#hell nobody could stand him for so long in the show

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

Second Chance - Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve tried to get you back, but it's not always easy to gain back the trust one loses.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Warning: Angsts, like kind of a lot of it, injured character, but nobody dies. A bit of fluff with a happy ending.

Words: 9 224

AN: So, sweet anon asked about part two of Enough is Enough, and well, why the hell no :) I feel like shit (being sick isn't fun), so apologies x4 for any mistakes. My brain isn't braining...

Steve didn’t give up.

Steve’s first apology came in the form of flowers.

They arrived at the coffee shop just as you were opening. A delivery driver handed you the bouquet—a lush arrangement of white roses and baby’s breath, wrapped in soft tissue paper. For a moment, you just stared at them, the scent of fresh blossoms mingling with the familiar aroma of coffee beans. The card nestled within the bouquet bore only three words: I’m so sorry.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t have to wonder who sent them.

“Who’s the secret admirer?” your coworker teased, grinning as she wiped down the counter.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you set the bouquet aside, trying to push down the lump rising in your throat. It was a beautiful gesture—one you might have cherished once—but now it felt hollow.

The flowers kept coming. Every morning, a new arrangement would appear. Daisies, tulips, sunflowers. Each accompanied by a note in Steve’s handwriting: I miss you. I love you. Let me fix this.

You didn’t know how to feel. Part of you wanted to believe him, to give him the chance to make things right. But another part of you—the part still raw and aching—refused.

Then he started showing up.

The first time, you nearly dropped the coffee pot in your hand. He stood outside the shop, leaning against the lamppost with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He looked different—tired, almost haunted, as though the weight of your absence was something physical he carried with him.

You ignored him, focusing on your customers, but you could feel his presence like a shadow just beyond the glass. When you finally closed the shop, he was still there.

He said your name softly as you stepped outside, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t stop walking.

“Please,” he called after you, his tone desperate. “Just give me a chance to talk.”

You turned back, your jaw clenched. “Why now, Steve? Why couldn’t you talk to me when it mattered?”

His face crumpled, and for a brief moment, you felt a pang of guilt. But you shook it off and kept walking.

It didn’t deter him. Steve came back the next day, and the day after that, always waiting silently as you worked. It wasn’t until a week later that you finally confronted him.

“What do you want from me, Steve?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

His blue eyes searched yours, filled with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in months. “I want to make this right,” he said, his voice breaking. “I love you. I never stopped. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening with conflicting emotions. He looked so sincere, so heartbroken, that for a moment, you almost believed him. Almost.

“It’s too late,” you said finally, your voice barely audible. “You can’t fix this. I don’t trust you anymore.”

The pain in his eyes was like a physical blow, but you didn’t let it show. You turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, defeated.

But the truth was, you weren’t as strong as you seemed. Every step away from him felt like ripping a piece of yourself apart. By the time you got home, you were shaking, tears streaming down your face as you collapsed onto the couch.

You loved him. God, you still loved him. But love wasn’t enough anymore.

***

The days blurred together after that.

You went through the motions of your life—opening the coffee shop each morning, smiling at customers, making small talk with your coworkers—but it all felt mechanical, like a script you had memorized long ago. The warmth and joy that once fueled you were gone, replaced by an empty numbness you couldn’t seem to shake.

Nights were the worst.

Sleep eluded you, no matter how many hours you spent staring at the ceiling or tossing and turning under your blankets. The bed felt too big, too cold without him there. You hated yourself for missing him, for craving the comfort of his arms even after everything he’d done. But the longing wasn’t something you could control.

It wasn’t just the nights, though. Little things kept sneaking up on you, tearing at the fragile stitches holding you together.

The sight of his favorite mug on your kitchen counter. The book he’d borrowed but never finished, still sitting on your nightstand. The faint scent of his cologne that lingered on your favorite sweater, no matter how many times you washed it.

You tried to distract yourself, but nothing worked. Books, once your solace, couldn’t hold your attention. The words blurred together, and you’d find yourself reading the same sentence over and over without absorbing a single word.

Your friends noticed.

“You need to eat more,” one of them said during a group dinner you’d been forced to attend. She pushed a plate of pasta toward you, her brow furrowed with concern. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, picking at the food with a fork.

Kat wasn’t buying it. She leaned across the table, her sharp blue eyes cutting through your defenses. “You’re not fine. And we’re not going to pretend otherwise.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, and you had to blink back the sting of tears.

Steve’s friends noticed too. Sam popped into the coffee shop one morning, leaning casually against the counter as you took his order.

“You’re not sleeping,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone laced with concern.

You forced a smile, trying to keep your voice light. “Busy days, you know how it is.”

He didn’t press you further, but the look he gave you lingered long after he left.

***

The worst was when Steve came back.

It was late in the evening, just before closing, when he walked into the shop. You froze behind the counter, your heart leaping into your throat at the sight of him.

He looked just as broken as you felt. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was mussed like he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. He lingered near the entrance, as if unsure whether he was welcome.

“Hi,” he said softly, his voice hesitant.

You gripped the edge of the counter, steadying yourself. “We’re about to close.”

“I know,” he said, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. “I just… I wanted to see you.”

You turned away, pretending to busy yourself with cleaning up. “You shouldn’t be here, Steve.”

“Please,” he said, stepping closer. “Just give me five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You shook your head, your chest tightening painfully. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you,” he said, his voice breaking. “And because I can’t stand knowing I hurt you like this.”

His words cracked something inside you, but you couldn’t let him see it. “You need to leave,” you said firmly, refusing to meet his eyes.

For a moment, he hesitated, as if hoping you might change your mind. But when you didn’t, he nodded, his shoulders sagging with defeat.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

You watched him go, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the empty shop. And then you broke.

You sank to the floor, tears streaming down your face as the weight of your grief crushed you.

You loved him. God, you still loved him.

But you didn’t know how to let yourself forgive him.

***

You didn’t expect to find Bucky Barnes on your doorstep.

It was a gray Saturday morning, and the porch floor creaked under your weight as you aimlessly swept away fallen leaves. When you opened the door and saw him standing there, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets and his blue-gray eyes watching you carefully, you froze.

“Bucky?”

“Hey,” he said, his tone casual, though his expression betrayed a flicker of hesitation. “Mind if I come in?”

You hesitated. This was Steve’s best friend. Seeing him felt like reopening wounds that you’d been trying desperately to let heal. But there was no judgment in his gaze, no pressure—just concern. So, with a heavy sigh, you stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

He stepped into the living room, glancing around like he was cataloging the space. You folded your arms, standing stiffly near the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, doll,” he teased, his lips quirking into a faint smirk.

“Bucky,” you said, your voice sharper now. “Why are you here?”

He sighed, the smirk fading. “I wanted to check on you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you said quickly. “I’m not with Steve anymore. There’s no obligation.”

He raised an eyebrow, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against the back of your couch. “Obligation? That’s not why I’m here, sweetheart. You’re my friend too. And whether or not you’re with Steve doesn’t change that.”

The softness in his tone made something crack inside you. You wanted to argue, to brush him off, but instead, you felt your defenses falter.

“Besides,” he continued with a wry grin, “someone’s gotta make sure you know not all men are idiots. Steve might be an amazing guy, but even amazing guys screw up sometimes.”

That last sentence hit you like a slap. You felt the tears coming before you could stop them, your vision blurring as all the emotions you’d been bottling up threatened to spill over. You turned away, trying to pull yourself together, but Bucky wasn’t having it.

“Hey,” he said gently, stepping closer. “Talk to me.”

That was all it took for the dam to break.

“I don’t know how to stop loving him,” you blurted, your voice trembling as the words spilled out in a rush.

Bucky froze, his expression softening as he watched the tears stream down your face. You sank onto the couch, your shoulders shaking, and he followed, sitting beside you without a word.

“I hate him for what he did,” you continued, your voice cracking. “I hate that he made me feel like I didn’t matter, like I was just… there. And now? Now he’s trying to fix it, like I’m supposed to just forget everything and let him back in.”

Bucky listened silently, his hands clasped together as you poured your heart out.

“It feels like a slap in the face,” you said, your chest heaving with each breath. “Like he thinks flowers and apologies will erase months of feeling invisible. I hate him for that. But more than anything, I hate that I still love him.”

You buried your face in your hands, your voice muffled as you added, “I don’t want to love him anymore. I want it to stop, Bucky. I want it all to stop.”

The room was quiet for a long moment. Then, Bucky sighed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

“Doll,” he said softly, “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but loving him isn’t something to hate yourself for. Steve… he’s a complicated guy. He doesn’t always get things right, but I promise you, he loves you. More than you know.”

You shook your head, your voice shaking. “If he loved me so much, why did he treat me like that? Why did he make me feel like I didn’t matter?”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. “You’re right. He screwed up. Big time. But… he’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for years. It doesn’t excuse how he hurt you, but I’ve seen him lately, and he’s a wreck without you.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, your tears blurring the intensity in his gaze.

“He’s not good at showing it,” Bucky continued, “but he’s an amazing guy. I’ve known him my whole life, and I’ve seen him at his best and his worst. And I know he’ll never stop trying to make this right. The question is… would you ever let him? What would it take for you to let him back in?”

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and unrelenting. You didn’t answer right away, your fingers gripping the hem of your shirt as you stared down at the floor.

“I don’t know,” you whispered finally. “I don’t know if I can. It’s like… every time I see him, I remember how much it hurt. And even if I wanted to try again, I don’t know if I’d ever trust him not to hurt me like that again.”

Bucky reached out, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he said gently. “But whatever you choose, just know this: you deserve to be happy, sweetheart. Whether that’s with Steve or without him.”

You looked at him, searching his face for any trace of pity or judgment, but there was none. Just quiet understanding and unwavering support.

When he finally stood to leave, he gave you a small smile. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said, his voice steady. “And no matter what happens, I’m here. Steve or no Steve.”

You watched him go, his words echoing in your mind long after the door closed.

And for the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to wonder if maybe—just maybe—you could find a way forward.

***

The compound gym was almost empty, save for the quiet hum of machinery and the dull thud of fists meeting a punching bag. Steve Rogers stood at the far end of the room, his knuckles raw and his breathing ragged. He’d been at it for hours, his frustration and grief pouring into every swing, every strike. The bag swayed violently under the force of his hits, the chain creaking with each impact.

“You keep that up, and you’ll be patching the damn thing again,” Bucky’s voice rang out, casual and dry as ever, though the concern in it was unmistakable.

Steve paused mid-swing, the tension in his shoulders easing only slightly as he turned to see his best friend leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. Bucky’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a softness Steve wasn’t sure he deserved.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked, his voice hoarse from hours of exertion.

“Figured I’d find you here,” Bucky replied, stepping into the gym. “Thought maybe you’d stop using that bag like it owes you money and actually talk to me.”

Steve sighed, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Not in the mood, Buck.”

“Well, tough,” Bucky shot back, grabbing a folding chair and dragging it noisily across the floor. He plopped it down unceremoniously a few feet away from Steve, crossing one ankle over his knee. “Because I just came from seeing her.”

The color drained from Steve’s face. He froze, his fists still clenched at his sides. “You… you saw her?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said evenly, watching his friend’s reaction carefully. “She didn’t slam the door in my face, so I’d say I’m doing better than you.”

Steve flinched, the weight of Bucky’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He turned away, his hands gripping the edges of the punching bag as he tried to steady himself. “How… how is she?”

Bucky hesitated. He’d seen the raw pain in your eyes, the tears you tried to hide, and he knew Steve wasn’t ready for the truth. But lying wouldn’t help either.

“She’s a mess, Steve,” Bucky said softly. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Steve let out a shaky breath, his head hanging low. “I did this to her,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I pushed her away, made her feel like she wasn’t enough. And now… now I don’t know how to fix it.”

Bucky stood, closing the distance between them. “Steve, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Steve turned, his eyes red and tired.

“She still loves you,” Bucky said firmly, his voice steady. “But she’s hurt, and she’s angry. And you can’t expect her to just forget all that because you’re showing up with flowers and apologies.”

“I know that,” Steve snapped, his voice breaking. “God, Buck, I know. But what else can I do? Every time I see her, it’s like she’s slipping further away, and I don’t know how to reach her anymore.”

Bucky’s gaze softened, and he placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You start by understanding that this isn’t about fixing things overnight. It’s about showing her that you’re willing to put in the work, no matter how long it takes. That you’re not just sorry—you’re ready to be better.”

Steve nodded, though the despair in his eyes didn’t fade. “She said she doesn’t trust me anymore.”

“Then earn it back,” Bucky said simply. “Show her that you’re not the same guy who hurt her. And for God’s sake, stop treating this like a battle you can win with brute force. You’re not fighting Hydra here, Steve. You’re fighting for her.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, his head dropping into his hands. “I don’t even know if she wants me to try.”

Bucky crouched slightly, meeting Steve’s gaze head-on. “I asked her,” he said quietly.

Steve’s head shot up, his blue eyes wide. “What? What did she say?”

“She doesn’t know,” Bucky admitted. “She’s scared, Steve. Scared that if she lets you back in, you’ll hurt her again. And honestly? I don’t blame her.”

The words hit Steve like a blow, but he didn’t argue. He knew Bucky was right.

“She told me something else too,” Bucky continued, his voice softer now. “She said she doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And it’s killing her.”

Steve’s breath caught, his chest tightening painfully. “She… she said that?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. She loves you, Steve. But love isn’t enough—not after what you put her through. You have to show her that you’re not just saying the right things. You have to be the right man for her. The man she fell in love with.”

Steve closed his eyes, his mind racing with memories of you—the way you used to laugh, the way you’d look at him like he was your whole world. He’d taken that for granted, and now he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get it back.

“What if I can’t?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “What if I’ve already lost her?”

Bucky’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “You don’t get to give up, punk. Not on her, and not on yourself. You want her back? Then fight for her. And don’t stop until you’ve shown her that she’s worth everything.”

Steve swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. “How? How do I even start?”

Bucky gave him a small, knowing smile. “Start by listening. By showing up—not just for her, but for the life she wants. Show her that she’s not a convenience, Steve. She’s the center of it all.”

Steve nodded slowly, the weight of Bucky’s words sinking in. He didn’t know if it would be enough, but he knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t give up on you. Not now. Not ever.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said quietly, his voice rough but sincere.

Bucky grinned, clapping him on the back. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a hell of a road ahead of you.”

Steve nodded, determination flickering in his tired eyes. He didn’t know how long it would take or if he’d even succeed, but for you, he’d move mountains.

Because losing you wasn’t an option. And he’d spend the rest of his life proving it if that’s what it took.

***

Steve left the gym after his conversation with Bucky feeling drained but determined. His best friend’s words weighed on him, both a reminder of the man he wanted to be and the man he hadn’t been for you. He knew Bucky was right—this wasn’t a fight he could win with brute force or a quick apology. It would take time, patience, and a quiet kind of devotion that he’d never had to show before.

He didn’t expect you to forgive him overnight. He didn’t even expect you to notice what he was doing right away. But he had to start somewhere.

***

It was early morning when Steve pushed open the door to your coffee shop.

The familiar bell jingled above him, the sound stirring memories of quieter, happier times. You were behind the counter, moving with practiced ease as you worked the espresso machine. You didn’t see him at first, but when you turned, your eyes locked, and Steve felt the air shift.

“Morning,” he said, his voice soft, careful not to disrupt the fragile peace of the moment.

You blinked, your expression guarded. “Morning.”

“I’m here for coffee,” he said, stepping forward. “For the team.”

Your brow furrowed, skeptical. “The team sent you?”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Not exactly. Thought I’d take my turn.”

You didn’t reply, but you turned back to the espresso machine, the hum of it filling the silence. Steve watched you work, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, and for a moment, he was struck by how natural this scene felt, even with the tension between you.

When you handed him the tray of drinks, your fingers brushed his briefly, and he saw the faintest flicker of something in your eyes—surprise, maybe, or something softer.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice warm but careful.

You didn’t answer, but you nodded, and he left without lingering, the bell jingling softly as the door swung shut behind him.

*

The next time he came, it was quieter. Midmorning, after the breakfast rush had died down, Steve appeared with a small brown paper bag in hand.

You were cleaning the counter, lost in thought, when his voice broke through the silence.

“You forget to eat when you’re busy,” he said simply, placing the bag on the counter.

You looked up, startled. “Steve…”

“It’s just breakfast,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall your protests. “Nothing more. Just thought you might need it.”

You hesitated, the words you wanted to say caught somewhere in your throat. Slowly, you opened the bag, the warm scent of eggs and bacon wafting up to meet you.

“From that diner you like,” he added, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Figured it was better than you skipping meals.”

You stared at the bag for a long moment before meeting his eyes. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I wanted to.”

He didn’t stay long, didn’t push for conversation. He just gave you a small nod and left, leaving you with breakfast and a strange, lingering warmth in your chest.

*

Natasha was relentless when it came to her movie nights, and somehow, you found yourself at the Tower despite your protests. The room was cozy, filled with the low murmur of conversation and the scent of popcorn. You settled into one corner of the couch, trying to ignore the way Steve’s presence tugged at the edges of your awareness.

When the opening credits began to roll, Steve appeared beside you, holding something in his hands.

“Here,” he said quietly, offering you a pair of thick woolen socks.

You frowned, confused. “What’s this?”

“Your feet get cold,” he said simply, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

You stared at him, your chest tightening, before reluctantly taking the socks. “Thanks,” you muttered, slipping them on.

He didn’t linger, didn’t push for more. But later, when the movie reached its tense climax, he handed you a steaming mug of hot chocolate—rich, creamy, with just the right amount of cinnamon.

“You don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a small, knowing smile.

“You love hot chocolate after horror movies,” he said, his tone soft. “Figured you might want some.”

You took the mug, the warmth seeping into your hands, and for the first time that night, you let yourself relax.

*

The envelope was waiting for you in your mailbox, unassuming but carefully placed. Inside was a single ticket to the sold-out Broadway show you’d mentioned to Sam weeks ago.

The note tucked inside was brief, written in Steve’s familiar handwriting: Thought you’d like this. Hope it’s as good as you imagined.

You stared at the ticket for a long time, your heart aching with a mixture of gratitude and frustration. He remembered. Of course, he remembered.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that it was just a kind gesture, but deep down, it chipped away at the walls you’d built around your heart.

*

The night your car broke down was cold and quiet, the kind of night that made the world feel vast and lonely. You sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the lifeless dashboard, your breath fogging up the glass as you fought the urge to cry.

You tried calling a few friends, but no one answered. Finally, with trembling fingers, you dialed the one number you swore you wouldn’t.

“Sweetheart?” Steve’s voice came through the line, steady and concerned.

“My car won’t start,” you said softly, ignoring the pet name, hating how small your voice sounded.

“Where are you?”

You told him, and he didn’t hesitate. “Stay there. I’m on my way.”

When his truck pulled up beside you, he climbed out without a word, his breath misting in the cold air as he checked under your hood. His movements were sure and efficient, his presence steadying.

“Alternator’s shot,” he said finally, closing the hood. “I’ll take you home.”

You hesitated, your pride warring with your gratitude, but the freezing air made the decision for you.

The drive was quiet, the heater humming softly as Steve navigated the empty streets. He didn’t pry, didn’t try to fill the silence with unnecessary words. He just… drove.

When you woke up the next morning, your car was back in its usual spot. The engine purred like new when you started it, and a small note was taped to the dashboard: Shouldn’t give you trouble anymore. Call me if it does.

*

Each gesture was small, unassuming. Steve never pushed, never demanded more than you were willing to give. He just… showed up, quietly and consistently, letting his actions speak louder than words ever could.

And slowly, despite yourself, you began to notice.

***

Three months had passed since the breakup.

You wouldn’t say things had gone back to normal—far from it—but something had undeniably shifted between you and Steve. His quiet persistence, the way he showed up without pushing or demanding anything from you, had started to chip away at the walls you’d built around your heart.

At first, your conversations were stiff and polite, nothing more than a few sentences exchanged when he stopped by the coffee shop or brought you breakfast. But as the weeks went by, those moments grew longer, softer. He’d ask about your day, about the books you were reading, or the things you enjoyed, and you found yourself answering more openly. It wasn’t quite like before, but it was closer to the first moments of your relationship, back when everything had been new and uncomplicated.

Still, there was a voice in the back of your mind that wouldn’t let you forget. A quiet, insistent whisper that reminded you of how he’d hurt you, how he’d pushed you aside and made you feel invisible.

That voice grew louder the day he asked you to talk.

***

It was late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the windows of the coffee shop as you wiped down the counter. The shop was quiet, the usual morning and lunch rushes long gone, leaving you with only the hum of the espresso machine and the soft clatter of dishes.

The sound of the bell above the door caught your attention, and when you looked up, Steve was there.

He’d been coming in more often lately, not just to pick up coffee for the team but to see you, to talk to you. This time, though, something about the way he stood—his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched—told you this wasn’t just a casual visit.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice careful as he approached the counter.

“Hey,” you replied, setting the towel aside.

“Do you have a minute?” he asked, glancing around at the empty shop. “I mean… can we talk?”

You hesitated, your stomach twisting. The vulnerability in his expression was disarming, but that voice in the back of your mind warned you to tread carefully. Still, you nodded, gesturing toward one of the empty tables.

Steve followed you, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from you. For a moment, he said nothing, his hands clasped tightly on the table as he stared down at them. You waited, your heart thudding quietly in your chest as the silence stretched between you.

Finally, he took a deep breath and looked up, his blue eyes meeting yours.

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” he began, his voice low but steady. “About what I should say. How I should say it. And the truth is… there’s no easy way to do this. So I’m just going to be honest.”

You nodded, your throat tightening as you braced yourself for whatever was coming.

“I screwed up,” he said, the words heavy with regret. “I let you down in a way I never should have. And I’ve been trying to figure out why—why I acted the way I did, why I pushed you away when you were the best thing in my life.”

His hands tightened into fists, his knuckles whitening as he struggled to find the right words. “I think… I think I was scared. Scared of not being enough for you, scared of dragging you into everything that comes with being me. The missions, the stress, the weight of it all—I didn’t want to burden you with that.”

Your brow furrowed, confusion and frustration bubbling to the surface. “So you decided to ignore me instead? To shut me out?”

“I know,” he said quickly, his voice breaking slightly. “I know it doesn’t make sense. It was selfish and stupid, and I wasn’t thinking about how it would make you feel. I just… I thought if I kept it to myself, if I didn’t tell you about everything that was going on, I could protect you from it. But all I did was hurt you.”

His eyes glistened, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “I’ll never forgive myself for that. For making you feel like you weren’t enough when you were everything to me.”

The raw emotion in his voice made your chest ache, but the wounds he’d left were still fresh, still tender.

“Steve…” you began, your voice trembling, “you hurt me more than anyone ever has. Do you know that?”

He flinched, his jaw tightening, but he nodded.

“I spent weeks wondering what I did wrong,” you continued, your words spilling out in a rush. “I kept asking myself why I wasn’t good enough for you, why I wasn’t worth your time or your attention. And then, when you finally started trying again, it felt like a slap in the face. Like you thought a few kind gestures could erase everything you put me through.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you fought to keep your voice steady. “I wanted so badly to be enough for you, Steve. That’s all I ever wanted. Just to be enough.”

“You were,” he said quickly, his voice cracking. “You are. God, you’re more than enough. I was the one who wasn’t. I didn’t know how to handle it—how to be the man you deserved—and I let that fear control me. But I swear to you, I see it now. I see what I lost because of it.”

He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “I know I don’t deserve another chance. I know I might have ruined the best thing that ever happened to me. But if there’s anything—anything—I can do to change your mind, tell me. I’ll do it. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I can be better, that I can be the man you need me to be.”

His voice dropped, barely more than a whisper. “I just need to know if there’s any part of you that still believes in us.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding as the weight of his words settled over you. The pain, the anger, the love—all of it swirled together in a storm of emotion that left you speechless.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your voice trembling as you said, “I don’t know, Steve. I don’t know if I can trust you again. I don’t know if I can forget how much it hurt.”

His face crumpled, but he nodded, accepting your words without argument.

“But…” you continued, your voice softer now, “I can’t pretend I don’t still feel something for you. I can’t pretend I don’t still love you.”

His eyes widened, hope flickering in their depths.

“That doesn’t mean we can go back to how things were,” you said quickly, your tone firm. “If we’re going to try… if we’re going to even think about trying, it has to be different. You have to be honest with me, Steve. About everything.”

“I will,” he said immediately, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear, I will.”

You nodded, your throat tight with the weight of what you’d just said. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it was something. A small step toward rebuilding what had been broken.

And as Steve reached out, his hand brushing against yours, you let yourself hope—for the first time in months—that maybe, just maybe, it was a step worth taking.

***

It had been a week since the conversation with Steve, and your emotions were in turmoil. You felt caught between the raw pain of the past and the cautious hope of what could be. His words haunted you—his apologies, his promises, the way his voice had cracked when he told you how much he still cared.

You needed clarity, and there was only one person who could give you the no-nonsense advice you desperately needed: Natasha.

She arrived at your place that evening, a takeout bag in hand, and didn’t waste a second settling herself at your kitchen table. Her sharp green eyes studied you as you sat down across from her, picking at the noodles she’d brought for you.

“All right,” she said, breaking the silence. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Steve,” you admitted, your voice soft.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. “What about him?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the table. “We talked. Really talked. He told me everything—why he shut me out, how he felt, all of it. He apologized for everything and… I believe him, Nat. I really do.”

“But?” she prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“But I don’t know if I can trust him again,” you confessed, your throat tightening. “I don’t know if I can let myself go through that again. He hurt me so much, Nat. How do I just move past that?”

Natasha studied you for a moment, her gaze piercing. “Let me ask you something,” she said finally. “If you didn’t still love him, if you didn’t still want something with him deep down, would we even be having this conversation right now?”

You frowned, her words hitting you hard. “What do you mean?”

“It’s been three months,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “If you were done with him, if you really didn’t care anymore, you’d have moved on by now. You wouldn’t still be here, agonizing over whether to give him another chance.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came. She wasn’t wrong, and deep down, you knew it.

“I’m not saying you have to forgive him tomorrow or even next week,” Natasha continued, leaning forward. “But if there’s still a part of you that wants to believe in him, don’t ignore that. You owe it to yourself to figure out what you really want. Not what you’re afraid of, not what you think you should do. What you want.”

Her words lingered long after she left, a quiet truth that refused to be ignored.

***

At the same time, Steve was grappling with his own uncertainty.

He sat in the Tower’s lounge, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee as he stared out the window. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about your conversation, about the raw pain in your voice when you told him how much he’d hurt you.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Steve turned to see both Sam and Bucky entering the room. They exchanged a look before sitting down on either side of him.

“You’ve been brooding,” Sam said bluntly. “What’s going on?”

Steve sighed, setting his mug down on the coffee table. “It’s her,” he admitted.

“Figured,” Bucky said, leaning back in his chair. “What happened?”

“I talked to her,” Steve said. “Told her everything—how I felt, why I shut her out. I apologized for all of it.”

“And?” Sam prompted.

“She said she doesn’t know if she can trust me again,” Steve said quietly, his voice heavy with regret. “But she also said she still loves me. I don’t know what to do with that, Sam. I don’t know how to make it right.”

Sam leaned forward, his expression serious. “Look, man, love isn’t always enough. Not when there’s hurt involved. If she doesn’t trust you right now, that’s on you to fix. You can’t just expect her to forgive and forget because you feel bad about it.”

“I know that,” Steve said quickly, his jaw tightening. “That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to mess this up again. I need to figure out how to show her that I’m serious without overwhelming her.”

Bucky gave him a long, measured look. “You’ve been trying,” he said finally. “We’ve all seen it—the little things you’ve been doing. But if you’re asking me, you’re not going to fix this by tiptoeing around her. You’ve got to be honest, Rogers. If you want her back, you need to let her see all of you. The good, the bad, and the stuff you think she won’t want to deal with.”

Steve frowned, his gaze dropping to the floor. “What if she doesn’t want to deal with it?”

“Then she doesn’t,” Bucky said simply. “But if you hold back, you’re not giving her the chance to decide for herself. And that’s not fair to either of you.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “You’ve got to let her see that you’re not just saying the right things, Steve. You’ve got to show her. But don’t make it about fixing things fast. Healing takes time, for both of you.”

Steve exhaled slowly, the weight of their words settling over him. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Sam said with a grin. “You’ve got a long road ahead of you, Cap.”

***

Steve spent the next few days thinking about their advice. He’d been so focused on not pushing you, on giving you space, that he hadn’t realized he might be holding back too much.

When he saw you next, it was at the coffee shop, just as you were closing up for the day. He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, his heart pounding.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice breaking the quiet.

You looked up, surprise flickering across your face. “Hey.”

“Do you have a minute?” he asked.

You nodded slowly, setting down the rag you’d been using to clean the counter. “Sure.”

He gestured toward one of the empty tables, and you followed him, sitting down across from him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Steve began, his voice steady but low. “About how much I hurt you, how I made you feel like you weren’t enough. And you were right. I let you down in ways I’ll never forgive myself for.”

Your throat tightened, but you stayed silent, letting him continue.

“I’ve spent so much time trying to fix things in small ways, trying to show you that I’m serious,” he said. “But I don’t think I’ve been honest enough with you. I don’t think I’ve let you see how much this has been tearing me apart.”

His hands tightened into fists on the table, his knuckles white. “I don’t want to overwhelm you or push you, but I can’t hold this back anymore. I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I can be the man you deserve.”

His voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw tears in his eyes. “If there’s anything—anything—I can do to earn your trust again, tell me. Because losing you would be the biggest mistake of my life.”

Your own eyes burned with tears, the raw honesty in his words cutting through the walls you’d built around your heart. For the first time, you saw not just the man who’d hurt you but the man who was willing to fight for you, flaws and all.

You didn’t have an answer for him—not yet. But as you reached across the table and took his hand, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were ready to start finding one.

***

You were closing up the coffee shop when your phone buzzed. The message was from Natasha. That alone was unusual—Nat rarely texted without reason. You pulled your phone out, unlocking it with a swipe of your thumb.

The words on the screen made your blood run cold: We’ve lost contact with Steve and Bucky.

Your breath caught, and the phone nearly slipped from your trembling hands. For a moment, everything around you blurred—the soft hum of the espresso machine, the faint chatter of pedestrians outside, the smell of coffee beans—all of it faded into the background.

You didn’t think, didn’t even register dropping the rag you’d been using to clean the counter. Your hands shook as you locked the doors, fumbling with the keys before rushing to your car.

The drive to the Tower was a haze, your chest tight with panic as Natasha’s words repeated in your mind. You knew Steve went on dangerous missions. It was part of who he was. But something about those words—lost contact—made this time feel different.

***

By the time you arrived at the Tower, your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might break through your ribcage. The elevator ride felt like an eternity, each floor passing with agonizing slowness. When the doors finally slid open, you practically ran into the common room, where Natasha and Sam were already waiting.

“What happened?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

Natasha turned toward you, her expression calm but her eyes betraying her concern. “They were on a mission. Everything was going according to plan, but then we lost contact about three hours ago. We’ve been trying to re-establish communication, but there’s been no response.”

Three hours. That might as well have been three days.

“What do you mean ‘lost contact’?” you pressed, your voice rising. “How does that even happen?”

“It could be anything,” Sam said, his tone soothing but cautious. “Jammed signals, a misstep in the mission. We don’t know yet.”

You stared at them, your breathing shallow, your mind racing with every worst-case scenario imaginable. “So they could be…”

“They’re not,” Natasha said firmly, cutting you off. Her voice was sharp, but there was a softness in her gaze. “Steve and Bucky have been in worse situations than this. They’ll find a way to get back to us.”

Sam nodded in agreement, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. “They’re two of the toughest guys I know,” he said. “If anyone can make it out of this, it’s them.”

You wanted to believe them, but the fear in your chest refused to let go. You sank into one of the chairs, your hands gripping the armrests so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

The minutes dragged by like hours, the silence in the room heavy and oppressive. Natasha and Sam tried to make conversation, to keep you distracted, but you barely registered their words. Your mind was too consumed by the thought of what could happen—of what might have already happened.

***

When Natasha’s phone finally buzzed, the sound cut through the quiet like a gunshot. She snatched it up, her sharp gaze scanning the screen. Relief flickered across her face as she read aloud:

“It’s from Steve. They’re on their way back, but a medic is necessary.”

Your heart seized, a mixture of relief and panic coursing through you. “Who’s hurt?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“He didn’t say,” Natasha replied, her lips pressing into a thin line.

You tried to steady your breathing, but the knot in your chest refused to loosen. You told yourself it didn’t matter who was hurt—they were alive, and they were coming back. But the not knowing gnawed at you, the fear for Steve settling deep in your bones.

No one told Steve you were here, and maybe that was for the best. But as you sat there, waiting for the jet to arrive, you realized just how fragile everything felt. The past few months flashed through your mind—all the moments of doubt, the anger, the hesitation—and for the first time, they seemed so small. In the grand scheme of things, you could have lost Steve today. That thought terrified you more than anything else.

***

The sound of the jet’s engines rumbling low overhead pulled you out of your thoughts. You stood with Natasha and Sam, your heart pounding as the aircraft touched down on the Tower’s private landing pad.

The ramp lowered slowly, and the first thing you saw was Steve, his arm slung around Bucky to help him walk. Bucky looked pale, his arm hanging limp at his side, his face tight with pain. Medics rushed forward to meet him, but your eyes were locked on Steve.

He didn’t look much better than Bucky. His shirt was torn, streaked with dirt and blood, and his face bore a fresh collection of cuts and bruises. His shoulders sagged under the weight of exhaustion, his steps slow and measured.

But when his eyes found yours, he smiled.

Even battered and bloodied, he’d never looked more handsome. His beard, grown in over the time he’d been away, gave him a rugged edge, and his blue eyes still held that quiet strength you’d always admired.

The moment your gaze met his, something in you broke. You ran to him, barely aware of your surroundings, and threw your arms around him.

“Steve,” you sobbed, burying your face in his chest. His shirt was rough against your skin, damp with sweat and blood, but you didn’t care. “I was so scared. I thought… I thought I might lose you.”

His arms wrapped around you tightly, his grip strong despite his obvious exhaustion. “I’m okay,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “I’m here.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, tears streaming down your face. “You have to be more careful,” you said, your voice trembling. “You can’t… you can’t do this to me, Steve.”

His expression softened, and he reached up to brush a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What happened?” you asked, your voice cracking. “What went wrong?”

To your surprise, Steve didn’t hesitate. He guided you to a quieter corner, his hand resting lightly on your back, and began to explain.

“The mission was supposed to be straightforward,” he said, his voice low but steady. “But things went sideways fast. There were more hostiles than we anticipated, and Bucky got hit—bad. I couldn’t leave him behind, so I…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

“You carried him out,” you finished, your throat tightening.

Steve nodded, his eyes meeting yours. “I wasn’t going to leave him, no matter what.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just from fear. They were from the overwhelming realization of who Steve truly was—the man who would sacrifice everything for the people he cared about.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice softer now. “I won’t make that mistake again. And if you’re willing to listen, I’ll tell you everything—about the missions, about what’s going on with me. No more shutting you out.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with a mixture of love and fear and hope. Slowly, you nodded. “I’m listening,” you said.

And as he began to speak, you felt the cracks in your heart begin to mend, one word at a time.

***

Steve stayed with you after the medics whisked Bucky away to the infirmary. He’d insisted Bucky was in good hands, though you could see the guilt still lingering in his eyes. You sat together in one of the quieter rooms in the Tower, the tension from the mission still clinging to him like a second skin.

Despite his exhaustion, he refused to let go of your hand.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as you sat beside him. “I know it’s late.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

He gave you a small, tired smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re too good to me.”

You shook your head, squeezing his hand. “No, Steve. I’m just—” You paused, searching for the right words. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging as the adrenaline that had sustained him through the mission began to fade. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?”

“For everything,” he replied, meeting your gaze with a vulnerability that left you breathless. “For scaring you, for shutting you out before… for making you feel like you weren’t enough. I know I’ve said it before, but I need you to know I mean it.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. For a long moment, you didn’t respond, your chest tight as you tried to process the enormity of what he was saying.

“I was so scared today,” you admitted finally, your voice trembling. “When Nat texted me, when we didn’t know if you were okay… it was like the ground had been ripped out from under me.” You swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “I realized then how stupid these past few months have been. I was so caught up in my own hurt, my own doubts, that I didn’t see what we were losing.”

Steve’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, his blue eyes locked on yours. “You weren’t wrong to feel that way,” he said softly. “You had every right to be hurt, to doubt me. I earned that. But I don’t want to lose you, baby. Not now. Not ever.”

His words broke something inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his.

“Don’t you dare scare me like that again,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice steady and resolute.

***

The days following the mission passed in a haze of quiet moments and tentative steps forward. Steve stayed at the Tower to help Bucky recover, but he checked in with you constantly. Sometimes it was a quick text—How are you? Did you eat today?—and sometimes it was a phone call that lasted longer than either of you expected.

You visited the Tower often, bringing Bucky some of his favorite snacks and sitting with him while Steve caught up on reports. Bucky teased you relentlessly, of course, his dry humor cutting through the tension in ways only he could manage.

“So,” he said one afternoon, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “When are you two going to stop tiptoeing around and just admit you’re back together?”

You nearly choked on your coffee. “We’re not—”

“Sure,” Bucky interrupted, smirking. “And I’m the King of Wakanda.”

Steve, who had just entered the room, raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, glaring at Bucky.

“Just pointing out the obvious,” Bucky said with a shrug, earning himself an eye-roll from both you and Steve.

Despite his teasing, Bucky’s words stayed with you. He wasn’t entirely wrong. The way you and Steve interacted had changed since the mission. There was a closeness now, a sense of trust that hadn’t been there before.

***

One evening, Steve invited you to dinner at the Tower. He didn’t call it a date, and you didn’t press him on it, but there was something deliberate about the way he’d set the table, the candles he’d lit, the care he’d taken with every detail.

The two of you sat across from each other, the soft glow of the candles casting warm light over his face. For a while, you just talked—about work, about Bucky’s recovery, about the books you’d been reading. The conversation flowed easily, the tension that had once lingered between you finally gone.

At one point, Steve leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” he began, his voice steady but quiet. “About how scared you were. How I need to be more careful.”

You frowned slightly. “Steve, I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. I know your work is dangerous. I’ve always known that.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “But you were right. I can’t keep doing this—not without being honest with you about what’s going on. If I’m asking you to be part of my life, I need to make sure you feel like you’re part of it.”

His words sent a warmth through your chest, a feeling of being truly seen and valued. “I appreciate that,” you said softly.

Steve smiled, and for the first time in weeks, it felt like everything between you was falling into place.

***

As the night wore on, the conversation grew quieter, more intimate. Steve reached across the table, his hand brushing yours.

“I know we can’t go back to how things were before,” he said, his voice low but firm. “But I think we can build something better. Something stronger. If you’ll let me.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. There was no hesitation in his gaze, no doubt. Just quiet determination and a love that felt as steady and unshakable as the man himself.

“I want that too,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smile widened, and for the first time in months, you felt the weight in your chest begin to lift.

It wasn’t a perfect ending. There were still things to work through, still scars to heal. But as Steve reached for your hand, his grip warm and sure, you knew you were ready to take the next step—together.

[yridenergyridenergy]

Live report - Tour24 Who Is This Hell For? 2024/11/23 at Sendai PIT

Setlist

CONCEIVED SORROW

DOZING GREEN

IIID Empire

Phenomenon

Keigaku no yoku

Magayasou

Tsumi to batsu

DIABOLOS

VINUSHKA

Soshaku

Ochita koto no aru sora

The Inferno

-encore-

The Devil In Me

Cause of fickleness

Uroko

Eddie

Wow, tonight was way more energetic and intense than in Sapporo, which makes me feel sad because Dir en grey don't tour in Sapporo every year, and it was just a matter of using one setlist versus the other.

And well, the highlight of the night was definitely that blunder Shinya did in Soshaku hahah!

First, the SE was the same. Shinya walked on stage wearing black pants rather than white like yesterday. I found that it didn't suit his grandeur that much. Die came next with the same thights but the tunic/vest he wore was white, I think with some smokey design? I was in shimote tonight, so I didn't see much of him. Overall, the members did not change places even half as much as they did in Sapporo, which is odd considering that the energy was much higher today.

Toshiya arrived and BAM, he has a beautiful red satin dress cut from a bit above the belt/hip all the way down, exposing his left leg. Sometimes, when he raised his bass, we could see his belly a bit! The top portion of the dress was like a somewhat ample dress shirt, with long sleeves and buttoned up, and Toshiya wore a black tie with golden ornaments, some dingle at the bottlm of the tie. I felt that it was a detail that tied in subtly with Kaoru's outfit, which was the Versailles/Innocent Rouge costume! It looks amazing! Nobody had mentioned that he was loyal to the style all the way to the toes: he wore shorts with black thights underneath, and I didn't see his shoes much but they seemed to match that old French royal fashion. He had an elaborate bowtie or whatever, hair tied and sleeked back except for one strand on his right. He looked downright fabulous. He remained entirely stoic and without a drop of sweat yet again tonight! Kaoru had some zigzag makeup lines on his left temple at least.

Kyo then arrived at the very end of the SE and,.as I thought I'd remembered, he walked slowly, smugly with his hands in his pockets, dressed all in sleek black. His chin was even a bit up, like he was indifferent to our cheers or that it was the very least he expected. Like damn, he and the other members know exactly what kind of effect they have on us!

Conceived Sorrow started and already, it was 100% felt, emotional. Everybody raises their hand when the line about not being able to reach comes up. Kyo ends the song with the loud a capella to seal the deal.

We didn't really do anything or make any noise after that ending, which Dir en grey seems to have prepared for because the intro to Dozing Green started soon after. Already, it was clear that Kyo was engaging us more into the show from early on, and I think he even had us sing one part in this song already.

The IIID Empire was then played, which I had kind of forgotten that it was in this tour! And man, these two shows have checked a few things off my bucketlist: I saw Toshiya throw his mic stand meters in the air, with my own eyes! Every single soul in the venue was looking forward to it, so it would be a real downer if he didn't do that one time. The crowd participated a lot in the lines, fist-pumping, etc.

And then, I really did see Phenomenon live! I feel like it must have happened in one of the early tours I attended, but I'm not sure that Kyo had been doing those hip sways with his arms up back then. If he did, then I certainly wasn't in the second row with a perfect spot on the side to watch it!

Phenomenon starts with Toshiya crouching, before any sound is even made, which is really like... intimidating hahah? He stayed in a low posture like that for a very long time.

Keigaku no yoku - How could I have forgotten last time that Kyo kicks at his crate right before the song starts? I've never seen him do it. The crate is taped to the stage, but his kick is strong enough that the crate moves forward a little. And it was an odd action today especially because I think we hadn't really cheered after Phenomenon's: "kore ijo" kind of grated by Kyo, so the kick almost gives the impression of being frustrated by our silence. Anyway, Kyo again changed most of the lyrics of Keigaku no yoku, and once it seemed like he was making a mistake and sang the second line of a verse before the first, but he ad-libbed the second portion, so let's assume it was intentional hah. I don't really remember what he said. At the end though, I want to correct that he sings about "you" shouting: "Hurry up and die!", not himself like I'd written in my 11/21 report.

Magayasou was as always Shinya's spotlight, but Kyo was definitely more invested in the song today compared to the Sapporo show. The backdrop video had a lot of colourful flowers which turned into... Mush? Something rotten? I,m trying to remember what kind of thing they transformed into by the end of the song.

I don't remember if there was as much of a break between the two songs as last time, but Tsumi to batsu came next and again, it feels like Kyo sang more diversely this time around. His growls are awesome no matter what though. He gets on his crate and crouches almost for the entire song. I think there might be a lyrics memo sheet taped there just for that song?

I think it was in Tsumi to Batsu that Toshiya literally dropped to his knees, out of nowhere? And/or there was another song where he went on one knee, then rotated to the side and stretched one leg while his bass touched the floor. Again, quite "intimidating" hah.

By the way, twice throughout the show, I can't remember which songs specifically, but Kyo was so invested that he almost fell backward from his crate. No actual danger, just a step backward which seemed to serve to catch his footing because he'd gotten intense.

DIABOLOS was once again very felt, but this time Kyo did not ask us to sing half as many "Blue Velvet"s. And by this point in the show, Kyo had already called out "Sendai" 2-3 times, and I'm certain he did during that song too. The segment before: "Saa, ningen o yamero" was also different and shouted, I'd say even more emotional than in Sapporo, like probably with Kyo clutching his shirt or his head during that part more? Oh and he thumped his mic on his chest super hard most likely in this song and another time near the end of the show.

Vinushka starts after the break with Toshiya just leaning back on his speakers, arms draped widely on his side while he looks at us sexily. There's no other way to describe it, and it's more or less appropriate for Vinushka hah?

Toshiya kept nodding and smiling at us, whether it was because we knew the beat or were reacting like he wanted to the melodies.

In Vinushka, I think it was, Kyo placed his hands at his sides, palms facing us, after throwing the mic over his shoulder, and raised his hands slowly to demand our cheers. I'd love to remember exactly what song it was, because Vinushka is pretty obvious from all the times they've played it, but the song in which Kyo did it and he got almost no response from the crowd, only after a delay, you could see that he raised his eyebrows and looked down at his positioning, as though pondering: "I'm in the right position, aren't I? Isn't it clear what I want?" It wasn't necessarily something he did every time in whatever song it was, but yeah, the crowd should have been more adaptive and smart.

Oh, in terms of Kyo's facial expressions, there's also one growl or scream he did at the end of a song, which he seemed taken aback, blinking a bit after it like he was surprised by how much it took out of him.

Soshaku... It started a bit off from the start, like Shinya was one note too late, but then he fucked up the drum melody for real by seemingly repeating that first 'phrase' of the song rather than moving on to the rest of the composition. The band kept going for a few seconds, but it was Kyo who just stared unimpressed first toward us, then circled back to stand right in front of Shinya without singing anymore. We couldn't see his face, but his posture exhibited a polite: "What the actual fuck?" Die had actually been at Shinya's platform already with one foot raised on it, but I don't know if he was subtly trying to steer Shinya in the right direction or if that's just what he wanted to do in Soshaku anyway. Once the others realized that Kyo had properly disconnected from the performance, everyone else stopped playing. Shinya appeared clueless at first, then he seemed to shake his head quickly. I don't think any words were spoken between the members. When Kyo was assured that Shinya would do his part, he turned around to face us and said: "Suman" (Sorry about that). They picked back the song from the start, and I can't say that Shinya's drumming was 100% synchronized or accurate, but at least he did proceed with a different phrase than the one he had repeated.

Kyo made extra efforts to pump us up after that, and even had us sing multiple parts of the song, from what I remember.

Same thing with Ochita koto no aru sora. Kyo gives me the impression of emitting a vibe of: "This song is yours, guys" and we sang a lot.

It was in one of those last couple of songs that Kyo actually smiled in satisfaction. Always so heartwarming to see!

Toshiya was the MVP backup vocalist as always!

The Inferno was very much the same as in Sapporo, with Kyo throwing his mic and leaving before the song's even finished. However, I think he engaged more with the audience this time, coming up in front of his crate, crouching, and at one point either in this song or another one, he even did the hook fingers or something like that toward us.

The Inferno ended much differently though, unless I missed something from being in kamite in Sapporo. Kaoru dumped his guitar near the front of the stage after he finished, Toshiya was low and dragged his bass across the floor toward the back for the audio effect and punkassery, Shinya left at some point and Die stayed to do some distortion but for a shorter period of time. He was all smiles as usual!

It was funny because all the technicians/assistants had to come on stage when the band left before the encore to clean up the instruments that had been left there, which I hadn't seen in Sapporo. Toshiya's guy even had a hard time with his mic stand, which in fact looked bent a bit. The technician tried to force it back in shape and tested its balance on the floor a couple of times. What's funny is also that Toshiya's mishandling of his bass was apparently so bad that it took forever for it to be tuned, and we chanted: "Encore! Encore!" for so long before it was ready. The poor guy didn't seem to be able to fix the cords, based on what I saw on the monitor in the background.

Maybe to make up for that delay, but it also felt that way in Sapporo a bit, but the members walked back on stage almost simultaneously, not one at a time for each to savour their cheers.

Toshiya made a gesture toward his left, presumably at Shinya, smiling and I think even clapping afterward. I don't know if the band had a mini "What the hell happened there?" chat backstage about Shinya's mistake, which could also explain why it took them so long to return for the encore.

Kyo was once again utterly nonchalant, indifferent, but in a super teasing way, as if to say: "I deserve all your cheers and attention, but it doesn't sway me."

Shinya had changed into a sleeveless version of the tour T-shirt, Die I think also had that custom sleeveless sweater, Toshiya came with the black sweater this time with the same shorts and long leather boots, Kaoru might have removed his upper jacket, and Kyo had only wiped off his sweat hah.

The Devil In Me was intense as always. Kyo did the noose at the end, and I saw exactly how he measures the right length. He didn't do the disvesting/shedding part with the mic cord afterward though. In the song, the bass seemed off at first, and we could barely hear the back vocals at all? Even more reason to have Die and Shinya properly do them on stage. Kyo asked us to sing the first or second chorus, which ends in: "What did you really love?" but it sounded like nobody sang or few people knew how long to maintain that: "Kaaaaaaaketa"

Man the people in the first row were almost not headbanging sometimes, it was so stupidly frustrating hah.

I remember Cause of fickleness starting and Toshiya just nodding like: "Yeah, you know which one." All the members who could came at the edge of the stage. Kyo had us sing most of the "Wake me up"s. He took off his ear monitor once in a while to hear better.

Uroko also had Toshiya nodding and mouthing like: "Oh yeah, you know it" hahah. Kyo demanded that we sing more than just the "Anata shidai de", or it was in another song, but man was he demanding tonight hahah. His own voice was spotless but he gotta come for us!

Before the last song, Kyo asked: "Sendai? Sendai? Sendai? Sendai?", so much that at one point we were exasperated, who else was he talking to if not Sendai hah? Then he asked us if we could go on, become one, etc. and I think his new variant where he growls about us going to die then or something?

Kyo let his mic drop to the ground after Eddie. He seemed to contemplate what to do after Shinya's last hit of the drums in the final climax, but he opted for not leaving and took one of his water bottles, drinking briefly from it, then tossing it in the crowd. Actually, I can't remember if it was with the first or second bottle, but he threw it in the general direction of someone in front of him who he gestured at and the reversed L that they had on their shirt. Hopefully they did catch the bottle meant for them, because Kyo's throw was not that gentle and precise hah. He also christened people a lot in front of his crate.

Shinya once more took a very long time to get off his platform. He seemed characteristically impassible, but everybody cheered for him, so I hope he felt our appreciation despite his mistake. He threw his four drum sticks and I believe he waved at us briefly.

Die squirted us from far away, huge smile on his lips. Kaoru did the same but just to shimote. He threw a towel right to the first few people in front of his position on stage, delicately.

Toshiya threw some picks and got on Kyo's crate to clap with us and smile. He climbed back down and bowed ever elegantly before leaving the stage.

On his way out, Kaoru pointed to the background, which had the tour name, as though to really make us think about it.

Die left with much appreciation and satisfaction as usual. People were cheering him on as he prepared his towel to throw, and he made it almost reach the back!

That's what I remember for now. I need to sleep hah.

[mishidefresa]

if you’re still doing emoji requests, ryan as F2 or B9?

Why y'all wanna watch him suffer?, seriously I keep getting requests of him frustranted, sad or crying

[frmisnow]

play pretend ! 𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ nsfw.

the premise of fake dating your best friend, for just a weekend, is hilarous.. and scary. but what happens after is even scarier.. it's just play pretend right?

warnings / includes — vulgar language, drinking, multiple orgasms, pussy eating

you blamed being way to drunk and jungkook for this situation. it was all his damn fault.

if he hadn't looked at his phone with that stupid look in his face, rolling his eyes at the bright message on the screen. if he hadn't leaned over to your ear, barerly managing to stand due to the beer in his system, groaning about his mom asking him about getting a serious relationship once again. if he hadn't looked at you with those damned kicked puppy eyes that he only ever pulled out when it came to you, asking — no, begging, if you could pretend to be his girlfriend for just two days, a weekend.

for the family reunion in a week.

you had pushed him away, then pulled him back to hold onto him in order to not stumble onto the nearest dancing stranger close to you, laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of his request.

you and him, a couple? nobody would believe that. like ever, especially his mom.

the mom who watched you not move a single muscle at the sight of him shirtless back when you both vacationed at their summer house, in what? junior year? the mom who watched you crush on jungkook's best friend, right in front of her eyes.

no, never would she ever believe that there was anything more then platonic feelings between you both.

but again, you couldn't quite say no when jungkook held your hair up as you puked, about an hour later. not when he gave you water, rubbed over your back in an attempt of giving you some sort of comfort during your nausea.

and you felt bad for him: you knew that jungkook and love didn't really go hand in hand, hell- everybody did. he never stayed around long enough for anything to even scratch the surface of love. you liked to imagine that he wanted it, you see the way he looks at other couples at parties, the ones that are all up in eachother faces, not in a sexual manner just like a safe space.

real, lasting, consuming love? he didn’t seem capable of holding on to it. never changed his ways, he was transparent on how long he planned on staying (which was usually a night) and that was it.

that didn't stop his mother though.

jungkook complained about it often, about how she couldn't stop comparing him to his sister. the sister who married a year ago, already has a child on the way. 'why couldn't he just be a bit more like her taking things more serious n' everything.' is something she said right to your face once when you were talking.

you knew it hurt him, more then he showed, the fact that he simply wasn't good enough. in every way, really.

well, according to his mom.

so you quietly mumble a "fine" as silence filled his living room when he sets up the uno cards on the floor, it's about 4am now. you were to restless to sleep, the loud music still thumping in your head, a little bit of an after taste of your vomit still sitting somewhere.

he didn't say anything, which was strange since he usually was so snarky. just grabbed your shirt, forcing you to sit down on the carpet with him, just muttering something about him 'winning this shit'

if you had to summarize the night, it would've been that he won two rounds.

the coming saturday was hell.

hot, burning hell — in the regard that jungkook touched you absolutly everywhere, and all that in front of his family too.

intertwined your hands at the dinner table where you had to hide a grin, slapped your ass when you helped his mom with kimchi, traced faint circles on your clothed hip when his dad showed you both the new truck he bought.

well, it wasn't just his family. there was somebody else who came, un announced to the both of you.

sooyoung, or better known as his ex.

sooyoung and jungkook were complicated. way more then that, sooyoung wanted something serious, asked to move in with him after like two months (which was the longest time you've seen him be with anyone romantically). it freaked him out and it all resulted in this huge fight, she didn't say the best things about him during it and he- too, of course.

you knew her and his sister were somewhat close but this much? she hadn't even been at the wedding.

but they seemed to be at the hip, and if they weren't, sooyoung was somewhere lurking, studying the both of you, hair short, nails long, lips always glossy.

her dresses were short too, reminding of the time where you had to go clubbing with the both of them. oh, how the tables turn.

the club was packed, a familiar chaos that Jungkook and his friends always sought out on weekends whenever he was back in his hometown. you had lost track of how many drinks you’d had, your head spinning pleasantly, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus.

all of a sudden you felt fingers softly digging into your cheeks, holding up your chin to meet the concerned eyes of jungkook, "are you okay?"

you blinked slowly, the world tilting slightly. “yeah, just... feeling a little warm,” you admitted, your voice slurring as you struggled to keep your balance. his brows furrowed, and before you could register what was happening, he was taking your hand and guiding you through the crowd to the bathrooms.

the bathroom door swung open, and he ushered you inside, the harsh fluorescent lights making your eyes squint.

“whoa, bright,” you mumbled, stumbling a little as you sat on the edge of the toilette, your legs spread, mind fucked. jungkook turned on the tap, splashing cool water into his hands before cupping them and splashing it on your face. You gasped, the cold jolting you back to some semblance of clarity.

"better?"

"i want you to touch me."

his hands still hovered near your face, droplets of water slipping from his fingers and onto your collarbone, but you barely registered them.

"wait, what?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, his gaze searching your face for any sign of playfulness. but there was none.

jungkook cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair, eyes flicking to the bathroom door as if hoping someone would pull him out of this situation — "you're drunk as fuck." he groans, but the words sound more like he was convincing himself rather than you.

you tilt your head, tongue darting out to lick your lips like a damn slut as you mumbled a 'so what?' “you’re drunk too. doesn’t change the fact you’ve been looking at me all night like you wanted to fuck me, kook. don’t pretend."

the muscles in his jaw twitched, a flush covering his cheeks that wasn't just from the alcohol, "listen, let's just get you some water, okay? you've had way too much to drink tonight."

you had never seen jungkook blush before. and you don't know what's gotten into you, but you want to see it longer.

so your fingers reach out, pulling him closer by his belt, looking up to him, "tell me you don't want me, and i'll close my legs, pretend i'm not wet n' pretend like this never happened."

but he gets on his knees for you, careeses your thighs in a matter that should come of as comforting but just ends up making you wetter, leans forward to press a small kiss onto the bare skin, "i'm gonna get you home now. and you'll sleep and wake up tommorow, well rested. think about it again."

but you don't listen, of course you don't. your legs spread even wider, greedy fingers moving to his hair.

his jaw clenched so hard you thought he might crack a tooth, but then his hands ran up your thighs, the touch feather-light, as though he was restraining himself from touching you like he really wanted to.

"you're making this hard." he whispers between gritted teeth.

if you hadn't been so drunk, you would've seen something else being real hard but you were way to out of it. all your mind could think of was lifting up your hips, in a desperate fashion, anything to show him how much you needed it.

in the following twenty minutes, you come; not once, not twice — three fucking times. after each orgasm he kisses your clit, tells you how pretty you were, how he's gonna take care of you, with fresh release coating his lips.

and right after the third one, your head falls against the head rest, yes shut tightly before you meet his gaze again and the words slip out of your mouth, "fuck, i think i like you."

he pauses, his eyes widening as if you just pulled him out of his very own movie, "what?"

[gojoscinnamonroll]

જ⁀➴ ♡ give me tough love!!

sum: au sukuna where he is a yukaza member, gets into a heated argument with his fed up wife and decides maybe this is the day she walks away…. but will sukuna let this happen?

warnings: AGELESS BLOGS AND MDNI / f! reader, dub-con, angstttt, oral (f!receiving) , p in v (unprotected), fingering, toxic relationship, slight angst, dominant sukuna, handcuffs being used , rough sex (whoopsie) , some choking, cussing… like a lot of cussing, and he’s kinda meannn >:(

wc: 2.0k

“i’m getting real tired of this ryo… you never care about my feelings and you sure as hell don’t care about me or us.” you spat out of anger at him in the big luxury kitchen of the estate passed down by his parents down to sukuna. “you’re always out doing some dumb shit and always coming home late, you don’t think i get tired of it???” your last straw was when he promised to meet up with you at a restaurant last night at 7pm for a nice dinner and took so long to show up that by the time he finally decided to come, you walked out of the restaurant fed up, to call uraume to pick you up.

you knew what you were getting into getting involved with sukuna. ever since the day you met him at that house party back in your junior year of college and despite your friends telling you “he’s not good for you”. you knew it was never a good idea to be getting involved with the hot-headed, nonchalant, football captain, ryomen sukuna. even with all the things said about him… beating poor boys up for their homework, skipping classes to smoke weed with his best friend & quarterback, toji fushiguro, and of course, being the only son of the most powerful yukaza members.

but having the heart of a healer and someone with really strong patience will always be the death of you.

you wanted to see the good in him, you really did. you knew that deep down he had it in him and silly little naive college girl you back then thought that you could fix him. and even though nobody saw it, you felt that he did show some kindness in his own weird way towards you.

“i’m just doing my job so that i can take care of you woman, how many times do i got to tell you, fuck. always tripping out about something, you always got something to say, do you? so damn ungrateful.” sukuna argued back at you. you were just so angry with him, that you just kept spitting out whatever kept coming to mind without a single thought.

“fuck you, i’m just looking out for you because i care about you since i’m obviously the only one who cares about the other but apparently i can’t even fucking do that huh. at least a text message saying ‘hey. i’m gonna be home late’ or ‘hey. i’m doing this’ would be nice. there’s a million other guys who could treat me so much better than you and actually make me feel loved. goodbye ryomen. have a nice life.” you ran up the stairs as tears start to prickle in your eyes to go the master bedroom and start packing up your stuff to get out of there.

despite how nonchalant sukuna was and how he acted like he had a gigantic wall up, you were the best thing to ever to happen to him, and seeing you act like that and be so hurt because of him triggered something he never felt before. guilt? misery? all he knew was the feeling was not a good feeling and he didn’t like it one bit, and the thought of losing you to someone else let alone made him feel more sick inside. he sighed and mumbled, “this brat…” as he made his way to the bedroom.

as you were packing your stuff and wiping your tears away, you could feel his presence standing over you. “what do you want.. to belittle me some more and make me feel more shitty?” you sniffled. never ever in sukuna’s life had he ever felt so bad seeing another human in pain. he was too stubborn to admit it, but he knew he had to make it better somehow and fix things. he reached into the pocket of his yukaza slacks to pull out handcuffs and immediately began to cuff you into them behind your back.

“h-hey, what the- what are you- let me go, you psychopath” you shouted at him as you writhed around. “gonna fix that bratty mouth of yours that’s what i’m doing.” he picked you up princess style and threw you onto the king sized bed with wine red satin sheets.

“i’m not being a brat you idiot, i’m trying to-“ he cut you off by climbing on top of you and holding your chin to shut you up with his mouth. “here’s what’s gonna happen doll…” he said as he pulled away, “i’m going to punish you for that bratty little mouth of yours and if you do good, i might let you get to cum on this cock, yeah?” he cooed over you.

“i hate you.” you hissed at him, but as he ripped your mini skirt off of you and took one good look at your arousal leaking from the front of your maroon g-string, your pussy said something completely different. “-tch. that’s not what your little friend down here is saying now, is she?” taunting you as you look up at him. “let’s see how she feels about me introducing her to my fingers hm?” as he moved your panties to the side and slowly dipped two of his long fingers into your warm honey, you couldn’t help the low gasp that escaped from your glossed, red lips. he let out a low chuckle because he knew how weak for him you were and knew you couldn’t keep up this attitude much longer without folding for him. “sounds like she made a new friend” he continued to chuckle lightly. “f-fuck you” you whimpered.

“ah ah, not til i feel like you deserve it.” he started to go faster, scissoring his two fingers in and out of your weeping cunt until you started to sneakily fuck him back on his fingers to chase your release.

he pulled them out.

“the fuck???” you looked up at him with a mug on your face. “silly little girl… you aren’t supposed to ride the fingers of people you hate, are you stupid?” smirking, “you are not to cum until you apologize”

“what do i have to apologize for? i’m not the one in the wrong.”

“then i should just leave you here by yourself still handcuffed and let you figure out how to cum by yourself.” looking down at you with the straightest and coldest face.

you were still so angry with him but you couldn’t help the fact that sukuna knew exactly how to please you and do all the things you like, fighting the battle with the angel on your right shoulder and the demon on your left. you rolled your eyes at him and scoffed.

“that’s what i thought brat, now quit the attitude or i fuck it out of you like the slut that you are.” he kneeled down to get on his knees and shoved your legs apart to get a closer look of your syrupy slick. he swiped his long tongue slowly up your slit as he murmured against it, “so, what was it that you said about other men, hm? can those silly little imbeciles make you feel good like this? make your tight little pussy weep for them like this?” sukuna ripped your g-string off of you, (like, he actually ripped them) and started feasting on you and sucking on your clit like you were the last meal he was going to ever have in his life. you being stubborn, you were trying to hold back the orgasm building up in your core because, like you said, what do you have to apologize for and also you didn’t want to give in just like that. but that was until he started fucking you with his tongue and you felt your legs closing up on the sides of his face.

to be fair, if he was going to receive a death penalty for all the heinous crimes he’s committed working with the yukaza, this is the way he would want to go out.

pulling away, he looked up at you with your honey dripping down from his lips and chin and substituting his mouth for his fingers,

“don’t tell me you’re going to cum already aren’t you? you don’t listen do you? i’m not letting you cum yet princess, remember… not ‘til you say you’re sorry”

he released you from the handcuffs (but only for a minute) “be a good girl, lay down on the pillow f’me” thinking with your pussy and not your mind of course, you listened to him and did what he told you to do. “there you go” he cooed as he licked his lips, “such an obedient girl for me aren’t you?” he whispered in your ear as he handcuffed you again, but this time, to the headboard.

he pulled his veiny, thick cock out of his slacks and slowly slid it up and down your needy warmth before slowly bullying his length into you.

you were so wet that even though you were basically clinging onto him like a vice, he just kept slipping out of you, so he plunged all the way deep into your sweet spot, “need your tight little cunt to stop pushing me out woman” “what’s the matter? talking all that shit but can’t even stick to your words?” “pathetic ” “ fix that bratty mouth of yours yeah?” bullying you with each and every thrust he was giving you.

“ ‘m not done toying around with you yet pretty. gonna mess with you over and over again ‘til i make sure you’ve learned your lesson.” manhandling you to flip over onto your tummy to continue slamming his hips into you.

“k- ‘kuna, please” you mewled, “i wanna cum, please ‘m begging” you admit, you were loving every minute of this, you loved when sukuna got possessive over you, in your own weird way, it made you feel like he cares even when sometimes he doesn’t show it as much as you would like him to.

“what a little slut you are hm, wanna lose it on this but can’t even fix your behavior, pathetic.” he growled as he kept fucking you with no mercy.

and just like your heart, your pussy acted and thought before your mind. but at this point, what else did you have to lose?

“f- fuc- fuck it- ‘kay i’m , *hic* , i’m sorry ‘kunaaaa” moaning so loud that you were pretty sure the gardeners outside of the estate could probably scratch that, can definitely hear, “what was that pretty? you said what?” he lifted you up by your neck with his big & deliciously veiny right hand to hear you cry your apology. “mmph, fuuckkk i'm sorry!” now sobbing due to your powerful orgasm trying to claw it’s way out and from the state of bliss and how cockdrunk you were off his monstrous length you were in, drooling all over the satin sheets and seeing stars. “now that’s a good girl.. go on, cum all over this cock, it’s all yours after all” he mumbled into your neck as he left bite marks all over.

as your body started to tremble, you felt yourself let loose all over him, letting out the most hardest orgasm you ever let out in your life. and sukuna seeing you like this does something to him because he was about to spill out everything he had into you just seconds after.

"good girl, take this shit, t-take this sh- cmon" he slammed his hips into you one last time before letting all of his seed fill you up to the point it was leaking out of you. (and probably will for the next 3days)

he released you from the handcuffs to take a look at your beautiful , blissed out face.

“pitiful little girl. had to get you cock drunk to fix your behavior. how shameful” leaning in to kiss you.

“oh, shut up. you’re lucky i love you and besides uraume, me being the only one who can tolerate you” you rolled your eyes and kissed him back.

“uraume!" he called out.

"yes, my lord?"

"unpack all of my wife's belongings and place it back where it was before."

"yes lord."

he got up to grab your silk, wine red, robe and dress you in it, as he kissed you on your forehead:

"you’re mine and mine only. for eternity. don’t forget that.”

banners by @cafekitsune <3

[awkward-walking-potato]

since everything went down and the multiverse has been saved, reader and Logan have been living with Wade. Because of that he’s gotten an inside look into their relationship. I think it would be so cute to see reader and Logan’s relationship but from wade’s perspective. Like he’ll (respectfully) watch them as reader has their head on Logan’s thigh as they show him some random funny TikTok and he sort of just rolls his eyes at it. Or Wade comes home to find the both of them passed out on the couch together while a random movie is on in the background. Just things that are really domestic, sweet, and fluffy. I think it would just be really sweet to see their relationship from a different perspective.

Domestic Bliss: A Wade Wilson Retrospective

Wade’s POV

So, I’ve been crashing at Casa de Logan for a while now. You’d think I’d have better things to do than to hang around with a grumpy Canadian mutant and their too-good-for-this-world partner, but let’s be honest—my life’s a circus, and sometimes, you just need to take a break from being the main act. Plus, it’s not like I’m going to get a better view of the Logan and Reader Show anywhere else. Honestly, it’s the most entertaining thing this side of the multiverse, and I’ve seen some Weird stuff.

Take today, for instance. I stroll into the living room, probably covered in blood—I mean, it’s a day ending in ‘y,’ so what else is new?—and there they are: Logan stretched out on the couch like it’s a throne, and Reader draped across his lap like a very happy, very contented blanket.

Reader’s got their phone in hand, showing Logan something that I’m sure is super important. Their head’s on his thigh, which—by the way—is probably the safest place on Earth, considering all the things those thighs have crushed. And Logan? He’s pretending to be all grumpy and uninterested, but I can see the way the corners of his mouth twitch, like he’s just about to smile but doesn’t want to ruin his image.

“Check this out,” Reader says, and their voice has this lilting, sweet tone to it that makes me want to gag in the most respectful way possible. They’re showing him a TikTok, and I catch a glimpse—some stupid cat video, classic Reader—and Logan, good ol’ fashioned Logan, just rolls his eyes. But—and this is the kicker—he watches the whole thing. Doesn’t pull away, doesn’t pretend like he’s not interested. Nope, he’s in it for the long haul, just for them.

I feel my heart do that thing where it’s like, ‘Hey, Wade, remember when you had feelings?’ and I quickly squash it down. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

“Really, Wade?” Logan grumbles, noticing me hovering in the doorway. “Got nothin’ better to do?”

“Not when you two are putting on this much of a show,” I reply, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “Seriously, the domestic fluff is off the charts. I’m gonna need insulin if this keeps up.”

Reader snickers, throwing a pillow at me, which I catch because—duh, reflexes. Logan just huffs, but there’s no real heat behind it. If anything, I think he likes that I’m around. I mean, who wouldn’t?

A couple of days later, I get home from one of my little escapades—nothing major, just the usual chaos—and I’m greeted by a sight that nearly makes me drop my katanas. There’s Logan, all six-foot-whatever of him, curled up on the couch with Reader nestled against his chest. They’re both out cold, dead to the world, with some random movie playing in the background. The screen’s showing some cheesy 80s action flick, which, come to think of it, is probably what knocked them out in the first place.

I stand there, just watching for a minute. And I don’t say this often—like, ever—but it’s... nice. There’s something about seeing those two like this, all tangled up together, that makes the world feel a little less messed up. Like, yeah, we’ve been through hell and back saving the multiverse, but at least there’s this. At least there’s them.

I could ruin the moment. I could wake them up, crack a joke, or pull some prank. But I don’t. Instead, I quietly back out of the room, leaving them to their peaceful little bubble.

A few days later, I walk in on them again. This time, they’re in the kitchen. Logan’s making breakfast—pancakes, because apparently, he’s secretly a domestic god—and Reader’s perched on the counter, swinging their legs and chatting about something mundane. Logan’s grumbling about the batter consistency, and Reader’s laughing, this soft, sweet sound that makes Logan’s eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Morning, sunshine!” I announce, because subtlety is for suckers. “Wade,” Logan growls, but it’s the kind of growl that has zero bite. Reader just grins at me, throwing a piece of pancake my way, which I catch in my mouth because I’ve got skills.

“Y’know,” I say, leaning against the fridge, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you two are disgustingly perfect together. It’s like watching a rom-com, except with more hair and less awkward misunderstandings.”

Logan just rolls his eyes and flips a pancake. “You stickin’ around, or you got places to be?”

“Why, you gonna miss me if I go?” I tease, but honestly? I’m not going anywhere. Not anytime soon.

Logan doesn’t answer, just grunts in that Logan way of his, but I see the way his hand brushes against Reader’s knee as he moves past them, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it is, for them.

Maybe that’s the thing about them—about Logan and Reader. They’ve found something here, something that’s real and solid, even after everything we’ve been through. And maybe that’s why I keep sticking around, why I keep watching. Because in a world full of crazy, this right here is something worth staying for.

[dinodaweeb]

Living with a gangster

Mafia man x Gn!Reader

Summary: moments in your life when your weirdo of a boyfriend gets you both in the most randomness possible scenarios. You love him though

a/n: ummm ummm writing for now bc my Apple Pencil broke so yeah!!

You’re on the couch, unwinding after a long day. The soft hum of the TV fills the room as you kick your feet up, enjoying a rare moment of peace. That peace shatters the moment your boyfriend walks through the door, looking like he’s been through hell and back.

There’s even stains on his white pants. Gross.

Bruised, bloodied, and entirely too proud of himself, he barges in with a grin plastered on his face. “I brought you something,” he says, and there’s a certain cockiness in his voice that you’ve come to expect from him.

You turn to look, already knowing whatever he’s holding will be ridiculous. “What is it?”

You ask, trying to suppress the exhaustion from your voice.

With a flourish, he reveals a ragged, battered stuffed bear. Its fur is matted, and there’s a stain that could be blood—or maybe it’s just the bear’s battle scars. One of its eyes is hanging by a single thread.

“A battle bear,” he announces proudly.

You stare at it for a beat. “A what?”

“A battle bear. I had to fight a bunch of idiots to get it. It was a whole ordeal, but I thought you’d want it.”

You blink, deadpan. “So you got into a fight for a stuffed animal?”

“Yup,” he says, a little too smug for someone who just looked like they were hit by a bus. “It’s yours now. For protection, obviously. You’ll be safe with this thing. Like a bodyguard, but fluffier.”

You glance from him to the bear. “This thing looks like it’s seen better days. What kind of fight were you in?”

“It’s fine. Just a little blood. Nothing serious,” he assures, his grin widening. “So? Do you love it?”

You pause, still eyeing the mangled bear. “Sure, I guess. I don’t know if it’ll protect me, though. It looks like it’s seen as much action as you.”

He flops onto the couch next to you, snatching up the bear. “It’s a symbol of my dedication. Don’t downplay it.”

“You could do anything with it cry with it, cuddle, feed it, maybe even tell it about how much you love!”

“Nice try.” It’s just a thought but you are thinking he’s going to be the one to do those things.

It’s been a long day, and you were hoping for some peace. You’ve barely sat down on the couch when your boyfriend bursts in, completely out of nowhere, practically vibrating with excitement.

“I missed you!” he exclaims, then immediately starts some unholy combination of spinning, hopping, and awkward flailing. His hips are nowhere near Shakira’s level of shaking.

He’s rattling like a broken supermarket cart.

You stare at him, eyebrows raised. “What in the world are you doing?”

“This is my I missed you dance,” he says, spinning once again like he’s in some bizarre action movie. “It’s a tradition now. Every time I come home, I perform it to show my appreciation for you.”

You blink. “A dance?”

He nods, still twisting around, his limbs making chaotic, out-of-rhythm movements. “Yup! It’s a way of showing how much I care about you.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you say dryly, eyes narrowing as you watch him crash into the coffee table, almost toppling over the lamp. You can’t help but let out a sigh. “Are you done yet?”

He doesn’t answer, too busy still trying to perfect whatever this is. His leg kicks too high and knocks into the side of the bookshelf. He spins again, only to hit his elbow on the doorframe.

“You’re really not helping your case here,” you mutter, leaning back. “How exactly am I supposed to take you seriously when you’re like this?”

With a grunt, he halts his movements, standing tall like he just finished a perfect performance. “I’m a dangerous man, babe. Nobody could top this move.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “You’re a mess.”

He grins like he won the lottery. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You walk through the door after running a simple errand. But as soon as you step inside, you’re met with your boyfriend standing in the living room, hands on his hips, wearing a look of complete panic.

“Where have you been?” he demands, voice high and tight with concern. “I’ve been worried as shit.. Do you know how long it’s been? What if something happened to you? Like if a Mario cosplayer asked for your number? Or if my boss figures out we make passionate love in ghost face costumes?”

You stop dead in your tracks, surprised by the sudden wave of intensity. “I was gone for two hours. I was grocery shopping,” you say, already regretting not texting him sooner.

His expression doesn’t change. “Two hours? That’s two hours I had no idea where you were! You could’ve gotten hurt! Kidnapped! I could have sent the team after you!”

You blink, trying to process his frantic words. “It was just the store. I’m fine. I didn’t even leave the neighborhood.”

“But what if something happened?” He’s pacing now, completely ignoring the fact that you’ve been walking around the block for the last hour. “You could have been in danger, and I wouldn’t have even known! What if the old man that looks like Santa Claus down the steep seduced you?”

“What—“

“And was successful. Who am I to Santa? Nothing but a little elf whore…”

“Um.”

“Actually fuck Santa. He ain’t shit.”

“Okay.”

“Anyways, Do you want me to hire bodyguards?”

“I’m not a delicate flower,” you say, trying to stay calm. “You don’t have to act like I’m going to break if I leave for an hour.”

He stops pacing, suddenly pulling you into a tight hug, his arms firm but careful. “I know, I know. You once broke my back when we were roleplaying WWE. And in be—“

“Oi.”

“Besides! You’re my responsibility. I need you safe.”

You sigh, your annoyance melting away as his possessiveness becomes more endearing than aggravating. “You’re a freak, you know that?”

He smiles into your shoulder, his tone softened. “And you match it~”

You couldn’t deny that.

You’re lounging on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you hear the front door open. Your boyfriend walks in, holding two absurdly oversized leather jackets with a grin that suggests he’s up to no good.

“Guess what I got!” he announces.

You glance at him, already sensing where this is going. “What now?”

“Matching jackets,” he says, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who just spent way too much money on something totally unnecessary.

You look at the jackets, confused. “Those things are huge. They’ll swallow me whole.”

“Nonsense!” He’s practically bouncing with excitement. “It’s part of the look. Look how badass we’ll look together. We’ll be like this power couple!”

You pull the jacket on, and it nearly engulfs you. You feel like you’re drowning in leather, and you can barely move your arms.

You glance at him. “This is a terrible idea. I can’t even lift my arms.”

He looks at you with a deadpan stare. “Exactly. That’s the point. We’re untouchable.”

You sigh, crossing your arms, trying not to let the ridiculousness of the situation break your composure. “You realize we’re going to look like two absolute try-hards?”

“Nope.”

He shrugs, unfazed. “I look hot. You look hot. Who cares about looking normal when you look cool?”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “We look like walking couches.”

It happens when you’re having an absolutely normal movie night. Popcorn, blankets, a chilled drink. Everything’s perfect. And then, in the middle of a dramatic scene, your boyfriend suddenly turns to you with a completely straight face.

“I killed someone today,” he says, his voice holding the same tone if he just did a wet fart. “45 years old. Kids. Pretty tragic, actually. But he had it coming. I mean he did—”

You freeze, popcorn halfway to your mouth. “Wait. What?”

He shrugs, clearly uninterested in your reaction. “Yeah, I mean, he was a threat. Had to be dealt with. He won’t be a problem anymore.”

“Are you… are you serious?” You blink rapidly, your mind struggling to catch up with what you just heard.

“Yeah, well, that’s gang life for you.” He leans back, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth like he’s just told you about his day at the office. “It’s not all fun and games, y’know.”

You can’t form a coherent response, too shocked by the casual way he talks about murder. “You just… killed someone. And then sat down to watch a movie?”

He glances at you, unphased. “Yeah, and? We were supposed to watch this, right? Can we watch breaking bad next? Bald Walter is spank bank material.”

“Um ew.”

“Just don’t sweat the small stuff, babe.”

You stare at him in silence for a moment, the absurdity of the situation slowly sinking in. “You are the weirdest person I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks. I try.” He says it so casually, then immediately falls asleep like it’s just another day.

What the hell.

[cutielando]

dating headcannons | r.c.

synopsis: in which you and Rafe are couple goals

my masterlist

you and rafe would meet at a party

you had just moved to the island with your parents and happened to go to the same party as him

as soon as he had laid his eyes on you, you were done

rafe was determined to have you, and nobody could stand in his way

when he approached you and began a conversation, he noticed how shy you were around him

seeing you so innocent only spurred him on to continue courting you

you would accept to be his girlfriend after a couple of dates, even though a lot of people kept warning you that Rafe was bad news

he would be the biggest gentleman ever

he would take you out whenever you wanted, buy you everything that you would lay your eyes on

you would often feel guilty that he was spending so much money on you, but he reassured you that it was something he loved doing

when you found out about his drug abuse, you decided to make it your mission to help him overcome his problems

it was a very tough period in your relationship

rafe didn’t want to admit his problem for a long time, which caused a strain to form between the two of you

however, you didn’t give up that easily

you fought tooth and nail to get Rafe the help he needed, to make sure that he would see his potential and turn his life around

once Rafe realized just how much you cared about him and his health, he vowed to himself that he wouldn’t touch another drug for the rest of his life

he slowly but surely got better, giving up drugs and smoking altogether

you two started spending more and more time together, you practically living with him at Tannyhill

his family loved you, especially Wheezie and Sarah

Ward thanked the God that Rafe had found you, someone who was willing to help him get rid of his addiction

Wheezie would always want to hang out with you whenever you were free, much to Rafe’s dismay

he would love you and show you how much he cared about you with every fibre of his being, needing you to know just how much you meant to him

whenever you guys would go to a party, he would never leave your side

Topper would always complain that you were attached to the hip, but Rafe didn’t care at all

at first, it bothered you, but you got used to it after a while

even as you would be chatting the night away with your friends, one of your hands would always be holding Rafe’s, or his hand would be holding your waist and you wouldn’t even be able to tell

he just felt the need to protect you from the creeps that he knew were at every party you guys would attend

he’s VERY jealous

you were very beautiful and attractive, which prompted the Kooks to try and hit on you. poor guys

even though you tried to let them down easily and make known the fact that you were with Rafe, you would never get to that point because of Rafe

he would come up behind you and glare a hole into the guy’s soul, making him scramble and leave as quickly as he possibly could

his shirts would become part of your everyday wardrobe

anytime he would have trouble finding a particular shirt or hoodie, he would immediately come to you, knowing that they were most probably in your dresser or on your body

he would find it hot, thought, seeing you in only his shirts because they were so large and long on your body

when it came to the bedroom, it was another story

he was a very passionate lover, he couldn’t get enough of you

would have sex with you every single day, literally anywhere

his bedroom, Ward’s office, the pool, Topper’s house, the beach, Kelce’s car, his family’s boat. you name it, he’s done it

he was a very gentle lover, despite his tough exterior

he could be gentle with you if that's what you wanted, he could be rough if that suited your boat more

he would be anything that you needed him to be

you guys would be endgame, 100%

he would never picture himself with anyone after being with you ever again

you were it for him, and he was it for you

a twisted match made in heaven

or hell, who even knows

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

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[hysteria-things]

PLEASE MAKE A MEET AND GREET PART 2

♛ TWO ° •

ʚ♡ɞ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ʚ♡ɞ

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you miss matt like crazy, and can’t help but to send a dirty photo to him…

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, suggestive, masturbation (female), there might be more idk

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 751

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i swear ghost and BFB part two will be coming soon🫡

thank you for 2.6K btw i love you all very much :)

texting your celebrity crush is like what happens in movies or wattpad, but the fact that you're doing just that still blows your mind. however, it's not as mindblowing when you had sex with said celebrity crush three days ago.

biting your lip, you giggle and tap on your phone like there's no tomorrow.

“are you even watching the movie? you seem to be more intrigued with your phone instead.” hannah says, leaning to the coffee table to grab the remote and pause the TV. “you’re never so glued to your phone. is it a boy? do i know him? what does— is that a hickey?”

pausing mid-type, you place your phone down and try to cover the healing hickey on your neck with your hair. “…no.”

“oh my god, it so is!” she gasps, smiling wide. “who the hell are you fucking? is it the person you're texting? when did it happen?”

“you ask a lot of questions, you know that?” you joke, trying to maneuver this conversation.

“y/n, come on. i’m your best friend. best friends tell each other everything.”

you sigh. she’s right, you guys do tell each other everything. clearing your throat and fidgeting with your hands, you try to find words to explain the recent events in your life.

“so… remember when i went to the bathroom at the sturniolo’s tour? and left you standing outside for an hour?”

she rolls her eyes. “yeah.”

“what if i told you that i actually didn’t go to the bathroom, and matt snuck me on the tour bus and… bentmeoverthetableandfuckedtheshitoutofme?”

she looks at you with eyebrows furrowed, confused as hell. “what?”

you exhale. “matt bent me over the table and may or may not have fucked the shit out of me?”

her face now morphs to shock, trying to read your body language to see if you’re lying. “what the fuck? is that why you came out limping and looking like you got manhandled?”

“yes.”

she blinks, shaking her head to take in this sudden information. “was the dick at least good?”

biting your lip, you nod. “duh.”

“hello?” you say innocently into the phone, running your hand from your stomach into your underwear.

matt’s leaning against the wall in a hallway that the venue has, far away so nobody can see nor hear him. “hi, y/n.” he chuckles.

you pout, rubbing your clit hard to get some sort of sensation rubbing through your body. “hi, matt.”

he licks his teeth and smiles smugly, knowing exactly why you wanted him to call. “whatcha doing?”

with fluttering eyes, your finger moves to your folds, moving up and down on your slit slowly. your breath hitches. “t-touching myself.” you whine. “thinking about you.”

as much as matt wants to do it himself, he can’t. the ache in his pants will last until after the show, that’s for sure.

“is that so?” he teases. you feel your wetness start to pool. “what’re thinking about, hm?”

“about the other night.” you squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip. after a few long strokes, you’re wet enough to slip a finger inside.

he sighs, adjusting the phone on his ear. “you mean when i bent you over the table and bred you? or when i tongue-fucked you to where you couldn’t stand?”

moaning loudly, you insert a second finger and move them rapidly. “b-both. god, i miss the way you feel.”

“i wish i could fuck you dumb again.” he says lowly, hearing your pants and arousal all in one. “screaming so pathetically beneath me. isn’t that right?”

even though he can’t hear you, you still nod your head, arching your back when that spot gets hit at just the right angle. “yes, matt!” you moan loudly. “i miss you. i miss you so much! fuck, i’m going to cum. please let me cum.”

you ramble on as he stands there quietly to listen. the way your sounds get louder and faster the more your orgasm builds. “go ahead. nobody’s stopping you.”

clawing at the sheets with your eyes rolling back, you rut your hips on your fingers when you feel your release coat them.

“good luck tonight,” you mumble, trying to catch your breath.

he laughs, checking the time with a sigh. “i have to go. i’ll make sure to win for you.”

you hang up the phone, and not even a minute later, a picture comes rolling in. you love that he’s acting like you didn’t just cum to his voice.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings

[chronicbeans]

Romantic Yandere Lucifer x Reader Headcanons

I've been tossing this idea around in my brain for days lol.

TW: Yandere Behavior, Obsessive and Possessive Thoughts, Panic and Anxiety, Depression, Blood and Injuries, Denial, Overprotective Behavior

• When he first met you, it was when he visited the Hazbin Hotel upon Charlie's request. You were sitting at the table with the rest of the staff and guests, acting the most... Well, normal out of all of them, besides Husk. You smiles and waved his way once Charlie mentioned your name.

• It wasn't like those fairy tales, where it is love at first sight. No, he had to talk to you, of course. After everybody else introduced themselves to him, you walk over to him, shake his hand, and introduce yourself. "Hello, your majesty! My name's (Y/N)! It's nice to meet you!" That's when he falls for you. Throughout the small conversation you both have, you treat him like... well, a normal person. Or, at least, as normal as you can treat the King of Hell, himself.

• The moment he leaves and returns home, he feels extremely guilty for falling for you. Especially since it was so quick, and for such a simple reason. He barely knows you! Why can't he stop thinking about you? He silently vows to never go back to the hotel, not because he doesn't support Charlie, but because he's scared of falling for you even more. However... Calling Charlie and asking about the Hazbin Hotel doesn't sound too bad, yes?

• Soon, asking about the hotel turns to asking about the people there... which, in turn, means asking about you. How have you been doing? Have you shown any interest in the activities and workshops at the hotel? What interests do you have. Of course, Lucifer asks the same questions about everybody else, to not seem suspicious, but he's mostly just interested in you...

• He only falls even more as he hears about you. Lucifer hates himself for it. So, he begins to distance himself, again. He goes back to making his rubber ducks, trying to distract himself from his thoughts about you. However, over time, his ducks slowly began having features that remind him of you. You like drawing? Duckie with a pencil and paper. Singing? Duckie that plays music. His mind can't escape you.

• Once the exterminators show, and the fight with Adam commences, he sees you again. Not in the best condition, either. The dust settles, Niffty absolutely brutalizes Adam, and now everybody is looking for you and Alastor. As Lucifer wanders the area in a frantic search for you, he happens to notice a battered hand sticking out from underneath some rubble. Moving it out of the way, he's now in a panic as he realizes it's you. You're alive, thankfully, albeit heavily injured and hanging on by a thread. That, and passed out.

• The next few minutes are spent with him becoming way too protective over you, holding you in his arms and becoming extremely defensive. His obsessive crush has finally reached more twisted levels, and he's mortified by the thought of letting you out of his sight. Even Charlie is starting to catch on that something is not quite... right about her dad. He's holding you tightly and not letting anybody come near you, despite the fact that you clearly need help. Then again, his angelic powers could probably be used to help you heal, but the point still stands. The only person who's allowed to come close is Charlie, and even then, he's keeping a close eye.

• He's now by your side constantly while you're recovering. He almost lost you! It's a very sudden change in his behavior, considering how he bottled up all of his feelings for you for so long... Nobody even knew he cared about you in specific, much less this much. Whenever you wake up in your bed, staring at the hotel, he's the first person you see. Whenever you fall asleep, he's the last thing you see. He's there throughout the entirety of the day, acting much more like your caregiver than your friend's dad. Bringing you food, getting you water, getting you some blankets and pillows... He's even taking care of changing your bloodied bandages out for new ones.

• At first, you just assumed that he was worried and wanted to help you recover. It'd make sense. You almost died, after all. The behavior doesn't stop after you're fully recovered, though... in fact, it gets worse, somehow. He makes sure that you aren't in danger, be it real or perceived. Somebody who he doesn't know talking to you is just as big of a threat in his eyes as somebody pointing a gun at your face. He's immediately standing by your side, glaring the stranger down.

• He may not be that intimidating, but he's the King of Hell. Many people know how strong he is, even if they don't find him to actually be intimidating to look at. So, they back off, usually. Those who don't get a brief look at his demon form, before getting knocked out. No, no... He doesn't kill them. He can't kill anybody when you are around. He'll wait until later.

• He's a yandere that would never cross any physical boundaries with you. He's spent years isolating himself from people, so as sad as it is to say, he's pretty used to not getting any sort of affection. He doesn't need compliments, hugs, or cuddles ( at least, that's what he tells himself). However, if and when you start showing affection towards him, he's going to need it constantly. He needs reassurance, comfort, a shoulder to cry on, somebody to give affection to... And you are now the only person he feels he's able to do so, with.

• He's going to want to own your soul, so be on the lookout for any tricks he might pull. Well, it's more correct to say he doesn't want to own your soul, but feels like he must. He doesn't like the idea of being in a relationship with such an intense power dynamic, but he's so frightened by the idea that Heaven might take you away, that he feels that he simply must own your soul. He feels that, if he does, it's less likely you'd even be able to go to Heaven, since you're technically owned by him. And he knows he's never going up. Even you just mentioning Heaven throws him into a panic... Don't say that word, alright?

[tswwwit]

Cipher's Personal Portable Portal

'How they meet' won the poll!

So just to make things fully contextualized, as far as they're gonna be - here's the full first chunk of this stupidly long fic I'm writing.

I hope you enjoy!

Standing in the wreckage of the burnt-out building, Dipper wishes he didn’t know who did it.

Anyone else would have left some trace sign. A scrape of blood, a hint of burnt hair. A friggin’ decent eyewitness report, even.

But here, like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that - there's absolutely zero traces. No video footage, nobody around at the time of the crime. Not even footprints.

Dipper kicks one of the remaining supports, sending a puff of charcoal up from the impact. 

If he knew the bastard’s name, he’d curse it all to hell.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Dipper sits on a chunk of scorched foundation. He pulls his shoe off to tip the ashes out of it; there’s enough that the resulting cloud leaves him coughing. 

Around him, the scoured west wing of the museum is silent, still, and empty. A grey-black skeleton of its former self, filled with dust and charcoal.

This arson is yet another one in a very, very long line of crimes. They’re not just ‘unrelated incidents’, or ‘bizarre coincidences’. Dipper’s not ‘being paranoid’ or ‘coming up with some pretty weird conspiracy theories’. 

There’s only one person who could manage this. The same guy who turned a bank upside down - literally -  and the same one who impaled a mob boss on an oversized silly straw and gave tails to half of a household last week.

It’s all connected.

Each crime is marked with the same style, mostly by how remarkably weird they are. Along with a thread of magic, distinct in its composition. One so distinctive that it's almost a flavor. Though admittedly, without certain magical analysis, it’s pretty hard to detect. 

And if other freelance magicians would take the time and look at Dipper’s notes, maybe one of them would help find this asshole.

Dipper stalks through the burned building, fists balled in his pockets. He stumbles over a fallen support column, and nearly trips before he makes a hopping retreat back. 

Though the culprit has been at his game - whatever ‘game’ that is - for a good half a year now, this is the most destructive ‘incident’ so far. Nobody was hurt, since it happened in the middle of the night. The one relief from a terrible crime, that only objects were obliterated in the process - 

But the ashes speak for themselves.

Here, there’s nothing left.

He breathes in slowly. Then regrets the attempt at calming himself as he coughs again.

Whatever the culprit’s initial motive was, it hasn’t lasted. He’s grown not only in ambition, but also in his abilities. Things are escalating at a rate Dipper doesn’t like to think about.

Someone has to get to the bottom of this. Before it’s too late. Dipper’s got his number, metaphorically speaking, so. Well, might as well be him. 

And when he proves that all of this chaos was created by the same person - 

Well. A little boost to his meager reputation couldn’t hurt. Maybe a few medals and accolades. There isn’t a trophy for best monster hunter, but he can imagine standing on a podium and -

Dipper waves that thought off, swearing under his breath. Stupid. He has better things to focus on.

He’s the only freelancer on the case. Definitely the only one taking this seriously, the only one who thinks it’s the same person to begin with -  and even he’s starting to have some doubts about ever finding the bastard. 

Six months of tracking this guy down, and what does he have to show for it? A ramshackle compilation of incidents, a vague feeling of magic, and a description that could fit any bottle-blond actor with bad fashion sense. Scraps. He might as well pin them up and connect them with red string for all the good it does him.

Another kick sends Dipper hopping back, clutching his foot with a swear. He winces at the hole in the tip, he nearly punctured his foot on a nail.

Just his luck. Wrong place, wrong time, always just barely avoiding disaster. Dipper shows up whenever there’s an event, he’s got the means to follow the guy - but he’s always just a little too late.

Even worse, lately the guy’s been picking places… not at random, exactly. More like he causes trouble wherever it’d be the most annoying to follow.

The culprit must know someone is on his trail. But he’s not making it impossible to keep up, or even majorly difficult for a determined pursuer. Just really, really irritating, like making moves at three in the morning, or pausing just long enough for someone to catch up, then heading right back where he came from. At one point Dipper had to trudge through a literal swamp, only to find that bastard had sauntered in by baking himself a neat little trail right through the damn thing. There wasn’t even footprints to follow.

It’s a repeated point in Dipper’s notes. Whoever this is, they’re a total, absolute dick.

With a sigh, Dipper runs his fingers through the ash on the museum’s floor. Not a single thing is left beyond the shattered glass of some display cases, and the charred remains of the building. Even the enchanted metal tools have been melted into slag. 

The day before yesterday, he could tell something was up. Building energy, something that felt like it was made by the culprit. Something with the twinge of a powerful curse, coiled and being wound up like a spring. 

Dipper spent that evening convincing - okay, maybe also bribing, thank you Stan for the idea - the museum to let him borrow materials. The day after that, he spent all night, morning, and most of the afternoon running around slapping up anti-curse emblems. The entire south of the city warded, in a fine careful net of spellcraft. The work was exhausting. Both in running around, and in the amount of magic he’d needed to use.

But it was worth it. That evening, in the quiet and very uncursed city, all the emblems activated. Dipper would have sworn he sensed someone in the distance, cursing his own name. That night he went to bed with a smug sense of satisfaction, floating on a cloud of triumph.

Which is probably why the bastard burned down the museum next.

With another sigh, Dipper tucks his notebook back into his knapsack. He’s gleaned all he’s going to for today; in the fading evening light, searching more is pointless.

So much for all the magical artifacts. Most of those had come in really useful in messing with the guy. 

…How the hell did the culprit know where they came from, though? He’d need a near encyclopedic knowledge of artifacts to know which ones Dipper used, then track them back to their origin. 

Or maybe he just searched on the internet. It’s hard to tell.

Dipper just wishes there were more clues. But just like every other incident, the guy up and freakin’ vanished.

No human can disappear like that without some very irresponsible use of power. That hope is one Dipper’s hanging his hat on. After six months? He has to be reaching his limits. He’ll burn himself out before he can manage too many more incidents. Maybe Dipper will find him by stumbling on his withered, dissolving corpse.

Whoever this is is pretty strong, but no power is infinite. He can’t hide forever.

It can’t be too much longer. Won’t be. Dipper has a plan, he’s gotten really close, and - He’s good at his job, damn it. He knows he is. 

Taking a deep, slow breath, Dipper lets it out. Patience is the name of the game here. He’s just gotta keep moving.

One day, he’s going to catch up with that bastard. He’ll see the guy in the flesh. Then he’ll grab that stupid dick before he can escape, again, and wipe that presumably smug look off his probably ugly face.

Turning around one last time, Dipper surveys the destruction, stuffs his hands in his pockets - and pauses. 

A speck of light glints in the pile of ash. The last bit of evening sun, shining off a metallic surface.

Alert with surprise, Dipper scrambles over to the pile. Kneeling down, he brushes the dust carefully aside, careful not to disturb anything fragile that might shatter if handled wrong. 

One thing did survive. Thank fuck, it’s not an absolute total loss. Just, uh… Ninety-nine percent of it.

He scuffles through the still-warm ashes, cupping his palms underneath the lump and lifting it from its bed. The motion sends white puff rising up as ash slips away from the artifact.

A small black, squarish thing rests on the pile, a bit larger than both his palms put together. The material is faintly warm from residual heat, insulated by the ash it laid in - and there’s not a mark on it. Not even a scratch. 

Dipper turns the artifact over in his hands with a frown. The shining black surface reveals no obvious buttons or secrets. Just a kind of phone-ish shape, though more square and squat. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say a guest dropped it on the rush to escape. 

The fact that it’s still intact though. Nearly glowing with magic, a tremulous feeling under his palms - this is not dropped by some clumsy tourist. Not even Ford could put this together.

 Wiping at the object with his sleeve, Dipper manages to clean off most of the smooth surface. On one of the sides, dust clings to the thinnest of engravings. The very faint outline of an equilateral triangle. No runes or other magical scribing, just… a shape.

Dipper thinks back but - no, he doesn’t remember seeing this in the collection. A quick check online reveals…

Basically nothing. There are - were - a bunch of stone and metal slabs in the archives, all described so poorly as to be useless. Some are even bunched up in groups. ‘Magical slab 1-24’ and ‘Metal artifact 1-78’, no description involved.

Not surprising. Probably dug up in some mass excavation site, transported here, then never really looked at again. The bulk nature of the shipment means it was overlooked, its magical properties never discovered.

After today, he’s just glad that even one item escaped this onslaught. 

The other artifacts must not have had much to them. But some magical property in this artifact’s making must have saved it from the blaze. Fireproofing, perhaps? Against weird fire? That’s unusual. Maybe even unique.

As the only survivor, it really needs investigating. 

Dipper glances over his shoulder, then around. With everyone evacuated, it’s quiet in the rubble. Nobody here would notice if, say… a clue wandered off.

The artifact slips easily into his pocket. The shape conveniently looks just like a phone, even if the shape’s a bit off. Not something that would attract any attention.

Whistling nonchalantly, ducking out of the way of local law enforcement and any onlookers - Dipper makes his escape. 

Another day of pursuit. Another scene of disaster, the culprit there and gone in the blink of an eye. 

He’ll be up to something new, next. Never the same thing twice, never in the same place. 

Dipper will follow in his evil tracks, of course. But for tonight - his fate is another crappy hotel room. 

He ditches his backpack by the door, slumping against the wall and its chipped paint. He could start going through his notes, and the pictures of the arson. Put in more work, find further connections - 

But it’s been a long day, and he’s tired. He might be magical, but he’s only got so much to work with. A reasonable night’s sleep, if he can manage, will make the task loom less horribly over his tired brain.

With a sigh, he drops back on the mattress. There’s some bounce to it, springs squeaking like they’re full of mice. Hell, maybe they are. The type of room he can afford isn’t exactly decadent.

That, though, should be temporary. Dipper’s career is only just starting; freelancers in the ‘solving magical problems’ scene don’t get great rates. Especially as a beginner. Definitely without a partner; it makes him look super young. Like he’s just starting out, fresh-faced and not having any inroads.

Because this field is really stupid, and doesn’t pay attention to results. Dipper’s been fine on his own for years, and he’s done really cool things without that ‘networking’ crap. 

All by himself. Totally cool with that, because Dipper’s a cool guy, sometimes. If Mabel hypes him up enough on one of their phone calls, he almost believes it too.

Though it would be nice to have some backup, it’s hard to find someone who really gets the job. Or does it in the way that Dipper goes about it. The number of people who are willing to take long treks in hyper-magical territory to search for an obscure clue, or set up really complicated traps for  dangerous monsters, or talk over high-level magical theory while sitting in the rain all night just to get one body-snatcher are…

Well, besides Ford, who recently retired, there aren’t any. Only Dipper himself.

One day, things are going to change for him. All his effort will pay off. If he keeps solving mysteries, and fighting monsters, he’ll forge a reputation as someone who always gets the job done. No matter how hard it is, he can handle it. The work is picking up, too. The last six months have shown the biggest series of magical incidents in decades. 

And he’s gonna be the one to get to the bottom of it.

Dipper Pines, the guy who proved it’s all connected. He’ll have it laid out in facts and math, all the evidence. They’re all gonna see that he was totally right.

Once he finally gets this guy, everything’s going to start looking up. 

The sheets rustle as Dipper settles back, holding the artifact up over himself. He stares into the black surface, and a slightly distorted reflection narrows its eyes back at him. 

A good mystery always intrigues him. This one should take his mind off the other, irritating one for a while.

The only remaining object from the fire is clean and smooth. A mysterious creation, of unknown purpose. Clearly riddled with magic, too; Dipper feels it running just under the surface like a rapid current. It gives the artifact a weight that has nothing to do with mass. 

Power.

Did the criminal see this artifact, still intact after all the other magical objects were gone? Did he try to destroy it too, and fail? Or simply not notice he’d missed one out of thousands?

Whatever it is, it’s got a lot more going on than meets the eye.

Dipper casts a quick identifier, which comes back with nothing. He’s not surprised. That’s the first thing anyone would try. If it was that simple, he’d already have the full description off the site. 

With a shrug, he traces another set of runes, his own version, adding a little more oomph behind it - 

And the magic leaps back instantly, with the bizarre sensation of a bouncy ball hitting concrete.

“Huh,” Dipper says, thoughtfully. He sits up, hunching over the slab in his hands. “Now that’s new.”

A more subtle approach, then. Tracing the lines of energy with the barest brush of magic upon magic reveals something deeply complex. Thin layers twist together deep under the surface, building an entire circulatory system. Dipper has to put it down for a moment, suddenly worried that it is organic. 

When a cautious prod doesn’t get a response, he relaxes. Not fleshy, just complicated. Which also proves he was right earlier - the artifact’s just as powerful as he’d thought. The spellcraft is unlike anything he’s ever seen. 

Dipper rubs his hands together, starting to smile. 

Even if he doesn’t find the guy he’s after, figuring this out could be a heck of a win.

Several attempts later, he’s beginning to get why this bastard brick got tossed in with all the other junk. 

Nothing here is working. It simply deflects. Standard spells poing off of it like rubber, while giving his magical senses an odd, back-of-the brain afterimage of a circle with a slash through it; a firm ‘nah’. 

Dipper nearly chucks the thing across the room in frustration, before shutting his eyes and taking several, calming breaths. 

Okay, weird thing, weird enchantment. The ordinary stuff won’t work. The magical logic is… twisted in a way that leaves it incompatible with most everything. He’ll have to find a different approach. 

“What are you?” Dipper says, low and frustrated. He gives the artifact a shake, as if he can knock the secrets out like a rock from a shoe. “What secrets are you hiding in there?” 

No response, not that he expected one. With a wry smile, he taps the sleek surface with a finger, twice. “C’mon, man. Talk to me.” 

Huge yellow letters flash onto the black surface. 

HEY

Dipper throws the artifact, a bit awkwardly since he’s lying on his back. It sails in the air in a high thin arc, landing with a thump between his legs. He scoots rapidly backward, sheets pulling up behind him. 

The artifact lies where it landed, an unmoving brick.  There’s magic in the air now, but no sense of any spell building, ready to unleash power to blow his face off. The latent spellcraft of the artifact has just been activated.

More text displays on the surface, bare except for the glowing letters. 

To the jerk that’s swiped my private stuff: You got some nerve! I expect this back by interdimensional mail in a week, or trust me - there will be consequences.

Dipper waits a full minute before he lets go of the headboard. Tentatively, he kneels near the…

 Is this a phone? 

Clearly it’s a communication device of some sort, with the freaking text messages. A phone is the obvious equivalent, only - he thought it looked far older than that, something way before mobile phones. Possible ancient. Is that a coincidence, maybe, or is it secretly modern?

Dipper taps the ‘screen’, just below the glowing words. To his surprise, there’s actually a keyboard, what the hell. This thing keeps getting weirder.

Since it hasn’t already thrown a horrible curse at him, or burst into flames - it’s reasonably safe to assume that it’s simply ‘on’. Not ‘explosive’. 

With hands that are definitely not shaking, he picks it up, and types,

Who is this? 

His own text pops up in blue. A strange contrast to the yellow, but he’s guessing it’s for convenience - there’s no bubbles to tell who’s said what otherwise.

A few seconds of nervous waiting later, there’s a response. 

Oh hey, you answered! Well, human - You’re talking to the one and only Bill Cipher, Dream Demon, all-powerful master of the Mindscape! I’d say it’s nice to meet ya but you’re not supposed to have a direct line to me!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. 

Now that’s one hell of an introduction. It might even have been interesting, if it didn’t smell of complete bullshit. 

Complicated spellwork, sure. Incomprehensible architecture? Maybe. Dipper can admit it; he’s never seen anything with a web of spells on it this complex, in such small of a package.

But the idea that Dipper just stumbled onto a demonic artifact of all things. One that wasn’t instantly detected, recorded, then ritually destroyed is…

Someone’s fucking with him. 

Dipper rolls his eyes as he types back,

Really? Demon? You can’t expect me to believe that. 

What, you calling me a liar? ‘Cause I am, but not about this! I got better things to mislead mortals about. This is my property, not something for your grubby mortal mitts.

Dipper snorts. Guess this person’s sticking with the bit. Obviously whoever created this would want it back - but too bad. Whether they’re delusional, stupid, or just a flat-out liar, they’re really good at enchanting. It’d be a waste not to study their work. 

He lies back on the bed as he replies.

Sure, have fun roleplaying, or whatever, it doesn’t make a difference. Finders keepers, losers weepers.

ARE YOU CALLING ME A LOSER. MORTAL.

Hmm, I’m detecting a certain amount of ‘crying about it’, so. Yeah. Suck it, loser.

Smirking, Dipper settles back - then his half-smile drops, as he holds the ‘phone’ a little further away from himself. 

Though the blue fire building up in the screen looks like a bad sticker effect, the artifact’s also getting a alarmingly warm. It vibrates in his hands - then suddenly stops, cooling down. 

Ha! Alright, alright, I admit - you got some balls.

Maybe you’ll change your tune once you REALLY know what you’re dealing with! Might wanna check the connection, if you’re even capable of it! Mortal magic doesn’t reach across dimensions!

With a grimace, Dipper taps his fingers on the phone. It’s slightly cooler now, but still worryingly reactive to… whatever happened on the other end. 

Damn. Whoever this is, they’re not only really really good at enchanting, they’re also pretty confident that tracking them down won’t spoil their game. The confidence exuding from this ‘Bill’s’ words feels genuine.

Honestly, though, the suggestion is a good one. Dipper should have tried to trace the call the second he knew someone else was on the line. 

Maybe ‘Bill’ thinks he won’t manage to find him. Joke’s on him, though; Dipper’s amazing at finding stuff. He’s the best tracker of magical anything in years. Maybe decades. With a solid, stable connection right in front of him? Hell, he could do this one in his sleep. 

Time to call the bluff.

He casts the tracing spell, though it takes longer than usual. A few gestures and muttered ritual aren’t gonna cut it; he has to improvise around the strange construction of the enchantment. Even trailing along the magic seems harder than usual, like it resists mixing with his own, and it takes him a few attempts to match the signal. 

Once he finds the right way to tune it… the lead snaps along the already-existing connection, and zips away to find its source.

The line extends out from the shabby hotel room, a plucked string in Dipper’s senses. It twists around the phone, rising slowly. Invisibly passing through the walls and the - 

Ceiling? Dipper looks up on instinct, even though nothing is visible.

From there it swirls around in the air like a silly straw on steroids, and then - out, very far, in a way that isn’t up or down or left or right, just  

Away.

Dipper has to cut off the tracing spell before vertigo has him reeling. The swirling sense of standing on top of a skyscraper is followed by a flip in his stomach. That he’s using a device he barely understands that reaches out into something even more incomprehensible.

He drops the phone-artifact, trying to clear his head by shaking it rapidly. 

That’s not nearby. Not on this planet. Possibly, genuinely, not even in this dimension. 

Shit. Bill wasn’t bluffing.

Dipper wipes sweating palms on the sheets. To pick up the phone again takes an effort, willing himself to grasp it in unsteady hands.

A demon. 

All the monsters he’s fought, curses he’s broken, years of work tucked into his belt, and he’s never seen one of those. 

Demons are dangerous, evil, and very, very powerful. Consorting with them is by all accounts a terrible idea. He should never have picked this up. He should hang up, and throw the damn artifact out the window, hoping that nobody else makes as dumb a mistake as he just did. 

On the screen, there’s a long long scroll of yellow letters, filling the entire surface. ‘HA HA HA HA’ over and over and over again. 

Before he can think better of it, Dipper starts a response. He’s halfway through a sentence - what the fuck, that’s not funny- before he pauses.

Terrible evil monster. Stupid powerful. Probably Bill sensed the tracing of the connection, like he did with Dipper’s other testing. Bill wanted the result startle him. Because he thinks it’s funny.

Dipper grits his teeth, and glares at the screen. 

Actually, screw this guy. Dipper’s keeping the stupid phone. If for no other reason than spite. This ‘Bill’ guy seems pretty full of himself, like he’s totally above some human. He’s in for a bad time, then, because Dipper’s not going to let one little surprise scare him off.

Besides.  The average guy would get into horrible, even deadly trouble, whereas Dipper… sort of knows what he’s doing.  No, he is good at his job. Finding secrets, solving mysteries, thwarting evil jerks who think they’re oh-so-hilarious, the whole shebang. He does it all.

Taking another breath, hissing through clenched teeth - Dipper lets it out. Losing his temper isn’t going to help deal with an extradimensional being. He has to be careful.

He thinks for a long moment before he responds. 

Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Maybe. Then you should know I didn’t steal your… whatever this is. I found it lying around, and I just. Got kind of curious. 

HA HA HA! Of course you were! Careful with that impulse, kid, it kills more than just cats!

A jerk who definitely thinks he’s hilarious. Dipper rolls his eyes, then, rather pettily, decides to ignore that statement. 

More pressing questions take the lead. Like what the fuck he’s holding right now, and if there are any other nasty tricks in store. A little bit of him, bubbling under the surface, wonders what being a demon is like. What they get up to, common habits. Ways they could be tracked down and, y’know, defeated, maybe. 

Theoretically, he’s got a line to a bunch of innocent, totally not-thwarting-related information that could be super useful to someone trying to, maybe, be a super cool monster-fighter.

Dipper backspaces a bunch over some poorly thought out questions. First things first. Like what the hell he’s holding right now.

So. What is this?

Good question! The gadget you’re poking at with your sweaty meat-paws is paired to the one I have here at my place. A little one-on-one communication assistant, if you will. Once you started groping around with your magic, it wasn’t hard to tell someone had picked it up!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Though he already has an idea… a little confirmation never hurts. 

Like, you got a notification? Or literally felt?

The latter! Kinda like smell, but by touching things with your eyeballs. And with all your prodding around you might as well have been stinking up the place! Your spells aren’t real subtle!

Hey, they’re subtle! Having weird extra senses is just cheating.

Sucks to be human, then! In that you suck at everything! What’s a LOSER like you gonna do about it?

Dipper nearly throws the stupid artifact again - but he holds back, gripping it tight. Instead he sits up, leaning down and hauling his backpack up from the side of the bed. 

Maybe Bill thinks he can’t do anything. That he’s some ignorant nobody, who doesn’t have any real skills or talent or doesn’t have any friends - but he’s got that wrong. Dipper’s not a loser. Bill’s not getting away with that bullshit.

One quick unzip and a bit of rifling around later, he finds what he was looking for. Carefully, Dipper bounces the heft of a flashlight battery in his hand. Shutting his eyes, he focuses on crafting a quick working.

Magic is all about energy, and its direction. Focusing power, conveying it from one place to another. Pushing anything across dimensions would take impossible amounts of energy, stuff Dipper doesn’t have. If it weren’t for a very convenient connection, already in his hand.

Dipper has nothing on hand to actually exorcise the guy - he’s not sure that’s even possible when Bill’s where he should be - but retribution is in order.

More text lines appear on the artifact. He ignores them. Changing this up to work with the demon device is a challenge, but after figuring out how to alter the tracking spell changing this one up isn’t hard. He adjusts the flow of magic this way, into the tangle of not-veins in the device that way, finishes the chant-

Then touches his tongue to the battery.

The jolt passes through him painlessly, following the spell. It zips along his nerves, down into his hand and from there - into the artifact itself. 

Where it should, theoretically end up right at that bastard.

Dipper tosses the battery back into his backpack. Picking up the ‘phone’, hunching over to stare at the screen. 

That worked. He felt the energy move… unless he got the math wrong. Or a detail of his spell. Or maybe demons are immune to electricity, and he just did something totally pointless. 

God. It might even prove Bill right, and wouldn’t that be the worst - 

The next line of text comes in. 

What the hell? A joy buzzer? That’s some real petty prank stuff! You seriously pulled that bullshit? And across dimensions?

A tense pause. Dipper taps the phone, checking for it heating up again - but another line pops up after a few seconds.

Y’know what, kid? I think I might actually like you! You’re FEISTY.

Dipper nearly does a double-take. 

But no, that - what? Aren’t demons supposed to be vengeful? He was half-sure he’d have to chuck the phone out the window before it exploded in his hands. 

In fact, you’re in luck! ‘Cause I’m pretty bored, and I can totally show you how to improve that jinx of yours! If you can keep up with a little theory, that is.

Because that’s not suspicious or anything. Conversation with a demon can only lead to ruin and disaster. He should absolutely, definitely stop this right in its tracks.

Still, Dipper shrugs, and types, 

Try me.

[trashmouth-richie]

Eddie x Fem! Reader [vol ii]

Summary: you were desperate for a roommate after Nancy got married and moved out. An ad in the paper goes unanswered until someone comes knocking on the door.

W.C 3.8k

Trigger warning: enemies to lovers trope, eventual smut, language, crude behavior, Eddie is a fucking menace 🖤 this will be a series 💋

{a/n} I probably should have added this when I originally posted it. But I’m a little dumb— anyway, this is my submission for @newlips ’s milestone of love hope you all enjoy it 💋 I truly enjoy writing and I wouldn’t be here without the support you all as readers/ fellow writers bring to me every single day! Thank you all from the bottom of my heart ♥️

He wasn’t your first option for a roommate, in fact he was so far off your radar for a potential housemate, you damn near shrieked when you saw him. But when nobody had showed up besides him to view the small two bedroom house that you were forced to sublease after your roommate got married— you didn’t have a fucking choice. It was too expensive to run another ad in the Hawkins Post and summer was coming to a close. You were fucked.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” you snarl as you throw open the door to see his stupid grin. Always too toothy, too goddamn endearing. Made your stomach bind up. “No, no way.”

Standing in all his sadistic leather glory was Eddie fucking Munson. He’s taller than he used to be, still a long haired asshole, reeking of weed and cheap deodorant. What kind of sick twisted joke is this? Did you really piss off mother karma that bad that you have to live in a separate, more fucked up layer of hell? Fuck you Dante, and your inferno. There’s not a single other person in this town who needs somewhere to stay?!

He pushes his way into your home, leaning forward with a shit eating grin, eyes hooded and winking as your lips curl in disgust. “Nice to see you too sweetheart.” He taunted. Licking his lips as he stalked past you, his filthy work boots tracking dirt onto the carpet.

“Yuck — do not— call me that,” you hissed, you stand with your hand still on the knob, not fully committing to wanting to shut the door— praying that he was some sort of a hallucination.

“You gonna show me around, or should I raid your panty drawer while you sulk?” A dimple dips into his cheeks as his stupid grin grows wider on his face.

You slam the door with a thud, “kitchen, living room, my bedroom, the other bedroom, bathroom, garage, laundry in the basement.” You’re practically shouting, as you stomp around the small space, pointing to the direction of each room, taking a grand total of twenty seconds to point everything out, not giving a fat rats ass if he was following you or not. His laugh echoes off the walls, taunting you, making your skin crawl and your ears itch. You turn around to find him quick on your heels, your face almost smashing into his grease covered work shirt.

He doesn’t move, or make any attempt to step away from you, forcing you to put the space between you both, stepping back and smoothing down your hair. His eyes kill to yours, dark swirls of muddy browns searching your own, he asks, “Why do you get the bigger room?”

The fucking audacity of this man. You could wring his neck right now and nobody would even know.

“Excuse me?” You question, peering into his chocolate eyes, waving a finger in his face, “maybe because It’s my fucking house, you’re lucky if you’ll get a room at all.”

He leans his head back with a laugh, letting it slam forward as he deadpans, creeping forward and stepping around you, waiting til he’s behind you to whisper in your ear, “I’m lucky? That ad was in the paper for over a week,” he seethes, “I bet I’m the only one who showed up to view the place, so nice try, Tooty— but you’re desperate for the cash.” He wasn’t wrong, you were desperate, the salon paid okay but Josie just upped the price on your rental chair, making your mortgage almost impossible for you to pay on your own.

“…I’m doing you a favor. So, if you want me to pay rent and utilities, then I’ll, so graciously, be taking the bigger room.” His breath fans across the back of your neck, making the hairs stand up, and goosebumps riddle your skin. You turn to face him, hands on your hips trying to show how serious you are.

“I know it took you like four times longer to graduate than anyone in United States history, but you can’t possibly be this damn dumb.” It was a cheap shot and you know it, but who does he think he is? Barging in here with demands like a fucking A list celebrity. Not today, mother fucker.

A comment that would have normally made anyone else burst into tears, or at least leave hollering ‘bitch!’ as they stomped out to their car, only fuels Eddie’s perverted fire, “Ooo, an insult and a scolding, what’s next a spankin’?”

Your hard-ass facade drops, your face faltering to one of disgust instead of stern, don’t-fuck-with-me, boss lady, “Get out, Munson.”

“Nah, I think I’ll stay.” He saunters towards the kitchen table and pulls out his wallet, of course its a chain wallet, you roll your eyes as he starts forking over an impressive amount of bills and sets them down, one by one.

“Here’s my first month, last month and deposit.”

The total is way more than what you’d even told him but you're still tongue tied from his comments, he lives for this shit and you had fallen for it—rookie mistake.

“I’ll be back in a few hours to start moving stuff in.” He smiles widely, moving towards the door, “See you then, roomie.”

His figure haunts you for the next few hours you have left of peace. His smell lingers around the house, you shove open every window you can, including the one that was painted shut by the previous owners. He was so fucking annoying. Is that supposed to be charm he was throwing at you? Fucking barf. The only thing you were feeling was rage, and that you needed to shower after feeling his breath on your skin. Lighting every scented candle you can find, Sugar cookie and beach sands will do— the smell slowly wafts out of the windows. You shower quickly, figuring better do it now than after he arrives, the dreaded walk in a towel from the bathroom to your room was something you hadn’t thought of until this second. Hot water sprays against your skin, assaultingly hot, almost blistering the skin on your back.

You are seething, raging mad. If you were a cartoon, smoke would be funneling out of your ears. Mocking him, you think of better comebacks than you had thought up earlier. Scrubbing your skin until you resembled a lobster, and angrily scratching your scalp. “What’s next a spankin?” GOD he’s so nasty, the sheer nerve of him makes you want to throw a toaster into the shower with you. Nothing a few volts can’t fix. You towel off, looking at your reflection in the mirror as you wipe away the condensation. The stress of the day slowly melted off as it was rinsed down the drain.

You’re applying your eye cream when a—loud as fuck— knock on the door shakes the walls.

“Honey, I’m home!” Eddie hollers as you peek through the glass. He’s carrying a duffle bag and a 30 pack of Busch Light. 3 smiling idiots are behind him, two passing a joint back and forth while balancing a very worn mattress, the other swaying on the sidewalk holding a guitar, most likely already drunk.

Tucking the tail end of the towel wrapped around your head into itself, you fling open the door, “Jesus Christ Eddie, will you shut up! I have neighbors you know!”

“Oooo— first fight!” One of the idiots with shaggy blonde hair preens.

Your glare could compete with lasers against his skin, prying through his epidermis and burning the vessels.

Eddie lets out a laugh, “aww sweetheart, I didn’t know you were planning a slumber party!” he says gesturing to your towel and pink robe. “Give me about 30 minutes and I’ll be braiding your hair and you can paint my nails, give me all the hot gossip!”

You turn with a huff half closing the door behind you. The gaggle of idiots roaring with laughter at Eddie’s joke.

He pushes through the door into the house, tossing his bag onto the table, knocking over the napkin holder and the stack of mail, letting out a loud sigh. He rips the thirty pack open on the side, making the beers crash to the floor. You still your eyes and cross your arms, unamused by his stupid antics. He cracks one open, slurping up the spray of suds as it puddles around his hand and down onto the carpet. He kicks a beer towards you and raises his up in triumph. “Here’s to you roomie, Home Sweet Home!”

You’re so fucked.

-

“Robin, I’m seriously going to kill him. I don’t care if I have to go to jail—anything would be better than this!” you whisper-yell into the phone, you watched Eddie and his band of misfits bring in box after box, most of his stuff was in black plastic garbage bags. They formed a line throwing the bags to one another and the last one haphazardly tossing them into his room.

“Oh relax! A hunk like him moving in and you don’t even have to pay him? You just hit the jackpot!” She giggles on the other end of the phone, smacking through her licorice.

“More like jackass with all the shit he’s moving in.”

You’re hunkered in your room, between the wall and your bed, twirling your bedroom phone cord through your fingers, “Seriously the place smells like weed so bad I’m probably getting a contact high as we speak.”

Robin lets out a throaty laugh, “Might do you some good, you’re so fucking tense all the time.”

“Sorry—” you say, twiddling the blue carpet fibers through your fingers, “I’m just stressed after Nancy moved out is all.” It wasn’t a lie, Nancy moving in was a huge relief to you, she took care of almost everything. Organizing bills, scheduling pest control when needed, she even wrote the garbage pick up days and hung it on the garage door. With her gone, this all falls on you. “What if he steals my stuff in the middle of the night and bails?”

She curses your full name, “He may be a lot of things, but a thief is not one of them—seriously you have nothing to worry about, calm your boobies!”

“Boobies!” Steve yells, joining the room Robin was in, “it’s Eddie, he’s a total nerd, you’ll be fine.”

“If he’s so great Then you can live with him Steve!”

“Nope, no can do,” he says around a mouthful of food,

“I gotta keep this clumsy oaf on a short chain”

“Oh, you’re dead Harrington.” The phone drops and all you hear is squealing and thudding of feet running around.

“Robin! Not my shampoo! ”

“Steve? Robin?” You wait in silence as the line goes dead, “Uhh!” Slamming the phone into the receiver you hear Eddie and his leather clad Barbarians holler goodbye to one another. One too many “see ya later man” ’s and you’re practically puking. You open the door to your room and poke your head out. Watching closely as Eddie tears through garbage bags, unloading heaps and heaps of clothing, an entire bag dedicated to just band shirts, another revealed bedding that was quite literally rolled up and thrown into the bag. A quick sniff test has him turning up his nose.

The kitchen is taken over by Eddie’s stuff, more bags, more boxes, a cookbook titled: The Dungeonmeister Cookbook is sitting on the stove. A stack of Burger King collectible Disney cups is cluttered around the microwave. Along with an impressive amount of neon twisty straws and a bowl with a straw connected to drink the milk.

It’s like a small child moved into your home instead of a grown ass man.

Opening the fridge to get an apple, you can’t help but notice Eddie also moved some refrigerator items with him as well. Two big bottles of hot sauce, more beer than the local bar probably holds, a half drank carton of orange juice, and a giant jar of pickles, without a lid. Huffing with annoyance you step over Eddie’s bags of shit and get a knife from the drawer to slice the apple. The loud shrill screeching of 80’s metal almost makes you cut your finger. Stomping into Eddie’s room with your fuzzy slippers you don’t bother on knocking before you look for the plug to his cassette player, unhooking it from the outlet and pointing the knife in his direction, you all but scream in his face, “I almost cut my fucking finger off! Turn it down or I’ll cut the goddamn cord!”

He’s sitting crossed legged on the floor, cassettes littering his lap, his eyes almost bored, “aww Tooty I’ll play with you in a little bit, daddy just has to get some things done first, ‘kay?”

You roll your eyes in disgust, did he seriously just refer to himself as ‘daddy’?

“God you are foul,” you retort, throwing the cord down onto the carpet and placing the knife on a nearby box, “wouldn’t surprise me if you were a dad.”

Eddie throws his head back with a chuckle, “why? You into dad bods? Listen sweetheart, my metabolism will slow down eventually, gimme three—four years max and I’ll be all gut.” He flashes his pearly whites towards you and winks.

Ignoring him completely, your nose scrunches. “Stop calling me that!” your heart is pounding in your chest fury on high, “what the hell is that?”

“That,” Eddie says batting his eyelashes, “would be my masculinity wafting from my aura to yours, why does it turn you on?”

You fold your arms over your chest, and shift your slippered feet beneath you, “Do you have a certain amount of disgusting phrases you have to get out throughout the day or are you just naturally this nauseating to be around?”

“No idea, anyway,” Eddie continues, standing to his full height and shucking off his jacket and tossing it to the ground, “I’m gonna order a pizza you want in?”

“Maybe you should finish unpacking,” you say taking a quick glance around the clothes strewn everywhere around the room, “it’s a fucking mess in here.”

Eddie leans in close eyes ghosting over your features as they gawk over your lips, “well, sweetheart, maybe if you had given me the bigger room— like I had asked for— I would have enough space to put my stuff, besides,” he says, standing up and leaning backwards to crack his back, a small trail of hair peeking out from his waistband makes your breath hitch in your throat, “I bought dressers and they’ll be delivered on Monday, so my clothes don’t have a place to go right now, unless you wanna split your closet?”

“I’d rather drop dead.”

“Aww don’t do that, far too pretty to be dead, and what would the neighbors think?” He strips off his shirt and throws it in the corner of his room, your eyes dart away but not before catching a glimpse of his pale skin.

The small tattoos he had in high school are slightly faded with time, new ones are inked down his arms, across his chest and down his side. You can’t help but notice the silver hoops pierced through his nipples as they reflect light and draw you in towards his chest. He’s lean but built, no defining abs but the muscles in his arms could be carved from a sculptor, replicating a greek statue. Surely minutes have gone by but in reality it has only been seconds, you don’t even realize he’s still talking.

“…don’t need to give the cops more of a reason to watch me more than they already do.” He drops his eyes to your face, seeing you peek at his body. A grin is plastered to his lips as they curve upwards, he stretches his arms out wide, the veins in his arms protruding further out, oh what you’d give to just touch it with your hands, your tongue— wait what?—“Shit,” he says, drifting forward, your body pulling away from him, “looks like you aren’t into dad bods after all.”

Your cheeks flare red as you stomp out of his room, his joker laugh vibrates the walls as you slam your door. Throwing yourself on the smooth purple cotton of your comforter, and screaming into your pillow.

Nobody ever got under your skin the way he is. Why are you allowing him to frustrate you this much? He’s a boob. A pimple on your ass. That annoying twitch that your eye sometimes does when you don't have enough sleep. Yes, the festering wound, the bad rash that kept coming back, the burn in your belly, the thorn in your side— is now your roommate. Fuck.

A knock on your bedroom door, brings you back to your current state of throwing a hissy fit. You launch your cup of pens that adorns your nightstand at the door.

“Does that mean you don’t like pineapple on your pizza?”

-

Thank God you showered before Eddie started unloading his stuff, because he has been in the bathroom for at least a half hour. You’re sitting on the couch, the same rough, itchy upholstery that used to take up way too much space in the Wheeler’s basement. But a $20 bill and Nancy promising her dad that she would mow the lawn for the entire summer of ‘91, and it was now yours. Karen would sigh with relief that the ugly furniture was leaving, meaning her living room would get an upgrade as their now living room furniture would find solace in the basement. No longer stinking of cheesy pizza farts and bad B.O., or screaming threats from middle school boys about the inner demons of DnD, Mrs. Wheeler would come to miss the yelling, and the rotten stench of boys running amuck in her house. Nancy parted with the under stuffed, well loved, hideous piece of furniture when she moved in with Jonathan. So now, the outdated, wagon wheel patterned couch, was all yours.

The smell of finger nail polish fills the living room as you attempt at painting your toenails a shimmery blue that you had gotten at the mall with Robin. A fuzzy navel wine cooler tucked between your legs, you’re trying hard to get it finished before a new episode of “The Nanny” comes on. Eddie is singing in the shower, loudly. You recognize the tune as “Come As You Are” by Nirvana. Not that you were admiring the way his voice sounded. You were just surprised that a twenty six year old weirdo actually knew good music. The doorbell rings, snapping you out of, yet again, another strange spiral of thinking about Eddie Munson.

“Eddie!” You holler from the living room, “door.”

“Money’s in my wallet, just pay the dude quick and I’ll be out in a minute.” He yells back from the shower.

“Eddie, I’m busy— get the fuck out here and do it yourself.” There is no way you are walking around with wet toenails, what the hell was he thinking?

“I’m in the middle of washing my ba— “

“Alright! Fine!” You walk on your heels to the door, opening it quick to find a Hawkins High student in a red hat with the pizza logo on it.

“That’ll be $19.50,” he says with a less than enthused remark.

“Hang on,” walking back to the bathroom on heeled feet you knock on the door, “where’s your wallet?” you ask in a hurry through the door.

“Uh, my jeans I think,” Eddie yells back. You cross into Eddie’s room, looking around the mess he made, realizing the only thing he managed to make an attempt at organizing was his never ending cassettes, a few records, and an old record player. Posters decorated every wall. Metallica, Nirvana, Judas Priest, Black Sabbath, and White Zombie. The clothes were piled high in a mountain of leather, flannel and white cotton socks. Not a single pair of jeans that you could see. His bed sat on the ground, cluttered with notebook papers, dice, and tightly rolled joints.

“Eddie!” You yell from his room, “where the hell are your jeans?”

A chuckle echoes in the bathroom, muffled slightly by the spray of the shower head, “they’re in here, sweetheart.” His voice dripped with smugness and sweet notes of laughter.

Fuck it, we don’t need pizza. I can eat cereal. I’ll just tell the pizza kid to leave and Eddie can fend for himself. Fuck this.

“Tooty?” He calls from the shower, enunciating every syllable. “Come on,” he sings, laughing to himself, “I promise I’ll stay behind the curtain. You won’t see a thing— unless of course— you want to.”

You barge through the door, fumbling through Eddie’s jeans pockets, finding the black leather of his chain wallet and yanking out $25. An idea crosses your mind and you can’t help but go through with it. A flick of the lights had Eddie cursing every word imaginable as he was cast into darkness.

Thrusting cash into pimple head’s hand and shutting the door, you walk into the kitchen to get some plates. Eddie emerges from the bathroom. His hair is dripping in long strands, and your robe is wrapped right around his body, barely covering his southern region. The pink terry cloth material lined with lace looking absolutely ridiculous on his tattoo covered body.

Oh— this mother fucker.

“Are you seriously wearing my robe?” You ask, hands on your hips, nails digging into the cotton pajama shorts you’re wearing.

Eddie does a spin and swings his hips in a circular motion, his dick swinging like a helicopter.

“Well sweetheart, when you so rudely turned the lights off on me, I was forced to find the first thing I could to dry off with, and besides— you can’t deny how good I look,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, smiling the widest smile you had ever seen from him.

A lump of anger and sheer rage catches in your throat, “you’re repulsive,” you say, turning away from him and tossing pizza onto plates.

“And you,” Eddie says sliding beside you, his breath fanning your cheek, the cold drops of water from his curls pressing into your shoulder as he grabs a greasy slice of pizza straight from the box, “are extremely uptight.” The whites of his teeth bite into the cheesy triangle and chew loudly as he smacks his lips, licking the orange grease from his lips.

Anger boils in your belly, filling your veins with agitation so thick they’re bound to clog up. “I. Am. Not. Uptight,” you seethe through clenched teeth, and closed eyes.

“Yeah, sure sure,” Eddie says, mouth full of pizza, and his eyebrows raised, “whatever you say.”

You weren’t always this high strung. But having everything ripped away from you, would make anyone pretty goddamn bitter to the lemonade life had to offer.

vol ii

volume ii

A/N: thank you to everyone for reading this and continuing to support my crazy ideas. Thank you to everyone I had beta this story—@agentmarvel @pinkrelish + @sweetsweetjellybean you all push me to be a better writer and I am forever grateful for that ♥️♥️🖤💋

Taglist: @luna-munson83 @tlclick73 @idkidknemore @joejoequinnquinn @newlips (omg, they were roommates)

[katsu28]

through the lens

pairing: jamie tartt x reader 

summary: a richmond win, a trip to ola’s, and a camera is all it takes to find out how jamie tartt really feels about you

warnings: swearing ofc, reader is afc richmond's team photographer, 2.5k

a/n: humbly inviting begging anyone and everyone to drop ted lasso requests from this list or this one in my inbox <3 i write for jamie, roy, sam, dani, and isaac! now pls enjoy the result of my jamie tartt brainrot 

The atmosphere in the locker room was positively electric. 

AFC Richmond was fresh off their first win in a very long time, and everyone was beyond ecstatic, buzzing with residual adrenaline and pride on a game well played. All the players were in a huddle in the center of the room, jumping at each other with nothing but pure joy in their eyes. 

All you could do was try your best to capture the moment without getting in the way of the festivities, which you somehow managed by climbing up onto one of the benches in front of the lockers as you snapped picture after picture of the team getting their celebration on. Nobody really paid you any mind throughout, until you turned your camera on one Jamie Tartt, who was already looking right at you the second your viewfinder focused on him. 

He beamed, lifted his hand up in a small wave, and for a split second you thought he might’ve started to make his way over to you, but he was caught on the shoulder and redirected by an overjoyed Dani Rojas. You swiveled away from Jamie and towards where Colin and Isaac had started some sort of chant that you could barely make out over the ruckus. 

Focusing on them gave you the chance to let your heart rate settle back down after sharing that split second moment with Jamie. It was pathetic, really—pining over someone like him.

More of a silly little crush than anything, you knew it would never lead to anything because you’d rather a sinkhole open up in the middle of the road and swallow you up than tell Jamie that you liked him. But that didn’t stop your feelings for him from growing. He’d come back to AFC Richmond someone different—sweet and empathetic and the biggest supporter of his fellow Greyhounds—which made it that much harder to keep your crush under wraps. 

Hell, Keeley had figured it out within weeks of his return and accidentally let it slip to Roy. He’d very gruffly assured you that he hadn’t told a soul, but you were sure that the whole team knew about it by now. Everyone except Jamie. You’d never been so glad for his thick head. 

“Alright, I know y’all are excited about the win, I am too but listen up!” Coach Lasso’s voice cut through the commotion, hands waving over his head to get his players’ attention. At the drop of a hat, every single one of them fell quiet, eagerly awaiting what their beloved coach had to say. 

You were looking forward to it too, not only because a Lasso signature speech was always a great opportunity to get raw, unfiltered photos of the team, but because he always had something positive to say, no matter what the outcome on the pitch had been. The amount of love and care Ted Lasso had for his players was his strong suit, and it showed in everyone’s respect for him. 

“I’m real proud of what all y’all did out there on the pitch tonight. I know I say that after every match and I mean it every time, but this one is just a little bit sweeter. I appreciate every single one of you boys more than you could imagine,” He continued, looking to address each person. They looked like kids again, giddy with glee as they soaked in their coach’s praise. 

You took shot after shot of everyone in the moment, so enveloped in your craft that you didn’t notice someone had come to stand beside you until you let your camera hang. That was when you noticed Jamie, inching closer with an innocent look on his face until he saw you looking down at him. 

“Hiya,” He said, playfully nudging your leg with a cheeky smile. “Gettin’ a good view up there?” 

“Shouldn’t you be listening to your coach?” You shot back, fighting the urge to pick your camera back up and take a shot of his lopsided grin and stupidly endearing twinkle in his eye as he looked up at you. 

“Nothin’ I haven’t heard before.” Jamie shrugged, but he turned back around to look at Ted.

Even though he wasn’t paying attention to you, it was hard not to pay attention to him. That was a problem you’d increasingly been running into, not being able to focus when Jamie was around. You thought you’d had it under wraps, but it seemed like you’d developed a sixth sense for whenever he wandered into your vicinity. And lately, that sense had been pinging a lot more than usual. 

Maybe you were reading too much into things, but it seemed like Jamie had been popping up everywhere you went in the facility. Granted, it was mainly the pitch and the locker room hallways, but it flustered you all the same. One brief conversation about even something mundane like weekend plans or the weather paired with a smile and a cheeky wink before he disappeared around a corner and you were left wondering what you’d been doing in the first place. 

Ted was closing out his speech by the time you’d remembered you were actually supposed to be doing your job right now. You jerked out of your thoughts, snapping a few photos of the coaching staff before he finished up for the night. “Now go ahead and let loose, golden goose!” 

“I’m pretty sure it is geese, Coach,” Sam chimed in, giving him a good natured smile.

“You know what I mean! Go have some fun, celebrate, all that jazz. But not too much fun because I expect to be seein’ y’all bright and early tomorrow morning for practice. Remember, the early bird gets the worm! See, I know I did that one right.” With that, Ted waved the team off, retreating back into the coaches’ office with Coach Beard on his heels and leaving them with all their pent up energy. 

“Sam says we’re all going to Ola’s to celebrate!” Bumbercatch exclaimed, drawing a roar of approval from the rest of the team. 

“You comin’ with us?” Jamie asked you hopefully, tilting his head to the side a bit. Warmth bloomed on your cheeks at the prospect of him wanting you to tag along. “Catch the festivities, give the people what they want?” 

Oh. He was asking because you were their photographer. Not for the other foolishly hopeful reason you were thinking of. Of course. 

“Yeah, I’ll tag along. Gotta catch you boys in your natural habitat, don’t I?” 

Jamie’s mouth lifted into a cool smirk. “‘Course you do. You can catch a ride with me, if you want.” 

“Oh! Um, only if it’s not too much trouble.” You could only hope you didn’t sound as breathless as you felt.

He nodded, extending a hand up towards you to help you down from your perch. You accepted it maybe a bit too eagerly, because your step down from the bench put you a little closer to Jamie than you’d planned, barely a few inches between the two of you. You swore you almost stopped breathing when his chest brushed against yours as he inhaled a sharp breath. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, and it almost looked like he was as stunned as you. 

You both mumbled an apology, words tumbling over each other messily as you stepped apart. His hand flew up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. Yours went straight for your camera, busying yourself with a few random buttons as if it were a defense mechanism. Neither of you could look at the other for a good while, not until you got into Jamie’s car and were on the way to Ola’s to meet the rest of the team. 

“So. What’d you think of the game?” 

“S’good! You did great, Jamie,” You exclaimed, excited now. It was true, Jamie had been on fire tonight with a goal and two assists. “All of you did great.” 

“Should I pose for ya next time? Give ya a proper action shot?“ He sounded only half joking. “M’trusting you to make me look good, y’know!” 

“Posing is overrated. I like the shots I get when you lot get out there on the pitch. They’re natural.” 

“But what if I make a stupid face when I pass the ball? Those can’t be any good.” 

“They’re called candids, and I happen to think they look better than your promotional shots.” 

“Bullshit! I looked sexy in those shots and you know it.” 

While he wasn’t wrong, you had a point to prove now. Taking a deep breath, you counted to three in your head before picking your camera back up, swiveling in your seat and snapping one, two, three pictures of him. 

Jamie’s brow furrowed at the shutter clicks, giving you a confused glance over in your direction. “Oi! What’s that for?”

“That’s a candid.” You said simply, ignoring your heart pounding a million miles a minute against your ribcage. You flicked through the photos, pleased to see that they’d come out just as you suspected—perfect. 

“Not even getting my good angle, some photographer you are,” He muttered, giving his head an overexaggerated shake. 

“All your angles are good, Jamie,” You scoffed. “And you don’t need me to make you look good, ‘cause you’re doing it just fine on your own.” You didn’t realize what you’d said until a beat later when he looked extremely delighted, but every part of what you said was true. 

Even caught off guard and driving, Jamie Tartt looked unfairly good. The lights off the dashboard washed over his handsome face in a warm light, making him look softer than the harsh lights of Nelson Road did. 

On the football pitch, he was tough and cocky, mouthing off to opposing team with the sole purpose of getting under their skin, and the lighting reflected that. He was Jamie Tartt, a striker with a right foot kissed by God, one of the greatest footballers in Richmond history. In this car, here with just the two of you, he was at ease. His guard was down, his facade gone. He was just Jamie Tartt, a boy from Manchester. That was the Jamie you’d grown some not-so-small feelings for. 

Ola’s was definitely quieter than any pub in Richmond would’ve been, though you suspected that the team rather enjoyed it this way. They loved and appreciated their fans, but it was nice to be surrounded by friends as opposed to being gawked at the whole night. Even so, someone had turned on music with a heavy beat that thumped through the restaurant and everyone was having a good time. 

It was the perfect opportunity to grab a few more quick shots of the team and you took it gratefully, milling around the place for a bit snapping pictures here and there before coming back to your seat to flick through everything. You had to see what you could give the PR team to put on Richmond’s socials. 

A pint of beer slid in front of you drew you away from your camera, but it was mostly the smiling Jamie who’d slid into the chair next to you. He leaned in a little closer to be heard over the chatter of the restaurant, bracing his arm on the back of your chair. 

“D’you ever stop working?” 

“Meaning?” 

“Nothin’ bad! I just mean…every time I see ya you’re nose deep in that camera, barely get t’see your face.” 

“The point of my job is to see your face, not mine,” You joked, growing more nervous at the way he was looking at you, like he meant he actually wanted to see your face more instead. Jamie’s expression softened into something fond, knee bumping against yours gently, fingers brushing against your shoulder. His touch sent a feeling not unlike static shock through you, racing through your veins and sending your heart thundering loudly in your ears. 

You were suddenly aware of just how close he was to you and leaning closer still, so close you could see a smudge of dirt from the pitch on his neck that he’d missed, the flecks of gray in his blue eyes. 

“S’shame. Got a face too pretty to be behind the lens all the time. Prettier than mine, even.” 

“Stop it,” You mumbled, but there was no real force behind your words. Jamie thought you were pretty. It made you feel giddy inside. 

“No, you stop it. You’re stunnin’.” He insisted, looking entirely sincere. 

“You’re just saying that.” 

“M’not. I mean it.” Jamie shook his head vehemently. You pressed your lips together, denying it still. “You don’t believe me. Here,” He was quick to grab your camera off the table carefully, leaning back a bit and hitting the shutter button determinedly. You’d barely managed to stretch an arm over your face before the flash went off. He squinted at the tiny screen, studying it for a few seconds before smiling proudly. 

“Think I finally know what’s so good about those candids you keep talkin’ about. That one’s a keeper.” He was firm in his words, turning the camera around to show you the picture he’d taken. Part of your face was obscured by your outstretched hand, but you could see most of your smile and a gleam in your eyes that you didn’t know you had until this very moment. You liked it. 

“D’you wanna go on a date with me sometime?” He asked hopefully, fiddling with the edges of his shirtsleeves. Warmth flooded your cheeks in an instant. “A proper one, where I can come by yours and ring your doorbell and give you flowers and all that shit.”

“Someone give Lust Conquers All a ring, ‘cause Jamie Tartt is a changed man!” You shouldn’t have been cracking jokes right now. It definitely wasn’t the time, but you couldn’t help yourself. It escaped before you could take it back. 

But Jamie just rolled his eyes playfully, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, alright, have a laugh. You didn’t say yes.” 

“I also didn’t say no.” You pointed out, scooting a few inches closer to him. He returned the gesture, sliding towards you until your knees pressed together. You were inches away from each other, again, but this time it was different. This time, you knew how he felt about you.

“That’s still not a yes.” He said softly, so quiet you wouldn’t have heard it had you not been as close to him as you were right now. 

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and his eyes fluttered shut. “How’s that for a yes?” 

“S’good. Missed the mark though. Should be more like…” He trailed off, sneaking a quick peck to your lips before grinning sheepishly. “That.” 

“Sneaky boy.” You rolled your eyes, but your tone was anything but annoyed. “Good thing you’re cute.” 

He preened at your compliment, giving a little self satisfied smile. “And a good photographer?” 

“Decent. If football doesn’t pan out, maybe I could make you my assistant.” 

“That mean I get to spend all day with you?”

“If you can handle it.” 

Jamie’s lips quirked up into a soft smile and he kissed you again, a little longer this time. His hand moved up your shoulder around the back of your neck tenderly, a blooming warmth against your skin. “I’ll manage.” 

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[fishsinsareacknowledged]

Young, Nikto x Reader -sfw, light angst

Nikto who you used to date in your early twenties, in the middle of his career at least. That's what he says before he dissapears for a whole decade, showing back up at your door so different yet so similar.

I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM GRRRRR RGRRRRRRRGRRRAAAA GRRRRR Oh also tw shitty google translated because I do NOT want to log into CS and finding someone to talk to just to find out how to write this bitch

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

What was his name again? You couldn't even remember it's been so long since you've ever called him it either way. Countless voice calls, missing person reports, hell, you even went to his base just to get laughed at like you were insane, looking for nobody. Nikto, that's who he was to you, a nobody, long forgotten yet the memory of him burns in your heart.

You missed him for a while decade, finding new lovers and so forth but no one loved like him, your missing half.

Gone yet he burned and seared and stabbed and fucking carved a hole in your heart.

And now he was back. The Nikto was back, just as he was before, a nobody, showing up at your door uninvited like a stray, unknown to you, a stranger and yet one you recognize all the same, a mask over his face yet you could already recognize who was behind that bolted shut mask.

Eyes wide with recognition and hope in his crinkled eyes that made you sick to your core, a childlike glee mixed with nostalgic love in his eyes that made your heart burn.

"Pozhaluysta-", the first words he spoke, Please, and it was all he could say before you shut the door on his face, tears already stinging your eyes as you backed away from the door, ignoring the slow, deliberate knocks as if he wasn't trying to scare you off.

And just like that, that nobody- that stranger shaped hole in your heart started to ache again.

Started to ache for him, yet again, a decade too late.

"Leave", and those were the first words you spoke once your tears stopped, hours later and yet one glance through the peephole would show you the same man, standing right on your doorway as if he lived there, he didn't move an inch.

A purple bouquet of flowers were held in his hands as if they belonged there and you stood there for what felt like ages, observing him, making sure he was real, telling him to leave once again just as the sun began to set.

The way the sun reflected from your door to his mask all the way down to the bouquet and his large yet tight fitting black coat just made him look...young. Just like the young man you once dated, like the young one you once were. Together.

It made him look like he belonged there- belonged with you, and it made you sick, stomach tightening until your knees were weak as you leaned against the door.

"Leave...please", you called out for what felt like the hundredth time, calling out for him. To come back home, to marry you just like he'd promised and yet he was finally back, so fucking late.

And he spoke, that voice that you can pick out pieces from in your memory, rougher than you remember but that comes with age, you rationalize as he steps even closer to the door as if he fucking owned it.

Well..he did, his card was on the house when he helped you buy it, but then again. He's been missing for far too long that he's been long legally dead.

"Moy lyubov'...please..let me in", he begged. He begged, fuck. He's changed, no longer the cocky, rough around the edges boy you used to date, it's been years, of course he's changed. He's your age, older by a few, he's a man now. Or should be.

Still rough around the edges yet like a knife he'll only point you the blade for you to wield. It's always been like that, giving you the trigger. The man once a weapon, a gun, loud and destructive turned steel, a sharp blade, your knife to carve out anything you want of him.

Your hand betrayed your mind, pushing down on the doorknob as you froze for a moment, looking at him through no barriers, pure and true and bigger than life.

"Why?-", you tried to ask for so many things. Why did you finally come back? Why a decade too late? Why did you leave me? Why, why, why, why. So many unanswered questions and yet he wasn't a man of his words.

Hands firm and rough as they push the door open wide, slamming it against the wall as he took in his chance. Entering your once shared space as his eyes hungrily took you in, closing the door with a simple kick of his foot before his mask pressed against your face.

The cold metal kissed your lips as his arms wrapped around your waist and back all the way to your shoulders. Eyes wide with recognition and mirth as you felt his hand grip your hip, pressed so tightly against him as if he never wanted to separate.

Masterlist

The message was clear, you were his again, once again. And forever. There would be no escape from something you never ran from.

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[lieslab]

Daddy issues

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: A simple phone call from your father and Chan's added anger makes you mentally crumble.

Genre: Angst & comfort/hurt

Word Count: 7.3K

Trigger warning: Parental issues, (specifically daddy issues) emotional abuse and neglect, physical abuse, a bit of an unhealthy romantic relationship, anger, self-hatred, blood, self-harm, mentions and attempt of suicide via razor blade, and a panic attack.

A/N: Even without the request, I feel like this has been a long time coming. Please heed the trigger warnings. Please. Shout out to all the baddies out there with parental issues. Shout out to all the Chan stans with daddy issues. You're so strong, keep going, I believe in all of you <3

Requestee, I hope this leaves you satisfied. I don't think you ever said you were struggling, but just by this, it seems you are. I hope this helps you cope with whatever struggles you either have had or currently are facing in life.

I did change a few things around to fit the story more, but most of it's the same. I think I got everything you wanted in there, besides those few minor changes. I also experimented with time jumps which is new, but I think they were needed for this one. This is a long one, so buckle up and please enjoy!! <3

_ _ _

The words are thrown around without much thought. Daddy issues this and mommy issues that. People wear them like a badge of honor. Always seeking out other people that can fill the gaps that their parents left behind. Searching for temporary band-aids to cover wounds that need stitches to heal. 

Everyone wants to be perfect. Nobody wants to admit that the people who were supposed to love them the most fucked them up the worst. Nobody ever wants to admit that their nurture was ripped away before they ever got it. Cruelty swaddled them instead of sweetness. Neglect and despair instead of encouragement and understanding. Some people were doomed from the start. 

At twenty-two years old, you understood that your daddy issues were a noose around your neck, they were always there. A poking twine that pressed against your windpipe and jugular. All it took was a few words and the noose tightened. It was suffocating, it was restricting, and it was paralyzing. 

There was a devil and an angel on each shoulder. One was angry and smoldering. Smoke bellowed out of its ears and it was always ready to snap. The other was an angel, sweet and soft-spoken, constantly reassuring you that you had it better than most. Of course you did because, at least, you had a dad, right? 

Any dysfunctional relationship could cause a rocky conscience. You swore you were doomed from the start. You’d never fall in love. Nobody would be able to care about you in the way you wanted them to. At least, it was like that until Bang Chan. 

When Chan came into your life, you fell hard. You didn’t get a chance to stand before your knees were jerked out beneath you. He was strong, he was charming, he was dominating, and he was everything you wanted him to be. 

Being older meant he had more wisdom and more life experience. He was soaked with the knowledge that you craved. He understood you, he got you, and heading towards his later twenties, he was hesitant when you showed up. While you turned twenty-five, he’d be thirty. 

You didn’t let that stop you from wowing him. From caring about him with every fiber of your being, you would have given up everything to appease him and more. Hell, if he experienced organ failure, you’d cut yourself open without a second thought and rip it from your insides with a smile on your face. You were down bad, but your issues were still there. 

You were aware of them when you seeked out his validation. When you kept asking if he was sure he still loved you. You couldn’t shake everything that your father had ingrained in you, but you were still so desperate to fill that void. 

Some would say it’s weird, but you would say that you needed him to survive. You needed him. He was the air in your lungs and the familiar thump of your heart. You needed him as much as plants needed the sun. Like the Earth needed the moon and like bees needed pollen. You called it destiny whereas a few of your family members called it desperation, but they didn’t understand it. They just…didn’t get it. They had no idea what you had been through. They didn’t understand the gaping wounds that had yet to be stapled, but Chan got it instantly. 

He realized it after you swayed the conversation in another direction at the mention of your family. He knew it when fathers were brought up and the hurt flashed across your eyes. He knew it when you clung to him like a koala with fear and asked for clarification on his thoughts about you. 

You were damaged and he knew that. He didn’t mind because everyone had their issues and besides, at the end of the day, he still loved you as you were. He was thrilled to wrap his arms around you when you curled around him and point out everything he loves about you. 

From the squish of your soft cheeks, the curve of your nose, the shade of your eyes, and the way you dress, he loved it all. The good, the bad, and the ugly, he gave the relationship his all; you both did. No matter how much the guys joked that he was a silver fox, he always rolled his eyes and shook off their comments. They were just joking and he knew that deep down, the guys cared about you too. 

He knew a lot about you, but he didn’t realize just how much these issues bothered you. He didn’t realize that you were nearly suffocating yourself. Out of all the things he knew, he had no idea how much you silently suffered until you snapped. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The day started a lot like any other day. You went to work and by the time you finished, you found a text message from Chan announcing that he’d be at the studio later tonight. It was one of those days where the creative juices were overflowing and he wanted to get everything worked out before he forgot. 

You didn’t mind it and started to head home, but then you thought about the dimpled smile and sparkly eyes of Chan. God, you were utterly smitten. With a quick change of direction, you found yourself heading towards the JYP studio instead of your apartment. 

Give or take twenty minutes and you were walking into your second home. The JYP building truly has become your home away from home. You came here a lot to support Chan and the guys. It was strange having an extra person along, but eventually, they grew used to your antics. 

The guys accepted you with open arms and when you came around, they got excited. Sometimes you brought presents, like cookies. Other times, just your brief distraction sidetracked them from their ongoing issues. That temporary change of direction helped them sort out their issues quicker. 

You checked in at the front desk and pulled on your guest badge. It was a new system that the company had been doing after a sasaeng had managed to gain access to the building. If you were found roaming the halls without a pass or a security badge, you were instantly booted unless you could properly explain yourself. 

You tugged the lanyard over your head and practically skipped to the studio room. Upon knocking, the door opened to reveal Changbin. A grin pressed his cheeks up into points. “Hi!” 

“Hey,” you returned the smile, “is Ch-” 

He jerked the door open wider to reveal Chan in the background. Chan was directing whoever was in the booth. You picked up Felix’s deep voice in the background. Chan was sitting in a hoodie and a pair of navy blue basketball shorts. He bobbed his head along to the voice. 

“You can come in, just try to keep it down because we’re rec-” 

“You’ve got it.” 

He opened the wooden door wider and you stepped inside. In the booth, headphones were over Felix’s ears. His messy blonde hair had been pushed around by the band connecting the ear covers. 

His eyes focused on the lyrics as he sang. You slung your bag to the side and smiled as you saw Jeongin sitting on the opposite side of the couch. The two of you exchanged a wave and you quietly came to sit beside him on the opposite side. 

Changbin snuck back into the chair beside Chan and Felix continued to sing. After a few more seconds, Felix’s voice cracked and he stopped singing. “Fuck!” He cried out. 

“I don’t ever recall that being part of the song,” Jeongin mumbled. 

“Yeah, what Innie said,” Changbin agreed. 

Chan stopped the recording with a sigh. He pressed a button, so Felix could hear him in the booth. “Felix, is something wrong today? This is the fourth time your voice has cracked. Do you need us to change the lyrics or-” 

“No! No! No! Of course, I don’t need you to change the lyrics! It’s just the pitch of the song. It’s so high and I’m really trying my best here, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get it or not and oh-” His eyes brightened when he saw you. “When did you get here?” 

Chan shifted in his seat and blinked when he saw you behind him. You smiled softly at him. “Hi, baby.” 

“What are you doing here? I told you that I’d be home late.” 

“I know, but I just wanted to see you.” 

“I’m busy.” 

“I’m fully aware. I have no intention of stopping you from working. I’ll sit here silently without a peep. You won’t even know I’m here.” 

“Yeah, right,” he mumbled beneath his breath. 

Felix and Changbin both shot him a glare. Changbin’s fingers jabbed into Chan’s side. Chan was worked up and stressed because Felix wasn’t getting this part of the song. It wasn’t just Felix that had struggled, everyone was struggling. 

Chan had created the instrumentals of this song and thought it’d be a home run, but he hadn’t considered how much the pitch would be a struggle for some of the guys. He was frustrated because if they couldn’t reach the right note, the song would have to be scrapped and he was distracted by other songs he wanted to work on. 

Seungmin’s silky and strong vocals weren’t the same as Felix’s deeper tone. Han’s wide range of vocals wasn’t the exact same as what Minho was comfortable with. Songs could be challenging and this seemed to be the biggest challenge yet.

Luckily for you, you hadn’t heard Chan’s mumble because your phone vibrated in your hands. You swiped the screen before thinking and held the phone up to your ear. “Hello?” 

When Chan rolled his eyes, Changbin slapped him in the back of the head. “What is your issue today?” He whispered. “Knock it off and stop being an asshole.” 

“We’re busy and-” 

“So tell them to leave and don’t be an asshole about it.” 

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have a significant other always up your ass.” 

“You're the world’s biggest asshole right now and unless you want to lose them, I’d drop the attitude. Just because you’re frustrated, it doesn’t give you the right to be a jerk. Use your words, you’re supposed to be the oldest in the room, so act like it.” 

“Oh, so you’re finally picking up the phone this time?” 

Your father’s voice in your ear caused your heart to sink to your stomach. The blood in your veins turned to ice. You shut your eyes before responding. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been busy recently and I-” 

“Busy my ass. You can text your mother, but not me? I was the one who created you and you still can’t be grateful for that. Without me, you’d be nothing.” 

“I’ve been texting the family group chat and I-” 

“You know damn well that I don’t give a shit about no family group chat!” 

You winced and pushed yourself up. Jeongin stared at you with a raised eyebrow. When you noticed, you flashed him a smile and held up a finger to let him know that you’d only be a minute. Before anyone could say anything, you disappeared outside the room and into the empty hallway. 

“What do you want?” 

“Is it a crime to want to know how my child is doing?” 

Your stomach twisted into thoughts as your father scoffed. A frown appeared on your face and, even though he couldn’t see you, you shook your head. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s difficult to find time to talk when we’re on different time zones and-” 

“Bullshit! You’re an ungrateful piece of shit! I gave you this goddamn life and you can’t even come visit! I have to find out from Google that you’re dating an idol! What have you told him? Why won’t he come visit?” 

“Nothing!” Your voice squeaked in shock. “I haven’t told him anything, he’s just so busy. He’s in a band and we-” 

“Then bring him down here, so your mother and I can meet him! What happened to respecting your parents? I didn’t even give you permission to date him!” 

As his voice raised louder, you tugged the phone away from your ear. A lump began to form in your throat as curse words were thrown your way. You shut your eyes and waited for him to calm down. Your hands were shaking as you mumbled into the phone. 

“I think I’m losing reception, I’ll call you back in a while.” 

“Don’t you fucking hang up on m-” 

The click ended his words before he got out the sentence. All at once, the weight of everything fell on top of you. Insult after insult wormed deeper and deeper into your brain. You wanted, you needed, to speak to Chan. You weren’t strong enough to deal with this on your own yet. 

You shoved your phone into the back pocket of your jeans and pushed the door open. Felix was singing again and your fingers curled into your palms. “Chan?” Your voice came out hoarse. “Can we talk for a moment?” 

The sound of your voice caused Jeongin to look up with a face full of worry. Even Changbin glanced behind his shoulder to check on you. When Felix caught Changbin’s head turning, he looked up to find you rapidly blinking back tears. His singing stopped and Chan’s fist flew into the desk. 

The rattling of the desk shook your soul. It started everyone, but you the most. Suddenly, you were five years old again in the back of your father’s van. You were weak and vulnerable. Defenseless, there was nothing you could do as your father’s wrath expanded along the four locked doors. 

You sucked it in and you couldn’t breathe. Your heart hammered in your chest, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing you could do. You were five and yet the anger of a thousand angry men was cast at you. 

It vibrated the marrow in your bones. The strands of your heart strings curled inward. Your childlike curiosity shattered in the backseat. Stay quiet, don’t utter a word, just take the yelling. Like a deer in headlights, you were trapped. 

It funneled down your throat and created a lump. Crocodile tears appeared in your eyes. You sniffled and your bottom lip shook, you were alone once more. Alone in the thunder and anguish; the swirl of one man’s anger. 

A flower in the middle of a tornado. Thrown, chucked, depetaled. Ripped from the stem and crushed between the winds. At the end, you were ripped to shreds and utterly defeated. Not even the thorns of your own stem could save you. 

“Goddammit! Why can’t you just go home? I’m trying to work here and you’re ruining it! I don’t have time for you right now! Go home and I’ll deal with your bullshit later. This is my career we’re talking about!” 

The song’s soft instrumentals faded in the background as the song ended. You couldn’t stop the tears from slipping down your cheeks. It stung more than you ever would have imagined. The words were a sharp sting to your cheek. The noose of daddy issues choked you again and you couldn’t breathe. 

“See you later,” you mumbled as you tipped your head down and rushed towards the door. You pawed at your tears and rushed into the hall and down the corridor to head home. 

“What the fuck was that for?” Changbin snapped. 

“We’re working!” 

“And they were crying! If you would have taken five seconds to look behind you, you would have-” 

“Don’t try to guilt trip me! It’s bullshit! I probably hurt their feelings. Whatever. We have work to do. I’ll apologize later.” 

While the two bickered, Jeongin stepped up and disappeared out the door to try and find you. Whatever you were struggling with, it hadn’t been good. Chan’s outburst had only made it worse and he knew that. He saw the terror in your eyes when the other person responded on the opposite end of the phone.

Felix looked from Chan’s angry face to Changbin’s scowl. When he caught Jeongin rushing out the door after you, his confusion only grew. “What’s happening?” He asked into the microphone. 

Chan slammed his hand down on the button, so Felix could hear him. “Don’t worry about it. Get out of the booth, we’re going to take five.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

As you walked home in the whipping wind, your hair tangled around your head. It blocked your vision and the gray skies added to your warped reality. It felt like everyone and everything was against you. 

That was the one fatal flaw with humans. When we enter a dark mindset, it’s the only thing we think about. The only thing we feel is the harsh and back-breaking weight of the world on our shoulders. The clouds close in and all feels lost as the rain pours down. 

You walked quickly with your head down. Keeping to the sidewalks, you were nearly running. You were moving so fast that by the time Jeongin made his way outside the studio, you were already halfway down the road. He wanted to talk to you, but he didn’t want to frighten you. He kept his pace brisk, but he didn’t run. 

He loved Chan for a wide variety of reasons, but he couldn’t believe he had just snapped at you like that. Of course, Chan was angry when he was mad, but this wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. 

You sniffled and kept rushing as the wind cupped your ears. You were hollow on the inside. That faint flicker of light inside you had been kept going by Chan. It wasn’t the best idea to depend on one person to make you happy, but you didn’t know what else to do. 

Your biggest fear has finally come true, everyone hates you. Maybe not to your face, but you can feel it. The bitter hatred that’s so vitriol, it’s rancid. A hatred that’s thicker than oil and stickier than jam. 

You were looking at assumptions, not facts, but your brain was set in stone. No one would be able to save you now. You had fallen far from grace. Your issues had poisoned you from the start. Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t meant for any of this life. 

Perhaps, you would take a chance and try again in the next. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

When Jeongin knocked, you didn’t respond. He shoved the hair out of his face and tried again. When you didn’t respond to the softer knocks, he knocked harder. When you didn’t respond to that, he held his breath and turned the knob to your apartment. 

Breaking and entering wasn’t something he would have liked to go to jail for, but could you blame him? He knew you were hurting and he couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone and sobbing. 

Chan’s words to you had been far too cruel. Sure he was angry, but anyone in the right state of mind would have realized that something was terribly wrong with you. It was a gut feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t shake. 

His brain was screaming at him to leave as he silently ventured further into the apartment. One step into the hall and then another. He didn’t bother with the common courtesy of kicking off his shoes. 

The place smelled like sweet citrus. It was a familiar scent that had belonged to you since he had known you. Once upon a time, Chan marveled at how much you adored citrus. If only he would have been here now. 

The carpeted hall felt too silent. The living room was too empty as he stepped out into it. Bookshelves filled with books, a coffee table with the TV remote, photographs of Chan and the rest of the band on the back wall. Your friends were your everything and so was Chan. 

Where were the photos of your family, he wondered. It was such a simple thought, but it flew by just as quick. Your presence was here, but yet you weren’t. Where were you at? 

He softly called your name and stepped by the coffee table. The bar table in the kitchen had been left abandoned. The hum of the fridge caused his heart to strum faster. There was an eeriness that he just couldn’t shake. 

Every fiber of his being was wound up. Loose floorboards creaked beneath his feet. He was sure that he had seen you enter your apartment. From a distance, he watched your figure fumble for house keys and stumble inside. Your hands brushed past your face and he was positive you were wiping away the tears that kept blurring your vision. 

He called your name a little louder, but there was no response. His mouth dipped into a frown and he uttered your name again when a faint whimper caught him off guard. His spine stood erected as he waited for another sound, but it never came. 

As he approached the room it came from, he was prepared for sobs. He was prepared for tears. He was prepared for the anguish that came with it, but he wasn’t expecting the bright red that began to seep beneath the bathroom door. 

His heart stopped and for a brief moment, he couldn’t breathe. Nothing made sense. The circuit of his brain had stumbled across a trip. Something cut out and his brain whirled trying to reboot. 

A scream ripped from his lungs as he rushed towards the bathroom and there you were. You didn’t stop. You didn’t even care or notice that he was there. 

Full of self-hatred, you were cutting, no. You were sawing it out of you bit by bit. They don’t tell you that when you hate yourself, there is no pain in self-harm. It’s a dangerous sweet release. The stinging and burning sensation fills you with a sense of euphoric triumph. Self-mutilation feels like bliss and the cold blade in your hand feels like a friend. In some twisted way, it can be the best thing you ever feel. 

There was blood everywhere. It dripped from the slices in your wrist. It saturated your clothes and it was all over the bathroom floor. Maybe you tripped and fell. Maybe you were set on killing yourself. Maybe you just snapped. 

Human skin is so thin that it can easily be penetrated by a single piece of paper. So small, so little, and yet the fiery ache of pain is felt everywhere all at once. You couldn’t feel the fire in your arm. Gone into shock, your body had blocked you from feeling anything. 

You weren’t even aware of Jeongin’s presence until he grabbed your arm. Your bloodshot eyes were watery as they met his concerned russet ones. “Please, stop,” he whispered. 

With a snarl, you jerked your arm away from him. You started to scream and lash out. He grabbed your hand and pinned you down again. 

“Get the fuck off of me!” You yelled. 

“Please, please, please stop.” His voice wavered. He was terrified for you and he didn’t want to make it worse. He knew how much Chan’s yelling earlier upset you. He didn’t want to trigger you further. 

“Leave me alone!” Your shrill voice cracked from desperation. “Get off! Let go!” 

“No!” 

You swiped the blade down with your hand, nearly cutting him in the process. Your head bucked as you tried to free yourself. He ducked his head with a yelp. 

He shoved your bleeding body back onto the floor. Your free hand flew up, in an attempt to stop yourself, but it didn’t work. Your brain rattled around your skull as you were blinded by the sudden pain of it all. 

Jeongin panicked as he desperately used the code word to activate the voice command on his phone. When you heard “call Bang Chan,” you lost it even more. 

“Stop it!” He begged as you squirmed again. Your hands flailed and you yelled back. 

Back and forth back and forth, you refused to let go of the blade. You gripped it so hard that you didn’t care that the sharpened blade cut into your opposite palm. You were fighting tooth and nail to keep a tight grip on it. You weren’t going to let go. Not even Jeongin, one of your closest friends, could save you from the demons in your head. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

In the studio, Chan was ready to slam his head into the wall himself. Changbin was non-stop lecturing him and once Felix found out, Felix was also up his ass. Nobody seemed to understand that they had a job to do. 

When his phone rang, he used it as an excuse to leave the pair angrily grumbling to themselves. He stepped out the studio door, just as you had. He let out a sigh before he swiped and answered the call. “What do you want, Innie?” 

A thump responded along with a yell. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I.N? What are you-” 

“Put it down! Put the blade down! Stop it!” 

His heart suddenly turned to ice. “I.N?” He whispered. “What is hap-” The response that you gave nearly dropped him to his knees. 

“No one cares! Just let me die!” 

He suddenly felt like he was about to projectile vomit. His stomach churned and twisted and the world felt a little blurry. “What is happening?” He raised his voice and began to yell at the phone. “Jeongin?” 

“Alexa, speaker phone!” Jeongin cried out. “Chan, I can’t stop them! Please! I need you! I don’t know what to do! They won’t stop hurting themselves!” 

The world stopped tilting on its axis. The seconds froze in time. His breath caught in the echo-chamber of his lungs. “No,” he whispered. Tears pricked in his eyes and he suddenly rushed down the hall. 

“Don’t let them die! Do you hear me, Innie? Don’t let them die!” 

He flew out of the JYP building like a bat out of hell. He clutched his phone, now on its own speaker phone. This path that he used to practically skip after work because he was so excited to see you. Now it could potentially be the path to your corpse. 

“Fuck!” He cried out as the struggle continued on the other end of the phone. 

“C-Chan?” You croaked weakly. “I don’t wanna do it anymore. I-I can’t.” 

Guilt swallowed him whole. He could barely breathe as he ran. “Baby? Baby, can you hear me? It’s okay. I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?” 

“You hate me.” 

“I could never hate you. I took it out on you earlier and I’m sorry.” His head jerked as he made sure he was pursuing the correct street. His footsteps thudded on the pavement. 

“Listen to me, I need you to drop the blade. Can you do that to me? Listen to Innie and drop the blade. I’m coming, okay? I’m nearly there, just listen to my voice.” 

To Jeongin’s relief and Chan’s surprise, there was a soft clatter as you released the blade from your hand. You were exhausted after fighting with Jeongin and the blood was starting to become tacky against your skin. 

You hated the murky feeling that it left behind. Every movement of your wounded palm oozed more blood. Jeongin panted over your body. Your arms were pinned to your sides as he straddled you. 

His own body was painted in your blood. Bright red handprints smeared across his white shirt. His light pair of blue jeans seeped it up like a sponge. There were even fingerprints staining his cheek from where you had swiped your hand at him. 

“I’m almost there, I’m coming to the house right now. Where are you? What room?” 

“Bathroom!” 

Chan burst through the door and into the bathroom. His heart dropped when he found you pinned and nearly half unconscious. Blood was all over the floor. It was smeared against the bathroom cabinets and the tub. 

Jeongin never took his eyes off you. He was too afraid that you’d find the blade again and do something worse. Chan ended the call and stepped over the puddle of blood leading into the bathroom. 

He softly called your name and stepped beside you. Your eyes weakly met his. He felt like he was going to burst into tears. His knees buckled and he sank down beside you. He didn’t waste time grabbing a wet rag and shifting beside Jeongin. 

“Innie, I’ve got it from here, go call an ambulance.” 

Jeongin hesitated, but finally nodded and stepped out of the bathroom. Before he left, he kicked off his shoes, so he didn’t trample blood into the rest of the house. 

The realization of your situation sent shocks of electricity buzzing through your skull. “Fuck,” you muttered. Tears began to build up in your eyes and they trickled down your face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-” 

“Shhh. It’s okay, it’s okay. Just try to save your strength, okay?” 

“I didn’t mean to,” your voice came out shrill. 

“I know, it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

The lining of your lungs seemed to thicken as you struggled to breathe in. You squeezed your eyes shut, but it felt like breathing through a straw. Your brain had expanded with every wrong thought and now you were suffering. 

“Baby?” Chan whispered. He leaned forward closer to you and placed his hand over the razor blade, so you couldn’t see it. “What happened? What’s going on?” 

“Can’t breathe.” 

“Panic attack?” 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

“M-my dad,” your voice wavered. “I can’t-” 

“You don’t have to talk.” 

“Not a good relationship.” 

“Is that who called you earlier?” His eyebrows furrowed with worry. “I assumed, but I didn’t know for sure.” He reached down and pushed a bit of hair from your face. 

“He’s not good. H-he yells a-and-” You hiccuped, “abusive.” 

“Oh, honey…I didn’t know. I-I was just so frustrated earlier, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I didn’t mean to upset you and I-” 

“I don’t feel good,” your eyes drooped further. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t do that. Baby? Baby, listen to me!” Not caring about the blood, Chan cupped your face. “Don’t you dare give up! Stay with me!” 

The last thing you heard were his desperate pleas as your eyes rolled back into your head. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

When you finally came back home from the hospital, Chan forbade you from going to your apartment alone. Instead, he was nice enough to open up his dorm for you to use temporarily. It wasn’t a permanent fix, but it was a manageable one for now. 

Ever since you regained consciousness, everything had been so foggy, but you remembered bits and pieces. You remembered the wine colored blood and the fear on Jeongin’s face. You remember being unable to breathe and the desperation of Chan’s voice. 

Maybe some part of you was glad that you couldn’t remember the entire thing. You weren’t sure that you wanted to remember traumatizing your boyfriend and your friend, at least, not the specific details. 

Your hospital stay had ended up turning into a week-long stay. It turns out the hospitals don’t play when it comes to suicide attempts. You didn’t even try to deny it. There was a tender hurt inside of you that you had no clue how to fix. 

It was a surprise when things that the mandated therapists were saying made sense. Sure, you knew things were wrong, but to hear validation from people, it made you feel a tiny bit better. 

When you left, you promised to come back. There were parts of you that really did want to heal from all of this. You never wanted to put anyone through this ever again. When clarity came through at the hospital, you realized you didn’t really want to die, you just wanted the self-hatred festered inside your being to stop. 

You wanted the negative energy to cease and you wanted to be loved. You wanted to be healed in ways you didn’t know how to heal. You wanted a lot of things and the therapists had promised that if you came back, they could start to help you turn things around, but you had to consciously make that decision. 

You yourself had to focus on your own healing. It was hard and it was difficult. Healing is one of the hardest things a person can do for themselves, but it can be so rewarding. You don’t have to let your demons win. 

“Fight back. Raise hell. Don’t let them win.” It was something another patient had said during a mandated group therapy. “I’m tired of letting the negative thoughts in my brain win. I want to live. I don’t want to just survive, I want to live.” 

The more the people talked, the more you realized that you had some of what they were missing. Sure, your parents weren’t the best, but you had friends. You had a significant other. You had little things that some people craved. 

For most of your time spent at the hospital, you were lost in your thoughts. You had barely uttered a few words to Chan. When Jeongin came in, you nearly collapsed into tears apologizing over and over again for scaring him. 

He insisted it was fine, but you knew it wasn’t. Nothing you could do could ever take back the damage that you had given him. The nightmares, the trauma, it’d be something he might have to live with forever. Sure, it’d fade, but for now, it stuck to the back of his head like glue. 

“So…” Chan’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. The two of you were standing in the dorm living room. He had sent the rest of the guys over to the other dorm, so you could settle in. “Welcome to your new temporary home.” 

This place really was your home. You had been here time after time again. These walls just might have known you better than your own apartment did. You glanced around and nodded. “Thank you.” 

“I cleared out my room, so you can have it.” 

“We’re not sharing?” 

“I didn’t think you’d want to.” 

Your hands tugged at the sleeves of your long sleeve shirt. Your fingers curled into them. The damage to your arm was so bad that doctors had a hard time fixing all the damage. They had also been concerned about infection since the wounds were so deep and there were multiple of them. 

You played with the hems trying to find words to say. “I’m sorry,” you finally got out, “for everything.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“It is entirely my fault. I don’t know how to deal with things in a healthy way. I’ve been handling a lot on my own and I broke down. I snapped in the worst way possible. The doctors called it a nervous breakdown.” 

“You know I’m not mad at you, right?” 

“Maybe you should be.” 

He shook his head, “I could never be mad at you.” 

You lowered yourself to the faux leather couch behind you and slowly took in a deep breath. “I have a lot of issues and I’ve always known they were there. I just…” You shrugged, “I didn’t think something like this would happen. I’ve struggled with self-harm before, but I snapped.” 

He sat across from you and shifted his body to face you. “I’m really sorry I yelled at you that day. I shouldn’t have ye-” 

“You were stressed and upset, it happens sometimes.” 

“That doesn’t make it right.” 

“The therapist says I have parental issues from my father and it has affected me in a variety of ways. In fact, she said it’s why I’m probably dating you.” 

“What’s wrong with our relationship?” 

“She said I need to stop leaning on you to fill the void that my dad left behind and I hate that she’s right.” 

“Oh…” His face fell. “So does that mean we’re breaking up?” 

“Do you want to?” 

He shook his head. “I don’t, but what about you? What do you want to do?” 

“I don’t wanna break up either.” 

“So…” 

“So I’ll attend therapy and work on my issues. I’ll attempt to stop relying on you to make me happy because it’s not healthy.” 

“Yeah…” 

There was an awkwardness between you. Neither knew what to say and nobody wanted to harm the other. Chan finally broke the silence. “Can I hold you?” 

You shifted and crawled over towards him. He was careful of the stitches in your palm and in your opposite arm. You curled into his lap and he pulled you to his chest. Your head leaned against the familiar thump of his heartbeat. “I missed you,” you mumbled. 

“I miss you too.” His lips kissed the top of your head. Your sweet scent engulfed him. He leaned his chin on your head and shut his eyes. The warmth of your body was enough to set his soul ablaze. 

“My dad wasn’t a good man,” you finally mustered the courage to talk about it. “He called me at the studio and I didn’t read the caller ID. I just wanted to see you after a long day. When I left and went outside, he just started yelling and getting upset.”

“He’s verbally abusive and a hothead. Ever since I was a kid, he gets angry easily and he can’t control it. He throws things, he swings, and he’d destroy my things. I lived my life in so much fear because he’d threaten to disown me. My family never did anything about it, they just let it happen.” 

Chan’s hand went to your back. He soothingly rubbed it while you spoke. “I had no idea.” 

“I felt like I shouldn’t talk about it because some people don’t have fathers. I should be grateful that I even have a father and I-” 

“You don’t have to be grateful to someone who frightens you and makes you hate yourself. That’s not what a father should be. I probably enhanced your fight or flight instinct when I yelled at you, I’m so sorry.” 

“Every time I talk to him, I feel miserable. All of them, I’m so angry at all of them.” 

“You don’t have to continue putting yourself through any of that. You don’t have to talk to the people that make you miserable. Please don’t keep putting yourself through all this distress, baby.” 

“I just want to be happy.” 

“And I have no doubt that you’ll get there soon, sweetheart. When you’re feeling at your worst, you don’t have to turn to self-harm. You can come find me, yeah? I’ll always be here for you. Now that I know what’s wrong, I’ll be sure to never act like I did that day. I don’t want to lose you.” 

His arms tightened around your body and his lips found the top of your head again. “You mean so much to me. I can’t imagine a life without you. I’d be devastated if you weren’t here. If you ever feel like that, come find me and I’ll distract you.” 

“But that’s such a burden for you to carry.” 

“It’s not a burden if I love you.” 

You finally picked your head up and looked at him with teary eyes. His own eyes were similar as they looked at you. Without asking, you leaned forward and your lips connected. 

It was pure bliss…until it wasn’t. The front door to the dorm slammed open. The crack of it into the wall sent both of you pulling away from each other. 

Hwang Hyunjin sashayed into the room with a pair of sunglasses, a towel around his neck, and a blue pool noodle over his shoulders. “Surprise, bitches!” 

“Hyung, you have no manners,” Jeongin grumbled as he stepped in behind him. When his eyes found you, he beamed. “Hi!” He waved excitedly and rushed towards the two of you. 

Minho stepped inside, grabbed the pool noodle from Hyunjin, and bonked him on the head with it. “You insensitive fuck! I told you they couldn’t swim due to stitches!” 

“Ow!” 

Minho bonked him again. “You’re lucky you’re getting a pool noodle to the head and not a fist to your pretty face.” He glanced over at you and grinned. “Sup?” 

Chan sighed and kept his arms clamped around your back. “I’m so sorry about them. I didn’t have time to tell you that I invited all of them over to hang out for a game night and maybe some movies. We can order your favorite foods and w-” 

“Hyung, look at all my snacks!” 

“Mine too!” 

Han and Felix walked inside with grocery bags full of snacks. They wasted zero time going to the coffee table and dumping them out. The pair beamed happily as they waited for your approval and you managed a soft smile. 

“You two waste zero time making messes, don’t you? Hey,” Seungmin called out and he nodded towards you. “Glad you’re not dead. I can’t wait to-” 

The sound of Changbin screaming your name at the top of his lungs caused your eyes to widen in shock. Thunderous footsteps sounded from the porch and rushed inside. Changbin rushed in grinning with his arms outstretched. He was getting closer and closer until a pool noodle slammed into his face. 

He stumbled back dazed and Minho rolled his eyes. He handed the pool noodle back to Hyunjin and shook his head. “You are all unbelievable. You have zero manners.” 

“Strike,” Seungmin mumbled beneath his breath. 

You snorted which caused him to glance over and grin. 

“This is okay with you, right?” Chan glanced down at you. “If it’s too much, I can ask them to go back and I-” 

You shook your head, “it’s fine. I’m not sure about participating in games, because uh…” You gently shifted your bandaged arm hidden beneath your long sleeves. “Movie night and food sounds wonderful.” 

“Ya-hoo!” Changbin cheered. “Let’s get this party started.” He grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Oh, snacks!” 

“Ah, ah, ah!” Minho ripped the pool noodle from Hyunjin’s hand and bonked him on the head again. A scowl filled Changbin’s face. “Let the guest pick first.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“Hit him one more time and he’s going to lose the last brain cell he has,” Seungmin complained. 

“Yeah!” Hyunjin agreed as he crossed his arms over his chest. Minho bonked Hyunjin over the head. He groaned and slumped into the recliner behind him. “Channie, hyung, he’s beating me up! He’s killing my brain cells too!” 

“You idiot,” I.N huffed, “you don’t even have any to lose!” 

“Hey!” 

“So how have you been?” Felix asked as he got on his knees beside the couch. “Do you want a snack? Do you want to play Animal Crossing?” 

“Or we could watch an anime?” Han offered with a cheeky smile. “Whatever you’re up for, we’re down with.” 

“Exactly, whatever you want, babe.” Chan rubbed your back with some reassurance. “The guys and I got you.” 

“Can I just observe you interacting with each other? There’s plenty of humor in that and I-” 

“Oh, sure!” Minho beamed. He lifted up the pool noodle with a smirk. “Sit back and watch me play whack-a-mole.” 

“Wait a minute!” 

“Hey!” 

“Don’t you dare!” 

Without another word, Minho grinned as he started to take turns whacking the guys’ heads.

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[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up Graduation challenge.

Along for the Ride

Prompt: Graduation | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Post S2, Graduation Day for the Class of '85, Eddie Munson Doesn't Graduate, Wayne Loves Eddie, Unlikely Duo for the Day, Pre-Steddie, Hanging Out

"Looks good on you."

Steve jumps ever so slightly, and turns to locate the disembodied voice that came out of thin air, scaring the ever-loving shit out of him.

It's just Eddie Munson, lurking behind a fucking tree. Of course.

"Munson," Steve says, by way of greeting, but then has to ask, "What looks good?"

Eddie takes a step forward and flicks the mortarboard on Steve's head, "Your cap."

Steve laughs, and takes it off his head, and smooths his hand over his hair, sure it's sticking up all crazy.

"Yeah, right," Steve says, knowing that hat has done no favors for his hair, and clutches it in his hands, worrying his fingers all along the pointed edges. "You didn't walk? I didn't see you in line."

Eddie toes at the dirt, eyes suddenly downcast, "Yeah, well. It came down to the wire, and I didn't quite get it done. Again."

"Sorry, I didn't know."

Eddie has his gown slung over his arm, and his cap in hand. All the makings of a graduate, but no diploma. That really sucks, and Steve knows how close he came himself to not skating through. This could have just as easily been him, so he has no snarky commentary to offer up. Not today.

"They didn't tell you until today?" Steve asks, because if that's the case, it's absolute bullshit. 

"No, yesterday. After graduation practice. But, you know…"

Steve doesn't know, "You came to the ceremony anyway?"

"Hell no," Eddie laughs, "They said I could walk, get a blank folder. No fucking thanks. Just. My uncle. He had to work today. Too many other dads needed off. And I'm just his nephew, so the plant didn't prioritize his request. You know how it goes," Eddie says, and Steve really doesn't know. His dad has been riding his ass hard, but he was damn well in the bleachers, watching him graduate this afternoon, and nobody could have stopped him. Especially not work.

Eddie keeps talking, "Anyway. Uncle Wayne was unduly proud, so I just let him take some pictures of me out here before his shift. Embarrassing, but whatever. Maybe I'll tell him later. Maybe not. I'm over eighteen, it's not like they're gonna call and tattle if I don't show up next fall. I could get my GED. I could say fuck it. Or, god-fucking-forbid, I could try again next year."

Steve nods. He isn't exactly sure why Eddie Munson is telling him all this, not really, because these are the most words they've ever spoken to one another in a row.

"I'm sorry," Steve says.

"So you've said," Eddie says, but he's teasing, even if Steve still thinks he looks sad. And Steve spent a lot of the last year fucking sad, so he has, like, empathy and shit. 

"There's a graduation party at my house later, if you wanna come," Steve offers, suddenly.

"Thanks, but no thanks, Harrington. I'd rather not experience that kind of humiliation again today. It was bad enough having the principal look over here at me in my cap and gown, like I was a fucking idiot. Which I am. But still."

"I get it," Steve says, "but if you change your mind. Come."

"I won't," Eddie says, "don't wait up."

And it strikes Steve as hilarious, and he laughs, like he hasn't laughed in a long time, "Damn, Munson. Break a guy's heart. I was gonna sit by my bedroom window, awaiting your arrival."

Eddie grins, and then there's a glint in his eye, "What time will this party be over, Harrington?"

Steve just shrugs, he isn't sure. His parents will be there, so it's not exactly gonna be a rager.

"Midnight?" Eddie asks.

Steve nods, because surely it'll be over by midnight.

"Then sit by that window, and I'll pull up and get you. For the afterparty."

And Steve doesn't know why he's nodding, but he is, enthusiastically.

At midnight, Steve is standing at his bedroom window, waiting. 

At ten after, he realizes that Munson had just been fucking with him. Of course. Eddie Munson isn't the idiot here, he is. And he starts to pull his shirt over his head, the one he'd changed four times for no discernible reason, when he sees it. The old van, barreling into his driveway. 

Far too fast and wild.

Steve smiles, climbs out of his window, and shimmies down the side of the house, running towards the van like he's really getting away with something. He could have walked out the front door, and his parents definitely wouldn't have given a shit, if they even noticed.

Yeah, he's in trouble about the college thing, and he has to get a shitty job, but they aren't chaining him to the bed or anything.

He pulls the van door open and there's Eddie Munson, in all black, waiting.

"Wasn't sure you'd come," Eddie says.

"I could say the same thing about you," Steve echoes, sliding into the van seat, and slamming the door behind himself, "You're late."

"Sorry, your highness. Where to?" Eddie asks.

"This was your idea!" Steve yells over the roar of the van peeling out of the driveway, and man, Munson is a bad driver. Maybe the worst. 

But the warm night air is whipping through the open windows, and Eddie's hair is blowing all around, and Steve's feeling air ruffling through his own.

It feels freeing. 

He's with Eddie "The Freak" Munson, so that makes no sense whatsoever. But Steve's not gonna question it. He's gonna have some fun, with whatever this night brings.

He doesn't have any friends, not really, not his own age, anyway. Not anymore. 

Eddie shoves a box of tapes onto his lap, "Pick something."

Steve isn't familiar with most of the bands, but he settles on one he likes, and jams it in.

"Harrington, no, that's Wayne's!" Eddie says, punching the eject button hard and fast.

"You decide then," Steve says with a smile, "I'm just along for the ride."

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