eddie murmured, “I slept with anyone who would give a passing fancy.”

Steve looked up at him in confusion. “But I thought you already had a crush on me then?”

“I did,” Eddie confirmed. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart, do you know who’s partners get torn apart the most in celebrity relationships?”

Steve shook his head.

“Those with non-famous partners,” Eddie said. “If your partner is anything other than a C or B list celebrity when you’re an A-list, you get called out for ‘slumming it’ and their partners get called all sorts of nasty names, but especially ‘gold digger’. Which is the last thing I wanted for you.”

“Is that why you were okay with being with after you found out I was secretly famous?”

Eddie rose up and tackled Steve into the pillows. “You listen close, Steve Harrington. That was absolutely not why. I didn’t even show up with the flowers intending on confessing anything other than knowing your secret. It was like I suddenly saw all the facets of the diamond I’d been admiring for years and realizing any reason I had to not put myself forward were stupid.”

Steve blinked up at him in awe. “Oh.”

“Yeah, baby, ‘oh’,” Eddie huffed. “Continuing to protect you from the shame and humiliation of the slings and arrows of the media is my mission in life, okay? And if you ever decide to come out, either as bisexual as Steve or as Steve as Abbadon, I will be there for you. One hundred percent.”

Steve’s eyes welled up and he nodded. “Okay.” His lips quivered. “I love you so much. I just want you to be happy.”

Eddie kissed him fiercely. “I know you do and you make me very happy. The Fallen, Abbadon, being closeted? All that? That’s just a part of you that I love.” He bounced onto the bed. “In fact...”

He grabbed his phone and started going through it. “Eureka!” He turned the phone around to a paint of a night, shielding a maiden from the sun and a large crowd of people. This is us, babe. I am the knight and you are my maiden. I won’t get tired, or upset that you need protecting.”

Steve blushed. He sat up and pulled up his knees to his chest. “When we first started coming up with names for us, we didn’t originally all have the same letter.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Wait, really?”

Steve shook his head. “Spence was just Death. Shane was always Astraeus. Simon was struggling with finding a name that fit.”

“And did you have your name picked out?” Eddie asked gently, knowing where this was going.

He pursed his lips and nodded. “I didn’t think we’d make it this far. I really thought we would have crashed and burned by now.” He closed his eyes and hung his head. “Part of the myth with Icarus and the wax wings that people forget was that he was flying all over the place. That if he flied straight and true like his father suggested, he would have survived. But he flew too close to the seas as well as the sun.”

Steve sighed and then looked over at Eddie. “And that’s what I thought I was doing with the band. Flying too low with the fact that we were preps wanting to break into the metal scene and then flying too high with the personas and masks. I was going to not only wreck my life but the lives of people I cared about.”

He let out a low shuddering breath. “That maybe I should have listened to my father. To go to college, to get a degree in business, to fly straight.”

“So what changed your mind?” Eddie asked. “Other than Shane wanting everyone to have all the same letter as a middle finger to everyone trying to guess your identities, I guess.”

Steve let out a watery chuckle. “Shane reminded me of the beginning of Icarus’s story. That he had grown up in the labyrinth, never seeing the sky. How could his father had not seen that of course Icarus was going to play the second they were out? That, yes they were fleeing for their lives, but this was the first time his son had seen the sun, felt the breeze on his face and touched the waves on the sea.”

“But if Daedalus had played with Icarus instead of yelling at him, his father would have been able to keep him from getting too close to the things that would have harmed him,” Steve finished. “That he would have been there to catch his son when he began to fall.”

“So what was the lesson?” Eddie prompted.

“I wasn’t Icarus,” Steve said. “I was always free, I might have fallen from grace according to my parents, but that like God in the Christian story, they were cruel and cast me out because what they wanted for me wasn’t what I wanted.”

Eddie smiled. “So you became Abbadon instead. The one that fell but God still relied on to destroy the wicked. The opposite of Steve Harrington. The boy that rose up like a phoenix from the ashes to be better than his parents dreamed.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Icarus was the first to fall mythos wise, but Abbadon was the one people fear coming back.”

Eddie pulled him close. “Well, you’re my angel, now. Fallen or not, I’m not giving you up for anything.”

Steve kissed him softly. “I’m putting a lot of trust you, Munson. Don’t fuck this up.”

Eddie laughed and kissed him fiercely. Then he proceeded to show Steve all the ways loved him.

Steve knew he might always have doubts and fears, but now he had the support system he always needed.

It was more than past time to fly and in Eddie’s arms there was no limit to how high he could go now.

And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina @garden-of-gay

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar steve harrington #rockstar au

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turnupswritessometimes · 1 month ago

Text

Bring it on Home to Me - Ash/Eiji Oneshot

A thanks to @holographiccs (who I bullied into reading Banana Fish) for imitating Ash's gang and their New York accents with me and inspiring this fic! <3

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59433925

Summary:

Eiji heard Bones say it when he was posted outside their apartment. A friend of his had stopped by and asked both him and Kong out for a good time. Loudly. Loud enough for Eiji to hear in the kitchen. "Can't. We're guarding the boss' girlfriend." * Eiji finds out he's known as the boss' girlfriend - and he doesn't hate it. Ash should hate it - but he doesn't, either.

Word Count: 4,156

Bring it on Home to me

"Can't. We're guarding the boss' girlfriend."

Eiji’s stomach twisted. He stopped chopping vegetables - realised he was cooking Ash's dinner, like a girlfriend, and his stomach squirmed again – and looked to the door. It was closed; they probably didn't even know he'd heard.

What else had they heard? Had they heard him and Ash? Was that what they really thought about them? It wasn't not true, but it wasn’t true, either. He didn’t know what this thing was between him and Ash. He was already too soft for Ash's world, that had been made clear. The implication that he was his girlfriend didn’t sit right with him.

It hadn't been said with any judgement – not like they hated or looked down on him for it – just as a matter of fact. Not even, Eiji thought, as some kind of joke. He thought that was worse. Definitely worse.

He didn't feel like cooking up a nice, homemade meal anymore. He scooped the chopped vegetables into a bowl, and put them back in the fridge. They'd have a couple of TV dinners, or takeout, instead.

Bones came in, not long later, to catch his show on the ridiculously large TV Ash had brought. He always did, even though they were both meant to stay outside. It was their secret, between Eiji and Bones.

"You ain’t making dinner?" Bones asked, as he clambered over the back of the sofa to collapse into a heap on the too-firm cushions.

"Not tonight," Eiji replied. He picked up the book on the side, as though he'd been reading instead, but Bones wasn't even looking. He was already helping himself to the remote, and flicking through the channels.

Eiji watched him, for a moment. He thumbed through the pages of the book. His voice came out much smaller than he wanted it to: "The boss'...girlfriend?"

"Huh?" Bones craned his neck to look at him. "You heard that?"

Bones' voice carried; Eiji heard most things he said, though it was mostly him and Kong chatting about nothing. "It's just – I'm not – it's not—"

"It ain't about girls or boys," Bones said. "A girlfriend's the one who keeps house for you. Who you come back to after trouble."

Eiji still didn't think that was the right word. But maybe this was some new American slang he didn't understand. "Oh."

"It's a good thing." Bones smiled, showing his sharp canines. "And being Ash's girlfriend? Gives you a hell of a reputation."

Because Ash had a hell of a reputation. Because Ash was a gang leader, and he had the respect of most other gangs around New York. Did they all know him as that? As the Lynx's girlfriend?

"I'm not Ash's," Eiji said, because his stomach hadn't just squirmed, it had somersaulted, at that thought. He did not want to be just the Lynx’s property.

Bones tilted his head to one side, frowning. "That ain’t bad, either. I'm Ash's. Kong's Ash's. We're all Ash's."

It was as simple as that to him. He followed Ash, so he was Ash's. And Eiji supposed he could try and deny it, but he did the same thing. Stubbornly stuck at Ash's side until he'd stopped telling Eiji to go back to Japan. Didn’t have any plans to leave him, any time soon.

He was Ash's, he realised, through and through.

"Right." His voice was distant, but he didn't think Bones heard anyway; his show had started and that always hypnotised him. Eiji took his book to his bedroom, heart thumping. It was something, he realised, that he'd known for a while. He'd known it, but he'd only just realised it, and it felt overwhelming. Just how much he was Ash’s.

He sat on the end of the bed, and wondered what Ash was doing right now. Gang business. Dangerous business. And Eiji was the one he came home to – who he’d chosen to come home to. They didn’t have to live together, alone, here, but Ash had chosen that, and Eiji hadn’t argued. This was Ash’s safehouse, and that Eiji's job was to be there, when he came home.

His mind didn't settle to read. He flicked on the radio, and shifted restlessly, waiting. Thinking about fights and guns and gangs and realising he didn’t know much about how it worked at all.

Ash called from a payphone, to say he was on his way back. Eiji called for takeout. It arrived minutes before Ash himself, and he had to sacrifice a handful of fries to Bones and Kong when they saw the delivery boy. They clapped Eiji on the back as they said goodbye, then stopped to debrief with Ash in the hall. Eiji couldn't keep up with their conversation; their words were too fast, and their accents too heavy. He leant against the doorframe, and watched Ash's expression; that tense, serious expression he had around the gang. His eyes glinted green, his jaw set.

It relaxed, when he met Eiji at the door. Softened. His hands found Eiji's hips, and he brought him close for a hug. Eiji's arms went around his neck automatically and he pressed closer. Smelt of sweat, cigarettes and smoke. It was unpleasant, but it was Ash's.

He pulled away, ghosting his lips over Eiji's cheek. "Honey, I'm home."

It was a joke. It had started as a joke and because of Ash kissing him in jail. He still teased that they were together, like that. Every time it made Eiji duck his chin, and laugh, cheeks warming. Americans were too free with being intimate.

Ash was too free with being intimate.

He stepped away, not seeming to realise Eiji hadn't responded, and saw the paper bags sat on the table.

Eiji leant his back against the door to close it. "Sorry, I—"

"It's alright." Ash looked back at him. He raised an eyebrow, smirking. "I'm not going to beat you with my belt for not having a roast on the table after my day at the office."

It was another joke, but Eiji didn't laugh. He could see why the boys thought what they did. Ash noticed. Tilted his head to one side; his hair fell with the movement, gold in the artificial light. "Seriously, don't worry."

Eiji bit his lip. He wondered how to tell Ash about what Bones had said – wondered if Ash knew – if Ash called him that, himself. Wondered if he’d see it as another joke, and Eiji didn't know if he wanted it to be. Didn't know how he could even word it.

Ash stepped forward, again. His hand grazed Eiji's arm; brushed his hair behind his ear. It was genuine, and he looked up.

"What's up?"

Eiji tangled his fingers in Ash's. Took a deep breath. "The boss' girlfriend."

Ash frowned. "Huh?"

Eiji looked at their joint fingers. Ash's looked like the colour of ivory, against his. How was it that this boy could spend a summer outside in New York, and not tan at all?

"That's what they call me," he said. "The boss' girlfriend."

"Ah." Ash paused, for half a second. "Right."

"I don't hate it," Eiji continued. His voice came out much smaller than before. "At least, I don't think I do. It's – the food will go cold."

Ash let him get away with that. "Right."

But he didn't drop his hand, as he crossed to the table. Not until Eiji had to step around to the other side, and he absolutely had to. His fingers fell away, slowly. Then he was pouncing on the bags and pulling out the burgers and fries, smiling like a child.

"No weird Japanese dish tonight?"

"Sometimes I think you really are just an uncultured American," Eiji replied, and for a moment, it was just like normal. He unpacked his food. Caught Ash glancing up, smiling at him. A soft smile that made his heart squeeze.

But Ash saw through him. "This is because of what Bones said."

Eiji nodded. He helped himself to fries, chewing slowly. Ash ate like he hadn't in a week; like he was barely tasting any of it. Eiji picked at his own food, steadily.

When Ash finally came up for air, he said, "It’s not your cooking. Just – this food is predictable, you know?"

"Predictable?"

"You know exactly how it's going to taste, because it's come out the machine that way."

"I don't think it's all made by machines."

"It's – safe." Ash met Eiji's eyes, his were shards of emerald, then away again. Back to his food. But there had been something in that gaze; something vulnerable. It was the same kind of vulnerable he'd seen at Cape Cod; that glimpse of Aslan Jade.

It felt like a peace offering. Ash had offered up that, about himself, because Eiji had mentioned the girlfriend thing. Probably looked vulnerable too.

Ash was weird about food. He'd noticed that. Noticed that sometimes he ‘d eat like he hadn’t in a week, or didn't eat at all, or would only pick at his food. That the other boys would eat three or four hot dogs back to back, and Ash would find a subtle way to toss the rest of his out. Eiji didn't press about it. He’d do his best to push Ash towards eating more healthily.

He continued steadily through his own meal. For once, Ash finished long before him.

"I'll tell them to knock it off," Ash said. "I've half a mind to bash them."

"You...didn't say that, then?"

That there was this thing between them. The same thing as in jail; in that road trip across America; in Ash lying in his lap in the middle of the night. They were joint by this thing. They weren’t just friends; they were something more.

"No, I didn't." Ash's mouth twisted. "They're idiots."

"They aren't," though Eiji's protest was half-hearted.

Ash raised an eyebrow, unbelieving, and Eiji had to look away, biting his cheek in case he started laughing. He liked Bones and Kong, but he understood why they were often stationed outside his safe apartment building, where nothing happened, as opposed to the real work Ash had done today.

The work Ash had done today. The work that left him smelling like gunpowder. When Ash was like this, domestic and teasing, it was hard to equate him with the feared gang leader – whose reputation Eiji had by association.

He gathered the trash from their meals together, and threw them away. At least he didn't have to wash up tonight – and that was another part of playing house, wasn't it?

When he looked back, he saw Ash examining the back of his hand. Even from where Eiji stood, he could see the knuckles were red, starting to turn purple and blue.

"You've been fighting," Eiji said, automatically getting the first aid kit from under the sink. It was replenished nearly weekly.

"It’s nothing," Ash replied. He left his chair untucked, and flopped onto the sofa. He went over the arm, lying lengthways, and Eiji wondered if any of these boys were capable of sitting normally.

He crossed over, with a bag of peas. How many times, he wondered, could you refreeze peas before they were no longer safe to eat?

Eiji tossed them to Ash. He caught them without looking, and pressed them against his hand. Eiji perched on the arm of the sofa. Ash's hair flopped over his face, but he saw him wince at the ice.

"Bones..." Eiji swallowed. "Bones didn't make it sound like a bad thing."

Ash didn't answer, immediately. "That right?"

"He said – a girlfriend – is who you come home to, after a long day at war," Eiji said.

Ash smiled. A slow, unconscious smile that sent a rush of warmth through him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Ash sat, properly, his back against the arm of the sofa, his knees drawn up. He nodded to the empty space. Eiji slipped onto it, aware of his elbow knocking against Ash's knee. The touch tingled.

"And Bones didn't say what you did after a long day at war?"

Eiji's cheeks felt hot, at the suggestion. "I don't think he knows about that kind of thing."

Which made Ash chuckle. His knee bumped Eiji again, and he but his lip. It felt mean to laugh at Bones, but it was easier than this thing, and he loved making Ash laugh like that. He chanced a glance at Ash from under his bangs, only to see him watching Eiji closely. It sent that wave of heat down his neck.

"And – do you?" Ash's voice was soft; soft enough Eiji suspected he could pretend not to have heard, if he wanted.

"I..." He traced the gain of the sofa with one finger. "I have an idea, or two."

"Yeah?” Ash sat up further, leaning forward. “Care to share?"

He'd turned to Ash, and he wasn't sure when he had. But now his face was only inches away.

"You mean – demonstrate?"

Ash smiled – smirked – and Eiji's stomach twisted. "Only if you want to."

Eiji wanted to. He wanted to, but then it wouldn’t be a joke, anymore. Things would change. Still, he didn’t wouldn’t back down. Ash had that effect on him; made him want to rise to the glint in his eye.

He leant forward – didn’t let himself hesitate – and pressed their lips together. He felt Ash’s part, like he was surprised Eiji actually did it, before he kissed back. He moved slowly, as if he was savouring it, one hand sliding into Eiji’s hair. The bag of frozen peas fell to the floor with a loud thump.

Eiji shifted, so he was securely between Ash’s legs, hands on his knees to steady himself, as he kissed him back. Only pulled away when he felt lightheaded, and not far enough to see Ash clearly.

“That okay?” Ash whispered.

“If that’s – if that’s okay with you?” Eiji replied.

Ash pulled away. Eiji let him, though he was still very aware of how close they were; how he was pressed between Ash’s legs. His lips tingling. Ash raised a hand, brushing Eiji’s bangs from his eyes. His fingers trailed over his cheekbone, green eyes examining him. Eiji stared back, heart pounding. There was everything, and nothing, to say. Ash made a noise, then stopped. Tucked Eiji’s hair behind his ear.

“I like coming home to you,” he murmured.

Eiji felt heat rush through him, like he’d just sunk into a warm bath. His hands had moved, he didn’t know when, to Ash’s shoulders. “I like you coming home.”

Because Ash had been fighting, and he may only have come home with bruised knuckles today, but he could easily come home much worse. Eiji kissed him again, pressing their foreheads together.

“Please come home, Ash.”

Ash took a breath that Eiji felt against him, pressing his hands against the small of his back. Pressed him closer, until they were inches apart. He nodded, his hair falling over his eyes. It hid his expression. He pressed his mouth against Eiji's cheek. Properly, this time, lashes brushing his skin.

Eiji held Ash back. Felt his spine, his shoulder blades, and Ash's mouth moved to his temple. Kissed there, too, and then tugged him down so he could rest his chin on Eiji's head. He let him, falling ungracefully against Ash's chest, their legs tangled on the sofa. It wasn’t quite big enough, for this. They were very close. Closer than ever before, and this time, it was serious.

He didn't want to pull away. Listened to the steady beat of Ash's heart under his ear. His fingers reached up to curl a blonde strand around his finger.

"I'll try my best," Ash murmured.

"I'll hold you to that." And he felt Ash's chuckle as a rumble. He shifted, to look at him, their faces so close that Ash's eyes were a sea of green. "I promise, Ash Lynx."

"Well—" Ash kissed him. Long, slow and savouring and Eiji felt as though he was melting. "Then I can't let you down."

His voice was soft, like a purr. He pressed kisses to the corner of Eiji's mouth, trailing down his jaw. Eiji twisted Ash's hair in his fingers. This was earnest – so earnest and reverent, that it made his chest ache.\

He kissed Ash back. Kissed his temple; his cheekbone; the hollow of his jaw, and felt Ash's breath catch under him. He drew him even tighter against him, so there wasn't even room for that. They lay on the sofa, hearts beating against each other.

His eyes half-closed, and he didn't mind the smell of sweat and gunpowder. It was Ash's smell. This felt right, Eiji thought. Thought perhaps he was Ash's boy, after all, because this felt like where he belonged.

"So, who started it?"

Ash leant against the bar, and did his best glower at Alex. Made sure to sweep said glower over the guys standing around, so they all knew he was bothered by something. Bones ducked behind Kong; maybe he guessed what was up. Eiji, though, was in the thick of it, being taught how to play pool.

Alex smiled, but he looked tense, too. "Started what?"

Ash tilted his head and raised his eyebrow. "Started calling Eiji the boss’ girlfriend?"

Alex's grin stiffened. He swigged from his beer bottle, either buying for time or building up his courage. Ash didn't relent his stare.

"Ain't it right?" Alex eventually asked.

Ash huffed, taking a drink himself. His was an excuse to look over at Eiji. He was concentrating hard, lining up a shot, his brows together. He was biting his lip, and it made Ash's stomach twinge. Adorable.

"I never said that," he said; it came out much too defensive.

Alex shifted. Glanced across at him, and Ash stayed scowling. It was half the job of being the boss – he had to be imposing – had to have his respect and reputation. That was how you survived in New York. That was what Ash loved about New York.

Alex leant across, looking straight ahead, probably watching Eiji too, as he said, "You didn't have to."

Ash's stomach twisted. He watched Eiji as he took the shot. A ball fell into the pocket. The boys cheered him like he'd won the game, clapping his shoulders. Eiji laughed, the low lighting casting a halo on his hair. He looked like he was glowing, from the inside out. Those dark eyes found Ash's.

He looked away. "That obvious, huh?"

Alex half-laughed, like he wasn't sure if he'd get hit, if he did. "Yeah, boss, that obvious."

That was bad. Ash finished the bottle, and lined it up on the bar alongside the others. Beer wasn't his drink of choice, but it was what they drunk here, so he did too. At least it filled him up.

"It ain't him," Alex continued. Conversationally. "It's you. The way you look at him."

"Well, shit," Ash said it on reflex, like he'd dropped a glass or missed a shot. Like it was an accident. It was an accident. Being around Eiji was making him soft. He knew that, knew it particularly when they were alone together, but he hadn't realised it seeped through to everywhere.

He glanced up just in time to meet Eiji's eyes again; stood at the side of the table, with his pool-cue held like a staff in front of him. He smiled.

"I gotta smoke," Ash said. Snapped. Headed through the back of the bar. Stalked through, so that Bones leapt back out of his way. The lynx on the warpath.

He tried not to think about how that would seem to Eiji; for him to storm away just after being smiled at. But he needed space. Needed air. Needed to slam the door to the tiny courtyard and fumble for a cigarette in his pocket. He lit it with fumbling fingers, and leant against the brick wall.

Said courtyard was a square of cobblestone, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings, a hodgepodge of brick and stone, fire escapes twisting around them like ivy. Just a patch of sky at the top, and the light pollution of the city meant no stars or moonlight got through. It cast everything yellow.

Ash took a deep drag, and let it out slowly. The smoke drifted into the night air in a gray ribbon. His muscles relaxed, his mind numbed.

Alex pushed open the door. He leant against the frame, and watched Ash. He didn't look away from the patch of night, but held out the cigarette pack. Alex took it, and pulled out his own. Handed it back, and kept his palm out for the lighter.

Ash didn’t give it to him. He stepped forward, holding the lighter up to where Alex held the cigarette between his teeth. It was a challenge; to see if you flinched, at the flame so close to your mouth. If you trusted the person with the lighter.

Alex didn't flinch. His blue eyes held Ash's. The blue of new jeans.

Ash leant back against the wall.

Alex blew out smoke. "You know we don't mind, yeah?"

"It's not you." Ash held the cigarette between his fingers, and focused on the warmth of it. "It's – if you can tell, anyone can."

"Not anyone." Alex leant next to him, just as he did at the bar. There was no shaking him, and Ash thought he loved him for that. "But we can. Because you're different with him. You didn't beat him to a pulp for waking you up – things like that. We knows you, is all."

"And other people know me." Ash tapped the end of his cigarette, sending a miniature meteor shower to the flagstones. "Golzine knows me."

So if Alex and the boys – if Bones – could tell, Dino Golzine definitely could. Every time Ash went out with Eiji, he was parading his Achilles heel. If he was Achilles, he thought, as he took another drag, Eiji was Patroclus.

There was that painting. Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus. An image flashed in his mind of Eiji, that pale – that dead – and his chest ached.

Alex didn't press for those details; respected Ash's privacy when it came to his past with Golzine – even those visits before all this Banana Fish business that were much too recent for his liking. Just why had it taken him so long to get out of there – completely?

Ash's smoke blew out shakily.

"We'll protect him," Alex said. "We won't let anything happen to him."

It already had. Ash had been there, in California, and he'd not been able to do that. Eiji had been taken, right under his nose. If Ash Lynx couldn't protect him, then what hope did anyone else have?

Now everyone knew he had a weak spot.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah." Alex paused. Smoke came out his nose, as he laughed. "'Cos he's your girl."

Ash punched his shoulder. Enough to smart, but not to bruise. He took the final drag of his cigarette, and crushed it under his converse, as he headed back inside. Didn't correct Alex.

Came face to face with Eiji, once he was back inside the bar. Eiji, dithering with a bottle in his hand, and looking concerned.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, when Ash was close enough.

The dim lights made his eyelashes spidery shadows on his cheeks. Caught in his dark eyes, and if Ash looked long enough, he could map galaxies in them. There was something about Eiji Okumura. He was unreasonably kind and thoughtful and if Ash was feeling philosophical about it, he would say something about his innocence – that boy had never seen a gun. But it was that stupid stubbornness Ash felt drawn to, like a moth to a flame.

If they were alone, he’d kiss him. He didn’t think that was possible, even if the boys knew, because he didn’t think Eiji would want that.

Instead, he smiled. Flung his arm around Eiji's shoulders, and steered him towards the bar. Eiji let him. It didn't matter if anyone saw, Ash thought, because all the boys knew anyway. The knew, and they'd protect Eiji.

"Everything's fine," Ash said. Aware that he stunk of cigarettes, but Eiji didn't pull away. If anything, he leant into him slightly. "Just peachy."

He didn't think Eiji believed him. He didn't quite believe himself. He felt itchy, ready for an attack, like a guard dog. Eiji was in danger, because of him. Because it was obvious how Ash felt about him.

But the gang would protect him. Ash would protect him.

Eiji was his.

#holographiccs please dont feel pressured to read it lol but i suspect you would want to #when will mappa give these boys an awful dub #banana fish #eiji okumura #ash lynx #bf #fanfiction #asheiji #turnupswrites

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months ago

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Uplinkchump Linkdump

On June 20, I'm keynoting the LOCUS AWARDS in OAKLAND.

It's Linkdump Saturday! This is the day on which I clear the giant backlog of links from the previous week that I haven't managed to post in my newsletter's "Hey look at this" sections. This is my 19th linkdump; here's the previous 18 dumps:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Let's start with some fun and games. Liam is a high-schooler who created "Bad Plumbing," a Jenga-style boardgame using a variety of 3D printed shapes; the game was a smash hit at his local game-jam, so now he's kickstarting it:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/liamclift/bad-plumbing

The shapes are delightful and Seussian, and there's a very ingenious game dynamic that's not just "make the pile bigger." You can pre-order for $30, and for $100, you'll get a version with a custom-designed shape of your specification. I backed!

It's lovely to see something that's both excellent and delightful, but to be honest, the majority of this week's links are excellent and enraging. Most of these links from The American Prospect, which has, under David Dayen's executive leadership, gone from "a magazine I really like" to "the first thing I read every day."

This week saw a the Prospect publish a stunning series of articles on prices, a sacred object for neoliberal economists, who see them as the carriers of the information that allows society to order itself for maximum efficiency and broadest benefit. Unfortunately for these economists, the love-affair with prices is one-sided: they may love prices, but prices hate neoliberalism.

The dogma that says that any government interference in pricing will destroy the economy by "distorting" prices does not survive contact with reality. The instant the government steps away from regulating monopoly, and its handmaiden, fraud, prices go batshit crazy.

This week's Pluralistic newsletters were dominated by this brilliant series in the Prospect. On Wednesday, I wrote about the Prospect's investigations into algorithmic and surveillance pricing:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

And yesterday, it was the epidemic of junk fees:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/07/drip-drip-drip/#drip-off

There's more than I could fit into the newsletter, though, like Friday's excellent piece on the scourge of surge pricing by Sarah Jaffe:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-07-urge-to-surge/

Jaffe's piece was especially interesting given economist Ramsi Woodcock's compelling case that surge pricing is a per se violation of antitrust law:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/26/aggregate-demand/#pure-transfer

The Prospect series was so timely. After decades of pricing orthodoxy, economists like Isabella Weber are making huge waves (and attracting a tsunami of abuse). Weber's interview with Vass Bednar on the Globe and Mail's Lately podcast this week is a must-listen:

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/podcasts/lately/article-the-millennial-economist-who-took-on-the-world/

(Though if you get your econ ideas from the New York Times, you'd miss this whole revolution, as the Grey Lady's views on prices remain mired in the Reagan era:)

https://twitter.com/HalSinger/status/1798849195664916648

Few prices are more important than the price of the roof over your head – after all, "shelter" is only second to "food" in the hierarchy of needs. Dayen's Friday story for the Prospect in NIMBYism gets to the crux of the cost-of-living crisis: people who own houses want houses to be expensive, and will go to enormous lengths to make sure that shelter costs as much as possible:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/housing/2024-06-07-homeowners-want-housing-prices-to-go-up/

Dayen attributes this to "the wealth effect" – that is, most people would like to be richer, and the minority of Americans who have a positive net worth owe that status to rising house prices, and the plurality of Americans who have a negative net worth thanks to a mortgage are counting on rising house prices to flip them into the black.

When America threw off the Gilded Age, we charted two courses to prosperity for working people: labor unions and home ownership. The ruling class cannily convinced us to rely solely on the latter. The housing emergency raging across the country is the inevitable result of that decision:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/06/the-rents-too-damned-high/

The Prospect's consistent brilliance isn't merely an editorial matter, of course. The magazine features a recurring cast of some of the best muckraking writers in the field, and the absolute peak of that impressive pile is Maureen Tkacik. Tkacik's work on Boeing is stunning:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/01/boeing-boeing/#mrsa

Her labor coverage is second to none:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/14/prop-22-never-again/#norms-code-laws-markets

And no one writes better than her about private equity:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

I am in pure awe of Tkacik's prolific and expert work. So when I read her piece on Long Covid in the Prospect this week, I was stunned to learn that she has been severely disabled by this heavily downplayed – but rampant – chronic illness:

https://prospect.org/health/2024-06-06-nih-perpetuating-long-covid-denial/

The fact that Tkacik is doing this career-defining, high-frequency work while being randomly smashed by a series of acute Long Covid incidents makes her achievements nothing sort of heroic. But Tkacik's Long Covid coverage isn't a lament for her personal situation – it's a characteristically brilliant investigative story about the systematic cover-up of Long Covid by the NIH, which has a long history of dismissing inconvenient illnesses as psychosomatic, from black lung to chronic fatigue.

Tkacik's Long Covid coverage adds yet another subject where I'm learning more from the Prospect than from other sources – part of a host of issues where the magazine leads the pack. An issue far more squarely in its wheelhouse is antitrust, especially the intersection of antitrust and labor rights.

This week, I eagerly devoured Luke Goldstein's story about the latest in a series of lies that Amazon executives were caught making to the US government:

https://prospect.org/labor/2024-06-06-senators-allege-amazon-lied-delivery-drivers/

You may recall when Jeff Bezos lied to Congress, claiming that the company didn't spy on its sellers and clone their best products:

https://www.bbc.com/news/business-58961836

Or when Amazon posted a lying rebuttal to a Congressman who objected to its drivers being forced to pee in bottles in order to meet its punishing schedules:

https://www.aboutamazon.com/news/policy-news-views/our-recent-response-to-representative-pocan

The latest lie: Jeff Bezos and CEO Andy Jassy lied to the Senate about the company's relationship to its drivers, whom it insists are "independent contractors" because they are hired through cutouts called "Delivery Service Providers":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

These drivers work for Amazon. It dictates their working conditions. It installs cameras that watch their eyeballs while they drive. It enforces an illegal "no poach" system that fixes their wages. And it lies about all this. To the Senate.

You know what they say, it's not the crime, it's the cover-up. Tech barons go through life in a warm bath of their own bullshit, surrounded by lackeys who are contractually prohibited from calling them on it. They forget that there are people out there in the world who won't offer them this deference – including lawmakers and regulators.

That's why Facebook lied to the FCC when they bought Instagram, withholding key information in order to secure regulatory permission for the merger:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/ftc-claims-facebook-withheld-information-152834983.html

After decades of inattention, the world's governments have discovered a newfound energy for busting trusts and smashing corporate power. Five years ago, it looked like maybe this was a fixup by Big Cable or Big Content to take Big Tech off the board so they could claim more dominion over our lives:

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/06/04/why-is-there-so-much-antitrust-energy-for-big-tech-but-not-for-big-telco/

Today, every sector is coming in for antitrust scrutiny, and the tempo is only increasing. Just this week, the FTC and DOJ opened investigations into Microsoft, Openai, and Nvidia:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/6/6/24172868/ftc-doj-antitrust-openai-microsoft-nvidia-investigations

Yeah, there's still a lot of policy focus on tech, but that's because tech has extended its tendrils into every area of policy. That's the end-point of a decades-long process of tech going from sitting alongside important policy questions to being inseparable from them. I've had a front-row seat for that transformation, through my work with EFF, whose brief just keeps expanding as tech infuses every aspect of our lives and rights.

The latest example; EFF's "Surveillance Defense for Campus Protests" by Rory Mir, Thorin Klosowski and Christian Romero:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/06/surveillance-defense-campus-protests

The military has gone all-in on electronic surveillance, and campuses have gone all-in on militarized policing, so campuses are now sites of electronic warfare, and protesters are vastly overmatched. This is an excellent and timely guide.

Well, this is where this week's linkdump comes to an end. It only falls to me to send you off with one last week: Libro.fm's buy-one/get-one sale on DRM-free audiobooks, with a share of each sale going to an indie bookstore of your choosing! This is a heckin deal, and a great way to start weaning yourself off of the Audible monopoly (also, my latest novel The Bezzle, is in the sale):

https://libro.fm/bogo

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/08/medley/#the-prospect

Image: Cjp24 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Automobiles_in_a_french_junkyard.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic

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jrswritings · 2 months ago

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Tingles and Giggles - Chapter Two - Tyler Owens x Reader

Get caught up with Chapter One! Masterlist :)

Chapter Two - Boys and Their Toys

After another drink or two, chatting with Juniper from Atmosphere Aces and Willow from your team, you finally stood from your seat and put a $50 on the bar then walked out the front door of the Dust Devil and headed across the street to the Twister Trail Motel. The whole town of Prairie Winds was practically based on it being in tornado alley and being the main place storm chasers would stop while out chasing.

As soon as you were a few steps away from the front door, you heard it open again and footsteps behind you, a small part of you hoped it would be Tyler.

“(Y/n)!” The voice called, it not being Tyler.

You turned around to see Finn, the camera guy and driver for your team, the Storm Riders.

“Hey, Finn! What’s up?” You asked, him stepping up beside you.

“I was just curious as to what’s goin’ on with you and Owens, I saw you both get kinda close while dancing and then again while at the bar,” he started to ramble, one of his classic traits when he was drinking, “I just worry about you, since you’re like a big sister to me and we’ve known each other since you were in high school and I was in middle school, I would just hate for your heart to get broken by some idiot cowboy.”

“Finn. Finn,” you tried to interrupt.

“I don’t think I could live with myself if he hurt you and I didn’t try to stop something from happening. Your parents would kill me as they made me promise to keep you safe out here,” he kept going. You couldn’t help but chuckle at him, putting your hands on his arms.

“FINN,” you said sternly, jolting him out of his rampage.

“W-What?” He stuttered while catching his breath, you both realized he hadn't taken a breath that whole time.

“I will be fine, he just wants to take me out to dinner tomorrow night,” you said, dragging Finn to your side while walking to the motel, “I know you feel like it’s your job to protect me, but you need to remember that I am a few years older than you and know how to handle myself.”

He sighed, “I know, I just would hate for you to get heartbroken again…”

You stopped in the middle of the road and pulled Finn in close. He was one of the only people you trusted back in your early 20s. He was one of your go-to people, aside from your best friend Willow, whom you went to after your breakup with Derek who you had been with for almost five years. He had moved to New York to go to college and after a week of hardly talking to one another, the girl he was cheating on you with slipped up and accidentally tagged him in a post of them kissing on Instagram. The next day you sent everything he owned to his college dorm including the heart necklace he gave you for your birthday the last year you were together, along with a very long letter on tear-stained paper that you had written the night before while your heart was breaking with every word you wrote.

“I will be okay, Finny,” you said, rubbing his back, “I’ll let you know if anything goes wrong or he does something stupid.”

“Promise, (Y/n/n)?” He asked, holding out his pinkie finger.

You linked your pinkie with him, “I promise. Now go back into the bar and have some fun, it’s forecasted for clear skies the rest of the week.”

“You got it!” He said, pulling you into an embrace one last time before running back into the bar.

You laughed and shook your head, then turned and walked back to the motel. Before heading up the stairs outside of your room, you decided to stop by your blue F-350 dually truck that was parked right next to Tyler’s red Ram 3500 dually. You pressed the unlock button on your key fob, the headlights shining brightly across to the bar. Earlier you had already brought your suitcase to your room, but you wanted to double-check that you had everything extra that you picked up in Thunderbird Bluff, the last town you were in.

While digging under the seats you grabbed onto a cloth object, pulling it out becoming confused as all your clothes were in your suitcase. You held it up in the dim lights provided by the motel to see a tornado, the red truck you were parked next to, and a cartoon face of Tyler on the front of the shirt, the words being “not my first tornadeo” across it.

You threw the shirt over your shoulder and smirked remembering Dani giving it to you after you got caught in an EF3 with your shirt getting torn off as you were on your way back from a smaller wedding in a field for Jade and Tristan, both members of Storm Riders.

After shutting the truck doors, you locked it and turned toward the stairs, only to be startled by Tyler leaning against his truck with his cowboy hat in his hands.

“Mighty nice of you to blind half the bar with those pretty headlights of yours,” he said, using his hat to gesture to the front of your truck.

“Oh shit,” you mumbled, your hand covering your mouth, “Oops.”

He chuckled, “I figured I’d come out to make sure you weren’t skippin’ town on me after I asked you out.”

“Even if I did, Owens, you’d find me one way or another,” you stated, walking over to the stairs.

“Like my saying goes, sweetheart,” he started, “if you feel it.”

“Chase it,” you said, going up a few steps to the first landing.

“See, you’re gettin’ it,” he said, leaning against the stair railing and looking up at you, “Is that one of the Tornado Wrangler shirts?”

You hoped he wouldn’t see that, but he snatched it off your shoulder to hold it up.

“It was the only option I had after Jade and Tristan’s wedding,” you said, rubbing your forehead as you were starting to get tired and just wanted to head to your room, “You can have it, I don’t think it would look good if I wore a rival team’s shirt.”

“But darlin’, you’d look good in my shirt,” he said while smirking and holding it up to your figure.

“Very cheesy,” you said, walking up the stairs farther.

“What do you say about tomorrow afternoon?” He asked, folding the shirt up and tossing it up to you.

“I’m sure I’m free, most of the team will sleep until mid-morning due to the hangovers they’ll get from tonight,” you laughed, gesturing over to the bar where the music was still blaring.

“Same with the wranglers, except Dexter, he snuck out the back and headed to bed an hour or so ago,” he said, laughing, “You know how those scientists are.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised Tristan and Sage from Atmosphere Aces are still partying it up,” you said, leaning over the railing and looking down at Tyler.

“Maybe we can get breakfast in the morning?” He asked, “Down at JoAnn’s Whirlwind diner…”

“I’d like that, they have the best apple pie in the county,” you said, smiling, “Should we take Lil Blue here or are we takin’ Ol Red?”

“How dare you think I’d be caught dead in a Ford, darlin,” he chuckled, “I won’t go anywhere without Ol Red.”

“As I figured, boys and their toys,” you giggled to yourself, turning around and unlocking the door to your room.

“What was that little lady?” He asked, putting his hat back on and putting his hands on his hips while shifting his weight to one side.

“I said goodnight, Tyler,” you said, tossing the bag of necessities on the queen bed you had all to yourself.

“I don’t think that was it,” he said, shaking his head, “But I’ll let it slide this once, (Y/n).”

“Like you would do anything otherwise, Ty,” you said as you leaned over the railing one last time before heading inside.

“I’ll have you be aware that my truck is not a TOY,” he stated, shifting his weight to his other hip, “It’s a tornado-wrangling machine!”

You laughed, “Mhmm, sure it is.”

“Goodnight beautiful,” he said, looking up at you and giving you a wink.

“Goodnight, Tyler,” you said, “I’ll see you at JoAnn’s.”

“It’s a date,” he said with the biggest smile you’ve seen on the man in quite some time.

You turned around and walked into your motel room, shutting and locking the door behind you, pressing your forehead to the cool door, smiling and giggling to yourself. While not really believing that you would be going on a date with Tyler Owens, who was basically the biggest heartthrob of the storm-chasing community and most likely all of Tornado Alley. Just thinking about tomorrow and what it held sent tingles down your spine and butterflies around your stomach.

Want more? Here's Chapter Three!

#tyler owens #twisters #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #tyler owens fanfiction #glen powell #glen powell x you #glen powell x reader #twisters x reader

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steddieasitgoes · 1 year ago

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Stolen Kisses & Sundae Wishes

3.4K Words | Teen and Up | ao3 link

This was written for day three of @steddie-week. The prompts I used were first kiss and discover! As always it ended up way longer than I intended! You can read it below or on ao3. Enjoy!

"You know this basement used to be mine before Mike took it over?" Nancy says, looking around the cluttered basement fondly.

"Those little thieves," Eddie teases, stretching out on the worn, scratchy blue carpet.

They're all gathered in the Wheeler's basements — the kids banished to the Byers' new place for the weekend — to celebrate one last hang out before their lives change for the better. Nancy leaves for Emerson tomorrow afternoon. Argyle and Jonathan to New York on Monday. Robin, Steve, and Eddie scheduled to get the keys to their new apartment near Indiana State in a little over a week.

They're growing up.

And yet, the basement looks like they're still kids who don't know what they're doing with their lives.

The coffee table is piled high with pizza boxes and other snacks. A soda can tower barely hanging on as Robin adds another empty Coke can. The basement should be filled with beer cans and Palm Tree Delight joints, but none of that stuff has the same effect on them it once did. Getting drugged by Russians, making a drunken scene at parties, and waking up from on bad drug-enhanced nightmare has them all acting a bit more sober than usual.

Still, there's a rawness in the air that Steve's only used to being around at parties when everyone is under the influence, feeling happy and chatty.

"I had my first kiss right here," Nancy says, patting the paisley couch.

"Oh, are we talking about first kisses, brochachos?" Argyle asks, sitting up from where he's been sprawled out under Mike's designated DnD table. "Mine was wild."

"I'm sure it was," Jonathan says, rolling his eyes at his best friend. "But I don't think Nancy meant for everyone to share their stories."

"Aw, come on, my dude. It'll be fun!"

“I don’t know Argyle. I think Jonathan’s right on this one,” Steve chimes in.

It’s not the answer everyone was expecting from him by the way everyone’s heads whirl around to face him. Sure, he spent his high school years making out in crowded Hawkins High hallways, not caring who was watching. But this feels different.

First kisses are special and awkward, and well, if he’s honest, Steve doesn’t want to hear Eddie wax poetic about his first kiss like he knows he’ll do because Eddie is a storyteller. He doesn’t know how to tell them anything unless it’s woven with dragon slaying and metaphors that go over Steve’s head.

Last week, Robin had to give him the SparkNotes version of Eddie’s terrible interview after Eddie went on a ten-minute rant about the horrors of job interviews.

“Now we have to hear your first kiss story, Stevie. It must be really terrible if you don’t want to share with us,” Eddie teases, sitting up from the floor.

“Hate to break it to you, Munson, but it wasn’t anything exciting. Just an innocent first kiss in a dark room. I don’t even know what she looked like.”

Eddie groans, tossing his head back onto the empty space next to Nancy on the couch. His hair flops around him, draping over her thighs. “You’re the worst storyteller ever! Come on, Wheeler, paint us a picture of your first kiss. Show Stevie how it’s done.”

Steve doesn’t think Nancy is going to take Eddie’s bait, but she does, and Steve’s reminded yet again that he really has no idea what goes on in Nancy Wheeler’s head. Never did and never will.

Nancy goes on to tell them about Connor Fritz. They were childhood best friends before his family moved when his mom got a better teaching job at Northwestern. The basement was their post-school hangout, but unlike Mike and his friends, all they ever got up to down here was homework until one summer afternoon.

“We were supposed to go to the pool but stayed in instead. It was our final day together before he moved, and he was really nervous. I was too. We were starting middle school in a few weeks, and now we were going to be totally friendless. And kiss-less since we didn’t go to Carol’s 11th birthday party.”

“The spin-the-bottle party,” Steve snorts in remembrance. He still has no idea how Carol convinced her parents to leave them unattended in her basement for hours. It’s a good thing they all thought kissing was sex at that age. If not, well, Steve’s certain at least one kid would have been conceived in Carol’s game closet.

“The very one,” Nancy smiles. “So anyway, we were just talking about how mad we were that we weren’t going to be there for each other, and then he said something like, “well, I can still help you with one thing,” and then he kissed me.”

“That’s the sweetest first kiss story ever,” Robin coos from the floor. She’s lying on the same itchy blue carpet as Eddie, her head using Steve’s lap as her very own pillow.

It’s easy from their position for Steve to glance down at Robin to check in with her. Robin has her own streak of jealousy that runs through her, so he can’t imagine this conversation is any fun for her either. Instead of finding her lips pressed thinly together and a vacant look in her eyes, though, he finds her smiling.

Huh? She’s stronger than me, he thinks.

“What about you, Robin?”

“Oh me?” Robin laughs dryly, lifting her head out of Steve’s lap and pushing herself up into a seated position next to Steve. “I mean, I guess it was at summer camp in 1980 with this kid whose name I don’t even remember. But uh, I don’t really think it counts since I don’t exactly, you know, like kissing guys.”

“What’s the girl story then?” Eddie asks.

Without hesitating, Steve reaches a hand out to Robin. Lets it rest on her crossed thigh before giving her a reassuring squeeze.

This is also why he didn’t want this conversation to take place.

“It, uh, hasn’t happened yet.”

“No need to fret, Robin Hood! There will be plenty of dudettes to mack out with at that fancy school of yours. So many little fishies waiting for your lips.”

Robin snorts, shaking her head. “I hope your right,” she says, ducking her head for a moment. “What about you, Argyle?”

“Picture this, my dudes,” he says, hopping up onto his feet. “You’ve got Palm Tree Delight in one hand, a beautiful girl holding your other hand. The sky is doing that weird painter with the missing ear thing it does when all the colors start twirling together. And then everything starts spinning, and the next thing you know you’re in the grass with a beautiful girl on top of you, and she’s not just kissing you for Purple Palm Tree Delight, but she’s kissing you because she wants to taste your lips.”

“See, that’s how you tell a story!”

“Thanks, my dude.”

Eddie hops up on his feet, crossing the small distance to high-five Argyle. Their hands’ clasp in the moment, turning the innocent high-five into a weird handholding moment that neither seems to want to break.

Steve absolutely isn’t jealous.

“Yeah, well, not all of us are storytellers, Munson.”

“Allow me to give you a lesson in storytelling then,” Eddie says, finally prying his hand free from Argyle’s grasp. He saunters into the middle of the basement and gestures with his hands. “Everyone take your seats, please.”

Robin snorts as she crawls over to the couch, taking a seat on the floor where Eddie previously sat. Nancy’s still perched on the couch next to Jonathan, and Argyle collapses to his left. Steve’s the last to find his spot, making himself comfortable next to Robin.

“First, you start with the set up,” he says, talking directly at Steve before moving to address the rest of them. “It was 1976. I was ten years old, and I was in Hawkins visiting Wayne for the summer. Usually, my dad would bring me out to visit for a few days, but he got caught up with “work,” you know, hot-wiring cars and stripping them for parts, so I spent the whole summer here with Wayne.

“It was a humid July day. The air thick and hard to breathe,” he says, pausing to turn to Steve again. “A good story always has details about the senses, Stevie.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but keeps listening.

“I remember I was covered in sweat ‘cause Wayne had the day off and needed to patch up the patio of the trailer after I tore it up, saving a raccoon family. Course, I had to help. I was sweating buckets. My hair was shoulder-length at the time, and it was sticking to me, and so was everything else.

“We finally finished as the sun was setting and Wayne must’ve felt bad for keeping me hostage all day — not like I had anywhere else to go, really. Everyone already had their own friends in Hawkins. I was just some weird outsider who liked to feed raccoons. So, he felt bad and told me to take a quick shower ‘cause he was taking me out for ice cream.

“I’m thinking he’s taking me to the new Dairy Queen that I saw on the way into Hawkins a month ago. But no, the old man takes me to some rundown, hole-in-the wall ice cream parlor in the old downtown of Hawkins. The part they eventually tore down for Starcourt.

“And this place. Man, I’ll never forget it. It was like ice cream threw up inside. Every wall was painted after a different ice cream. And not the normal ones, either. There was a rainbow sherbet wall and turtle tracks one. A giant abstract sundae mural behind the counter.

“Jesus H. Christ and the name! I was only 11, but even I knew the name was an issue. I mean, who names an ice cream shop The Lick —-

“N’ Bite,” Steve supplies.

There’s a sinking feeling in Steve’s stomach when Eddie turns towards him again. Eddie hates being interrupted, a fact Steve knows because he’s constantly getting reprimanded for interrupting Eddie’s story flow. Whatever the hell that means. But the look Eddie’s giving him isn’t his usual one of annoyance; it’s one of pure curiosity.

“You know it?”

Steve nods. “Tommy’s mom used to take us there after basketball practice.”

“Huh, wouldn’t expect to see your type at a dive ice cream shop,” Eddie shrugs, then launches back into his story.

There’s another five minutes of Eddie describing all the flavors he sampled that day in great detail — “they had this one called fresh and clean that tasted like Wayne’s laundry detergent. I was so convinced it was one of the ingredients!” — before Eddie finally gets to the kiss side of the story.

“Wayne’s catching up with the only guy working the place, and I really want another scoop of Sinful Cinnamon, so I figure, what the hell? I’ll scoop it myself. But there’s none left in the tub, so I head into the back. There’s this giant walk-in freezer in the back that has all the tubs in it, and it’s cracked open.”

The sinking feeling in Steve’s stomach returns as Eddie keeps talking. He tries not to squirm next to Robin, doesn’t want to draw any attention to himself, but he can feel his heart beating faster and faster as realization hits Steve.

“Didn’t you used to hide out at an ice cream shop when your parents started arguing?” Robin whispers.

Steve nods, too scared of what his voice will sound like if he answers verbally.

"The damn door closes behind me, and it's pitch black in this room, right. And it's cold. So fucking cold. I thought my eyes were going to freeze over. Course, the door is locked from the inside, so I'm thinking, great, I'm going to die in a damn ice cream freezer, and my dad is gonna have my uncle arrested for child endangerment even though my dad's done way worse when I catch something out of the corner of my eye.

"Next thing I know, there's this kid standing in front of me. I thought I was hallucinating! All I could see were a pair of light-colored eyes in front cause everything else was so dark, but then he lamely asked if I was here looking for ice cream too, and I knew I didn't imagine him cause, dammit he would have said something a lot cooler if I was."

“What else was I supposed to say? I was a kid!”

Eddie whirls around so fast, his legs tangle as he moves to face them, but mostly Steve. Robin’s mouth is open wide beside Steve, jaw unhinged like she’s about to have it broken in two by fucking Vecna. Steve can’t see Nancy, but he can tell by the quiet “oh my gods” she’s uttering that not even she was expecting this plot twist.

“You were there?” Eddie shouts, voice high pitched and eyes wide in utter disbelief.

“Woah, my dudes,” Argyle says, glancing between the two of them. “You guys were both locked in the ice cream freezer together? That’s wild.”

“They weren’t just locked in there, Argyle,” Jonathan hisses, elbowing him in the ribs. “They’re each other’s first kisses.”

“That can’t be true!” Eddie throws his hands in the air and begins pacing. “Steve said his first kiss was with some girl in a dark room. That’s not what I’m describing!”

“I mean, I thought it was a girl. They had long hair, and I didn’t know any guys who had long hair back then,” Steve says, pushing himself up to his own feet. He doesn’t start pacing, though, feet frozen to their spot on the floor instead. “But I did have my first kiss in an ice cream freezer. That’s why it was dark.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s, uh, that’s a little weird, but we don’t know if it was the same ice cream freezer.”

“Do you regularly make it a habit of getting locked in ice cream freezers, Munson?” Steve snaps.

He doesn’t know why Eddie is reacting like this. A minute ago, he was fondly recounting the story of kissing some boy in a freezing cold ice cream freezer, and now? Now he’s trying way harder than he ever did in school to prove he didn’t kiss Steve. As if kissing Steve is a bad thing?

Is it a bad thing?

Sure, Eddie and Steve are friends now, but maybe there’s a part of Eddie that still hates Steve for who he was in high school.

Maybe, learning that Steve took this precious first from Eddie is the final straw.

“Hey, guys, why don’t we give them a minute to work this out?” Nancy says, already yanking Jonathan and Argyle up from the couch.

Robin hesitates as she looks at Steve. He knows she’s giving him an out, but he doesn’t take it. Gives her a small nod and a tight lip smile in return and sends her up the steps after Nancy and the guys.

When Steve turns back around, Eddie’s on the couch, head buried in his hands. He takes a deep breath before carefully lowering himself onto the opposite side of the couch.

“Everything okay over there, Munson?”

“Pretty far from it, Harrington.”

Steve tries not to wince at the mention of his last name. It’s been months since Eddie’s called him anything but Stevie in that annoying tilt of his voice. But here the ugly nickname is again. Driving a dagger straight through Steve’s heart.

Steve tries to assess the situation. Digs deep into that retired athlete's brain of his and tries to come up with a game-winning plan for how to navigate this conversation. But Steve's never been good with words. It's a lot easier to find the winning move when there are actual pawns to move instead of random letters spiraling through his brain.

The way he sees it, he has two options.

Option one: apologize. For what? Steve’s not sure, but that’s never stopped him from apologizing before. It’s not the ideal plan, but it’s the only plan Steve thinks will get Eddie to look at him again. And damn, does he miss Eddie’s eyes looking at him.

Option two: take the once-in-a-lifetime shot and tell Eddie the secret he’s been harboring since a certain March night when a broken bottle was dangerously close to his throat.

Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“For what it’s worth, it was a great kiss.”

“Don’t bullshit me, man!” Eddie groans. “This is embarrassing enough as it is.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize kissing me was so embarrassing,” Steve winces, recoiling in on himself.

“That’s not—“ Eddie groans again as he finally pulls his hands away from his face. He takes a moment before he turns to face Steve. “Why aren’t you more embarrassed? I mean, your first kiss was with a guy. Doesn’t that weird you out?”

“No? You know I don’t care about that stuff.”

“Yeah, but this is different. This isn’t Robin kissing Vickie or me kissing some random guy at a club. This is you! Patron Saint of Heterosexuality, Steve Harrington, having his kiss virginity stolen by some guy!”

“You didn’t steal it! I kissed you if you remember the rest of the story,” Steve says, jabbing his finger into Eddie’s scarred bicep. “And I’d do it again, because I’m not the Patron Saint of Hetereo—whatever it is you said!”

Steve's not sure how to describe the sound Eddie emits from the depths of his throat. It's a shill, almost demogorgon-like, but it lacks the danger that comes with a screech like that. Eddie's eyes are big and wild, pupils taking over every inch of the rich, warm brown Steve's come to lose himself in.

“What are you saying, Steve?”

Steve shifts closer to Eddie on the couch, eyes glued to the shell-shocked expression on his face.

It’s now, or never, he thinks. The seconds are ticking by, and he has to take the shot now if he wants the satisfaction of the win.

“I like you, Eddie,” he whispers, loud enough for Eddie to hear but not loud enough for Robin and the rest of them to hear if they’re spying on them. Which he’s willing to bet they are. “I’ve liked you since March, and I spent the entire summer of 1976 liking you before I even knew who you were.”

“Steve, that’s—” Eddie shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous, you didn’t even know what I looked like. You thought I was a girl! It could have still been a girl! We don’t know for sure it was you I kissed!”

“Maybe this will help.”

Steve scoots closer, closing the gap between them but leaving enough space for Eddie to move away if he wants. He waits for a moment, and then another and only starts to lean in when Eddie gives him the smallest nod of his head.

Eddie shakes under Steve’s steadying hand as it moves to cup his cheek. He lets his thumb trace over the still-healing flesh of his scars as he tips Eddie’s head subtly to the left. And then Steve leans in, hot breath fanning over Eddie’s face. He watches Eddie’s eyelashes flutter shut and only when he’s certain they’re closed does he press his lips to Eddie’s.

It’s soft and tentative.

Maybe even a little bit awkward.

But then Eddie presses into him ever so gently, and the sparks fly.

Steve’s entire body breaks out with goosebumps. The same way they did all those years ago in the freezer, except this time, it has nothing to do with the arctic temperature.

They keep kissing. Gentle pecks, nothing more.

Steve’s too scared of scaring Eddie away with how deep his want is, and Eddie, well, Steve’s not entirely sure what’s going on in Eddie’s head, but he imagines he’s still reeling from this new discovery.

When they finally pull away, Eddie’s smiling. Dimples deep and on full display. He’s got a mischievous glint in his eye that Steve’s come to love from afar, but now that it’s directed at him? Well, Steve’s inside turn molten.

“Think our first kiss was sweeter, Stevie.”

Steve laughs and lets his head knock against Eddie’s boney shoulder as he buries his laughter in the crook of Eddie’s neck. “I did eat like three Turtle Track sundaes before I kissed you back then.”

Eddie hums. “Guess we better go get you a sundae then and try again.

Steve pulls away and looks at Eddie with his own face of bewilderment. “You want to? With me?”

“Steve,” Eddie jests. “I dreamt about the ice cream-flavored boy I kissed for years, until I found someone new to dream about in high school. Turns out, they turned out to be the same boy after all.”

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