#holly is right they are idiots

[havecourage-darling]

I've always been yours // Eddie Munson

Prompt: "I think... I'm in love with him.” "Congrats on being the last one to find out" + the 5 ways to say I love you without saying I love you.

wc: 14K (I'm learning what brevity means y'all)

warnings: female reader, some implied sexual stuff towards the end but not really ish, friends-to-lovers, oblivious idiots in love, the beginnings of rockstar eddie.

Masterlist || AO3

1. Covering sharp edges with their hands, so you don’t get hurt.

You were going to get Max’s birthday cake absolutely perfect even if it fucking killed you, you thought to yourself as your arm ached the harder you mixed the batter.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help Nov?” Eddie asked again.

Pushing the hair out of your eyes with the back of your wrist, you huffed. “I’m okay. I think I adjusted the recipe perfectly this time. I just need to make sure there’s no lumps or the chocolate won’t-”

“I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU WHEELER!” You heard Dustin yell from the basement.

Eddie snorted. “Ten bucks on Mike,” he said from his place on the counter.

“I’m telling Dustin you said that,” you said, turning from your batter and shooting him a playful look over your shoulder.

He clasped his imaginary pearls dramatically. “Fair maiden, you dare betray our sacred friendship?”

Not able to keep your laugh down, you shook your head. Loud stomping alerted you to the shift of location of whatever fight was happening.

“Do not come into the kitchen with your shit!” You shouted.

Dustin’s voice floated in from the living room. “But Mike-”

“But Mike nothing!” You shouted. “You two shitheads work it out!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Mike shouted, grunting right after. “Ow! Dustin!”

Eddie immediately huffed out laughter. “I’d listen to her, she’s on her fifth batch. Her face is getting whiter and whiter with each cake.”

Your hand flew up to your face, fingers coming back dusted in flour. Turning your glare to his grinning face, you rolled your eyes. “You couldn’t have told me?”

“And ruin how cute you look with all that flour on your face?” Eddie said, nonchalantly going back to the book in his hands. Doing your best to ignore the flustered expression you knew was growing on your face, you turned back to the batter. Eddie always managed to draw out reactions from you, you were sure that was the main reason why he kept doing it.

I like unnerving you he’d said. Asshole, you thought fondly, glancing at him. A good chunk of flour dusted down towards your hands at the motion. Christ, how much flour was on your face?

“I’m going to slap you the second I put this into a pan,” you threatened, trying to get it all off.

Eddie’s grin morphed into something more. “Promises, promises,” he winked.

And there went the butterflies in your stomach.

You opened your mouth to say something else when a blur of curly hair, black shirts, and a flying white shoe flung the kitchen door open.

“Guys,” Eddie warned, placing his book down.

“For fuck’s sake, what’s wrong now?” You said, putting the bowl down onto the kitchen island and stepping towards them with your hands on your hips.

Dustin was the quickest to speak up. “He borrowed the comic that I just managed to get and got it wet!”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” Mike shouted back. “I swear, Holly was eating at the table and spilled her soda!”

“Likely story!” Dustin snapped, eyes narrowing. “You’re doing it because I accidentally broke your figurines last week. I didn’t want to hit that pothole and go flying!���

“For the love of- it wasn’t on purpose!”

Dustin’s arms swung out and Mike darted left to avoid being hit. Before they could even crash together, you knew exactly what was going to happen.

As if in slow motion, you watched as Dustin shoved Mike’s arm into the mixing bowl. Without much prompting, your perfect batter, went tumbling off the island and flew with a vengeance in a million different directions. The opened bag of flour next to it, toppled right after it.

The silence as the bowl wobbled to a stop was painful. You blinked, shocked for a few seconds and nodded dumbly.

Well, that hurt more than the demobats clawing at your neck in the Upside Down.

“I’m going to rip your spines out and play jump rope with it,” you said calmly, eye twitching, at Mike and Dustin. The flour was splattered everywhere, including your new vans and the crevices no one was ever able to clean in the cracks of the linoleum.  

The two idiots shuffled closer to the door. At least they had the decency to look somewhat mortified. Before you could go through with your threat, Eddie’s hands came down to their necks and they both winced.

“Dudes, not cool,” he said, voice uncharacteristically serious. “She said don’t come into the kitchen for a reason. Now she’s gotta wait until you two assholes clean this all up before starting again.”

“Wha-” “But!”

Their protests quickly died down when he smacked them in the back of their heads.

“You break it, you fix it,” he said.

Hiding a smile, you rounded the island towards the rag by the sink and sighed. “Try to hurry, I want to get this decorated before midnight,” you said to the two apologetic teens who were already moving towards the mess.

Pushing the door out into the dining room you tried your best not to trek batter anywhere. Swiping the rag down your face and hair to get rid of any remaining flour you leaned down to help save your vans.

A sudden hand flying out towards your face made you flinch back. Falling onto your butt, you groaned as your hip smacked into the leg of the table.

Eddie shook his head, a soft expression on his face. Your eyes trailed down to where his hand was curled around the corner of the dining table. “Did I almost go face first into that?” You asked from where you were sprawled.

“Yeah, Nova, you almost cracked your skull,” he said, huffing a laugh. “I’d tell you to be more careful but it’d be a waste of breath.” Eddie tugged the rag out your hand and sat down by your feet.

“I-I am insulted.” The indignation cancelled out by the stammering. Eddie had picked up one of your, now dirty, sneakers and plopped it into his lap. He went about meticulously cleaning the chocolate off. “I can do that. You don’t have to-”

His brown eyes darted up to yours, silencing you. “I know I don’t have to; I want to.”

Mildly surprised, and a little flustered by his earnest tone, you nodded dumbly. By the time he was done, there was a pink tinge to his cheeks that you found stupidly endearing.

“There you go fair maiden. Good as new.” He bowed, dropping the rag onto the table. He offered his hand and pulled you up with a firm grip.

Warmth bloomed in your chest at the sight of his wide smile and soft gaze. “Thanks Eddie,” you said, smiling up at him.

He tossed an arm around your shoulders and pulled you towards the kitchen. “Come on, let’s go give them a little more hell,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear.

Not one to resist, you beamed up at him and nodded. “Dibs on Mike,” you said, laughing when he did.

2. Covering you with a blanket when you look cold.

You met Eddie when you were in middle school but, you hadn’t really become friends until freshman year of high school. You were a cheerleader, one of the few freshmen on the team, and you’d caught Tommy Hagan cornering Eddie in a hallway.

You hadn’t hesitated at the sight of the stupid bully and had thrown your pompoms at his head. With a promise of a Herkie to the face, Tommy and his entourage had left you alone.

“Are you okay?” You asked him, bending over to pick up your tossed pompoms.

Eddie, however, hadn’t looked like he was two seconds away from being shoved into a locker. He was beaming. At you.

“What?” You asked, looking around at the empty hallway. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, I just…didn’t ever think that my knight in shining armor would be a cheerleader,” he said, tone teasing.

Biting back a smile, you crossed your arms. “Why? Because we’re vapid and only care about our hair?” You cocked your hip.

“No,” Eddie said, straightening, “I swear, that’s not what I-”

Not able to help it, you burst out into laughter. “I’m fucking with you,” you said, hiding your laugh behind your hand. “I know Tommy’s little sister and she basically rules his household. He knows not to mess with her.”

Eddie smiled and you’d realized that he had a really nice smile. With a flourish, he bowed. “Well, I’m in your debt knight.”

Scrunching your nose, you shook your head. “Not a fan of the nickname?” He asked, starting towards the exit doors. Walking backwards, he drifted closer to you. “What about Nova?”

“What?” You laughed, surprised. “How’d you go from Knight to Nova?”

“Well, you’re my knight in shining armor – what’s brighter than a supernova?”

Throwing your head back, your laugh echoed down the hallway. You’d quickly become friends.

“Novaaaa, come on,” Eddie groaned, flopping down onto the sofa, “just pick a movie.” Clearly, almost a decade later, the nickname had stuck.

“Don’t rush me!” You told him, eyeing the three tapes in front of you. “Which one do you want to watch?”

Eddie’s head lolled back around to you and he smiled. “It’s your turn to pick,” he reminded you.

“I know, but-”

“Just put on Grease,” Eddie said, voice muffled by the pillow. You were about to protest, what an absolutely rude assumption, when a knock echoed from Eddie’s front door. “Pizza’s here. Pick a movie!”

Sighing, knowing that he’d had a bad week, you pushed Indiana Jones into the VCR. The smell of hot pizza wafted over to you and your stomach immediately roared – reminding you that you hadn’t had enough time to eat before your shift.

“Alright, alright, I heard you,” Eddie said, motioning to your stomach. He brought the box over, handing you some water and frowned at the television. “What’s this?”

“Indianamph Jonesah,” you said, around a mouthful of steaming pizza. You were going to miss your tastebuds but goddamn if it wasn’t a great mouthful.

Eddie rolled his eyes, pulled the tape out and shoved Grease in. Dodging your flailing arm, he dropped to the floor by the coffee table, his shoulder brushing your knee.

The opening music started and you found your eyes drawn to the screen. “What the hell?”

“I got that because I know you like to watch one of the same five movies after a long shift,” he said, picking up his own slice.

“But-”

He bumped your leg with his shoulder. “It was your turn to pick, I promise – I don’t mind. Besides, it’s starting to grow on me. It’s definitely better than Overboard.”

“Hey, that’s a good movie!”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Right, and I’m Ozzy Osbourne.”

“Well,” you said with a smile growing, “you had the chance to bite off a bat’s head but you wasted that opportunity.”

Choking on his mouthful of pizza, Eddie laughed and shot you a soft look. “I’m glad my brush with death is something you can laugh about now.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been almost a year. Thought it was about time we all started joking about almost dying,” you said, “besides, Max started it.”

“I’ve never met another person with such morbid humor,” Eddie said, eyes following Danny and Sandy as they kissed on the beach. A flash of something shot through you but you ignored it.

You shrugged despite the fact that you knew he couldn’t see it. “I’m kinda proud of her for having it,” you said, bopping your head to the music you knew by heart.

I solve my problems and I see the light

We gotta loving thing, we gotta feed it right

Eddie turned to you suddenly, his eyes shifting. “Yeah, I’m proud of all of us.”

You grinned at him, dropping your plate onto the table and getting comfortable on Eddie’s couch. It was one of his better purchases – Wayne had chosen to accept the new trailer the state had bought him while Eddie had moved into a small one bedroom downtown. It made more sese considering it was close to the music store you both worked at.

“I’m not pausing the movie if you knock out,” he warned as you fluffed the pillow behind your head.

“I’m not going to fall asleep, when am I ever the one who knocks out first?”

Eddie shot you a look. “Did you want me to bring out a list or?”

Smacking the back of his head, he ducked and laughed when you half missed your target. “Alright, alright, I’m missing the good stuff.”

“I knew you liked this movie,” you said, nudging him with your knee. Eddie shot you a withering glare, or he tried to, because you laughed at his attempt. Amused, his eyes drifted to over your head and you were about to turn when something dropped into your lap.

Eddie pulled the crocheted blanket over your legs and let it pool around your waist. The black and white blanket had been gifted to Eddie by Robin. She’d decided she was going to learn to crochet last year and spent the entire months leading up to Christmas lost in her projects. Your green scarf was hanging with your jacket by the door. You loved this blanket and you knew Eddie did too – it was always draped across the sofa for easy access.

 “My place gets cold at night,” he said at your questioning look, “you know that. Besides, you’ll make it an hour before knocking out.”

The sweet gesture was overshadowed by his smug look and your hand jutted out to hit any part of him you could reach. “I’m not going to fall asleep.”

Both of you went back and forth, poking fun, and as you watched Danny ignore Sandy for Cha-Cha, you heard Eddie snort.

“What?” You asked, tapping your fingers along to the beat.

“I just always thought it was funny how he leaves her behind, he just goes with it,” he said.

You pointed to the cameras. “They’re on live television,” you explained sleepily.

“So?” Eddie raised his brow. “Are you defending him?”

“Of course not!” Why was this couch so comfortable? The blanket moved around you, warm hands tucking it over your shoulders and sighing when you snuggled into it.

Eddie’s knowing smile went a little fuzzy around the edges as your eyes felt harder and harder to keep open. Before you could formulate a comeback, the exhaustion of the day pulled you under. As you were entirely lost to the world, you heard Eddie murmur, “I would never leave you behind.”

3. Holding your hand when you’re falling apart.

Four years of cheerleading practice had not prepared you for what it truly meant to run for your life. Not really.

It stood to reason that you’d really never had to run from an interdimensional monster before – up until your employment at The Gap. Honestly, it was The Gap’s fault.

You’d met Robin at the first Hawkins Middle School band practice as small seventh graders. Her mom had told her she needed to get a job for the summer and she’d dragged you along with her. She had gotten hired at Scoops Ahoy and, in your defense, who was going to say no to a daily free ice cream? So, if you really thought about it – it was Scoop’s fault. And Robin’s.

The moment you saw Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington behind the counter, you should’ve turned the other way. But no, Robin was absolutely sure he’d changed. You snorted. Sure, he’d changed. Having all your friends drop you towards the end of your senior year would humble anyone. You’d been close enough to the source when the downfall of The Hair happened. It hadn’t been pretty. Especially after Nancy Wheeler decided to stick by Jonathan.

While he hadn’t been one of the few who liked to remind you of your low spot on the totem pole, he definitely wasn’t Mother Theresa. You’d seen how his friends treated Eddie’s friends – people who they deemed outcasts. Eddie had only been mostly spared because you two were practically fused at the hip. Besides, he knew that Nancy liked you – the two of you had hung out before considering you’d both been close friends with Barb. While you and her weren’t best friends, you knew he didn’t want to mess with anyone Nancy liked. Which, really, made him a selfish, self-centered asshole. And anyway, you’d seen what he’d spray painted onto the theater header.

It wasn’t until you saw him with Dustin, one of your favorite neighbors, that you’d conceded. How could someone who clearly held a middle schooler up to such high standards be that bad? Besides, Dustin was a kid – but you trusted him. Robin, of course, still held that against you to this day.

To be fair, Steve himself hadn’t won you over until he’d taken hit after hit to keep you and Robin as safe as possible. Russians in a secret lab under Starcourt injecting you with truth serum was not something you’d had on your 1985 bingo card.

You still remembered how Steve had grabbed each of your wrists so tightly that it’d taken weeks for the bruises to fade. He’d practically tossed you both under a massive table when the Mind Flayer had landed mid-food court. Robin clutched at your shoulders, Steve a steadying presence behind you.

He’d waited, for hours, as the EMTs cleared all of you outside the burning mall. And while you’d hoped that this was the last time any of your friends, new or old, had tried to save you – clearly that had been wishful thinking.

The muscles in your arms burned as you hauled yourself through the gate. Breath knocked out of you as you landed on your back, you glanced up to see Eddie’s hands stilling on the makeshift rope.

“Come on!” Dustin screamed. “Eddie come on!”

A flash of something crossed his expression and you knew. You knew he was going to do something stupid.

“Eddie!” You screamed, voice cracking in your desperation. His wide eyes struck yours and you knew the moment he’d decided. “Don’t you fucking dare! Edward Munson, you listen to me right now. Climb this fucking rope.”

“I’m sorry Nov,” he said, staring up at you with a sad smile. Without thinking, you scrambled to throw yourself down the gate but the rope dropped by your feet, cut from the source. “I love you. Take care of Dustin,” he said, eyes sincere and apologetic.

“Eddie!” You both screamed, voices hoarse.

Panic clawed at your chest. You couldn’t breathe – he was…he was going to get himself fucking killed. Spurring into action, Dustin pushed you aside as he grunted from the effort of pushing the dining table towards the middle of the room. “Come on! Those things will kill him, we gotta get back!”

Not one to be told twice, you shoved a few pieces of furniture on top of the table for good measure. You climbed up to the gate, barely able to touch the edges. Adrenaline rushed through you as you looked down to Dustin. “Give me a boost, I can almost reach it!”

Without hesitating, Dustin kneeled, hands on your calves and you used his knee to hoist yourself up. You didn’t have much time to adjust yourself but you channeled every tumbling move you’d ever done and tried to tuck and roll. Mostly successful, you only winced as your shoulder collided painfully with the metal chair.

“Okay, I’ll be right back!”

“You can’t just fucking leave me here!” Dustin shouted. You pointed up at him with all the authority you could muster.

“Try to tie more sheets together, the others will need help climbing through when they come back,” you glared at him, “don’t do anything stupid Henderson.”

Not waiting for a response, you kicked the trailer door open and scanned the field. A tornado of bats and a loud, heartbreaking, scream cut through you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, you fucking idiot,” you said, panicking as you ran. You watched as the bats took turns diving for him, his spear barely keeping them back.

“Come on!” He screamed into the eye of the storm. Because of course he did. The idiot. You willed your legs to run faster, to just get you there so you could help. Then, they struck. Eddie’s hands whipped up to his throat and you watched him slam into the floor.

“Eddie!” You screamed, throat raw, but it was drowned out by the screeching bats. A flash of Billy being impaled, lifted into the air, and thrown like a ragdoll bubbled up to your consciousness. No, please, you begged, not Eddie, not him.

Slowing as you neared, you pulled the gun from around your shoulders and squared them like Hopper had taught you. The shots echoed despite the chaos, your blood rushing through your body. “Get away from him!” You shrieked, fighting your way through the opening you’d created.

You slipped on the unmoving body of the ones you’d shot down and slid directly into an motionless Eddie. Covering his body with your own, you raised your gun as they swooped down. Almost out of bullets, you’d just hit another when one managed to swipe you from the side – claws digging into your skin. Screaming, you waved the gun like Steve’s bat and swatted as many as you could out the air.

Shit, you couldn’t keep this up. There were too many.

Then, as if puppets that were cut, they all dropped to the floor. One slammed into your bad shoulder painfully and you cried out.

“Nov?”

The weak voice was like beacon and you quickly slid to the ground. You weren’t going to question your good luck. Pulling the leather jacket off his chest your heart dropped down next to the dead demobats and you immediately started to cry.

“That bad huh?” He joked, voice wet as blood poured out his mouth.

“You absolute fucking asshole. You dickhead,” you berated him as you tied your own cargo jacket around the gash in his stomach. Rising to your knees, you quickly pulled your belt off your waist and made a tourniquet around his upper thigh. Your hands were drenched in blood and you forced the bile down. Focus, you need to stop the bleeding. You needed to get him back to the trailer, you yelled at yourself.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie’s weak hand came up to your forearm and your heart creaked as the cracks deepened. “It’ll be okay.”

“No it won’t you fucking moron, you’re my best friend – I – can’t watch you die. I won’t,” you said, hauling him onto your lap. You tried to stand but your shoulder immediately gave and you both crashed to the ground.

A sob wrenched it’s way out your throat, helpless and willing your shoulder to work. Just this time, please, please, you begged.

“Nova,” Eddie’s voice trailed off, weaker than before.

Cradling his stupid face, your hands left streaks of blood on his pale skin. Shaking, your fingers caressed his jaw. The brown eyes, more familiar to you than your own, slowly started to fade.

“Eddie, stay with me, someone’s coming okay – it’s going to be okay,” you said, entire body clinging to his.

“I-I told you this was my year,” he said, blood tricking down. His unseeing eyes searched for you, like they always did, and you realized that you wouldn’t survive this. Eddie was going to fade from existence, the entire town thinking him a murderer, and this would finally be the storm that broke you.

“I can’t live without you,” you stammered, words bubbling up in rapid succession, you had things you needed to say – stuff you needed to do with him still. You were supposed to have time – it wasn’t supposed to end this way. Jaw aching as you bit down your anguish, you pressed a kiss to his forehead and he sighed. “Eddie, please,” you begged, unashamed and desperate.

Take me, you begged the dark skies that mocked you, anyone but him.

“I l-love-” he gagged, choking on his own blood and you pressed your forehead against his.

“Sh, sh, it’s okay, I’m here Eddie. I’m here. I know. Me too,” you said, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Sorry you weren’t fast enough, sorry you couldn’t save him, sorry for having to be the one to watch him die. Eddie’s hand came up to your wrist, squeezing once before dropping limp.

The silence around you was deafening. No, no, no, no.

You screamed, anguished, and the pain unbearable. Anger coursed through you, mixing with your overwhelming grief. It crashed into you from all angles, its hands grabbing onto you and pulling you under. Your throat hurt but you couldn’t stop screaming, all of you couldn’t stop screaming in the unfairness of it all.

“Eddie?” A voice shouted through the darkness. You whipped your head up, searching through the night for the voice.

“Steve?” You called out tentatively, hand reaching for your discarded gun. Was this a trick? You scanned your surroundings, vision blurry. No, you steeled yourself, this place had already taken everything from you – they couldn’t have his body too.

Swinging the gun towards the quick footsteps, you ignored your trembling arms.

“Hey, hey! Wait, it’s me,” Steve said, hands up. He stepped in front of Robin, his eyes on the still body behind you.

Eyes wild, you blinked away your constant tears, and loosened the hold on your gun. “Stevie?”

“It’s me, it’s me – I promise,” he said, hand coming out to take your shotgun. Handing it to Nancy, he pulled you into his arms. “What happened?” He winced when he saw your skin bleeding sluggishly.

“Eddie?” Robin whispered, dropping to her knees beside him.

Willing yourself to keep it together you nodded towards the house. “What happened?”

“He’s dead, we got him – Nance got him. It’s over.”

Feeling weak, you leaned on Nancy’s outstretched arm and watched as Steve dropped to examine him.

“He’s – he – cut the rope – I tried, my shoulder – it, oh God,” you said, scrambling towards the nearest wall and throwing up everything in your stomach. A warm hand came up to your back, rubbing it back and forth until your heaving stopped.

“I got you,” Nancy said, “I’m here, it’s okay. I’m here for you.”

He was dead. Eddie was gone. Nothing would ever be okay again.Your blood-soaked hands reached out and she clasped them. Eyes on yours, strong and steady, she nodded. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“Nance,” your voice sounded warped. “I tried.”

She shushed you, bringing your arm over her shoulders and taking most of your weight as you crumbled. You watched as Robin and Steve grabbed him, moving quickly towards the trailer.

“What? Where are you going?” Nancy shouted.

Robin grunted under the weight as she climbed the steps. “He’s got a pulse! The tourniquets are holding! We gotta move fast!”

.

Coincidentally, the nearest hospital to Forest Park was at the town line one over. Robin had assured you that since it wasn’t Hawkins, they weren’t likely to recognize him instantly. Worry for Max joined your overwhelming weight as you glanced at the destruction the earthquake had wreaked. “Do you think he got her?” You asked, voice barely audible.

“I killed him as the clock was chiming,” Nancy said, “it only rang three times. I’ll call when we get to the hospital – they’ll be okay. We’re all okay. We have to be.”

After admitting Eddie, a concerned nurse offered you a pair of scrubs to change into. Glancing down at your clothes, you realized you were covered in blood. Eddie’s blood.

Tearing up, her eyes had softened incredibly and she helped you wash it off. “It’ll all work out honey, you’ll see,” she whispered as the blood dribbled down the drain. You’d barely felt the needle as she stitched the claw marks on your chest and neck.

It’d taken an hour of arguing but you promised the others you could keep it together for the night as they drove back to Hawkins to figure out what was going on. Robin had kissed the top of your now clean hair, and clasped her hands with yours. “I will be back as soon as I can, okay? As fast as I can.” The fierceness in her tone had your eyes tearing up again and she hugged you tightly.

Five hours after being admitted, with no news, you received the second shock of the night.

“Hopper?” You sputtered, almost bowled over to see the ghost of your old Chief of police.

Head shaved, a few pounds lighter, but the smile that came from hearing your voice was just the same. “Hey kid,” he said, bringing you into a tight hug.

It took another hour, and the arrival of just about everyone you knew, for a nurse to let you know that Eddie had stabilized. They’d needed to operate to stop the internal bleeding, he’d needed a few blood transfusions and was placed into a medically induced coma, but he’d be alright.

“He’s…he’ll be okay?” You asked, not willing to cling onto any false hope.

The nurse from earlier stepped forward, her kind eyes wrinkled as she smiled. “Yeah, honey, he’ll be okay.”

Swallowing back your tears, you pulled her into a hug. “Thank you.”

Two hours later, while you sat glued to his side, Hopper let you know that Eddie was cleared of all charges.

“Do you want to know?” He asked.

Shaking your head, you smiled up at him for the first time in the last twelve hours. The sun peaked out from the horizon, drenching Eddie’s dark room in a warm orange light. “I don’t care how. Just – thank you.”

Hopper ruffled your hair and you leaned into his touch like cat arching for more affection. “They’ll want your statement but not until a few days from now. As far as you know, you were over Robin’s with Steve for the entire night. Her neighbor, Mrs. Matthews has already said she could corroborate your alibi.”

Smiling, you nodded. “I don’t even want to know what the U.S. government had on her.”

“You don’t,” he agreed.

It took Eddie another day to wake up. Wayne had finally convinced you to go get something to eat, I won’t leave his side sweetheart, I promise.

You balanced the two coffees in your hand as you pushed open the door to Eddie’s room. Surprised to see the entire party surrounded by the bed, you blinked, a little taken aback.

Dustin was the first to catch your eye, his grin so wide it almost split his face in two. “Eddie’s awake!” Your eyes darted to the bed, the man in it grinning up at a tearful Wayne.

“You absolute asshole,” you hissed, not able to keep it down.

The party laughed, Steve shaking his head. “Hi Nova,” Eddie said, voice hoarse, and you felt your stomach swoop as those eyes met yours. “I’m sorry.”

“You better be,” you said, handing Wayne his coffee. He promised to be back, wanting to speak to the doctor. The moment the door closed; chaos reigned. Everyone talked over each other and you watched, amused. Sipping your coffee, you smacked Lucas’ shoulder as he made fun of something Mike said.

Steve’s whistle was loud enough to pierce several eardrums and you winced. “One at time! The man just woke up from a coma.”

“Medically induced coma,” Mike clarified.

You fought the urge to smack him too.

Despite the severity of what brought Eddie to the hospital, after a week – he was given the all clear. The party was at Eddie’s new trailer, decorating the larger space for his homecoming. You’d been tasked to watch over the patient. You’d arrived early, still not entirely able to have him out of your sights for too long. As you popped your head in, you realized he was asleep.

Dropping into the comfortable chair next to his bed, you set yourself up for waiting. In the past week and a half, you hadn’t managed to find a moment alone with Eddie. There was always a party member at his bedside at all times. Or a band member. Or a parent.

Eddie’s room had quickly become well known for the noise and chattering that spilled out into the hallways. At its absence, you realized you didn’t know what to do.

Smacking his lips, Eddie’s head moved towards the door, eyes still closed. As he shifted, you caught sight of the large bandage by his neck. The purple bruising on his arms looked painful and your chest clenched at the sight of them.

It seemed that before you could decide for yourself, the silence swallowed you whole. Bringing you hand up to your lips, you tried to silence your sobs. Chest heaving with the effort, you buried your face into your hands and cried. The last week of pushing everything down and resolving to deal with it later had finally caught up to you.

Everyone has their reckoning, you were reminded. This was yours.

A warm hand came up to your shoulder, the bandaged one, and softly caressed where the tape adhered to your skin. “Hey you,” he said, sleep clinging to the corner of his knowing gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you sputtered, trying to push it back down but there was no use. Pandora’s box had been opened. Turning from him, you caught sight of his frown. His pained grunt made you whip back to him and you almost tripped over your own feet as you rushed to help. Eddie’s expression was twisted as he sat up, sweat beading at his temples.

“Lie down, you psychopath,” you said once the lump in your throat let you speak. “The bed will move for you! You just had surgery on your side for fuck’s sake.” You ducked your head, trying to avoid his eyes as you adjusted the bed to his liking.

Stubborn as always, Eddie tapped your forearm. “Don’t hide from me, not you,” he said softly, his eyes searching for yours. Giving in, you let your blurry sight find his and he sighed. “Nova, you should’ve told me.”

“Told you what?” You said through desperate inhales.

“That you’d been bottling it up – come here,” he said. You wished you could climb into the bed with him but you couldn’t, his incision still very off limits to movement. You were trying to decide where to touch, when he decided for you. His right hand opened, fingers wiggling towards you. “Come on.”

Interlocking your fingers with his, relishing in the touch, you pressed the back of his hand to your cheek. His pulse beat against yours, alive – wondrously and beautifully alive. This, this was what you needed. A moment to lose it before rearranging the bricks of your mental foundation back in place. The image of him, eyes unseeing, bubbled to the surface and despair twisted it’s venomous grip around your lungs.

Choking, you let the sob come out unbidden. Not sure you could stop it if you wanted to, you let the tears drown you. Weeping, you whimpered as you accepted what could’ve been. What you would’ve had to watch. The fact that you would’ve had something so important ripped from your grasp.

He's okay, you thought, he’s alive.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice a quiet echo of Nancy’s lost words. “I’m here. I got you.” After a few minutes, your chest stopped heaving and you could take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, a little embarrassed. “Thank you.”

“No, I’m sorry,” he said, pulling your hand from your face and towards his own. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles and you blinked at him.

“Why are you sorry?” Christ, you were a mess. He’d been in a coma for two days and he was comforting you. He’d almost died and you were too weak to be strong for your friend.

“I’m sorry for leaving you,” he said, “I’m sorry that you had to be the one I left behind. I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m sorry that you had to see me like that. I’m sorry for hurting you even if I’d do it again if it meant you were safe. It was scary and I’m sorry for doing that to you, no matter how important it was that I did it.”

His thumb caressed your hand and you bit back the tears that wanted to wail out to the world that you’d almost lost something that couldn’t be replaced. But the silence that fell was comforting, a soft and easy kind. One that didn’t need to be filled and his pulse was a balm soothing your raw panic.

And yet -

“Don’t leave me here alone. It’s your Sam calling,” you said, eyes on his. A small real, smile broke out on his face and he squeezed your hand.

Despite the bandages across his jaw, and the wince of pain as he shifted, you hadn’t seen someone look so beautiful.

“Don’t go where I can’t follow, wake up Mr. Frodo,” Eddie whispered and you beamed at him.

4. Telling you to call them so they know you got home safe.

“For fuck’s sake,” you hissed, rubbing your temples as you watched Robin hop on top of a bar table to dance.

Eddie’s laughter hit your ear and you shivered at the warmth. “Come on Nov, she looks like she’s having fun,” he said, chest pressed against your back. Tucking his chin over your shoulder, you finally waved down the bartender.

“Can I have another club soda please?” You asked, handing her the money. She nodded, eyes drifting to Eddie and smiling.

“You two are a really cute couple,” she said, sliding the glass towards you.

Opening your mouth to correct her, Eddie beat you to it. “Thank you!” At your glance, he shrugged. “It’s easier to go along with.”

Something in your chest tightened at the thought but you shrugged. “Jesus, Eddie, can you bring her down? She’s going to end up falling and cracking her neck.”

Eddie sighed, his warm hand coming up to squeeze your waist. “We really need to stop promising to be the babysitters,” he said, lips brushing against your temple before leaving to drag a protesting Robin off the sticky table.

“Hey,” a guy to your left said, his hair long and pin straight.

You turned to him, not wanting to be rude but also not wanting to make it look like you were welcoming any type of flirting. Eddie already had to shove a creep with a persistent attitude off of Nancy. “Hi,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

“Sorry to bother you,” he said, a little too quiet for the noise level inside, “but is that the lead singer of Corroded Coffin?”

Relief flooded through you and your shoulders dropped. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“Holy shit, I saw his band last month when he was the opening act for Riot Act. I’m a big fan! They’ve got a great sound,” he said awed. “Sorry! I’m Jack.”

“Hey, I’m-”

“-here with someone,” Eddie’s voice floated over your shoulder and towards the straightening man on the stool.

A little surprised by Eddie’s furrowed expression, and practically thrown by the small ember of something in your spine at his serious tone, you placed a hand on his and smiled up at him. “This is Jack, he’s a fan of Corroded Coffin’s.”

Eddie’s expression completely transformed, a wide smile overtaking the sharp look in his eyes. “Oh man, thanks! Sorry, you know how these bars can get.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, brightening, “totally! Are you guys going to be playing somewhere else soon? I heard a few people say you might be going to Sold Out in Indianapolis!”

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck and you could tell he was flustered by the pink tinge to his neck. “We are! We’re going to be there for a few weekends for the next couple months. We start sometime in the summer. Still ironing out a few details.”

“That’s great! I’m sorry for asking but, do you mind signing something for me?” Jack asked, excitement growing his eyes.

Both of you thrown, you felt your own giddiness build in your chest. “He’d love to,” you answered for a stunned Eddie. “In fact, the entire band is here tonight. You’ll have to excuse everyone else – we’re the designated drivers. They might be a little drunk.”

At the promise of more autographs, Jack straightened. “Holy shit, yeah that’d be amazing. Thank you so much,” he stammered, grabbing a clear napkin from behind the bar and pulling a pen from his coat. “My friends are going to shit themselves.”

You squeezed Eddie’s hand when you saw it trembling as he signed with a flourish. Shooting you a grateful look, he walked Jack over to where Jeff and Gareth were chanting chug, chug, chug! at a teetering Liam.

Jesus, you sighed, rolling your eyes when Jeff’s excited hand swatted too close to Liam and he started coughing up the beer.

Turning back to your drink, you didn’t wait long before you felt Eddie’s palm at your lower back. “Well, that happened.”

Not missing a beat, you turned with a crumpled napkin and wide eyes. “Oh my God, sir, would you autograph my napkin too?”

Eddie laughed, shaking his head, and he shoved your shoulder. “Shut up,” he grumbled, motioning to the bartender for his own club soda. “You brat.”

Grinning, you bumped his shoulder with your own. “I’m glad I’ll be able to say I knew you when you were a nerdy freshman.”

“I’m still that nerdy freshman,” he huffed, “people just actually like my singing now.”

The band on stage switched to a fast paced song and the bar emptied a little as people flew to the dance floor. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. They really deserved this. You crossed your fingers beneath the bar and hoped it was just the beginning.

“To be fair, I always liked your singing,” you told him, poking his chest. Eddie’s eyes shifted and you felt the same tightening again.

His eyes dropped back to yours, something new swimming in them, and your breath stuttered in your lungs. “I know you have,” he said, gaze darting across your face. “You’ve always been there for me.”

Not able to take the pressure in your sternum, you huffed. “And don’t forget that when you’re rich and famous, okay? I want a fancy BMW so I can taunt Steve with it.”

Eddie threw his head back and laughed. Instead of breaking the spell, your eyes drifted to his neck and you briefly thought about how appealing the muscles there were. Straightening so quickly that your spine audible snapped, you swallowed nervously.

What the fuck was that?

The look Eddie shot your way let you know that he’d caught whatever that was. Your mind raced in a thousand different directions but before you could choose a route to go down, a body pressed itself into your side.

“You guys, Jonathan puked,” Gareth said, matter of fact. “It was funny but then Steve started gagging.”

Liam joined in next, his eyes glazed. “Steve said he’s a sy-symp- sympat-” his face scrunched together when he realized he wasn’t getting the word out.

“He’s a sympathy puker?” You guessed, already knowing Steve wasn’t the best around puke. He was always the first domino to fall during hangover mornings.

“Ugh, you’re so smart,” Jeff complimented.

Brows rising, you elbowed Eddie. “Time to corral?” Sighing, Eddie nodded.

“Grab as many as you can and shove them into the right car,” he said, hands coming out to grab his bandmates before they could drift off. “Meet outside in ten?”

“Minutes?” You asked incredulously. “It’s going to take at least that long to get Steve to stop gagging.”

“Bet you five I can get them out in fifteen.”

Rolling your eyes, you slapped his outstretched hand. “That’s an easy win.”

And sure enough, you leaned against Steve’s car with an amused expression as Eddie tried for the fourth time to load Jeff into his van. You glanced at Robin, who was talking animatedly with Gareth about what sounded like cheese fries. A blur in the corner of your eye caught your attention and you watched Liam open the passenger door and pass Jonathan his joint.

“Jesus,” Eddie groaned, “okay you win, please, just-” he waved his hand towards your friends.

“Robin get in the car we have to go now,” you said firmly, knowing she was the hardest to convince but the one everyone would follow once she was.

Her expression morphed into indignation. “Gareth thinks bacon on fries is better than cheese! That’s – that’s treason.”

“Because it is better!” He said, clutching his head.

“Alright you two, you’re both right, how about that?” You turned to Gareth and glared until he simpered off towards Eddie without a backwards glance. “And you, into the car.”

“But-”

“I’ll tell everyone what you’re hiding in the box at the back of your closet,” you threatened. She paled and tripped in her hurry to the car. She knocked into a sleeping Nancy, who grunted when she landed in the middle seat with a loud thump.

“Byers, get your ass in gear or I’m telling Joyce!”

A sheepish Jonathan crawled into the car, jostling Robin who cried out and accidentally smacked a snoring Steve in the passenger seat. You quickly shut the door and locked them in. With a flourish, you took your bow and Eddie clapped. “I admit defeat o’great knight.”

“Knight in shining armor, please,” you clarified.

“Of course, of course.”

“You okay with your lot?” You asked, nodding to where Liam was starting to look a little green.

Eddie snorted. “Yeah, they’ll be fine. What about you?”

“Jonathan and Nancy live nearby, the rest of us are crashing at Steve’s. Like the good ol’ days,” you joked, shivering when a sudden cold gust of air blew your hair into your eyes.

A pair of hands came up to your arms, rubbing some warmth into them and you smiled. “Lucky, Gareth and Liam live in completely different directions,” he said with a roll of his eyes. You pointed to car behind him.

“You should lock them in before one makes a break for it,” you said, yawning and checking the time. Without giving you time to think, Eddie pulled you into a tight hug. Never needing a reason, you wrapped your arms around his waist and squeezed just as tightly back. His cold nose nudged your temple, inhaling deeply and you lean your face against his chest. His heartbeat fast and yours quickly matched its pace. With a soft sigh, Eddie let you go.

“Hey, but seriously, I’m so happy everyone else is finally seeing what I always did,” you told him, pinching one of his cheeks for levity.

Instead, he smiled at you softly. A small, little shy smile that made your heart flip. “Yeah?” His eyes softened, the brown deepening with his gaze. You felt your chest tighten painfully this time. Turning back to hop into your car, you rolled the window down and Eddie leaned into your space.

“Don’t let it get to your big head.” Eddie smiled at your barb but his eyes trailed down your face, the look in his gaze different. You leaned back to examine it but you couldn’t put your finger on it. “What?” His eyes darted back up to yours and it clicked. It looked like he knew something you didn’t.

A little surprised at what he saw there, he shook his head. “Nothing, nothing, see you tomorrow at work?” That sounded like a diversion. You had a full shift tomorrow but he was on towards the end at closing.

“Yeah,” you said, not sure you wanted to let go of this. As if sensing it, he surged forward to press a kiss to your cheek and you blinked, surprised.

“Drive home safe, call me when you get there, okay?” He said. “Leave a message if I’m not home yet. I won’t be able to sleep if I think you’re dead in a ditch somewhere.”

That, in the end, got a smile out of you. “Who would’ve thought you and Harrington would turn into the mothers of this ragtag group?”

“Hey,” he said, hands on his hips in a clear imitation of Steve, “you love it.”

“Yeah,” you said, starting your car and rolling up your window, “I do!”

5. Bringing you something just because it reminded them of you.

“Fuuuck,” you squawked, feet sliding out from under you. Bracing for the impact, your eyes flew open when Eddie’s hands slide through your underarms and steadied you. He pulled you up, your knees aching, and you both stilled.

“That…would’ve been bad,” you said quietly, looking down at the wet pavement outside the Wheeler’s house. Eddie’s eyes were wide, his gaze on the puddles.

“Note to self, slippery driveways might take down the mighty Nova but demobats are a walk in the park,” Eddie said, grinning when you whacked him.

“Ugh, they’re still outside,” Dustin shouted from the doorway, “come on, we’re taking a vote on which movie to watch first.”

Despite his teasing, you felt Eddie’s hand on your back – steady – as you followed Dustin towards the basement. Everyone was scattered, a few conversations going on at once. The party was back for the summer from college and, as tradition stated, a movie night was set on the first weekend.

El jumped up, grinning, and threw her arms around you. “Oh, hello,” you said, squeezing her tightly, “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you,” she said into your shoulder, words muffled. You glanced up to see Max tucked into Eddie’s embrace. He smiled when they swapped and Max’s grip bruised you. Kissing her temple, you watched them tumble back onto the first couch – Mike and Lucas waving at you both.

You made to step towards a beaming Will when a hand on your elbow stopped you. “Hey, I forgot to give this to you yesterday at work,” Eddie said, hand ruffling around in bag. He grinned after a moment, pulling it out triumphantly. A small drawstring bag swung wildly for a moment before coming to a stop. The black suede looked soft and lumpy.

“We just started that gig out at Sold Out last week and we were looking for something to eat before we drove back. I saw this in the window of a store and thought of you,” Eddie said, making your heart flip. You reached for the bag, a gold necklace spilling out the mouth.

“It’s a sunflower,” you said, voice faint, thumb tracing the small blooming flower.

Eddie nodded, already rooting in his bag for something else. “You said that was Barb’s favorite flower, right?” Suddenly, it felt like the entire room had gone quiet.

“It was,” Nancy said, leaning over your shoulder to look at the pendant. “She loved them, her room was covered.” An old memory flashed through your mind.

You’d met Barb when you were six, in kindergarten. She’d shared her chocolate with you and picked you as a partner for nap time. She had a sweet smile and gave great hugs. She was good and kind, and you’d been angry at the world for taking her. For a lot of things.

“Sunflowers symbolize friendship. But really, they just make me smile.”

For a moment, just a brief second, you could hear her light laughter echo within your memory. Nancy’s soft smile let you know that you weren’t alone.

“I thought you’d like it,” he said with a smile and you knew he was thinking of the tulips you’d both left at Chrissy’s grave last week. “This way you can have her close by.”

Nancy helped you clasp it around your neck and smiled down at you. Sound filtered back in as she grunted and turned to the boys. “Don’t throw the remote!”

You scrambled to stand before Eddie could find a seat, your had grabbing his. He stilled, looking back at you – the unasked question on his lips. Taking a step forward for a hug, for a second time within a span of five minutes, you tripped on a forgotten figurine. Eddie cradled you to him, staggered, but steady.

“Okay, I stand corrected. Rainy driveways and dnd figurines,” he joked, the smile from his gaze fading when he realized how close you’d landed.

The world moved around you both in a blur. This moment, you in his arms, had happened hundreds of times. You’d known Eddie for years, both of you were affectionate people. But this…was different. Time slowed and you felt Eddie’s pulse ricochet within your own, his lips parting in surprise. You eyes darted down to the movement, his lips chapped and in this bubble you’d created – a thought crossed your mind.

You wanted to press yours to his. You wanted to press every part of you against his.

Then, quickly, a second thought rose from your subconscious.

This wasn’t the first time you’d wanted to kiss him. It wasn’t the first time that your heart felt like it would burst at the sight of him. You liked the way your skin felt electrified at his touch. The way he always seemed to focus on you. The way you both always gravitated towards each other, like sunflowers bending towards the sun. Your eyes dipped lower and you felt a lump form in your throat. The way…you were dying to bite into that tattoo on his neck. The way you wondered if he’d squirm against you. If he’d push you into the-

Holy fucking shit, you loved Eddie. You were in love with Eddie. Your best friend. How the fuck had you been so blind?

Stumbling, you staggered back from his touch – not able to think clearly with him so close. You ripped your arms away from him and greedily sucked in air.

“What’s wrong?” Eleven asked you, realizing you were all but hyperventilating.

Pulse roaring in your ears, you didn’t know what to say. Dumbstruck, your limbs went numb as you finally met Eddie’s worried eyes. He stilled at the sight of your expression and suddenly the rug was pulled completely out from under you because he knew. The look in his eyes was one of complete and total understanding.

And you knew that he knew - and he knew that you knew that he knew.

Your mind flashed back to the moment outside the bar a few months ago. That look in his eyes. The way he’d been acting strange recently. He looked at you like he knew something you didn’t. Struck, you’d honestly be less shocked if the ground opened up and Vecna swallowed you whole.

His own panic flooding his face, he took a step forward.

“No!” You shouted, a touch too loud, your soul flying out your body and staring down at the situation with terror.

“Wait, just wait,” Eddie stammered, hands raised like he was approaching a scared animal. “Let’s talk about it.”

“Oh shit,” you heard Dustin mutter. The rest of room went silent.

Robin groaned, a soft thump following. “Oh no, this isn’t good.”

“Right now?” Steve hissed. “What the hell changed?”

“What the hell is happening?” Lucas grumbled.

Max sighed. “She just realized she’s in love with him.”

Eleven’s eyes widened and Lucas frowned. “Congratulations on being the last one to find out,” he said and somehow that made it worse. Your face crumpled and everyone’s glare turned towards him.

“Jesus Sinclair, have you heard of tact?”

Were you the absolute last person to know?

He was your best friend – you couldn’t, this would ruin everything. Oh God, what if he’d known and he never said anything because he didn’t feel the same? What if he did? You honestly didn’t know which was scarier.

As your friends descended into chaos, you glanced back at Eddie and found him frozen too. Overwhelmed and feeling like you’d been knocked around the ring a few times, you let your flight instinct take over. Taking the stairs two at a time, you were at the basement door in seconds.

Chaos erupted behind you.

You were at the door and fucking Christ, you couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t you breathe? Was the ground shaking?

“Stay here,” you heard Eddie bark at everyone, his had tone not leaving any room for argument. Despite it all, you felt the zing of something travel down your spine at the sound of it. Before you could even analyze it for what it was, it triggered another fresh wave of panic.

You knew he’d be close behind, but you were used to running for your life at this point. Practically racing down the driveway, you scrambled into your car and slammed the door shut. Your first mistake was trying to still your shaking hand to get it into the ignition.

A body half-slammed into your passenger door and you screamed, terror taking over your rational side for a moment.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! The fucking grass is wet and I slipped,” Eddie said, backing up with his palms up. “Nova, please, don’t go. Not like this. I-”

“Nope!” You said, feeling like a stupid child but you weren’t able to process right now. You’d known Eddie since you were fourteen. That was a decade. How the fuck had you been so blind? “I can’t – Eddie, I can’t! Just give me a second, okay? I need – I need to process. Alone.”

The world felt like it was crumbling. Like you were back in the hell hole, clinging to Steve and Eddie for balance as the ground shook beneath you. Oh God, this was going change everything.

Your second mistake was turning to look at him. The knot in your chest tightened beyond belief at the sight of the heartbreak in his eyes. A flash of movement brought your attention to the several heads peeking out from the windows. Eddie’s head whipped around and you could feel his glare from where you sat. “Jesus Christ, does anyone know what privacy means?” You knew it was bad when you couldn’t even muster up a smile.

“Nov…”

Like a cornered animal, you felt tears well up. “Please. I’m sorry. Please Eddie, please.” Panic clawed up your throat, threatening to pull you under. Black dots danced across your vision.

He smiled and your heart broke at the emptiness in it. “Yeah, Nov, it’s okay. I’ll go back inside, just- take a few deep breaths before you go. Okay? Don’t drive like this. Just, deep breathing, remember?”

You slammed your eyes shut; you didn’t have the strength to look at him anymore. You nodded, taking an unsteady deep inhale. How was it possible that you were the one running and he was still thinking of you?

Not sure how long you sat there but by the time you opened your eyes, your tremor had settled and Eddie was gone. Taking a deep breath, you turned your car on and peeled away from the Wheeler house.

It took Robin and Steve exactly ten hours before they showed up on your doorstep.

“I know you’re in there asshole, open up!” Robin screamed.

Jesus. You flung the door open and glared. “I have neighbors.”

“You look like shit,” Robin said, matter a fact, with a small smile on her face. You groaned, dropping your face into your palms and Steve sighed.

“For fuck’s sake Robin, it hasn’t even been a day,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and guiding you to the couch.

Not one to ever be excluded, Robin smushed herself next to you. Her thigh pressed against yours and you found yourself stuck between your two friends – friends you hadn’t ever been good at lying to.

“I know why you’re here,” you started.

Robin snorted. “Well duh, what’d you think? That we got up at nine in the morning to come wish you a good morning? Even Dingus knows better than that.”

Biting back a laugh at her quick retort, you caught Steve’s exasperated glance and nearly broke. “Do not enable the behavior,” he hissed. “How do you feel?”

What a loaded question.

“I feel a little numb. Sort of, like, if I don’t acknowledge this is happening then it isn’t,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose, “which, I guess, is what got us both into this mess in the first place.”

Robin’s expression softened and you sighed. “I’m just…I feel embarrassed mostly. I didn’t mean to be so dramatic – I just…I was so overwhelmed and it felt like I was drowning. You were all staring at us and I couldn’t think – I couldn’t breathe.”

“Hey, give yourself some credit,” Robin said, “you needed space and time and you asked for it. Everyone needs to understand that boundary.”

“Except for you two,” you joked weakly.

Robin huffed, waving a hand in the air. “We don’t have boundaries-”

“-we should though-” Steve muttered.

“-once you’re tortured by Russians together, you’re bonded for life,” Robin continued, ignoring Steve’s scrunched expression.

They started to bicker good-naturedly and your mind drifted to Eddie. You felt horrible but it didn’t override your need to crawl under the covers and hide yourself from the world. The one question on your mind refused to be put to rest.

“How could I have been so blind?” You wondered, not realizing you’d said it out loud until Robin leaned some of her weight onto you.

Steve pulled himself closed to the edge so he could turn to look at you. His gaze was gentle, eyes on you. “I mean this genuinely with no judgement, but how could you not have noticed?”

You threw your hands out, Robin dodging your left one expertly. “I don’t know! I think I knew on some level and just ignored it? Its…scary, feelings this big for someone who’s your best friend. I’m so scared, I don’t want to lose him,” you admitted quietly. Steve sighed and you glanced at him. “When did you guys know?”

Steve frowned but Robin spoke first. “To be fair, I don’t think Eddie knew right away either. At least not that I could see and we’ve known each other for a while now too. I realized sophomore year,” she said. “You always had those damn starbursts around. I know your favorites are the red ones because Dustin tried to take one from your stash and you almost chewed his hand off.”

A pile of starbursts were tossed onto your kitchen counter now. “So?” You asked, confused at the connection.

“They’re Eddie’s favorites too and you always let him grab them. I don’t think he even knows you do that, to this day. Let’s not forget how any time either of you ever went on a date or, God forbid, had a relationship, the other was always in a constant mood.”

Before that could sink in, Steve stirred. “I realized when he’d come to visit you at Scoops. Remember when I’d smushed that sundae into you. We were waiting on Robin to come back, worried about the Russians and you’d insisted on staying to help us. You had finally decided I was worthy and we were laughing about something stupid Dustin had said.”

You knew what moment he was talking about – you’d forgotten to call Eddie and tell him you didn’t need a ride home anymore. He’d arrived, on time as always, and walked in on you and Steve wrestling over some spilled ice cream.

“I turned with your ice cream too fast and hit your chin. I was trying to clean it off but you’d taken a handful and shoved it down my uniform. Dustin was practically on the floor laughing and I was chasing you with the bowl. Eddie walked in and instantly hated me. I knew he thought I was flirting with you, which I wasn’t. It was something in the way he looked at me. He wasn’t mad that he thought I liked you, he was mad because he thought I wasn’t worth your time – you know? He wasn’t even jealous, just protective,” he said with a shrug. “With you, it took a while, I think. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same for some time. Not until I knew you better.”

“Oh,” you said, throat dry. “Did everyone know but me?”

Steve bumped your shoulder amicably. “Maybe. It’s obvious to everyone now but it’s because it’s like you’re two magnets. The second the other is in the vicinity, your gravitate together. It’s…natural, almost. Something you’d expect,” he nodded, blinking down at you. “Does that make sense?”

“No,” you said petulantly at the same time Robin nodded.

Rolling her eyes, she grasped your hands and squeezed them. It was reminiscent of that moment in the emergency room, her eyes wide but determined.

“What do you want to do about it?”

You shook your head. “Too big a question.”

Steve took over. “Okay…how do you feel? You can love him as your friend, or be in love with him as a person, but if you don’t want to risk that – it’s up to you. We can have our own opinions-”

“-that you two need to get your heads out of your asses-” Robin said, expression furrowing.

“-but,” he said, shooting her a look, “it’s your choice.”

Feeling like your chest would explode with it, you abruptly stood, needing the space to pace a hole in your carpet. Chewing on your nail, you flung another hand in the air and frowned. “Of course I love him, how could I not? He’s…he’s Eddie. He’s my Eddie. Sometimes, at night, before going to bed I think about it you know. I think about how we were too close to be just best friends. We did things that went far past platonic and it was addicting. I – fuck. I love him. I love him.”

Shoving Steve’s hand off her shoulder, Robin stood, her arms coming down to your shoulders and shaking you. “So, I ask again, what do you want to do about it?”

You started to shake your head but she shut it down. “No, enough with this. You’re the bravest of us all. What do you want to do about it?”

“Robin-”

She waved a hand in Steve’s direction, her blue eyes turning sharp. “Say it.”

The knot in your chest choked you as you swallowed nervously. You wrung your hands together but you knew. You didn’t feel unsettled and panicked because you didn’t want him – you felt off kilter because he wasn’t here. You’d run away when you really wanted to just be with him. You’d hurt the one person you never wanted to hurt.

“I want – I want to tell him. I need to tell him!” You said, spine straightening.

Robin smiled. “There she is.”

“Oh my God,” you said, hands coming up to your face. “I just ran away; he must be freaking out.”

Steve stood, grabbing a yellow starburst. “He was a little…freaked out.”

Guilt flooded you as Robin glared at him.

“Shit, I need to talk to him. Right now. Where’re my shoes? I need to go!” You ran around your living room, frantically looking for your converse.

How the fuck could you have just left him behind? Without telling him – without saying the words. Suddenly, you remembered.

“Fuck! He’s in Indianapolis,” you said, slumping into a nearby chair, “he won’t be back until Sunday night.”

Steve frowned, his hands inching towards a red starburst and you shot him a glare.

“I’m distressed but not dead, get your hands off the red ones,” you snapped.

Robin laughed, knowing glint in her eyes and she grabbed a set of keys from your front table. “You have a fucking car and Indianapolis is three hours away, not across the country. Get what you need and let’s go.”

.

“Get off, you’re squishing me!” Max hissed at Lucas.

“Where do you want me to go? It’s a small car!”

“Will you two shut up?” Dustin snapped.

Robin sighed from the passenger seat and you took the same left as Steve did ahead of you. “You know, I don’t know why you all thought it’d be fun to make this into a group road trip,” she sighed, “you really don’t know how to mind your business!”

You snorted at the hypocrisy of the situation and she shot you a look. Shutting up, you made sure to stay behind the maroon BMW.

“We can’t miss this,” Dustin stressed, “he’s been in love with her for the entire time I’ve known him. I can’t deal with all the pining anymore. I get to see this through!”

You glared at him through the mirror. “We are not a soap opera to entertain yourself with,” you snapped.

By the time you’d made it out to your car, the rest of the party had managed to bike to your apartment with their own nosy agendas. Once they’d found out you were going to drive down to Eddie’s gig, they climbed into your cars – not leaving room for arguing. Because God forbid any of you do something without the entire party knowing.

“You probably won’t even be let in, this is a twenty one or older bar. As in, where they serve alcohol.”

“So?”

Robin shifted around to glare at them. “As in, you’re all not twenty-one yet?”

“Robin, please, what do you take us for? Rookies?” Dustin asked, his brow quirking. “I’m basically Corroded Coffin’s manager-”

“-you’re really not,” you said, thinking of Charlie, Gareth’s cousin who handled all the gigs and scheduling.

“-and I’ve got passes to all their gigs, it’ll be easy.”

Sharing a look with Robin, she shrugged. “Whatever, don’t whine about it to me when you’ve got to stay in the car the whole time.”

Not twenty minutes later, you both rolled your eyes at Dustin’s smug look as the bouncer let them all through with bright green bands indicating they couldn’t be served alcohol.

“Shut up,” Robin hissed.

“What time is it?” You asked, grabbing Steve’s wrist. “Shit, they go on soon – I think I can still catch them backstage.”

“Go, go!” Robin urged, shoving you forward.

Shouldering your way through the crowd, you were astounded at how packed the bar was. Determined, you kept slipping through the restless horde of people. You’d gotten halfway through when a loud strum stopped you. The crowd came alive, cheering and screaming as Eddie sauntered on stage.

Your heart dropped at the sight of the bags under his eyes. “Hello Indianapolis! How are you all tonight?”

The crowd went wild and you were jostled forward, right towards the front. Eddie was a few feet away and you sighed. Of course.

The band went through with introducing themselves, like they always did before starting, and you resigned yourself to catching him after their set. You watched Eddie swing his guitar over his shoulder, adjusting the strap. You don’t know how, in the sheer amount of people in the crowd, but as his eyes swept across the front row – they zeroed in on you.

Surprised, you blinked up at him. His answering grin was so wide, it cracked your heart further. Your breath rushed right out your lungs. Frozen, you stared up at him, and wondered how you could have ever been so blind as to not notice the way your heart always leapt around him. It rattled around in your ribcage, like a police siren. Him, we want him, it shouted at you, grinning up at you when you tried to knock it back into place.

I know, I know we do, you told it.

Of course you loved him, it was Eddie. How could you ever have thought otherwise? You wanted his friendship, because that was the most important part, but you wanted more. You’d always wanted more and you weren’t going to let fear keep you from reaching for it.

Eyes not leaving yours, he grabbed the mic again. “So, I have someone important in the audience today – someone who means a lot to me. She hasn’t heard our newest cover yet but, it’s one of her favorite songs. I’ll admit, it’s never been one of mine but I changed it around a little for her and hope you all like it too.”

Raising your brows at the first few notes, you couldn’t keep your delirious laugh in when you heard him start singing.

“Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?

Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth.”

Eddie’s voice lowered as he rasped out the vowels, the drums transforming the song entirely.

You watched Eddie transform, he always put his entire being into the performance and you loved watching him relish in it. Bobbing your head to the song, you danced alongside the three girls to your left.

Catching his eyes towards the end, he grinned as he inhaled.

“In this world, we're just beginnin'

To understand the miracle of livin'

Baby, I was afraid before

But I'm not afraid anymore.”

A smile made it’s way onto your face as you shook your head and you knew he’d caught it by his laugh. Staying right in the middle, with the crowd’s energy pulsing around you, you sat through the entire set.

As Metallica rung through the speakers, you knew it was their closing song. Eddie nodded towards the side door and you started to make your way there.

The guard at the door stood at your approach but the door behind him opened in time for you to catch Charlie’s smile. “She’s good,” she told him, “whenever you see her around this summer, let her through. She’s with Munson.”

The burly guard smiled then. “Oh, you’re his girl? Don’t worry, I never forget a face.” He waved you through and you knew she could read the mild embarrassment in your eyes.

“Don’t worry, I won’t pry,” she said, elbowing you, “but I’m happy for you two. Anyone with eyes can tell you’re gone on each other.”

Right.

“I’ve got to help them pack but you’ve been to the green room in the back – he’ll come by when they’re done.”

Thanking her, you stumbled your way there – nerves finally taking over you. You should’ve thought about what to say – how to say it. God, why did you feel so awkward? You’d fought monsters from another dimension but you couldn’t tell your best friend that you loved him?

The door suddenly burst open and Eddie came in, guitar still in hand and hair stuck to his skin. “Hey you,” you said, standing from the velvet couch. “You were amazing.”

“Yeah?” Eddie said hopefully, putting the familiar guitar down and turning his full attention to you. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

“There was a full house, I – I’m so happy for you guys. Are you booked full for tomorrow night too?” You asked despite knowing the answer. You needed a moment, just a brief moment of normalcy before you flung yourself off the metaphorical cliff.

Eddie nodded, a ghost of a smile flashing across his face. He knew. He knew that you knew that he knew. Because of course he did. But he was letting you take this at your pace, because Eddie never did anything you didn’t want to. He always let you lead.

He opened his mouth, no doubt ready to let you distract yourself, but you were done with the pretenses.

“Fuck it,” you said, surging forward. A flash of surprise was the last thing you saw before you slammed Eddie into the wall and pressed your lips to his.

Finally! Your heart sang, finally, we’re home.

Eddie took a second but after a beat he met you just as fiercely. His grip was bruising on your waist, his other hand coming up to the back of your neck. Not giving him a chance to take the lead from you, you ran your fingers through his hair and pulled his head back. He moaned and the sound shot straight to your stomach. Butterflies in full force, you leaned back, out of breath and saw the dazed look in his eyes.

“Nova,” he begged, unseeing eyes darting around your face. “Nova.”

“I know,” you said, right before you dove back in and pressed open mouth kisses to his neck. And then, after all these years, you finally sunk your teeth into the meaty part of his neck. Right at the base of the skull tattoo. Eddie jerked, as if electrocuted, and shoved you back. Stumbling, you let him cradle your jaw, the other lowering you onto the couch.

Needing more, you whimpered and Eddie grinned. His knee pushed up between your legs and the pressure was amazing. Your hips stuttered, bumping into his and you both hissed. His teeth worried the sensitive skin of your neck and you whined as he lapped at the bruise he left.

“Eddie,” you gasped, “Eddie, please.”

His forehead came down to your shoulder, his chest heaving like he’d run a marathon, and you both just breathed the other in. At your nudging, he dropped his weight onto you and you jerked at the hardness you felt by your hip.

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding at all sorry. “The amount of adrenaline going through me right now-”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, hand drifting down his side but Eddie caught it. “I can help,” you offered. Jesus, you wanted to help if the pressure between your legs was any indication. Eddie’s face softened, his eyes drifting down your face and he groaned.

“I want that too but, maybe we should talk first? Before going past the no return point?”

You blinked. “Munson, I’m past the no return point,” you said, matter of fact. And it was true. There was no going back now.

His answering smile blinded you and you heart threatened to burst at the happiness you found there. “Yeah?” He asked, tone a little uneven.

You nodded, fingers trailing down his face. Eddie lifted himself off you, sitting on the couch and pulling you into his lap. “Yeah, me too.”

“When did you realize? And why didn’t you tell me?” You asked, ripping the band aid off.

“Because I was scared,” he admitted, “I...think I’ve always loved you. From that moment in the hallway when you chased away Tommy and his gang of assholes. You took one look at me and I think I was yours. I didn’t want to ruin what we had but there were times where I’d catch us in moments and I thought yeah, this could work. I wanted it so badly but I didn’t want to lose you. Then, years later, I realized you felt it too. I just, wanted you to get there on your own. I never wanted you to feel like you had no choice or no out. You’ll always have me, in any form you want me.”

Your heart melted. “You’re killing me,” you groaned, dropping your forehead to his shoulder.

Eddie laughed, his chest rumbling with it. “I’m sorry but, it’s the truth.”

“I know I’ve said it before but, I love you Eddie. How could I not?” You said, cradling his jaw in your hand.

Eddie pressed his lips to yours, eyes suspiciously red, and you decided to be mature enough and not tease him.

“Hey, you didn’t answer the first question. When did you really realize?”

“To be fair, it took me a while. Everyone knew I hated Mason,” he said and you thought back to your first boyfriend who’d moved to Texas your junior year, “which made the guys tease the shit out of me but I think I fully realized it for our senior prom. I was so bummed that you were going off to college and I was stuck in Hawkins. Then, you managed to blackmail Higgins into letting me go-”

“I didn’t blackmail him, I just asked,” you laughed.

“-I knew you knew I was upset and I could tell you wanted to cheer me up. But then you did that stupid promposal-”

“Hey!”

“And you had that big bouquet of daisies. And it hit me like a fucking truck, I’m not going to lie. That’s why – I don’t blame you. It was a lot,” he said, his fingers trailing down your cheek. “We’d been friends for years at that point. It was both shocking and stupidly obvious. How could I not have realized? It took you, standing in that meadow behind my old trailer, that massive glitter poster and those flowers. It was like…lightning. One moment I was totally oblivious and then the next, I just knew.”

“Is that why you never dated anyone after that? I thought you were hung up on Joan,” you said, thinking back on the girl he dated through high school.

He smiled, looking down at you. “No, I’ve always been yours. You’re branded on my soul, Supernova. From that first moment in that old gross hallway.”

“How did you know that I felt the same? I didn’t even know.”

Your heart sung, breath completely stolen at the look he gave you. “I mean, I didn’t know-” You leaned back to shoot him a look and he snorted. “There wasn’t an exact moment! After you went to Indie State and we’d hang out there were just small moments, I promise. Like, how you’d wait up for my call when I got home after visiting you. Or, how you stayed up all night to help me study for my finals – like two years in a row. Or that time that I caught the flu and you hit every pharmacy in Indiana getting me what I needed. Or the way Wayne just downright loves you – there’s no competition. You’re his favorite.”

“Because I bring him baked goods,” you said, laughing.

Eddie smiled. “Yeah, but he’s always loved you because you care. You just – you do all these little things and I didn’t notice until I did. I don’t know.”

You mulled that over and realized he was right. The way Eddie would steer you away from sharp corners, or always made sure you walked on the opposite side of the curb. How he always knew your order or how you liked you take your coffee. You flashed back to his broken body and how you’d snapped and lost it. How he’d only thought of making sure you were okay when he woke up.

In hindsight, you realized, he was right. It wasn’t one big moment. It was a lot of little ones.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get there,” you whispered, thumb tracing his bottom lip, “I’m sorry for leaving you at the Wheeler’s house. I should’ve been braver.”

“You are brave,” he whispered back, “I knew you just needed time. Besides, I was going to give you a week before I hunted you down.”

Laughing, you wrapped your arm around his shoulder, the other played with his necklace. “Yeah?” You felt suddenly shy.

“Yeah. Even if I was wrong and you didn’t feel the same way,” he shrugged, “I wasn’t scared enough to let you go. Romantic or platonic, Nova, we’re for life. Between Vecna and surviving ninth grade gym class together, we’re practically trauma bonded at this point.”

You laughed realizing you’d already had a lifetime of experiences with him. Eyes trailing down his content expression, you kissed the corner of his mouth. But a lifetime wasn’t enough. You wanted more. And you’d have more – you had all the time in the world.

“Yeah, Munson, we’re for life,” you agreed and leaned back down to kiss him.

Because hey, even he was right sometimes.

A/N: thank you all so much for the comments on my other fic, you cannot imagine what it means to me! This is the cover I was thinking of if anyone's interested.

[hollisxwrites]

Hi, can I please make a request? Reader (you can choose the godly parent) gets super protective of Percy after he gets in a physical fight with Clarisse.

fight for you

percy jackson x fem! child of apollo reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: cannon typical violence, mention of a concussion, clarisse is kind of a bitch in this one! sorry, i love her, but it had to be done. overall, super fluffy though.

summary: percy gets in a fight with clarisse because he was insulting him, and worst of all, his girlfriend. when the fight gets harsh, his girlfriend steps in, and then takes care of him after the fight.

authors note: y'all, thank you so much for all the love on my most recent posts! i have reached over 1.5k likes and 55 followers! i only started this blog two weeks ago, so thank you! i have been blown away by all the kindness. i am also working through all of my request, so don't worry, i'll get to all of them very soon! xoxo - hollis.

A horrific smack was heard all around the Camp when suddenly, my boyfriend, the brave (and idiotic) Percy Jackson, sent his practice javelin hurling at one of the camp's best fighters, Clarisse La Rue. Percy was already agitated, I could tell. Clarisse had been taunting him all day long, telling him that he would never be as good of a fighter as her, and telling her that his dad would never support him the way Ares supported her. I kept telling Percy to stand down, to not let her words affect him, but they did. Every word was like a knife to his side, making his insecurities run rampage on his mind. So, when the javelin left his hand, I hate to say it, but I wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Clarisse got what was coming for her, honestly.  

Clarisse had started to insult me, and that’s when I knew it was over for her. Percy’s demeanor shifted from almost joking to serious in an instant. He always said that it was okay to insult him, but the second it came to me, he wouldn’t go down without a fight, which I guess was sweet, but it also put him at risk almost all the time. 

“Percy! Stand down, please!” I yelled at him from across the training field. “If you get hurt, I’m going to kill you.” 

Percy’s eyes burned with a fiery passion as he turned around to look at me. “I’m defending you, sunshine. I can handle myself.” 

I sighed and rubbed my hands on my temples. This boy would be the death of me. “Please be careful.” I whispered, more to myself than to him. 

I told myself I wouldn’t get involved, I told myself that I wouldn’t let myself fight his battles, but when Clarisse dropped her weapon and started to fight with her fist, I couldn’t let it slide anymore. I ran up and pushed Percy behind me, and right hooked Clarisse right in the jaw.  She stumbled back, gripping her jaw and scoffed. “Percy is so weak that you must fight his battles? That’s hilarious.” 

Percy moved to my side, his nose already bleeding and his left eye going to be black in the morning, but he was not going to let me get myself hurt for him. “No, he’s not, but I can’t let you insult him like that. Percy is brave, strong, and a better person than you but tenfold. He is everything you are not.” 

Her eyes twitched and she threw another punch not at me, but at Percy. I pushed her off him, and using my hand-to-hand combat skills, threw her to the ground. I laid one more good punch on her before Chiron and a couple of my siblings from Apollo came running at us.  

“Stop fighting!” Chiron yelled. “You all have dishes duties for a month! Miss.{reader}, please take Percy to the medics, and Clarisse, come to my office, immediately.”  

I nodded at Chiron, upset about the dishes duty, but happy I got to be the one to take care of Percy. I helped him up from his place on the ground. When Clarisse had hit him the last time, he had fallen to the floor hard on his back, possibly hitting his head. Usually, I did not get this involved in his fights, but I couldn’t stand to see him hurting for my sake. I let him drape his arms around my shoulder, as the last punch sent him on his back, and we slowly made our way to my cabin. There was no way that I was going to let some of my siblings take care of my boy, that was my job. Anger still coursed through my veins as I watched Percy’s eyebrows pinch in pain with each step. His head was probably pounding, and he defiantly had a couple of bruised ribs from the fall he took.  

When we reached my cabin, I helped him lay down on my bed that was oh-so familiar with. “Stay right here, I’m going to grab you some pain killers and an ice pack. Do not move.”  

“Yes ma’am.” He said, his sassiness still peeking through his voice despite him being injured.  

I ran as quickly as I could to the medical building and grabbed what I needed to heal my boy, and then ran back. I was gone for less than five minutes, but when I returned, Percy was already half asleep, head nestled into my pillows. “Hey, Perc, can you sit up a little for me?” I asked him, voice as soft as I could make it.  

He shuffled to sit up and smiled a sideways, semi-loopy smile at me. “What do you think is wrong, doc?” He said, voice a little horse. I was scared he might have had a concussion because of the way he was acting. 

“Let me ask you a couple of questions, then I’ll know. Is your mind foggy? Are you dizzy or nauseous?” I asked him. 

“Dizzy? Yes. Foggy mind? No. Nauseous...” He paused. “I don’t want to think about it.”  

I took that as yes for nauseous, thus confirming my thought that he had a concussion. “Okay, so I think you had a mild concussion, because you never blacked out, but you were awfully close. So, I’ll put an ice pack on your head, give you some pain killers, and you and I can just rest for the rest of the day, okay?” 

He tried his best to nod. “Okay, as long as you stay with me?”  

“Of course I’ll stay. There is no way I would leave you like this, especially because it was my fault that you are in this state.” I sighed and looked into his beautiful eyes. One of them was bruised a little bit, and so I placed a kiss to it, which is one of my healing gifts my father gave me. I can quite literally kiss it better. My lips lingered on his eye, and then I went to the other one, this his forehead, then his neck, his jaw, and finally, his ribs through his battered orange Camp shirt. His eyes closed and he hummed in appreciation.  

“I love you; you know that right? That’s why I fought for you.” He said, tone muddled with exhaustion.    

“I love you too, that’s why I fought for you.” I paused and my hands, finding his hair. “I didn’t do it because I thought you were weak or not good enough, I did it because I love you, and I don’t want anyone to hurt you, ever.”    

His eyes met mine, and they were filled with genuine love and adoration. “You’re perfect. I’m telling you. How did I deserve you?” 

I continued to clean him off, pulling his dirty shirt off him and wiping down any cuts or bruises with something my siblings and I developed. “How did I deserve you, the perfect, most handsome boy in the entire world?”  

He laughed and shook his head. “I love you.” 

“I love you, more than you’ll ever know.” I said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lips. 

He beckoned me to lay in bed with him after I finished cleaning him up. He pulled me with his dwindling strength, and then shifted so he was laying on my lap. I continued to play with his hair, and he soon drifted off to sleep. My boy may be one of the bravest campers, but he will always be nothing but sweet to me.        

[daechwitatamic]

All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t || MYG

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t

WC: 11k

Genre: exes to lovers, the babiest angst straight to fluffy smut (they’ve got shit to work out, but they get there!!)

Summary: You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?

Rating: NSFW - minors DNI

Warnings: manbun!yoongi YES THAT IS A WARNING, drinking, language, kissing, breast play/nip stim, fingering, unprotected sex with bc (be safer than this!!!), multiple orgasms (f), penetrative sex, soft idiots in love 

A/N: Merry Christmas, Kelly!!!! @here4btsfics I was soooooo excited to pull your name for @bangtansecretsanta because it gave me such a good opportunity to get to know you better and start talking to you! I really, really hope you love this little Christmas fic! 

I know you said no angst so just a lil disclaimer, a synopsis I messaged my beta was "it hurts for a hot minute but then they kiss about it and everyone is fine" so I think you'll be okay!!!

Huge thank you to @kookstempo @moonleeai and @cherrysoulth for beta-ing and to @itaeewon for the gorgeous banner!

“Anything new with you? How’s work?”

You plaster on what you hope is a friendly smile and not a sarcastic one. Seokjin’s girlfriend is super nice, you remember her from a party over the summer, but you do not want to talk about work right now. You want to drown yourself in another cinnamon toast crunch cocktail and double-fist those iced, reindeer-shaped brown-sugar cookies. 

You admit to being a little bit on edge. 

You’ve attended Taehyung’s annual Christmas party every year since you left for college. It’s tradition, and it’s one of the only times each year that the whole group is back together again after you all went your separate ways in the world. 

Except, for the last five years, Yoongi hadn’t attended. You never thought too much about why - too busy, other plans, just the fact that he’s an absolute Grinch… or maybe it’s your presence that keeps him away. You didn’t waste too much time thinking about it. You’re just always happy he isn’t there.

Until this year.

No one even had the decency to shoot you a warning text. Hey, heads up, your ex is here, very unexpectedly.

You knock back the rest of your drink and head to make yourself a new one.

You normally attach yourself to Jimin at these, but he’s betrayed you this year by bringing an absolutely gorgeous date. They’re currently hogging the doorway with mistletoe above it. You make a mental note to remind him tomorrow that the PDA thing stops being cute after a while.

“Work’s good,” you say, finally answering the question. “Nothing new. How about you and Jin? All good?”

“Nothing new to report!” she grins. Then, the smile slips off her face a little as she glances at her phone. She notices you watching and grimaces. “Sorry,” she says, “I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just keeping an eye on the radar. The storm tonight is supposed to get nasty.”

“Hey! What’s the rule tonight?” a voice bellows from the living room. It’s Taehyung, perched against the back of one of his couches, and he points an accusatory finger at the girl you’re talking to.

She must know something you don’t, because while you’re baffled, she looks chagrined. “Don’t talk about the blizzard,” she recites by rote. 

“Don’t talk about the blizzard,” he repeats. “Have another drink. It’s Christmas Eve, we welcome the snow.”

“You’re the only person I know who’s optimistic enough to try to throw a party on a night they’re calling for the storm of the century,” Seokjin tells him, making his way into the kitchen - probably to protect his girlfriend from Taehyung’s scoldings. 

“They say that every time,” Taehyung scoffs, waving a hand. Then he’s up and moving, heading towards the dining room, where a spread of food is laid out. 

There must be more people in there, you think, because the kitchen and the living room are definitely looking a little less crowded than they were an hour ago. Yoongi and Hoseok are on the couch, glasses in hand, talking quietly. The tv, mounted high on the wall, plays a classic Christmas film in black and white. You stop before the balcony doors, peering out into the night. The lamps that line the parking lot glow orange, and you can see in the lamplight that snow is falling steadily, and it’s starting to accumulate a little on the pavement below. 

Jimin comes up beside you. His date’s lipstick is still smudged in the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a hot mess,” you tell him affectionately. 

“I think we’re gonna head out,” he tells you, ignoring the jab.

You shake your head, your earrings glittering in your reflection in the glass. “It’s not even nine,” you point out.

“The roads are going to get slick,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “You should think about getting an Uber before too long, too.”

“You’re going to break Taehyung’s heart,” you inform him. “I think he’s starting to catch on that people are leaving.”

“He should have rescheduled the party!” Jimin says hotly; he and Taehyung had argued about this passionately all week, ever since the forecast picked up on the storm coming through. “We could have done this yesterday, no blizzard, everyone would have stayed all night!”

Jimin’s date slinks over and presses her hand to his upper back. “Ready?” she asks, voice like silk. 

“Bye,” you tell him sulkily. In the reflection, you watch him pause to tell Yoongi and Hoseok goodbye. They each stand, reaching in one at a time to give him a quick one-armed hug goodbye. 

You keep watching the reflection in the glass as Hoseok takes advantage of already being up and heads for the dining room.

You knew it would happen at some point tonight - you’re alone in the living room with Yoongi. You’d just hoped it would happen after you were a lot drunker. 

He meanders over. You glance at the drink in his hand - whiskey, neat. You could have guessed that on a gameshow and earned some money. 

He’s dressed in all black - down to the chelsea boots. His hair is half-up in a bun that sits just behind the crown of his head. The rest brushes the tops of his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. 

He’d never had long hair like this before. It’s a crime how fucking good it looks. 

Your gameplan tonight has been simple: avoid, avoid, avoid. But Yoongi stands close enough to reach out and touch you, sips at his whiskey, and murmurs, “It’s been a while.”

Five years. But who’s counting? 

“It has,” you allow. You hate confrontation, you don’t want this to be a thing. You’re determined to be polite, play nice, and hopefully get out of here unscathed. “How have you been? Are you enjoying yourself?” 

He wiggles his head. “Eh. You know I’m not into all that holly, jolly shit.”

“It’s a Christmas party,” you point out flatly. “Holly, jolly is kind of the point.”

He shrugs. “The point for me is just to see the guys, catch up with everyone. It’s been a long time since we were all together.”

He means we the guys, not we you and him. But your heart still speeds up at the word, the traitor.

You nod, turning away from him to look outside again. But your eyes stay on his reflection, both of you standing with your backs to the party. He looks down at his drink, swirls the amber liquid around the bottom of the glass.

“You always did hate the holidays,” you observe absently. 

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, so gently that it shocks you into turning to look at him.

“Do what?”

“Rehash everything,” he says with a shrug. “Talk about everything we remember. Talk at all.”

“If you don’t want to talk to me, then don’t,” you snap, suddenly defensive and heated. “You came over here, not the other way around.” So much for polite and non-confrontational. But damn, he has some audacity.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, a little quickly, holding up his one empty hand like he’s surrendering. “I just meant… don’t feel like you have to, if you don’t want to. Don’t do it for my sake.”

Your temper settles, but you still feel a little… disgruntled, unsettled. “If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t be,” you grumble. 

He smiles at this. “That’s right. You never do anything you don’t want to do.”

Maybe that used to be the case. 

The liquor takes over your mouth. “I didn’t want to break up,” you say pointedly, “so I guess that’s not true.”

He huffs out a single laugh, shaking his head at your audacity. “You always just say shit,” he murmurs. “To hell with the consequences.”

“What consequences?” you demand, turning to face him fully. “Are you going to dump me more? I fail to see how I could make things worse for us after five years of not speaking.”

He licks his lips, eyes on his glass again. That was the thing about you and Yoongi - he’s right, you did just say shit. And he always just handled it. He always heard you, processed it, and dealt with it productively. He never took the bait and got mad back, never yelled - even when you’d wished he’d yell. 

“It’s because,” he’d told you, sometime around seven years ago, when you were together, “when you say absolutely wild shit like that, you always mean something else. And I just happen to be very good at translating you.”

Now, he meets your eyes again, having processed. Having translated. “What I’m hearing you say,” he says slowly, “is that you’re still mad at me.”

That’s all it takes to take the wind out of your sails - that’s always how it worked with you and Yoongi. You blustered and got worked up, and he defused you easily - just by meeting your gaze, just by assuring you that you were heard. 

“I think I’m mad at our circumstances,” you correct quietly. “And I think I’ve had too many of these.” You eye the cocktail in your hand with narrowed, accusatory eyes.

He gives you the barest sliver of a smile. “Don’t blame the drinks,” he says, shaking his head. “You never could lie to me - it has nothing to do with alcohol.”

He’s right. For all your faults, for all the negatives you can take credit for, you always told him the truth.

Namjoon appears in the living room, a beer in hand, still in the bottle. 

“I’m trying to decide which one of you needs to be rescued from the other,” he admits, looking between you, “and I honestly can’t tell.”

“Rescue him from me,” you say. “He’s been nice and I’ve been prickly.” 

“You?” Namjoon says in mock surprise. “Prickly? No way.”

You flip him off, smiling. 

Seokjin comes up behind Namjoon, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think we’re going,” he says, looking past you to the snow outside. “I don’t want to drive once the roads are slick.”

Namjoon sighs, following his gaze. “I was having fun,” he says sadly. “But I’m probably not too far behind you.”

“Nooo,” Taehyung whines from the dining room. “Everyone stop leaving! It’s just a little snow!”

Seokjin’s girlfriend finds him, joining your little circle, her phone still in her hand. “We’re supposed to have almost three inches by midnight,” she says in a whisper, clearly not wanting Taehyung to come after her. “We need to get moving.”

When Seokjin and his girlfriend leave, you float back towards the dining room. Namjoon and Yoongi stay behind, talking quietly. Probably, Namjoon is checking to make sure you weren’t too mean to him. Which… that’s fair. 

The truth is, you aren’t mad at Yoongi. How could you be? When he ended things, he hadn’t been cruel, or unfair. His decision had been made logically. You understood exactly why he felt he needed to do it.

That’s where the hurt came from, you figured. You were always led by your emotions - quick to anger, but quick to laugh. Yoongi was always more even-tempered, logical. While you were packing up your life to move away from home for university, he’d laid out the reasons you shouldn’t stay together like they were a grocery list. 

Like it didn’t hurt him at all. 

None of his reasons were wrong. But would it have killed him to act like he cared? You’d been together three years - and you felt like they should count more, since they were such formative ones. Like dog years - each one should have counted for seven. It had broken your heart to let him walk away - shouldn’t he have felt something, too?

You’d dated plenty in college, a few of those relationships getting serious enough to last a few months. But at the end of the day, nobody compared to your first love. How could they? How could anyone? 

No one understood you like Yoongi. No one could translate you like Yoongi. No one knew - or learned - how to settle you down like Yoongi. No one had that mental encyclopedia of useless knowledge like Yoongi. No one else had that perfect blend of dry and earnest like Yoongi. No one else fit to your body like a puzzle piece like Yoongi. 

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now. Yoongi had left, Yoongi had taken the decision right out of your hands and walked away with it. You weren’t mad at him, but you definitely resented that.

You’d had years to get over it, to forgive him, to come to terms with the fact that he was right about every single thing. But forgiveness and understanding are one thing. Letting go - of him, of loving him - is something else entirely, and you’re starting to think that even a lifetime of years won’t be enough for that.

That’s enough of that, you think, giving yourself a rough mental shake. You set down your drink glass and head for the bathroom, but it’s occupied. You lean against the wall outside, counting your breaths, trying to get yourself back into that holly, jolly headspace. 

The door opens and Jungkook emerges, singing under his breath, “Pah-rum-pum-pum-pum!”

“Hi, JayKay,” you say, moving to slide past him into the bathroom.

“Oh, hey!” he says brightly. “I was just about to leave. You have a way to get home, right? It’s getting worse out there.”

“I was just going to Uber,” you tell him.

“Better do it soon,” he warns. “Soon the drivers aren’t going to want to be on the roads.”

“Good point,” you say, and wave a quick goodbye before shutting the bathroom door. You give yourself a stern look in the mirror.

Get it together, please, you think firmly. Seeing your ex - this ex, too, not just a casual one - for the first time in five years earns you a little wallowing, you think, and you fully intend to. At home. Later. Not here, in front of everyone. 

Not here, in front of him. 

Back in the kitchen, the party has really dwindled down to the last few people. Outside, snow falls as steadily as Taehyung’s guest list. 

The peer pressure gets to you, and you pull out your phone and open a ride-share app. It takes a while before a driver connects, but you’re persistent. Once you have a driver, you watch the little image of their car start to head in your direction on the map.

From the dining room, you hear Yoongi make a tch of frustration. “No one is picking up for me,” he grumbles, seemingly to himself. 

“Good,” Taehyung says seriously. “Don’t leave me.”

You go find your coat, slipping your arms into the sleeves and doing up each button. When you return to the dining room, Yoongi and Taehyung are the only ones left. Taehyung is fully, blatantly, sulking, his arms crossed on the table and his chin resting dejectedly atop them.

“Better luck next time, bud,” you tell him kindly. 

Yoongi is still squinting at his phone screen, frowning.

You feel a twinge of concern, of the need to make it better for him the way you used to on a regular basis. “Still nothing?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t even see anyone on the map.”

You check your phone again - your car is just up the road. “I have one,” you tell him. “Join mine - we’ll just request the extra stop.”

Yoongi meets your eyes, holds your gaze for a minute. Then, he says, so seriously, “Are you sure?”

You know he means it. You know if you give any indication that you don’t want him in a car with you, he won’t push it. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Of course. I’m not going to leave you stranded here.”

“Why not?” Taehyung whines, kicking his feet a little in protest. 

“My car’s just here though,” you warn, eyes on your screen, both of you absolutely ignoring the host of the party. 

“I’ll grab my coat,” Yoongi says, and heads for the hallway.

“Sorry, Taehyung,” you say sympathetically. “I know you’re sad.”

He refuses to look at you. 

After giving over-the-top goodbye hugs to try and un-sulk the whiny baby, you and Yoongi head down the stairs and outside. You don’t look behind you to check that Yoongi is following. The car idles by the curb, and you double-check the license plate against the app. 

In the backseat of the car, you slide over to make room for Yoongi. As soon as he closes his door and the car lurches into motion, the vibe changes. You sit stiffly, ramrod straight, eyes on the windshield. Yoongi’s not sitting quite as straight as you, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, like he’s holding himself carefully so he doesn’t touch you by accident with the car’s inertia. 

You had put in your parent’s address when you requested the ride, since that’s where you’re staying until New Years’ Day. You and Yoongi sit in blasting, blaring silence as the car crosses the middle of the town you’d both grown up in, that you’d run around in together as teenagers in love. But, past town, towards the quiet neighborhood where your parents’ house is, the car slows to a stop.

“I can’t go through this way, Miss,” your driver says, peering at you through the rearview mirror. “There’s a powerline down up there.”

“Oh shit,” you say, which is probably not very polite of you. You lean forward to look at the same time Yoongi does, your shoulders bumping. You both recoil quickly. 

“I think you can get to the development from the other side,” you muse, “but we’d have to backtrack and go around the lake on the other side…”

“Let’s just go to my place,” Yoongi interjects. “The roads are getting worse, and it’s close.”

You frown. Yoongi’s parents’ house - which you’d been to plenty of times as a younger person - is on the other side of town. Not close by your standards, but you aren’t here to argue.

Or maybe you are.

“I don’t know, Yoongi,” you say, uncertainty creeping into your voice. “How will I get home from there?”

“You might have to stay,” he admits, leaning down to better look at the road through the front windshield. The driver sits, watching you debate, waiting for a directive. 

You give Yoongi a silent look like, okay, and so you see my problem?

He scoffs at you. “It’s fine. We can handle one night.”

You want to ask, how sure are you about that? Instead, you start to tell the driver Yoongi’s parents’ address. 

“Wait,” Yoongi says, putting a hand gently on your arm to stop you. You both freeze, looking at the point of contact. Yoongi shakes himself out of it first, and tells the driver a different address. 

The car shifts back into drive and you look at Yoongi quizzically.

“Did your family move?” you ask finally.

Here’s the thing. You know Yoongi, you get Yoongi; five years apart hasn’t changed that at all. So when he licks his lips, shifts his gaze to his feet, and starts rubbing the back of his neck, you know it’s guilt.

“Yoongi?” you prod, suspicious.

He mumbles something, still not looking at you.

“What?” you snap. “You what?”

“I sort of moved back last month…” he repeats to the floor. 

“You live here?” you repeat, dumbfounded. “You live in town again?”

“Currently, yeah,” he says, and there’s something in that currently that you’d really like to examine, but you’re still fucking floored. 

Yoongi had gone to university in the city - hours away. The distance thing was reasons one through four of his Why We Need to Break Up list. It had made sense, logistically. It made sense when you went abroad for university, and he stayed here. It made sense when you returned and got an internship and then a full-time job in a different city, hours in the opposite direction. It made sense when you managed to go five entire years without being in the same place.

But now he was here. Reasons one through four, moot. 

Reasons five to whatever largely revolved around being young and needing to experience the world and figure out what you want in life, that kind of shit. Now it’s five years later and you’ve both experienced plenty of bullshit.

Reasons five through whatever, moot. 

You wonder, wordlessly, heart pounding again, if Yoongi knows or cares that every reason he gave you to validate walking away no longer applies. 

“You live here,” you repeat. You’re stuck on it, you can’t move on. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah,” he says guiltily. “I know you didn’t. I… was honestly fighting with myself about if I should reach out or not. I guess I ultimately decided not… since you’re in the city, and you have your whole life and everything…”

What life? You wonder. 

The car pulls into a small, understated neighborhood. You’ve been here before; your chemistry partner from tenth grade lived in this development, you’d come to do homework more than once.

It’s always so weird to come back to this town, where everywhere you go has memories, secondary definitions. It’s not just a library, it’s the library where Yoongi had kissed you for the first time. It’s not just a park, it’s the park where you’d had your first fight, where you’d screamed at him in front of God and the ducks and all the moms pushing strollers. It’s not just a diner, it’s the diner where Yoongi had told you that it made no sense to try and stay together from different time zones. 

Everything came back to him. It always had. It always does. In a lot of ways, you felt like you were fated to be tied to him this way - and you usually didn’t believe in shit like that. 

You always break your own rules for him.

The place is small, and not very Yoongi-ish, but you keep your thoughts to yourself as Yoongi slides out of the car and waits for you. 

“Get home safe,” you tell the driver before closing the door. Yoongi’s got his house keys in his hand, and he leads you up the walkway. It’s slick, and you try to step only in the footprints he leaves in the inch of snow coating the ground.

Inside, the light over the sink illuminates a small, mostly empty kitchen. That’s not very Yoongi-ish either, you think. You remember him cooking all the time - appliances everywhere, cutting boards hanging, pots and pans stored on hooks. 

He passes the kitchen and enters what looks like the living room, reaching to click on a few dim lamps. They cast a yellow glow to the room.

You set down your purse and fold your coat up on top of it. Yoongi waits for you in the living room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the window, watching the snow. His jawline from the side nearly takes your breath away. He’s so damn beautiful it makes you sick.

And he’s back, Yoongi is back. 

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, finally looking at you.

“Whatever you’re having would be great,” you tell him. You settle gingerly on one end of the couch as he busies himself in the kitchen. You shoot your parents a quick text that the roads were too bad and you weren’t going to make it back to their place so they wouldn’t worry. 

Yoongi returns with two glasses of red wine. He hands you one wordlessly and sits opposite you on the couch.

“So,” you say. The awkward, hyper-polite vibe from the car is back. Like you’re strangers. Like you didn’t know each other inside and out, once. “You’ve been here a month?”

“Just shy of it,” Yoongi corrects politely. “I signed a two month lease, so… I’ve got a few weeks to figure out my next move.”

“You don’t think you’ll stay?” you ask, then sip at the wine. It’s good - of course it’s good, he’s got great taste. You love and hate that about him.

He shrugs, drinks from his own glass. “Doubt it.”

He doesn’t give you any more information than that - why he’s back, what’s next for him, why he’s here for such a short time. 

You don’t press it. He’ll tell you if he wants to. 

Instead, you both drink in silence. Outside, the snow seems to redouble its efforts, the wind picking up until it seems to be snowing sideways for minutes at a time before calming into a normal downward fall again. 

“I think we made the right choice,” Yoongi murmurs, and it takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the weather and Taehyung’s party, not about your past. 

“Mhm,” you nod, as you come back into the present. That’s a problem you have - you’re always looking back. “Imagine if we were just leaving now? What a mess. Thanks for taking me in, I guess.”

“You guess,” he repeats, rolling his eyes, but there’s no ire in it. 

You drink in silence a little longer, and then Yoongi rises with a sigh. “I’ll go put clean sheets on the bed,” he says, sort of absently, like he’s both talking to you and also just thinking out loud. “And then I’ll show you how to work the tv in there if you –”

“I’m not sleeping in your bed, Yoongi,” you tell him flatly. 

He balks. “I didn’t mean with me, I meant by yourself!”

“No, I know that,” you reassure him. “But I’m not letting you sleep on your own couch because of me. I’ll sleep out here. It��s fine.”

“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head vehemently. That long hair swishes. “You’re a guest. I’m not putting you on the couch.”

“Yoongi,” you say sternly. “If I know you’re out here on the couch and I’m in there with your whole friggin bed, I will simply not sleep because I will feel too guilty about it! And I would like to sleep. So, please, put your chivalry and hospitality aside, and let me sleep. Out here.”

He considers this, because he knows you, and he knows you’re telling the truth. “Fine,” he concedes, and disappears into what must be his bedroom. 

When he returns, he’s carrying a stack of what looks like linens. He sets down the pile and you spy blankets and pillows. He pushes the pillows aside gently and picks up something else, turning to hold it out to you, an offering. 

It’s gym shorts and a large tshirt, and you reach to take them without thinking. Once they’re in your hand, they feel suddenly heavy with meaning. You used to wear his clothes all the time - you might have one or two of his hoodies in the back of your closet at home because you love them and don’t want to get rid of them, even though you feel too weird to actually wear them. You’re not sure how you feel about wearing his clothes again, now that it means nothing. The alternatives are pretty undesirable, though, so you’ll have to grin and bear it.

“There’s a half-bath on the other side, through the kitchen,” he says, nodding towards the bathroom in question. “So you don’t have to feel weird walking through my room to the full bath if you don’t want to. Though... do you need to shower? I can get you towels and stuff –”

“Maybe in the morning?” you say, eyeing the clock on the wall. “Just… could I borrow face-soap? And toothpaste?”

You’ll have to make do without your make-up remover and an actual toothbrush. Finger-brushing it is. 

When you emerge from the bathroom, teeth freshly finger-brushed, wearing Yoongi’s clothes, he’s standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the wine glasses you’d used.

You brush past him silently, and start setting up the couch how you want it. You hear the sink turn off, the click of the lightswitch as he shuts off the lights behind him. He comes back through the room and pauses in his doorway.

“Do you need anything?” he asks. 

“No,” you say, feeling small in his baggy shirt, feeling small in the face of all the feelings you’re swimming in right now. “I’m all good.”

He looks at you for a long minute, searching. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Sleep well.”

He turns into his room, and you watch his skinny wrist turn as he reaches to shut the door.

“Yoongi,” you say, the word out of your mouth before you really know what will follow it. He pauses, peeks his head back into view, raises an eyebrow at you. “Thanks,” you say, meekly.

He nods, silent, then reaches to close his door, gently and effectively shutting you out.

You get comfortable on the couch, bunching the blanket up around your head how you like it. It takes almost no time at all to fall asleep, and when you do, you don’t dream.

You’re awakened sometime later by a noise, and you sit up, your brain scrambling to catch up to the present and figure out where you are.

A couch, it processes. It comes back to you a little at a time. Yoongi’s couch. Yoongi’s house. Yoongi’s house in town.

The noise that woke you must have been his bedroom door opening, because as you slowly get your bearings, you become aware of him staring at you from his doorway. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says apologetically, then moves across the room towards the kitchen. “I just needed water.” Then, from the kitchen, as an afterthought, he asks, “Do you want one?”

“Please,” you say immediately, mentally cataloging all the effects of dehydration you can feel. Cottony mouth, ringing ears, the tingling beginnings of a headache…

He returns to the living room and stops near the couch. You stretch to turn on one of the dim lamps, casting a quiet yellow on the room. He stands there in too-big pajamas and holds out a water bottle silently. 

It’s definitely still the middle of the night. You can’t have slept more than a few hours. Everything feels different, somehow. It was so awkward before; you’d felt the need to be cautious and hyper-polite. Now everything feels blurred, fuzzy with sleep, softer. You’re sitting up, the blanket you’d been sleeping under still over your lap. You reach over and lift the other side, holding it up like a question.

Yoongi pads over and sits on the far side of the couch, but he curls his legs up and slips his bare feet under the blanket. You let it fall, covering him from the shin down.

He taps on his phone and grimaces at the time. “Hey,” he says, a little wry, “Merry Christmas.”

You smile. “Merry Christmas, Yoongi.”

He taps at his screen again and a speaker near his tv comes to life, playing what has to be a Coffee Shop Christmas playlist, pre-curated. You lean your head against the back of the couch, listening to the strum of acoustic guitar and the gentle snare of a drum meander through a mellow, lethargic version of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.

“Christmas music, huh?” you tease, eyes closed. “That’s very holly, jolly of you.”

“I don’t hate Christmas,” he protests. “I’m not, like, a Grinch. It’s just… another day. So is tomorrow. Why all the fuss?”

You bump his foot with your knee beneath the blanket. “Scrooge.”

Ignoring your teasing, he looks sideways at you, something baleful on his face. “Y/N? I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

You’re surprised into silence, looking back at him across the couch. “What? What for?”

He grimaces, like the answer is too big, like he’s got an annotated list of every fault he’s mentally cataloged. “For all of it, I guess.”

You’re not letting him off the hook; this is too important to skirt around. “What are you sorry for, Yoongi?” you ask seriously.

He laughs once, quietly, incredulously, like he can’t believe you. “You really want to go there?”

“You know I do.”

He thinks before he speaks - one of your favorite things about him. “Because for the last five years, I hated myself for leaving you behind. And I wondered every day if you hated me for it, too.”

You sit in silence, feeling frozen. Yoongi lets you - Yoongi waits. Is he admitting regret? Does that mean he’d do it differently, given the chance?

Because here you are - being given the chance, in a way.

“I was never mad at you for going,” you tell him, because you know he needs to know. Yoongi doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, which means he really did wonder if you hated him. You don’t owe him much, but you figure you owe him this truth. Then you admit, “But I was mad at myself for… letting you. Did you… I mean, should I have argued? When you left?”

You’d always wondered. What would have happened if you’d fought just a little harder for him to stay?

He scoots a little closer, tugging the blanket closer to his knees, thinking about your question. “I think part of me had hoped you would… but it wouldn’t have changed my mind,” he tells you honestly.  “Just would’ve made it hurt more. The way things happened, I could lie and tell myself you were fine with letting me go.”

You exhale on a note of indignation. “Fine? That was you. You were so… okay with walking away.”

He shakes his head. He must have taken the bun out when he went to bed, and his hair swishes around his shoulders, loose and beautiful. “I wasn’t okay. I didn’t go a single day and not wonder… how you were. I didn’t go a single day sure that I made the right choice.”

You feel, weirdly, kind of pissed. “What am I supposed to do with that, Yoongi? Seriously?”

He opens his mouth to answer this rhetorical question, but you don’t let him. The words pour out of you, unleashed after five years of being held back.

“This is just… unfair. Because normally, in the movies, when you get this moment - the post-mortem - with someone from your past… they always ask why, right? Why’d you leave? But I don’t need to ask why - I know the why, I understood why. I want to know… I want to know if you regret it. If you’d take it back.”

“That’s two different questions,” he says solemnly, “with two different answers.”

You cut your eyes at him. It’s the middle of the night and your brain is mostly mush. You need him to just be forthcoming, just say things plainly.

He knows.

“Of course I regret it,” he whispers finally, as if the words hold too much weight to utter any louder. “I regretted it while I was still saying it. I hated being away from you, I hated not talking to you, I hated not knowing how you were or what you were doing or if you… still cared about me at all.” He pauses, inhales slowly, rubs a hand down his tired face, then exhales with a whoosh. “But would I take it back? I don’t know.”

You exhale, eyeing the ceiling. Who’s the one just saying shit now? God. “You can’t just say things like that, Yoongi,” you tell him, eyes trained on the shitty, popcorn ceiling above you.

He says your name, still so soft, so quiet. 

“What?”

“Don’t cry.”

It’s so stupid. You hadn’t cried then, not in front of him. You wipe hastily under your eyes. “Sorry,” you say hastily, trying to save face. “It’s the lack of sleep.”

“I’m not sure I would take it back,” he repeats carefully, and you realize he hadn’t been done before - you’d interrupted his thought, “because when I left… I knew the whole time that it didn’t make anything better. But if I hadn’t… I think I’d still be wondering if I should, if we’d be better apart. I wouldn’t know, so the question would still be hanging over me.”

You think he’s saying something without saying it, but it’s like four in the morning and you just aren’t sure. 

“But now?” you prod. 

He shrugs, like it’s so simple. “Now I know the answer.”

You want to shake him. You’ve never had a conversation go in circles like this in your life, and you need to get to the center of it. “Yoongi,” you say, your voice tight like a warning. 

He knows.

He always knows. He cuts to the chase. “I have a job lined up in the city.” 

You almost drop your water bottle. “My city?”

“Your city.”

“Yoongi,” you say again, pleading. “Just say what you mean.” Please.

He smiles your favorite of his smiles - only one half of his mouth lifts at first, cocky, until it spreads the rest of the way and shows his gums in all their glory. “Just thinking about that whole list of reasons we shouldn’t be together… null and void now, don’t you think?” 

You feel like you can’t breathe. You’ve both been circling it like predators, and now you’re closing in. 

“So what does that mean? For you?” Do you dare to ask it? You do. “For us?”

Someone else, you think, would probably have asked you, what do you want it to mean?

But it’s Yoongi - and Yoongi knows the answer already. 

He’s pushing the blanket off of his legs - and yours - and coming to hover over you. Your body responds, laying back against the pillow you’d been sleeping on, making room for him like it remembers exactly how you fit. Your fingers find his jaw like they’re magnetically drawn, your thumb sliding against his cheek. 

His hair falls around your faces like a curtain, blocking out the dim lamplight, as his mouth finds yours. 

Kissing him again is everything. It’s absolutely everything. He’s home, he’s wilderness, he’s calm, he’s the whole damn storm, he’s undoing every seam you have, he’s stitching you back together, he’s beautiful beautiful beautiful.

His lips are soft but sure against yours, his jaw moving under the press of your fingers. You feel like you’re flying, falling, maybe both, as your eyelids flutter. He’s bracing himself with his hands on either side of you, holding himself over you. You were resting your free hand against his side, his ribs like piano keys beneath your palm, and you find yourself bunching his shirt into your fist, trying to pull yourself up, closer, closer.

You have to will yourself not to babble against his mouth, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you. You could say it six hundred times and it still wouldn’t get it all out of you. You pour it into the kiss instead, straining up to meet him, beating words away from your mouth as you toy with his bottom lip. 

He drops his lower body carefully, pinning your hips beneath his own, shifting to hold himself up on elbows instead of hands. The weight of him is welcome; something needs to keep you tethered to this planet. 

He licks into your mouth, tongue sliding against yours, and you inhale sharply against his mouth. 

“Yoongi,” you murmur against his lips, and he turns his head to kiss your palm where it’s been resting against his face. There’s something so tender about it that tears spring to your eyes, and you blink them away quickly. 

Then he’s leaning down to capture your mouth again, humming a low, happy note against you. You go for the hem of his shirt, pulling until it gets tangled against his armpits. He sits back on his haunches, helping you pull it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind you. Your eyes trace him, over and over, trying to remember every shade and every line, trying to find every difference from five years ago. He’s beautiful, flushing dark across the chest, eyes positively predatory in their focus on you.

“You, too,” he says, sounding a little breathless, and you scoot back and sit up. He goes for your hem before you can, tugging it up and over your head. The cold air assaults you and you shiver. Yoongi makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl in appreciation, lowering himself over you again. His kiss is insistent this time, one hand coming up to cup a breast, fingers deftly rolling your nipple, sending electricity skittering down your spine. You whine, deep in your throat, and you feel his lips quirk into a smile. 

“Would you kick my ass if I said ‘I’ve missed your tits’ right now?” he asks, chest quaking as he tries to rein in laughter. 

“Yes,” you grumble, reaching to weave your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug him back so you can kiss him again, and he lets out a quiet, breathy moan as you do. 

“Okay,” he says, in between kisses, “but I did.” Then he puts his money where his mouth is - or maybe vice-versa - to prove it, lowering his head and taking the other nipple in his mouth, flicking it lightly with his tongue. Your whole body reacts, feet stretching, back arching to push against his body, fingers tightening in his hair as you moan out loud. Each little motion of his mouth ignites sparks that reach every part of you - the pit of your stomach, the base of your spine, clear down to your toes. 

It’s honestly embarrassing how turned on you get as he continues, working one side until you’re writhing beneath him, thighs rubbing together desperately, then switching to continue his onslaught on the other side. 

“Yoongi,” you gasp, and some absent part of your brain is aware that his name is the only coherent word you’ve said in a while. “Please, you’re torturing me.”

He releases you with a wet pop, grinning up at you deviously. “So pretty when you beg like that,” he remarks, like he’s observing the weather - which is still a fucking blizzard, by the way. Then he’s coming up to kiss you again, deep and slow this time. His hand slides along your bare stomach, around and under your back, and you arch your back partly to make room for his arm underneath you, and partly because you can’t not, as his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 

“Please, what?” he murmurs, lips close to your neck, his fingers tracing the edge of the shorts you’re wearing - his shorts. “What do you want?”

“Anything - whatever you’ll give me,” you manage. All you can focus on is his fingers, their circular path along your lower stomach, toying with your waistband. 

It must be the right answer, because he slips his hand into your shorts, fingers pressing along your slit, your underwear clinging to you already. He slides his fingers along the slickened fabric, eyes on your face, listening to the tiny moans that escape when you exhale. 

He shifts to his side, between you and the back of the couch, and you loop an arm around his neck - half to hold yourself up on the couch, and half because you need to be holding him. You can feel how hard he is now, as his body presses against your legs. He distracts you with a kiss, and slips your panties aside, wasting no time in sheathing his middle finger up to the last knuckle.

You hiss his name, your head lolling back against the couch in pleasure, your neck bared to him. He gives it a quick nip and then a kiss as he adds a second finger, pumping in and out of you slowly. You groan, the sound rumbling from your chest. You could let him do this all night if you had the patience - just this simple act feels so good you think you might come undone.

And if you remember anything about sex with Yoongi, he’s just getting started.

He slips his fingers out of you and brings them up to your clit, circling once, then twice, before going back to where he started, the pad of his middle finger circling your entrance, careful to stay just outside. 

Your whole body turns to jelly, everything quivering from head to toe at the sensation. You grip the couch with both hands, digging your fingers in. “Ohhh my god,” you manage, something accusatory in your tone, like you’re asking him how the fuck are you doing that? 

He smiles against you, middle finger still running in lazy circles through the wetness collecting there. “That’s right, I know what you like,” he murmurs, smug, his lips tickling your neck, before plunging both fingers back into your heat without warning. He repeats the cycle - in, out, up, down, around, around, in again - until you’re dizzy from it, your fingers clutching the fabric of the couch so hard that you’re sure you’ll rip it.

You have one single moment of clarity that sends you reaching down to where you can feel him hot and hard against your leg, but he shifts away, tutting.

“You first,” he says. “I want to see you make that face you make. It’s been literal years.”

“Oh my god,” you say, feeling yourself flush. “Yoongi! Seriously?”

He laughs, shoulders shaking. “What? I love to watch you lose your shit. What a fucking ego boost.” He punctuates these words with a quick change of wrist direction, suddenly pistoning against your front wall in a way that has your comeback melting right out of your brain.

He’d had you close before, and the sudden switch-up does the trick - you feel everything tighten from your shoulders to your toes, your eyes screwing shut. Yoongi shifts his weight to hold your leg in place so you can’t try to close them on him and redoubles his efforts, humming in pleasure as you squeeze around his fingers like a vice.

You let out a series of wordless cries as the pleasure builds to the point you want to shy away from it, and then Yoongi presses his thumb to your clit just so and you’re spiraling over the edge, your ears filled with a buzzing white noise, your toes curling, your desperate hands leaving the couch and clutching Yoongi instead, trusting him to guide you to the other side.

When you come down, heart hammering in your chest, you bat his hand away, breaths heaving.

“Take those off,” you pant, tugging on the bit of his pants you can reach, and shimmying your own bottoms the rest of the way off and dumping them onto the floor. 

“Bossy,” Yoongi remarks, smirking sideways at you as he obeys. 

You resituate yourself against the arm of the couch as he comes to kneel near your feet, stroking himself languidly. You both freeze with the same thought at the same time.

“Do I…” he says hesitantly, “do you want me to wear -?”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, mind racing for an answer. You’re tempted to just tell him it’s fine, because surely having a how many people have you been with in the five years since we broke up conversation will absolutely kill the mood right now. But that’s not really safe.

“Maybe you’d better?” you venture. “Have you -? I mean, we don’t need to talk about this right now. But I haven’t been with anyone without… you know.”

“Same here, and I got tested after… the last one. Just in case,” he admits, eyes on yours, and the moment feels heavy. Do you trust Yoongi to tell you the truth?

Of course you do. 

“I’m okay if you’re okay,” you tell him. “No pressure.”

“You’re still on -?” he checks, and you nod.

“In that case,” he says, and leans over you to kiss you again. You can feel him, rubbing along the messy slickness, and it occurs to you that you haven’t even touched him yet. 

You whine, twisting your shoulders to try and reach him with a hand, but he’s too impatient, lining himself up and starting to sink into you. You groan at the stretch - it’s been a while since your last fling - but the sound that tears through Yoongi’s throat is more like a growl, guttural and animalistic.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls through gritted teeth, as he slowly rocks into you until he bottoms out, his hips tight against yours.

He’s everywhere - caging you in, hovering above you, holding you down, filling you up. He’s everywhere, and he feels both so familiar it makes you want to cry again, and also - somehow - brand-fucking-new, like you’ve never felt him before. 

You can feel every ridge of him, every twitch, as he sets a slow but even pace, letting you adjust. 

“God,” you gasp when he hits a spot just right. His head had been hanging above you, his eyes watching the place where he disappeared inside you, all that long hair loose, but he smirks up at you at this.

“Good,” he coos, and picks up the pace, hips smacking yours, filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin on skin, his grunts and your whines. 

You’re gasping a little at each stroke, that tight feeling bubbling at the pit of your stomach growing stronger with each thrust. “God,” you growl, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blade as you hang on for dear life. “Yoongi, fuck!”

He slows on purpose, straightening up, forcing you to release your hold on his back. He grins at you, that shit-eating, one-sided grin, and then grabs your ankles, maneuvering them both to rest against his right shoulder. He leans forward against your legs and hammers into you, breathing hard, and you swear to god you see stars for a second.

“Ohmygod, yes, there,” you gasp, hands going to the backs of your own thighs to help alleviate the stretch. You need to start doing yoga or something.

The build-up is slower this time, the feeling pulsing through you in waves that strengthen and ebb again. Yoongi can tell when it’s real by the change in your voice - wordless whines rising in pitch, by the arch of your back, by the way you clamp around him so hard that he almost loses it right there.

“Yeah?” he asks, the word more like a gasp for air. “Close?”

“Please,” you beg, the sensation of pure light racing up your legs to your toes, the pulsing starting slow and determined in your core. 

“I’ve got you,” he promises, brows furrowed with concentration as he works to keep a steady pace. He grips one of your ankles and switches it to his other shoulder, creating space to reach down and rub gentle figure-eights around your clit. 

The wave takes you over, and there’s a long moment where you’re completely devoid of your senses - no sight, no sound, nothing but how tight tight tight everything has gone, too tight to even breathe - and then it breaks and you can hear yourself wailing, eyes shut against the onslaught of sensations. You clench around Yoongi hard, the aftershocks rolling through you, so hard that he hisses and drops his forehead to yours, his pace slowing significantly as he fucks you through it.

You go boneless as it leaves you, and Yoongi pushes all the way inside you and stills, pressing his lips to your temple.

“You good?” he murmurs, so sweet for someone who just had you experiencing the multiverse. 

“Mhm,” you manage to respond, so spent and tired that you can barely form the word.

“C’mere,” he grunts, slipping out of you, and he grips the back of your neck, hauling you upright and falling backwards in the same motion, pulling you over top of him. You loop your arms around his neck, feeling floaty, and he wraps his around your middle. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, his breath loud next to your ear.

“Can you keep going?” he checks. “I know you’re tired. I’m almost there, I promise.”

“M’good,” you assure him against his collarbone, and he gives you one quick squeeze before reaching down to adjust himself. He pushes in and you cry out, the sound muffled as you press your face into him. You’re so sensitive now, the sensation is entirely different. 

“You can take it,” he whispers, sliding a hand down your spine. Then, with a grunt of “shit,” he grabs you and jackhammers up into you, his fingers furrowing into the meat of your ass, so tight you think you’ll have five little bruises on each side when this is over.

You feel so close to him - your cheek presses up against his, your arms wrapped tight around him, his hands securing you in place, his heart beating wildly against yours where your chests press together. 

You gasp for breath into the crook of his neck, holding on for dear life, just trying to take what he gives you. You can hear his breathing change as he gets close, his pace quickening but his thrusts starting to come less evenly, his grip on your ass tightening just a bit further as he pulls your hips down to meet his every few thrusts. 

“Is inside okay?” he asks, the words sounding like they’re torn from him. 

“Yes,” you tell him, but it comes out more like a moan.

“God,” he grunts in response to this, and the word tears, ending on a strangled moan as he empties himself deep inside you. 

You lay there, gasping for breath, for a long minute. Then Yoongi gives you an affectionate pat on the ass, indicating that it’s safe to move.

“Go get in the shower,” he suggests. “I’ll grab you a towel and meet you in there.”

“I don’t know if I can get there,” you say, joking, but your legs feel like jelly. You grab your phone and make your way, wobbly, through the living room and into his bedroom.

You hadn’t come in here before. It’s clean, but sparse. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel homey. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel like Yoongi.

You keep going, padding through his room and towards the attached bathroom, fumbling for the lightswitch. You place your phone next to the sink and fiddle with the shower’s knobs until you get a steady stream of hot water going. 

It feels heavenly to step under the hot water, your aching muscles relaxing in the steam. But it feels even better when Yoongi wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.

“Hi,” he murmurs. 

“Hi,” you giggle. You might still be riding a little bit of a post-orgasm high.

You both rinse off in silence, and then Yoongi places his hand on the knob, looking at you to make sure you’re ready to get out. You nod, but he hesitates.

“Will you sleep with me?” he asks, a little unsure, leagues different from the cocky man you’d been tangled up with mere minutes before. “Don’t go back to the couch.”

You give him a soft smile, and he turns off the water, reaching for the towels hanging just outside.

“Of course I will,” you tell him before wrapping yourself up in the soft, gray terry-cloth. 

You crawl into his bed once you’re dry, and he joins you after making a quick pass through the living room to turn the lights back off and gather up the clothes you’d both tossed around. When he clicks off his bedside lamp and rolls to face you, you feel a fluttering of nerves in your stomach. 

You’re not sure where you go from here. 

You lay facing each other in the darkness; it’s just too dark to really see much, but you can tell he’s looking at you. 

You’re laying there, letting your thoughts spool around you, the what-if’s and what-now’s laying themselves out in your mind, when you realize you’ve reached out without meaning to, your fingers tangling in his long hair, rolling strands between them. You keep playing with it, cautiously, practically holding your breath, waiting to see if he objects.

Instead, you feel him relax under your hand, letting out a long breath. “That feels nice,” he admits, voice breathy with almost-sleep and barely audible.

You fall asleep without any answers, with your fingers curled up in Yoongi’s hair. 

You wake up to a warm body behind you, not quite touching. You shift your cold toes a little closer to the warmth you find, smiling when you hear him whine about it. The light outside is white, that abnormal shade of light that comes from sunlight bouncing off of snow and ice. You’re about to close your eyes again when you realize that the warm body behind you isn’t sleeping, because you can hear the incriminating clicking and clacking of a keyboard.

“Are you seriously working right now?” you ask him, rolling a little to look at him over your shoulder. He peers back at you guiltily, his glasses low on his nose, fingers frozen in the air above the keys. 

“I just wanted to answer a few -”

“It’s Christmas morning!” you scold. 

“I’m aware of that,” he answers dryly.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Turn it off, Yoongi. It’s Christmas and you are in bed with someone. My God.”

He shoots you a defensive look, but finishes whatever he was doing and clicks the laptop closed, leaning over to place it on his nightstand.

“You haven’t changed at all,” you say, a little fondly, sitting up a little next to him.

“Neither have you,” he says pointedly. It’s less fond when he says it. 

You consider this. “You want to know something stupid?” you ask. Yoongi doesn’t answer out loud, just meets your eyes and waits. “You’re right. I haven’t changed. I think… I think I’ve been afraid to.”

He turns to face you, sensing how serious you are about this. “What do you mean?” he presses. 

You stop to think, the way you learned to after spending years watching him, knowing he did this better than you. “I guess… some little part of me always wondered what would happen if we crossed paths again. If I changed too much… what if I stopped being someone you’d want? What if I became someone so different that your heart didn’t know mine anymore?” 

It sounds so corny coming out of your mouth, but the truth behind it is so heavy you can’t hold it up anymore. It was a fear you’d secretly harbored for half a decade - what if fate put Yoongi in your life again, and he still didn’t want you? 

And Yoongi does what he’s always done - hears you, understands you, answers you in your own language.

“Impossible,” he says softly, leaning closer to you, eyes combing your face. His voice is like a layer of snow, smooth and clear, full of something unnamable. Or maybe you don’t want to name it. You turn your head, as if that will get you further away. “That’s impossible. My heart will always know yours.”

You look at your hands, feeling a little choked up. Your heart stutters and jumps in your chest. The question you’re holding back churns in a little ball behind your ribs. 

“Hey,” he says, softly but intently. You manage to look up at him. “Let’s make breakfast?” He says it like a question.

“Yeah,” you say, able to speak again. “That sounds good.”

Yoongi lends you sweatpants, since it’s too chilly to roam around the house in basketball shorts, and busies himself in the kitchen while you get changed. When you finally join him, he’s plated something for each of you, and he pushes a glass of iced coffee towards you.

You can’t help but smile. “You remember,” you accuse, and he avoids your eyes, cheeks flushing. 

“You get a girl ninety-thousand iced coffees, it stays with you,” he defends.

“Ninety-thousand,” you scoff, but you’re pleased. As you eat, you look out the kitchen window. It’s bright outside, but it’s still snowing - tiny, wispy flakes floating leisurely down to join you. The road clearly hasn’t been plowed yet; the snow outside is untouched, unbothered, a perfect sheet of white. You can’t even tell where the road is, except for the mailbox poking up out of the feet of snow on the ground already.

Yoongi follows your gaze. “Looks like you’re trapped here for a while,” he observes. 

“A shame,” you deadpan, and he kicks at you playfully beneath the table.

“Well,” he says, thinking out loud, “since you won’t let me get any work done… do you want to put on a movie?”

“A Christmas movie?” you ask, perking up. 

He rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a little smile. “I guess that’d make sense,” he agrees. 

He leads you back to the couch, which you eye sideways, remembering clearly what this couch witnessed about three hours ago. Yoongi seems unphased, slouching sideways against some pillows and looking at you expectantly. You join him gingerly, leaning against him, and he drapes a blanket over your legs.

“Pick something,” he asks, passing you the remote - another old Yoongi trick that you remember well.

You take the offered remote, clicking through the holiday options for something that you don’t think will make Yoongi gag. As you scroll, brows furrowed in concentration, he clears his throat beside you.

“So, uh,” he says, and you stop scrolling, because he sounds nervous. “Next weekend I’m supposed to go look at some apartments. Do you… would you want to keep me company?”

You look at him, eyes wide, the remote forgotten in your hand, still aloft and pointed at the tv. 

“Why?” you whisper once you find your voice. 

He shrugs, wets his lips. “You know the city well,” he says. “You can offer your brilliant opinions - tell me if the neighborhood’s okay… if there’s good take-away… where the transit stops are, that kind of shit.”

“Hm,” you say, a little tightly.

He shoots you a sheepish grin. “I’ll take you to dinner after?”

You give him a look. “Say what you mean, Yoongi.”

He purses his lips a little, disgruntled at being called out. Then, busted, he sighs and tries again. “Can I take you to dinner next weekend? Preferably in the city, and preferably after you help me make some choices about my living situation?”

You grin, unable to hold it back. “Yeah,” you say, trying hard to fight back the smile, to play it even a little bit cool. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” Trying to save your dignity, you turn back to the tv and go back to scrolling until you find a movie that seems like it’s not too over-the-top. 

Yoongi reaches an arm around your shoulders, and this time you settle against him comfortably. You can feel him breathing beneath you, can smell that Yoongi smell - clean and alluring, can hear the shouts of some neighborhood kids running around outside. From the tv, tinkling bells and happy strings play a medley of Christmas songs as the opening credits run. 

Part of you is already thinking about when the roads are plowed and you have to go home, shower off the scent of him, update your best friend about all of this, miss Yoongi in a much more real way than you’ve had to in about three years. But at least you have the promise that you’ll see him again next weekend. You close your eyes, content, happy to just be right now. 

Yoongi feels it too, obviously. He gives your shoulders a squeeze, looks down at you fondly, and murmurs, “You know what? All this holly, jolly shit isn’t so bad.”

“God bless us, every one,” you deadpan. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

He grins at you, gums showing, and you smile back before leaning your head against his chest as on the TV a little girl watches out her window for signs of Santa.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!! My full masterlist can be found here :)

[initialchains]

10 things i hate about you | anthony lockwood.

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem!reader

summary: george karim falls in love with your sister, and the only thing standing between him and the love of his life is the fact that she isn’t allowed to date unless you do, too. luckily for him, anthony lockwood would do anything for a bit of publicity.

wc: 5.8k (part one)

a/n: hii i felt so bad for leaving you all hanging, but finals week left me extremely burnt out and tired. luckily, the lockwood brainrot is neverending, so as a way of saying sorry here’s the first part of this silly ol’ fic. (including the first five things to hate about lockwood.)  i’m also super sorry for the next part because it will be 90% angst lol ++ this is inspired by the movie but not completely based on it bc it’s my all time favorite film and i was scared of not doing it justice.

Lucy swore she was going to quit the agency again if George didn’t stop pacing around the kitchen like an idiot. She kept thinking of things to say to get him to stop, but a part of her also wanted to see how long this pathetic situation in front of her would take, she knew it wouldn’t be long until their researcher got tired of walking back and forth. And that’s where she is now. Sitting in the kitchen, an empty mug staring back at her, while George kept pacing in front of her and Lockwood.

“Hey, George! I have an idea. Why don’t you sit down and tell us what’s going on like a normal person, instead of just muttering I’m so fucked over and over?” 

George finally stopped and looked up at her. He stood still for a few seconds before taking a seat next to Lockwood.

“Well, I’m fucked.”

“Yeah, I think we heard that part.”

“Luce, stop,” Lockwood said in the softest voice he could muster, before turning to George. “Do you want to talk about it? Maybe we can help.”

George took a deep breath before starting. “So, you know how I’ve been telling you both and Holly about that one girl from the archives?”

Lockwood smiled at that. The thought of George crushing on a girl after bonding with her about their love for research is still one of the cutest things he has ever heard.

“Oh, right. How are things going with her? Is everything alright?” 

“Well, sort of. I mean, everything is alright, but just when I thought of finally making a move on her, she kind of, um… dropped a bomb on me?” 

“A bomb? But you already knew she’s a Fittes agent, that’s not new.” Lucy stated. 

“Yes, I know. And trust me, there’s nothing wrong with that.” George continued, “She is the sweetest, most intelligent, beautiful human being to have ever lived. I mean it.” 

Lucy and Lockwood shared a knowing look. George was totally a goner for this girl.

“Then.. just ask her out?” Lockwood suggested, watching carefully as George fidgeted with the thinking cloth, now too shy to look at his friends.

“That’s the problem, I can’t,” George explained, before pulling his glasses away and rubbing his eyes. The stress of the situation clearly getting the best of him.

“Okay, this will probably be a stupid question, but.. why?” Lucy asked, genuinely confused by the problem her friend was going through. Sure, asking someone out is frightening, but it’s not like George was about to fight a type two without any kind of protection.

George took a deep breath before finally explaining. “She can’t go out with me unless her sister gets a date, too.” 

Lucy almost laughed at how stupid the so-called bomb was. “Well, ask one of her colleagues to woo her or something. She’s a Fittes agent too, right?” She suggested, remembering the only fact they knew about said sister. “She must know a bunch of people willing to date her.” 

George found the strength to look up, making eye contact with Lockwood and then turning to Lucy, before finally dropping the bomb on them. “I can’t, everyone at Fittes despises her.” 

Shit.

Lockwood and Lucy didn’t even have to think twice about who the sister in question was. There’s only one person who is loathed by every single Fittes agent, and surprisingly it isn’t Quill Kipps. George was talking about Fittes’ very own heinous bitch. (Obviously, the nickname was granted by the one and only Bobby Vernon. But to be fair, it’s not like he is the most reliable of people. Lockwood took note of that.)

Portland Row was silent for a few moments until Lucy finally spoke up. “Well, George. The world is wide, there will always be other people for you to fall for.” 

“Luce.” Lockwood warned her. 

“I’m trying to help!” 

“I know you are, but George really likes this girl.” He explained

“I think I might be in love with her. No, scratch that. I am in love with her.” George confessed in a small whisper.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Luce.”

“Sorry!” 

“I told you we would try to help, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Right, Lucy?” Lockwood looked at her, an unspoken beg passing between them. 

“Fine, yeah, we will. What do you know about her sister? Maybe we can find someone with the same interests as her. Like umm.. Holly? or the guy who sweeps the floor at Arif’s?” Lucy almost winced at how stupid their repertoire of options was, the three of them were friends with a limited number of people, and by limited she meant Holly and a guy who always greets them when they get something from Arif’s

George thought for a few moments about everything he knew about her. “I know she’s a team leader–” He couldn’t even finish his list, let alone his sentence, because before he could even continue, Lockwood stood up. 

“I’ll do it.” He said with a small shrug, almost as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 

A chorus of “I’m sorry?” and “What the fuck?” were heard at the same time, but Lockwood couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted to do this. 

“What? You said you wanted someone to woo her. Right, Luce?” He explained as he took Lucy’s empty mug away from her and moved to the sink. 

Lockwood’s back faced them while he washed their used dishes. “Yes, but.. why do you want to do it?”

“It’s a win-win situation. If I go out with her, George will get to date her sister, and we will get publicity.” The way Lockwood explained the situation with such ease had Lucy thinking he had planned this beforehand.

“Publicity?” George finally spoke up. 

“Yes. You said she’s a team leader, which means she is important, and we also know she’s disliked by every single one of her peers, which means the press will be surprised to see her hanging out with someone. So, if we get photographed together, everyone will want to know what’s so special about the agents of Lockwood and Co. Which means–” 

“More cases.” George finished the sentence for him.

“See? It’s easy.” Lockwood, finally done with the dishes, turned around.

“No, it’s not. I think it’s a stupid idea. You won’t be using someone to get this agency more clients, are you insane?” Lucy stated, indignation lacing her words. 

“Hey, George. You said you were taking her sister out for breakfast tomorrow, how about we make it a double date?” He said with a bright smile, ignoring Lucy’s words. 

“Oh, um.. Okay.”

George was right, Lucy thought. They are so fucked. 

1- I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair.

“George, calm down. Everything will be okay, I promise.” Lockwood said, sending an encouraging look to the boy next to him. George was sweating, he didn’t expect your sister to accept the double date. He didn’t expect you to accept the double date. 

“I know. I even practiced a speech and everything, it will be alright.”

“You practiced a what?”

George wasn’t able to answer his question because right when Lockwood asked him, they were able to see two silhouettes standing outside of the café they were walking to.

“Oh, they’re here,” Lockwood stated plainly before walking up to them, George looking nervous as fuck next to him. 

Sure, George was a sweaty mess, but he knew this would happen. He even expected you to look at him with disgust in your eyes and say something along the lines of “I was dragged here against my will. Fuck you, Karim. You will never date my sister.” 

What he didn’t expect to see was your face painted with confusion. George was about to greet you with the long speech he spent the entire night workshopping, but before he could even mutter a word, you let out an exasperated sigh and looked George in the eye before you gaze slipped to Lockwood and then back to him. 

“What is it, asshole day? Why are you two here?”

Lockwood was about to open his mouth and answer your question, but luckily your sister spoke up just in time.

“I invited my two friends to have breakfast with us!” She said with a bright, almost angelic smile. George felt like he was in heaven just by seeing her. 

“I know about Karim, but why are you friends with Anthony Lockwood?” 

“Oh, so you’ve heard of me? Only the good things, I hope.” Lockwood said, his charming smile making a way to his face.

“Yeah, like the houses you’ve burned down, and how stupidly reckless you are to the point that you even got shot.” You stated, repulse evident in your eyes as you looked at the man of the hour. 

“It’s adorable how much you know about me.”

“Have you ever been to a psych ward? I can get you an appointment set and ready by tonight.”

“You want to see me tonight?”

George feared you might slit Lockwood’s throat with the way you were looking at him. “We should, um, get inside.” He said, trying (and failing) to break the awkward tension, guiding the four of you into the café. 

George looked at your sister and whispered into her ear “It’s not my place to assume but.. you didn’t tell her we were coming, did you?”

She gave him a shy smile before answering. “I want her to make some friends, and I think someone like Lockwood might help her come out of her shell.”

She looked so innocent that George wanted to break down crying and tell her all about Lockwood’s dumb publicity plan. This was eating him alive. 

You took a seat next to your sister in the booth George had reserved for the four of you. Lockwood smiled when he saw your eyes widen at the sight of him sitting right in front of you. 

“Karim, can you switch places with your friend?” 

“Why? Are you embarrassed I’ll see you blush whenever you look into my eyes?” 

“Have you ever been told that your hairline will recede by the time you’re 30 years old if you keep cutting and styling your hair like that?”  

“Have you ever been told that you’re incredibly beautiful?” 

Your sister had to place her hand over yours before you could reach for the knife placed in front of you by a waiter. Lockwood couldn’t contain his laughter at the look on your face.

“What’s so fucking funny, Lockwood?”

“Nothing. Don’t mind me, please continue with your insults. I relish being the reason behind your thoughts and words.” 

That was enough to shut you up. Your sister, George, and Lockwood shared jokes and stories while you looked down at your plate, the conversation flowing easily between them. Sometimes you’d look up to find Lockwood staring at you, he’d send you a small smile and try to include you in the conversation, but you didn't intend on giving him the satisfaction of getting you to speak, so you’d shut him down with an eye roll. 

The rest of the morning went by smoothly until your sister had the brilliant idea to tell you about her plans for the rest of the day. 

“You’re going to the archives with Karim.. alone? Just the two of you?” 

“Did you not hear her the first time, love?”

“Shut the fuck up, Lockwood.” You snapped at him, hoping your anger was enough to mask the blush rushing into your cheeks. 

It wasn’t. 

“Did I just make you blush?”

“You made me want to throw up.”

“Deny it all you want, but the pet name clearly had an effect on you.. love.”

“Ugh, whatever.” 

The four of you stood up and walked to the café’s exit, Lockwood opening the door for your sister and you. As soon as you got outside, your sister began to apologize for not telling you about her impromptu archives plan with George.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind. Just.. text me when you get there?” You said softly. Way too softly, Lockwood noticed. He had never seen you this vulnerable, maybe your sister was way more important to you than he expected. 

“I will. Promise.”

You said your goodbyes before turning around, planning on walking to your car, but the universe definitely wasn’t on your side today.

“Wait! I’ll go with you.” Lockwood said as he tried to catch up with you, matching the pace of your long strides. 

“I don’t know if you can tell, Lockwood, but I’m trying to get away from you.”

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t drive you home after our first date?”

“You’re not a gentleman, and that wasn’t a date.”

Lockwood pressed a hand to his heart, feigning hurt. “Ouch, not a gentleman? Thank god my mother isn’t here to hear those words.”

You finally stopped walking and turned around to face him. “What do you want?”

“To.. drive you home?”

“No, Lockwood. What do you want? You tried to include me in your stupid conversation earlier, then paid for my breakfast, opened the door for me, and now you want to drive me home. What the fuck do you want?”

Lockwood stayed silent for a while, just staring into your eyes. “I was trying to be nice to you, is that too hard to believe?” 

He took notice of how you looked away from his eyes and tried to keep your hands busy by playing with the hem of your shirt. 

You cleared your throat before saying, “Fine, but if you fuck my car up, I swear to god, Lockwood..” 

2- I hate the way you drive my car.

The car was silent the entire first half of the ride. Sometimes you’d catch Lockwood staring at you from the corner of your eye, but you never looked back, deciding that looking through the car window was a better sight. 

“You don’t talk much unless it is to deliver a well-crafted insult, huh?” Lockwood said, trying to break the silence. It wasn’t awkward, it was just.. tense. 

“Do you want me to talk to you?” You answered, slightly surprised by the fact that Anthony Lockwood of all people, wanted to have a conversation with you. 

“Yeah.”

“And what do you want me to say? It’s not like I know a single thing about you.” 

“You can say whatever you want, I don’t mind. I’ll accept it whether it is you cursing my entire bloodline, or you saying you’re deeply attracted to me.” 

The car came to a stop, a red light illuminating Lockwood’s sharp features. You hated to admit it, but fuck, Anthony Lockwood was attractive. 

“Me? Deeply attracted to you? Holy shit, did you fall and hit your head as a baby?”

“You so are.”

“Am I that transparent? Because you’re right. Oh, Lockwood, I am so attracted to you and your stupid fucking personality. I want you, I need you. Oh baby, oh baby.”

“You have such a beautiful way with words, love.”

That was enough to get a small laugh out of you. Lockwood kept surprising you, he didn’t back down after an insult or two, and he actually seemed to enjoy being indulged in them. 

He turned his head to look at you as soon as he heard you laugh, a smile adorning his face. A feeling of pride (and maybe something more) swelled in his chest.

“I can’t believe I just made you laugh for the first time and we’ve been on a date for about three hours now. God, I’m making such a bad first impression.” 

“You still won’t let the idea of this being a date go?” 

“Nope. I enjoy being on a date with you. You’re a nice person to hang out with.”

The corners of your lips curled up into a small smile. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do, I would rather take you out on a million dates than spend 30 minutes with any other person,” Lockwood confessed, and he meant it.

“Like you could find a person who would willingly spend 30 minutes with you.”

“Oh, see? That, there. Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?”

The two of you spent the rest of your ride home talking, the tension slowly evaporating, leaving room for the back-and-forth quips that Lockwood and you kept throwing each other. 

Lockwood stopped the car when he heard you say, “Alright, this is my house.” You were about to open the door, but before you could even extend your arm he said a quick, “Wait!” and got out of the car, rounding it to open your door.

“Thanks.”

“Anything and everything for you.”

Just as you were about to answer, a flash and the sound of a camera clicking disrupted the moment you were having. 

“You’re fucking with me”, you muttered under your breath. Lockwood looked surprised too, he had completely forgotten about his plan. 

Take her out for a few days. Get photographed together. Gain more clients.

His heart sank at the reminder of the reality of this situation. He had been so busy having fun with you, that his mind decided to blur out the reason why he was hanging out with Fittes’ most hated agent. 

“Alright. I should, um, go.”

“Do you want me to walk you to your door? Or is the first date too soon to meet your parents?”

“Fuck you, Lockwood,” You said with a smile.

“It doesn’t really seem like you want to.”

He found himself smiling, too. 

3- I hate it when you stare.

“What a fun coincidence to find you here, love.”

You rolled your eyes at Lockwood’s annoying voice. “Yeah, it’s such a fun coincidence that you almost burned this house down and my team had to come help your incompetent agency.” 

“Third time’s a charm.”

“There’s no way in hell you’ve been the cause of more than two fires.” 

“If you let me take you out on another date, maybe I’ll tell you more about them.” You almost stabbed him with your rapier. “Shut up, people might hear.” That brought a bright smile to his face and an incredulous look to his eyes.

“Oh, so you want to keep our relationship a secret? Fine, I’ll take it. I love a forbidden romance.” He whispered, the smell of lavender and lemon engulfing you as he kneeled a bit to whisper in your ear. 

“Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night. Anyway, I need to go check out the paperwork for the mess you made, can you keep an eye on my team?” You shyly asked, breaking the eye contact he was desperately trying to keep.

“You trust me with your team? I thought my agency was incompetent and I wasn’t good at anything.” 

“It’s just for a few minutes, don’t let this get to your head.” 

“Oh, it’s way over my head, love.” 

You showed him a very special finger, before walking away to talk to Barnes. You tried to remain professional and listen to what the inspector was saying, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of a pair of eyes looking at you. “Sorry for calling you again, you know how it gets whenever Lockwood and Co have a case,” Barnes said, breaking you out of the cage your mind had trapped you in. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s my pleasure to help.” You tried to muster up a small smile for the man, you liked Barnes, he never treated you differently, not even when the way you acted and decided to express yourself wasn’t the most appropriate. 

“And I think it's their pleasure to be helped.”

“I’m sorry?”

You turned around, following Barnes’ line of sight, only for your eyes to meet Lockwood’s. He gave you a small smile but didn’t look away, it was almost as if he longed for your eyes to make contact. You sent him a small frown, wordlessly asking him what was wrong, he just shrugged and waved at the two of you. 

“He is so weird.” You said, turning to face the inspector. “Tell me about it. Well, we are all done here. Have a nice night, and make sure to get home safely.” He answered, eager to get away from the group of agents surrounding him, and walking away. 

Lockwood didn’t miss a beat before making his way to you. “So, I’m thinking we make the second date happen over some tea at Portland Row?”

“Not happening.”

“I’m not one to make a woman feel uncomfortable when she says no, but may I ask why?

“I’d rather spend my time hanging out with ten type threes, than with the group of miscreants you call friends. No offense to Lucy and Holly, though. I quite like them. I was talking about Karim, tell that thing to stay away from my sister.” You answered, finally finding the guts to maintain eye contact while you spoke. 

“You know Lucy and Holly?” He decided to ignore your entire statement, now only focused on the fact that you knew his friends. Anxiety making its way through his body at the thought of Lucy telling you about his plan. 

“Yeah, and they told me some really interesting things about you. I never took you as the type of person to do that type of stuff.”

Lockwood’s heart almost gave out. “What did they say?”

“That you wear pink socks.”

He felt his heart start beating again. Lockwood thought he was about to die in front of you, he made a mental note to thank Lucy for being nice enough to not tell you about his schemes. He found the strength to give you a charming smile. 

“That surprised you? Lord, do you think I’m the type of guy to have a fragile masculinity? My mother raised me better than that.” 

“You mention your mother a lot, are you close with her?

They should give out awards for Feeling your heart stop two times in the span of 3 minutes because Lockwood was sure he would get one delivered to Portland Row’s doorstep by tomorrow morning. 

“I.. um, yeah.” 

Fuck. You made it awkward. You almost dropped down to your knees and begged him for forgiveness. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude into your personal life, it’s not my place to ask and assume shit about your family. I’m so fucking sorry, Lockwood.” The light in your eyes dimmed, the sight of it made Lockwood want to tell you all about his past. He wanted to go back to ten minutes ago when your eyes were shining and looking into his. He internally swore to never let the light leave them again.

“You’re good, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He reassured you in a small voice, clearly not fine. 

“No, I will worry–” You couldn’t finish your sentence because, once again, the light of a camera flash illuminated Lockwood and you, blinding you both for a split moment. 

“Of course they’re here. Jesus Christ, do they not have lives? A family?” 

“Maybe they just like taking pictures of your beautiful face.”

The light came back to your dim eyes at his statement. “There he is.” You said, noticing how his gaze slipped from your eyes to your lips, before going back to the eye contact you had.

“What can I say? I can’t stop myself from complimenting you when you’re around.”

4-  I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind.

The streets of London were quiet while Lockwood took a small walk in the early morning. Lucy told him if he walked around the city for a few hours, he’d be able to break in the new pair of combat boots she got him as a present after he made it through 10 cases without almost dying.  

“It’s 8 am and you’re already up being pathetic. I should say I saw this coming, but I really didn’t. Holy shit.” A familiar voice snapped him out of the daze he was in. He was so busy going through a list in his head of all the things he had to do this week, that he didn’t notice you walking next to him. 

“How long have you been walking by my side?”

“Long enough to see you staring straight ahead and not noticing how incredibly pathetic you look. Your boots are hideous, by the way.” You answered, looking into his eyes and noticing how he smirked at your last remark.

“I don’t think Lucy will be happy about you calling her well-thought gift hideous.”

You let out a genuine laugh as soon as he said that. It was the type of laugh that bubbled up from your chest and had you throwing your head back. It made Lockwood feel as if all the morning clouds had disappeared and the sun shone only on the two of you. Sure, you had laughed at Lucy’s gift, but the sound was enough to let the sun shine its warm rays through Lockwood’s heart. An infinite sunbathe.

“Oh, so you find this funny? Hurting my best friend’s feelings?” He asked in a teasing tone, squinting slightly at you.

“So.. I take it she didn’t tell you?” You asked, a small giggle escaping your lips and going straight through Lockwood’s heart. 

“Tell me what?”

“That our plan was to get you the most ugly, repulsive looking, and incredibly stupid boots that we could find? I wasted my money on that, you’re welcome or whatever.” 

He should’ve been offended. Offended at how Lucy wanted him to humiliate himself by walking through the streets of London with a pair of bright neon green combat boots. Offended that she had asked for your help to choose the ugliest pair she could find. But he was too busy fighting the urge to press his lips against yours and to run his slender fingers through your hair. 

Did you not notice how you always bit your lip after laughing because you thought that would stop you from falling into another fit of laughter? 

“Yeah, yeah, you two are so funny,” He rolled his eyes with a smile. “Thank you, love.” He was about to nudge you with his shoulder, but as soon as he turned to look at you, he noticed you weren’t next to him anymore.

His heart stopped for a second until he finally looked back and caught you staring at two women through a café window, clearly on a date. One of them gave the other a bouquet of different types of flowers and brushed back a strand of her girlfriend’s bright red hair. That brought a smile to your face. 

“Hey, you okay?” He whispered as soon as he stood next to you, noticing the sad smile on your face. 

“Oh, yeah. I was just..” 

You didn’t have to say a word for him to be aware of what you wanted to mention. The look in your eyes, and the small smile on your face.. this was the look you always got whenever you saw your sister with George. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Lockwood reassured you. Not wanting to scare you off after seeing the look on your face and the small voice you used to answer. 

“Do you think I’m holding my sister back?” You asked, turning around to look into his eyes, your hands trembling a bit.

He didn’t miss a beat before taking hold of your hand and lacing your fingers together, giving your gentle hand two squeezes. “I think.. you care a lot about her, and that’s completely fine. But it is not your job to dictate what she can or can not do. It’s okay to let her have her freedom and life, just like you deserve to have yours.” 

You took a deep breath before pulling Lockwood into a hug, your arms surrounding his neck. Lockwood was startled for a second but didn’t have to think about it twice before wrapping his arms around your waist, letting you take the lead in this display of affection. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, but.. um”

“You don’t have to say anything, come on,” He said, breaking the hug and taking your hand into his, pulling you forward to continue the walk you were on.

5- I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme.

Lockwood looked down at your intertwined hands, thinking of things to say to get the fog of sadness blinding you out of the way. “So you’re a hopeless romantic, huh?

“What the fuck?”

Alright, so maybe this wasn’t his greatest icebreaker ever, but at least it was something. He chose to continue. 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you always stare at every couple we walk past. It’s kind of adorable. Fittes’ heinous bitch being a hopeless romantic? Sign me the hell up.”

“You’re sick in the head, Anthony Lockwood.”

“I didn’t think of you as a hopeless romantic, like.. at all. But I assume this means you’re the type of person who wants flowers and love letters delivered to her doorstep. Right?”

“No.”

“Sure, love. I’ll keep this in mind for future references.”

Lockwood made sure to walk you back to Fittes’ building after spending the rest of his morning with you, choosing to take the weird looks his boots got with pride and a bright smile. Whenever someone stopped him in the street he’d answer with a happy “my best friend and this beautiful lady next to me gave them to me as a gift”. 

You spent the rest of your day going back and forth through Fittes’ small yet numerous offices, talking to different people about your previous and next cases. Sometimes you’d stop to take a breather outside a door, but quickly remembered the importance of your role as a team leader, and snapped out of your seemingly neverending exhaustion. 

“Am I dreaming or is that my best friend in the whole world?” You turned your head to the right to find Bobby Vernon smirking at you, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.

“Fuck off, Vernon.”

“Woah, no need to get all pissy, love.” You clenched your shaking fists, trying to keep your anger in. You may have a short temper, but you would never let someone like him get the satisfaction of making you angry, or at least of noticing the effect his words have on you. 

The thought of someone other than Lockwood calling you by that pet name made you want to burst into tears. How dare they see you as someone who’s weak? After everything you’ve done and fought for to get the role you have as an agent? 

“I don’t have the time for your bullshit, so just spit it out and let me go home.” You said with an eye roll.

“Your sister wanted me to tell you that you got mail. Well, it’s more like a gift, I guess. I assume it’s from your parents because I can’t think of a single human being who genuinely likes you.” 

You knew better than to take his words to heart, but the venom he said them with stung. You knew you were unlikeable, probably even unloveable at this point, but he didn’t have any right to say those words to your face. It made you feel disgusting, you had to fight back the urge to throw up.

“Yeah, alright. Have a good day, Vernon.” You replied as you walked past him and out into the street, calling for a cab to take you home.

The ride back home was silent, and it surprisingly made you miss Lockwood. It made you miss his stupid jokes, his ugly haircut, and his reckless way of driving your car. You were sure the poor guy didn’t know what a stop sign meant. 

As soon as the cab driver got you home, you made sure to pay him and wish him a safe drive, after all, the curfew was 15 minutes away from starting. A sigh escaped your lips after opening your door and heading into your room. The day had left you completely worn out, and Bobby’s words didn’t help at all with the shit day you were having.

You quickly got changed and were about to head to bed when you noticed a package sitting in the corner of your room. A frown made its way to your face when your eyes caught the unfamiliar handwriting with your name on the box, curiosity taking the best of you as you opened the package with a delicate touch.

A gasp left your lips when you opened it and found the same bouquet of colorful flowers you saw the woman give to her partner at the café. A white envelope sat next to them.

With a small smile and shaking hands, you opened it and were greeted with Lockwood’s handwriting.

Hey, my love. 

I’ll be really honest and say that my mind is completely blank as I write this, but I just wanted to let you know that right after I dropped you off, I went to Arif’s with George and heard a love song playing — I couldn’t help but think of your hopeless romantic self as soon as I heard these lyrics: You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you. 

Jesus, I know you’re having a field day reading this. Me? Embarrassing myself and sending you a bouquet and a love letter? You’re right, I must be extremely sick in the head.

Anyway, I hope you have a good day. You deserve it.

With lots of love,

Lockwood. 

(PS: You don’t have to say it back! But I thought it felt right to say it since we’re kind of besties now.) 

The tears you spent the entire day holding back decided to come out right after you finished reading the letter. Sobs escaped your lips as you sat down in your bed, the flowers and letter still in your hand. A strange feeling bubbled up inside you, you didn’t quite know what it meant, but decided to guess it was that disgusting sickening feeling Bobby left you with. 

When you laid in bed and tried to go to sleep, you took notice of how different the feeling you were having right now was from the one you got with Bobby Vernon. Sure, this one made you want to throw up, too. But it also made you want to stare into Lockwood’s eyes again and to feel his arms wrapped around your waist for a few more seconds. You drifted to sleep with a craving of feeling Lockwood’s hand intertwined with yours for the rest of your life.  

[whyse7vn]

BABY FEVER -

[ ot7 x reader ]

TAEHYUNG -

tae: have my cubs

y/n: STOP TALKING TO ME NOW

tae: i want 8

y/n: i’ve actually never been so srs in my life

let’s break up

like fr

i’m over this relationship i’m over you

tae: i can settle for 5 if it’s too much

y/n: let’s settle for a break up

tae: our little family 🥺

y/n: i would rather shoot myself

tae: why?

y/n: WHY?

are you really asking my why rn?

tae: yeah??

y/n: “have my cubs”

tae: i can’t get pregnant what is wrong with you

someone didn’t go to school 😭😭

y/n: who in their right mind says shit like that

tae: me??

y/n: stop talking to me

tae: babe

i’m being for real

y/n: i know

and i’m scared

tae: don’t be scared

i’ll protect you

and the kids

real alpha i am

y/n: stop

tae: are you getting emotional?

omg are you pregnant rn?????

hormones and that stuff?

is that what you wanted to say this whole time??

were you trying to hide it from me??

ur so cute >.<

y/n: i’m blocking you now

tae: we are gonna get through this together

do you think we need a bigger house?

y/n: genuinely are you ok in the head?

tae: ofc wtf??

i know ur not because of the pregnancy

but it’s okay

you don’t need to stress at all

i’ll think for the both of us

the love of ur life taetae be the sane one for the next 6 months

y/n: there is so much to unpack there

tae: omg have you been clothes shopping without me >.<

y/n: i am perfectly fine

you and sane don’t belong in the same sentence

never call yourself taetae again

and it’s 9 months not 6 you fucking idiot

tae: what is ur actual problem??

don’t swear around my child you’ll poison their mind

and i think i know more about babies than you do so just leave everything to me ok?

y/n: again i would rather shoot myself

tae: if you die i’ll protect the baby

y/n: there is no baby

tae: are you not ready to be a mother or something?

i swear we can do this babe

y/n: are you actually listening to me??

tae: ofc i am??

y/n: …

tae: i’m omw home btw can’t wait to see you both!!!!!!!

y/n: it’s like you only take in the information you want to hear

tae: i love you too

y/n: or maybe you just can’t read

tae: <333333333

YOONGI -

yoongi: no

y/n: i don’t like when you read my mind like that

yoongi: no

y/n: i’m gonna ask anyways

yoongi: no

y/n: let’s have a baby 😁🙏🏽

yoongi: no

y/n: if we don’t have a baby now ur gonna be an old dad

ur gonna die before our baby turns 10

we don’t want that do we?

think of all the precious memories you’ll miss

yoongi: i’m fine with that

y/n: are you really?

yoongi: …

no

y/n: let’s have a baby rn

yoongi: but that’s so much work

y/n: #inittogether

our little baby made out of our love for each other

isn’t that sososoos cute yoongi 🥺

yoongi: i guess

y/n: so we’re having a baby?

yoongi: go away

y/n: ur not saying no

i’m taking this as a yes

i continue to win in this life

yoongi: what if you die before me

and i’m left with a baby?

y/n: the old thing really got to you huh?

yoongi: no i’m just saying you might die first

y/n: there is no way i’m dying first

ur literally 30

yoongi: and???

y/n: like jin is ur age mate that’s saying aLOT

yoongi: ur pissing me off

y/n: okay old bitch

yoongi: you expect me to have children with you after you bully me??

y/n: pls put me in ur will

i’m in jin’s yk?

yoongi: why are you in jin’s will?

y/n: why? mad ur not?

yoongi: how do you know i’m not

in his will?

matter of fact why tf does he have a will??

y/n: aren’t you an inquisitive one

yoongi: saying big words doesn’t make you look smart

y/n: jin knows it’s almost his time

you better start writing yours

yoongi: leaving everything to holly

y/n: i’ll literally cook holly

yoongi: what is wrong with you

y/n: i am not with child rn

that’s what’s wrong

yoongi: that sounded gross

never say that again

y/n: i’ve come to the conclusion that ur my biggest enemy

yoongi: i’m glad you know

y/n: ur dying

yoongi: ur next

y/n: don’t ever say that

i’m literally in my prime

yoongi: ur prime?

couldn’t tell

y/n: find someone else to carry your children

i can no longer stand the idea of mini yous running around

yoongi: ok :(

y/n: ??

don’t frown at me

you brought this on urself

yoongi: 😔

y/n: you bitch

yoongi: come make a baby with me 😄

NAMJOON -

y/n: let’s have a child

namjoon: ok

y/n: i lied

namjoon: oh

y/n: what is wrong with you

namjoon: what is wrong with you?

y/n: did adding a question mark make you feel better bitch??

namjoon: very

y/n: this is why i lie to you

namjoon: that’s not nice

y/n: ur literally a nasty little gaslighter

namjoon: i’m not?

y/n: you are?

namjoon: if anything ur the gaslighter

y/n: fake claims i’ll sue

namjoon: you tell me you want to have children and then you tell me ur lying or you never said that

y/n: what is ur actual issue i’ve never said i want kids??

if you want kids ig we can talk about it but i’ve literally never brought that up

namjoon: see?

y/n: i see very clearly actually 20/20 vision the eye people told me

namjoon: you wear glasses?

y/n: occasionally

like what is ur issue?

ur so obsessed with me it’s not right

namjoon: ig i’m a little obsessed

y/n: it’s really not right

wait…

don’t you fucking wear glasses

what is ur issue four eyes???

namjoon: i do

i’ve never claimed to have 20/20 vision

y/n: ur blind as hell

namjoon: maybe i don’t want to have kids with you

they fr won’t be able to see anything

y/n: HOW DARE YOU SAY YOI DONT WANT KIDS WITH ME

YOURE SICK IN TBE HEAD

namjoon: put ur glasses on

ur spelling stuff wrong

y/n: it’s my charm

namjoon: not wearing ur glasses?

y/n: we need to go on a break

namjoon: how can we go on a break when we have kids to take care of?

y/n: and you say ur not a gaslighter?

what if i was a weak woman and fell for ur sick lies

namjoon: we would have kids by now

y/n: ur messed up

that’s so messed up

namjoon: shoot me

y/n: don’t say stuff like that

cuz i will

then you’ll be mad

and dead

namjoon: what are you bothering me for?

y/n: can i not just message my bf like omg?

namjoon: you miss me or something?

y/n: not anymore

namjoon: cute

y/n: fuck ur cute

namjoon: accepting a compliment won’t kill you yk?

y/n: stop communicating with me

namjoon: you messaged me first?

y/n: no i didn’t

namjoon: whatever

y/n: omg don’t speak to me like you hate me i’ll kms

namjoon: so kids?

y/n: idk what ur on about tbh

namjoon: fine

y/n: fine

namjoon: fine?

y/n: fine?

namjoon: idk what you want from me

y/n: children

namjoon: you stop communicating with me

y/n: wow

namjoon: yeah

y/n: ur a LOSER

SEOKJIN -

jin: it’s time we reproduce

y/n: no

jin: no?

this would be a blessing to many

y/n: ok??

jin: ok?

i’ll just kms then

if you hate me just say that

y/n: i hate you

jin: what is ur problem???

y/n: what’s urs??

you told me to say it

jin: i said if you hate me

IF

y/n: ???

jin: oh my god

leave me alone

y/n: oh my god by gidle

jin: you have to stop speaking to hobi

y/n: why :(

jin: ur starting to talk like him

and it’s gross

the mother of my children a hoseok clone??

no thank you

y/n: what children??

jin: you need to keep up

we are having kids

y/n: but you said mother of your children

like as in you have kids rn

and last time i checked i never gave birth

who is this other woman seokjin???

jin: ew why would you say my full name like that

y/n: why would you cheat on me?

jin: bored?

y/n: all men are the same

jin: i am like no other man

y/n: true you dumb as hell

jin: now ur talking shit

y/n: maybe the shit talks you

jin: what

y/n: what

jin: can we make babies pls

y/n: ew

you actually make me wanna throw up

jin: wtf

this is why i don’t talk to you

y/n: you talk to me everyday?

in fact you loose ur mind if you don’t talk to me for more than 2 hours

jin: you literally have no proof

once again ur talking SHIT

y/n: don’t raise ur voice at me tf

jin: see you would be such a good mother

that’s such a parent thing to say

lowkey got me feeling a little hot and bothered rn 🙈

i’m sorry

you might need to put me in my place again mommy 🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈🙉🙉🙉

y/n: what the fuck

jin: you’re not into it???

y/n: how can you go from talking about children to sex?

jin: don’t say that makes me sound like a perv

y/n: you are a perv

jin: no i’m not

ur just lame

like you need to have sex to have children

i was just helping start the process

y/n: you’ve got like a screw loose or something

jin: stop speaking to me in riddles

or don’t

i do love a smart girl 😉

y/n: stop speaking to me like a bitch in heat

jin: people lame nowadays

by people i mean you

y/n: cry about it

jin: i just might

y/n: good

JUNGKOOK -

y/n: do you want to have a baby?

jk: doesn’t giving birth hurt?

y/n: so?

jk: i don’t want you to get hurt

y/n: life is pain

jk: i’ll give birth

y/n: that’s not how it works

jk: pls let me do it

y/n: ok

jk: thank you

y/n: ur welcome

jk: do you think i’ll look good pregnant?

y/n: idk

jk: will you still love me when i get big?

y/n: i might leave you if you get pregnant

jk: wtf?

y/n: it might creep me out

jk: why wtf

y/n: i don’t want to imagine you pregnant

jk: but our baby ☹️

y/n: i would rather never have kids than see you pregnant

jk: wow

you think i would be that ugly

y/n: i’m sorry

jk: are you?

y/n: ummm

jk: ok then

y/n: we can always adopt

jk: but that’s not my baby

y/n: legally they would be

jk: we won’t have the same spit

y/n: the same spit?

jk: yk like our insides won’t be the same

y/n: ur dna?

jk: yeah my dna

y/n: ur not supposed to have the exact same dna as ur baby anyways

jk: okay but it’s like a mix of us

and a adopted one would have no mix at all

y/n: so what do you want to do?

jk: give birth

y/n: i really don’t think it’s possible babe

jk: i will do it

y/n: sure

jk: why don’t you believe in me?

y/n: i do

jk: act like it

y/n: wooo?

jk: not good enough

y/n: sorry i’m tired

jk: ok?

y/n: fuck you?

jk: i’m about to have a baby and ur talking to me like that?

y/n: i’ll believe it when i see it

jk: so you fr don’t believe in me?

y/n: yeah

not one bit of belief in me

jk: crazy how people switch up

when you want to come back into me and MY babies lives we won’t let you

y/n: i’m crying

honestly

jk: i’m glad

y/n: i’m actually not

i don’t care at all

and that’s the truth

jk: so you just lie for fun

y/n: pretty much

jk: wow

ur crazy

y/n: 4 u

jk: waittt why am i blushing rn 😖

are you in love with me be honest?

y/n: idk…

jk: oh

y/n: embarrassing…

ur just a fuck buddy tbh

jk: for 8 years i’ve been a fuck buddy?

y/n: yur

jk: are you lying to me?

y/n: i could be

jk: i could be pregnant rn

y/n: are you?

jk: no

but i could be

y/n: are you lying to me?

jk: yeah :(

y/n: it’s okay

jk: is it really??

y/n: you don’t want me to answer that

JIMIN -

y/n: i’ve been getting congratulation texts all day today

jimin: omg people are so crazy wtf 😭?

y/n: i’m fr so confused

did we win an award i didn’t know about or something??

jimin: maybe idk lol

y/n: would it be rude if i asked what tf they’re talking about?

jimin: unbelievably rude

don’t do it

i’m for real

y/n: but i wanna know

jimin: just accept the congrats and go

y/n: do you know something i don’t?

jimin: wtf no?

y/n. ur lying

jimin: i’m not

y/n: jimin

jimin: love of my life

apple of my eye

babe

y/n: tell me

jimin: omg i LOVE that song

tell me tell me ttttell me

y/n: now

jimin: sorry idk what ur talking about

hello??

babe?

where did you go?

come back

talk to me

y/n: YOU TOLD PEOPLE I WAS PREGNANT???

jimin: I TOLD YOU NOT TO ASK

WAHT IS WRONG WITH YOU???

y/n: WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT

jimin: i’m preparing people for the future

y/n: ??????????

i’m NOT pregnant

jimin: you will be when i’m done with you ;)

y/n: wtf is wrong with you

jimin: a lot

y/n: i can tell

jimin: do you think i’m ugly be honest

y/n: right now yes

jimin: so you think i’m pretty other times 🥺🥺🥺

let’s have a baby

y/n: no

jimin: okay wtf

why not

y/n: ur literally about to be shipped off

you want to leave me with a baby??

jimin: why would you say that

now i’m upset

i’ll take the baby with me

y/n: …

jimin: no?

y/n: no

jimin: fine

our baby would be lowkey ugly anyways

y/n: excuse me?

jimin: problem?

y/n: why would our baby be ugly??

jimin: i mean…

y/n: you mean????

jimin: ur gonna have to just prove me wrong babe

y/n: ur not funny

jimin: did i make a joke???

y/n: you are the joke

jimin: i actually am not the joke

i never joke

super serious guy park jimin is

super shy too

new jeans core >.<

y/n: i’m done with you

HOSEOK -

y/n: baby?

hobi: me?

y/n: no like an actual baby

hobi: ur having one?

congrats!!!!!

y/n: no??

i’m not having one

hobi: oh

i’m sorry for ur loss

y/n: there was no loss

hobi: oh

was there a gain?

y/n: do you want there to be?

hobi: depends on the gain

y/n: the gain would be a baby

hobi: yikesss

that’s a pretty lame gain

why would i want you to have a baby?

y/n: um because you love me?

hobi: i wouldn’t be the father

i don’t see the point

y/n: ???

why wouldn’t you be the father?

hobi: i thought you were asking me if you could have a baby with someone else

y/n: what?

hobi: what?

i’m confused

y/n: I’M confused

hobi: why are we confused??

y/n: why would i ask you if i could have a baby with someone else???

hobi: feminism?

tho i do think it would be more of a feminist move if you didn’t ask me

ur spirt was in the right place tho

i’m sure the women will forgive you

y/n: what?

hobi: was i wrong??

y/n: what do you think?

hobi: it’s not my place to decide for a strong woman like urself

y/n: get a grip

hobi: grip gotten

y/n: is this ur way of dodging my baby proposal?

hobi: a baby what?

that sounds wrong

tf is a baby doing proposing???

ur a baby like drink milk or something

y/n: are you drunk??

hobi: nooooooooooooooooooooooooo

y/n: so ur tipsy?

hobi: tipsy topsy who cares

y/n: i do

i’m trying to ask you if you want to have a baby with me oh my god

hobi: omg do you love me or something???

that’s so crazy

y/n: bye have fun drinking

hobi: drinking heals me

y/n: that’s concerning

hobi: will i be a good dad

y/n: i’m sure you will

hobi: or will i kill myself due to the stress

y/n: oh

hobi: let’s find out babe

i’m ready

y/n: that did not sound like ready talk to me

we can talk about this tomorrow

hobi: if we think about it what can a baby do that i can’t???

y/n: keep me company

hobi: i do that all the time

do you hate me

if you hate me say 1

if you hate me and want me dead in a ditch by saturday night say 7

y/n: where are you right now?

hobi: jin’s house

i think

y/n: you think?

anyways

that’s the point

i’m all alone a baby would never leave me to go drink with jin

hobi: jin would be dead by the time our baby was born

he’s old

dojn’t tell him i said that

he might kick me out

i would be so upset

like this :cccccccccccc

and this 😭😭😭😪😓😓😓😰😰😨😨

WOAHHH THIJS DRINK HITTING OH MY GOD BABE WOW

FEELS LIKE I JUST DID COKE

OH MY GOF

not that i’ve done cokr befr don’t be scared of me babe

y/n: wow okay!

hobi: babies can’t even dance to dynamite i don’t see why you would want that in ur life

and i totally can dance to dynamite

sO i win

y/n: you are so right babe you go and have fun with jin!

hobi: see ur just so silly

and btw i realllly donnt do coke i swear it

y/n: 7

hobi: OH MY GIF I KNEW ITT

[greenorangevioletgrass]

fever pitch (b.b.) - part three

previous part | series masterlist

soundtrack: don't blame me - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: you and bradley spend the night, but the road to heaven is full of obstacles; some are external, others are self-inflicted. warnings: language, public scrutiny (will be a recurring theme in this fic ha!), bradley is a stand-up guy all round, fluff, smut (d/s elements, praise kink, bit of a bratty side?, fingering, oral [f receiving], dirty talk, size kink, bradley is PACKING, protected sex) notes: i'm back! life has been crazy since i posted the previous chapter, but i just wanna say thank you so so much for your patience and your kind words about the fic so far! big shoutout to @gretagerwigsmuse and @teacupsandtopgun for being absolutely GEMS in brainstorming ideas-- this wouldn't have happened if it weren't for y'all <3 happy reading!

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The Langham, Sterling Suite. Ask for Holly Golightly ;)

Bradley smiles at your text, and the cheeky “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” reference. He shoots up a quick reply as he makes his way out to the lobby, fighting hard not to be grinning like an idiot to any unassuming passersby, until—

Click-click-click-click! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

“Hey, it’s Bradley Bradshaw!”

“Oi, Bradley! Give us a smile, mate!”

“Bradley, did you get to meet Y/N inside?”

“Did the boss let you out on a school night, Bradley?”

”How are you feeling about the Sunderland game this weekend?”

It’s a meager distance from the steps of Annabel’s to the curb where the valet has brought out his car, but holy shit. It doesn’t usually get nearly as crazy as this. He’s partied here with Harry Styles, and nobody bat an eye when the guy stumbled out drunk with his left tit out. But maybe it’s because Harry lives in London sometimes, or maybe because he was on a break… unlike Miss Americana on her world tour right now. It makes him pause and rethink how careful he needs to be.

Bradley gets into his car and drives off, trying to tread between the fine line of quick and careful. He can’t help but look over the rearview mirror more often than normal. Fuck, is this how you feel like all the time? He’s no stranger to the spotlight, but rather than the occasional run-ins, nobody has ever been interested in where he went to dinner on a random Tuesday night.

The Langham is barely a mile away, but Bradley sees photographers parked across the hotel with their long-lens cameras and disgusting disposition, and he keeps on driving. Thinking. Restrategizing. Hoping that his vintage aubergine Ferrari isn’t causing suspicion for driving by the second and third time.

He finds a basement parking lot behind the building and pulls up, hoping it’s the right entrance to the hotel. The attendant looks starstruck as he nods and points the way, sending him off with an eager ‘Come on you Gunners!’. And just like that, he makes it into the lobby out of the pap’s sight.

Be cool, he reminds himself, you’re only as suspicious as you seem to be. He comes up to the reception desk, and the girl behind it greets him warmly.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Langham. How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Ms. Golightly at the Sterling Suite,” Bradley says smoothly. “Holly Golightly.”

“And who am I speaking with, sir?” The girl looks at him like he seems familiar, but can’t quite place him. 

“...Paul Varjak,” he states, unable to bite back the smile. Oh, the thrill of giving out a fake name with the very real possibility of getting called out on his shit. 

But she nods and grabs the telephone, dialing into your room. Blissfully ignorant of the pseudonym he just gave her. 

Good. 

Let this inside joke be the two of yours alone.

The elevator ride up is peaceful—too peaceful that he can hear his heart beating and his palms sweating. Even the carpet mutes his footsteps towards the double door. Before he even presses the bell, a bodyguard opens the door for him.

“Mr. Bradshaw,” he nods curtly. It’s one of the guys from the restaurant earlier. Middle-aged, stout and rather short, sporting a permanent scowl and a vibe that indicates he’s seen some shit.

“Hi. Sorry, I haven’t got your name…?”

“Guy,” he deadpans.

Bradley wonders if that’s his real name or he’s just saying it so Bradley would get off his case, but smiles anyway. “Nice to meet you, Guy.”

Guy hums gruffly and ushers him into the foyer, an identical hallway of the hotel, with a room on each side. “Through here,” he leads him towards another set of double doors at the end of the hallway.

Meanwhile, you are full-on freaking out in your living room. Should you get changed? You’ve taken off your heels, but getting everything off feels so premeditated… You don’t even know if he wants things to go that far. Maybe you can break your little rule and bring out the wine for liquid courage? Gosh, nothing feels right. And it’s been so long since you’ve last done this that you’ve actually gone rusty.

And before you get to decide—in the long, wasteful twenty minutes or so you’ve been pacing, you hear a knock on your door.

“Coming!”

You rush over to get the door and there he is, coming out victorious through the hurdles, smiling at you.

“Thanks, Guy. I’ll take it from here,” you dismiss your security a little too quickly, nodding over Bradley’s shoulder. You’re sure Guy is rolling his eyes all the way back to his room over your lovestruck teenager behavior.

But it hardly matters when this man before you is looking at you like the sun.

“Hey, you.” Bradley beams at you from his spot. As if afraid to invade your space somehow.

And so are you. This feels like that night in the garden all over again. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t some pocket of a park you stumbled into; this is your hotel room. 

Quiet. 

Private. 

Safe.

“Come on in.” You let him cross the threshold, closing the door behind him the warm foyer light cast golden upon his face. You’re not sure if it’s the fact that you’ve ditched your six-inch heels, or that there’s no one else, but Bradley looks even taller than you remember him. Broader. More… imposing.

“I’m sorry for taking so long. There’s cameras everywhere and I had to—”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him. It feels rude to ask if he got caught on camera, but at this point, you had to ask. “Did you… Did they…?” 

Bradley quickly shakes his head. “No, I took the basement entrance, out of sight. We’re good.”

”I’m, uh… sorry for the fuss.”

”Hey, it’s no trouble at all… Ms. Golightly,” he tilts his head, grinning at your chosen pseudonym.

”Yeah, it changes every time. My last stop in Tennessee, I was Clarice Starling,” you admit, making him laugh. “Although I’m glad you got the reference… Mr. Varjak.”

He simpers, very proud of himself. And with that, he takes a step closer to you. Towering over you. Crowding you with his smile, his scent, his body heat… and neither of you makes the first touch. You’re painfully aware of how his gaze keeps dropping to your lips. Bodies drawn towards each other but tied in place for some reason. It seems like despite all the flirting you did at the restaurant, everything goes out the window once you’re alone.

You’re just two strangers, caught in a thrilling game of push and pull. Too scared to tip over and just… fall.

“Can I kiss you…?” Bradley breathes out. He feels foolish for asking, but it’s the only way to make sure he’s not ruining the entire evening.

But you sigh in relief and nod your head yes, and it gives you the push you need to close the distance from him. You don’t know which one happened first; touching his lips with yours, grasping his arms for balance, or standing on your tiptoes on his shoes. He keeps you there, his strong hands securing your waist.

“You’re making me feel like a kid…” It makes you giggle into the kiss, and he can’t not possibly fall in love with the sound of that—with the feel of your lips pulled up right against his.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing…” Bradley runs his hands down your sides gently. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“All night? You mean you’ve been thinking about making out with me while I tell you my life story?” you gasp, feigning shock and offense.

He laughs again. “Maybe for a moment or two there, I’ll admit.”

“I thought you were a gentleman!” you give him a playful smack on his behind, and there’s a flash of… something in his eyes. A spark, or a darkening. You’re not sure what it is yet, but it sends butterflies into your stomach yet again.

Bradley tucks some loose strands of your hair behind your ear. “I’m still a gentleman.”

“Really? I don’t believe that…” you sway his hips lightly, “I think you’re very… very bad,” you purr out, your lips barely touching.

He meets you halfway, and it feels like less of a shock this time. You gladly lose yourself in him, knowing you’ve crossed the line now. You finally notice how his mustache scratches your skin in a nice way, how he holds you flush against him, how he just melts into you in the kiss… enshrouding you in his warmth and lighting you on fire at the same time. 

Bradley pulls away, barely just. His forehead is still pressed against yours, your noses are bumping, and his breath melding with yours. He licks his lips and you swear you can almost taste it. “You’re making it really hard for me to be a gentleman, kid…”

You can’t help but chuckle at the nickname. It’s not one you expect, but it sounds right somehow. “I didn’t invite you all the way here to be a gentleman.”

The twinkle in his eyes darken. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him. “Is that right?” Bradley’s hands slide down your hips, finding the swell of your ass and giving it a firm squeeze.

The air catches in your throat, and you swallow lightly. “Mm-hm.”

Instead, you lead him into the bedroom. Bradley is right behind you, barely a step behind. His hands have found a home on your hips and he seems adamant to stay there for a moment. Insisting to hold onto you because he worries he’ll get ahead of himself before you’re ready. But gosh, you’ve been ready all night and you’re practically twisting your arms around trying to reach the zipper on the back of your dress.

“Come here, I got you,” he rasps, his heart skipping as he drags the zipper down your back. He’s not sure which one he loves more; the dip of your spine that he wants to trace with your tongue, or the way the dress falls to the floor and reveals what’s underneath that prim and proper pink dress.

A tiny scrap of lace held by a black strap on either side of your hips, framing the swell of your ass perfectly.

And he swears, for a split second, he thought he had died and gone to heaven.

“Fuck…” he breathes out.

You can’t turn around fast enough. It might be a good ‘fuck’, but what if it’s a bad one? “What’s wrong?”

Bradley just blinks at you, for no other reason than how your nipples are poking out the side of the skimpy triangle of your bra. And that your lipstick is smeared on the edges from kissing him.

But of course, your mind is already racing from the lack of response and you’re already thinking, oh no this was a bad idea I shouldn’t have worn this—

“Hey, hey…” he sees your face fall and your arms come up to cover your chest and he immediately steps in. Holding you close, hoping to give you comfort. “Is this all for me?”

Oh, shit. Maybe if you close your eyes tight enough, you would melt to the floor. “I know, it’s a little much—”

“No, that’s not what I asked…” Bradley tilts your chin up, making you look him in the eye. “I said… Did you put these on for me?”

Your breath comes up short, and you nod ever so slightly. You don’t even trust your own voice not to betray how much you want him to like it. How much you want him.

“It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you.” He smiles into your lips, kissing you there. Spelling out how he feels with his hands on your ass, his mouth on yours. “Such a good girl…”

That flips a switch in your brain and he can see it. Your eyes go wide, your posture changes, and all of a sudden, you look so… small in his arms. So vulnerable, so beautiful. So perfect. 

Suddenly, he’s holding the world in his arms. The sexy little thing you call panties is a pesky little nuisance now, and he can’t wait to get it off of you. His broad shoulders are keeping your legs open, his nose nuzzling your pubic bone as he looks up at you.

Bradley lowers you down on the side of the bed, settling on his knees before you. Committing every inch to memory by touch, from your ankle to your knee, up the inside of your thighs. When he reaches the scrap of fabric at your core, he feels it slick. He smirks. “What do we have here?”

Your face heats up. How the fuck are you supposed to answer that? No words are coming to your head—not when he’s drawing patterns over your pussy, making the lace glisten all over. And when your panties are positively ruined, he draws his hand back and licks the offending fingers in earnest.

And all it takes is a taste to send him into a frenzy. 

“Fuck honey, need to taste you…” he murmurs between feverish kisses all over your legs. “Can I?”

You nod fervently, feeling like he’s got you under a spell.

“Use your words, kid.” He grins, playfully biting the inside of your thigh.

The sharp sensation makes you yelp, and you grip his hair in reflex. “Yes, want your mouth on me, please…”

“Good girl, asking so nicely…” he chuckles, satisfied with your response. Then, he pulls you to the edge of the bed. That dainty scrap of lace you call panties is a pesky nuisance now, and he couldn’t wait any longer to get it off of you. With your legs hiked up on his broad shoulders, he dives into you. 

A taste, as it turns out, is an understatement because what Bradley does is devour. 

“Oh, fuck…” you gasp sharply at the contact.

With one hand pinning your thigh open, he laps you up in earnest, figuring out the many ways he can make you squirm. Time ceases to exist because it feels like he makes you come in no time, but also he’s been down there forever. But he goes on and on and on until his name comes out in a desperate chant of lust and need. 

“Bradley Bradley Bradley…” she grinds shamelessly into his mustache now, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensation on your part. “Please, I’m gonna…”

“I know, honey. I got you. It’s okay.” It’s an oddly wholesome thing to say in a moment like this, but maybe you’re a hopeless romantic at heart, because sweet nothings get you off.

Your orgasm strikes like a thunderbolt, and you find yourself arching into his mouth. The more you take, the more he gives—or is it the other way around?— It seems like he takes as much pleasure in it as you do. Maybe even more, as he holds onto you as you squirm away overstimulated.

“Bradley… wait.” You grab a handful of his hair, trembling breathlessly.

His mustache glistens when he comes up for air, and he finally (finally!) takes off his suit jacket as he stands up. He eases up on the throttle and lets you breathe for a second. He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, watching you spread out like a feast for him. Legs open, bra askew, hair fanned out on the pillow… God, he’s so lucky.

When he returns on top of you, you’re eager to pull him by his belt buckle, but he brushes your hand away. You frown in protest. “But I wanna touch you—”

“It’s not your turn yet, honey,” he chides you teasingly.

“You just had your turn!”

He shrugs, nosing your cheek. “Well, it’s still my turn, so…” Bradley closes the gap again and kisses you openly.

The taste of your arousal on his tongue makes you dizzy, but it can’t distract you from the buzz of his fingers rubbing your devoured pussy, sending shivers down your spine. It’s entirely too much, and you keel over from the contact.

“Somebody’s a little sensitive, huh?” He grins, easing the throttle a little.

“Fuck you…”

“Well, if you say so.” He slides his middle finger in.

“Ohhh… Bradley…” you buck up your hips and moan. But in comes another finger, and you swear it feels like all of him. 

He’s wound differently this time, like a man on a mission. With his fingers crooking and stroking your silky walls, beckoning you to come closer, while you grip his shoulders, willing yourself to hold on. But his teeth yanks the edge of your bra to set your nipple free, and his sly tongue finally gets a taste… all resolve goes out the window.

“Come on, honey. I know you got another one in you…” he breathes out, undoing the front clasp of your bra so he can suck your tits with all his might, willing you to come.

And frankly, who are you to say no?

The burst of pleasure hits you from your core to your fingertips. If he wasn’t pinning you down on top of you, you would have probably floated away. But you’re firmly laid on the mattress and feeling everything. Your eyes blink back into focus as you come down from your high.

You pant, staring at him in disbelief. Nobody has ever put that much attention on you in bed before even taking off his clothes. “You got a baseball bat in there or something?”

“Something like that.” He rolls his eyes playfully. Jokingly, you assume.

You take his arm, kissing his wrist, “Can I touch you now?” sticking your tongue out to lick his digits clean of you. Putting on a show as you suck his fingers. “Please?”

He throws his head back and groans. “Fuck.” He can’t resist that doe-eyed look you’re putting on, nor can he resist you undoing his shirt buttons. He can play dominant all he wants, but he knows that the truth of the matter is, he’s all wrapped up around your little finger. “Okay, okay. You win.”

It’s a mess of unbuckling pants, kicking off shoes, and tossing clothes to the floor. Your hand reaches out to trace his gleaming skin, every ridge of his abdomen. You’ve seen the Calvin Klein campaigns and the Men’s Health covers— and gosh, he looks like a dream. But when that thing just springs up to his stomach when he pushes his boxers down…

You didn’t expect him to manifest straight out of your wet dream.

“Holy fuck, you weren’t kidding about your baseball bat,” you breathe out, head tilted as you stare at his thick cock. The vein that runs along the side, the way it curves slightly to the right, the length that makes you clench at the mere thought of it… Fuck, it’s pretty.

Bradley chuckles sheepishly. He knows how big it is, he’s heard all the jokes in the locker room, but hearing it from you hits different. “You scared?”

You should be, a little. But without flinching, you bite your lip and look him in the eye. “Nah, I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

Gosh, he loves you. He’ll have to remember not to blurt that out too early. “Okay, big girl,” he chuckles, kissing you one last time before rolling off of the bed.

His sudden disappearance out of sight makes you frown. “Where are you—” you prop yourself up on your elbow, seeing him fish out a packet of condom from his trousers pocket, “Right. Safety first.”

Bradley nods, tearing the packet open with his teeth and rolling it on. There’s something so hot about how a man looks just before he fucks someone. “Mm-hm. Gotta make sure we’re both covered.”

“Do I need goggles and a helmet, too?”

He pauses as he straddles your hips. “Maybe next round,” he cheekily quips back. The idea of you wearing nothing but a helmet and safety goggles weirdly makes his cock stir, too. But you’re already lying naked under him, and he doubts that much will deter his hard-on.

Bradley pushes himself into you a little, and your eyes water as you whimper out in a blur of pain and pleasure. And here you thought two of his fingers felt full…

He stops in his tracks, trying to gauge your reaction. He nearly lost his mind over how tightly you’re clenched around him, but he doesn’t want to presume. “Too much?” He asks softly, stroking your cheek. 

Your breaths run ragged as you look up at him, almost in awe. “You’re just… so big…”

He laughs breathlessly. He hates to brag, but it’s true. And as much as he’s enjoying the way you flutter under him, he has to ask, “Want me to pull out?” Please say no, please say no, I don’t think I can handle it…

“N-no…” you wrap your arms and legs around him, clinging to him for dear life. “But I don’t know if it’ll fit.”

Bradley smiles at what has to be the most adorable look he’s ever seen from you. He kisses your forehead in reassurance. “I’ll go nice and slow, okay? I promise.”

Feeling this small and vulnerable so soon after meeting someone would usually set all kinds of alarms in your head. You never know how a guy would take it. But in this moment, nestled in the crook of his neck, among the mix of his perfume and aftershave and his natural musk… all you want to do is stay. “Okay,” you nod softly.

“Let’s try again then, hm?” He kisses your temple and whispers in your ear, “Open up, love.”

With a deep breath, you bite back a whimper as you take him deeper, still not quite all the way in. “Hurts…”

Bradley stops again, his concern fully taking over now. “You sure you want me to keep going…?”

“Yes!” You surprise yourself with how quick and desperate you answered him. Your eyes shut, trying to offset the warmth setting over your cheeks, as you make the dirty admission, “I… I like it when it hurts.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Bradley has to remind himself not to come on the spot, because holy shit. He wouldn’t go this hard on a woman so early in the game, but… his head is dizzy from how innocently you said it. He takes a breath to pull himself together. “Tell me if it’s too much, alright?”

The air is heavy. The room is silent. You can hear the shift in the tension as you smirk, “Yessir.”

There you are, you little devil. Bradley simply grabs you by the hips and bottoms out inside you. Your face goes slack while your cunt tightens around his cock, and it blows his mind.

He starts out slow, torturously so. Stuffing himself inside your crevice and dragging himself out, willing you to feel every inch. Every ridge. Until your body loosens up and twists around in the throes of passion. Your mouth falls open, your little gasps and moans coming and going as he pleases.

The unhurried pace is nice for a few minutes, when you’re still adjusting to his size. But now that he’s snug inside you, you’re simply aching for more. Your hips arch up into him halfway, a little more urgent, disrupting the rhythm with a pleasant stutter.

He notices this and smiles. “So eager… what’s the rush, hm?”

You answer with a groan. He has a penchant for asking you questions you can’t answer, this man. “You feel so good, baby…” you murmur headily, hands desperately grasping on him—his arms, his shoulders, his back…

”You feel even better.” He nips at your pert nipple, relishing in your angelic little filthy cry. Fuck, he can feel the exact motion of your pussy tightening for him. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that…”

”Then don’t.”

His eyes flicker onto yours immediately. You’re gonna be the death of him, he swears…

You grab his hair by the fistful, keeping his gaze. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

”Oh fuck—” he doesn’t stand a chance. His body reacts faster than his brain could compute, and he holds your hips flush against his as he buries himself as deep as he can. Every twitch of his cock sends you reeling, and your pussy clenches and unwinds in your climax, following him down from his high to yours.

Free falling, hand in hand.

Bradley rolls off of you and you would complain, if it weren’t for the way he immediately pulls you into his chest. Thank fuck. You’re not quite ready to untangle from him yet. Not when your breaths still run a bit ragged, as if accidentally catching each other’s. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and it feels unlike your regular out-of-town hookup. No, this one’s different. But not a word is said between you on that for different reasons— each of you holding your cards close to your chest, as close as you’re holding each other.

[ohheythisisagoodname]

write your name with hearts

featuring: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki, Denki Kaminari, tamaki amajiki, shinso hitoshi note: so sorry their all kinda short so i could fit them all without doing a second part

izuku (i can't tell if this is a person of broccoli....)

~ he was taking notes on you and your quirk one day

~ poor baby didn't even notice it because he was going on and on about your quirk until uraraka pointed it out in curiosity

~ his face lit up like a tomato

~ he tried to explain somehow but failed... horribly...

~ he actually ended up doing it a few more times

~ you caught him doing it once and he closed (slammed) his book faster than the speed on light. At least he didn't say he didn't do it.

~ after that you would always look over his paper sometimes to try and catch him in the act but after that he's never been caught again, doesn't mean he doesn't do it though.

~ it's just something he can't get over now

bakugo (the angry pomeranian. best friends a simp so might be a little bit oc-ish)

~ even he doesn't know what happened but one second his writing with his head in his hands and the next he's a blushing mess.

~ you had walked past his desk and when you saw it you pointed it out.

~ bakugo would extremely blush, but then he would try to hide it and start yelling at you telling you to mind your own business and start saying your delusional.

~ afterward after class he would go straight to his dorm a blushing mess.

~ like deku you would never find him doing it again.

~ for weeks after that you would be on his mind, he would think about that god awful moment.

~ he tried to play off the thoughts running in his head about your pretty little face as you had asked about it.

~ god he loved that curious glint in your eyes, but he'll NEVER say so.

shoto (it's icy thought on thursdays)

(help i have no idea how he would act, soo soo soo sorry this is gonna be so ooc, but all of them are soo...)

~ deku finds him doing it and asks him about it quietly so you couldn't hear shoto was writing your name with hearts.

~ he automatically erases it and stares at deku with a poker face "who's y/n?"

~ deku would automatically fall silent. "eh... um... nevermind." deku would say ending that awkward conversation.

~ of course somehow word about it would get to you, how? no idea. don't ask me.

~ you could ask shoto about it but he would just ghost the question.

~ like bakugo he would never be seen doing it again but his feelings for you would escalate from that day.

denki (my cute little sparky boy who lit a spark in my heart)

~ kiri found out about denki tending to write your name (yes in yellow hearts. get it? haha, i'm so funny... ha... ha... i'm delusional and a idiot...)

~ denki openly admitted it with an energetic smile

~ after going on and on about for a full hour with bakugo and kiri just staring at him like he's a simp (but i'm a bigger simp)

~ after that he just sat back down laughing awkwardly and scratching the back of his head.

~ if you had asked him about it though his brain would fry like when he uses his quirk and he would become a blushing mess

~ if you didn't though he would just stay cocky about it thinking that if you ever found out he'd just have a chance to ask you out but as you can see... it failed... horribly...

~ he would still ask you out though... in this brain... his fried brain...

~ but all that you would get was a blushing mess and incomprehensible babbles.

~ he would try again once he's brain wasn't on the fritz but his brain fried again thinking about it... holly ratatouille he's cute

tamaki (no.1 shy boi of my heart, ligt changing songs just for him, now playing "i can't handle change" by roar,)

~ you thought the others were nervous? oh boy... ignore getting your brain fried, ignore turning into a tomato, ignore whatever shoto and bakugo were. this shy boy right here is the real deal.

~ mario *ahem* i mean mirio caught tamaki in the act and asked about it.

~ of course tamaki blushed, with that quivering smile appearing on his lips.

~ tamaki being mirio's best friend told him about his feelings for you and mirio being mirio promised not to tell a soul

~ but once nejire told mirio about your little crush on tamaki mirio told nejire about tamaki's little crush on you. and then the word spread like wildfire

~ once tamaki had figured it out he was in a full blown panic attack

~ poor baby didn't even consider you liked him back and thought it was all a prank on him for liking

~ it took a lot of convincing for him to finally understand you liked him back

shinso (my beautiful insomniac who would keep me company through those bad nights)

~ umm... so who's the worst person to find you writing your crush's name with hearts? stop thinking its aizawa.

~ as soon as he catches shinso writing your name with hearts next to it.... damn... his own Protégé having a crush on his own student...

~ aizawa doesn't exactly hate the idea of shinso getting a girl/boyfriend but at the same time they could get in the way of hero work.

~ aizawa keeps it to himself that he knows shinso's crush but shinso had noticed something was off about the way mr.aizawa would act when he and you were together

~ once shinso had asked about it and aizawa explained shinso had birds over his head

~ after that he makes a deal with aizawa, he works as hard as he can and aizawa will help shinso get to go one a date with her and boy shinso kept his word

bye bye

none of it is my art

[bella-rose29]

Domestic Sweetness - part 1

requested by @oblivious-idiot: HI BELLE MY BELOVED you told me to make a formal request so!! can i request a lockwood x fem!reader - domestic sweetness, cooking for each other, lockwood giving reader his jumper, that kind of thing  feel free to go as wild and fluffy as you like hehe

"Love is wont to bring many calamities upon men" is the other thing I based this on and I feel like it's very fitting indeed

I AM SO SORRY IT'S TAKEN ME ACTUAL MONTHS TO DO THIS BUT YOU HAD UPDATES ALONG THE WAY SO I HOPE THAT HELPED

word count: 4.6k

warnings: painfully sweet relationship depicted, lockwood actually gets injured quite a lot (sorry to my boy), swearing, I think that's it? oh wait no there's like one or two slight innuendos whoops

“Can you pass the sugar, Lockwood?”

“Sure, here.” A heavy jar was placed on the counter next to you, and you paused in your stirring to measure out the new ingredient. He was smiling widely at you, a grin that could rival the sun with how bright and happy it was, and you almost felt bad about telling him that he’d brought the salt instead of sugar. His brow furrowed, and he checked the label again. “Damn. Sorry, darling, I could have sworn I picked up the right jar. The sun must have faded the pen; I’ll rewrite it.” He pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head before going in search of a marker, turning back momentarily to pass you the actual jar of sugar. 

George, Lucy, and Holly had gone out for the day, taking advantage of one of the last few warm days of autumn before winter started setting in and filled up their schedules with clients. Lockwood and Y/n had stayed in, making the most of the fact they had the house to themselves for a few hours and could make as much mess in the kitchen as possible without being shouted at. Besides, if the others did get mad then there would at least be cake to sweeten them up a little. 

Lockwood let out a small triumphant “Ha!” from across the kitchen, telling you that he’d found a pen. There was a brief pause, the only sounds being those of the spoon in the mixing bowl bringing all the ingredients together, and then the sound of a mason jar being opened. 

“Lockwood?” He hummed in response. 

“What are you doing?” You stopped stirring to look over at your boyfriend just in time to see him eat a spoonful of whatever was in the jar he’d just opened. “Wha… what the actual fuck?” He grimaced, pulling a face and sticking his tongue out repeatedly as though it would get rid of the taste. 

“…I had to check it was definitely salt.” He looked sheepish, a faint tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks and the tips of his ears as you stood with your hands on your hips and raised your eyebrows at him. 

“Of course it’s salt, dipshit. I’ve got the sugar!”

“I didn’t want to get it wrong!”

“Are you sure you didn’t just want to see what a spoonful of salt tasted like?” He didn’t say anything, instead starting to write ‘salt’ on the label with far too much concentration. You sighed, turning back to the bowl. “Idiot,” you muttered, but there was a smile on your face regardless. 

~~~

Lockwood could still taste the salt. 

He’d washed his mouth out with roughly four cups of tea and six pints of water, but the tang of the teaspoon of salt he’d eaten earlier was still there. He couldn’t even complain about it either, because Y/n just laughed at him and said he had to live with the consequences of his actions. 

At least he now knew what a spoonful of salt tasted like. 

He heard you struggle a little from his place at the sink (he’d been put on washing up duty), and looked to his left to see you attempting to reach something on the top shelf. Drying his hands on the tea towel he slung it over his shoulder and stepped over, coming up behind to help. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his front, while the other reached up and took the second mixing bowl out of the cupboard. “Here you are, darling,” he whispered, deliberately lowering his voice and speaking directly into your ear, tightening his hold around your waist for a brief moment and delighting in both the involuntary shiver and small sound that left your mouth. He kissed your temple and let go, placing the mixing bowl on the counter and moving away to finish washing up. 

“You,” his girlfriend started, clutching the sideboard, “are evil, Anthony Lockwood. Pure evil.”

He just laughed in reply, and yelped when you dipped your hand in the sink and threw soapy water in his face. 

~~~

The cake had been sat on the side for a while now, sponges cooling down so that the icing that the two of you were currently making wouldn’t melt and slide right off. 

“That’s way too much icing, isn’t it?”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll eat any leftovers.”

“Lockwood, you can’t just put everything in your mouth.”

“Icing won’t kill me, Y/n.”

You sighed, fighting back the smile that threatened to break through. “Still. You’ll probably be sick if you eat that much.” Lockwood didn’t bother hiding his grin, dipping a finger into the bowl to scoop some icing up. He laughed when you smacked his chest, smile never disappearing even when he nearly fell backwards off his chair. “Does it taste alright?”

“Yep. Tastes perfect. I could totally eat that whole bowl and not get sick.”

“Well,” you replied, standing up from the kitchen table and heading for the sponges. “You’re not going to find out if you can. The cake’s cool enough now. Here, take the spatula. You can lick it when we’re done. When we’re done, Anthony. Not now.” Lockwood pouted with the implement halfway to his mouth, sticking his bottom lip out so far it looked ridiculous, and you snorted and gave him a peck on the cheek. “C’mon, the cake won’t ice itself.”

A short while later the majority of the icing had been used, spread as neatly as possible over the cake that had now been assembled. “It looks pretty good!” Lockwood said, standing back to admire it. 

“I just hope it tastes as good.”

“Of course it will. You always doubt yourself and then make the most incredible things I’ve ever eaten, so I don’t know why you’re always so unsure.” He’d said it so casually, inspecting the spatula in his hand and leaning back against the counter, and he was talking about cake, but it meant a lot. He wasn’t wrong, and the fact that he’d said that as nonchalantly as he had made your heart clench in your chest. Looking at Lockwood now, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window and casting him in a soft golden glow, you found yourself wondering how the hell you’d managed to end up with someone as wonderful as him. 

Then he practically deep-throated the spatula, and the illusion of Anthony Lockwood as some magnificent and incredible person was partially shattered. 

“Anthony, what the-” you cut yourself off, staring in shock at your boyfriend as he took the nearly-clean spatula out his mouth and stared back, the picture of innocence. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be mad, not when he was looking at you with those wide brown eyes and titling his head a little in a silent question. “Never mind.”

“What is it?” 

“You- you just shoved the whole thing in your mouth!”

“Yeah, and?” He didn’t seem concerned about the fact he could have choked, instead resorting to licking the spatula like an ice cream to get the last of the icing off. For a moment, memories of his tongue doing a similar thing but in a very different context flooded your brain, not helped at all by the soft moan he let out at the taste of the icing. 

“Just, uh… you could have- you…” He had that innocent look on his face again, and it was difficult to remember what you’d been saying. “Don’t worry about it,” you muttered, gaze fixed on the spatula. Lockwood noticed, of course, and immediately a smug look took over his features. He exaggerated his movements, and the spell was broken. It definitely helped take your mind off of… other things, especially when he accidentally smacked himself in the face with the spatula. 

“Ouch,” he said, rubbing his cheek and frowning at the implement. 

“It’s your fault, you know. I have no sympathy for you.”

“Rude.” There was no malice in his response, and the glare he gave you was teasing. 

“What are we gonna do with the rest of the icing? There’s too much to put on the cake, but not enough to put on something else. It would be a shame to waste it.”

“Eat it?”

“You want to eat everything, Anthony.” He walked over to the sink, dropping the spatula in the water and cleaning it before moving to the kitchen table where the bowl of icing sat. “What are you doing now?”

“Come here,” he said, beckoning you closer with his left hand. His right was dipping into the icing bowl again, but before you could chastise him for it he was gently taking hold of your waist and pulling you in to his side, lifting his right hand to your mouth. “Open up.”

“Wha- just eat it off your hand? When did you last wash them?”

“You literally watched me wash them about a minute ago, I’m not sure why you’re concerned about that. We’ve got to eat the icing up, so if you won’t eat it then I will.”

“Fine. Go on then,” you said, sighing and opening your mouth. He paused for a moment, hand a few inches away from your face, and for a split-second you thought you saw a hint of amusement in his eyes. You should have realised that he would take advantage of the situation when his grip on your waist tightened, pinning you to his side so that he could wipe the icing on your cheek instead. A disbelieving scoff left your mouth, eyes widening as you took in the grin he was giving you. “Really? I thought you wanted to eat it?” 

He shrugged. “I can lick it off afterwards.” Under the icing your cheeks burned. Recovering quickly you reached into the bowl yourself, grabbing the back of his top to stop him lurching away when he realised that he was under attack.

“Not a fucking chance you’re getting away with this,” you muttered, spreading the icing over his chin (he’d jerked his head back at the last second, and given the awkward angle it was the only part of his face you could reach). Now it was his turn to huff in incredulity, and there was a brief pause where the two of you stood - still grasping each other to prevent any escapes - and looked at each other. 

Then something clicked, and at the same time you both made a mad scrabble for the icing bowl, hands dipping in to collect ammunition before attempting to smear the topping all over each other. 

When Lucy, George, and Holly came home roughly half an hour later desperate for a cup of tea and a quiet evening in, they found you and Lockwood lying on the kitchen floor, icing spread around most of the room and baking trays used as what looked like makeshift shields, wide smiles on both of your faces. 

George nearly had an aneurysm at the state of the kitchen, but after he made the pair of you swear to clean it before you went to bed and left the room in a huff he couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto his face. 

~~~

“Did we run out of teabags again?” Lucy called from the kitchen. It was incredible how far her voice could carry, really, since you and Lockwood were in his room a floor up with the door closed and music playing, and yet could still hear her. George yelled back something about how he’d meant to go the other day but forgot, and he couldn’t right now because he was doing yoga. Holly had already gone home, and when Lucy appeared at Lockwood’s bedroom door a few minutes later you sighed. 

“Why do we have to go? We just got comfy in bed,” Lockwood said, even though he was the only one currently under the covers and was still in his day clothes. You had been changing the music over, having grown bored of the previous record. 

“Because I need to wash my hair? And George is probably butt-naked so he can’t go. You two are already dressed anyway, so why does it matter?”

“She’s got a point, Lockwood,” you started. “It’ll be fun! Besides, we’ll have some time for just the two of us, and-” You didn’t even get to finish before he was launching himself out of bed, grabbing your wrist, and hurling the both of you down the stairs, already reaching for his coat and shoes. 

“See you later!” Lucy called, heading up to the attic. “Oh, and we need bread too!”

“Got it!” you yelled back, stifling your laughter at how frantically Lockwood was moving. “Why’re you going so fast? No, slow- slow down!” He had pulled your own coat off the rack and started putting your arms through the sleeves, and was now wrapping his yellow and brown patchwork scarf around his neck. 

“What? Am I not allowed to want to spend time with you? Alone?” He waggled his eyebrows around at the last word, leaning in close and aiming for a kiss, lips pursed comically as he shut his eyes. You pushed his face away, snorting at his theatrics, and put your own scarf around your neck before heading for the front door. Stuffing a bag in his coat pocket (you would never understand how he could fit so many things in them, they were stupidly deep) he followed after you, and it wasn’t long before the two of you were walking down the road hand in hand (or rather, hand in arm; your palms always got uncomfortably sweaty whenever you held hands for too long, and Lockwood had long since learned that letting you nestle your hand in the crook of his elbow was much better for both of you). 

“Teabags and bread, right?” you asked, double checking with Lockwood that you hadn’t got it wrong in the five minutes since you’d left the house. Lockwood hummed in response, a soft smile decorating his face. He turned his head to look down at you, and while his smile was still small you could see the happiness in his eyes. It was strange: before meeting him you hadn’t ever thought that someone could look at you like that, but here was Anthony Lockwood, gazing at you like there was nothing else in the world - in the universe - that mattered more than you. 

Maybe he should have considered that other things did matter, because barely two seconds later he walked face first into a lamppost. 

You desperately wanted to comfort him and check that he was alright but instead laughter burst its way up and out, making you double over and wheeze. 

“It’s not funny!” he exclaimed, clutching his nose, but there was a badly concealed grin under his hand. 

“I’m sorry,” you managed to get out, except you were still laughing and probably looked everything but sorry. “You just- you just walked straight into it!”

“Funnily enough,” he started, wincing as he prodded his nose with his index finger, “I was aware of the fact I walked into a lamppost. Not sure what it was that made me aware of it; maybe the way my entire face hurts has something to do with it?” Your laughter had died down now, one or two small giggles still breaking through, and you moved closer to inspect his face yourself. Knocking his hands away, you brought your own up, feeling along the skin to check for… well you weren’t really sure what you were checking for, but his nose didn’t seem broken, and he didn’t have any cuts or bleeding. He might end up with a bruise or two, but he’d wear them just as proudly as the slight blue tinge on his hand from years ago or the very large eye bags he couldn’t seem to get rid of. 

“Sorry,” you said again, meaning it a little more this time. You paused for a moment, a slightly guilty look appearing on your face. “I really wish I had had my camera with me to catch that though, is that bad?” He stared at you in open-mouthed shock, but the amusement glistening in his eyes told you it was just pretend. 

“How… dare you!” He lunged, arms outstretched in an attempt to catch you, but you spun away just in time, laughing loudly and jogging away down the pavement. Lockwood rushed after you, and his long spindly legs made the distance you had created seem like nothing. He wrapped his arms around your midriff from behind, pulling you back against him and lifting you up in the air all in one go. He spun the both of you around, unable to stop his own laughter as you kicked and squeezed your eyes tightly shut, and after what felt like far too long (but in reality was probably no more than five seconds) he put you down again, twisting you around by his grip on your waist so that you were facing each other. “So rude,” he muttered, grinning while he leaned in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “So rude.” Lockwood pulled back, releasing your waist and moving to the outside of the pavement while dramatically doing a little bow and offering up his arm. 

“Are you sure your face is alright?”

“I’m sure. A bit sore, but I’ve had worse. A cup of tea when we get back will help, I think.” He was still bent a little in the middle so you took his arm and let him stand up straight and lead you down the road again. 

~~~

“Is that all we needed?” you asked, walking back over to where Lockwood stood with the shopping basket. “It doesn’t seem like a lot given we came to the big shop.” Lockwood looked a little sheepish for barely a second, quickly schooling his expression back into one that looked more like ‘I’m so happy to be out with my girlfriend’, but you caught it regardless. Narrowing your eyes, you spoke again. “We didn’t need to come here, did we.” It wasn’t a question, and Lockwood shrunk back a little. “We could have gone to Arif’s; you saying he was shut was a lie!”

“Sorry,” he grinned. “I just wanted to spend more time with you, is all.” How could you stay mad at him when he was looking at you like that? Those brown eyes would be the death of you, you were sure of it. 

“Fine,” you replied, drawing out the word. “But we’re buying biscuits.”

“Happy to, since it means we get longer together before you have to go home.” The pair of you started walking again, heading for the biscuit isle, when Lockwood stopped abruptly in the middle of the store. “Did you need anything? You know…” he waved the hand that wasn’t holding the basket in the vague direction of your body. “I seem to remember you saying you were running out of something? Pads, maybe? Or was it the liner thingies? Oh! And painkillers, we need more of those. George used the last for a headache he had the other week and I forgot to restock.”

“How… you remember me saying that?” He started dragging you away from the biscuit isle and instead towards the toiletries isle, seemingly nonplussed about the fact he’d remembered one off-hand comment you had made ages ago. 

“Of course I do. I keep a little list in a notebook so I don’t forget anything. Ah, here we are.” He stopped walking to frown at the display of products before the two of you. “Actually… I have no idea what I’m looking at right now.”

“That’s alright,” you responded, reaching out for the things you needed. “I would have completely forgotten if you hadn’t reminded me, and that would have been a disaster.” As soon as you were done, basket just that little bit heavier, you both turned and left for the biscuits for the second time. 

“You pick,” Lockwood said as you neared. “I picked the biscuits last time and the others aren’t here, so tough luck for them.”

Despite you all calling it the Big Shop it was only a small amount larger than Arif’s, and as such the aisles weren’t all that much taller - you could often find Lockwood’s head floating above the shelves which made it easy to not get lost - but it did mean that if anybody was below the height of the aisles, they were practically invisible. Unfortunately someone had been just around the corner of the biscuit aisle, hidden behind a board advertising a brand, and you didn’t have time to correct your course. 

“Oof! Watch it!” 

At first you thought you’d bumped into a small child, possibly around six or seven years in age but just above the average height, and that he was in need of a personality check for the attitude he’d just given you. Then when you blinked and the child stood up after being sent flying across the floor, you realised that you were in fact looking at Bobby Vernon instead. 

“Sorry, Bobby,” Lockwood said, trying not to smile while the other agent brushed himself off. “Didn’t see you behind the display.”

“Lockwood, that display is the size of a large rat at most,” Bobby scowled, inspecting a non-existent rip in his Fittes uniform. You had only met Bobby Vernon once before (a few months ago, and he hadn’t said a word), and you were surprised that he apparently hadn’t gone through puberty yet. There was the odd crack in his words when he spoke, but otherwise his voice sounded like what could only be described as a mouse’s feet gently pattering over a tin roof, or perhaps something akin to a child talking to you in high tones very far away. 

“I’m aware of that,” replied Lockwood, having given up on hiding his grin by now. “What are you doing here?”

“I was getting supplies for a case that we have tonight. Not sure if you remember what those are, Lockwood, but we’re fully booked for the foreseeable future.” He puffed his chest out, giving the impression of a fairy trying to make itself look bigger than it was, or a small pufferfish going up against a whale. His tone had gone all smug and holier-than-thou, and you didn’t much like it. 

“Actually,” Lockwood started, with a look that told you he was about to start lying, “we’re doing quite well ourselves.” There it was. You’d spoken to Holly earlier that day, and the biggest job that Lockwood and Co had for the next week or so was hanging up lavender in a hotel a couple of streets away. Bobby raised an eyebrow (or tried to; it looked a lot more like he’d been told that someone had just adopted a pair of gerbils for him and named them Harold and Nancy or something ridiculous like that) and scoffed. Lockwood didn’t falter though, his smile staying plastered on his face and his posture confident (seriously, the boy had to have had dancing lessons with a back that straight), and after a few moments Bobby gave up scrutinising him. 

“Well I’d best be getting on,” the Fittes agent said, straightening his jacket and sniffing. “Busy life and all that. I hope you fall in a river, Lockwood. Or set another building on fire so that they can finally take you out of the game.” You huffed an incredulous laugh, not believing how someone who looked so small and mouse-like could say something like that. Before either you or Lockwood could respond Bobby Vernon had walked off, his rapier dragging against the floor a little and nearly tripping him with how long it was compared to his body. 

“He was nice,” you mused, turning to grab some biscuits. Jammy dodgers were the first to go in the basket, since George always ate the lot of them and rarely bothered with any others. 

“Bobby’s always a joy to be around,” Lockwood replied, reaching his hand out for yours. You shook your head and put a packet of bourbons in the basket instead, already going for some chocolate covered hobnobs and digestives. Lockwood had started grabbing at yours, so you cast one last look at the basket and the shelves before indulging him. “Is that everything do you think?” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, keeping his lips there while he waited for you to respond. 

“Yeah, I think so. We can always pop out again tomorrow if we missed anything.”

Just under ten minutes later the pair of you were out of the shop, Lockwood carrying the bags in one arm and your hand resting in the crook of his other. It was darker now than when you’d left the house, the evening properly drawing in and clouds darkening the sky, but with Lockwood by your side the world could never be anything but bright. The wind picked up, ruffling his hair (that somehow managed to still look great while you looked like you’d been dragged backwards through a hedge) and threatening to pull his scarf away. You reached out to grab it before the end could break free, effectively making the both of you grind to a halt. “Thanks,” he grinned, probably completely unaware of how he made you feel. A sudden urge to kiss him like those scenes in the movies overtook you, and you took your other hand out of the crook of his elbow to grab a hold of the other end of his scarf. Tugging harshly on the fabric, you yanked Lockwood down to press your lips to his, closing your eyes right before contact. 

Contact never came. 

Not for you, anyway. Lockwood did make contact, but with the floor instead of your lips, and there was a painful sounding thud when he landed. “Oops…” you murmured, hands now held up by your face instead of holding Lockwood’s scarf. 

There was a moment of silence where Lockwood was just lying on the pavement, face down while splayed out like one of those white chalk body outlines in crime reports, and then you couldn’t hold in your laughter anymore. 

It bubbled up, and at the small groan that escaped your boyfriend you tried to stop, pressing your hand over your mouth in an attempt to prevent any more laughter. You were unsuccessful, instead laughing even harder when he lifted his head to show the red print of concrete on his cheek and scowled up at you. Luckily the shopping had stayed in the bags, so when Lockwood pushed himself up off the floor and brushed the stray bits of pavement off of him, all he had to do was pick up the bag. He gently touched a couple of fingers of his free hand to his nose, testing for any injuries, then nodded when he felt satisfied that there wasn’t anything too worrying. He caught you hiding your grin and gave you one of his own before opening his mouth. 

“Kiss my nose better?” 

You snorted, stepping closer to Lockwood but not yet obliging. You checked for any damage to his nose yourself, not trusting him to have done a good enough job. “What makes you think I will?”

“Well I think I deserve some sort of compensation for my injuries,” he replied, using his spare hand to pull you into his chest by your waist. 

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” he said, voice growing quieter as he leaned in. His nose brushed against yours, warm breath on your face a pleasant contrast to the chill in the air. The wind was still pulling at your hair and clothes, rustling the plastic shopping bags in Lockwood’s hand and making your cheeks sting at the cold. 

“Alright then, if that’s what the doctor ordered.”

“It is,” Lockwood muttered, but the end of his sentence was lost in your lips. 

tag list:

@strawberryloveyyy, @chameleon021, @genderfluid-anime-goth, @cottagecore-babe, @anthonylockwoodandco111, @a-taken-url, @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @aysha4life, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @rhysand-devorak, @a-candle-maker, @h0lyheck, @apple-bottom-jeans6, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlitcanvas, @cielooci, @35-portlandxrow, @laumire, @isimpfor-everyone, @furblrwurblr

@neewtmas, @bobbys-not-that-small, @avdiobliss, @demigoddess-of-ghosts, @maraschinomerry, @lewkwoodnco, @uku-lelevillain, and of COURSE @oblivious-idiot for the request

as always, if there is anybody who wants to be added to my lockwood tag list, then please go here!

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Stuck Between a Jock and a Metalhead

Summary: Nancy, on a whim, decides to visit Steve at Scoops Ahoy, which leads to her overhearing confessions from Steve that leads her to think about the decisions she's made. A few days later, she decides to come back. She finds him being hit on by the town freak. What's a girl to do? Oh, get stuck in a freezer with the both of them.

A/N: Oops, I made this chapter a little angsty. I do love Nancy now, flaws and all. Oh, the title is a play on for stuck between a rock and a hard place. Thought it was funny.

Chapter One

Nancy Wheeler was confident in her decisions, to say the least. She never really doubted when she was in the right. It was a constant struggle, though, to look at someone's else's side of things. It was why she loved looking at the facts, put plain and simply before her. The facts are that she was interning at the local newspaper and that the news reporters seemed to hate women or look down on them at least. They surely didn't respect them.

"I mean, like what year are we in now? There are tons of female news reporters. Get ahead of the times!" Nancy complained.

"Well, there's a reason why people call this town so conservative. Will this town ever be willing to change?" Steve asked, shaking an invisible magic eight ball. "Sources say: unlikely. I mean, now, they really won't be subject to change with the way this mall moved in and took away their businesses."

"The same mall you work at?" Nancy asked in amusement. "By the way, what the hell are you wearing?"

"I can't believe you're just now noticing. This is my uniform," Steve said and flipped the hat back onto his head.

Nancy had stopped by Scoops Ahoy after coming into the mall to try to find Holly a birthday gift. She had spotted Steve behind the counter and had to stop in. Now, here they were, in the back room conversing like old friends. Steve stood up from the table and slowly twirled around before striking a pose. His back was to her, and he peered over his shoulder, his hand over his mouth as though he was shocked. His rear end was sticking out. He looked like he got caught doing something he shouldn't. Nancy burst into a fit of giggles.

"You're an idiot, Steve Harrington," Nancy said softly.

"And you're - uh - anyway, yes, this is my uniform. It's completely fucking embarrassing but not as embarrassing as being too stupid to get into anywhere," Steve said.

"Despite what I said before, you're not stupid. Although, you can be an idiot at times. It's not who you are, and if your dad ever makes you feel like that, then just send him my way. I'll kick his ass," Nancy said.

"You're the only person in the world I believe could actually take that asshole," Steve said.

"Thanks. I should probably go. I told mom I would be home soon," Nancy said, getting up.

"One thing first, and I'm not sure it was my place to say, but this job of yours. . .you're not getting paid, your skills aren't being put to good use, you have to ask what else am I getting out of this? What else am I learning?" Steve asked.

"Well, I'm learning what not to do," she said, and he laughed.

"You know, it's okay to give up something that's not working for you, and it's okay to fight for it. Whatever decision that works best for you, Nancy, it's okay," Steve said.

"Stop saying okay. I hate that word," Nancy said softly.

It made her stomach turn the way he said it softly, reminding her of the way he said it that night he told her to go with Jonathan. A small portion of guilt nestled in her stomach. She shook it away and smiled.

"It was good to see you again, Steve," Nancy said. "We should talk again soon."

"Definitely," Steve grinned. "Did I help at all?"

"Yeah, actually, you did," Nancy said.

As she walked out of the break room, she passed Steve’s co-worker Robin. She gave Nancy the stink eye. She wondered if it was because she thought there was something between her and Steve. Was Robin jealous of her? Did she want to date Steve? Or was she dating Steve? God, Nancy hoped not. She blushed, realizing that she had no right to be jealous of someone she didn't have any interest in anymore. . .or did she? Nancy walked briskly away, moving out of the parlor and towards the exit as quickly as possible. Halfway towards the exit, Nancy realized that she had left her purse. When she walked back in, there was a closed for lunch sign out front. She went in and headed towards the break room. She paused by the door when she heard her name.

"You're friends with your ex?" Robin asked. "That's a little. . . Unusual."

"I take what I can get," Steve said.

"What does that mean?" She asked and paused. "What? Are you still in love with her?"

Nancy sucked in a breath and waited hopefully for the right answer.

"I mean, I don't know. I guess so. How does one fully stop loving Nancy Wheeler?" Steve asked. "I just want her to be happy. If Jonathan makes her happy, then I'm happy, too."

"It doesn't kill you inside every time you hang out to see her with another guy?" Robin asked.

"Well, this is the first time we hung out in a while. After it all. . .ended, Nancy invited me to have lunch with her Jonathan, but I couldn't. . .it was too painful. I spent lunch in my car blasting Careless Whisper and crying. I got my heart broken, and I didn't have any friends. I mean, the friends I had I walked away from. They were assholes, yes, but I knew Tommy all of my life, and he wasn't always like that. My parents were never home, still aren't, and I just had no one. The kids I started to babysit helped a lot, but considering they were kids and one of them was Nancy's brother, I couldn't exactly talk to them about this," Steve said. "Before we broke up, I tried everything to befriend Jonathan because I knew how much he meant to Nancy. I guess I just didn't want to admit how much."

Nancy pressed her hand to her mouth, tears filling her eyes as she tried to muffle her sobs. She didn't know anything about all of that or the fact that Steve tried to make friends with Jonathan.

"You didn't want to lose her. The fact that you tried to befriend him says a lot about you," Robin said. "I wouldn't have been able to do that."

"I can't hate her for making the choice that she did. I was never enough to be it for her, but I respect her choice even if I don't like it. I can't force her - " Steve choked up. "I can't force her to love me."

"So pathetic," Robin said softly with a hint of affection and Steve laughed.

"Definitely pathetic," Steve said and paused. "I miss her so much that it's stupid. I just wish that I could move on. I think I'm trying too hard. I guess I can't force that either."

"I think I can help with that," Robin said in a mischievous voice. "It requires me taking over the whiteboard, though. What are your preferences?"

"Men, women," Steve said.

"I meant like how do you want me to tease you mercilessly while I do this, but that is. . . That is good to know," Robin said. "Um, right, thanks for telling me."

Crying softly, Nancy quietly and quickly walked away. She'd get her purse some other time. She ran all the way to the bathroom and locked herself in a stall. What he had said then was something she always suspected about Steve, but she never asked, never wanted to be pushy about that part of his life in case he wasn't aware, but turns out, he was. It was all the other stuff that was overwhelming her. She couldn't stop picturing Steve alone in his car, crying. She had so wanted to believe that he had been fine, that he wouldn't be affected by what happened. Or maybe she just hoped that he wouldn't care because it was easier to escape the fact that she fucked up. She didn't intend to hurt Steve, but she did it anyway, and maybe there was another reason why she didn't want to think about how he felt or that moment at the school. She didn't want to think about him walking away from her after begging her to tell him that she loved him. She didn't want to think about him telling her it was okay or hearing him call himself a shitty boyfriend. It was easier to ignore all of that than to admit that she didn't feel like she deserved him.

Jonathan doesn't deserve for her to think that way either because her relationship with him means something, doesn't it? Everything happened so quickly. Maybe that was why she wanted it to happen so fast. Why she had acted the way she did with her feelings for Jonathan? She wanted to destroy her relationship with Steve, to make him hate her the way she hated herself, and she wanted him to feel guilty the way that she did with Barb. She was so mad at her before she died. Why couldn't Barb have understood that it was her choice to have sex with Steve? That the moment he talked to her, it was decided, and the very moment his lips touched hers. She bought a new bra, bought a new sweater, and she even lied to her mom about why she needed birth control.

"This isn't you, Nance," Barb had said.

"Why couldn't you have just gone home?" Nancy whispered to the empty bathroom.

The real person she wanted to be angry with was Barb, and how grotesque was that? How could she be angry at Barb for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? No, because if Barb had gone home and just let her make her choice, then Barb would still be alive. Nancy's stomach rolled. That's what Steve represented, not his guilt because he did nothing, but her own for being so angry with Barb before she died and for being angry after. The real person to be angry with, she knew, was Dr. Brenner. He was the man who started all of this, who led Barbara to her death. If she could bring him back and kill him again, she'd kill him a thousand times. She couldn't go down that road again. She knew the risks she took when she sought justice for Barb. She risked the whole damn town to do it. She wasn't sure she could put something like on Steve again because she still loved him, and he deserved better than that. Nancy wiped her face and came out of the bathroom to find Robin leaning against the wall. She was holding her purse.

"You left this. I saw you run in here. Damn, you're fast," Robin said and handed her the purse.

"Thanks," Nancy said, taking the purse and Robin narrowed her eyes at her.

"You came back for the purse. You heard us," Robin said, and Nancy didn't say anything. "You still love him."

"He deserves better," Nancy said.

"Doesn't he also deserve to make that choice for himself?" Robin asked.

"I - why do you care so much?" Nancy asked.

"I'm a firm believer in second chances. Without them, I wouldn't be here. My mother thought she'd never see my father again or to tell how she felt, but the chance came around again, so . . . Here I am," Robin said, raising her hands up in a shrug. "Gotta believe that there's hope for everyone."

Nancy stared at her for a moment, trying to figure her out. She washed her hands and dried them off.

"Don't tell Steve about this," Nancy said softly.

"Tell him what?" Robin shrugged and left the bathroom.

When Nancy walked into the house, Holly was playing barber shop with Mike's hair while he screeched that she was pulling his hair on purpose. Judging by the mischievous look on Holly's face, she was. Nancy smiled and shook her head before walking into the kitchen where her mother was making lunch.

"Hey, Nance. Did you find what you were looking for at the mall?" Karen asked.

"I think so," Nancy said softly as she stared at her mother.

She realized then where the choice she made with Jonathan was leading her. It was the path that she thought Steve would lead her down to: an unhappy marriage. She still liked Jonathan right now, and she wanted to continue to like him. Not that her mom didn't love her dad. It's just that she didn't like him very much. She wanted a partner that she not only liked but loved as well.

"We like Steve, but we don't love Steve," Murrary had taunted.

Nancy blushed furiously. He had been wrong. She should have said something then, defended Steve then because it was true. She liked Steve, and she loved him too. As much as she cared for Jonathan, as much as she liked him, she didn't love him the way that she loved Steve. The more she thought about Steve, the more she started to remember everything that she loved about their relationship. She remembered nights when they would curl up and watch Tom Cruise movies. They would both gush and giggle over him. Thinking about it now, he definitely had a crush on him like she did. She remembered watching him bake, and when a Bob Seger song came on, he would pull her in his arms to dance. He wasn't afraid to let her lead either. It wasn't just Bob Seger. It was Queen, Bowie, and Madonna. Occasionally, it was stuff like Eddie Van Halen, too. She loved the fact that he didn't just have a particular genre that he loved. He appreciated all sorts. And when she had to babysit Holly, he would come over to help, and he was always so good with her. He was good with both Holly and Mike. She loved the way that he wasn't afraid to be an absolute dork. Her dad was a quiet man, but he always some managed to pull a conversation out of Ted, and he loved to help her mother in the kitchen. She remembered all if without the cloud of guilt weighing her down.

"Nancy, honey, are you okay?" Karen asked.

"I messed everything up," Nancy burst into tears.

Chapter Two

[gingerbearbaby]

Superstitious (Lockwood x Reader!AU)

I am absolutely obsessed with Lockwood and show choir and I was desperate for someone to write it. So this came out. It's my first (and likely only) work, so enjoy! Best read with F!reader (sorry!).

Basically, Lockwood and reader are co-dance captains in their show choir. Barnes is their director and Holly is their choreographer. Their girls group is called Elegance and their mixed group is Fusion. Also Kipps and reader used to date.

As for their ballad, it's called Maybe I Like It This Way from the musical The Wild Party. It's such a good song!

Tropes: enemies to lovers, fake dating, forced proximity

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: cussing, mentions of cheating, one line of slut shaming, kissing, a little bit of angst but plenty of fluff, they're idiots your honor, mentions of unrequited love (but it's really requited), regular mentions of superstitions

“Luce, I’m not so sure I can do this anymore.” You looked to the redhead next to you, shrugging your rehearsal bag further onto your shoulder.

“You said that last year.”

“Well last year I didn’t have to dance with him.”

Lucy opened the school door, a heavy sigh escaping her. “He’s not that bad once you get to know him.”

“Correction: he’s not that bad to you.” You swung open your locker door, wrestling your duffle bag into it. “You guys are friends we are…”

“Two people with intense sexual tension.” Lucy interrupted as you trailed off. A quick smack to her thigh was received.

“Not every rivalry has sexual tension.”

“No, but yours does.”

“Oh shut up!”

“Why is Lucy shutting up?” You looked up to see Norrie wrapping her arm around her girlfriend.

You stood up and began walking to the choir room. “She’s trying to convince me that I have sexual tension with that asshole.” You gestured to the lanky figure at the front of the room, fixing his hair in the mirrors whilst vehemently arguing with George.

Norrie gave you a look as if to say ‘Is she wrong?’ which left you shaking your head as you walked to the front of the room.

“Ah, my vice captain. Nice of you to join us.” Lockwood poked.

You raised your eyebrows. “Vice captain?”

He nodded. “Like a presidency? I’m the captain, you’re my vice captain.”

“You’re mistaken. I’m the captain and you’re my vice captain. I mean,” you crossed your arms in an effort to seem more nonchalant, “I have more experience as a captain, being the dance captain of Elegance too.”

“If I was a girl, there’s no doubt that I would be the dance captain of Elegance and you would be my vice captain there too.”

“There is no such thing as a vice captain. You’re co-captains. Sit down.” Barnes spoke, gesturing to an empty spot on the risers.

Lockwood leaned to whisper quickly in your ear, “He only said that to save you the embarrassment of losing that argument.”

You flicked his thigh, whispering back a, “Fuck you.”

He gave you a wolfish smile in return. “In your dreams.”

You simply rolled your eyes. You don’t truly remember when you really began hating Lockwood. You suppose it had always been that way. You never really spoke much except for talking about choir in history your freshman year, and even then it was brief comments about upcoming concerts. Then came your sophomore year with a shared English class, which began this weird competitiveness between the both of you. Though you have to admit, your rivalry was the primary reason you escaped that class with an A. But that didn’t make him any more bearable.

You turned to your right to see Lucy already looking back. She mouthed ‘tension’ before flashing an innocent smile and turning towards your director. 

“Your show this year will be a kind of romance-y theme. Think rom-com. Weird tension to soulmates.” Lucy nudged you. “To combat any… hormonal drama,” you cringed at his words, “we’re gonna pair you up for the show. You’ll each get a designated dance partner, bond with them throughout this season. Learn to trust them. There will be a lot of partner dancing.”

“Just make smart choices.” Holly smiled. Barnes gave her a quick thumbs up for her addition to his little spiel.

“Our first pair is our two dance captains.”

“Kill me now.” You muttered through gritted teeth.

“Kill me first.” He muttered back.

You were in for one hell of a season.

The first rehearsal was admittedly rough. Every chance you and Lockwood had, you were whispering insults underneath your breath or coughing while the other demonstrated a move.

By the fourth rehearsal, you and Lockwood began to trust each other in your dancing. And even began to bond a little. Sure you still traded little insults whenever he stepped on your toes (or vice versa), but for the most part you became friends.

By the tenth rehearsal, you realized you actually enjoyed your little dynamic. Your hatred turned to teasing and you even began talking to him after rehearsals. This of course earned you more teasing from Norrie and Lucy, but soon even George began to join in as your friend group developed.

Next thing you knew, it was the night before your first competition. You turned to Lockwood after your final runthrough of the night, hoping to give him a high-five, but was caught off guard as he ran his hand through his hair. Dancing and singing was no easy feat so you weren’t surprised that he was sweating, it was just the fact that you found his sweaty hair attractive. It was probably just the stage lights, but you quickly found yourself staring at him.

“You alright?”

You quickly nodded, shaking yourself out of your thoughts of, well, him. “Just thinking about our competition tomorrow.”

“Hey, we’ll be fine. It’s not our first time competing against Fittes. There’s nothing to be worried about.”He reassured as your face dissolved into one of horror.

“Shit.” Lockwood raised an eyebrow at your choice of words. “Kipps.” You answered. His brows furrowed.

“You worried your boyfriend isn’t gonna like our show or something?” You shook your head in dismissal, your face changing to one of disgust.

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore. Cheated on me with Kat Godwin about a month ago.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” You shrugged off his sympathy till his lips forged into a grin. “It’ll make our win even more rewarding. We’ll put that motherfucker in his place.”

“Yeah, except there’s one step of our little revenge plan missing.”

“Oh?”

You nodded. “In my heartbreak, I may or may not have made an ill-advised decision. And let's say that I told him that I already found a new boyfriend.”

“Oh.” You nodded, pursing your lips as the reality of your situation sunk in.

“So we need to find you a boyfriend.” You nodded. “They don’t sell those at the supermarket, how are we gonna find one overnight?”

“You don’t.” You sighed. “I’ll need to find someone to fake date me for the season.”

“One hiccup with that plan. Fake boyfriends aren’t sold at the store either.”

You nudged him with your shoulder as you began the walk to your car. “I know they don’t. But to get the ultimate revenge, I happen to know someone who he very much hates.”

Lockwood paused beside you, leaving you to turn to him, facing the consequences of your suggestion. “You want me to fake date you?” You gave him a sheepish smile.

“Maybe?”

You watched as he considered it in silence. “If I said yes, I would be doing this the whole season?”

“Preferably.” You watched as he fiddled a bit with his ring. A habit of his you began to notice more as you increasingly spent time together. “But only at competitions. The rest of the time you can go back to hating my guts.”

“I don’t hate your guts. I never have.” You felt heat begin to creep into your cheeks at his words. Maybe you won’t have to worry about finding a fake boyfriend overnight if you get sick before the first comp. “So we’ll just piss off Kipps?”

“Only at comps,” you assured. You sat in silence once more, the cold February air leaving you impatient at the length of his consideration. He was likely finding the best way to turn down your proposition.

You turned to walk away, reaching your car door as he called out, “Let’s do it, babe.” You looked to see him wink at you, feeling the heat flush once more. “Let’s get our revenge.”

You sent him a smile, climbing into your car, and hoped that the feeling in your stomach would subside before tomorrow morning.

The bus ride to the competition was spent huddled over your phone resting atop your shared mountain of garment bags, conversing the details of your fake relationship, and drinking a coffee that Lockwood gave you earlier that morning. He told you they gave him the wrong order and offered it to you, saying it was “too sweet” and that he only wanted an americano. Luckily for you, they mistakenly gave him your favorite latte.

By the time you arrived at the competition, you were a bundle of nerves just itching to finally perform. A quick glance at the clock (and your comp itinerary) left you and Lucy in a rush to find your dressing room to get ready for your performance with your girl’s group, Elegance.

You and Lucy stood backstage after your warmups, watching your stage crew and band load on. You fidgeted with your dress as you double checked your heels were on the right feet. You made that mistake once in a rehearsal your freshman year and vowed to always check before each performance. Just in case. It was a superstition you’d developed.

Thinking of superstitions, you grabbed Lucy’s wrist, giving it a quick tap as you watched Barnes motion you all on stage. Taking your places, the show began.

It was an utter blur, the adrenaline melding the whole show together into what felt like seconds, until your solo began. As you grabbed the mic, you looked to the audience and finally acknowledged the brunet boy sitting front and center. You met his eyes from the stage as he smiled brightly at you. With a quick wink in his direction, you returned the mic to the stand as the rest of Elegance returned from their costume change.

The bows began too soon. You could’ve spent all day on that stage just to know that Lockwood was watching you. He was smiling at you. And not one of his teasing smiles, a real smile.

Still in your costume, you met him in the hallway, running to give him a hug.

“You were incredible. That was incredible!” He was muttering in your ears, as he placed your feet back on the ground.

You simply smiled up at him, caught up in your proximity to him. It wasn’t uncommon to hug people in the midst of a post show reverie. It’s just that you’ve only ever been so close to him when choreographed. It felt different to feel his hands on your waist when it was a choice of your own volition. Your attention shifted as you felt a tap on your back.

Lucy, who you lost earlier in the hallway as she ran to find Norrie, was now pulling you back towards your homeroom to get changed.

“What the hell was that?”

You looked at her. “What the hell was what?”

“Your sexual tension turned romantic.”

“It did not.”

“It did.”

You jumped. “Jesus, George! Where did you come from?”

“I was right next to Lockwood. You were just so caught up in your little rom-com moment that you didn’t notice me.” You frowned.

“Not true, it was not a rom-com moment.”

“You literally just reenacted running through the airport to stop him from flying to Amsterdam to start a new life without you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t kiss him,” Lucy added.

You simply groaned in response. “Lockwood and I are just friends who are fake dating.”

The two raised their eyebrows. “That’s new.”

“That’s really new.” George agreed.

“Kipps is here. We’re trying to piss him off.”

The two nodded. “You’re going for a Proposal kind of thing.”

“Luce, what does that even mean?”

“We have to get you caught up on your rom-coms.” Lucy nodded at George’s comment.

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Just, if Kipps asks, Lockwood and I have been dating for a couple of weeks since the breakup.”

And with that, you entered your homeroom to change back into your normal clothes.

“They’re hopeless, Luce. Hopeless.”

“They’ll figure it out sometime soon. Just give them till the end of comp season.”

Once changed, you met Lockwood in the cafeteria, the two of you looking for a seat in the expanses of the cafeteria.

“Well, what do we have here?” You steeled yourself at the sound of your ex’s voice and looked to Lockwood who had already spun around.

“Kipps. What a surprise.”

“Tony! Always a misfortune to see you here.” He turned to you. “I see you’ve become the rebound for our little princess over here.”

“She’s not your princess.” Lockwood stepped forward as you reached for his wrist. “Why don’t you find someone else to bother? I’m sure some of Tendy’s kids are getting bored without someone to insult.”

Kipps simply ignored Lockwood and looked at you. “Tony? Really?”

You let out a dry chuckle. “I could say the same thing about Kat.” Kipps’s face twitched with anger as you continued. “And at least I found someone who actually cares about me, something you could never manage.” You laced your fingers with Lockwood’s. “And his name is Anthony, not Tony.” And with that you pulled Lockwood away.

When it was finally time to perform, you found yourself fidgeting backstage again. Lucy quickly tapped your wrist, leaving to go back by George, her own dance partner. Still toying with a sequin on your dress, you glanced at Lockwood whose hair was in spikes as he continuously ran his hand through it.

“You look like a mess.” You whispered. “Are you always like this before a performance?”

He only nodded. As stage crew was almost done loading on, you quickly grabbed his wrist to stop him. “There’s no way I’m letting you go onstage like this. You look like you’ve been electrocuted. Can I fix your hair for you?” He simply nodded once more as you went on your tippy toes to fix it, wobbling a bit in the process. Lockwood’s hands flew to your waist to steady you, giving you a rush of that same nauseous feeling in your stomach. You brushed off the thought, rationalizing it as nerves, and quickly admired your work with his hair. Adjusting his tie, you flashed him a smile. He responded with a simple squeeze to your hips before he turned to see Barnes gesturing the choir onstage.

The performance was a whirlwind, and before you knew it, Lockwood was dipping you in his arms, his hands supporting your waist. He gave you a little squeeze, identical to the one before you began performing. A large smile had engulfed his features, as he pulled you out of the dip, twirling you as you both exited the stage to the sound of a thundering applause.

“Holy shit.” You exhaled a laugh and turned to Lockwood.

His hands had found their way back to his hair, spiking them up yet again. You found yourself thinking back to yesterday’s rehearsal when he had done the same thing. Without the stage lights, he somehow looked even more beautiful, with his leather jacket pulled taught around his arms. He smiled at you before leaning in to whisper, “We put that bitch in his place.”

You simply laughed along with him, walking back to the homeroom to meet up with Lucy, George, and Norrie.

Later that evening, your choirs were huddled together in a corner of the vast auditorium awaiting the emcee to announce the finalists. In a swarm of the students, one Lockwood was missing, leaving you frantically searching for him. Swatting a sophomore from the seat beside you, you felt Lucy lean over to whisper, “You’re whipped.”

Her words were quickly forgotten by the arrival of the boy holding a pretzel. He tore a piece, squeezing through the row to settle beside you. “Want some?”

Wordlessly, you took it, and turned your attention back towards the stage as the emcee, one Mr. Fairfax, entered. Reaching to Lucy, you linked pinkies with her.

“Going first in your large mixed finals is Tendy High School Swing Sensations!” Squeezing Lucy’s pinky harder, you felt Lockwood’s knee knock into yours, his hand opened beside him, inviting yours.

Lacing your fingers, you heard Fairfax continue. “Second in the large mixed finals is Bunchurch High School Encores!” You felt your body tense. Only two more finalists.

A thumb brushed over the back of your hand, softly. Like a whisper of comfort that one was unsure to offer. You squeezed his hand again. He squeezed right back.

“Your third finalist tonight is Fittes Academy Vocal Excellence!”

You dropped your head, holding your breath to better hear the announcer. “And last but certainly not least, Portland Row High School’s Fusion!”

You exhaled, leaning over to Lockwood and linked your arms with his. “One step closer to revenge.” And with a smile you turned back to Lucy to discuss the possible results of the competition.

On the way to your warm-ups, you felt Lockwood reach over to lace your fingers together. Looking up at him, you saw the pure anxiety on his face. Squeezing his hand, he turned to you, his brow unfurling ever so slightly.

As the Fittes crew exited their warm-ups, Kipps shoulder bumped Lockwood, knocking him into you. His once anxious features dissolved into one of anger, his jaw clenching.

“He’s only doing that because he knows he can’t win.” Lockwood turned back to you, taking a deep breath before the warm-up began.

Once again huddled backstage, you checked down at your shoes while Lucy tapped your wrist again.

“Can you fix my hair again maybe?” Lockwood whispered.

Back on your tippy toes, you checked his hair and straightened his tie. “Are you superstitious, Lockwood?”

Without words, he squeezed your hip before turning to wait for Barnes’ directions.

On the stage, you only got to see Lockwood performing. With his big smile and irresistible charm, it was impossible to think of the boy you saw backstage. The one who holds your hand and squeezes your waist. You’re not sure which Lockwood you liked more: the dazzling performer or the one who needs you to fix his hair. Once your second number was finished, you hit your pose, one Holly was quite proud of. It’s not necessarily even a pose, it’s just a hug. In your quick embrace, you heard Lockwood exhale into your ear, quiet enough to not be picked up by any of the mics, but loud enough for you to hear his words.

“I like when you call me Anthony.” As Norrie began her solo, your mind kept repeating his words. It was as though he was stuck in your head; a broken record on repeat. You found yourself suddenly relating even further to the ballad as you began to sing once more.

Once the bows commenced, you met Lockwood’s eyes as he dipped you for your final pose. It was then you decided that the Lockwood you liked most was Anthony. And as he twirled you offstage, you felt that same nauseous feeling settle into your stomach.

Smiling at him, you rushed to find Lucy and Norrie. “You were right,” you whispered. “Our tension has gone romantic.” Lucy grabbed your elbow, pulling you closer to the wall. “He told me he likes when I call him Anthony.”

“What, during our show?”

“Yes!”

“When is there time to do that?” Norrie asked, huddling around the two of you. “We’re singing the whole time.”

“He whispered it during the hug. Before the ballad.”

“Oh shit.” The two whispered. “Well is it so bad that he maybe has a crush on you?” Lucy continued on. “We’re all waiting for it to happen.”

You ran your hand through your hair, squeezing your eyes shut. “No! No. He doesn’t have a crush on me. I have a crush on him.” The two shared a look before turning back to you. “Telling your friend to call you by your first name is normal. It’s the fact that I can’t stop thinking about it that’s throwing me off.” 

“Well it happened only 10 minutes ago, I’d say it’s fine to think about it after such a short duration.” You groaned.

“It’s not that it’s recent. I don’t get thrown off by things like that. Especially not onstage. He’s gotten into my head.”

“What he’s gotten into is your heart. Is that so bad?”

“Yes! Because it’s Anthony fucking Lockwood! We’ve hated each other for years, he’s only being like this because of forced proximity. Or a bet or something.”

“Keep telling yourself that. But the longer you deny it, the worse it’ll get.”

You sighed, beginning down the hallway. “I just need space from him. It’s just like a showmance, right? None of this is real.” You began nodding slowly. “I don’t like Lockwood.”

“No, you don’t. You like Anthony.” You smacked Norrie’s arm and entered the auditorium, finding Lockwood’s leather jacket over a chair. As soon as he noticed you, he began waving his arms, leaving you no choice but to shimmy your way down the rows and into the seat beside him.

“Thanks, for saving me a seat.”

“Anytime. What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t save a seat for you?”

“A pretty crappy one.”

“Well many sources have said I’m the best fake boyfriend on the market.” You wrinkled your nose.

“What are they grading you on?”

“Charm, chivalry, and chemistry.” You rolled your eyes.

“I don’t think the person who judged you had their proper credentials.”

“Rude.” He whispered, as Fairfax entered the stage.

Reaching for his hand, Lockwood laced your fingers together and gave you a quick squeeze.

“Your third runner up, from Bunchurch High School, it’s the Bunchurch Encores!” Snapping with your free hand, you felt Lockwood’s grip tighten. “Your second runner up is the Swing Sensations from Tendy High School!”

You closed your eyes, bending your head as you awaited for the caption awards to be announced. “Best vocals go to Fittes Academy Vocal Excellence.” Holding your breath, you heard Fairfax continue. “Best visuals awarded to Portland Row High School Fusion!” You let out a sigh of relief. There was still a chance.

“And now, for our first runner up. From Portland Row High School, it’s Fusion! Which means that Fittes Academy Vocal Excellence is our Grand Champion. Congrats!” Jumping up and down with the rest of the choir, you turned back to Anthony.

“Sorry we didn’t win.” You bumped your shoulder into his, breaking him from zoning out.

“Why are you sorry? I’m sorry I talked it up so much.” You shrugged. “We’ll get our revenge at the DEPRAC comp, right?” You smiled at him.

“Until then, you’re off duty as my boyfriend.”

“You know? I was really starting to like it.” You watched him wander over to George before Lucy tackled you from behind.

“First runner up for our first competition means we can only go up.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Three weeks later, you found yourself smashed in the bus seat with Anthony for three hours. Holding an empty latte cup— they messed up his order again— you had dozed off on his shoulder halfway into the ride. Feeling a shove, you woke up to see the high school in front of you. The DEPRAC Invitational was an exclusive competition filled with dozens of the best show choirs from your area. You were lucky to even walk the halls.

Placing your garment bags in the homeroom, you heard your name being called.

“You’ve got the solo today.” You looked at Barnes quizzically.

“What solo? Elegance isn’t performing today.”

“Norrie’s out sick. You need to cover the solo.” You nodded. You had auditioned for the 

song earlier in the season so you knew the part. But covering for Norrie left some huge shoes for you to fill. “Can I trust you?”

“Yeah, I’ve got this.”

Meeting Lockwood in the cafeteria, you told him about the switch before being interrupted.

“Come to lose to the big dogs again?” This time it was you turning around first.

“Fuck off, Kipps!”

“Woah, calm down, sunshine. It was just a question!” Lockwood scowled. “And remind your little guard dog here that you were mine first. We both know you’ll come crawling back in the end.”

“That’s enough, Kipps. Leave my girlfriend alone.”

“Sure thing, Tony. No one wants a slut like her anyway.” And with that, Kipps turned sharply, leaving the two of you fuming.

“If it didn’t mean getting us disqualified, I would have kicked his ass for you.”

“That’s not your job to do. I can handle myself!” 

“I know that but I’m your boyfriend I wanna-”

“You’re not my boyfriend!” You seethed. Not sure where this anger with him was coming from, you stormed off to avoid any further arguments.

You avoided him for the rest of the day, only going near him to fix his hair and tie or to dance. You didn’t squeeze his hand or hug him after performing, despite his attempts to compliment your solo.

As finals rolled around, you found yourself more anxious than ever before. As Lockwood squeezed your waist one last time, you finally met his eyes before snapping out of his trance. You refuse to get blindsided by his pretty brown eyes, but distancing yourself from him was impossible as the whole group was packed like sardines in the wings. With a small smile, Lockwood turned around and entered the stage.

As the second song ended, you realized the breath you were holding as Lockwood posed in your hug again. His breath warm against your ear he whispered again. “I want to be your real boyfriend.” Masked by the applause, you allowed your breath to stutter before the music to the ballad began.

Departing his embrace, you grabbed the mic with shaking hands. This love song, this twisted and toxic depiction of love you were singing about found a resolve deep in your bones, the chills of the rest of the choir singing behind you settling across your skin. The fear of a boy who found a chink in your armor resounded in your heart and the anger of a confession you were too blinded to accept. It felt like hours when Lockwood finally squeezed your hip one last time as you twirled off stage.

Gripping his leather jacket, you pulled him into a hidden vestibule, the adrenaline of your performance still coursing your veins.

“What the hell was that?” You seethed.

“The truth.”

“Couldn’t the truth have waited?”

“You’ve been avoiding me all day! When else was I supposed to tell you?”

“Never! You were never supposed to tell me!”

He groaned, running his hands through his sweaty hair. “I had to tell you! It was killing me! I’ve wanted to be your boyfriend since freshman year. And the second I finally thought I had a chance with you, you came to school with that stupid Kipps as your lock screen. How do you think that felt?

“To be second place to an asshole like that for so long! I hated how I still liked you, so I pretended to hate you. To drive you away. And it finally worked! But the instant you asked me to fake date you was like a dream come true. I couldn’t deny it anymore that I still wanted to be yours. To even pretend you actually reciprocated any feelings was as good as any other. But it wasn’t enough for me! I need you.”

“You’re making this up. You got caught in the whirlwind! It’s just a showmance!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do! You don’t mean any of this and you’ll regret it all by next week. Trust me I’ve-”

He pulled your waist, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. Grabbing his lapels, you quickly found yourself kissing him back. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he further pulled you into him till your bodies were fully flesh against each other. Pulling away, you tried to lean back in but he further pulled back. “Since you’re so sure it was fake, there’s your proof. I’m done waiting for you.” And he turned down the hallway.

The second you snapped from your daze, you ran to find him, but he was already lost in the crowd. Finding Lucy, she pulled you aside, taking you to Barnes. “Found her!”

“Perfect, where’s Lockwood?”

“Behind you,” you turned to look at him but his attention was fully on your director.

“You two are our reps for awards tonight. Got it? Head backstage.” You both looked at him. “Now!” Turning back towards backstage, the two of you departed, a heavy silence falling over you.

“Can we talk about this?”

“What is there to talk about?” Crossing his arms, Lockwood turned from you.

“Anthony, please?”

“Some lovers quarrel.” You look up to see Kipps and Kat. “This is just your first heartbreak of the day. Can’t wait to watch you lose.” And with that, you were beckoned on the stage for the presenting of awards.

“Your second runner up, from Rotwell High School, the Rhythm Makers!”

You brushed your pinky against Lockwood’s, smiling when he relented and linked them together.

“Your vocal caption award goes to… Portland Row High School Fusion!” Your smile spread further as Lockwood squeezed your pinky. “And our visual caption award goes to… Fusion again!” Turning to smile at Lockwood, you found him already looking at you.

“And now, for your first runner up.” You began holding your breath, squeezing Lockwood’s pinky even tighter. “Fittes Academy!” Your jaw dropped as you began smiling in realization. “Congratulations to our Grand Champions from Portland Row High School!” 

Holding the caption awards and trophy, you and Lockwood watched as the rest of your choir joined you on the stage. Each given a medal, tears and hugs were shared. Exiting the stage, you grabbed Lockwood by his medal, pulling him back to that same vestibule.

Pulling his lips to yours, you felt his hands find your waist, squeezing it gently. “Revenge is only fun if it’s real.” You muttered, lips still brushing gently over his. “This is real for me, Anthony.” Looking into your eyes, he pushed your hair back before capturing you in another kiss.

You felt him begin to smile into it, brushing his thumb over your cheeks. Reaching to play with his hair, you deepened the kiss until finally pulling apart for air.

“I think we should kiss after each performance.”

“Yeah?” He looked at you, the teasing smile you were so familiar with painting his face.

“Maybe I’m a little superstitious.”

[film-in-my-soul]

Hey!! For the a ship, a trope, a sentence ask game: How about Icemav - accidental secret realtionship with "you guys walked in on us in the locker room, more than once, how did you not know?"

Maverick is nervous. He knows, realistically, that he shouldn't be. DADT had been repealed, Slider did a whole coming out thing for his niece the year before, hell, Maverick's seen Wolf with his hands down Holly's pants. But still, this is different. This clarifies that what he's got with Ice is here to stay, not a relative (well-loved as she is) or a hook-up when it's easy.

A hand slots into Maverick's, a body saddling up next to his in the bar booth. The hand is large, familiar, and heavier with the weight of the ring he'd slipped down Ice's fourth finger without complaint. It slides away just as quickly, old habits worn into the other man, but Maverick doesn't complain, not when Ice puts that same hand on Maverick's thigh.

"Could feel your leg shaking all the way from the door."

Maverick scoffs. "Sure you could."

Ice knocks their shoulders together and doesn't leave space between them when he settles again. It makes Maverick smile, opening his mouth to tease again when Slider's loud and unmistakable voice draws his attention.

"Alright, break it up, love birds," he slides into the space across from them, Hollywood hot on his heels.

"Where's Wolf?"

Slider rolls his eyes, and Hollywood winces.

"Might have accidentally told him the wrong day. He and Cindy took the kids to dinner."

Maverick kicks the other man under the table and doesn't look sorry when Hollywood yelps. All his previous nerves slip, and he pushes menus towards the new arrivals, waiting until their food's put in and they have drinks to try and broach why he and Ice have gathered them.

When he can't manage, picking at the corner of his bottle, Slider sighs.

"Alright, you two gonna tell us what this is all about? Cause if I gotta learn Maverick knocked up some Admiral's daughter, I'm making you pay my part of the bill."

And somehow, Slider's ability to shit talk right through a thick atmosphere has Maverick's tongue loosening.

"Ice and I are gettin' hitched." He doesn't even need to drag Ice's hand out with the simple silver engagement band, the man at his side doing it himself with a raised brow like he's daring either of the other men to say something about it.

They don't, though arguably it's worse than if they had. Hollywood spits out the beer he'd been sipping, and Slider's jaw drops damn near to the table.

"You-"

"I'm sorry, what-"

"When the hell did all this happen?" Slider settles on, waving a hand between Maverick and Ice. It makes Maverick's brows furrow, but Ice drops his arm over his shoulder, too, so what minor irritation had been forcing that expression smooths out, leaving only blatant confusion.

"What the hell do you mean?" There's a bit to Maverick's tone.

"Hey," Holly says, finally done choking, "it's not that we're not happy for you guys, hell yeah, marriage and all that, but... just... isn't it a bit fast?"

It's Maverick's turn for his mouth to slacken. He'd say they're fucking with them, but honestly, Hollywood's a shit liar, and Slider would have made some crack about them being married already.

"Are you both saying you didn't know?" Ice asks, drawing Maverick's eyes to him. He's unsurprised to see an equal amount of surprise pinching Ice's lips into a downturned line.

"I mean... we haven't seen you both in a while." Slider hedges, shrugging, and Maveirk's had just about enough. He throws up his hands.

"We've been together since '92!" comes his exclamation, "You guys walked in on us in the locker room more than once. How did you not know?"

Slider is the one who chokes this time, and Hollywood, flush high on his cheeks, probably remembering something he ought to have forgotten grimaces.

"Whoops?"

Maverick feels even less bad slamming the toe of his boots into the other man's calf a second time.

What a bunch of idiots.

[thebibliosphere]

I had an absolutely harrowing dream about Spy x Family last night, which I'm now inflicting on all of you.

I dreamt that Anya got kidnapped and put into some sort of science experiment program thing, and Loid figured out who took her and went to go find her without telling Yor. He was mere inches from saving her when he got hit with an amnesia sleep dart, and when he'd woken up, he'd forgotten who he was, but also Anya as well.

Worse than that, the scientist dude doing the experiments convinced him he was a member of staff who'd had an accident and that he worked there, and it was his job to enforce security around these telepathic mutant kids. And that makes sense. Right? He's strong and fast and good with weapons. Why wouldn't he be some kind of enforcer in a dangerous facility like this?

So there he is, going about his life, herding kids between cells and science experiments. Unable to shake the feeling that something is wrong. And then there's Anya, watching her Papa not recognize her. Turning his face away from her when she pleads for him, cries for him to remember her. To remember the mission.

Meanwhile, Yor is roaming the city, knives out, trying to find her fake family. Returning home to a lonely Bond. Bond who knows where they are -- who can feel Anya's distress -- but can't tell Yor because she doesn't have Anya's powers.

The spy organization is also going nuts trying to find him. Agent Twilight just doesn't go missing. He always checks in. Sometimes a little late, but he always claws his way back to them in the end, and if one day he doesn't? Well... it's always been assumed he'll die in the line of duty. It's a risk they all knowingly take.

I'd love to say my subconscious concocted a happy ending for all of this, but it didn't. The last thing I remember was Anya finding a way to escape with some other kids over a wall, except the wall was too big and Anya was so much younger than all the other kids so she fell and Loid caught her because he's Loid, he always catches her.

Maybe my brain would have chosen that moment to spark the recognition behind his eyes, but that's also when @mothman-etd's alarm went off, and Holly Mop came bounding up to the head of the bed wanting morning cuddles.

So here I am, bereft and moderately inconsolable over the knowledge that I don't have time to write for another fandom, no matter how much I want to fix the sad scenario my brain concocted for me while I was asleep.

I didn't even fuck up my meds or anything. It was just a really vivid, really sad dream. At least when I usually have this kind of hyper-detailed dream it's because I took my morning meds at night like an idiot, but noooo. Brain said fuck you, have some sadness. Asshole.

[andiwriteordie]

seeing you tonight (it's a bad idea, right?) | 6.6k words

A warm, fuzzy feeling settles into Mike’s stomach. He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s smiling like a complete idiot now, but between the alcohol and Will being right here, he doesn’t care. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “You seemed busy with your friend.”  He doesn’t mean for that word to come out sounding petty and childish, but ah… it does. It definitely does.  And Will definitely notices.Something shifts in his expression as curiosity breaks through Will’s drunken, bubbly nature, and he tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at Mike and staring at him for what feels like several long moments. “Wait a minute,” he says finally, incredulously, “are you – are you jealous?”

Or:

Two months after ending their relationship, Mike and Will reunite, thanks to the help of an astrology-obsessed little sister, El's Drunken Birthday Extravaganza, and a few bad ideas.

—

byler exes. jealous mike. drunken kisses. and a dash of holly wheeler.

enjoy 🫡

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 38 (Running Into Fate in San Myshuno?)

When Heather delivered her son to San Myshuno for time with his father a few weeks later, she decided to stay in town until Sunday to spend time with her loved ones. While visiting the Casbah Gallery so Kris could review a new art show, she found herself a third wheel to her loved up sister and brother-in-law.

Stepping into the muggy summer air, she spotted a familiar dog bounding toward her across the plaza.

She grinned as Gord jumped into her open arms, laughing as he happily tried to bowl her over. Conrad raced up behind his dog dressed casually in blue, which brought out his eyes.

"Sorry! He's been cooped up all day. I thought I could trust him without a leash but I should know better by now."

"Never apologize for a happy pet. I told you at the clinic, it's the best feeling in the world!"

Gord entertained himself sniffing around the plaza. "He's been in great shape since his check up, thanks to you."

Heather's cheeks flushed, disguised by the neon lights of the city. "There was nothing wrong with him when you came in. I just gave him a preventative shot and a wellness treat. And a bottle of shampoo."

"He knocked it right out of my hand when I gave him a bath later that night. Spilled all over the bathroom tiles." He groaned at the memory. "But hey, they've never been cleaner and now the tiles won't get fleas."

She laughed, searching for something to say that didn't make her sound like an idiot. "There go your dreams of running a flea circus!" Watcher, that wasn't it.

Conrad smiled. "What brings you to San Myshuno?"

She sighed, trying not to speak of Malcolm with too much venom in her voice. "My son's with his father this weekend and I'm spending time with some family in town," she explained.

"Sounds like cooler heads might be prevailing between you two," he said. "That's a good thing."

Heather raised an eyebrow. "Malcolm said someone convinced his family to let cooler heads prevail. You didn't..."

"My dad worked Landgraab security for decades," said Conrad. "He retired after Nancy took over the company from her father, but I used to know Malcolm pretty well when we were kids, before he left for boarding school. He's not the nicest guy in the world, but the Landgraabs love money and reputation too much to be completely unreasonable."

"Why get involved at all? I'm not saying I didn't need an advocate after what I did, but what do you owe me, really?"

"Nothing. But Landgraab Corp. was ready to spit you out and send you to prison for the hack, and when I saw you with your son, I...the Landgraabs lost more in pride than market share and I'd already been asked to deal with the case under the table."

Heather scoffed. "Nancy Landgraab doesn't like to do anything legally. I heard she stole the company from her father."

"It wasn't exactly like that. Chester Landgraab was getting older, and Nancy did what she did because he was too ill to realize he couldn't run the company anymore. My dad said he was close to gambling away the business to build a spaceport on Sixam!"

"Doing what?!"

"He wouldn't even say! My dad was ready for retirement and relieved when Nancy told him to collect his pension. Her father stayed in Ciudad Enamorada after the vote and she cleaned house. Even fired her own brother." Heather inhaled. No wonder Johnny hated his sister. "I don't mean to say that makes Landgraab Corp. a shining example of the right way to do business, but..."

"But thank you," she said. "It's no small thing what you did."

Conrad's cheeks flushed. "So, are you in town all weekend?"

"Until Sunday."

A nervous silence passed between them. Heather's gregarious younger sister, Holly, had been curiously spying from a distance, waiting for her husband to finish networking before she dragged him toward Heather and the handsome man in blue.

She greeted him with a wide smile. "Hi there! My name's Holly and this is my husband Kris. We were just wondering what you and my sister were talking about."

He greeted them respectfully. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Conrad, and I got to know your sister through a recent investigation. We were just getting caught up."

Holly's eyes bulged. "Is this him?!"

Heather blushed and Kris shook Conrad's hand. "My wife's just wondering if you're the detective who visited Heather about her recent felony."

Heather wanted to crawl into the sewers and hide from the creeping embarrassment, but Conrad couldn't pull his gaze. He smiled as she fiddled awkwardly with a ball of clay she'd grabbed from the gallery. "That would be the investigation, but the Landgraabs never charged anyone."

"Apparently, Conrad knew Malcolm when they were kids and convinced the Landgraabs not to press charges."

Holly looked at Conrad with an impressed grin. "Are you a cop or my sister's knight in shining armour?"

"Holly, don't," Heather pleaded, but she couldn't wipe the stupid grin from her face.

"Come out with us tomorrow night," Holly suggested, because she knew her unflirty sister needed a push. "A bunch of us are going to the Romance Festival. We were going to bring my sister along to try to find her a date, but I think she's already found one."

Conrad blushed, and Kris again stepped forward. "It's a bit over the top and everyone always gets too flirty on Sakura tea, but if you're not doing anything, the more the merrier."

Heather was afraid to speak, trying not to stare at his gorgeous blue eyes, but she wanted him to say yes.

"I'd love to." Conrad grinned, but they were interrupted when Gord sped across the plaza to chase a raccoon. "Damn, and he's off. Gotta go!" He called after her while trying to catch up with his dog. "I'll meet you at the festival tomorrow. Four o'clock?"

"Four's great. See you then!" Heather smiled to herself. She couldn't wipe the blush from her cheeks and turned to her sister and brother-in-law. "Let's go inside where there's air con. It's hot out here."

"He's so hot!" Holly cried. "No wonder you're sweating."

Heather worried she’d make the same mistakes again, afraid to trust her instincts. But at least she wouldn't be alone tomorrow, if it was horrible... ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

[apomaro-mellow]

 Part Two of the Newly Wed Game

A/N: includes some slight homophobia via Mike in the first scene and has a bonus deleted scene at the end!

They managed to catch Mike before he blabbed anything and explained to him that at the time, they had not been a couple. Mike was skeptical.

“Dude, I swear. Eddie and I didn’t start being a thing until like, that night”, Steve said.

“Okay...”, Mike finally relented. He was sitting on Eddie’s couch while the older boys stood in front of him.

“So listen Mike”, Eddie started. “I probably don’t have to say this but it’s really important you keep this a secret.”

“What? Why? If anything, everyone should know. Half of us are wondering when you’re gonna get back with my sister and the other half are rooting for Robin. This is finally going to end the debate.”

“Mike, people can’t know about us”, Steve said.

He still looked confused and Eddie rubbed his face in his hands. “Us. As in two guys.”

“Oh. Oh! But you guys aren’t-I mean you aren’t like-You guys aren’t gay, you can’t be.”

They looked at him like he was an idiot but Mike was right. Gay people weren’t like Steve or Eddie they were...well, Mike never had to describe it but...bad. They were the people on the news, not people in his town. And certainly not people he knew.

“Mike Wheeler. Listen to me when I say this cause I’m only saying this once”, Eddie said. “I’m a queer. Have been, always will be. Steve is a pretty new development but if this is gonna be a problem for you-”

“It’s just-! A lot”, Mike said. “I never thought you....Either of you...” He looked down at his lap, suddenly contemplative. “It could be anyone, right?”

“Yes”, Steve said before smiling at Eddie. “But the people we trust can’t be just anyone.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “We’ve been keeping government secrets for years. I’m not about to blab about your love life.”

“Well apparently you have been!” Steve threw up his arms, still frustrated that people wanted him back with Nancy.

“Your secret’s safe with me”, Mike promised. “But can I ask one thing?”

Eddie was prepared for all sorts of salacious things to come out of Mike’s mouth about their sex lives but of course, the kid had to surprise him again.

“Why Steve?”

--------------------------------

True to his word, Mike kept the secret. He didn’t even act all that different around them, which was also great. What did shock them and the rest of the group was when he and El broke up.

“What are the odds”, Steve brought up one day while detangling Eddie’s hair. “That he tries to be gay because of you?”

“I think you’re overexaggerating Mike’s admiration of me.”

“Eddie, I’m starting to fear one day he’s gonna steal your skin.”

Mike had already been growing his hair out longer and longer. These days he was resembling Eddie more than Nancy or Holly.

“I think Mike might be as straight as they come, Steve.”

“Oh like you’re so good at telling.”

“I-!” Eddie paused. “....was blinded by denial. And you?”

Steve’s hands stopped moving and Eddie tilted his head back to look at him.

“I uh...yeah I didn’t really...think about it, I guess....”

“You didn’t think about it? About me being into dudes or not? And yet you were grinding in my lap in the back of my van?”

“I wasn’t grinding you!”, Steve blushed. Although it was certainly a moot point considering what they’d done since then. “I guess I just thought, I don’t know that even if you weren’t into guys, you’d be into me. 

Eddie turned completely at that, the springs of his mattress squeaking with the movement. “Stevie, baby, sweetheart, darlin’.”

“Oh god.” Steve covered his face with his hands. Right now he was wishing it was as long as Eddie’s so he could hide in it.

“Did you think your hotness was so mighty that it could transcend sexuality~?”

“Dude, I know how it sounds but-!”

“God I gotta tell Rob. Wait ‘til she h-” Eddie stopped and began to sober up. Because he couldn’t tell Robin.

Steve uncovered his face. “Eddie...I gotta tell Robin about us. Is that okay?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. Is it okay with you?” From Eddie’s perspective, Steve had more to lose. He was already the town pariah.

“Robin is safe”, Steve said. “Remember when we were drugged up by the Russians? She confided in me that she’s a supporter.”

“Hell of a thing to confess.”

“Yeah, well we talked about stupid shit too.”

“So you’re telling Robin?”, Eddie brought it back to the subject.

Steve nodded. He couldn’t believe he’d gone this long without telling her. And she was sure to give him hell when she found out.

And as it turned out, Hell: Presented by Robin Buckley turned out to be a full blown rant about how Steve just completely bypassed his sexuality crisis and jumped right into dating his soulmate while she was still chronically single. Anytime Steve tried to pipe up for any sort of argument, she jabbed a finger in his face and he shut up right quick.

“I mean, I knew the odds of me kissing a girl before you again were slim to none, but I wasn’t betting on boy. Jesus, I always found a way out of it for plays but you just go and lay one on Eddie like it’s nothing!”

With a final breath, she flopped against Steve and laid her head on his lap, exhausted from speaking non-stop for half an hour. Eddie was sitting next to Steve on the couch in the Harrington home, but was quickly getting jealous of Robin’s position.

“So you guys are serious?”

Steve beamed at Eddie. “Like a concussion.”

“Well, confetti for you two”, Robin said, fluttering her hands between their faces to simulate confetti and to also be annoying.

After that, it was a slow trickle of people finding out. First Steve absolutely had to tell Dustin. “The kid’s like my brother. And we told Mike, the douchiest of the bunch. Dustin will light my ass on fire if I don’t tell him.”

Eddie had to tell Wayne. “He already knows about me and he definitely told me to lock you down somehow.”

“I gotta tell Lucas. He’s a Cubs fan and that makes us blood.”

“Jeff saw me through my crisis and he thinks I might be relapsing into pining for guys outta my league. I gotta let him know there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Erica’s the only one of the Russian task force who doesn’t know. And I think we can trust that girl with anything.”

“Argyle and I were smokin’ and shootin’ the shit and he’s got some hunches about Will and I think maybe we should talk to him?”

Call it trust or call it being so in love you couldn’t help talking about the other person. But eventually everyone of their friends knew.

“Alright”, Mike started as the group cleaned up their D&D things so that they could set the table. “Now that everyone knows, can we talk about how weird it is?”

“How weird what is?”, Lucas asked.

“Steve and Eddie.”

“What’s wrong with Steve and Eddie?”, Dustin and Erica said in unison.

“Not like that! Jesus!”

“There’s kinda no other way to take it, man”, Lucas said.

“Don’t mind him”, Steve said, entering the room. “I’m just not up to his impossibly high standards to be dating Eddie.” He rounded to table to where his boyfriend was sitting at the head and set an open beer next to him.

“Well Steve, you may have been the king, but I am still the master.”

Steve leaned in close and whispered something and it only took the slightest change in Eddie’s expression for the kids to start groaning.

“Steve should be dating someone like...like Chris Hinkman”, Mike said.

Steve stood up straight. “Hinkman? That suck up in your bio class? I don’t date minors.”

Eddie couldn’t help the smile at the fact that Steve knew exactly who they were talking about, despite it being a freshman who he couldn’t have possibly known. He was just that attentive. “No, you’re just into dirty old men.”

While eating dinner, Dustin, ever the shit-stirrer, couldn’t help stirring up shit.

“I’m kinda curious now. Who do you think knows more about Steve? Robin or Eddie?”

There was a jumbled chorus of ‘Robin’s and ‘Eddie’s and the two in question issued challenging looks to each other.

“I’d say we probably contain...different knowledge on Steve”, Eddie said diplomatically.

“Is that your way of saying sex?”, Dustin asked.

“There are children present!”, Robin gestured to Erica.

“Yeah and she’d like to keep her appetite.”

Steve waved his fork at Eddie and Robin. “These two are like my left hand and my right hand. I don’t think I could be without either of them.”

Dustin pouted. “And what am I? Chopped liver?”

“Liver’s pretty appropriate, actually.”

Dustin threw his hands up. “You know what, I’ll take it.”

The dinner continued as usual. But a seed had been planted. One that would take root and grow until the final game to end all games.

Deleted scene A/N: This is during the bedroom scene and is kind of a fluffier more humorous scene before I remembered I wanted it to turn to them telling Robin and being a lil more serious. But I couldn’t get this scene outta my mind so here ya go!

Eddie turned completely at that, the springs of his mattress squeaking with the movement. “Stevie, baby, sweetheart, darlin’.”

“Oh god.” Steve covered his face with his hands. Right now he was wishing it was as long as Eddie’s so he could hide in it.

“Did you think your hotness was so mighty that it could transcend sexuality~?”

“I told you I only flirted with people who are into me. I just....” Steve dropped his hands and smiled at him. “I just knew somehow.”

“Somehow?”, Eddie grinned.

Steve’s embarrassment turned to something else as he smirked.

“Yeah. Like how I know you like listening to music when plotting your nerdy campaigns.” Steve tucked some hair behind Eddie’s ear. “Or how you have a special spot you like being scratched”, he said while doling out attention to that special spot on Eddie’s scalp.

Playing it up, Eddie thumped his foot like a spoiled pet.

“I think I know a few special spots of yours too”, he said before pushing Steve down onto the bed.

Part 4 END

Tag Team

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[formosusiniquis]

intrada (sugar plum holly and her cavalier)

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington & Holly Wheeler; Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler WC: 5708 | G | Tags/Themes: ballet, references to The Nutcracker, pre-relationship steddie, good babysitter Steve Harrington AO3

It was supposed to be a date that would merge their interests, something that had seemed classy enough for Nancy and athletic enough that Steve thought it would keep his interest. Supposed to be, in that when Steve had gotten the tickets -- begged his mom first for her and his dad’s season ticket seats and then for help finding a good seat when she said she wasn’t about to waste a sixty dollar ticket on a date -- he wasn’t even sure if it was the kind of thing Nancy would like. A year and a half into their relationship and he was only just realizing how surface level their conversations were, either talking about work or treating every conversation like an interview and parceling out information like they were afraid to reveal too much about themselves. So he was really working off of a jewelry box he vaguely remembered from her bedroom when he bought tickets for a ballet that wouldn’t even happen for another five months.

He wanted to have them when she got to Indianapolis, something to look forward to for their first Christmas together in the city. The Nutcracker, a classic supposedly but if anyone would know its cultural significance he figured it would be Nance.

And Steve isn’t an idiot, okay. He knows that Nancy isn’t exactly thrilled to be in Indianapolis, knows that she’s not happy to be at her safety school and not Emerson. Imagines having to wait to see if she made it up the waitlist all summer wasn’t the greatest experience; and he has to imagine because any time he wanted to talk to her about it she blew him off to focus on alternatives and next steps.

That’s why he does it. Hopes that having something to look forward to at the end of her first semester will help. Hopes that this is the first of many Christmases together, maybe a tradition that they can keep up. Going to the ballet together every year until eventually they’re bringing their daughter along with them. Maybe it’s too early to think about kids, but this is the kind of future he prefers to imagine over future careers and what he’s going to do with the degree he’s stumbling his way through. So he thinks about Nancy with pinned back curls in a nice dress humming along to songs they hear every year.

It was supposed to be that. Until it turns out that their relationship really couldn’t withstand being in the same city as one another. Until he’s forced to confront the hindsight that they never really talked about anything significant in the year they were doing long distance. Until Nancy tells him that she’s transferring next semester, and she isn’t interested in doing long distance; that she isn’t interested in continuing their relationship at all.

So Steve resigns himself to just being out the money for the two tickets. It’s not like he’s going to go to a ballet by himself, and it seems shitty to bring another girl to something that he imagined becoming a staple of his romantic future with Nancy. It’s not the first time Steve has cut his losses. (But he’ll die before he tells his mom she was right about not giving him her good seats.)

He honestly kind of forgets about the whole thing. Finals week has just ended. He’s pretty sure he flunked the one actual business course he took this semester to keep his dad happy, and he’s trying to figure out if he can change his major without screwing his whole life up. He’s ready to have a few weeks off. 

Then Karen Wheeler calls.

Karen is a nice lady, though if he’s honest he’s not that upset that she isn’t going to be his future mother-in-law. She’s a little… flighty, as his mother would say with a backhanded smile. He privately thinks she sometimes forgets that she has three kids, losing track of one or the other at any given time. So maybe he shouldn’t be too surprised when she calls him two months after her daughter broke his heart begging him to take Holly to the ballet.

“Nancy mentioned it off hand months ago, and Holly hasn’t stopped talking about it since. I know it’s a big ask,” she had said in a tone that made it very clear she didn’t entirely care and would think poorly of him if he answered the wrong way, “but if you still have those tickets it would mean the world if you could take Holly.” He hadn’t missed the emphasis on the you either. Clearly Karen had no interest in making the trip to Indianapolis and he hadn’t needed to ask about Ted.

He didn't think of himself as a pushover, but he did think of little, blonde, six year old Holly: too quiet and too shy for her age. Fighting to be seen by a negligent dad and a mom who loves her children, but cares about appearances just enough to be blind. And he finds himself saying, “It’s no trouble, Mrs. Wheeler, but could you meet me somewhere halfway?”

It’s not until they’re settled into their seats -- on the floor but in the back, a booth behind them occupied by a pretty boy in a headset that Steve refuses to look at for too long -- that he realizes that he has no idea what this show is even about. Holly has been quiet since he picked her up, the least surprising thing about this trip right above Mike glaring at him from the passenger seat of Karen’s car as he moved Holly’s booster seat, but she’s studiously flipping through the little booklet the usher handed them on their way to their seats.

“Thank you for bringing me, Steve. I’m sorry Nancy didn’t want to come.” It is somehow simultaneously the longest and worst thing Holly has ever said to him.

“I’d rather see it with you, Holly Jolly.”

He’s saved from having to find anything else to say by the lights around them dimming, a prerecorded voice letting them know that any photography is forbidden and to expect a fifteen minute intermission, a bright and bouncing song picks up once the talking stops. He relaxes in his seat a little, relieved to get a few minutes before he’s expected to entertain a six year old that he’s spent more time with today than he had the entire time he and Nancy had dated.

Now Steve, contrary to what he very much knows is the popular opinion, isn’t just a jock. He knows there’s no talking in ballet. He’s even been to one before this, when he was still a cute novelty in his suit and bowtie accompanying his parents to the theater. What he is, according to his old nanny, every teacher he’s ever had, and about half of his exes, is a selective listener. 

It’s not his fault though that his brain instinctively cues into different sounds. The buzz of the light above him louder -- and more interesting -- than a lesson on factorials. The sound of someone’s relationship imploding hard to tune out no matter how interested he is in his own conversation. So of course the sound of someone talking cuts straight through classical music.

“Someone remind David he needs to smile at his partner, he looks like he’s dreaming of a murder suicide.”

And it wasn’t hard to find exactly who the voice behind him was talking about. The only frowning face at this Victorian party who was glaring daggers at the magician who was bringing in new dancers.

“Well he should know better than to sleep around the cast shouldn’t he, Birdie?”

A practiced reader of body language, Steve could almost see, underneath the choreography, the traces of impropriety. David’s undisguised glare. The wistful way the woman in blue tracked him around the stage. The woman in pink who mooned at the woman in blue. It made him wonder what kind of things were going on backstage.

He expects that to be in. He doesn’t really do theater much, too many memories of pinched arms and snarling trips home, but he does remember the one rule is no talking. But it doesn’t stop, barely slows.

“If Mark sets himself on fire doing this stupid firepaper magic shit do we get to go home early?

“Sure, Robbie Bobby, I’ll swap out for the Rat King last show of the run. Jay can do my job and I’ll do his.

“Five bucks someone slips on the snow as they exit.”

He wants to know if that stranger wins the bet but the curtain closes and Holly is shy and asking Steve where the bathroom is. So instead of working up the nerve to turn and talk to the man behind him, he’s smiling his best mom-charming smile and asking the first woman with kids he finds to take his guest into the girl’s room.

By the time she’s out of line, and Steve buys her the doll and the novelty sucker she’d been pretending she wasn’t looking at, they slip back into their seats as the lights dim again. No chance to make his own witty jokes or observations, break the ice and show off some of the Harrington charm.

The first dance goes by with little fanfare and Steve’s almost disappointed. Holly is wiggling excitedly in her seat next to him, clutching her own little nutcracker, and he’s not even paying attention to the stupid show that’s got her so excited because he’s too focused on a snarky stranger he’d only even looked at once.

“Jeezus christ, is Tom stuffing his dance belt? That’s some Bowie level shit happening up there.”

He had almost given up, so it figures the guy decides to speak up once Steve’s attention started to shift back to the stage. He nearly chokes on his own tongue, eyes darting straight down to the issue in question. Holly, the sweetest kid he’s ever met, pats his back softly, hesitantly, like she’s only seen the gesture before. “There’s a water fountain by the bathroom,” she tells him in a library whisper, “I can stay here and not move.”

“I’m okay Hols,” he lies, ignoring the itchy, squeezing feeling at the back of his throat and forcing the cough away.

It’s easy to do when there's something else to focus on, “No, Lizzie, I’m not going to shut up. No one cares if I’m occupying the channel.” The stranger seems to be gearing himself up for a monologue, “I’m not going to miss my cue, I am the cue. Robin’s not going to miss her cue  because it’s to music. Her cue doesn’t exist without me and she knows all of these songs and what note her cue goes with because it’s the eighth fucking time we’ve done it this week. If you or props have something you’ve got to say clearly you can get a word in edgewise.”

A few numbers go by after that, quiet except for the occasional professional, “Light cue, go.”

And then a song he actually sort of recognizes starts. A pretty strawberry blonde with a dainty smile tip toes and spins across the stage to plucked strings. Holly is enchanted, perched at the edge of her seat she reaches a hand over to clutch at Steve’s sleeve. A ‘tell me someone in the world is experiencing this moment with me’ sort of gesture. Awestruck and world rocked, stars in her eyes. Any resentment, any hard feelings that might have still lingered at babysitting evaporated. He got to be the person that let Holly experience this. A moment just for her, no family to take second place for.

The dancer on stage spins, clearing the floor in a series of tight, controlled rotations. Her arms guiding each step, swinging out and pulling her in, the driving force of her momentum. She’s moving fast, it’s an impressive display. Something shoots off in the opposite direction of that controlled turn, almost distracting in its break from that clean motion.

“Tell Props Chris just lost an earring.

“Fine, tell Wardrobe then.

“I’m not being a creep, I know she’s your girlfriend, Birdie. I merely observed her earring launching across the stage like an arrow from an elven bow.”

It’s like catching half of an Abbott and Costello act, like who’s on first being done through a telephone. It’s a strange sort of connection, listening in on a conversation that isn’t meant for him. He thinks for a sad second that he hasn’t ever had a friendship like this.

The show is wrapping up, dancers from scenes past making their way through for quick appearances. Holly is vibrating in her seat. Dancers in intricate costumes glide across the stage to bow toward the petite dancer in the nightgown and the strawberry blonde, Chris, beside her. A few moments later it's finished, the lights rising up around them and he shifts his primary focus back to Holly. 

In the middle of the room, they had the best view of the stage and the longest wait to leave. Steve tries to be subtle as he shifts Holly in front of him, afraid of losing her if she's out of his eyeline. He doesn't want to baby her by making her hold his hand. She's wiggling in place, but she keeps herself small. Careful not to bump into the people slowly moving out of the aisle in front of them. 

“Hols,” he starts to whisper, not wanting to embarrass her before he asks if she needs to hit the bathroom again.

But she grabs his sleeve in a child's iron grip,  "Steve, I want to meet the princess."

It turns out, it's hard to find a way to tell an excited kid that there aren't meet and greets after a show like this. Pleading blue eyes and a nervous smile looking up at him, desperate but scared to ask for too much. The least he can do is try.

The guy behind them is still there. 

The back of their line, Steve isn't holding anyone up by taking a minute to look. He's lithe, all in black. Hair pulled up in a half-assed bun, a headset tangled in the curls. He's wrapping up a thick cord, Steve couldn't guess why, but it draws focus to a toned arm that he's curling it around.

“Hey man,” the booth is a little bit above them, forcing Steve to rise up on the tips of his own toes to make sure he's visible, “I know you're working but I wanted to ask. The girl at the end- I, uh, I overheard you say she's your friend's girlfriend is there anyway you could convince her to come meet us.”

The guy startled a bit, probably surprised at being addressed. If he’s embarrassed at being overheard it barely shows a soft flush that could be from the warmth of the room. "The girl at the end?”

"The princess,” Holly shouts, bouncing up and down to try to see over the lip that blocks her view of the booth.

A change falls over the guy, his smile softens and eyes widen. He carefully drapes himself across the board of buttons and sliders to look Holly in the eyes. "Oh she's even better than a princess, she's a fairy. The sugar plum fairy. Is this your first time seeing the show with your dad?”

“Steve's not my dad.” She tells him with a little giggle, no doubt comparing Steve and Ted in her brain.

“Holly is my ex-girlfriend’s little sister.” He places his emphasis carefully.

“There’s a lot happening in that sentence.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, my Lady Holly, I bet I could convince Chrissy to meet a fan.” He promises with a flourish, “As long as your companion doesn't care that her faithful company will definitely be there the whole time.”

“Are you part of the group?” Steve asks, confident enough in his read of the situation to lay on a bit of charm. Letting his eyes trail down the sprawl of the guy's back. A thrill of victory at the little nod he gets back. “Then I won't mind at all.”

“Rockin’ Robin, tell me you still have your headset on?” He directs into his headset, “Great, remember that favor you and Chris owe me? I've got a fair princess who would like to meet our dear Sugar Plum Fairy.”

There's a lengthy pause. Even without the music playing the response is too quiet to be made out through his headset. “I don't see how that's relevant.” He hisses, “and she didn't ask to see an awful hag so you don't really even need to be there.”

His face clears after a second, looking to Steve like he wants them both to pretend that the earlier conversation hadn't been overheard. “Go through that door at the end of the front row right beside the stage.” The auditorium has cleared out enough he's got a clear view of the door the guy points to. “You'll end up in a hallway with a locked door at the end, wait there.”

“And if someone asks us why we're waiting there?” Steve asks, “I can tell them..?”

“Eddie, I'm- I Eddie Munson told you to wait there, if someone stops you before I get there.”

It's hard not to grin now that he has a name, Eddie, so he doesn’t bother. He puts on his best smile, the boyish and winsome one that always flusters whoever it's directed at, at least a little. Eddie is no exception looking back down at his work quickly. Steve takes a little pity, turning his attention back down to Holly.

She's twisting in place, hands clasped in front of her, as she stares off into space. He feels bad immediately, too familiar with what it's like to be a kid forced to entertain yourself while adults talk above your head.“C’mon, Holly Jolly, let's go wait for your fairy.” 

She takes his hand the second it's offered, swinging it back and forth, humming one of the songs from the show. “Steve, do you think she's a fairy like Tinkerbell or a fairy princess like Barbie?”

“I don't know Hols, what do you think?”

“Tinkerbell is kinda mean to Wendy, but she can do magic and fly. But Barbie is really nice so if she were a fairy she'd be a fairy princess and have a crown and help people.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes! And this fairy looked nice when she was dancing, but it didn't look like she had a crown. Can you be a fairy princess without a crown?”

Holly was buzzing, bouncing in place, clearly over whatever earlier nerves she'd had about talking to him. With her back to the door that they were told to wait by, she’s started listing all the different jobs Barbie has had and why they should make a fairy princess doll -- Karen’s homemade Barbie clothes, he learns, are not as well made as the hand me downs from Erica and Mrs. Sinclair, so she needs the real thing. Holly misses the way the door creaks open, the woman from onstage inching her way out of the half opened exit. 

Chrissy presses a finger to her lips, happy to help her surprise Holly, Steve keeps listening to her talk about why there should be a Barbie movie. He only nearly ruins the surprise when the dancer pushes down on the front of her saucer like skirt and it smacks her in the back as it flies up, letting her exit the back room.

Focused on her story, Holly doesn’t notice as the woman crouches down beside her. Not until she says, “This must be the princess I was told about.”

The screech she lets out is so joyful he almost doesn’t mind that his ears are ringing. Steve finds his smile mirrored on a freckle-faced girl dressed in the same all black as Eddie who is sliding out the door now as well. She sidles up to Steve, letting Holly have her moment with the fairy uninterrupted. “And you must be the prince charming.”

“Shut up, shut up,” Eddie pants, coming to a bent over rest beside Steve, “whatever she’s saying ignore it. Fuck.”

“You jogged like twenty feet,” the girl says, clearly unimpressed.

“Sorry Nancy Reagan, I say yes every time.”

“There are children present, have some class, Munson.”

The child in question could be on another planet, that’s how much she’s aware of their existence, Steve thinks.

“I have class every Monday, Wednesday, Friday; Saturdays are fair game.”

“Oh! That’s why you look so familiar,” the girl says, she’s looking at Steve now but he’s not really sure why. “We were in the same Communications and Public Speaking class, Prince Charming. Steve, right?”

He did have that class last semester, the only one technically tied to the business major his dad wanted him to have that he actually passed. “I, yes- sorry I don’t. I spent most of that class zoned out waiting for my turn to speak.”

“No, yeah, I figured. You sat a row in front of me and always looked shocked when you got called on, then you’d brush your bagel crumbs all over the floor when you’d go to speak.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, not really sure what to say to that especially not when it’s being said right in front of a guy he was kind of into.

“Birdie holds the strangest grudges in the history of the world, take it as a sign of respect, Big Boy. She hated me for half of our music theory class because my handwriting didn’t look like it matched my general demeanor.”

“No, I hated you because you always smell like weed and never do the homework but somehow are still the professor’s favorite. And I still hate you for all of those things, but your unfortunate personality grew like mold on my girl- I mean grew on,” her face takes on a look of panic as she pivots her word choice. It’s confusing, at first, until he realizes he’s the source of panic. A familiar joke made with a friend, forgetting the new, possibly untrustworthy stranger until too late.

The siren song of new friends and a possible date is alluring, but with Holly in the room he does have to be careful of what gets back to her parents. He remembers Ted’s political alignments and gossip tends to reach his parents faster than he can. So he does his best at assurance, “Chrissy, right, she seems cool. It was nice of you guys to do this, Holly is probably only a little bit more into fairies than I am.”

Eddie sputters beside him, hard to tell if it’s a good sign or if Steve has just royally fucked up his chances at anything; but if it means easing Robin’s fears of queerbashing he’ll ruin his chance for a date every time.

“Into fairies,” Robin asks, nodding over to Chrissy, who’s showing Holly how she balances on the tips of her toes, “or…”

“I’m light in my loafers, or half, light in one-”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Eddie supplies.

“Right.”

“Worst way anyone has ever described being bisexual,” Robin says. 

“Sounds like a challenge,” Eddie says.

“It was not.”

“I really appreciate this,” Steve says again to avoid the argument. Chrissy is helping Holly spin around on the toes of her patent leather mary janes, she’s giggling as Chrissy holds her pointed finger helping her twirl and twirl. “How’d you all get involved in all this? You’re still in school.”

“They always need a little help around the holidays, normally the theater kids get first dibs but there’s only like five tech kids and they’re all working the school show so the music department gets next go.” Robin explains.

“Chis is a prodigy so she put in a word for us specifically,” Eddie adds. Before he leers and leans deep into Steve’s space, it’s not an unwelcome move. “Unless that was you fishing for friends, Big Boy. Trying to figure out if you’ll see us on campus?”

“Oh,” Robin exclaims, like the thought had never occurred to her. “Are you finished with your gen eds? Wait, what's your major? Eddie, show off your party trick.”

He isn’t a total loser, so he doesn’t fidget or blush as Eddie runs his heady brown eyes up and down the length of him, taking him in. “Business and Marketing,” he declares after a second, but he doesn’t sound sold on it.

“I’ve been thinking about changing it,” Steve isn’t sure if he’s admitting Eddie’s right or just trying out what it sounds like to admit that he’s sick of being everything he’s supposed to be instead of what he likes. “I took Children’s Psychology for the whatever requirement and it was a million times more interesting than Intro to Econ.”

It feels like it’s going well. When Nancy broke things off Steve had resigned himself to finishing out college without any real friends, dating around and hoping for something that stuck. Here with these people, he can feel something starting. He wants to take that feeling and capitalize on it, follow through on something so another good thing doesn’t slip away from him.

That’s not the kind of luck that he has though. 

“Steve,” Holly buzzes, grabbing his hand with no hesitation, “Fairy Chrissy said that I can be a dancer too! Can Santa bring me shoes like hers?”

Christmas is a week away, if Stever were guessing, he’d say the Wheelers have had Holly’s presents picked out and put away for most of the month. “I don’t know, Hols, Christmas is pretty close and the North Pole is pretty far. Do you think the mailman would have time to get all the way up there?”

Her shoulders slump, making Steve immediately feel like the worst person in the universe for crushing her dreams. “He's watching though, so I bet he saw you ask right now,” he does his best to smile, hoping it's comforting since it feels tight-lipped and desperate.

“Yeah!” She brightens, starts to hum along to the song just a little off pitch, getting more excited as she goes until she's murmuring, “Knows if you've been bad or good.”

“Hey Holly Jolly, why don't you tell Fairy Chrissy bye and thank you. We don't wanna be late to meet your mom.”

She's still singing but she nods, turning and shuffling back to Chrissy, still a few steps away.

“Would she know where to get those, Chrissy, the shoes that Holly would need?” He asks Eddie and Robin in a whisper, hoping Holly is distracted enough by her goodbyes that she won't hear.

“Are you..?” Eddie asks, a blush staining the tops of his exposed ears. “Ex-girlfriend?” 

The emphasis catches his attention and, yeah, he can see how that looks. “Her parents aren't going to drive up to the city before Christmas, but the town over does lessons.” Barriers to entry, that's what his marketing classes called it, maybe he did learn something. He wants to make it as easy as possible for Holly to get what she wants. “She's a good kid, she should get what she wants for Christmas.”

That blush spreads, bleeding down from his ears across his cheeks. “You're a good dude.”

“Steve, I said bye. Do we have to leave now?” Holly asks.

“Let me say bye too, Hols, and we'll grab a treat before we meet your Mom.”

There's a pen tucked behind Robin's ear that he snags before he can second guess what he's about to do. Grabbing her arm first, he scrawls his number across it. “I've got a place off campus, no roommates if you ever want someplace to hangout or to study,” he tells her. 

He grabs Eddie's hand next, rubbing his thumb along the palm and slowly writing the same number on his arm too. Keeping a hold of his hand for as long as he can. “I've got a place off campus, no roommates, if you ever want to come by and do something, have dinner?” He'll start there, let his interest be noted, and hope that Eddie is the type to like guys who dive in head first heedless of the water below. 

Steve can already imagine a future where he's sneaking into the booth with Eddie. Watching shows he's never heard of before with a warm commentary murmured into his ear. Gossip and behind the scenes rumor, distracting him from a plot that's less important than the company. Maybe next year, after double dates and a growing closeness, he'll be able to sneak Holly backstage and she can meet other dancers too.

Maybe next year, he'll be convincing Eddie, and the girls he hopes will be his new friends, to drive down to Hawkins with him to watch Holly do jumps and spins of her own in their small town showcase. Eddie was good with Holly, Steve hopes it isn't a fluke, he's always wanted kids.

He's probably getting ahead of himself. Falling into the same trap he'd built with Nancy that had gotten him here in the first place. The romantic in him wants to spin this all as fate, it could be true after all. 

Steve takes Holly's hand, they both wave goodbye, and leave the empty arts center. The winter sky is lit up by a full moon, fat snowflakes slowly float down to the ground beside them as they head back to his car, and for the first time since Nancy broke up with him he feels good about the future.

It's a long drive back to the McDonalds where he's meeting Karen, with Holly already dozing in the back seat, it's time that he can sit and be happy. Regardless of whether there's a message blinking on his machine to welcome him back home or not; what was supposed to be a relationship compromise ended up being the most fun he's had in weeks. So maybe Chrissy will tell him where to get Holly's shoes, maybe Robin will invite him for coffee or swing by to compare classes, and -- if he's really lucky -- maybe Eddie will invite himself over for dinner.

But, as he hums along to the waltz whose melody lingers in the back of his mind, the possibilities are something to look forward to.