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dilf-docs · 1 month ago

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It Always Leads To You

joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: it's been a year; now you're back. how can joel be so sure of those old summer feelings in your eyes when there's a new hand holding yours?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, toxic relationship, cheating and infidelity themes, mutual pinning, kinda dark!joel, smut, p. in v., pussy pronouns, oral (f. receiving), fingering, manhandling, lowkey forced creampie, ANGST, the taylor swift evermore (2020) references go wild, happy ending cause y'all weak asses voted for it and i love to keep my citizens happy!

word count: 5,199 words

side note: my joel miller era is alive and breathing after this tlou re-watch i'm doing my brother swears it's for him but it's mostly me and my fic/womanly reasons, yes we love gaslight girlkeep girlbossing in here gotta say, finding inspiration for this amidst my wattpad duties and christmas movie marathon was harder than i thought lol. was it worth the wait? please like, comment and reblog to let me know! it's based on this request (they're still open btw!)

part: I / II

Holidays linger like bad perfume.

Your eyes wander through the streets: the roads you've got to call home, the ones where you grew up. They're familiar, but so foreign, it's hard to believe they're the same ones where you scrapped your knees at ten and kissed Joel just last winter. It's as if both timelines, your life, feels more like two separate lives, miles apart.

"Hey, you okay?" tender, from the driver's seat; you're still getting used to the soft.

There's a reassuring smile your way, his hand finding yours to give it a squeeze. You notice his palm is the same size as yours. It fits perfectly, but there's a ghost of what it feels like to have it all wrapped up, looming over your itchy palm like all the yearning's a joke.

You nod. "Just tired. That's all"

He sighs. "If I wanted you to lie to me, I would've just asked"

"I'm not lying" you defend yourself as his pickup truck parks on the sidewalk.

He makes a funny face, and you laugh.

"I'm serious, Nick" your lips purse, a thing you do when you lie, yet he still hadn't noticed, like Joel. "Don't worry"

He doesn't look that convinced, so you take off your seat belt and grab his hand.

"C'mon. Mom and dad must be waiting for us"

"Hey" Nick calls you out.

"Yeah?"

"Who lives there?" and he's pointing behind you.

It's his. Joel's house.

"A friend of my dad's" you answer, dryly.

It was last december when you stood there in his porch, begging. It feels like time has stopped ever since, and you're still right where he left you.

"So will he be here?" Nick asks. "You know, since he knows your dad"

"Don't think so" you shrug, "he's got better things to do anyway. Bitter old man" comes out, with more venom than intended.

"Oh! Alright, sorry for asking"

You come back to your senses, realizing you've shared more than you should.

"No, I'm sorry. It's not that important; let's just go inside"

Your mom and dad greet you as soon as you cross the door. Last year, you'd basically fled away before New Year's, with a poor excuse and a broken heart. They both greet you as if nothing happened, although you're sure they remember your tear streamed face coming back from Joel's house, where it all ended.

As your mom corners Nick with kisses and embarrassing questions, your dad whispers to you:

"Joel asked what happened" you quirk and eyebrow, "wanted to know why you left"

"Eh, it's not important" you try to dismiss. "Definitely not as important for a guy like Joel to know"

"What is that supposed to mean?" your dad inquires. You often wonder if they knew.

"Nothing" you laugh nervously. "Listen, why don't you go and meet Nick, yeah? Did you know he likes fishing too?"

The distraction works with your dad; the same can't be said about you.

There's conversation flowing, but through the snow covered window, your eyes keep glancing back to his own. The view is dark, and you ponder if he's fled as well, the town plagued with memories too painful to reminisce.

You can still feel his hands roaming your body, the lust filled gaze that hid warmth. Every time he touches you, you have to remind you he isn't there: that the lips that kiss you, don't taste like his, that the hands that hold you, aren't big as his, and that the face that looks at you like they'll never choose another, is one you haven't learned to love yet.

Joel's memory cuts like thorns: they sink their teeth into your heart, that bleeds with that blood-colored sadness you're all too familiar with. He's poisoned you. But-- isn't it his love also the antidote for this disease he's gave you?

You abruptly stand up, plate half eaten.

"I-I need some air"

It's cold outside, but you don't care. All you want to do is sit on the porch, and drop some tears, something you can do inside too, but the fear of your muffled cries being able to be heard stops you.

You walk towards the stairs, to sit there like you do on summer days, yet there's now a difference: the snow. So you end up slipping, falling with your butt on the floor.

You yelp, embarrased although no one can see you.

"Need help?"

That you're wrong, apparently.

You don't even need to raise your view to know who that voice belongs to: you know it like a record, spinning in circles on your head.

He offers his strong hand your way, and although the cold wind hits your face, you're back to spring on the cabin: wet feet, bright sun and beating heart.

"I can get up myself" you reject his help, pushing the hand out. You keep avoiding his gaze, so you don't see how he's reacted, yet you hope he feels bad about it.

You walk up to the front door, and it takes you a while to realize he hasn't left yet. On top of that, it seems like he's following you. Just what you needed.

"What are you doing here?" you question, but your tone sounds like you're offended.

"Your folks invited me over" Joel answers, "Says they got a special guest"

"Yeah" this time, you do look back, finding him to be much closer than you thought he'd be. Yet you stand tall, defiant even. "It's my boyfriend"

You savour the way his expression falters, before the stoic façade takes over again.

"Boyfriend?" Joel scoffs, as if you just told the funniest joke ever.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" you bite back. "What? Think a pretty girl can't get a new man?"

"Never said I'd doubt'it" he clicks his tongue. "Y'a could get any man you'd want, sugar"

Ironically, the only man you want stands before you.

"Right" you chuckle dryly, "I think it's kind of funny of you to say that"

Joel's eyes bore into yours, a clash of emotions circling in his chocolate orbs.

"Y/n-"

"Don't" you stop him. Then sigh, defeated. "Let's just go inside"

As soon as you both arrive on the dinning room, your parents both greet Joel. Then, they introduce him to their guest, just as promised.

"Joel, this is Nick, y/n's boyfriend" your father speaks. "Nick, this is Joel, a dear old friend of mine"

Nick, as the gentleman he is, offers his hand. Joel accepts, but you can see the barely desguised displease behind his eyes.

"Wow, strong grip" Nick comments before joking, "you can let go now, I'm not going anywhere"

The hidden meaning of his words, whether intentional or not, hit Joel in the face. It's obvious by the way he backtracks, letting go of Nick's hand.

As you sit again, Nick leans to your side and whispers.

"Is this the guy who lives in the house across the street?" you nod. "Thought you'd said he had better plans. But, see? I told you: no plan's more important than coming to your house"

He's always making jokes, trying to make you smile, but it's done the opposite now. The food has gone cold long ago, yet you cut through the meat with a violence so palpable, even your mom tells you to slow down.

The nerve of Joel, showing up to your house like it's nothing, talking to you like he's unaware of his spell on you, acting like Nick is some sort of competition when he pulled out of the race himself a winter ago.

"So, Nick. How did you two meet?" your mom adresses him, eager to know details.

"It was at a party, actually, through mutual friends. Not a very spectacular story, that I know. What's funny is, she asked me what hour it was. And what did I say?"

"He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said: For you, I'm available any hour" you answer.

Your parents laugh, but Joel remains quiet. You wonder what he's thinking.

"You know" looking at Nick while cutting the steamed vegetables a little too agressive, "y/n actually hates parties"

"Joel" you warn through gritted teeth.

"Really? I didn't know that!" Nick seems so genuine, Joel can't help but hate him. He looks at you, concerned "You didn't tell me"

You can't believe he would rat you out like that. The appropiate word isn't hate, and you don't know how to describe it, but parties aren't really your environment; if you can, you'd choose to be anywhere else.

He'll pay for that.

"Joel" you seethe, an ugly smile painted in your features, "did you know Nick knows how to fish?"

It's a direct jab at him. He feels stupid for letting you get to him. The inferiority complex towards some random guy he just met, years younger, is actually laughable.

"I like-" Nick wants to add on that.

"Well" Joel interrupts, looking at you. "You never taught me like ya' were s'pposed to"

"You never cared to learn" you reply, acidic.

He sips his drink, trying to hide the smirk that's formed on his lips. You can't shut up, and he loves you've stayed the same.

"That means I've got some classes to take" Joel leans back on his chair, relaxed like he's won this round. "Just tell me when"

The tension cuts like the storm that's just formed outside.

"You should stay over, Joel" your dad offers when he takes a peak at the climate, "it's too dangerous outside"

Joel seems indestructible, like not even a snow blizzard could pierce through the rough old man. But he agrees, much to your dismay.

It's probably midnight already, and all you've done is toss around the bed. Nick peacefully snores next to you, and you envy how easily he falls asleep. You've always find it hard to sleep, the nighttime plagued with too many loud thoughts that fill the silence.

You get up carefully, heading downstairs for some water. You sip with tranquility when a noise jolts you from your sit.

The wooden floor creaks, making you aware you're not alone anymore.

"Can't sleep?"

You don't answer, seeing his sturdy figure emerge from the shadows until the dim moonlight shines over his aging features. Silence settles in. Outside, the wind howls, bumping against the windows with violence, like your heart does now against your chest.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

"There's nothing to talk" cuts your response through the thick tension, the air suddenly suffocating.

You take another sip, but the tremble of your hand doesn't go unnoticed by Miller.

"Right" Joel sits next to you, on the kitchen island. "Won't even look at me, sugar? You've got eyes" his voice drops, "use 'em"

"What are you doing, Joel?" you ask looking at him, tears threatening to spill, making your bright eyes shimmer with pain.

He gets up abruptly, like he's woken up from a trance. He's seen his own pain on your eyes, and he hates it.

"Joel?" you ask again, demanding but softly.

He can't answer. Instead, he leaves.

"Goodnight, y/n" voice raw, many emotions boiling, hidden on the inside. It hurts.

If you hadn't changed, Joel too stayed the same.

A goddamn coward.

Two days have passed since, and now it's Christmas Eve.

You kneel, putting the presents under the tree. Normally, your parents would have much more people around for the holidays, but thanks to the storm, it's just them, Nick, Joel and you.

"I'm gonna miss Mrs. Stone's cookies" you pout, "I wish she could be here"

"It's a big loss for tonight" your dad sighs. "Next time, yeah? Christmas will come again faster than you think"

You nod, still absent as he walks away.

"Hey" Joel pops up behind, seemingly from nowhere.

"Hey" you reply, voice laced with tiredness just at the sight of him. How will you manage to survive until New Year's? You have no idea, the task harder if he's staying in the same house as you are.

"Put this in there, will ya'?"

He hands you a box, neatly wrapped up. What stands out the most is the silver bow on top. Your stomach drops: it's your favorite color.

"Y-yeah" you stammer. When the present falls in your hands, you notice it looks like Joel did it himself.

"Didn't know you were capable of nice things" you whisper. There's no anger in your voice, only loss.

"I'm trying" is what he says, before leaving you alone. Until then, you realize he had been touching you, the skin where his hand was on your shoulder burning.

Dinner goes by swiftly, conversation flowing easily courtesy of Nick and your father, who both have in common the love for talking. It may be your brain messing with you, but his eyes never leave you, fixated on your every move, savoring when your lips open and take a bite; when you lick them afterwards, salt in your mouth he'd love to take off in a movement of his tongue. The ghost of your lips haunts him, cruelly playing with his yearning now that he's got you across the table. It's a few centimeters, really, but it feels like you're miles away: and it's his fault. You're no longer his, and he's reminded of it every time your boyfriend kisses what he once had.

Now it's time to open the presents, and you excitedly raise your hand to go first.

"Alright, sweetheart. You know I can't deny you anything" your father beams, "go ahead. Choose any present you'd like to open first"

Joel's eyes are on you, and you know he's desperately waiting for you to open his first. Maybe partly in courage, maybe partly in fear, but you choose Nick's first: something safe to start with.

"That's mine!" he chirps, and Joel mockingly imitates his kid-like joy under his breath.

You unwrap the present, finding a small box inside.

"Please, don't be another box" you joke, and he laughs.

"You think that low of me? Please"

You keep unwrapping and find a bag. The bag has a small tag that reads: Gotcha.

"Nick! God, you're so corny" you tease as you open the bag. Inside, there's a velvet box, and by the looks of it, you can tell it's jewelry. You gasp, pulling out a silver charm tied to a silver thin chain: it's a marlin fish. "Nick..."

"I know. Marlin isn't your favorite fish, but that's all I could find" you get up, wrapping him on a tight hug. Aware you've got an audience, he leans and whispers "I knew fishing was special to you, because of your dad and childhood. Maybe now" he takes it from your hands, carefully putting it around your neck, "it can also be our special thing"

Joel sees the scene unfold in front of him, his grip tight on the cloth of his jeans until it's white. His jaw clenches at the affection display; all he sees is red.

"What about that one?" your mom points out Joel's present. A pit of nerves forms in your stomach. "I don't remember seeing it there"

Before you can grab it, your dad moves faster, examining the box on his hands.

"It's Joel's" he makes a pause, "for y/n"

You pretend to be shocked, and you can tell Nick tenses at your side.

"You didn't tell me you were close"

"Used to" you correct quickly, despite the knot on your throat. "Not anymore"

"He still got you a present, though"

You don't get to answer because your dad leaves the box on your lap.

"Open it" it's soft but feels threathing for some reason, "I'm curious"

Joel's resting hands tremble as much as yours while you open the present. You reveal the simple white box under the wrap, opening it up.

Your voice comes out shaky as you call his name. And he can see it: the muffled laughters on the shed, the warmth of the cabin's fire, the fogged up windows of his car, the bruises on your tits and that voice, so vulnerable, he can see you on his porch, saying those three words that terrified him so much, his solution was breaking your heart.

"What is it?" your dad asks.

"It's a scarf" the fabric tickles your fingers that wander through the loose strands.

You remember it all too well.

"Oh, it's vintage!" your mom comments when she sees the worn-out aspect.

But just as your affair with Joel, you keep the secret of it's real owner.

"It's perfect" you mutter, remembering better times: ones where he'd wrap the scarf colored as the leaves on the ground around your neck, covering bruises he'd just made while you joked you'd steal it, and Joel would say he'd just let you, that it looked better on you anyway.

You've forgotten the good, so used to thinking of Joel at your worst, like a punishment to endure and sink your shipwreck even deeper. You felt lost, replaying memories that seemed stuck on a loop. Since last december, all you've known is pain; creeping up through the cracks in your fleeting happiness, one you've tried to find to no avail. One day, past the curses and cries, maybe there'll be happiness. But as for now, that day seems terribly far.

As he sees your teary gaze, Joel often wonders were it went wrong. When did hurt was all you had for him in that gaze of yours he can't bare to look that long, not before he's reliving all those seasons by your side, replaying his footsteps on the snow, grass, water and fallen leaves, trying to find the one where it all went wrong. The torture he now wears like a second skin, his agony painted words addressed to the fire of a house that feels so empty and alone.

"We should continue" your dad speaks over the silence, "there are still many presents left"

The night moves slowly, and the scarf you've chosen to wear is now suffocating around your neck. But you can't take it off. This is the closest you've been to Joel on a year; it still smells like him. As the presents run out, you excuse yourself early to bed, only to wake up again in the middle of the night. You want to pee, so you exit your room and walk to the bathroom, your bare feet against the cold wood sending shivers down your spine that only seem to augment when you walk past his door, next to the bathroom. After being done, you splash some water on your face, as if that would make some sense get to you.

"What are you doing?" you ask yourself in the mirror. Your tired reflection stares back at you, in silence.

You open the door, ready to go back to bed when a hand covers your mouth and shoves you inside.

"Don't scream" your cries go muffled against his hand, the calloused digits pressing against your soft skin, "wanna wake 'em up?"

You shake your head, so he lets your mouth free.

"Joel" you call out, but he's facing the door, his back all you see. No sound can be heard, aside from his uneven breaths.

"I'm sorry" he says, and then you hear the small click of the door's lock.

"What the hell?"

This time, he faces you, but his movements are so quick you don't register his lips on yours until it's too late. He kisses you like a starved man who hasn't had a meal in years, eating you out while your body acts up on it's own, the urgency embarrasing even.

"No" you pull back. Your mind screams in guilt at how much you want this, and that's all you can hear aside from his ragged breaths.

"No?"

"It isn't fair"

"To lover boy out there?" he teases, "I know he ain't treating you right, or ya' wouldn't look me the way ya' do"

"Don't, Joel" your tone is icy, "Nick treats me better than you ever could"

He laughs, darkly. "You know I ain't meant that" he corners you against the sink, the material cold against your bare legs; you don't sleep with nothing but an oversized t-shirt, despite the weather.

"Riddle me this, sugar: if he treats you so well, why are you so fucking wet?"

Your heart beats so fast you fear you'll die. He gets closer, his hot breathe prickling against your ear.

"It takes a man to please a woman" he tucks a loose strand behind your ear, "and I ain't leaving my baby displeased"

His fingers pull down the panties until your clit is exposed.

"Look at 'er" he traces a teasing finger over the puffy skin, coated on your slick "missed me, didn't she? Gonna treat 'er so good, she won't ever feel lonely again"

He softly kisses your neck, the trepidation and regret tying your stomach in knots.

Joel teases your needy core with his finger.

"Tell you somethin', sugar" Joel finds it hard to hide his adoration, "I missed 'er too"

He stares into your eyes while pushing two rough fingers inside your cunt. You bite your lip, holding back your moans.

"Need summ help?" he kisses you roughly, smirking when he feels your shaky breath against his lips. He pushes them in and out faster, making your walls squeeze tightly around his fingers.

"Did he ever have you comin' this fast? I'ont think so" he whispers against your neck. You whisper his name through labored breaths, making a smug smile adorn his features. "Good girl"

He proceeds to kneel down, despite the creak of his bones. You see him leave a trail of kisses down your thighs, your legs opening wider in response. His tongue gives rapid flickers against your sensitive bud, aware of the lack of time. He slurps the pulsing cunt, his head moving back and forth while he sucks, coating his moustache on your juices. Joel goes back to the quick movements, tongue knowing your spots and twisting fingers as aid, causing your back to arch.

"Fuck" you curse as you come, gripping the sink a bit too tight.

Joel then pulls away and places his fingers coated in your arousal in his mouth and licks them. He sees the obscene display in the fogged mirror, satisfied.

"Goodnight, sugar" Joel bids goodbye like it's nothing, kissing your lips that taste like you. "Still as sweet as ever"

It's New Year's Eve.

"You're leaving?" you sound so sad, Joel can't help but scoff. In the end, he'd stayed long after the storm had passed, your father arguing holidays weren't meant to be spent alone. So he stayed.

And now, Nick is leaving.

"I'm sorry" he apologizes for the millionth time, "but granny is sick. I don't know if she'll make it another year, so say the doctors. I would love to stay, really, but I have to be with her"

You understand, having lost your grandad years ago. But that doesn't mean you're okay with it: Nick leaving means a clear path for Joel, who didn't stop with him sleeping next room, and certainly won't now, despite not having interacted with you since he ate you out on the bathroom.

He pulls you into a long hug and a kiss that doesn't feel the same anymore. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah" you nod, "I'll miss you though"

"Well, I'll be all yours when you get back"

You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"See you, y/n. I love you"

Your lips purse after you utter those three words back.

Later at night, the house is filled with guests. The lively environment is restored, and you feel less confined to Joel's claws, so many faces to speak and distract yourself with, compared to Christmas and the past couple of days. You clutch the marlin charm tightly, mind busy wandering to places it shouldn't. Joel stares at you from across the room, eyes trained on you as he sips his drink calmly, like he's won; you don't know why he's keeping score if he already knows it. You wander off to the kitchen, and Joel follows you.

"You have to stop" you speak as soon as he enters, aware he would follow you.

"I ain't do shit"

You turn around, facing him. "Bullshit, Joel"

"Tell me, what'd I do?" he comes closer, and despite your erratic heart and fear, you stay still; challenging.

"You did this, Joel" his expression falters for a second, the weight of last december's crimes dawning on him. "Don't try to make me feel guilty"

"I ain't. That wasn't your fault" he sighs, breath dragging long like a cigarrette. "But this" he motions with his hands the reduced distance, "this it is"

Your breath hitches.

"We can't keep doing this, Joel. Nick doesn't deserve it"

He pins you against the counter with force, gripping the skin of your wrists until you're sure you'll get a bruise. Joel's eyes darken at the thought of your frail and soft body under his rough figure and belly, his strength and your weakness making the job of putting you under his will, so much easier.

"Don't say his name" he whispers, his breath laced with alcohol, "he ain't here anymore. Ain't nothing to stop me now, right, sugar?" Joel purrs as he steps towards you, taking your face in his hands before starting a heated kiss, making you stumble.

This was so wrong, but it felt so right, the missing pieces falling like dominoes.

He was your pain divine: you needed his hurt to bleed and feel alive again. Maybe the red of the blood and the blue of your sadness could paint your darkest grey skies with a happiness you've craved since you lost him.

"Tell me to stop" Joel whispers, tempting like a devil as he kisses down your neck, littering it with hickeys.

"Don't"

Next thing you know, you're excusing yourself upstairs and then Joel goes missing too, both inside of your bedroom.

Your dress was the first thing to go.

"Wear it for me?" you're about to answer, lips pursing, but he cuts you off, "and don't lie, sugar. Don't get too used to the bad girl schtick"

"I only wore this dress so you could take it off"

He kisses you desperately, legs wrapped around his waist while he carries you to bed, and the memories of your first flood you as he drops you down to your back, watching the way you bounce. He has you just like he wanted: moaning his name while he leaves tender kisses on the soft bare flesh.

"Joel-" you gasp. Despite the chatter downstairs and music, you try to remain low as he wraps his lips around your nipples. He then moves to your breasts, covering them with his kisses and hickeys. He hadn't touched a woman ever since you left, the feeling of the rosy innocent skin on his rough teeth making him loose all common sense, the real thing even better than what he would try to conjure when he fucked himself in the bathroom at the memory of you.

He groans when he feels your hands roaming over his back, nails digging on the scarred skin.

"Someone's eager" he teases, seeing your damp underwear. "Is this 'cause of me?" you don't answer, too busy removing the cloth, only for his strong fingers to grab you and stop you. "Don't be shy, answer baby. We got a whole new year, yeah?"

"I need you Joel" you whine, not laughing at the joke "cut the crap"

He pushes you gently back down to the bed. "So needy sugar, want me to help ya'?"

You eagerly nod, making him laugh. But there's no mock, only love behind the sound.

"Will you let this old man take care of ya', pretty baby? Just use your words, and I'll be all y'rs"

"Do it, Joel. Just do it"

You gasp as your folds begin to be prodded open by the fat head of Joel's cock. You curse, feeling him push in just the tip, the sweet burn of your walls welcoming his size making you grab his arms that stand at the sides of your body, caging you in.

His tummy pushes against your stomach as he adjusts himself, his weight sinking your body on the creaking matress.

"'S just the tip, ready for the whole thing?"

You needed him, all of him.

"Yes, Joel. I want you" You say and he pushes in slowly, feeling his cock fill up every empty space that craved for him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as his hips roll back pulling out about halfway before rocking back in. His sloppy thrusts pick up a familiar pace that makes you moan and beg for more, head falling against the sheets as his pace speds up until he's fucking you senseless.

Joel's brain goes blank at the sight of you creaming on his dick and the obscene sounds leaving your pretty mouth. Did he really give this up? He'd definitely go back in time and slap the fuck out of his past self, because there is simply nothing better than having you under him, screaming his name like that's all you can ever say.

"Does he fuck you like this, huh?" Joel angles his hips, resuming his brutal pace. Your body jolts with each snap. "Is he enough for you?"

"Yes" his stomach drops, dark eyes now hesitant, "but he isn't you"

He pushes himself back in, your eyes fluttering shut almost immediately.

"Tell me you'll leave him, y/n. Look me in the eyes and tell me who ya' really belong to"

Your eyes snap open at the possesiveness clashed with jealousy that drips from his sweat-soaked lips.

The confession falls easily, as meant to be. "Yours, Joel. Always was and will be"

He could cum just at the sight of your loving doe eyes.

Downstairs, the countdown begins, but in your room, all you can hear are his soft groans and your pathetic whimpers, and if the people would stop shouting, you could probably hear the squelch of your dripping cunt sucking in his girth with each thrust.

After a few more erratic thrusts, you feel his warm cum fill you up. Joel was always obsessed with how his cum seeped out of you and around his cock. Without thinking, his rough fingers push deep in you, making you yelp as he makes sure he isn't wasting a drop behind.

The countdown ends, and fireworks erupt outside as your head rests on the crook of his sweat covered neck.

"I love ya', sugar" those words you thought you imagined that one time, now real, so goddamn real his voice quivers and eyes get tearful with grief, "'S okay if ya' don't say it. I just wanted you to hear 'em. 'M just tired of wastin' my time"

He wraps your lips with his with tenderness you had only dreamed of. There is still a lot to talk and heal, but this time, his arms hold you like a promise. And you let yourself believe it.

Y/n's New Years' purposes: 1. Break up with Nick 2. Try to explain this seasonal mess to mom and dad 3. At last, try to be happy

#dilfistwrites #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #tlou #tlou fanfiction

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tinum · 17 days ago

Text

Longing from the Office - Harumasa x Reader

Summary: Section 6 play wingman for a struggling harumasa Warnings: So much sighing and sitting in chairs, probable abuse of as, maybe ooc, errors Word Count: 2.1k Notes: I'm trying to improve my writing guys so sorry if its bad but also not sorry. Drop a request or don't.. its fine...

Harumasa's longing for you manifested in many ways. Some of which were more embarrassing than he liked to admit. You hardly seemed to notice though, even if he was practically attached to your hip like a puppy.

"I'm going on my lunch now, Tsukishiro." You call out, pushing your chair out and putting on the coat hanging off the back. Despite not even scratching the surface of your work, your eyes are already stained, and you feel the throb of a headache coming on. A break is definitely in order.

"Alright—" She was swiftly cut off by a voice chiming in.

"Yeah, we'll be going on break now, Tsukishiro!" Her eyebrows raise at the man, who was, just moments ago, sleeping.

"Oh? I hope you realize your nap has been cutting into your break time." Her face was serious, but on the inside, she almost wanted to laugh at how obvious he was being. It's something she noticed for a while now, how he glances at you from time to time when you are doing paperwork, completely unaware. The way he perks up when he hears your name in conversation.

"I was just resting my eyes."

"So you admit you were taking a break?"

He scratches the back of his neck. "Aha… no?"

She sighs, pinching the space between her brows, "If you're going to take a break now, all of your paperwork better be turned in by the end of the day."

"Whoa, really? Thanks, Tsukishiro! You won't regret this!"

She totally would, but she would regret it more if she didn't allow him to go. Watching him make a fool of himself while you were blind was torture. She'd rather lose a few hours of sleep completing his paperwork than watch another moment.

"Ah, Asaba, we're going on break at the same time? What a funny coincidence."

She physically facepalms, causing both your heads to snap her way. "Ahem… my apologies, there was a… bug. Don't mind me."

"Yeah, pretty crazy. I mean, what are the chances, right?"

"It's almost like it was fate…" His heart practically skips a beat when you look at him and let out a giggle. "Well, just a silly thought! I'll be going now. Have fun on your break!"

He could only get out the start of his sentence before you promptly turned away, rushing towards the exit. Once you are gone, he lets out the loudest whine of his life. His upbeat posture deflates as he stares at the exit, jaw open. He only closes it when he hears the click of heels walking towards him.

"That was rather painful to watch." Yanagi places an awkward hand on his shoulder as some sort of means to comfort him.

"If you cringed by just watching it, imagine how I feel. I mean, seriously! How much more obvious do I have to get?"

Normally, Yanagi would not concern herself with her colleagues' personal lives, but the sight of his obvious pining and your obliviousness was giving her early wrinkles. "I find myself wondering the same thing."

Harumasa groans, running his hand down his face in frustration. He turns to Yanagi, places both of his hands on her shoulders, and shakes her lightly. "You see it too? C'mon, you gotta help me!"

She squints her eyes, looking at him, and Harumasa shakes her more, letting out a crybaby 'Pleaseee.' She had already planned on helping him. Otherwise, she would not have walked up to him, but she can't lie; it was sort of fun seeing him fumble so much. Perhaps you were rubbing off on her.

"First of all, stop shaking me." He drops his hand faster than she's ever seen him move when overtime is on the line. "I'll help you—"

"Thank you, Tsukishiro! Seriously, you're the-"

"I wasn't finished," she clears her throat. "I'll help you, but you have to promise me a full week of your undivided attention. In other words, no slacking and no naps."

He deflates, letting out another loud groan. "I should have known it wouldn't be that easy…" His chair rolls backward as he slumps down, throwing his arm over his eyes. "It's hopeless… I'm going to die all alone."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine, you're lucky I'm feeling generous I'll cut it to three workdays."

He immediately brightens up, his posture straight, and he bats his eyelashes at Yanagi. "Really? You'd do that for little old me?"

"No. I'm doing it for Soukaku. She also wonders when you would finally confess."

"Oh… well, what's the plan?"

She immediately zeroes in. Harumasa follows suit, with a serious look on their face. Yanagi slams a piece of paper on his desk.

"Here's what I was thinking."

-----

When you return from lunch, you are greeted with an unusually focused Harumasa and no Yanagi in sight. You sigh as you walk towards your desk; the piles of papers seem never-ending. Unfortunately, the only way out is through.

A few minutes into the first page, you hear Harumasa let out a loud sigh. "This is sooo hard." He whines. You look up at him to see him already staring at you. "You gotta help me with this! I just can't seem to remember!"

"What do you need help with?"

"I cannot, for the life of me, remember what… time! Our last hollow investigation began.."

"It began at-"

"No! I mean, can you write it for me?" he coughs out. "I suddenly feel really sick."

"I suppose if you are not feeling well… bring it here."

He scoots out of his chair, walking slowly with an exaggerated stagger. "Ah, I feel really dizzy. Can I rest on your shoulder?" He doesn't wait for an answer, rolling the chair from the empty desk next to you.

Your eyes widen. "Dizzy? Should I call in the doctor?" He places his hand on top of yours, stopping you from picking up your phone.

"No, no, I'll be fine." His head hesitantly creeps down, teetering on whether he should commit or not. Ultimately, he does. "I just need a moment."

"Oh…" A quick blush rose to your face as you grabbed the paper, which was… blank.

"Asaba, you—"

You turn to look at him, expecting to be met with the view of his hair. Instead, you are greeted by his face, which is inches apart from yours.

"Yes?"

"You must be super sick! You gave me the wrong paper!" You fuss, pressing a hand to his forehead. "I'll inform Tsukishiro!"

"No, there's no need," he sighed. "I'm feeling better now." He gets up, walking back to his desk, head hanging low.

"Asaba…" you call out, tone a bit more serious. He turns around to face you, a hopeful look in his eyes. "You forgot your paper."

"Right."

-----

"That didn't work?" Yanagi asked, her eyes wide.

"No! They just wanted to call you!"

"Hm… Well, they seemed worried; that's a start."

"I guess.." He slumps.

"Perhaps you should take a more direct approach. How about asking them on a date?"

"I practically did yesterday! Sharing a break with someone is a sacred thing, y'know!"

Suddenly, a cheerful voice chimes in, a bit muffled from a full mouth. "Why don't you give them candy!"

He looked at the Soukaku and then at Yanagi, who was deep in thought, muttering under her breath. "Yes, that could work." Yanagi finally says, pushing up her glasses. "Why don't you give them a gift?"

"That's perfect! You guys are so smart; what would I do without you?"

-----

The following day, you are greeted with a bundle of violets on your desk. It was certainly a strange gift. There was no note, just the flowers wrapped in heart-shaped plastic. You look around the room, noticing it was empty.

Maybe a fan left these? It wouldn't be surprising, considering they sometimes stand outside the building waiting to catch a glimpse of Section 6, but if it was from a fan, how could you know if it was for you? They definitely would not know which desk belongs to whom unless they were in the building.

You shiver, throwing the flowers in a nearby bin. Then you grab your phone and call Yanagi. Not today, stalker.

What you didn't know is that Harumasa was watching in the nearby printer room. A card in his hands.

-----

"And then they threw them away! Right in front of me!"

"Hm, that is troubling…"

"I'm beginning to think they just don't like me."

"Cheer up, Harumasa!" Soukaku smiles, hugging him. Yanagi stood in front of the desk, her eyebrows furrowed.

"I don't know what to do anymore." He exhales, standing up.

"Have you tried telling them directly?" Everyone snaps their heads to the source of the voice and is met with a pair of dark ears.

Harumasa's head drops back down, defeated. Walking to the door in an exaggerated slowness.. "Nah, I think this is it. I can take a hint."

-----

"Asaba likes you." You sputter on the water you had been drinking, causing your shirt to get wet.

"Miyabi!" You nervously laugh, drying your shirt with napkins from a nearby table. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Asaba likes you."

"Oh! Well, I like him too." Walking back towards your desk, you smile. . "Speaking of which, where is he? I haven't seen him or the others at all today."

"No. Asaba likes you as more than a friend." She stops right in front of your chair, and you have to look up at her for the first time.

"Me too! He's pretty much my best friend!" Turning away from her, you gather a few papers left on your desk. "Miyabi, I have to go run these to another department. If the others come back, let them know that's why."

Miyabi watches as you walk by, letting out a sigh of her own. She know knows why Yanagi and Harumasa had been sighing at you these past three days. This was more difficult than she expected. Usually, a simple approach does the trick; less is more, after all.

"Well, that's it. I'm officially done." The other three members walk out from around the corner, a crushing look on their faces. He falls back on his chair and Miyabi is surprised it hasn't collapsed by how many times he has done that. "I'm sorry, Tsukishiro, but I'm gonna have to break our deal to sleep my sorrows away."

Soukaku speaks in a tearful tone. "Harumasa…"

"It's okay, Soukaku.. Sometimes things just don't work out how we want them to."

She grips his hand and jumps up with determination. "No! You can't—" She pauses, tears welling in her eyes.

"Miyabi, have you seen the other pa-" You stopped in your tracks. Everyone was surrounding Harumasa's desk, sullen looks on their faces.

"You can't give up your crush on—" She manages to get your name out before a hand on her mouth silences her.

All four of the members stare at you with shocked expressions. No one dares to speak up or move, too worried they might scare you off.

You stumble over your own tongue, a deep blush rising to your face. "Asaba has a crush on me?" and before Harumasa has the chance to ruin things for himself, the three other members speak up.

"Yes!" Their tone was almost annoyed. After all these attempts this is what it took? They aren't one to smoke but they'd be lying if they said they didn't need a cigarette right about now.

"Harumasa, is this true?"

He lets out a deep breath, "It is." Alright, here it comes; he's going to be rejected and—

"I like you too!"

"WHAT?" You had to be kidding him. This whole time, he was trying to get your attention with gifts and outrageous gestures, and all it took was for you to overhear a conversation? He's pretty sure you just triggered a heart attack. Maybe he should retire, yeah.. that's what he'll do

"I like you too, Harumasa. I have for a while now."

"No way! You turned down all my advances!"

"You didn't make any advances?"

"Yes, I did!"

"No?"

"Yes? Remember that time I asked to go on break after you did?"

"I thought that was just a coincidence."

"What about the flowers?"

"You didn't leave me any flowers."

"I left violets on your desk, and you just threw them away!"

"I thought they were from one of those creepy fans."

"Miyabi literally told you how I felt!"

"How was I supposed to know she meant it romantically?"

Harumasa resisted the urge to tackle you. You were seriously spiking his blood pressure with your absurd reasoning. How could someone be so incredibly smart and dumb at the same time? He's not sure the gods could even answer that.

"You're so lucky you're you. I'd be running for the hills if it was anyone else."

"Does that mean you guys are dating now?" Soukaku asks, not a single thought behind her eyes.

You look at Harumasa, and for the first time, he knows what he must do. "Let's try this again. I have liked you forever, and now I know you do, so… can we date? Pretty please?" He asks that question with such enthusiasm that you're sure if he had a tail it would be wagging

"Of course, silly! All you had to do was ask!" Something clicks in Harumasa once he hears you say that.

Oh. You sly dog. You knew this whole time, didn't you?

#zzz #zzz x reader #zenless zone zero #zenless zone zero x reader #asaba #asaba harumasa #asaba harumasa x reader #asaba x reader #harumasa #harumasa x reader #zzz asaba harumasa #zzz asaba #zzz harumasa #gender neutral reader #x reader #reader insert #fluff #harumasa fluff

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writingwisterias · 26 days ago

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Hey hey!!

You can ignore this if you aren't comfortable but I was wondering if you have any ideas for how different eras Leon would react or handle drunk gf? Smth like been out with the girlies or asking him for a ride home? Go crazy!

Low key started thinking about it after a minor drunken injury weeks ago (all good!)

Hi Anon!

I'm sorry this late, I hope you are okay lmao! We have all been there at some point 👀...I've never fallen down some stairs or whatever

Hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: Fluff, Drunk!Reader,

Fem!Reader

RE2:

You went to a house party, Leon didn't feel like going though so he stayed behind

He trusted you not to do anything stupid and find your own way back.

That was until he got a call from you that you had been left by your friends and needed him to come and pick you up

He left immediately, pulling up to the location in his jeep with a smile at your state

Had to catch you as he helped you into the car as you tripped on the pavement

The entire ride you are chatting to him about all the gossip. He doesn't care who kissed who that night. Your smile and adorable giggles made his night

Caved when you asked for fast food - with the idea it will sober you up a little bit at least.

RE4R:

I feel like he would like a quieter life but when he meets you and you drag him around everywhere.

He doesn't complain he just goes with the flow, he'll have a few drinks etc to make the time more bearable but never as much as you.

It's cute though, how you'll go out onto the dance floor with a bunch of your friends all stumbling about together

Then you will stumble back over to him, placing a kiss that tasted like whatever you were drinking. A hug that was more you leaning on him than an actual hug

He never prompted you to come back, he was content observing you from the bar, his ass going numb from the bar stool.

When it is time to go home, he's dragging you to a cab. Your leaning on him chattering about whatever was on your mind

Thoughts going by so fast he can barely keep up with you. Changing topics like every 5 seconds

Infinite Darkness:

Encourages you to drink more, he's the type that's willing to be the sober one if he needs to be or at least only limiting himself to a few drinks to make sure you get back safely

He has to drag you out the bar towards the end of the night, your goodbye with the girls is dragging on far too long

The walk back is painful, your stumbling everywhere and so slow to the point he just beds his back and braces his knees

You're hard to carry on his back only because you find it so funny but eventually you pass out

When you do you are like dead weight but don't worry he can take it, he's fought things that are heavier than you

Damnation:

He's drunk with you lets be honest, you are both as bad as each other

Prefers to stay at home and drink so you will too

If you host a girls night he'll happily leave the room and sit in your bedroom so you have the space

The girls don't mind him being there they understand you barely see each other so they are fine with him joining in

When he does, he'll suggest things like board games or card games

For Christmas he'll get you loads of drinking games to play either together or with your friends

Finds it funny when you get the couple drinking games

RE6:

You woke him up from sleeping on the sofa when you called him to pick you up

He's fighting you for an answer as to where you are.

Eventually he just drives to the usual bars not hanging up of course

Finds you just aimlessly wandering down the streets. Pulls over and has to gently guide you into the car

Your moaning about how you have your boyfriend on the phone and he's coming to get you until you realize it's him

He'll give you his jacket in the car so you stay warm, after all the outfit your wearing wouldn't have kept you warm

Loves the gossip you collect and will let you ramble about. There's just something distracting about who kissed who compared to his usual thoughts or conversations with his friends

Vendetta:

The guy would be drunk with you, out and about with your friends whatever. He's with you

And considering he's drank a lot in the film before he starts doing anything I would say he's the type of drunk that you can't actually tell he is until you see the drink

So he's more helpful than you in going home

He's dragging you down the street, pulling you into his side so you stay close

If you fall over he's just sighing and laughing at you

It's almost like two toddlers walking down a street together, they don't know where they are going or how to get there but they do eventually

If you ask for his jacket he'll give it to you but he won't just do it on his own will. He's not really thinking straight

Death Island:

He's smart enough to turn on your phone location before you go out so when you do call him, he's there like instantly

He will sit you down on the bathroom counter and force you to tell him what your skin care routine is as he knows you'll be upset you didn't do it

Will eventually get you to write a step by step process and pin it to his bathroom mirror so he knows in advance

Probably just throws on one of his t shirts instead of finding your own clothes

Listens to your drunken talks until eventually you fall asleep cuddles into him

#~mads rambles #leon kennedy #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy x you #~mads~mail💌#leonkennedy #leon resident evil #leon s kennedy #resident evil leon #leon kennedy imagine

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russellsppttemplates · 10 months ago

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Do you think you could do Lando and pregnant wifey that’s in labor and is snapping at him and he just finds it funny. So he’s trying not to laugh but failing so she starts laughing.

Fun fact laughter helps with pain :)

Cw: childbirth

Even though you worried your labour with your third baby after the one you had with Fraser, the doctors made it pretty straight forward - you'd have the epidural and since they were monitoring you and your baby girl closely, they would wait for the delivery room to be ready so you could have a safe delivery.

So far, Lando had been an absolute sweetheart, but your hormones and the pain that hadn't yet subsided yet from the epidural were making a mess of you.

"I'm just trying to make sure everything at home is alright because I can't control anything else right now, Lando!", you snapped, "have you ever felt how it is to not feel anything from your hips down? No, because you don't have child-bearing hips and a little human trying to come out of a tiny hole that's stretching out!".

Lando was really trying his best not to laugh. He wasn't make fun of you, of course, but the way you were wording things out was funny and he couldn't hold it in, "I'm sorry, baby, I really am", he apoligised and turned his back to you so he could look out the window and take some deep breaths.

He was interrupted when you started laughing loudly too, making him turn around to laugh along with you, tears brimming your eyes as you couldn't stop, "I can't feel anything from down there, for all I know everything is happening and I have no idea", you chuckled, holding your arm out so your husband could hold your hand, lacing it with his.

"It's okay, baby, no one cares about anything other than you two being fine", he soothed, "and yes, I have no idea what it feels like because I don't have your great hips - you know they're my favourite - and mine can't even dance like that", he wiggled his hips around, purposely exaggerating the bad movements so you could laugh, noticing how much calmer it was making you.

"I must say, this isn't the usual scene in these rooms, but I like it", your OB said as she walked inside and heard you two laugh loudly, "it's good for the pain, so you can carry on!".

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

#lando norris blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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luveline · 1 year ago

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u are the most amazing writer. im in hospital rn and have been for a few days but thinking about aaron hotchner finding out reader was in hospital and freaking out?? 🐇🧃💖💃

get well soon my love, and tysm for requesting ♡ fem!reader

"Hello, handsome," you say, phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder, naked thighs stretched out in front of you, "funny thing."

"I doubt it will be funny," he says. Aaron knows you too well, that's for sure.

"Well, it's not actually very funny. I'm at Stafford."

"Right."

"Stafford–"

"Hospital. You're in Stafford Hospital?"

You brush a hand down your hospital gown and sigh. "You could say that."

"Are you hurt?"

"You could also say that. Will you come?" you ask quietly.

"I'm on my way. Ten minutes."

It's an impossible promise and one he can't deliver on, but twenty minutes later he's opening the door to your room with his go-bag on his shoulder. "Shit, are you going somewhere?" you ask.

He frowns at you deeply. "What happened?"

"I hit my head at work. Threw up, passed out. I had a CT scan, I'm waiting for them to come back and tell me what's happening."

His jaw twitches as you explain. Looking rather formidable, Aaron puts his bag down on the plastic wrapped chair beside your hospital bed and leans down to hold you. "Oh, careful of your head," he says as you reach for him. His voice is strange. "Careful."

Things are quiet for a while. Just his arms around you and the beep of your heart monitor.

"How do you feel?" he asks, and the dam breaks. "How did it happen, honey? Where did you hit your head?" He puts his hand on your shoulder and nudges you back gently. "Can you show me?"

You arch your neck down and tuck your hand behind your head. "Right here. I don't know what I was doing, I just slipped."

He encourages you forward with one hand. You're unsure what he's looking at or how bad it might look, but he must feel sorry for you either way, the hand on your shoulder rubbing sympathetic quarter circles.

"I wish you would've called me as soon as it happened."

"I was a little busy."

He's quiet, brooding. You look up into his face to try and gauge how he's feeling beyond that, but he's impassive; his expression reveals nothing.

"Are you mad?" you ask worriedly.

"Mad?" He shakes his head. Careful, he slides a hand under your leg and moves it aside to sit on your hospital bed, his thumb in the tender underside of your knee. "I'm just– I've seen so many–" Your heart monitor reflects your surprise as Aaron stutters. "I couldn't imagine what happened to you. I was afraid to ask. Honey, it's eight at night. Thinking about you here, alone and in pain–" He clings to your knee.

You understand his reaction, then. You've had hours to make sense of your sudden injury. Aaron's only just found out, and he's lived through enough bad phone calls to panic himself thinking about another.

"They couldn't find my phone. I would've called you if I remembered your number," you say, putting your hand on his.

He seems to realise he's been panicking. He takes a deliberate, calming breath, a professional through and through. "I," he begins, his hand trailing down your leg to rub right back up, "am going to write it on you. In permanent ink."

"I'll get it tattooed if you promise not to change it."

"Deal," Aaron says. "Are you sure you're not in any pain?"

He's much calmer from that point, checking your medications, helping you change into the pyjamas he's brought in his go-bag, and tracking down a nurse to see what your arrangements will be that night. Then he pulls his FBI card to talk to a doctor, and things go much quicker after that.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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absolutebl · 3 months ago

Text

This Week in BL - It's Wild Out There but the Kisses are Good

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

NOV 2024 Week 3

Ongoing Series - Thai

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 11 of 12 - I’m really enjoying this show. But I will be glad when it ends next week. I’m ready. The motorcycle rescue in the middle of the kidnapping sequence was so absurdly bad I actually laughed. Meanwhile, in the hospital room did you notice Q’s dad used chan/nai with Min? I actually gasped out “oh, mad respect “ when he did. Papang it’s so damn hot, could he PLEASE get the lead in a BL? Please GMMTV.

Love Sick 2024 (Sun iQIYI) ep 9 of 15 - I like Earn’s sincerity and open admission in the new version, and I like how genuine and delicate Noh is coping with someone crushing on him. Probably because he knows how painful it is from the other side. The conversation between Phun and Aim was much better and more kind in the new version, too. I'm chronicling my experience with 2024 as compared to 2014 here.

Every You Every Me (Mon Gaga) ep 6 of 10 - I like this couple a lot, and not just because of all the sex positivity. I just enjoy their dynamic of artist and musician, introvert extrovert. Anybody wondering about that “up against the window blurring thing” with the shirt off the shoulder? That’s a very very old yaoi trope (mostly office yaoi from the early 2000s) that I haven’t seen in a long time. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it in Thai BL…… wild.

Meanwhile, let the weird interweaving of the filming crew begin. The show within a show that we all suspected was due is now happening. I’m not sure about that. (I worry it will be some clumsy commentary on pair branding.) But how hot does Fiat look these days?

Fourever You (Thurs YT) ep 7 of 16 - I really don’t like the second storyline. It find it unpleasant. I also don’t think the chemistry between Maxky and Bas is good. In fact I begin to suspect Star Hunter should cut Bas lose. Yes I said it.

Caged Again (Fri Gaga) ep 1-2 of 10 - Penguin escapes zoo by turning into a human. Gets trapped in a boys school and a panther falls in love with him. How does a penguin know how to read? OK I’m not gonna try to figure out the logic of this show. There is none. Do I like it? Not sure. I’m not mad about the dynamic or the setting but the main foundational conceit is…… odd. It’s not uncommon in BL, the “my cat boyfriend” thing has been done for many years now. So I know what to expect. It’s not that. Or is it? I do like how the actor playing Junior looks a bit like a bird. I also like how the actor playing Sun really does behave like a cat in his social interactions, it’s funny. I think…… I’m not wild about this so far, but I like it better than I thought I would. Love seeing Jaonine & Nokia in any form.

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT?) ep 3 of 24 - I just don’t like Arc and Arm. Sorry not sorry. However, I do like the sides and future couples. So I’m sticking with this one.

Jack & Joker (Mon IQIYI) ep 10 of 12 - Because I heard this episode was really rough and the world is a mess I gave this one a miss this week. We’ll see if I’m up for it next week.

Your Sky (Sun iQIYI) 12 eps - (starts tomorrow) A naive freshman and the campus’s popular senior agree to pretend to be a couple - but their fake deal begins to generate real feelings.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

My Damn Business (Korea Sat YT) ep 7 end - Ooooo counter lift!!! And caught in the act. Very nice. It was a really good final episode and an absolutely fantastic kiss.

In summation:

Two men work their last few days together at a failing company. I like this but I’m not sure I should like it. This is a classic office romance, short even for Korea, with more than usual workplace harassment (even for BL) in the guise of aggressive pursuit from older boss to younger employee. (The optics are NOT good.) It reminded me of Jun and Jun only shorter, colder, and with more dub con. Now, I happen to be one of the few who truly loved Jun and Jun, it’s very much my style of KBL. I think that’s part of why I liked this one so much. But I suspect that might have given this show too much shine by association. Still, eminently rewatchable and it’s nice to have Korean IP drop on YouTube. 8/10

Our Youth AKA Miseinen: Mijukuna Oretachi wa Bukiyo ni Shinkochu (Japan Tues Gaga) ep 2 of 11 - Another one that is about abuse, but for some reason I don’t mind it as much as I did Let Free the Curse. Maybe it’s Japan? Maybe it’s the disinterested nature of the director’s lens? This show is examining the inclination of teenagers towards spectatorhood out of fear, while simultaneously giving us a contrived spectator’s perspective with its style of the filming. For example: there is a lot of shots in alleyways and looking in and out of apertures (like doorways and windows) at Hirukawa. He’s often seen from a distance, because Minase thinks of him as distant and somewhat like a specimen. It’s very clever and what I expect from Japan. But it also makes me feel distanced from the characters and their story (intentionally, I believe) which means it’s less raw than Curse, and a lot easier for me to watch. In other words, I am observing this BL, not living it. But that’s the point. And because of that, I’m also liking it. But I’m extremely wary. Japan never drops a kiss early on in a series without some serious trauma to follow.

See Your Love (Taiwan Weds Gaga) ep 5 of 13 - I love them all very much. Carry on.

Blue Canvas of Youthful Days (China Sun iQIYI) eps 5-6 of 12 - So far as I can gather it was episode five that got this one censored and kicked off the air in China. So now we are in unchartered (and presumably only lightly censored) territory. Honestly? I have no idea how they get away with what they get away with these days. Onto the actual meet of the show. I don’t think the teacher should be flirting with the kid if he’s gonna blow hot and cold like that. He is ostensibly the mature one in the relationship. Although if he’s flirting with a child, that is clearly not the case. I get the conflict of the main characters a bit more. Because it’s all about class and the risks that you can take with your identity depending on how much autonomy you have in society.

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 8 of ? - Basically this is just a narrative about bullying. And I’d like to get onto the revenge portion of the program, and that doesn’t seem to be happening anytime soon. I do love that Dat asked for permission to kiss. Consent is very sexy. Also it was a good tentative careful cautious timid first kiss. The actors are older but it felt high school. (Although apparently Bach entirely kissed away Dat’s injury.)

Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 9 of 12 eps - Gosh I really do like this couple. And I like the legal proceedings. But I’m worried about whether this show is going to end well.

Love in the Air: Koi no Yokan (Japan Sat Gaga) ep 3 of 10 - Frankly I didn’t want LITA the original, so I’m pretty sure I don’t want the Japanese cliffs notes version of LITA. It’s somehow softer, which I wasn’t expecting from Japan. But I don’t mind. The brevity and softness are improving matters, IMHO. I continue to unequivocally loathe the wardrobe department. I’m offended on the actors’ behalf.

Eccentric Romance (Korea Weds Viki) eps 11-12 end - An odd and somewhat lackluster piece about two college friends, one Thai and one Korean, who get together and become boyfriends while investigating murderer - each speaking in their own language. Neither the BL component nor the murder component was well executed or engaging. It’s not terrible, but that’s no ringing endorsement. "Odd yet still somehow forgettable" is probably how I would put it. 6/10

It's airing but......

Love for Loves Sake got some kind of special supposed to air 11/9. Not sure what, why, or where. Only the rumor that it...... is. I'll believe it when I see it...... literally.

Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) 10 eps - I DNF'd at ep 7, I couldn't make it. I am weak. Life is hard enough right now, this show is making it harder. It’s not what I want from my entertainment.

Secret Love (Sat YT) 10 eps - Another take on my beloved stepbrothers trope. Adopted into a rich family, boy falls in love. But when he is made the heir instead, everything goes wrong and he leaves. Now enemies the two boys reunite in uni.

DAMN IT! This is airing but in two minute increments on a proprietary app that’s mostly for Android, and it’s already up to episode 11. I’m not wild about this style of distribution, so I’m not gonna bother unless somebody cuts it together as a full piece. Although I do adore the premise.

Bad to Bed (Taiwan Sat YouTube) 10 eps - This is a little too low production value even for me. And just very very odd. DNF

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

November BL still to come:

11/20 Winter Is Not The Death of Summer (Thai Weds YT) ?? eps - Criminals who meet in prison fall in love

11/20 The Heart Killers (Thai Weds Gaga) 12 eps - Jojo directs FirstKhao & JoongDunk in an action romcom about assassin brothers (Khao & Joong) who meet a tattoo artist ex-booster (First) and a mechanic (Dunk). I'm highly amused that Joong plays the older brother to Khao and that we have a take on the Taming of the ShrewBL. I like that everyone is morally gray. This has all GMMTV's best chemistry in one BL and some fresh concepts that I've only seen tackled in m/m romance novels (check out Amy Lane's Racing for the Sun, thank me later). I'm excited. My only quibble is Jojo, I like his style but his characters can get unreliably messy so…... this gonna be interesting.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Apparently I have feels about wardrobe departments this week, because, to use an old fashioned term, this look on him absolutely slaps. (Love Sick)

It's rare for Thai BL to beat out JBL in the fashion department.

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

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iiiiiiis-things · 2 years ago

Text

"Yeah, that nigga dick a bitch down"

pairing: duke dennis x femblack!reader

cw: cursing, smut, dick eating, backshots, annoying references that i found funny but you should ignore them bc i'm jus a huge goof ball

blurb: seeing duke ride the mechanical bull at the rodeo made you incredibly horny.

a/n: y'all i took way to long to make this just for it to come out ass 😛

"fuck" Duke lets out a loud groan, throwing his head back his gaming chair, as his mushroom tip hit the back of your throat. you were struggling, the slight curve that you loved oh so much (and that he fucked you so good with) wasn't making it easier, and although your lips rested prettily a little over halfway around his cock, you wanted to take all of him as your vision becoming blurry you slightly suck to ease the pain- earning another groan from the man above, you wanted to literally swallow him whole. he had you waiting too long for this.

------

you had been trying to give him hints all night, from giving slight brushes against his thigh, to full on grinding your ass against what you wanted most- and through all of it he barely even spared you a single glance. it might be pathetic but you were desperate.

ever since you seen him on that damn bull.

the way he skillfully held the strap in his left hand instantly flooded your brain with memories of the many, many times when he would yank your freshly done knotless braids while giving back shots and how you could barley walk for 3 days. You watched as the bull lifted up which caused Duke to grind ever so lightly on top of it and when it lifted him back down his hips rolled again, this action made you clench your thighs together behind the camera, your hole clenching as heat pooled in your pretty pink lace panties

Duke didn't stay on long, getting thrown off quicker than anyone had expected. When he did fall off, he jogged back over to you and Davo grabbing the camera so one of us could go on. after declining to ride the mechanical machine Davo makes his way over to it. Duke leans over your way coming to almost ear level with you his voice lowering "did you like that?" your cheeks began heating, after silently thanking god for being black, you turn your head just to find him staring at you. The two of you make intense eye contact which causes your breathing to hitch.

for a slight moment it only felt like you and him like everything else had faded into nothing.

your eyes switches between his and his lips before finally leaning in and just as you were about to place your lips on his he lifts his head away from you, smiling showing you the shiny grills that matches with his earrings. you furrow your eyebrows is there something you did wrong? Duke turns his head in front of him and as your eyes follow his gaze you see Davo running back over to us

the entire time you were at the fair you were trying your best to make it look like you didn't want to straight pounce on him. Duke had known what you wanted but he utterly underestimated how bad you wanted it. the he realization kicked in when the 3 of you had stopped to take a bathroom break miraculously he had came out before Davo which gave you two just a tiny amount of alone time.

"We gon hit up a couple more games and then we'll l- baby?" he watched as your head lifted to meet his eyes "yes?" This is when he finally gets a good look at you, your edges had begun to sweat out and your hair was frizzy but the actual lace of your green and black wig was oddly perfectly fine makeup slightly starting to wear off "you that horny?" his eyebrows scrunch in confusion, did seeing him ride a mechanical bull really turn you on that bad?

He seen that his comment had you taken aback by the way your eyes grow wide and your breathing accelerated but before you could answer anything Davo came back....again

when the two of you made it safely back home you made sure to tell kai to not bother you tonight and (and that you were sorry for what he was about to hear) Duke walked in first bee lining straight to his gaming chair. you walked in, locking the door, and what you found waiting behind you was honestly a sight for sore eyes. your turned around to see your boyfriend, man spreading and eyes low and red from tiredness you silently watch as he scoots his pelvis forward legs spreading even wider.

------

"Unh, unh, shitttt" he groans once again, he was close, you could tell by the way his hand was reaching down to your wig. he grabbed a fistfull before using his strength to bob your head up and around his length, producing lewd sounds as you bring your hand up to his thigh as his pace gets faster "baby i'm- fuck. i'm almost there" this only causes you to moan which sends vibrations along his tip as he pull you up only to slam you back down, tears began to trickle down to your cheeks, and soon you felt his grip loosen.

you went down on him once more before opening your mouth, you stick out your toungue, licking his heavy balls, immediately you feel Duke shoot his seed down your throat. slowly easing your mouth off him you raise your head and look him in the eye as you slowly swallow, bringing your thumb up to your mouth catching anything that dare to spill out, and push your thumb back inside your mouth.

----

you're ass up face down Duke is behind you teasing your entrance his rough fingers tips having a firm hold on your hips. "mmnh- please fuck me" you let out a small moan as his tip slowly works its way in only to pull out in the matter of seconds, this man knew what he was doing and you were starting to get sexually frustrated.

Duke leans down deepening your arch to whisper in your ear "i was gonna make you wait a little longer... but since you asked so nicely" out of nowhere he starts to absolutely annihilate your pussy. Roughly pulling your hips to meet his as you grip the sheets below you grunts spilling form his mouth and moans coming form yours his pace was fast, but as good as this felt you wanted him to fuck you differently this time. "fuck- babe stop." you reach your hand behind you to place it on top of his. Duke starts to slow down "what's wrong?" his forehead wrinkles with concern and frustration.

but all of that soon washes away when he hears the next sentence that comes out your filthy mouth "fuck me how you was doing that bull" a smile creeps up on to his face "oh so that's what this about?" his 1937 laugh booms in your ear. laughing? he's laughing? after all that torture he's put you through and he's laughing? see this is why you shouldn't of said shit. cause now he's making fun of you. as a matter of fact you should just leave his ass by himself to finish own his own. you had a pink dildo in your dresser that you could-

"mhhhhh shitt" a loud pornographic moan escapes your mouth Duke shoves his whole dick inside you only to grind lightly just like he was doing that fucking bull except you actually felt it. his right hand crosses over to caress your hip bone his left hand moves up to your head and starts to vandalize your curls your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, hands are tangled into the sheets, and your arch deepens once more

"that's it? that's the spot huh?" he lifts your head up as he leans down to make eye contact with you. "right- shit here?"

you moan out loudly it just felt so good. you weren't even able to form a proper sentence Duke had known he found it by the way you clenched around him at the end of each thrust. you could feel the curve abuse your cervix. this. this was different you could feel him, feel every vein, feel how hard he was, and the softness of his skin and he picks up the pace continuously rolling the curve against that sensitive spot inside you, duke groaned everyone your hips met his.

your pussy was sucking him in further into you, Duke kept going harder and harder ramming his length balls deep into you, all while rolling his hips up into that spongy spot inside of you. listening to all of the clapping and moans helped a tight knot form in your stomach.

"fuck just like that mama" his eyebrows crease, you just were so tight squeezing the hell out of him as his balls slap against your clit. Duke was just about ready to bust when you start to bounce your ass back on him. he loved this part of backshots, whenever you start to fuck back onto him it made him feel so good. he grew harder at the fact that you could take all of him. especially in this position.

he surprisingly moans when he looks down to see your pussy creating a white ring around the base of his cock "s-shit" he somehow goes even faster mercilessly abusing your cervix you were almost there and he was too you felt his thrust get sloppy, his grunts and moans increasing.

he the hand in your hair moves down to rub tight but slow circles around your clit bringing you the sweet release you've been waiting so long for. "fuckfuckfuck- fuckkk" you threw your head back in ecstasy squeezing him so tight that he legit couldn't move. you hear him let out one last groan as you go limp and milk him dry.

after staying in the same position for a while he finally pulls out collapsing next to you. grabbing the comforter you pull it over your body's resting your head on his chest as his arm comes to wrap around you.

"kai is gonna kill me"

#duke dennis #duke dennis amp #duke dennis x black!fem!reader #duke dennis smut #duke dennis x reader #duke dennis x black reader #duke dennis is my man #so fine #lol #y'all this ass #smut #hope yall are doing great

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ghost-proofbaby · 2 years ago

Text

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY TWO

in which eddie is honest. for real, this time.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, discussion of/allusions to smut from last chapter, angst, not edited (what's new though), upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 11.1k+

→ a/n: welp. this... yeah, this is a lot. i truly hope it's worth it. in the waiting, anticipation, and length. if it isn't... my bad. i'm sorry in advance. also, please note, pov change only applies to the memory.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

22:00 ──────────────ㅇ─ 24:00

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

—

HOUR TWENTY TWO – 1:00 PM

You can’t speak. It’s as if you’re frozen; every muscle, including your tongue, has gone rigid. Every racing thought escapes just beyond your reach. Every single one of the last twenty two hours pound behind your rib cage, and you think you might just faint. Right here, right now. The blood rushes your ears as your body goes ice cold, and even the railing cutting into your palm seems to drift away from you.

“I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t even try to deny it. He knows you heard what he said – he can’t take it back. It’s written plainly on his face that if he could, he would swallow back down those disastrous words. He’d grab that destruction four letter word right out of the air, no doubt, and set it aflame. He’d blow away the ash if he could guarantee you would have never heard it.

But he can’t. You heard him.

I’ve loved you for so long.

Everything is heavy. The air, your limbs, your godforsaken tongue.

“Say something,” he suddenly begs. You’ve never seen Eddie look so desperate, eyes wet and voice cracking, “Anything.”

You want to answer him. Your bones ache with the need – the need to reply, the need to question, the need to do anything but stare at him with what he must surely mistake for horror.

Were you horrified? Were you?

You don’t know.

It’s why you can’t answer him.

“I-” he starts up again, breaking down even further right before your eyes. You want to reach out, to coddle him, to tell him it’s fine. But it’s not fine.

You don’t even get the chance to ruminate on just how not fine it is, or that heat beginning to come to a boil in the pit of your stomach, because the sound of one of the neighbors exiting out onto their own balcony interrupts the infinitely delicate moment.

“Hey there, Eds-” You don’t know what actually interrupts the gruff man that steps out, who exudes familiarity with Eddie until he takes in the scene before him.

Eddie, completely fucking naked. You, with only a shirt on. If it weren’t for the moment at hand and the trembling emotions coming to fruition inside of you, you’d probably find it comical. You’d probably find a way to join in the old man’s single guffaw before the two of you meet each other’s gaze and become aware of what exactly is happening.

But it’s not funny. You’re both fucking naked — physically and emotionally — and it’s not funny.

You’re mortified as both of you are scrambling across the balcony, a whirlwind of discarded clothes fisted and nearly tripping over each other to shove back into Eddie’s living room. That embarrassment now trickles down into the start of a boil, everything in you becoming red-hot from how flustered you’ve become and the way you can’t have a second to just process it all.

When you turn to face Eddie once the sliding door has slammed shut, his cheeks are the brightest pink imaginable.

“What the fuck,” you whisper out, trying to steady your breathing, trying to take it all in.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your adrenaline is almost making you sick.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he catches your whisper amongst your stoic silence and seems to forget the moment that his neighbor had just shattered, voice clear as day as he pulls his curtains shut. You swear you catch the old man still staring, still laughing, and you’re just grateful that you’re not the one completely nude, “I had no idea Mr. Jenkins would come outside, usually none of those fuckers see the light of day before sundow-”

“Your neighbor just saw us naked,” you almost scream. You want to shout, want to throw everything in sight. You crave to flip that coffee table in the center of the room and throw a fit that outdoes even the most petulant of toddlers.

“I know, I-“

“If you say sorry again, I’m walking back out there,” you take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm you’re shaking body, “And I’m throwing myself off the fucking balcony.”

Maybe you’ll be able to laugh about it in five years. A year, even. Hell, a month or as soon as next week. But you can’t right now; all you want to do is cry.

Some random man just saw you naked. Eddie apparently fucking loves you.

It might be the sleep deprivation and it might be the fact that it feels like the Universe is laughing in your face at every turn right now. Whatever higher power exists seems to be waiting around every corner for the chance to kick you repeatedly as you stumble to this finish line. And you can’t fucking take it.

So you give in. You give in to that childish need to stomp your feet and scream until you’re blue in your lips.

“I just- Fuck!” Eddie jumps a bit at your exclamation, he’s still naked, “I can’t catch a break! I can’t catch a fucking break. First, I’m showing up here, and I’m stuck with you for twenty four hours. I’m stuck with the man I hate for a whole fucking day,” you’re full on pacing, not caring how ridiculous this scene would appear to anyone. Your hands wave erratically in the space around you, and all Eddie can do is stare, tense with wide eyes, “And I cry in front of you, have full breakdowns in front of you. I listen to you remind me over and over how much you truly despise only to now suddenly find out that, hey! I actually love you! And do I get to process that? No. Because now, some fucking old man that lives next door to you has seen my goddamn vag-“

Eddie’s entire demeanor collapses. “Oh, so now I’m back to being the man you hate?”

You pause your ranting, realizing what you’ve said.

You’re just angry. You should have thought before you spoke, before you opened your mouth and began to spew your venom, because you can see the way the words have struck Eddie. Not your intention.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“But you said that,” he flatly argues back.

Your stomach twists.

“I’m just-“ your tongue is back to being heavy as the two of you face one another. Feet apart, worlds apart. “I’m fucking embarrassed, Eddie.”

“You think I’m not?” he scowls, and you try to tell your racing heart it’s a good sign. But it’s not. You almost preferred his walls dividing the two of you, “Shit fucking happens. We got caught — we fucking dirty talked about getting caught! Big fucking deal! Karmic justice or whatever bullshit people spew. It doesn’t mean I’m going to- It doesn’t change-“ he’s stuttering now, matching that exasperation that had you pacing just moments before. He huffs, a hand reaching up and dragging his bangs upward, harsh at the root as he finally drops his hands in his own defeat, palms slapping his sides, “Everything changes. You said that, not me. You said everything changes, and all it takes is a little bit of fucking embarrassment to go back on your word?”

He’s still fucking naked. You still can’t think.

“I’m not having this conversation with you naked,” you whisper, almost in disbelief as you shake your head, “I’m- Put your fucking clothes on. Please.”

“Put my clothes on?” he scoffs, taking a step closer to you, “Put my clothes on? Do you mean the same clothes you just insisted I take off not even ten minutes ago?”

“We were having sex!” you yell. You’re sure if the old man is no longer on his balcony, he can hear you through the walls. Hell, even if he is still outside, it’s likely he hears the screaming match beginning, “Why- Why are you turning this on me right now? You just said you fucking love me! The least of our issues right now is me telling you to get fucking dressed!”

“Why are you lashing out at me right now?” Eddie’s voice is louder than yours, something more broken inside of it, “I-“

“Clothes,” you grit out, avoiding his eyes as you start to yank your panties on violently, “Now.”

You can still feel him. His essence is dripping between your thighs. And you don’t find any sense of enjoyment in it, you don’t savor that quick-fading warmth nor the reminder of the pleasure he’d just brought you. It just reminds you of the words he had said all while not even looking you in the eyes. He couldn’t even face you as he had admitted it.

One thing at a time, you try to remind yourself. One fucking thing at a time.

Eddie’s own redressing is another sight that maybe, hopefully, one day you’ll look back on and laugh at. But right now, it can’t spark any amusement in you. Not as all your emotions slam back into you at full force.

You’re embarrassed. You’re confused. You’re angry.

“Happy?” he spits out once his boxers are on, shirt tugged back on so hard over his head that his curls frizz up.

“No,” your eyes are burning, and you feel it again. All those desperate emotions. Like a wild animal inside of you has begun to claw at your insides, making you bleed from the inside out.

Eddie loves you — and he has, for a long time, apparently.

Eddie’s neighbor has seen you naked. Saw your full bottom half exposed.

You’ve managed to hurt Eddie’s feelings, again.

Eddie fucking loves you and never thought to mention it. He has for a long time.

All your tempered strings snap, that wild and stricken thing inside of you finally cutting loose.

You don’t know what you’re angry at. You’re angry at him, and yet you’re not. You’re angry at the situation, and yet you’re not. You are bitter from words withheld and you are sour from every moment that paves the road that brought you two to this very moment.

You’re just angry.

“What did you mean?” the question comes out sharply enough to make his own defiant anger fade ever so slightly as he physically flinches, “I- I need to know what the Hell you meant, Eddie.”

Anger is metallic on your tongue. It seeps from your skin, floods the air, only further dampens everything already so heavy.

The longer he doesn’t answer you, the more smothering the entirety of the apartment becomes.

“Just tell me. Make it make sense, because right now?” you pause for a deep and shaky breath. Your eyesight is blurry now. Eyes red rimmed with tears that will surely sear your cheeks if they find the nerve to be shed, “Right now, I don’t get it. Over and over and over again, you have reminded me that you hate me. Prior to tonight, it was safe to assume that scorning my existence was one of your favorite pastimes. And I know, I get it — everything has changed. But- But-“

How can anything change if you weren’t honest to begin with?

Did anything change for him? While you were discovering and tending to sore feelings that had been festering for a while but had never seen the light of day, was he only nursing an old wound?

“But what?” his voice drops low. His entire demeanor has dropped, cowering down before you. His head dips down, his shoulders droop with prepared rejection, you watch the man before you, the man you had just let defile you and the man you had just worshiped on your goddamn knees, turn to dust.

A shaky gasp. Wobbly knees. The blood rushes through your ears again, flushing out any noise except the two of you breathing out of sync. His deep breaths, accepting and welcoming a rejection he was so sure he was receiving. Your shallow breaths, panting and rapid and trying to just get everything to slow the fuck down.

You were right. Once the tears shed, they burn a trail of Hellish fury right down the center of each cheek. “When I say everything has changed between us, what does that mean to you?”

He’s undressing an old wound, an open slash that seems to be unable to form a scab. You’re pressing on bruises, aching parts of you that had purpled from his neglect long ago. It’s clear as day now — the difference.

You no longer care about the embarrassment of being caught.

“What do you want it to mean?”

“Don’t do that,” the tears fall faster now. You can’t even begin to dig into this chasm of emotions. Are you angry at him? Are you disappointed by the circumstances? Do you love him? “I want an answer — I need your answer. You promised me your honesty, so give me it. Now.”

His eyes meet yours, and your entire world seems to fold into itself, “It… doesn’t mean much. It doesn’t change much.”

Everything has only changed for you.

“So it means nothing, then? You have me at your disposal, you have me on my fucking knees for you, you tell me you fucking love me, and it all means nothing?”

You’re twisting his words and you know it. But you can’t help it, can’t stop it.

“I never said that!” his voice is no longer low and quiet. Sudden worry creases beside his eyes as his mouth goes slack in shock, “I never said it meant nothing.”

“But it doesn’t mean much, right?” You hate your wet cheeks. You hate the way everything in you is somehow slow-breaking, yet suddenly shattering. An unnerving juxtaposition that is drowning you and sending you reeling over and over again, “It doesn’t change much, right? Because when I said that, Eddie, I meant it – everything fucking changed for me. It wasn’t- It’s not- This isn’t just some throwaway thing to me. Not even a day ago, I thought I had to hate you with everything I had. I thought I had to hate you.”

And I don’t. Not even a little bit. Even right now, when I should.

“Is that what you think I’m saying?” his voice is low where your voice has risen, his face calm where yours has gone stormy.

Where you’re on fire, he’s treading still waters. The opposite dilemma that has always existed, and the one you had the nerve to see as poetic. But water meeting flames is never poetic. It never ends well. You should have seen that coming from a mile away.

“What am I supposed to think?” you also quiet your tone to match his. You wonder if the neighbors really had heard a thing. You almost hope they had, that this argument is affecting someone else’s day the way it’s affecting you, “You’re standing here, and you’re telling me it doesn’t mean much, and-“

“It doesn’t change much,” he corrects, and you’re now the one flinching at the crack in his voice. “Not for me. Not when I-“

Not when I’ve loved you for so long.

He can’t even finish his own sentence.

“So what does it change?” you throw your hands out in exasperation, “If it doesn’t change much, what has it changed?”

There it is again — his silence, your anger.

“Is it not enough to just know it changes something?”

If you were stupid, you’d take his tone as pleading. You’d mistake it for begging. But you can’t. For all your fury, you can’t believe that he’s actually stooped so low as to beg for you, especially after what he’s just said. Time and time again, you had repeatedly cracked yourself wide open for him, and he’d managed to rip your heart right out of your chest with such a simply yet damning statement. The most casually cruel bit of honesty he had offered you yet tonight: that nothing changes.

“We’re back to square one,” you choke out in realization, “I- Fuck. This entire time, you weren’t honest with me.”

He opens his mouth quickly, and for a second you believe he’ll offer an explanation that can soothe over the ache. He’ll come up with an excuse that you can buy, he’ll explain himself in a way that proves you wrong, and the sweet oblivious bliss can return.

“No,” he says instead after careful consideration, “I wasn’t honest with you.”

Your tears are running rampant as you only nod slowly, pressing your lips together in defeat, “Awesome. Great,” you reach up, sniffling as you swipe at your nose, still silently quiet but no longer awarding him with any display of your rage, of your hurt, of anything but your acceptance, “No, really, that’s- Cool. Nothing changes. I get it.”

I’ve loved you for so long.

It didn’t make sense, but you don’t have it in you to dissect it any further. He had loved you the entire time, and still set out to make you bleed. His grand admission doesn’t change a single fucking thing.

You don’t say another word as you grab your pair of jeans up into your fist, being sure to move slowly and not in the haste every nerve in your body calls for. You need to leave – you need out of this apartment, and you need to never see Eddie Munson again. It wouldn’t be a far leap from what your friends already deal with. If the friendships take blows of damage from it, so be it-

“Where are you going?” he asks, standing stiller than a statue as he watches you.

You grab your bag, “I’m leaving. The deal’s off. Or- I don’t know. Tell them the bet’s off-”

“The bet is not off-”

“It is,” you turn to him, absolutely frozen in your resolution, “It really, really is. You can even fucking lie to them if you want, I don’t care. Figure out a way to get the money but I don’t want it. I’m done.”

“So that’s it?” he scoffs in disbelief. When you pull on your jeans, when you sling your bag back over your shoulder and begin to walk to the counter where your phone was left, he realizes that it’s really happening. He realizes you’re truly done, “No questions? I just told you I wasn’t fucking honest, and you’re just going to walk away, not even demand I tell the tru-”

“I’m tired of pulling the truth from you,” you finally move with some of the aggression you felt, hand smacking the counter beside your phone, “If you care so much, if you love me, I shouldn’t have to beg until my knees bleed for you to actually be honest with me,” you take your phone, shoving it into your back pocket before you look at him, “I can’t keep doing this. You were always right. They’re your friends. Congratulations, you got what you always said you wanted. You won’t have to deal with me anymore – consider this a farewell from your life. I’ll make sure no one invites you to my fucking funeral.”

You assume he grabs you due to your cruel reference to his insult from the very beginning of the night, that he’s going to fight you for that bit of your oddly calm speech. But when his hands wrap around your bicep, and you face him with those silent tears still racing, what comes out of his mouth stuns you.

“I’ll be honest,” he is pleading, he is begging, “Stay, and I’ll tell you everything. I don’t even fucking care about the bet — we can call off, everyone else can go to Hell. I don’t care about the money, I don’t care about the bet, I just-” he pauses, and you watch the desperation building taller and taller within him, “Stay and let me explain.”

You should tell him no. You should tell him to go to Hell. If you stay and hear him out, it will only end in pain for you. You should leave.

Instead, your bag begins to slip off your shoulder.

“You have ten minutes,” you whisper as his hand finally releases its grip, “Explain.”

—

SIX MONTHS EARLIER - EDDIE’S POV

If he were smart, Eddie would’ve kept his word.

He’d told them he wasn’t showing up. He’d told them he had work (not a complete lie), and that he wouldn’t make it tonight. He just hadn’t felt like drinking anymore — not since two weeks prior, when he’d gotten black out drunk while hanging out with Nancy, throwing his own personal pity party.

Pathetic.

It wasn’t just that killer headache that had been haunting Eddie since that night. It was much more than that; it was solid and palpable regret. He’d thrown back too many beers, mixed it with some sort of wine coolers that Nancy offered him once he started to feel the buzz. All it took was just a bit too much alcohol in his system, and suddenly, his rant that Nancy had agreed to indulge him in became so much more. One moment, he was just complaining about you. And the next, he was rambling, letting less harsh words slip between the complaints, more compliments than things he wanted you to change. One wine cooler in, and he was no longer complaining about the way everyone had been fawning over you after a full six months of friendship, but instead the way that your sad eyes and pouting lips following him around a room was cosmically unfair.

He didn’t remember much of the rest of the night, and he was glad when Nancy had given him a pitiful look over the cups of coffee she offered.

He’d told her. He knew he’d admitted his stupid, annoying, despicable crush on you to her. Probably whined about the way you and Harrington had clearly had something going on. Definitely spoke too much about how badly he wanted to experience your gentle hand in his calloused one, or to feel your arms wrap around his neck in greeting rather than daggers from your glare every time he entered a room. Hell, he’s sure there was a good thirty minute period amongst the fuzzy memories where he’d sat on the edge of tears as he continued to mumble about how he wasn’t good enough for you.

Nancy Wheeler, his best friend, finally knew. Six fucking months of keeping it under wraps, and Eddie Munson had finally slipped up.

And she clearly hasn’t forgotten as Eddie had prayed she would every single night as she’s the one to answer his knocks on Steve’s door, grinning with the hidden knowledge.

She’d texted him with one last plea for him to show up. Insisted everyone was here. Went so far as to make him a list, and made sure to add your name at the end. It had been phrased like an afterthought on the screen, but he knew her too well. He knew Nancy purposefully mentioned you.

“Munson! Finally! It took you long enough,” she squeals, clearly already halfway to drunk before she quiets down, “And you said you weren’t coming. Wonder what, or who, changed your mind.”

“Fuck off.”

It had been a bad day. Work, classes, a phone call with Wayne that had just left Eddie disheartened and terribly homesick. It was selfish, but the thought of seeing you in passing tonight, even if you did seem to dislike him just as he had intended, made it all a bit more bearable.

Coming home. Seeing you felt like coming home, even if you’d slammed the front door on his face.

He follows Nancy down the hall, a pit growing in the bottom of his stomach, heavy as ever. He shouldn’t have even wanted to see you. The last time he had seen you, you’d been out for blood, blatantly ruining a date he’d managed to bag with Chrissy Cunningham. Chrissy, who never gave him the time of day in high school. Chrissy, who was clearly set on using him as a rebound during yet another break from Jason. Chrissy, who’s only flaw wasn't just the fact that she wasn’t you.

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle greets Eddie the moment he enters the living room. He’s lounging on the couch, Jonathan to his right and a space where Nancy clearly had occupied now empty.

Eddie nods, still feeling the week weighing him down. No sight of you yet, “Hey, man.”

He just wanted to see you. One glimpse, preferably before you’ve caught sight of him, and he’d be fine. He’d learned to live with those fleeting moments the last six months, he could keep it up for just a bit longer.

He’d get over you eventually. Even if it killed him.

He had to give his plan time to work. So far, he’d done well, easily offering you a cold shoulder and nothing more after that first night. It wasn’t easy — he doesn’t think anyone would find the task of being cool towards someone as radiant as you easy — but he’d done it. Brick by brick, his wall of invincibility was standing tall and strong between you two. It was safer this way, he had to remind himself. It was better to run off of brief glances of your smiles and laughter never directed at him than to risk anything more. He’d only disappoint you, or you’d magically disappoint him, and it would end in bloodshed. Someone like you, someone so good and kind and easy to gravitate towards, would leave Eddie broken beyond damage.

You didn’t go for guys like Eddie. Steve had made that clear since day one.

Eddie takes the loveseat as Nancy returns to Jonathan’s side. He tries to make it subtle, the way he twists his head to glance around the room as he removes his jacket, eyes roaming until he finds you. In the kitchen, with Steve and Robin, tense back telling him you’d already noticed his arrival.

So much for seeing you smile.

He tries to keep up with the conversation going on. Argyle and Jonathan are having some sort of debate about aliens, nothing short of heated and passionate, and he’d normally be jumping in without hesitation. But his eyes can’t stop flickering to the kitchen and each time, he can see you downing even more alcohol. He knows you don’t like him, but did you hate him that much?

“You’re awfully quiet,” Nancy leans over to whisper as Jonathan grows in volume about another branch of a conspiracy theory.

“Just tired,” he flatly replies. He’s suddenly itching to get his hands onto some alcohol of his own. Fuck the lessons he should’ve learned a few weeks ago. Fuck his regret in confiding in Nancy.

“Was work rough?”

He hums pathetically in response, eyes glued to the kitchen still. To you.

Nancy’s eyes finally follow his focus, “Have you… I don’t know, ever tried just talking to her?”

He snaps from his daze at that, head turning quickly to Nancy, “I talk to her all the time.”

“You do not.”

“I do too.”

“Never nicely,” she points out, narrowing her eyes, “You’re like a little boy on the playground, tugging on her pigtails until she figures it ou-“

“I don’t want her to figure it out,” he cuts off the assumption, eyes widening in horror at the thought, “Christ, Nance. I thought I made that clear when I ended up shitfaced on your couch.”

Nancy softens. She can see what’s happening here, see every dampening thought that weighs Eddie down. He might not remember his drunken rambles, but she does.

“The only thing you made clear is what a spectacular ass you’re making out of yourself,” her words hold no bite, only truth, “Who cares what Steve said that night? He was drunk.”

“So was I,” Eddie’s eyes are back on you, palms running up his outer thighs until he curls them to fists by his hips, “I was drunk when I talked to you about her. Forget about it.”

Surprisingly, his stubborn best friend leaves it be. Puts the pointless argument to rest.

Eddie’s feelings can’t rest, though.

Every night, he tells himself it’ll all go away. The distance will make his heart grow harder, and he’ll eventually be able to wash himself of you one of these days. And every night, all the feelings you’ve sprouted inside of him only teem their way higher, up into his throat and choking him with every last breath before he falls asleep. He can’t forget those first few weeks, the way you seemed to think his coldness was a phase. You’d tried so desperately to seek him out at every function, sparked so many failed conversations with him that left him to burn. Every smile you’d offered him during that time, he’d taken for granted.

Even last week, when you’d interrupted his date, he’d let himself relish in the memory of your attention. Pathetic.

Had you been jealous? Had you just been spiteful, finally giving him a taste of his own medicine? He couldn’t decide, wouldn’t let himself linger on the reasoning. But he’d remembered your touch, could still feel it scarring his skin wherever your palm of fingertips had rested as you’d scared off Chrissy. He’d even hesitated in the shower that night, pausing for a moment before washing over the shoulder you’d gripped when you’d first approached their table and embarrassed him without care.

He deserved your spite.

And he deserves to have to overhear the conversation you’re currently having in the kitchen. You’re going on and on about all the men you’ve had dates with, detailing out every one night stand for Steve and Robin who listen with eager ears.

It makes his stomach churn and twist sharply. Each new man you bring to your roster makes his throat burn with jealousy, plain and simple. And he knows it written all over his face when Nancy leans over and puts a hand on his knee, giving him a concerned look.

Even the change of topic between Argyle and Jonathan on goddamn Bigfoot can’t overtake the sharp cut of your bragging.

“I’ve never seen your eyes so green, Eddie.”

He’s about to snipe back that his eyes are brown, and be unnecessarily cruel from his sour mood, when he realizes what she means.

“I’m not jealous,” he lies through his teeth.

“You very much are.”

He doesn’t have it in him to bicker back and forth about this again. Not about you, and not with Nancy, “What does it matter? Like I said, me and her? Never gonna happen.”

He had said that. He remembers that, at least, from his drunken confession. He’s sure he reiterated that point several times once he’d made it past the point of coherency.

“She’s lying,” Nancy casually whispers, pulling her hand back, “She- Us girls talk, you know? Just… she’s lying.”

“I went on a date with Chrissy. It doesn’t matter.”

And she has no clue how fucking hung up on her I am. She’ll never know if I have anything to do with it.

“You can keep saying that,” Nancy glances, making sure their other two friends on the couch are still too deep in conversation to listen in, “But we both know that’s not true.”

Unsurprising. Even if Nancy hadn’t listened to him cry that night about all his miserable yearning, all his unrequited feelings born out of a mess he got himself into, she would have known. Eddie has tried to guard himself when it comes to you, but there’s some times his leashed affection can’t help but seep out.

Whenever you stumble on sidewalks beside him, his arms and hands are the first to fly out. Whenever the group has gone out to bars altogether, he watches you like a hawk, almost daring the men surrounding you to disrespect you. Whenever your birthday came around, he’d bought that damn gift card to his favorite coffee shop, all because he saw you frequent it twice. Although, to be fair, he’d made Harrington be the messenger there. He wouldn’t have been able to look you in your eye, wouldn’t have been able to put up the bitter persona on a day that should be special to you. He didn’t want to ruin your birthday, so he’d simply sat on the sidelines. Let everyone else go out and celebrate with you. Let everyone else pour enough affection into your cup, even when he wishes his own could have been the final drops to cause it to overfill.

He had to tread carefully. It’d be too easy — to let himself pour out all these silly feelings and meaningless attraction. One wrong move, and he’d cause his own undoing. His own destruction. It doesn’t matter if it would be by your hand; he’d only have himself to blame at the end of the day.

He’s lost in thought, still itching for a drink, when Nancy is suddenly standing over him. “We’re going out for a smoke, you in?”

He shakes his head numbly. His mind is far away now, getting lost in all that he’s done wrong, all that he can’t have.

He’s homesick. He’s watched the way you’ve interacted with Robin and Steve the entire night, and he’s goddamn homesick for a home that he’ll never hold the keys to.

“You sure, man?” Argyle asks him, wiggling his brows, “I brought the good shit.”

Numbing his mind with drugs. It’s tempting.

“I’m good,” he reaffirms, still speaking in monotone. He doesn’t have the energy to put up a brave face, too focused on his heavy chest and that miserable pit in his gut still.

And everyone leaves. He’s sure there’s something poetic for his stormy mind to pick up on there, as he watches his friends gather without him and exit to the outside, but he’s more focused on a miniscule detail.

You’re not with them.

Meaning you’re still in the kitchen.

And God, he really should know better. He should stay planted in his seat and he should sit in his misery until they all return. Only trouble can come from not doing so. But then his body moves to its own accord, fueled by something wickedly cruel and terribly homesick as he grabs one of the bottles of beer off the coffee table. It’s Nancy’s, he’s sure of it. Her lipstick stains the opposite side of the rim he takes a swig from. The beer has long since gone lukewarm, but beggars can’t be choosers. He clears his throat as the bitter lingers on his tongue.

He should know better.

But he doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t as he enters the kitchen. You’re on your phone as he stands in the doorway, and there’s no time to hide what you’d been glancing over.

A dating app.

You spin to face him, and he imagines a world where your eyes land on him and light up. Something akin to that first night, to those first few weeks. Where you look at him with purpose, and he sees relief flood your irises rather than irritation or fear.

No such luck. He only has himself to blame.

He can’t think of anything else to say, so like an idiot, he gestures vaguely with the bottle of beer towards your phone, “Those apps fucking suck.”

That jealousy is still gnawing at him. Hateful, painful, reckless.

You look down at your phone for a second, and click to exit whatever messages you’d been on. And then you look back up at him.

“You’ve used them in the past?” you question him, but he’s still stuck on all the recounts of your escapades he’d overheard tonight. Whether or not they were true didn’t matter. All he sees when he closes his eyes is you, with other men. You, looking at someone else with purpose, relieved eyes awarded to someone more worthy.

He’s lucky he can choke out a short, “Nope,” and make it not sound strangled.

“Okay,” your attention returns to your phone screen, and Eddie’s returns to his internal battle.

He’s jealous. So goddamn jealous it’s insufferable. It’s not your fault – he chose to push you away, he chose to lash out like a child for his own sanity and his own safety. You’d ruin him; you’ve already ruined him without even trying. If he gave up on the act, on this carefully thought out plan, he’d be beyond leftover rubble of a man. He’d be gone beyond recognition, reduced to ash and smoke. A nameless, forgotten whisper of dust that people would only point to and say, see? Look at that. That’s what becomes of you when you never learn.

He’s pined enough in his lifetime after girls like you. Girls who were too good for him. He’d done it with Chrissy, and it was still causing him nothing but trouble.

That burden didn’t hang over Chrissy, or over you. It was all Eddie’s own fault. Neither of you could help that he wasn’t good enough; it wasn’t either of your jobs to fix him or lower your standards for him. You’d even been kind, you’d even nearly fallen into that trap.

It was for the better. All of it was for the better this way.

And yet the jealousy remains. The anger still thrives between his ribs, and begs for release.

“Why are you even still on them?” he should think over his words more carefully as they begin to roll off his tongues. He knows he’s in the wrong before he even continues, “I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.”

Each word is sharpened so intentionally, glinting from raking against that anger inside of him. You don’t deserve their prick. Really, he should just be comforting you the way the others do – how Robin surely was, how Steve must be.

But it’s part of the plan. So he tampers down the jealousy and he feeds into the anger, lets it consume him. Because making you hate him is easier than letting you like him. It’s easier to watch the one you can’t have sneer at you like the enemy than let them smile at you like you’re just a friend.

“I-” you falter in your words, and he decides to straighten his back, takes a deep breath as he slips the mask on effortlessly. He hates how easy it’s become. He hates how quickly he turns everything with you into a fight, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.”

Sometimes, it’s like a game. And he can pretend that your hatred, your distaste, is also all a facade. Like the both of you are two sides of the same coin. A playful banter rather than an actual argument between two people who can’t even call themselves friends. When he looks at it like that, blinded by his delusion, it makes the ache dull. Sends it away for a few fleeting seconds, convinces himself he really can carry on this way.

“You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all, tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the boy count you’ve got there, player,” he forces a grin as he leans on the counter, watching his words get under your skin exactly as he had intended.

You’re cute like this. Clearly drunk, getting flustered. He revels in the way your face physically scrunches in annoyance, the way he can watch you gear up to fight fire with fire. A sick, twisted game of cat and mouse that always can entertain him in the moment and haunt him at night.

“You’re bluffing. You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.”

He wonders, for a second, if you’d caught him staring at any point. He wonders if you’d even care.

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying.”

You cross your arms, and he can’t help but watch the way they push your chest up. He can’t help but ponder on how much better it would all feel if this were really playful banter.

He has to refrain from physically shaking the thought from his mind.

It’s for the better.

He narrows his eyes, he grips onto the anger again, that hidden jealousy. He should know better. He should stop it. The words even feel heavy on his tongue, terribly forced. Because his anger isn’t at you.

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” and oh, how ironic, for the liar to be calling out someone’s little white lies, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up,” the words come out a bit easier when imagines the barrel of the gun pointed at himself, as if he were speaking so casually cruelly into a mirror rather than at you, “Everyone strikes ou-”

He’s clearly struck a nerve. And it aches, but he reminds himself that that’s the point. That’s his goal.

“I’m pathetic? Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.”

He wasn’t trying to avoid you. He was trying to avoid Nancy after his entire drunken confession fiasco.

“I did!” he continues to lie. Even with no one to show for, he piles up his lies high. Buries himself beneath them, beneath his pathetic act and worthless reasons. It’s probably for the best that you had assumed that he was avoiding you.

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.”

The act cracks for a moment as he freezes. Why did you know about his apartment’s pet policy?

“How do you know that?”

It can’t be because you care, or even get curious about him. He’s done everything in his power to cause the exact opposite, to make you be repulsed by him and to run the other way if you can help it.

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” He doesn’t even react to the roll of your eyes, unable to get riled up as he usually would at that. It clicks for him; it makes sense, because Nancy had stormed down his door not even a day later, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Eddie does feel guilty about that. He doesn’t mean for his own self-destructive behavior to leach out to his friends, or even you. His goal has always been to make it so that when he’s not around, he’s not even an afterthought to you. But selfishly, part of him preens at the idea of you being reminded of him, of you thinking of him when he’s not in the room with you. It’s a conundrum. It’s almost deadlier than his other option.

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” he grumbles like a damn child, almost pouting in his guilt. There’s another selfish sliver of him that’s also upset at that – upset at the fact everyone else gets to bloom with your friendship and positive attention, but not him. Once again, it’s his own doing. He really shouldn’t be angry at you about it.

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.”

Times like these make him want to give it all up. He has to physically tense his body, tick his jaw and bite his tongue to avoid throwing the entire act to the side. He wants nothing more than to grab you by your shoulders and shake you, scream that sometimes it is your fault. But you don’t know it – you can’t read his mind, see past his intentions.

You don’t know what Steve had so generously reminded him of that very first night.

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice is devoid of all emotion despite the storm brewing inside of him. He can’t even blame it on alcohol – he wishes he could, but his tolerance to beer can handle the single sip he’s taken. He crosses his arms, wrapping them around his body, trying to protect that terrible vulnerability only he’s aware of. When your position mirrors his, he wonders for a moment if you’re also feeling it.

But you’ve been drinking. This entire conversation, every emotion, can be blamed on that. You’re luckier than Eddie.

“I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment.”

He lets a reaction at his own irony slip through for a brief second, eyebrows furrowing as the voice inside him screams hypocrite! Hypocrite! Hypocrite!

He wishes he could pretend to be oblivious to why he can’t stop bringing Steve up, but he knows better. He can bury the jealousy alive, but it still bites all the same.

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going? We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?”

We aren’t exactly friends.

He should relish that confirmation that his plan is working, that you truly don’t see him as a friend, but it just fucking stings. He swallows hard physically, as if it can help him swallow down the truth any better, but it does nothing for him. The truth only continues to choke him up. His tongue has momentarily frozen over in his mouth as he tries to push past the painful reminder and wrap up this conversation. He feels it, that sharp burn of an unattended wound, and he realizes at the wrong moment that whether or not he keeps you at an arm's length, bloodshed will always occur.

At least this way, he tells himself it’s protecting himself. This way, the knife isn’t pointed at his own heart.

“You’re right. We aren’t friends,” the words are poison on his tongue. They taste of dirt and rust, like a grave that screams to be dug up but he has no shovel. He’d tossed it once he’d sealed the tomb, like a fool, “But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?”

At least he wasn’t lying to you for a brief moment. Nance had told him. He’d throw you that bone, at least.

“Well-” and with your own pause, you seemingly return the favor. You’re handing him yet another opportunity on a silver platter; exposing an insecurity that he should let live and let die, but he won’t for the sake of the wall he has bled to put up between you two, “You say that as if Nancy and I aren’t friends.”

“Are you?”

He’ll regret that taunt for the rest of his days. Two simple words, and he’s damned himself. The conversation that follows, about Instagram and followers and social standards of friendship, doesn’t even matter to him. It’s just a routine. Constant knives, clashing swords of words, lie after lie piling up with the bile in his throat as he shoots for kills. He hands over reason after reason for you to resent him, and makes sure that each punch lands. Ignores the ache, the one billowing in his knuckles as if each subtle insult he tosses your way doesn’t bruise his innards all the same way. By the end of the back and forth, it should be enough, for both of you. He’s accomplished the same thing he always sets out to do with every conversation: he pisses you off, putting another inch in that stretch between you two.

But then you turn your back on him. And he deserves it. God, he deserves it. But he’s still full of bad ideas tonight, the awfulness of the last few days still suffocating him, and so he makes another decision to regret. He walks up behind you.

You open your phone, and he sees it. You’re on the dating app again, and the screen flashes with the face of your latest contender.

He knows that face. He schools his face to remain even, but he fucking knows that face.

The bartender at his local haunt. The only other person besides Nancy who had ever seen Eddie so miserable over you. He had been drinking alone that night, and the whiskey had him pouring out his guts to the poor guy. Slurred words of the girl who had slipped between his fingers, of the one who got away, of you.

And that same bartender had been the one to sympathize with Eddie, claiming he understood. That he knew that feeling – dating around and doing anything in your power to get the girl you truly want off your mind. He said he had one of his own. He’d told Eddie that his pain-riddled speeches helped him make up his mind, that he was going to go after the girl he really wanted, that Eddie should do the same.

Was this bartender your ex-boyfriend? Had the two of them been discussing the exact same girl?

Bad decisions. Over, and over, and over. It all comes to a rise within Eddie – not just the anger, but the jealousy and the hurt and the goddamn envy of the man on the screen. He hates the bartender, he hates himself, he hates the world at this point.

He tells himself he should add you to that list. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

And it all spirals out of control before he can prove that to himself. Words grow sharper, small kindles of tension between the two of you finally explode to full blown flames, and he’s suddenly saying things he doesn’t mean. Things he’ll linger on for the days and weeks, the months to come.

“You’re so dense, you never realize that you’re not wanted, Not by those assholes, not here-”

He’s mid-lie, one finger on the trigger of the gun he assumed was aimed at his own chest, when it finally happens. A snap within both of you. Timed perfectly with the glass that shatters against the wall beside his head.

Eddie learns two things that night.

One, half of his plan worked. He’s succeeded. You hated Eddie Munson’s guts, and instead of him being content in his success, he’s sick to his stomach. It doesn’t bandage the wound inside of him, doesn’t pack away cotton nor cauterize the bleeding. It only worsens it. Widens it, impossibly so. He swears shards of that broken glass fly right into his unsuspecting chest, even if Nancy doesn’t find a trace on him when she comes back inside to see the aftermath. You hate him, he’s proven his point. He has proven himself to be the worst possible version of himself, the most unlovable man he had always seen in the mirror now residing in him staunchly enough that every single one of his friends sees it.

He’d done it. He’d diminished any chance he had ever held of being friends with you. And he thought that, without a doubt, that meant he’d diminished any disastrous chance of letting you close enough to risk the chance of any more of his feelings getting involved. He thought it would have meant that he’d done it – he’d protected himself, and in some sick twisted way you, from inevitable bloodshed.

But blood had still been shed. Even if his friends were only cleaning up broken glass in the kitchen, he could still see the stain of red across the floor and walls from you and him. He was bleeding out for you, but he had just driven the knife in deep enough that you would never return the feeling. There was no world where you would be bleeding out for him, only because of him.

The second revelation comes a bit later in the night.

Closer to midnight, hours after the fight, when Eddie finds himself alone as per usual. He stumbles to his usual bar, thankful for the late hours, fully prepared to get so fucking wasted he can’t remember his own name. He’d wish to not remember your face, especially when he had spewed such hateful intent your way, but he knows there’s not a single brand or amount of whiskey out there that can cleanse him of that. Your name is just another ghost to add to the lineup. You’ll haunt him until his dying day. And he deserves that.

But then, when he walks into the bar, he sees the bartender.

The same man who had stood you up just the night before. The same man Eddie simply couldn’t understand. He was clearly on a date, a nice girl sat at the table across from him, laughing at every word he said. Eddie remembers their conversation, although a bit hazy.

“I think you’re onto something, man. Some girls are just… irreplaceable. I’ve got a girl like that of my own – prettiest eyes you’ll ever see, a smile that could cure cancer – and… you know what? I think we should both go for it. Give up on the girls who could never compare.”

He wants to vomit. The bastard had even poured a round of shots on the house, had fucking cheered with Eddie before throwing back the alcohol with him in the promise of moving onto the girls who matter.

He had said cheers to discarding you. Brushing off you. To you being one of the girls who could never compare.

Eddie’s vision goes red, and he knows half of the blame falls on himself. He’d been the reason this asshole stood you up. He had already been the reason for your pain tonight before he’d even said a word to you. His self hatred has never burned so deeply, so viciously.

But you can’t punch yourself. And so instead, Eddie doesn’t hold back when he approaches the table and lands his right knuckles right on the bastard’s cheek bone. Even goes in for a second punch. He would have gotten in a third punch, but the bartender hits back. Not as hard as Eddie, fists fueled by self-defense rather than ravaging guilt and crippling self-hatred, but enough to get deter him until security could gather both men up.

It’s in the alleyway that he has his second revelation. At the hands of the man who had just hurt you. It was like looking in a mirror. Eddie nearly does finally vomit as he leans against the brickwall, security a few paces away, ready to file a police report. But then, the bastard still manages to somehow be better than Eddie, throwing up a hand to stop them from dialing for the cops.

“Don’t,” is all he says, leveling a stare when Eddie’s eyes fill with tears.

“Really?” Eddie cocks an eyebrow, pushing his luck. He needs someone to punish him. He needs to be thrown in a cell for the night, to be treated as the degenerate he truly was, “I just rearranged your fucking face and-”

“Why’d you punch me?” the bartender spits out some blood, nose crooked, “You- You’re a fucking regular, dude. How’d I piss in your cheerios?”

Eddie’s feeling vulnerable. All his actual feelings boiling and burning in the back of his throat, begging to be released. He doesn’t need a drop of whiskey this time to be honest.

“The girl,” Eddie rasps, tears threatening to spill as he pictures your face again, “I told you about the girl. The one no one else compared to.”

The bartender’s eyes widen, “Jesus, fuc- are you telling me that we were talking about the same fucking girl? I- Vanessa told me she wasn’t seeing anyone else, I can’t believe she fucking lie-”

“Not her,” Fuck Vanessa, Eddie thinks bitterly, almost laughing. He has no right to say his next words, but he does, and they cause a pain worse than even the most nightmarish hangovers he’s ever experienced, “My girl is the one you stood up for her.”

You weren’t his girl. You never would be his girl.

The bartender only looks more confused, and Eddie’s anger flares a bit more at the thought of him talking to more girls beyond you. The man before him had had everything Eddie wanted: he had had you. And just like Eddie, he had fucked it all up. It was easy to misdirect his anger in the moment.

He says your name out loud, a searing iron in his throat that makes it come out garbled and strangled. Some recognition falls upon the man’s face.

“Oh… her.”

Eddie doesn’t hold back, “Her? That’s all you have to fucking say? You stood her up, you fucking- Jesus Christ, go burn in Hell,” He’s being irrational. He doesn’t care, “Call the cops on me. Tell them to let me rot in a fucking cell. I deserve it – but so do you. That girl… that… her. She’s one in a fucking million, she’s a thousand times better than whatever girl you have waiting on you inside, and you couldn’t see that. You’re a goddamn dick.”

No one makes the move for the call. The bartender just shakes his head again, being far too patient. Eddie opens his mouth, ready to scream now as he demands they punish him. Make him pay for his crimes. Not just the punches, but everything he had broken tonight.

He broke you tonight. He deserves to burn in Hell far more than the man before him.

“I knew you were in love with her, but-”

Eddie cuts him off, “I’m not in love with her.”

He hates the look he receives. It’s the same pity that Nancy now looks at him with. That same hidden judgment, like everyone else knows something that he doesn’t.

“You may hate to hear it,” the bartender is choosing his words very carefully as he swipes in a contrasting carelessness at the blood pouring out of one of his nostrils, “But you don’t throw punches like that for a girl you’re not in love with. So I suggest you mind your business, and if she is as valuable as you keep going on about, you tell her rather than punching the dude he just serves you fucking alcohol.”

He doesn’t even have to close his eyes to see you anymore. The image of you is clear as day, even with his eyes open. You, broken and vulnerable and full of hatred for him. Just as he had intended.

Success tastes metallic and bitter. Eddie finally empties what little he had in his stomach onto that concrete alleyway.

He doesn’t leave the wall. Not when the bartender goes back inside with one of the bar’s bouncers, not when the remaining bouncer eyes him and nervously steps forward, not when they return with a paper declaring him banned from the bar.

He can’t move. All he sees is you. He hasn’t drank more than that one pitiful swig of beer at Steve’s, but he feels like his world has gone incoherent all the same.

He fucked up.

He crinkles that piece of paper harshly once he’s properly left alone in the alleyway, angry enough that it tears a bit from his force. It doesn’t phase him; he didn’t intend on returning anyways. He carries it with him the entire way home, regardless, rolls it between his palms until it’s gone soft with the sweat of his hands.

It’s for the better. He fucked up, but it’s for the better.

He tosses the wadded ball into the trash when he gets home. Goes through the numb motions of taking off his shoes, tossing his jacket on the counter rather than the hook he’d put up for it, and leaves his bike’s keys beside it. Eventually, he makes his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth but never once glancing up in the mirror. As a matter of fact, he avoided every single reflective surface in his apartment that night.

He still sees your face, broken and teary, as he turns off his bedroom light and lays on his mattress that night. It doesn’t matter how many times he repeats it to himself, reminds himself over and over, the mantra of it being for the better doesn’t work. It can’t break through. All because of a pathetic revelation.

Eddie learns that night that he is, in fact, in love with you. And it doesn’t matter, because you hate his fucking guts, just as he had intended.

—

You don’t make a single move once Eddie breathlessly finishes his explanation. Not even to breathe.

He’s been in love with you since that night at Steve’s.

You’d known that he had punched the bartender that night. You’d known that he had been banned from his usual bar that night. But you hadn’t known the entire truth. You couldn’t have ever imagined it, ever pieced it together, until now.

And you don’t know if that speaks more on you and how dense you’ve been this entire time, or on Eddie and how dishonest he’s been this entire time.

“God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.”

It suddenly makes sense. At a sickening and sudden pace, it clicks into place.

“Eddie, I-”

“Don’t,” he stops you, looking you directly in your eyes. You nearly shrink under his attention. Your fury is gone; you just feel empty, “You… You don’t need to say it back. You don’t need to say anything – the bet’s off. I’m not being honest to stop you from leaving,” he admits, every single wall crumbling at both of your feet, “I’m just being honest because you deserve it. I should have told you that night. I should- I actually should have never done any of this. Any of it.”

You remember the girl you once were. In a bar, surrounded by strangers and new friends, with tunnel vision for the boy in front of you. You remember that feeling of coming home, the way you ached for him to let you in and had been fooled for one night that it was possible.

A year later, and he was letting you in, too late.

“Why?” your voice cracks. You should just pick up your bag and go, but you can’t. Not until you stick the final stitches into the wound, seal up this hurt once and for all. For you and for Eddie. “Why would you… Why would you do that? Why would you set out to make me hate you?”

“Because I didn’t deserve you,” he says it like a simple fact, like it doesn’t shatter you apart, “Because I knew if I didn’t create the rift and kept letting you in, I’d fall in love with you. At first, I thought I needed you to hate me to prevent it. Figured you’d be stronger than me about it. If I made you hate me, I was… Honestly, I was saving myself. I’d tell myself it was about saving you, but it wasn’t. I was being fucking selfish.”

You nod silently, swallowing down tears. Tears for what could have been, tears for what you still want so badly that it aches.

“All because of Steve making…” you trail off, head trying to wrap around all the honesty he had just presented you with, “Making some off-handed, drunk comment.”

It was Eddie’s turn to silently nod. To swallow hard and flutter his eyes shut so you couldn’t see the hurt lit within them.

“You said you hated me,” you’re thinking out loud more than you’re properly speaking to him at this point, voice broken and soft, hands fighting the urge to reach out for him. Even after it all. Every reminder of what he had done for you, and now having the pitiful reason behind it all, still couldn’t break what had formed here tonight. Everything has still changed for you, “When I said everything changes, I meant the hate – I didn’t want to hate you anymore.”

“I know,” he bites his lip, as if he’s trying to hold back any careless words. Words that might hurt you, but not for the same reasons as they used to, “That’s why… not much has changed. I never hated you. God knows I wanted to. I told myself I had to hate you, because if I didn’t hate you, I’d love you. And I couldn’t do that again – I couldn’t handle falling in love with someone I couldn’t have. I knew I wouldn’t survive loving you when you’d never love me back. It wouldn’t be fair… to either of us.”

“But you did it anyway,” you almost laugh at the awfulness of it all, terribly irony stacking up between you, “You fell in love with me, you said it yourself. You… you loved me.”

“Love,” he corrects, eyes now wide open, “I love you. It’s not- It’s not some feeling in the past tense. You should still hate me, because I still love you.”

He’s right, you finally realize. You should hate him for all of this.

“And all of this counted on the first part of your plan working,” he has to take a step closer, whether it be subconscious or due to how low your voice has dropped. The physical distance erased aches. Splinters each of your bones and all of your emotions, “Which you never even asked me if it worked, even now. You just assumed.”

He takes a deep, brave breath before he quietly asks you, “Did it work?”

You both already know the answer now, “No.”

But it changes nothing. You know that, he knows that. It’s just as he said – the point of saying it out loud no longer has anything to do with repairing what’s been damaged just tonight. You’re both being honest only because you both deserve it. You both deserve to finally close this tomb.

You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to close it, though. Not truly. Not properly.

“I can’t stay,” you whisper, “I still… I still need to leave.”

Especially now.

“I know you do,” he responds. He’s gentle, understanding.

It doesn’t stop the tear you see break from his lower lashes. He doesn’t draw any attention to it, doesn’t so much as move to clear it from his cheek. As if he’s scared if he does, you’ll notice it if you hadn’t already.

“The bet’s still off,” you continue, unable to meet his gaze as you pick up your bag once more.

“I know it is.”

He doesn’t try to stop you this time. And part of you, this time, wishes he would have as you slip back out the front door of apartment 2C and let the door shut with a quiet click behind you.

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#my writing #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #my bad #surprise drop because... i am actually sleeping so peacefully right now haha #also might be more mindful of answering asks with spoilers for this round <3 just to give people a fighting chance to read first!!!#eddie pov truthers please rise because my GOD have i been excited to do this

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