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the-winter-spider · 3 days ago

Text

Red | One Shot

Bucky x reader AU

Word count: 9.4k

Warnings: Angst sorta

A/N: Just was hanging around in my docs

Purple

The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle by the time the bartender placed another drink in front of you, unasked but not unwelcome. You curled your fingers around the glass, watching the condensation bead and trickle down to the counter. In the corner of your vision, he was still there, watching—not in a way that felt predatory, but in a way that made you hyperaware of everything. The tilt of your head. The way your fingers trembled slightly on the glass. The flutter of your scarf in the breeze sneaking through the cracked door.

“Another round?” the bartender asked, jerking his thumb toward your almost-empty glass.

You nodded, grateful for the distraction, but when the man in the corner stood, your breath caught.

The sound of his boots against the wooden floor carried through the room like a countdown, slow and deliberate. You kept your gaze locked on your hands, trying to steady your nerves, until he was there. Beside you.

“You look like you could use better company than that drink,” he said, the roughness of his voice softened by something faintly teasing.

You glanced up, and there it was again—that pull, that undeniable gravity. “And you think you’re better company?” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady, trying to pretend his presence wasn’t unraveling you thread by thread.

He slid onto the stool beside you, leaning back like he’d been sitting there all along. “You tell me.”

The ice in your glass melted as the conversation deepened, its edges smooth and warm, much like his voice. He asked simple questions at first—the easy kind, the kind that let you pretend this was just another stranger making small talk. But as the minutes passed, the space between you seemed to shrink, the questions becoming sharper, more pointed.

“Why here?” he asked after a while, motioning to the bar around you.

You glanced around, taking in the dim lights and peeling wallpaper, the faint hum of music struggling against the noise of the room. “The rain,” you admitted. “I wasn’t planning on stopping. This just…happened.”

He nodded slowly, his fingers drumming softly against the counter. “Funny how things happen, isn’t it?”

“And you?” you asked, your curiosity finally outweighing your nerves. “What’s your excuse for being here?”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I wasn’t planning on stopping either.”

What struck you most about him wasn’t what he said, but the way he didn’t speak. The moments of silence between his words were heavy, charged with something unspoken but palpable.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that made you feel like you needed to fill it. It was the kind of silence that made you want to stay.

“People don’t usually stick around when I stop talking,” he said after one of those silences stretched long enough to make the bartender glance over.

You smiled faintly. “Maybe I’m not most people.”

His eyes flicked to yours then, sharp and piercing, and for the first time, you thought you saw something crack in the façade he carried so carefully. Something vulnerable. “No,” he said softly. “You’re not.”

The red scarf had become your anchor, your fingers twisting and untwisting it like a lifeline. When he noticed, his gaze softened, and he leaned in just slightly.

“Nervous?” he asked.

You laughed softly, though your chest felt tight. “Should I be?”

“Probably.” The word was heavy, weighted with something unspoken, but his tone was lighter—almost teasing. “But you don’t scare easy, do you?”

You hesitated, unsure of how much of yourself to reveal to someone who already seemed to see too much. “Maybe I’m just good at pretending,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was studying you. “Or maybe you’re braver than you think.”

The words shouldn’t have affected you the way they did, but they hit like a fist to the chest, leaving you breathless.

Time moved strangely when you were with him. Minutes stretched and contracted, the room around you fading into a blur until it was just the two of you, caught in the strange, magnetic pull that had brought you together.

The rain had stopped by the time you noticed how late it had gotten, the room quieter now as patrons trickled out into the damp night. You pulled your scarf tighter around your neck, reluctant to leave but knowing you couldn’t stay.

He stood when you did, his presence a shadow behind you as you moved toward the door.

“Be careful out there,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle.

You turned to face him, the red scarf catching the faint breeze sneaking in from outside. “I could say the same to you.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. And then he nodded, his lips twitching into a faint smile.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said, though it didn’t sound like a promise.

You stood there for a long moment, your heart racing as the distance between you grew. And when he stepped back into the shadows of the bar, disappearing as quietly as he’d appeared, you felt like you’d lost something you hadn’t even known you were looking for.

You stepped out into the damp night, the world strangely quiet around you. The red neon of The Red Star Lounge flickered behind you, its glow painting the pavement like blood.

You walked slowly, the chill creeping back into your skin despite the warmth of your scarf. And as you turned the corner, the realization settled deep in your chest.

Whatever had started tonight, it wouldn’t end well.

But maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it.

Green

The days after your first time meeting Bucky were a blur of stolen moments and quiet intensity. He was everywhere—every corner you turned, every crowded space you slipped into. He’d somehow become woven into the fabric of your days, and time itself seemed to shift around him.

You caught his glances in places you hadn’t expected to see him, like the coffee shop down the street or the bookstore you thought no one but you ever visited. His presence lingered, felt before seen, heavy and magnetic in a way that made your pulse quicken.

It wasn’t love—not yet. It couldn’t be. You’d only just met him. But it was something wild and unstoppable, like a spark catching dry kindling. The kind of connection that was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

You hadn’t planned on running into him again so soon. The market was bustling, filled with the warmth of laughter, the clink of cups from a nearby café, and the chatter of vendors calling out deals. You’d come to escape the growing restlessness inside you, hoping to lose yourself in the ordinary rhythm of the crowd. But then, as if summoned by your thoughts, there he was.

“Hi,” came the familiar, gravelly voice from behind you.

You turned, your breath catching for just a moment. There he stood, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his steel-blue eyes fixed on you in a way that made the bustling market fade into the background.

“Hi,” you replied, the word softer than you intended, like a whisper carried on the breeze.

A small smirk tugged at his lips, and for a moment, you could swear the space between you felt electric. “We keep running into each other,” he said, his tone teasing, but there was something deeper beneath it—something unspoken.

“You’re everywhere,” you said, almost accusing, though your lips curved into a faint smile.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Is that a bad thing?”

You hesitated, the playful edge in his voice sending a flutter through your chest. “You tell me,” you said, your voice steadier now, though your heart was racing.

His smirk widened just enough to make your stomach flip. “I think it depends,” he said, stepping just a fraction closer, his presence filling the space around you. “Do I bother you?”

“Should you?” you shot back, meeting his gaze evenly despite the way he made your pulse race.

“Guess that’s up to you.” His voice was low, steady, but there was a challenge in it, the kind that made you want to stay in this moment longer than you should.

The crowd around you moved on, the noise of the market dulling as the two of you stood there, caught in the pull that seemed to draw you together no matter where you were.

The moment stretched, the world around you blurring as the tension between you thickened. It was maddening, this pull, this constant feeling that he was both a mystery you wanted to solve and a danger you weren’t sure you should touch.

“Are you always this… persistent?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He laughed softly, the sound warm and rough, settling somewhere deep in your chest. “Only when I’ve got a reason to be.”

“And do you?”

His smile faded, replaced by something softer, something that made your breath catch. “Maybe.”

The honesty in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure you could say anything at all without betraying the way he was already getting under your skin.

Before either of you could say more, someone jostled past you, breaking the moment like a stone dropped in still water. You took a step back, breaking his gaze, suddenly hyperaware of the world around you again.

“Well,” you said, pulling your scarf tighter around your neck, the movement more of a reflex than a necessity. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Guess so,” he replied, his voice softer now, but still carrying that magnetic pull that made it hard to leave.

You turned before you could change your mind, slipping back into the crowd, but you could feel his eyes on you long after you’d disappeared from view.

That night, as you sat by your window, the red scarf still warm against your neck, you couldn’t shake the feeling of him—the way he looked at you, the way he seemed to linger in your thoughts long after he was gone.

Orange

The first time he took your hand, it was under the cover of night. The two of you had wandered out of town, the air crisp and the moon high above, lighting the fields with silver. You’d teased him into leaving the bar, insisting there was more to life than whiskey and dark corners. To your surprise, he followed.

“You’re relentless, you know that?” he muttered, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket as you walked side by side down the quiet road.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” you shot back, glancing over your shoulder with a grin.

When the road opened into a clearing, the moonlight spilling across the grass like liquid silver, you stopped. “Dance with me,” you said suddenly.

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might refuse. “You’re kidding, right? I don’t dance.”

“Everyone dances.” You grabbed his hand before he could protest further, your fingers tangling with his. “You just haven’t tried with the right partner.”

At first, he was stiff, awkward, his steps uncertain. But you laughed, the sound soft and free, and something in him loosened. His hands found your waist, tentative but firm, and together you moved under the open sky, your red scarf trailing in the breeze like a streak of fire against the night.

His grin was shy but genuine, his guard slipping just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the man hidden beneath the rough edges.

The air around you seemed to hum, the crisp night wrapping you both in a cocoon of stillness, as if the world had paused just for this moment. The stars twinkled overhead, scattered across the velvet sky, and the quiet rustle of grass beneath your feet served as the only soundtrack to your impromptu dance.

His hand on your waist was steady now, the earlier awkwardness fading as he settled into the rhythm of your movements. You could feel his warmth even through the layers of fabric between you, grounding and electric all at once.

“You’re full of surprises,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. The moonlight illuminated his features in a way that made him seem both sharper and softer all at once—the hard lines of his jaw, the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes as he smiled.

“Don’t get used to it,” he teased, though his voice lacked its usual edge.

“Oh, I already am,” you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips. “You’re stuck with me now.”

His laugh was quiet, almost a hum, and you caught a flicker of something in his expression—hesitation, maybe, or disbelief. Like he wasn’t used to this kind of lightness, this kind of joy.

“You really do this to everyone?” he asked, tilting his head as he studied you, his tone carrying a mix of curiosity and playfulness.

“Do what?”

“Drag them out into fields, make them dance under the stars, make them feel like…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “Like this.”

Your smile faltered, but only slightly. “Like what?”

“Like there’s still something good in the world.” His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, and the words felt like they carried more weight than you expected.

Your breath caught in your chest, and for a moment, the flirty banter dissolved into something deeper, something raw. You didn’t look away, though, even as his gaze burned into yours. “Maybe I just have good instincts,” you said softly. “Maybe I knew you needed this and maybe you're not just anyone.."

He didn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening as he seemed to wrestle with whatever storm was brewing inside him. But then he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible gesture. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe.”

You continued to sway, the tension between you softening but not disappearing. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, not possessive but steady, anchoring you to the moment.

“You’re not bad at this, you know,” you said, breaking the silence. “For someone who doesn’t dance.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he muttered, but there was no hiding the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“Too late.”

You laughed, and the sound seemed to draw something out of him—a quiet chuckle, his guard slipping even further. He spun you then, a move so unexpected and unpolished that you nearly stumbled, but his hand caught yours, pulling you back to him with ease.

“Show-off,” you teased, breathless from the movement and his proximity.

“You asked for a dance,” he replied, his grin widening. “Don’t complain when I deliver.”

After a while, your movements slowed, the dance turning into little more than a quiet sway. The night had grown colder, the stars above brighter, and the world around you quieter.

His hands lingered on your waist longer than they needed to as you pulled back slightly, your red scarf brushing against his arm.

“You’re not as bad at this as you think,” you said softly, your voice carrying just enough warmth to take the sting out of the teasing.

“Guess I had the right partner,” he replied, his tone quieter now, almost serious.

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you smiled, your fingers brushing his briefly before you stepped back fully.

“Thank you,” you said, and you weren’t sure if you meant for the dance, for following you out here, or for letting you see this softer side of him.

He nodded, his eyes meeting yours one last time before he stepped back, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “You’re trouble,” he repeated, the faintest trace of a smile still on his lips.

“And don’t you forget it,” you replied, your grin returning as you adjusted your scarf, the red fabric catching the breeze.

As the two of you made your way back to the bar in comfortable silence, you couldn’t help but glance at him from the corner of your eye. There was something about the way he walked beside you, the way he seemed both cautious and unflinchingly present, that made you wonder what was hiding behind those sharp eyes and soft smiles.

Grey

It started with something small. It always did.

The two of you had been in his apartment, a quiet night derailed by the weight of unspoken things. You’d made a joke—a harmless, casual jab at the way he always seemed to know what was happening before you did, like he had a sixth sense for trouble. But instead of laughing, his jaw tightened, and his response came sharp and clipped.

“Maybe you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” he muttered, his voice low, his eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “Excuse me?”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as if to push the thought away. “Forget it.”

But you couldn’t. You hated when he did this—when he locked you out, pulling the shutters down on a window you’d thought was finally open.

“Bucky, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” you asked, your voice rising despite your best efforts to stay calm.

“It means I’ve got enough going on without you digging into things that don’t concern you,” he snapped, his frustration spilling over.

“Things that don’t concern me?” You took a step closer, your chest tight with a mix of anger and hurt. “How can you say that? You’re the one who pulled me into this—into you. Don’t tell me I don’t get to care about what’s going on in your head.”

His gaze flicked to yours, sharp and guarded, like he was debating whether to fight or retreat. “You don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less biting. “You don’t know what it’s like to carry the kind of shit I do.”

You stared at him, the words hitting you like a blow. “You’re right,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t know. Because you won’t let me!”

The room fell silent, the tension crackling like a live wire between you.

“Maybe it’s better that way,” he said after a long pause, his voice cold and distant.

The words sliced through you, sharp and unforgiving. You turned away, grabbing your coat and scarf, your movements jerky and frantic.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice rising as you stormed toward the door.

“Somewhere I don’t feel like a burden!” you shot back, the words raw and cutting as they left your lips.

The rain started just as you stepped outside, a steady downpour that soaked through your clothes within minutes. You didn’t care. Your feet carried you forward, one step after another, until you were too far from his building to hear his voice if he called after you.

But he did call.

“Y/N!”

You stopped, the sound of his voice slicing through the rain and your resolve. You turned slowly, the water streaming down your face, mingling with the tears you hadn’t realized were falling.

Bucky stood a few feet away, his hair plastered to his forehead, his jacket already drenched. He looked as wrecked as you felt.

“Why are you here, Bucky?” you shouted, your voice shaking with anger and something far more dangerous—hope. “Why do you care?”

Red

“Because I can’t not care!” he shouted back, the words breaking open something in both of you.

He took a step closer, his boots splashing in the puddles, his gaze locking onto yours. “You think I don’t know what this is doing to you? To us? I’m trying, baby. I just—”

His voice cracked, the raw emotion in it making your breath hitch. “I just don’t know how to be the person you think I am,” he finished, his shoulders slumping.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your chest heaving with the force of everything you felt. You wanted to yell, to cry, to pull him closer and push him away all at once. But before you could do anything, he moved.

His hands cupped your face, his touch firm but trembling, his palms warm against your rain-chilled skin. And then his lips were on yours, urgent and unyielding, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss.

The rain poured harder, cold and relentless, but you didn’t feel it. All you felt was him—his hands in your hair, his body pressed against yours, the heat of his kiss erasing every other thought in your mind.

Your hands found their way to his jacket, gripping the wet leather as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. His lips moved against yours, fierce and desperate, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

The rain poured around you, cold and relentless, but his kiss was all heat. It stole your breath, your anger, your fears—leaving nothing but the raw, unshakable truth of how deeply he’d gotten under your skin.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and ragged against your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words barely audible over the rain. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”

Your hands loosened their grip on his jacket, falling to your sides as you searched his eyes. “Then stop pushing me away,” you said, your voice trembling. “Stop making me feel like I’m not enough.”

His eyes closed briefly, his jaw tightening as he nodded. “I’m trying,” he said, his voice raw. “I swear I’m trying.”

You exhaled shakily, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. “Then let me help you,” you said softly. “Whatever it is, Bucky, i can take it….But you have to let me in.”

His hands dropped from your face, his gaze falling to the ground. For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence filled only by the sound of the rain.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice hoarse but steady. “Okay.”

The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time you made your way back to his apartment, walking side by side in silence. His hand brushed against yours once, then again, before he finally took it, his grip firm and grounding.

Neither of you spoke as you stepped inside, the warmth of the room wrapping around you as you shed your soaked coats and shoes.

“I’ll make some tea,” he said quietly, his voice still rough around the edges.

You nodded, watching as he moved to the kitchen, his shoulders still tense but lighter somehow. The storm wasn’t over—not completely.

White

It didn’t take long for you to realize that Bucky wasn’t like anyone else you’d ever loved. He carried his past like a weight around his neck, a shadow that followed him even in his brightest moments. He never talked about it—not in words, at least. But it was there, in the tension that gripped his shoulders when he thought no one was watching, in the way his eyes sometimes drifted to the distance, as if he could still see ghosts in the corners of his mind.

One night, as you traced the faded scars on his knuckles, the storm of his silence felt unbearable.

“Where did these come from?” you asked softly, your thumb brushing over the jagged lines etched into his skin.

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Bar fights,” he said, his voice laced with forced nonchalance.

“Must’ve been some fight,” you murmured, your fingers lingering on the edges of his scars like you could smooth them away.

He shrugged, but the movement was tight, deliberate, like he was trying to shrug off more than the question. His smirk faded, replaced by something far heavier. “I wasn’t always… the guy you see now,” he said finally, his voice quiet, almost hollow.

The air in the room shifted, the words lingering between you like smoke, impossible to clear. You didn’t press him. You’d learned by now that he wasn’t the type to offer up pieces of himself freely. He kept his pain buried deep, beneath layers of charm and bravado, but in the quiet moments—when the walls came down—you could feel it.

The silence stretched, heavy but not empty. You studied his face, the hard lines of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the way his lips pressed into a thin line like he was holding back words he didn’t trust himself to say. His eyes, always so sharp and clear, seemed distant, as if he wasn’t in the room with you anymore but somewhere else entirely.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you said softly, your fingers still resting against his hand. “But you don’t have to carry it alone, either.”

His gaze snapped back to you then, sharp and searching, like he was trying to decide whether you meant it.

“Some things aren’t worth sharing,” he said after a long moment, his tone guarded but not unkind. “They don’t make anything better.”

“Maybe not,” you said carefully, leaning back slightly to give him space. “But sometimes saying it out loud makes it hurt a little less.”

He laughed softly, but it wasn’t a laugh meant to comfort—it was bitter, self-deprecating, the sound of someone who didn’t believe a word you’d said.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Then tell me,” you challenged, your voice steady even as your heart pounded. “Show me.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his expression a mix of disbelief and something darker—fear, maybe, or anger. For a moment, you thought he might snap, might push you away entirely. But instead, he let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever he was holding.

“I’ve done things,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Things I can’t take back. Things I don’t want to take back because… because I thought I deserved them.”

The confession hit you like a punch to the chest, but you didn’t flinch. You stayed where you were, your hand still resting on his, grounding him in a way you hoped was enough.

He looked down, his jaw tight, his voice rough as he continued. “You want to know where these scars came from? Fine. Some are bar fights. Most of them are from being too drunk to care what happened to me. Or too angry to stop swinging when I should’ve walked away.” He paused, his eyes flicking back to yours. “And some of them are from people who thought I deserved worse.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t speak. This wasn’t the time to offer reassurances he wouldn’t believe. This was the time to let him speak, to let the floodgates open.

“I wasn’t a good person, darlin’,” he said, his voice breaking just slightly. “I was reckless. Selfish. I burned bridges with everyone who ever gave a damn about me, because it was easier to burn them than to admit I needed them.”

He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You look at me like I’m someone worth saving, but you don’t know what you’re saving me from. And I don’t know if I want you to.”

Your hand tightened on his instinctively, and he looked at you like he was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned forward, your voice quiet but firm.

“You’re not that person anymore, Bucky.”

His laugh was bitter, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “And what makes you so sure?”

“Because I know you,” you said, your words steady even as your chest ached with the weight of what he’d shared. “I know the man you are now. The man who stands up when he’d rather run. The man who cares about the people in his life even when he’s scared he’ll lose them. The man who looks at me like… like I’m more than just another person passing through his life.”

His breath hitched, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart pound. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he murmured, his voice low and broken.

“Don’t I?” you replied, leaning closer, your hand still on his. “You think I don’t see the cracks in you? The scars you’re trying to hide? I see them, Bucky. I see you. And I’m still here.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his chest rising and falling with the force of his emotions. And then, slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

“Maybe not,” you said softly, leaning into his touch. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Pink

Not everything was heavy. There were moments of lightness, too—moments when the weight he carried seemed to lift, revealing the boy he must’ve been before life carved him into the man he’d become.

Like the time you convinced him to teach you how to ride his motorcycle.

“This is a terrible idea,” he said, his hands firm on your shoulders as you perched awkwardly on the seat. His jacket was slung over the handlebars, leaving him in a worn t-shirt that clung to his frame in the afternoon heat.

“You’re just saying that because you’re scared I’ll be better at it than you,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder with a grin.

He rolled his eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “No, I’m saying it because I like this bike, and I’d rather not see it flipped into a ditch.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” you said, sticking your tongue out at him before turning your attention back to the bike. “Just tell me what to do.”

“Fine,” he relented, stepping around to stand beside you, one hand resting on the handlebar. “First rule: don’t panic. Second rule: listen to me.”

“Was that not the first rule?”

He smirked. “It’s the first and second rule. You like to improvise, and I’m not interested in seeing where that gets us today.”

You weren’t good at it—not at first. Your balance was all wrong, your movements jerky as you tried to adjust to the unfamiliar weight of the bike beneath you. The engine purred, vibrating against your thighs as you gripped the handlebars too tightly.

“Loosen up,” Bucky said, his voice even as he kept one hand on the back of the seat to steady you. “You’re not wrestling it into submission.”

“Easy for you to say!” you snapped, your voice high-pitched with nerves as the bike wobbled forward.

His laugh was low and infuriatingly calm. “Relax, you’re not going to die. I’ve got you.”

“You better,” you muttered, biting your lip as you tried to focus on his instructions.

By the time you’d tipped the bike over for the second time—mercifully without actually crashing—your cheeks were flushed, half from embarrassment and half from the adrenaline coursing through you.

“Alright, maybe this was a terrible idea,” you admitted, throwing him an exasperated look as you struggled to right the bike again.

He was already laughing, the sound deep and unrestrained as he grabbed the handlebars to help. “Told you,” he said, grinning wide enough to show his teeth.

“Don’t gloat,” you shot back, but your own laughter bubbled up before you could stop it.

By the time you got the hang of it—coasting in a slow, wobbly circle while he watched from a few feet away, arms crossed and smirking like he was witnessing a miracle—you were both laughing so hard you could barely breathe.

“Look at me!” you shouted, your voice triumphant. “I’m doing it!”

“Don’t get cocky,” he warned, though his tone was light. “You’re still going about five miles an hour.”

“That’s five more miles an hour than you thought I’d manage,” you called back, steering carefully toward him.

When you finally stopped, dismounting with all the grace of a baby giraffe, you stumbled into his arms, laughing uncontrollably.

“Okay, okay,” you gasped, your forehead resting against his chest as you tried to catch your breath. “Maybe you’re the expert.”

“Told you,” he said, his laugh rumbling against your ear. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, holding you steady as your knees threatened to buckle.

“You know,” you said, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, “you’re kind of a good teacher. Strict, but effective.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he replied, though there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart flip.

In those moments, you forgot about the shadows lurking at the edges of your relationship. You forgot about the way he sometimes disappeared into his own head, shutting you out without warning. You forgot about the way doubt sometimes crept in, whispering that you’d never be enough to pull him out of the darkness he carried.

In those moments, it was just him and you. His laughter, his warmth, the way he looked at you like you were the brightest thing in his world.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he said suddenly, his tone light but his gaze lingering on you a moment too long.

“So i've been told,” you replied, smirking “But here you are”

His lips quirked into a faint smile, but something flickered in his expression—something unspoken but undeniable. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Here I am.”

Black

Bucky’s past was a shadow that followed him everywhere, slipping into the quiet moments between you, seeping into the cracks of your conversations, and weighing down the lightness you fought so hard to hold onto. He never told you the full story, but you’d pieced together enough to know it was dark, messy, and full of mistakes he couldn’t forgive himself for.

He’d let pieces of it slip, in fragments so small they barely felt like enough to build a picture. The late nights when he’d sit on the edge of the bed, his back to you, head in his hands as he tried to keep his breathing even. The scars on his knuckles, his ribs, the faint burn marks along his forearms he never wanted to explain.

“Old life,” he’d say when you pushed, the words clipped, like the conversation was over before it began.

But you could see the weight of it in his eyes, the way they clouded when you asked too many questions, or the way his jaw tightened when you pressed him about the motorcycle gathering dust in the corner of the garage.

One night, tangled together in bed, you felt the words leave your lips before you could stop them.

“Why don’t you let yourself be happy?”

You hadn’t meant it to sound so accusatory, but it hung heavy in the air between you. He was staring at the ceiling, the dim light casting shadows across his face, and for a moment, you weren’t sure he’d heard you.

Then, quietly, he answered. “I don’t deserve it.”

The simplicity of it made your chest ache. You shifted closer, your hand sliding over his chest to rest just above his heart. His pulse was steady beneath your fingertips, but his breathing was shallow.

“Who gets to decide that?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer.

The silence that followed was louder than anything he could’ve said. You felt his walls build themselves back up in real time, felt the distance between you grow even though he was right there. And that was the moment you realized just how fragile this thing between you really was.

You were falling for him—deeply, recklessly—but you couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how hard you tried, you’d never be able to love away the pain he carried.

It was a few days later when he finally said something. You were sitting on the back steps of the house, the two of you sharing a beer in comfortable silence, the late summer heat clinging to the air.

“I used to be part of something,” he started, his voice low, almost like he was speaking to himself.

You turned to him, careful not to interrupt.

He stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the horizon as if the past was painted somewhere in the fading streaks of the sunset. His hands fidgeted with the beer bottle, his thumb running along the condensation like it was the only thing grounding him to the moment.

“A gang of sorts,” he finally said, the words clipped, sharp, like they physically hurt to say out loud. “We didn’t call it that. We thought we were a brotherhood, a club at best. Thought we were something… loyal. But it wasn’t like that.”

Your breath caught, but you stayed silent, knowing this was fragile ground you were treading on.

“We rode together. Lived for the thrill of it. For the noise, the chaos, the speed.” He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. “But it was never just that. It was fights. Deals. Smuggling. You name it, we probably did it—or looked the other way while it was happening.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And I was all in. I thought I’d found a family. I thought… it meant something.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and you reached for his hand instinctively, your fingers brushing his. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at you either.

“What changed?” you asked softly.

His jaw clenched, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. “I did. Or maybe I just woke up. Started seeing it for what it really was—a way to hurt people. A way to run from everything I didn’t want to face. And when I finally decided I couldn’t be part of it anymore…”

He trailed off, his knuckles tightening around the beer bottle.

“What happened?”

He turned to you then, his eyes heavy with something you couldn’t quite name—regret, anger, fear. “They don’t let you just walk away from something like that. Not without consequences.”

“They came after you?” you guessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“They tried,” he said, his tone flat. “It got messy. People got hurt, people died, good people died…. And I left everything behind. My bike, my crew, the only life I’d known up to that point. I’ve been running ever since.”

His words hung in the humid air, and you struggled to process everything he was laying bare.

“Bucky…”

He shook his head, cutting you off. “Don’t. Don’t try to make it sound better than it was. I don’t deserve that.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him that everyone deserved a second chance, that whatever he’d done, it didn’t define who he was now. But you knew he wouldn’t hear it. Not yet.

Instead, you squeezed his hand, your thumb brushing over the scarred skin of his knuckles. “You don’t have to keep running,” you said, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat.

He let out a humorless laugh, his shoulders slumping. “You think it’s that easy? That I can just… stop?”

“I think it’s a start,” you said. “And I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

That night, after the sun had dipped below the horizon and the two of you had gone inside, you lay awake beside him, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

You wondered about the things he hadn’t told you—the names, the faces, the details he still kept locked away. You could feel them pressing down on him, weighing him down like chains he didn’t know how to break.

And yet, despite everything, you felt hope. Because he’d told you something. He’d opened a door, even if only a crack.

But in the days that followed, the weight of his confession seemed to grow heavier. You noticed the way his eyes darted to the shadows when the two of you walked down the street, the way his body tensed every time a motorcycle engine roared in the distance.

As you sat together in the living room, the sound of distant thunder rolling through the open window, you decided to ask the question that had been burning in the back of your mind.

“Do you think they’ll come for you?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze was fixed on the window, his expression unreadable. Finally, he exhaled, leaning back against the couch. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Maybe. Probably.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking in. “What would you do?”

“Whatever I have to,” he said, his voice firm, his jaw set.

The finality in his tone sent a chill down your spine. “You don’t have to face it alone, Bucky.”

He turned to you, his eyes softening just enough to let you see the fear buried beneath the bravado. “You don’t understand. If they find me, it won’t just be me they’ll go after.”

For a moment, the air between you was thick with everything left unsaid. Then he reached for your hand, his grip strong but trembling. “I don’t want you to get hurt, I cant have you get hurt”

“I know,” you said softly. “But I’m not walking away.”

RED

It was late, the kind of quiet that made the world feel smaller, as though the two of you were the only people left in it. The rain had come and gone, leaving the air cool and clean, and the faint scent of damp earth drifted through the open window.

Bucky sat on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, an old book balanced on his knee. You were curled up beside him, your feet tucked under his thigh, a mug of tea cradled in your hands. It was a simple moment, unremarkable in its stillness, but it felt significant in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

You watched him over the rim of your mug, his brow furrowed as he read, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His hair was tousled from the way he kept running his fingers through it, and the soft lamplight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw.

“What?” he asked suddenly, his eyes flicking to yours.

You blinked, realizing you’d been caught staring. “Nothing,” you said quickly, though the warmth rising in your cheeks gave you away.

He closed the book, his lips curving into a lopsided grin. “That didn’t look like ‘nothing.’”

You rolled your eyes, setting your mug down on the coffee table. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”

His grin faltered, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. He reached out, his hand finding yours where it rested on the couch cushion. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and deliberate.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low. “You keep saying things like that, and I might start believing them.”

The words were on the tip of your tongue before you even realized they were there. They spilled out quietly, almost like they’d slipped past your defenses on their own.

“I love you.”

The room seemed to freeze, the words hanging in the air between you. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for his response.

Bucky’s hand stilled against yours, his eyes widening slightly as he looked at you. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. “I love you,” you repeated, more firmly this time.

His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then he shifted closer, his hand cupping your cheek as he studied your face like he was trying to memorize every detail.

“You mean that?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

You nodded, your hand covering his where it rested on your cheek. “I mean it, Bucky.. I love you.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. His thumb brushed against your cheekbone, his touch warm and steady, and you could see the emotions flickering behind his eyes—fear, disbelief, hope.

Then, finally, he exhaled, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “I love you too,” he said, the words soft but sure, like they’d been waiting inside him all along.

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of his confession hitting you like a wave. You leaned into his touch, your forehead resting against his as a quiet laugh escaped you.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” you teased, though your voice was thick with emotion.

“Because I didn’t think I’d ever get to say it,” he admitted, his voice raw.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers tangling with his. “Well, you do,” you said firmly. “You do.”

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he buried his face in your hair. You could feel his heart pounding against your own, his breathing shaky as he held you like he was afraid to let go.

“I love you,” he murmured again, the words muffled against your skin.

Black

The cracks in your relationship with Bucky had always been there, faint at first, like hairline fractures in glass. But over time, those fractures deepened, spreading until the entire structure seemed ready to shatter. You both saw it coming. Neither of you stopped it.

The end wasn’t sudden—it was a slow, excruciating unraveling. It started with the silences, the way Bucky’s gaze lingered on the horizon instead of you. Then came the arguments, sharp and biting, words flung like weapons that left wounds neither of you could heal. And finally, the moment when everything fell apart.

The air between you was thick, suffocating, as you stood across from Bucky in the dim light of your apartment. Outside, the sun was setting, the sky painted in hues of crimson and gold, like a warning, like a fire.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you snapped, your voice trembling with frustration. “I can’t keep doing this, Bucky. I can’t keep wondering if you’re going to disappear every time things get hard.”

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his jaw tight. “I’m not disappearing.” His voice was low, but there was an edge to it, the tension in his frame barely restrained.

“Then what do you call it?” You stepped closer, your chest heaving with the weight of everything you’d been holding back. “The nights you don’t come home? The way you shut me out? How am I supposed to love you when you won’t even let me in?”

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw something crack in his expression. But then he looked away, and the wall went back up. “You knew what you were getting into,” he muttered, the words like a punch to your chest.

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I didn’t know it would feel like this. Like I’m constantly fighting to hold onto you while you’re halfway out the door.”

“I’m trying!” he shot back, his voice rising for the first time. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his frustration boiling over. “Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I don’t hate myself for dragging you into my mess?”

“I didn’t ask for perfect, Bucky,” you said, your voice shaking. “I just wanted you. But you can’t even give me that, can you?”

The tension snapped like a breaking wire. He turned sharply, his movements abrupt, knocking a glass from the counter. It hit the floor and shattered, the sound ringing out like a gunshot in the suffocating silence.

You both froze, staring at the pieces scattered across the floor. The sharp edges glinted in the fading light, and you couldn’t help but think how perfectly they mirrored the state of your heart.

“I can’t do this,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t keep trying to fix something that doesn’t wanna be fixed.”

His head snapped up, his eyes wide and almost panicked. “Baby, don’t—”

But you held up a hand, cutting him off. “No. You don’t get to keep doing this. You don’t get to keep tearing me apart just because you’re scared.”

You turned away from him, walking to the window where the last rays of the sun bled across the sky. The red hues painted the room, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch forever. You felt his presence behind you, silent and heavy, but he didn’t move closer.

“Do you even love me?” you asked, your voice trembling.

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, quietly, he said, “More than anything.”

You closed your eyes, a single tear slipping down your cheek. “Then why does it feel like I’m the only one fighting for us?”

When you finally turned to face him, the sight of him nearly broke you. His shoulders were slumped, his expression a mixture of pain and regret. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I think you need to leave,” you said softly, the words tasting like ash on your tongue.

“No,” he said quickly, his voice thick with emotion. He took a step toward you, but you shook your head.

“Bucky, please,” you said, your voice breaking. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

He stopped, his hands clenching at his sides. For a long moment, the two of you just stared at each other, the weight of everything left unsaid hanging heavy in the air.

“Loving you is the best and worst thing i've ever done,” you whispered finally, the words cutting through the silence.

He flinched, the pain in his eyes unmistakable. But he didn’t argue. He didn’t beg. Instead, he stepped back, his red leather jacket catching the dying light like embers.

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

And then he turned and walked away.

You stood there long after he was gone, staring at the shattered glass on the floor, the red hues of the sunset fading into the gray of twilight. The silence in the room was deafening, and the absence of him felt like a physical ache, a hollow space where your heart had been.

You wanted to scream, to cry, to rage against the unfairness of it all. But all you could do was sink to the floor, your knees pulling to your chest as you clutched the scarf around your neck—the same red scarf you’d worn the night you met him.

The memory of him lingered, vivid and unrelenting, like a fire that refused to be extinguished. And as the last light disappeared, leaving the room bathed in shadows, you realized that some scars never really fade.

Loving him had been a blaze of color, bright and beautiful and all-consuming. But now, all that was left was the ash.

Dark Grey

Years later, you would still catch yourself tracing the edges of your life, searching for the faint marks Bucky had left on it. They were everywhere—small, quiet reminders that had become part of you. A fleeting song lyric. A warm breeze on a rainy day. The streak of red in a sunset that made your breath hitch.

Not all loves were meant to last forever. You knew that now. But the ones that didn’t stay still had the power to change you. Some were fleeting, like sparks that burn brightly before fading, but even when the fire dies, it leaves a mark. A scar. A memory. A piece of yourself you couldn’t reclaim.

And Bucky had left you with all three.

You moved on in the ways that mattered. You built a life filled with steady, small joys—the kind of life you never would have imagined in those tumultuous days with him. There was laughter and comfort, new love and old friends, and yet, there was always that quiet space inside you that belonged to him.

Because loving Bucky had been unforgettable. It had been red—vivid, bold, and impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t just the good that stayed with you, though. It was the ache, too—the lingering hollow of his absence that sometimes felt like it echoed in your chest.

You remembered the way his hand had felt in yours, steady and warm, even when everything around you felt like it was unraveling. The way his voice, low and rough, could calm you and set you alight in the same breath.

And you remembered the way he looked at you—like you were something he wanted to hold onto but didn’t know how to keep. Like he was terrified of you slipping away, even as he kept his distance.

You didn’t regret loving him. How could you? Even with the heartbreak, the unanswered questions, the nights spent missing him so fiercely you thought it might tear you apart, Bucky had given you something no one else had.

He’d made you feel alive.

One night, as you wandered home after a late dinner with friends, the city felt unusually quiet. The streets were slick with rain, the glow of streetlights reflecting off the pavement in golden pools. You’d tucked your red scarf tighter around your neck, the fabric trailing behind you as the cool wind nipped at your cheeks.

And then you felt it—him.

It wasn’t something you could explain. It wasn’t logical or rooted in reason. It was a pull, a magnetic force that had always drawn you to him, no matter how far apart you’d been.

You stopped mid-step, your eyes scanning the crowded street. At first, it felt silly—just your mind playing tricks on you again, filling strangers’ faces with memories of him. But then you saw him.

Across the street, standing near the entrance to a dimly lit diner, was a figure you’d know anywhere. The dark hair. The broad shoulders. The familiar slouch of someone trying not to be noticed but failing anyway.

Your breath caught. For a moment, the world narrowed to just him, the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

You hesitated, your feet frozen to the pavement. And then, as if sensing you, he turned.

His eyes found yours across the distance, and the breath you’d been holding escaped in a sharp gasp. It was him. It wasn’t a trick of the light, wasn’t your imagination conjuring his ghost again.

It was Bucky.

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. His hair was shorter now, his stubble heavier, but his eyes were the same—piercing, sharp, filled with something you couldn’t name.

He took a step toward you, and for a moment, you thought he might cross the street. But instead, he stopped just at the edge of the curb.

“Red suits you,” he said, his voice low and familiar, carrying over the noise of the city.

The words hit you like a tidal wave, dragging you under. Red suits you. He’d said it to you once before, years ago, as he wrapped your scarf around your neck on a bitterly cold night, pulling you close to kiss you before the wind could steal the moment.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. What could you say?

But he didn’t wait for you to answer. With one last lingering look, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, slipping away as easily as he always had.

You stood there for what felt like hours, staring at the spot where he’d been, your heart racing and your mind spinning. You didn’t know why he’d been there, why he’d said what he had, or why he’d left again so quickly.

But as the rain began to fall again, you smiled, your hand instinctively reaching up to tug your scarf tighter.

Some loves weren’t meant to last forever.

But some burned too brightly to ever truly fade.

And as you turned and walked into the night, the rain soaking your hair and your scarf trailing behind you, you couldn’t help but feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be—haunted, alive, and forever marked by him.

Because loving Bucky had been red. And somehow, you knew, that story wasn’t finished yet.

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daisymbin · 1 day ago

Note

45. "you really trust me with your secrets, huh?"

y/n drunkenly confesses to Chan after a night out with their friends

!!! thank you for requesting 🫶

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check out my masterlist! // chan's m.list

fluff prompt #45: "you really trust me with your secrets, huh?"

you’re tipsy, wobbling slightly as chan steadies you with a hand on your shoulder. the others had scattered after your group night out, and somehow, the task of walking you home fell to him. not that he minded.

“you don’t have to do this,” you say, words slightly slurred but still sweet. “i can walk home myself.”

“you could barely walk down the stairs without holding onto me,” he teases, a grin tugging at his lips. “what kind of friend would i be if i just left you?”

“a bad one,” you reply immediately, leaning into him like you already trust him more than anything.

the quiet buzz of the city fills the space between you two, and chan keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. your cheeks are flushed, whether from the alcohol or the cool night air, and you’re humming a little tune he doesn’t recognize.

“what are you humming?” he asks, mostly just to keep you talking.

“something you’d like,” you reply cryptically, then giggle like you’ve said something funny.

chan shakes his head, amused but also hyper-aware of how close you are to him, how your warmth is seeping into his side. he’s spent plenty of nights like this with you, but something feels different. maybe it’s the way you’re looking at him, all soft and unguarded.

“you’re quiet tonight,” you say suddenly, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to look up at him.

“am i?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck.

you nod. “you usually talk more. always making me laugh. i like that about you, you know.”

chan feels his heart do a little flip at your words. he brushes it off with a laugh, trying to keep things light. “guess i’m just tired from carrying everyone’s drinks tonight.”

you narrow your eyes at him like you don’t quite believe him but let it go, resuming your unsteady steps.

“can i tell you a secret?” you ask after a moment, your voice quieter now.

chan glances at you, his brows furrowing. “a secret? is this something i’ll have to take to the grave?”

“maybe,” you say, and there’s a teasing edge to your tone, but your expression is serious.

“go for it,” he says, his curiosity piqued.

you stop walking again and turn to face him, your gaze locked on his like you’re trying to decide something. chan feels his chest tighten under the intensity of it.

“i like you, chan,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “like… really like you. a lot.”

chan blinks, completely frozen as he processes your words. you’re still looking at him, vulnerable and unsure, and it hits him all at once—this isn’t a joke, and it’s definitely not just the alcohol talking.

“you… really trust me with your secrets, huh?” he says finally, his voice coming out softer than he intended.

you nod, looking down at your feet. “you’re the only one i’d want to tell.”

chan doesn’t know what to say. his heart is pounding, and his head is spinning, but not in the way he’d expect. because somehow, despite the shock, it feels… right.

“hey,” he says, stepping closer to you. you look up, your eyes wide and a little glassy.

“if this is some kind of drunken mistake—”

“it’s not,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “i’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but i was too scared. it just… it feels easier now. maybe its the drinks.”

chan feels his lips curve into a smile, his heart swelling with something he can only describe as pure happiness.

“you really like me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

you nod again, your cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red.

chan doesn’t think—he just reacts, pulling you into a gentle hug. you tense for a moment before melting against him, your arms wrapping around his waist.

you pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes searching his face like you’re trying to make sure he’s serious.

“is it okay if i continue to like you?”

“only if-,” he pauses, laughing softly, “only if its okay for me to continue liking you too.”

you smile then, and it’s the kind of smile that makes him think he’d do anything to see it again.

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white-wolf-buckaroo · 1 day ago

Text

The last drop in The Last Drop: Part 3

A dad!Vander fic (with my og character, Luna, Vander's fifth adopted child)

Masterlist: there you go

Disclaimer: english ain't my first language folks

The nights were always the hardest for Luna.

During the day, there was enough noise and movement to distract her—Vi, Powder, Claggor and Mylo made sure of it. But at night, when the Last Drop had gone quiet and the bar’s flickering lanterns barely kept the shadows at bay, that’s when her thoughts crept in.

She lay curled on her cot, clutching the worn blanket Powder had given her. The sounds of the others’ soft snores filled the room, but sleep wouldn’t come for her; Vi and Powder were curled up together in their bed, and Mylo and Claggor slept on the bed above, with Mylo’s feet next to Claggor’s face making his nose scrunch up in discomfort every now and then, stealing the blanket back to him in revenge even while they slept.

Luna sat up slowly in her small bed, that had been added next to the bunkbed where the other four slept, her small frame swallowed by the oversized shirt Vi had given her to wear at night. Her bare feet made no sound as she padded out of the room up the stairs to the bar, that was still dimly lit.

The amber glow of a few lanterns cast long shadows across the floor. Vander was there, as she’d hoped, sitting at one of the tables with a mug of something steaming in his hands. He was lost in thought, the weight of the day pressing on him as he stared at the scuffed tabletop. The jukebox played a soft song in the background as he sipped on his tea. It had been a good day—calm, no trouble from the enforcers, no fights breaking out at the bar—but even calm days carried their own kind of burden. There was always something to fix, something to protect. Someone.

He looked up when he heard her approach, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Luna?” he asked, his voice low and warm, as though he didn’t want to disturb the quiet. “It’s late, Lu. You should be in bed.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” she muttered. Her hair fell in messy strands around her face. She hesitated in the doorway, unsure if she should come closer, but Vander’s small nod was all the encouragement she needed.

“Come here, Lu,” he said, gesturing to the chair beside him.

She climbed into the chair, her legs swinging just above the floor. Vander pushed the mug toward her, and she wrinkled her nose at the bitter smell.

“It’s just tea,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Good for calming nerves.”

She took a hesitant sip, her nose scrunching at the unfamiliar taste, but she didn’t complain. Vander watched her with a patient smile, chuckling softly, waiting until she set the mug down before speaking again.

“Bad dreams?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m scared of sleeping. I don’t… I don’t want to have nightmares.”

“Do you have a lot of nightmares?”

She nodded again, a small pout on her lips.

“About what?”

Her fingers toyed with the edge of the table. “Before. From when I was… by myself.”

Vander’s chest tightened at her words, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, his broad hand reached towards her and stroked her cheek softly. His palm was warm, his grip steady but gentle, and it made something in herself loosen.

“You’re not by yourself anymore, Lu,” he said quietly. “You’ve got us now. You’ve got me. And if you have nightmares, you can always come to me.”

The words settled over her like a blanket, wrapping her in a warmth she hadn’t felt in so long. She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded, wrapping her arms around his, cuddling to his side.

They sat like that for a while, the silence no longer heavy but comforting. Vander didn’t push her to talk more, and she was grateful for that. He had a way of knowing when words weren’t needed, when just being there was enough.

When her eyes started to droop, Vander stood, scooping her up in his arms with the ease of someone who had done it a hundred times before. She didn’t protest, resting her head against his shoulder as he carried her back downstairs.

As he tucked her back into her cot, pulling the blanket up to her chin, she murmured, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“For being here.”

Vander smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Always, Lu.”

She fell asleep before he even left the room, the weight of the night lifted, replaced by the steady warmth of knowing she wasn’t alone.

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wisecura · 7 hours ago

Text

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.6 ⁭ ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.8

p.7

AN: Oh babe, this thing was a real bitch 'n a half to crank out. Sorry for the delay. I was right in the thick of editing when Google Chrome had the audacity to update itself. I will never edit on my ao3 text box ever again. lesson fucking learned, yeah? get ready for somethin

warnings: this story may cover sensitive and uncomfortable topics. please read at your own risk, yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

the bitch n' a half

Megumi’s decision to enroll at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech caught you completely off guard.

For as long as you’d known him, he’d shown little interest in becoming a sorcerer, dismissing the world of cursed spirits and exorcisms as something he didn’t want to be a part of.

You’d never pestered him about his cursed technique either, sensing early on that it wasn’t a topic of interest to him. You figured if he ever wanted to talk about it, he would.

So when he announced his plans at the dinner table, the words felt like they’d come out of nowhere, leaving you blindsided.

“You’re…serious about this?” you asked, trying to keep your tone steady, though the surprise was clear in your voice.

Megumi gave a small nod, his expression as stoic as ever, but there was a fierce determination in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Yeah,” he said simply, his voice firm. Just where the hell—

You were supportive, of course—you’d never hold him back from a choice like this—but his sudden decision, combined with the way he’d been acting over the summer, left you feeling....unsettled. Something about it just didn’t add up.

The change in Megumi had been slow and subtle, but impossible to miss.

Over the past three months, he’d grown distant, retreating into himself and spending more time in his room than with you.

The boy who used to trail after you, helping with chores or lingering in the kitchen just to chat, now seemed intent on keeping his distance. It was as if an invisible wall had sprung up between you—a large, impenetrable barrier that left you feeling helpless and unsure of how to reach him. You're relationship regressing to something that felt a little more than just indifference. And the ache of his absence settled heavily in your chest, a familiar weight that was all too similar to the isolation you’d endured within your clan.

Whenever you tried to ask gently if something was wrong, his responses were curt and dismissive.

“I’m fine,” he’d mutter. His tone sharp enough to discourage any further questions. If you pressed, he’d retreat entirely, shutting down any chance of meaningful conversation.

It wasn’t just his words that had changed—his entire demeanor was different.

He’d grown skittish, almost wary. A casual touch on his shoulder or a playful ruffle of his hair—gestures he once accepted without hesitation—would now make him flinch, his cheeks flushing an uncharacteristic red. Not meeting your eyes.

Hugs, something he’d finally grown comfortable with over time, had disappeared altogether, replaced by a deliberate and careful distance.

Even when you knocked on his door to call him for meals, he’d answer from behind it. His voice clipped and muffled rather than coming out like he used to. Like he was afraid of you.

You couldn’t pinpoint what had caused the shift, but it left you anxious, as if something important was slipping through your fingers.

You’d tried bringing up Megumi’s decision to become a sorcerer with Toji, hoping for some clarity or even reassurance. Instead, he’d brushed you off with his trademark nonchalance.

“Well, it’s the kid’s death wish. What do I have to do with it?” he’d muttered, though his irritation was poorly hidden. Toji’s avoidance of the topic didn’t help.

When Megumi did emerge from his room, he seemed different each time you saw him, the changes more noticeable as the weeks passed. Over the summer, he’d shot up in height, now towering a head or two above you by the break’s end.

His lean frame had started to fill out, and his once-soft features had taken on a subtle sharpness, hinting at the man he was growing into.

But it wasn’t just his appearance.

Megumi carried himself differently now, with a quiet restraint that felt intentional, as though he were holding something back. Even his interactions with Toji had shifted. The explosive arguments that once echoed through the house had become less frequent, replaced by a tense silence that felt all the more suffocating.

And with each passing day, you heard less and less from Megumi altogether.

Maybe it’s just hormones. Was I this moody at his age?

Adding to your unease was the unsettling shift in Toji’s presence. He’d been around more lately, taking up the spaces Megumi left vacant, though his company wasn’t exactly comforting.

His sharp taunts and teasing demeanor made every interaction feel strained and somewhat awkward. And then there were those quiet dinners—the ones where it was just the two of you sitting across the table.

Still, you exchanged a few sentences here and there, yet the silences always seemed heavier than the words.

Toji had noticed the change in Megumi, too, though his reaction was far from helpful. Instead of offering advice or insight, he leaned into his usual brand of provocation.

He spent more time loitering in the kitchen, leaning lazily against the counter with that infuriating smirk that seemed to suggest he knew far more than he let on.

“Looks like the kid’s growing up,” Toji drawled one evening, his sharp eyes flicking toward you as you worked at the stove. “Getting pretty tall now, too. Bet he doesn’t need you hovering over him anymore.”

You frowned, sparing him a glance. “I wasn’t hovering,” you said, turning back to the pot. Still, your tone carried a note of defensiveness you couldn’t entirely hide. Always when it came to Megumi.

“Sure you weren’t,” Toji said, his smirk ever-widening. “Though I gotta admit, it’s funny, you know. Watching him get all flustered around you. Kid blushes like a lovesick fool.”

Your grip on the spoon tightened, and you sighed, shaking your head in exasperation. “What are you even on about now?”

Toji’s teasing tone dropped slightly, a sharper edge creeping into his teasing voice as he stepped closer.

“Come on, it’s obvious. You really don’t see it? The way he stumbles over himself? Turns bright red every time you so much as pat his shoulder? The kid’s got it bad.”

Your hand froze mid-stir, Toji’s words hitting you like a bucket of ice water. Slowly, you turned to glare at him, heat creeping up your neck despite your best efforts to stay composed.

“That’s ridiculous,” your voice low and tight, attempting to dismiss the insinuation.

Toji, ever the perceptive fucker, didn’t miss a thing. His smirk deepening, his amusement clear.

“Is it, though?” he drawled, his tone thick with mockery. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. His eyes zoning in on you. “You sure about that?”

“Cut it out,” you snapped, your irritation bubbling over. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” he said lazily, clearly enjoying himself. “But you gotta admit, it’s a little weird. Him acting that way around his mom. And with you being so… sweet with him? You’re what—eighteen? You wanna play mommy that bad?”

The taunt made you flinch slightly.

“What? Don’t like the title? Cause Megs sure seems to love calling you that when he thinks I’m not around. "Mom this, Mom that." Real cute, honestly.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, a mix of embarrassment and frustration rising in your chest.

“He calls me that because I’m his stepmother,” you shot back, trying to sound firm, though the conviction in your voice wavered.

Toji leaned in, his breath ghosting over your neck, his tone dipping into something darker and deliberately provocative. “Oh, yeah? Swear I’ve heard him at night,” he said, his words slow and venomous. “‘Mommy—Mommy,’” he mocked, dragging the word out sinfully, savoring each syllable as his grin twisted into something wicked.

He watched your face carefully, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as your expression froze in shock. “Not exactly what you’d expect to hear coming from your kid’s room, huh?”

His words hit you like a slap, sending a shiver up your spine. Heat surged to your cheeks as you angled yourself away, gripping the spoon tighter.

“Toji,” you snapped, your voice sharp, teetering between embarrassment and frustration. “That’s disgusting.”

“What?” he replied with a feigned look of innocence, shrugging lazily, though the malicious glint in his eyes didn’t waver. He finally leaned back.

“I’m just pointing out what I’ve noticed. Kid’s got a lot on his mind these days, doesn’t he? He may not be talking to you, but trust me—he’s thinking about you. A lot.”

“That’s enough,” you bit out, your voice firm. But Toji’s continued on.

“Hear me out,” his voice thick with mockery, and far too laid back for the topic at hand.

“Before all this sorcerer crap, he was glued to your hip. Don’t act like you didn’t notice. Always trailing after you like you hung the damn moon. And you? You let him. No—you didn’t just let him—you encouraged it.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you stirred the pot, refusing to meet his gaze. “He’s just a kid,” you said tightly, your voice low. “He needed someone to lean on.”

Toji barked out a laugh, the sound cold and condescending. “Yeah, lean on. That’s what you wanna call it. Kid doesn’t just lean on you, sweetheart. He worships you. You can’t tell me you haven’t seen the way he looks at you, like you’re the only person on Earth who gives a damn about him.”

“He’s figuring things out,” you retorted, trying to inject some finality into your words—end this shitty conversation with him, though even you could feel the weakness in them. “It’s just a phase.”

“A phase,” Toji repeated with a snort. “Right. A phase that’s got him locking himself in his room and avoiding you like the plague. You think that’s normal? You think he’s just ‘figuring things out’? Sweetheart, I’ll give him six months before he grows a pair and spills his guts. Don’t come crying to me when the kid drops a confession on you.”

The spoon clattered against the edge of the pot as your hands stilled, and you turned to glare at him, your heart pounding. Why were his words effecting you so much?

“Megumi’s not like that,” you said firmly, though the quiver in your voice betrayed your conviction.

He tilted his head as if considering you.

“Maybe yes, maybe no. But don’t kid yourself, sweetheart. The way he’s acting? He doesn’t just see you as his stepmom. When he finally figures it out…” He trailed off, his grin widening, flashing his canines. “Oh, It’s gonna get real messy—for the both of you.”

Your fists clenched, heat flooding your face as frustration and unease warred within you.

“Are you done?” you hissed. “Can you stop now?”

Ignoring you, he chuckled, a low, grating sound that made your skin crawl. “Don’t be surprised if I kick the bucket and you end up with a marriage proposal on your hands. Kid’s already been giving me those killer glares. It'll be any day now, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, desperate to shake the knot tightening in your chest. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, turning your back on him and focusing intently on stirring the pot.

“Maybe,” Toji said with a crooked grin, tossing a wink your way that only made your irritation spike. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And with that, he strolled out, leaving the room in a silence that felt heavy and suffocating. His words shouldn’t have gotten to you—absurd, cruel, teasing for the sake of his own amusement—but they lingered, scratching at the corners of your mind like an itch you couldn’t ignore.

The way Megumi had been acting lately—so distant, so evasive—came rushing back to you.

Was it really just growing pains? A harmless, fleeting crush? It was normal for boys his age to feel that way, wasn’t it? But Toji’s pointed remarks, for all their venom, planted a seed of doubt that you couldn’t easily dismiss.

Even so, you couldn’t ignore the ache in your chest that came from missing him.

The day before Megumi was set to leave for Jujutsu Tech, you made a quiet vow to yourself. His growing distance, the walls he’d carefully built between you—it all weighed heavily on your heart. You couldn’t let him go without at least trying to understand what had caused the rift.

Despite the silence between you and the lingering sting of Toji’s teasing remarks, you couldn’t deny the soft spot you had for him. No matter how far he went or what path he chose, you wanted him to leave knowing one thing—he would always have a home with you. Always.

Softly, you knocked on Megumi’s door, the sound echoing in the stillness of the hallway. From inside, there was a creak of the bed, then his low, detached, "Yeah?"

"Can I come in for a minute?" you asked gently, your voice betraying the uncertainty you felt.

After a moment’s pause, his footsteps approached, the door creaking open.

Megumi stood there, towering over you, his sharp gaze locking onto yours with an unreadable expression that made your chest tighten. His recent distance, the coldness in his demeanor, still left you feeling somewhat awkward.

"I just wanted to talk," you said softly, breaking the tension. His eyes flickered away, thinking for a moment, before returning to meet yours. With a small nod, he stepped aside, allowing you to enter.

You hesitated, nerves prickling under his impassive stare, but forced yourself to step inside. This was Megumi—the same boy who used to shadow your every step, who helped with chores and sat with you on quiet evenings.

But now, the room felt heavier, the air charged with something unsettling. Unfamiliar. You perched on the edge of his bed, your hands nervously smoothing over your knees, while he leaned casually against his desk. The distance he maintained felt purposeful, deliberate.

He looked so different. His posture was composed, his arms crossed as he regarded you with an air of quiet authority that felt nearly foreign. His once-boyish features were sharper now—defined cheekbones, a strong jawline, and piercing eyes that seemed far older than they should.

He looked uncannily like Toji.

Handsome. The word slipped unbidden into your thoughts, and your stomach twisted with discomfort. You immediately pushed it aside. This was Megumi—your stepchild. You were the adult here, a maternal figure. There was no room for such thoughts, no excuse for the nervous energy buzzing under your skin.

“What’re you doing here?” His voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, startling you. It was sharp, direct, his gaze cool as it swept over you. The weight of his attention made you squirm, a sensation you couldn’t quite place.

“I—” You faltered, suddenly unsure of how to bridge the gap that had grown between you. “I just… I wanted to talk. You’re leaving tomorrow, and you’ve been avoiding me.”

His expression didn’t shift, but his head tilted slightly, as if considering your words. His eyes, however, lingered. They moved deliberately, tracing the curve of your neck, the nervous way your hands fidgeted in your lap. There was something in his gaze—quiet, intense, and unsettlingly focused.

You looked away, heat rushing to your cheeks. There was no reason to feel this nervous, no reason for the air to feel so charged. It’s Megumi. And yet, the way he was watching you, the sheer presence he carried now, made you feel small, vulnerable, like you were suddenly under scrutiny.

It reminded you too much of Toji—the quiet confidence, the unnerving calm, the way he seemed to peel back your layers without a word. You felt desperate to ease the silent tension.

“I just…” you stammered again, your voice weaker now. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. We haven’t… we haven’t talked much lately.”

Megumi didn’t reply, yet his stare remained, and for a moment, you swore there was something almost predatory in his expression—an intensity that made your chest tighten.

When he finally moved, it was slow, deliberate, like he didn’t want to spook you.

Pushing off the desk, he crossed the short distance between you, his steps measured and quiet. You stiffened, your breath catching as he loomed closer, his shadow falling over you. Your instincts screamed to move, to retreat, but you stayed frozen, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Megumi,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. His name sounded more like a plea than you intended. He didn’t answer, his towering presence swallowing the small space between you.

The sharpness in his eyes softened, just slightly, but the tension in the air remained, coiling tighter with every passing second. Whatever words you’d intended to say were gone now, lost under the weight of his presence. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were speaking to the boy you’d once known—or someone else entirely.

For Megumi, this was agony—pure, unrelenting torture. Watching you sat on his bed. Your wide, uncertain eyes—meeting his with such sincerity, was unraveling him bit by bit.

You looked so natural in his space, so right, like you belonged there.

But it wasn’t enough. Not like this.

His heart thundered in his chest, erratic and deafening, and it took everything he had to keep his expression impassive. He couldn’t let you see just how much he wanted—needed—you to stay.

But deep down, he didn’t know if you even saw him that way. Maybe you never had. Maybe to you, he was just a kid—someone to care for, to look after, not someone to lean on or depend on. The thought stung, even as he tried to push it down.

And the worst part? He hadn’t given you much reason to think otherwise. That was why he was leaving. That was why he needed to change.

“What do you want?” he asked again, his tone flat, though his piercing gaze swept over you, making you feel small, trapped under its weight.

“I…I told you, I just… I wanted to talk. You’re leaving tomorrow, and you’ve been avoiding me,” you said, your voice hesitant but steady, searching for his eyes.

His jaw tightened as his arms crossed over his chest, his posture tense and defensive. “I’ve been busy,” he said simply, though the lie didn't move past you.

“Busy avoiding me,” you countered softly, your words gentle but probing. You didn't want him retreating again, couldn't let him pull back. You leaned forward slightly, trying to catch his gaze, but, now, he stubbornly refused to meet your eyes.

“Why does it matter?” he muttered, sharper now, his tone dismissive, almost annoyed. “It’s not like I’m gone forever. I’ll be back next summer.” He was going on the defensive again.

“It matters because I care about you,” you said, holding your ground. “You’ve been distant, Megumi. I just want to understand what’s going on.”

He scoffed softly, shaking his head, his gaze set on you. “There’s nothing to talk about,” though the way his voice dipped, betrayed him. His fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his body visible.

“That’s not true,” you replied gently. “I know something’s wrong. I can see it. Please, just.....talk to me.”

His expression flickered then, a crack in his armor, letting something raw and vulnerable slip through. “You wouldn’t get it,” he finally says, his voice even quieter now, almost hesitant.

“Try me,”

The silence stretched, taut and suffocating, before he finally spoke. His voice was low, deliberate, and heavy with meaning.

“I’ll protect you.”

His words completely caught you off guard, and you blinked, unsure how to respond. “Megumi, what are you—?”

“I mean it,” he interrupted, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I’ll get stronger. Strong enough that you’ll never have to worry about them. About anything. I’ll keep you safe.”

There was something unyielding in his tone, a quiet desperation that left you reeling. “Megumi…” you began, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift in conversation, but he shook his head sharply.

“You don’t understand, I’m not letting them take you away. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you here.”

Those words hung in the air. Heavy and final, leaving no room for argument.

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. You really hadn't expected...this. Toji’s teasing, his warnings—it all clicked into place, and your stomach twisted with unease. “Megumi, did someone tell you—?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “All that matters is that you’re safe. That you stay here. With me.”

“Megumi…” you tried again, but his silence was impenetrable. The tension in the room was unbearable, and you felt your resolve faltering. He was already shutting down, retreating further into himself, and you didn’t have a damn clue how to reach him. So much for being a good mother. Then again, you thought bitterly, your role model wasn’t exactly the best to begin with.

You hesitated, torn between the urge to comfort him and the gnawing voice in the back of your mind telling you to leave quickly. “I don’t need you to protect me, Megumi,” you said softly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay calm. “I’m here to protect you. That’s what family does.”

“Family,” he repeated the word bitterly, as if it personally offended him. He straightened, turning halfway to glance at you over his shoulder. “Is that what this is to you? Just… family?”

“Of course it is,” you replied. “That’s what we are, Megumi.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening as a low, humorless laugh—almost a scoff—escaped him. “That’s all I am to you, isn’t it?” he said, his voice sharp and cutting. “Just the kid you have to look after. The one you’re stuck with.”

“Megumi, that’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped, his voice sharper, meaner than you’d ever heard it directed at you. His eyes locked onto yours, unrelenting, and something stirred behind them—something dark, layered, tangled with emotions you wouldn't even begin to name. His voice came out desperate, rushed and

“You don’t get it. You don’t understand how much I—”The words broke off, his jaw clenching as if the very thought of finishing the sentence physically hurt. The silence that followed was suffocating, the unfinished confession hanging between you like a live wire, charged and volatile, threatening to ignite everything you thought you knew about him.

“How much you what?” you asked softly, your voice breaking through the thick, suffocating silence. You took a cautious step forward, your chest tight with uncertainty but unable to let the moment go unresolved.

He didn’t answer immediately, the tension in the air thickening with every passing second. Then, finally, a quiet, almost guttural confession slipped from his lips, as though being dragged out against his will.

“How much I care about you,” he said, his voice low and raw, trembling with suppressed emotion. His eyes flicked to yours, burning with an intensity that made your breath catch. “You’re all I think about. Every day. And the thought of them taking you away, of losing you…”

His voice faltered, breaking as he trailed off, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides, his whole body trembling with barely contained emotion.

Your chest tightened painfully as you struggled to find the right words. “Megumi… I care about you too,” you began cautiously, your voice soft, like treading on fragile ice. “But this—what you’re saying—it’s not…”

“Don’t.” His voice cut through yours, sharp and raw, almost desperate. His fists clenched tighter, his gaze burning into you with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “Don’t brush this off,” he said, his tone walking the line between a demand and a plea. “Don’t tell me it’s just some… phase, or whatever excuse you’re going to use to push me away.”

Your conversation with Toji replayed in your mind like a broken record as you stepped back slightly, the weight of Megumi’s words pressing down on you like a physical force. But it wasn't enough. His intensity was suffocating, his desperate gaze pinning you in place. You couldn’t ignore the vulnerable and raw emotion in his voice, the way his words seemed to carve themselves into the air between you.

“Megumi, you’re leaving tomorrow,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “You’re starting a new chapter of your life. This—whatever this is—it’s not something we can just… talk about right now.”

“So when?” he shot back, his voice rising, trembling with an edge of anger that felt dangerously close to breaking. “When I come back? When it’s too late? Tell me—when am I supposed to say it? When am I supposed to matter enough for you to see me the way I see you?”

His words struck you like a hammer.. You opened your mouth, searching for a response, but nothing came out at first. His eyes were on you, demanding answers. Finally, you managed,

“You do matter, Megumi,” your voice breaking despite your best efforts to hold steady. You could feel the sting of tears threatening, your composure slipping with every second under his intense scrutiny. “But this… I don’t know how to—”

“Just don’t leave,” he whispered, his voice breaking, raw, needy. “I’ll get stronger. I promise. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just… please. Don't leave.”

His vulnerability clawed at your chest, each word heavy with a weight you didn’t know how to carry. The silence that followed was unbearable. Suffocating. Guilt scrapped along you conscious.

He turned away, his shoulders slumping under the burden of what he couldn’t say—and what you couldn’t answer. You opened your mouth, wanting to comfort him, to offer anything—but the words wouldn’t come.

The moment stretched too long, aching and unresolved, before you finally stepped out, the door clicking softly behind you.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, barely audible, his voice laced with defeat.

But you were already gone.

And the next day, Megumi left for Jujutsu Tech.

p.1

p.8

AN: To be continued soon. please give a follow and reblog if you want to stay updated - or follow along on my ao3

#yandere #dead dove do not eat #manipulative #male yandere #jjk #obsessive yandere #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi x yn #yandere megumi #unhealthy coping mechanisms #unhealthy obsession #needy #google chrome sucks ass sometimes #the fact that ao3 doesn’t save work as you go sucks ass sometimes #lemme complain for a second #slow build #mommy k!nk

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blackenedsnow · 19 hours ago

Note

hi! i love your writing :)

i head canon that shadow volunteers for mental health organizations where they help people because he’s been there himself and wants to help people.

can you do a platonic shadow x reader one shot on that? reader is an extremely mentally ill person that shadow finds at the place he volunteers?

a quiet kind of hope

WARNING: Themes of severe depression, intrusive thoughts, implied self-isolation.

PAIRING: Shadow the Hedgehog & Reader

NOTE: Hi!! Oh my gosh, thank you for this sweet request. Shadow volunteering for mental health organizations is such a perfect headcanon—I love the idea of him channeling his past struggles into helping others. Thank you for trusting me with something so tender. Please take care of yourself. Sending love your way <333

SUMMARY: At a community mental health center where Shadow volunteers, he finds himself drawn to you—a quiet, lost soul in need of someone who understands.

The fluorescent lights of the community center hummed faintly above as you sat tucked into a corner, knees drawn to your chest. People came and went, their footsteps echoing against the scuffed linoleum floor, but no one seemed to notice you—or if they did, they didn’t stop.

You weren’t sure why you’d come here. Maybe it was the promise of a warm drink, or the idea that someone might listen without judgment. Maybe it was just somewhere to go when the walls of your apartment felt too heavy to bear.

Shadow walked past with his usual quiet purpose. He didn’t hover or pry, but his presence was impossible to ignore. He was there enough to seem imposing, yet somehow still approachable—his crimson eyes catching the light like embers as he glanced around the room.

It wasn’t until his third lap near your corner that he finally paused.

“You’re not here for the coffee,” he said, his voice low but not unkind.

Startled, you looked up at him. Shadow didn’t sit; he crouched down instead, resting one arm on his knee to meet you at eye level.

“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.

You shook your head. Words felt too heavy to form.

Shadow tilted his head, studying you. There was no pity in his gaze—only patience. He knew better than to push for answers you weren’t ready to give.

“I’m Shadow,” he said after a moment. “I volunteer here. If you need anything—or if you just want to sit quietly—that’s fine.”

His presence was steady, like an anchor. You nodded hesitantly, unsure if he would leave or stay. To your surprise, he moved to sit on the floor nearby, keeping enough distance to give you space but staying close enough to show he wasn’t going anywhere.

For a long while, neither of you spoke.

It became a pattern over the next few weeks. Shadow never forced you to talk, never asked for more than you were willing to share. Sometimes, you’d sit in silence while he worked on paperwork or handed out supplies to other visitors. Other times, he’d offer simple observations—a comment about the weather, or a quiet remark about how the coffee was even worse than usual today.

He made it easy to exist without expectations.

One day, when the room was emptier than usual, you finally found the courage to speak.

“Why do you do this?” you asked, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

Shadow glanced up from his clipboard. For a moment, he looked almost surprised.

“I’ve been where you are,” he said simply. “I know what it’s like to feel… stuck. Like there’s no way out. I had help when I needed it. This is my way of paying it forward.”

His honesty was disarming. You stared at your hands, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve.

“It doesn’t feel like it’ll get better,” you admitted.

“It doesn’t, at first,” Shadow said. “But it can. Slowly. The first step is the hardest—you took it when you walked in here.”

His words settled over you like a blanket—not an instant cure, but a quiet reassurance. For the first time in weeks, the weight on your chest felt just a little lighter.

Over time, your conversations grew longer. Shadow never pushed you to share more than you were comfortable with, but he listened intently to everything you said. He remembered the little details—your favorite tea, the book you were slowly working through, the things that scared you most on bad days.

In his own way, he showed you that it was okay to take up space in the world.

You didn’t realize how much you’d come to rely on his presence until one evening, when the community center was unusually quiet. You’d been lost in thought, staring at the fading light outside, when Shadow appeared beside you with two steaming cups of tea.

“For you,” he said, setting one down carefully.

You blinked up at him. “Thank you. For everything.”

Shadow’s expression softened, just enough for you to notice.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “You’re doing the hard part. I’m just here to remind you that you’re not alone.”

But one day…

The space you usually occupied in the corner of the center was empty.

Shadow’s sharp gaze swept across the room again, as if expecting you to appear any moment, but the hours ticked by, and the door remained closed.

It wasn’t unusual for people to miss a day here or there—life had a way of pulling people in unpredictable directions—but this wasn’t like you. You came to the center every time it was open, like clockwork, even on the days when you barely said a word.

Shadow couldn’t ignore the heavy feeling settling in his chest.

“You looking for someone?” one of the other volunteers asked as she packed up for the night.

Shadow nodded, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Yes. A regular.”

She smiled sympathetically. “Maybe they just needed a break. Sometimes it’s overwhelming for folks.”

“Maybe,” Shadow replied, but the doubt in his voice was evident.

He stayed a little longer than usual, tidying up stray cups and chairs as an excuse to linger. When it became clear you weren’t coming, he left, stepping out into the cold night air.

The thought of you walking home alone—head down, shoulders hunched—stuck in his mind.

The next day, you still didn’t show.

Shadow’s unease grew, twisting into something sharper. He tried to focus on his tasks, but his mind kept circling back to the hollow ache in his chest. He hated how familiar it felt.

When the center closed that evening, he made a decision. He wasn’t the type to sit around waiting for answers.

He remembered fragments of things you’d shared in passing—your neighborhood, the street you lived on. Shadow wasn’t one to pry, but he had a way of listening closely, piecing together the little details others might miss.

The streets were quiet as he walked, the night heavy with the kind of stillness that pressed against his ears. He found your building easily enough: a squat, aging structure with peeling paint and a flickering light by the entrance.

He climbed the stairs quickly, his footsteps echoing faintly.

When Shadow knocked, there was no answer.

He tried again, harder this time. “It’s me,” he called. “Shadow.”

For a long moment, there was only silence. Then, faintly, he heard movement inside.

“Go away,” came your voice, muffled and small.

Shadow’s ears twitched. You sounded exhausted—hollow in a way he hadn’t heard before.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” he said, his tone firm but not harsh. “But I need to know you’re okay.”

Another long pause. Eventually, the door creaked open just a crack.

You didn’t meet his eyes. Your face was tired, your shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world was pressing down on you.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, but the words were unconvincing even to yourself.

Shadow’s gaze softened. “You’re not.”

The door opened a little wider, and he could see the state of your apartment—the cluttered surfaces, the curtains drawn tight against the light. It was clear you hadn’t been taking care of yourself, and the sight of it made something tighten in his chest.

“I didn’t want to go today,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to do… anything.”

Shadow stepped inside carefully, closing the door behind him. He didn’t speak right away, giving you time to retreat to the edge of your bed. You sat with your head in your hands, your breaths uneven.

“I know how that feels,” he said quietly, moving to sit on the floor near you. “Sometimes the world feels too big. Like you can’t face it.”

Your fingers curled tighter into your hair. “It’s not just that,” you said, your voice cracking. “It’s… everything. It’s all wrong, and I can’t fix it. I’m just—” You stopped, choking back a sob.

“You’re overwhelmed,” Shadow finished for you, his voice steady. “That doesn’t make you weak.”

Your breathing hitched.

Shadow leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You’ve survived this long. That means you’re stronger than you think.”

His words weren’t flowery or overly comforting—they were simple, grounded in truth.

“Why do you care so much?” you asked, your voice raw.

“I told you before. I’ve been there,” he said without hesitation. “I know how lonely it feels. I’m not going to let somebody drown in it.”

Shadow stayed with you that night. He didn’t push you to talk, but he also didn’t leave. He tidied the room quietly, opened the curtains to let in the moonlight, and made sure you drank a glass of water before you finally lay down.

As you drifted off, his words lingered in your mind: You’re not alone.

For the first time in days, it felt like you weren’t.

#shadow the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow the hedgehog fanfic #shadow x reader #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic fanfiction #x reader #ask #fanfic #request #oneshot

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kathlare · 3 days ago

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taking the leap

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: After an exhilarating race at the Australian Grand Prix, Lando is on a high from finishing on the podium. His friends start to tease him about the constant smile on his face and his unusual phone habits. In a moment of vulnerability, Lando admits that he and Amelie have been secretly dating since November. Lando realizes that his personal happiness, both in love and with his friends, is what truly makes this moment memorable.

Wordcount: 1.4 k

Warnings: just fluff

request over here!

March 23rd, 2024 - Melbourne, Australia

The roar of the crowd was still fresh in Lando’s ears as he stepped off the podium, his heart still racing from the rush of adrenaline. The Australian Grand Prix had been everything he’d hoped for and more—a beautiful battle for P3, finally landing him on the podium after an agonizing stretch to start the 2024 season. As the champagne sprayed, he shared the moment with Carlos, who took the victory, and Charles, who stood proud beside him in second.

Back in the paddock, Lando was buzzing, the excitement from the race still keeping him on cloud nine. But there was one thing that had his smile a little wider than usual, one thing that his friends, if they noticed, weren’t going to let him live down.

As he made his way back to the driver’s lounge, Alex, George, and Charles were already there, laughing and talking about the race. Lando plopped down onto the couch next to Charles, his phone still clutched in his hand. His grin couldn’t be wiped off his face, no matter how hard he tried.

—You’re seriously gonna be like this all day, aren’t you?— Alex said, glancing over at him with a knowing smile.

Lando chuckled, slipping the phone back into his pocket. —What can I say? It’s been a good race. I’m happy.—

George leaned over, raising an eyebrow. —Yeah, we can see that. You’ve been glued to your phone all race weekend. What’s going on, mate? Someone finally texting you back?—

Lando rolled his eyes, his grin widening. —You’re all so nosy.—

—Come on, we’re just curious, mate.— Charles chimed in, leaning forward with a playful glint in his eye. —Who’s got our boy smiling like that? I think we all deserve to know, considering it’s not the usual, mysterious “Instagram scrolling” face you make.—

—It’s not Instagram scrolling!— Lando protested, though his grin didn’t fade. —It’s... a friend, alright? Just a friend.—

—Yeah, right, just a friend.— George chuckled. —I’ve never seen you look at your phone that much unless it’s something... or someone special.—

Lando tried to suppress another smile, but it was no use. —It’s not what you think.—

Alex leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. —Oh, now you’ve definitely got us intrigued. Who is this ‘friend’ that’s got you grinning like a Cheshire cat?—

Lando’s gaze flickered between his friends, unsure whether to let them in on the secret. He’d been keeping things between him and Amelie quiet for a while now. They’d had their reasons, not wanting to make a spectacle of things. But after months of careful whispers, his patience was wearing thin.

—Alright, fine.— Lando finally relented, his shoulders sagging in defeat. —You wanna know? It’s Amelie.—

The room went quiet for a beat.

—Wait, what?— George blinked, clearly not sure if he��d heard right.

—Amelie? As in, Checo's Amelie?— Charles asked, his voice rising in disbelief.

Lando nodded, his smile softening. —Yeah, that Amelie. We’ve been... seeing each other for a while now.—

Alex’s face lit up, a grin spreading across his face. —No way! You two? That’s huge— he laughed, looking at George and Charles, both of whom were still processing the news.

—Hold up, hold up.— George raised a hand, his eyes narrowing in on Lando. —So you’re telling us... you’ve been texting her non-stop this whole time because... you two are together? For real?—

Lando’s grin became a little sheepish. —Yeah. We’ve been dating since November. Just... kept it low key.—

—That’s insane.— Charles shook his head, still not quite believing it. —You two were always so flirty, but I thought it was just... you know, part of the whole ‘we’re good friends’ act.—

—That’s the thing.— Lando leaned back, stretching his legs out. —We were friends first. But after... well, after everything that happened in the past, we kind of just picked things back up. It’s... it’s real now.—

—Real now?— George repeated, his voice laced with mock seriousness. —Mate, when did this start? Like, you two are actually an item? That’s mental. Are you seriously telling me Checo knows about this?—

Lando froze. His stomach twisted slightly at the mention of Checo. —Yeah, Checo knows. He was one of the first ones, actually.—

Alex raised an eyebrow. —Checo knows, and he’s not going to kill you for it? That’s... surprising.—

Lando laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. —Well, to be fair, it was a bit awkward at first. He’s protective of her, you know? He basically raised her. But we’ve talked it through, and he’s supporting us now. Though... I think he still thinks I’m an idiot most of the time.—

—Well, it is Checo.— George smirked. —That guy’s gonna kill you when he realizes you two are more than just texting. I don’t care what he says. You know how he is with his sister-in-law.—

—Yeah, I know.— Lando chuckled, but there was a slight edge of nervousness in his voice. —I think the first time he found out we were actually together, he nearly gave me a heart attack. He... well, he wasn’t exactly thrilled at first. But we worked through it. Slowly. He’s definitely... not as keen on me as Amelie is.—

—You think?— George shot him a knowing look. —Honestly, mate, I would’ve been more worried if Checo was cool with it. The man’s like an older brother to her, so I can imagine the real conversation happened behind closed doors. What’s it like now? You guys get along better?—

Lando shifted uncomfortably, his thoughts turning to the many talks they’d had. He remembered the first time he’d seen Checo after he and Amelie started dating seriously, the intense conversation they’d shared in Bahrain. Checo had not been happy about it at first—understandably so, given how close he was to Amelie—but they had worked through it. Slowly. Still, there were moments when Lando could sense that Checo was silently judging him, always watching to see if he’d mess up. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

—Yeah, well... Checo’s already pretty aware of how much I care about her. He’s been cool about it, but it’s still kind of awkward. I can tell he’s trying to come to terms with it.—

The door to the lounge creaked open, and in walked Checo himself, his eyes immediately landing on Lando, then narrowing slightly in amusement.

—What’s all this?— Checo asked, a grin creeping up on his face as he took a seat near them. —Are you guys finally getting to the point where you’re gonna spill the beans about what Lando’s been so damn happy about?—

Lando froze for a second, a nervous chuckle escaping him. —I think we were just getting there, yeah.—

—Oh really?— Checo raised an eyebrow. —Finally going public with it, are we? About time. I was starting to think you’d keep this thing going in the shadows forever.—

Lando looked at Checo, realizing his tone wasn’t one of anger, but more of teasing. —I mean... we were trying to keep it low-key, you know? Didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. But I guess we’re pretty obvious now, huh?—

Checo shrugged, still grinning. —I figured it out a while ago. And honestly, it’s fine. You two look happy. I’m just waiting for you to make me an uncle. That’s the real kicker.—

Lando’s face turned bright red at the comment, and Alex burst out laughing.

—Mate, you’re really gonna start talking about kids now? Checo, slow down, we’re still in the “dating” phase.—

—Hey, it’s not my fault Lando’s the one moving faster than his car on a straightaway.— Checo teased, then turned to Lando with a wink. —But seriously, I’m happy for you, man. Just take care of her, alright? You know how I feel about her. If you hurt her, I’ll break your legs.—

Lando laughed nervously. —I get it. I’m not going anywhere. I’m in this for the long haul, I swear.—

Checo’s grin softened, and he gave Lando a nod. —Good. Just remember, I’m always watching. And don’t think for a second I won’t pull up if I need to give you a little “friendly” reminder.—

Lando raised his hands in mock surrender. —I hear you loud and clear. Promise I’m not messing this up. She’s everything.—

The group settled into a more comfortable silence, the teasing continuing in a more relaxed tone. But as Lando looked around at his friends, he couldn’t help but feel grateful. Not just for his podium, but for the people who supported him—especially Amelie, who was always there, cheering him on in the background, her text message popping up with little words of encouragement. It was the little things that made it all feel real. And no matter how much Checo might tease him, Lando was certain of one thing: he was exactly where he was meant to be.

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sandeewithtwoe · 11 months ago

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Apparently the last ask I got was a scam! Sorry for the confusion. If you reblogged my ask, I’d suggest to undo it! Thank you

#damn I got bamboozled #if you’re unsure about what ask I’m talking about #it was a person with breathing problems #i deleted the ask

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exopelagic · 3 months ago

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talking to him more very much achieved. we just talked for like 4 hours in the kitchen holy shit I need to sleep

#I went into the kitchen to wash up wanting it to be a few minutes to get back to my parents by he came home at the same time #unsure what just happened honestly! as in I’m not sure what is going on from his end of the interaction #because I have never met anyone who would just do that before. like four hours straight when before we’d talked for periods of idk 10minutes #and he WAS engaged the whole time #granted he spent a significant amount of time talking. he talked far more than I did which is often the case but Im not sure how I felt here #I think he gets excited abt individual topics and. gets carried away is the wrong word but he gets absorbed in it #he spent a while talking me through the very complex maths he’s been doing recently #(he studies maths. also abt to start masters.) and was assuming a much stronger mathematical background than I have but I understood a bunch #he IS very good at explaining things and I was interested to a point but unfortunately I was not going to ask about individual theorems and #shit like that at 11pm. it was still super interesting I’m not downplaying that but I didn’t know half of what he brought up #there was basically no way I was going to understand much more than the vague concept anyway #anyway! also extremely into food. especially into traditional chinese cooking which is cool as fuck and I now know so much more abt food #I have never personally cared much at all about food. I enjoy when taste good and I enjoy cooking. he’s into the precision cooking #that he told me apparently Chinese and French food is the best in the world at. meant to be amazing at going for specific effects #oh he came back from a musical! apparently abt a woman with bipolar that was on in London I might check what that was. next to normal #cried 7 times. apparently he’s super into stories with that kinda emotional payoff. started telling me later abt tokyo animation #priest if you’re already seeing this I WILL be asking you abt it later but pls tell me whatever. he likes clannad and sound euphorium #bunch of others but those are the ones he talked most abt and started tearing up when he played me a song from clannad where the baby’s born #so I think biggest things I’ve learned are that he’s impressively in touch w his emotions (further damaging the straight guy case)#regardless it’s just nice to talk to a guy who talks abt stuff so openly it’s very refreshing #unsure how cultural differences factor in here. I would’ve expected it to go the other way but possible this is a degree more normal #and he’s very very academically minded. he learned Japanese bc was bored after high school and is doing a WHOLE lot of extra maths for fun #socially definitely very competent he’s very good at talking but a little more focused inward.#definitely did not notice the (admittedly extremely gentle) flirting throughout like when I complimented his bracelet #(this cute gold year of the rat thing his mum got him)#so yeah. was very fun talking to him. will process this for a while #I think this has definitely established that we could be friends if either of us pursue that after summer which is very cool!! will see #luke.txt

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rafesweetie · 18 days ago

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in which you’re forced into having a talk with your ex-boyfriend, rafe cameron, on the boat ride to morocco.

being a pogue and rafe cameron’s ex was not easy. although you dated shortly before he killed peterkin, and you were sure he barely even remembered your favourite colour, seeing him blatanly disrespect you and his friends, and go down a path you tried so hard to prevent him from, was hard to watch. but now he’s picked himself up since ward died. you thought you had another chance to at least be on good terms. sending flowers and a card to tanneyhill when ward died, smiling at him when you’d see him around. it didn’t work, he still hated you and your friends.

fortunately, he redeemed himself ever so slightly by volunteering to take the pogues to morocco. rafe had to find chandler groff, you guys wanted the blue crown. it was perfect.

until jj punched him, that is. he knocked him out cold. with a scolding “jj!” coming from majority of the pogues, including you, jj carries him down into the downstairs washroom and ties his wrists to a pole. they don’t trust him, which is fair. you don’t either — you shouldn’t, anyway.

rafe was down there quietly for a mere half hour until he woke up with a groan from his head hitting the ground earlier, followed up with yelling once he realizes he was stuck down there.

all touching your noses and saying ‘not it’ the minute pope suggests someone going down there to check on him, you’re the unlucky one who said it last. shutting up your protests, john b gently coaxes you downstairs, saying things like, “you used to mack on him”, “this is good, you know him”, “he won’t hurt you,” john b leaves you downstairs once you make it to the door of the bathroom. knocking gently, you timidly ask, “can i come in?”

there’s no answer. you can picture him. wrists tied, brows furrowed, eyes closed tightly as his head leans against the wall and towards the ceiling. his gorgeous stressed face. you slowly open the door, peeking your head in. “hi,” you say gently, timid around the scary and aggressive man you have the curse of calling your ex.

“…hey,” rafe says, voice rough as he shuts his eyes tight.

unsure what to say, you awkwardly stand there and stare down at him. “um, i brought asprin,”

“right, right, like i can fuckin’ swallow it. what, you gonna throw it in my mouth like a.. seal or something?” sassy, his upper lip lifts a bit as he thinks about it and isn’t very fond of the idea.

a second of silence as you figure out what to say. “…um, ill just set it down here,” you say, putting the container down beside him. “sorry about your head.”

“yeah, uh, your little boyfriend can’t control his fists, huh?”

“…not my boyfriend,” you correct softly, though you’re not sure why you feel the need to tell him that. “but no one really.. trusts you, rafe, so you kind of brought this on yourself—“

he quickly interrupts you. “bullshit. you know why that’s bullshit? because i was helping. who got you this boat, huh? me. i did. rafe. i’m the reason that you guys aren’t swimming, or some shit, to north africa. i’m being helpful and understanding, and this is what i get. you think that’s fair?” when you’re stood there in silence at his sudden raised voice, he repeats, “you think that’s fucking fair, y/n!?” he kicks a can in anger.

it’s like you’re his girlfriend again as you sit down next to him instantly instead of running. you get deja vu to the time three years ago when he was high on coke and got kicked out of the house. everyone ignored him except for you. “..um, okay, i’m gonna give you some asprin,” you say softly. “help your head. open,” you tell him, grabbing a pill as he gives you a look but opens his mouth. you pop it in his mouth and he dry swallows. “there.”

you two share a look. you don’t think it’s a bad look by any means. he looks frustrated still, but there’s an underlying gentleness in his eyes, as if he registers you’re still the same girl you were when you two were together. “…and, um, for the record, i don’t think it’s fair that you’re down here. you helped us, thats.. nice.”

the word ‘us’ when referring to you and the pogues makes him feel weird. “i don’t get why you hang out with them,” he mutters as he looks at the ground. “tried so fucking hard to keep you away from them when we were.. together.”

“i know,” you whisper, your gaze dropping as well, to his tied wrists. you feel awful. “trust me, your warnings still play in my head when i’m with them sometimes,”

“you remind me of sarah.” he says. you’re not sure what that means.

“you hate sarah,”

“nah, nah— i don’t hate her. hate who she’s turned into,” he adjusts himself. “she makes me sad. i’m sad for her, alright? she had so much potential.“ he shrugs. “but there’s no saving her. she’s in too deep,” he looks back up at you again. “i think there’s saving you, though,”

“…this is weird, rafe,”

“how?” he asks.

“because in the years we’ve been broken up, you’ve never talked to me about this. feels like it’s a… trick or something,”

“it’s not a trick,” he assures, voice still rough. “look, i’m out half a mill, i’m tied up in a bathroom, i’m probably gonna.. die or something. i got nothing to lose, may as well tell you my concern,”

“um, i appreciate it,” you say gently, unsure how to respond. “and i’m gonna go back upstairs.”

“hey— no, woah, woah, woah,” he stops you quickly. “stay. okay?”

“i should go up and help with dinner, though—“

“no, stay. i— i want you to stay, okay? i don’t wanna be down here alone, and i want you away from the pogues,”

he doesn’t wanna be alone. you feel bad for him all over again, nodding gently as you sit back down beside him. you always were so good for rafe.

you’re not sure how long you’ll be down here with him. maybe until it’s late at night and he’s asleep. so gently, after about five minutes of silence, to ease some of the tension and pass the time, you murmur a, “truth or dare?”

rafe just smiles.

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dandelionsresilience · 26 days ago

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Just in case Trump wins:

right after Trump was elected in 2016, suicidality skyrocketed. If you’re considering suicide in the wake of the election this year, at least wait until after it’s absolutely certain that he’s won - after every vote has been counted, every state certified, and maybe even after he’s been sworn in (IF he wins), just to make sure he doesn’t go to prison instead. Watch the results come in live here, but don’t obsess or let them sway your vote. (To be clear, I don’t want a single person to commit suicide over the election results, no matter what. But I know from experience that “don’t do it” is thoroughly unhelpful, so instead I’m saying at least wait.)

if you’re considering suicide because you fear worsening material conditions, you might think a hotline can’t help with that. and it’s true that they can’t change legislation or promise you’ll be safe. but it’s worth double checking whether what you’re actually hurting from is in fact unfixable. right now, just getting through the emotions can help you regain a more objective view of the situation, and then you can work on surviving it. plus, when something bad happens, we tend to vastly overestimate how bad it will seem in the future, no matter how bad it actually is.

In my experience, it might take a few tries before you find a hotline that picks up, either because they’re so busy, or they’re closed at that time, or they simply don’t serve your location or demographic, so under the thingy I’ve listed more than just the same handful that tend to show up on other websites. Even if you’re not actively suicidal, you can talk to them about your hard feelings, ask for material resources, or just vent to a compassionate listener.

FIND HELP

HopeLine - call/text: 877-235-4525

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline - call/text: 988 | chat

Crisis Text Line - text HOME to 741741 | chat

help getting out of the military

for underrepresented adults:

Thrive Lifeline - text THRIVE to 313-662-8209

for pre-teens, teens, and young adults:

Your Life Your Voice - call: 800-488-3000 | text VOICE to 20121 | email

for teens (limited hours):

Teen Line - call: 800-852-8336 | text TEEN to 839863 | email

for trans and questioning people:

Trans Lifeline - call: 1-877-565-8860

for people with substance dependency:

Never Use Alone Overdose Prevention Hotline - call: 877-696-1996

for BIPOC (“with an LGBTQ+ Black Femme Lens”):

BlackLine - call: 1-800-604-5841

for college students of colour:

The Steve Fund Crisis Text Line - text STEVE to 741741

for LGBTQ+ young people:

The Trevor Project - call: 1-866-488-7386 | text START to 678678 | chat

for homeless or runaway youth:

National Runaway Safeline - call/text: 1-800-786-2929 | (has chat and email, but I think the link includes tracking)

for Muslim youth (limited hours):

Naseeha Youth Hotline - call: 1-866-627-3342

Amala Hopeline - call: 1-855-952-6252

for Jewish queer youth (warmline, may take up to 24 hours to reply):

JQY Warmline - call/text: 551-579-4673

for veterans:

Veterans Crisis Line - call: 988, option 1 | text: 838255 | chat

for veterans and their families:

Lifeline for Vets - call: 888-777-4443

for pregnant people:

Crisis Pregnancy Hotline - call: 888-628-3353 | text: 714-448-8323

for parents unsure of their ability to care for a newborn:

National Safe Haven Alliance - call: 888-510-2229 | text SAFEHAVEN to 313131

International Council for Helplines Member Organisations

Warmlines - for emotional support, if you just need to talk; a lower level of support than crisis hotlines

NAMI Helpline directory

Key warmline directory (unclear if 317-550-0060 might also be a warmline, I haven’t tried it)

Wildflower Alliance Peer Support Line (limited hours) - call: 888-407-4515

#us politics #us elections #tw sui ideation #suicideprevention #mental health #crisis hotline #resources #info

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eomayas · 6 months ago

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distracted • hjs

pairing: husband&dad!joshua, wife&mom!reader, established relationship

genre: smut 18+ MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!! fluff, parent au, non-idol au

synopsis: reader is literally just feral for joshua

warnings: pwp, p in v, oral (m receiving), riding, praise, dirty talk, soft!dom!josh, breeding, josh calls reader a ‘slut’ (lovingly) once, reader & josh are parents, reader losing her mind over josh mainly. JOSHUA ARMS. unedited ;)))

a/n: i’ve experienced extreme joshua brainrot lately then did an extreme deep dive of jarms (joshua arms) until 2 in the morning. i am unwell and need him like a fish needs water

joshua pushes the shopping cart that holds groceries, and your daughter in the front of the basket, down the aisle. you trail a step or two behind them, mind a bit foggy and… distracted. you don’t know what it is, he’s just wearing a plain, white tshirt and blue jeans—he’s worn it before—and you’re running errands together like you always do. but today is different, and you can’t seem to comprehend a single thing going on around you, or really look at your husband without feeling mild insanity.

first, you’d wandered into the store in a daze, forgetting that joshua was grabbing the shopping cart with your daughter, after having sat in the front seat watching him drive for twenty minutes. his hand sat steady at ten and two, ever the safe driver when your daughter was present, though at stop lights he would sometimes grab your hand or settle his palm on your leg. you felt lost since the morning, woke up with your mind cloudy and your brain foggy just at the mere sight of him.

then, you couldn’t remember a single thing on your grocery list. in your clouded state, you must’ve forgotten the list in the kitchen; it wasn’t a big deal, except for the fact that you literally couldn’t think about a single thing that you needed to buy, and you are usually the one leading the pack around the store. so the three of you have been wandering around the grocery store for longer than you want to be, circling back to the same aisles you’ve already been on because you can’t remember what it is you need to buy.

now you’re back in the dairy aisle, unsure of why you’re back because youve already grabbed milk and cream cheese, so you’re just standing in front of the cold, double doors without a single thought in your head. “yogurt, maybe?” joshua tries, pausing his conversation with your child to help you out. you blink once, twice before mumbling out a ‘right’ and pulling the doors open and grabbing a container.

“mommy, that’s not the right one!” your daughter whines when you drop it in the basket. she’s frowning at you, eyebrows crinkled the same way joshua’s do. god. you make the mistake of looking up at him, and your entire body flushes you meet his gaze. his eyes are soft but questioning, asking if you if you’re alright without actually saying it. no, i’m not, you think to yourself, discreetly sweeping your hand up your neck to check your pulse. it’s fast, and you’re definitely still alive.

joshua watches you with mild concern; he’s noticed your strange, avoidant behavior since this morning when he got back from the gym. you had looked almost surprised when he walked into your bedroom, like you weren’t expecting him back. your eyes widened, and your lips parted like you were going to say something but nothing came out. he beat you to words, anyway, giving you a soft ‘good morning’ that made you blush—he’d ignored it because you seemed… off—and kissed you on the lips. he thought he really smelled with the way you rushed your lips off of his and rolled out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet. joshua grabbed you so you wouldn’t fall, and he felt you tense in his hold, a frown etching on his features. he brushed it off and asked if you wanted to shower with him, expecting a ‘yes’ from the look that flashed through your eyes, but you instead mumbled something about having to make breakfast before hurrying out of the bedroom all together. you basically avoided him all day since then, never really looking at him or talking to him directly—none of which you do on a constant basis.

the yogurt was, in fact, incorrect down to the brand and flavor. “i’m sorry, baby,” you say to your daughter, running a hand over her hair before grabbing the yogurt to swap it out for the correct one, this time taking a few seconds to scan everything in the fridge. you appreciate the cold air from the refrigerator, as it cools you down from the rush of heat you feel along your face and neck. you take a breath and tell yourself to get a fucking grip before dropping the correct item into the cart.

“daddy, can i get ice cream?” your daughter asks joshua as you start ambling through the grocery store. you cut your eyes at your daughter for not asking you, but you know it’s because joshua never says no to her.

“of course, princess,” and you watch with pure adoration as he places a kiss on her forehead and she just giggles, scrunching her shoulders up to her ears. joshua is a good husband, but he’s an even better father, and you love watching him interact with your daughter. they have a special connection that you love to witness, a secret language just between the two of them. it’s moment like this where you want another kid—or maybe it’s part of the hazy mess you’re in because of his sheer existence.

you follow behind joshua towards the ice cream aisle. the shirt he wears is tight on him, straining against his biceps and shoulders. you can make out his back muscles depending on how the light hits the fabric, and you feel even crazier than before. his muscles have been the source of your you distracted state today. joshua has always been muscular, and he’s always worked out, but something about him recently has flipped a switch in your brain that has made you feel absolutely feral every time you catch a mere glimpse of his arms—which is quite literally every day. this morning it was too overwhelming, him coming home and shedding his jacket to reveal himself in a simple black tank top that looked a size too small, and gray sweats that made you feel like you needed to go to confessional.

another rush of cold air pulls you out of your lustful daze and you stand at the back of the shopping cart as joshua shuffles through the cartons of ice cream, asking your daughter her input. you try to keep your eyes focused on your daughter, anything else, but cant help when they drift over to your husband, his arms flexing each time he grabs a pint and displays it to your daughter. joshua casts a glance at you, a smile that says can you believe this? when you daughter shakes her head for the fourth time, despite not asking to look for herself. you blush under his gaze, heat spreading down your neck and chest before settling in your stomach.

"i thought you liked the oreo one?" you say to your daughter, voice slightly hoarse. you smooth a hand over her hair to give yourself something to do, hands a little clammy from all of your nerves working overtime.

"i do..." she trails off, turning to look at you with a tiny pout on her lips.

"tell daddy before he freezes," you say, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. just the mere reference to joshua feels heavy in your mouth, makes your stomach flutter for reasons you can't really explain.

joshua places the pint of oreo ice cream into the cart, circling around to the front and playfully ticking your daughter under her chin. she giggles loudly and you smile as you watch her become a spitting image of her father. arms cage you between the carts handlebar and a firm chest, and suddenly your eyes are no longer on your kid but on the strong, veiny forearms that belong to your husband. “excuse me,” he murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice like he knows that you’re losing your mind at the simple sight of him.

wordlessly, you gently grab his right arm to remove yourself from his entrapment. “hey,” joshua says softly, reaching out for your wrist as you move swiftly to get away from him. turning, goosebumps arise on your skin, and you tell yourself that it’s because his hands are ice cold. “you okay, honey?” your stomach flips and you press your lips into a small smile, nodding.

joshua stares at you for a beat before leaning down a few inches, silently begging for a kiss. you nearly combust at the thought, not trustworthy of yourself to behave normally in public. but his eyes are fond, and you love him so much and want him so bad that you raise up on your toes and brace yourself on his shoulders before delivering a soft, quick peck to his lips. you’re proud of yourself for holding back, but joshua isn’t satisfied because he stays leaned over in the spot you kissed him in for a few seconds after the fact that you’ve pulled away. if you were at home, he’d yank you back to him but because you’re in public he files that grievance away and straightens up.

“i want a kiss,” your daughter pouts, cutely crossing her arms over her chest. since she doesn’t specify from whom, both of you lean in and press kisses to her cheeks. her giggle ripples through you, filling your stomach with butterflies and your chest with a type of love reserved only for her. you’re momentarily pulled away from your joshua shaped daze, until his hand is settling on your lower back. it chilling, his touch, and it’s not because his hands are ice cold from standing in the grocery store freezer for two minutes.

a shiver runs up your spine and you slip out of his grasp, not paying attention to where or what you’re walking into until joshua is pulling you back into him, his hand splayed across your stomach and your back colliding with his chest. “babe, watch out,” a woman pushing a cart stops short, a look of remorse on her face.

“oh my god, did i hit you?” she asks, and you figure you must look injured or something, because she looks genuinely concerned for your wellbeing. the flush on your face is not due to the fact that you were almost ran over, but because joshua hasn’t moved his hand from your stomach and hasn’t put any distance between your back and his front. he stays pressed against you, holding you firmly in front of him, his hold tightening ever so slightly.

“n-no, i’m alright,” you manage, lips tingling. “i swear.” you add when her eyebrows don’t drop from her hairline. at that, she seems to believe you enough snd offers you a smile and a curt nod before hurrying down the aisle.

“are you alright, honey? you’re trembling,” joshua says, his deep voice like melted wax running down your back. you make the mistake of looking up and over your shoulder at him, his palm pressing into your lower belly.

he peers down at you with soft eyes, ready to question you again until your tongue darts out to wet your lips before you tuck your bottom lip under your top one and nod. he knows the look in your eyes all too well—hunger, but not for food—and heat pools in his chest. joshua is much better at hiding his desire for you, especially in public and in front of your child, and he’s able to keep his expression the same, pretending he never saw that look in your eye. “i’m fine,” you’re shuffling away from him again, this time checking to make sure you’re not seconds away from being ran over with a shopping cart.

somehow, you three mange to finish your shopping trip without anymore mishaps. it requires circling back to the same aisles more than once because neither you nor josh can remember what you wanted to buy, but at least you can say you’re done. joshua loads the groceries into the trunk while you buckle your daughter into the backseat. she yawns, stretching her little arms up and out. “sleepy?” you ask her, a small smile on your face.

“no,” she says, vehemently shaking her head. you chuckle hum a sound of disbelief before dropping a kiss on her forehead and going to the front seat. the trunk closes and you suck in a breath as you watch him in the rearview mirror. he brushes his hand through his hair, and even through the mirror and the tint of the trunk window, you can make out his bicep muscle flexing with the motion.

it’s nearly pathetic how horny you feel just looking at him—like an overgrown teenager who just got into their first relationship. except you’re an adult, married to this man, and this behavior is no longer considered ‘cute’.

joshua gets into the front seat and smiles at you, leaning over the console to give you a kiss. his hand rests on the side of your neck, and you wonder if he’s trying to check your pulse, to mess with you. you keep your hands to yourself, because if you touch him, you might never stop.

pulling back from your mouth, he looks into your eyes before flicking them back down to your lips. joshua starts to lean in but seems to remember you’re not alone, and sits back in his seat, his hand lingering on your neck for a moment before he starts the car and asks your daughter if she’s ready to go.

the car ride is quiet, save for your daughters yawns and insistence that she is not tired. she makes most of the noise, talking about random things that you and joshua entertain with ease. he watches her in the review mirror with real, unconditional love in his eyes. it does nothing to help your situation, and just makes you want to give him another baby.

when you arrive back at your house, you quickly get out of the car, grateful to get out of the stuffy, suffocating feeling of being in the front seat. you walk around the back and help your daughter out, ready to carry her inside until she exclaims, “i want to help!”

you ser her down on the ground and she runs over to joshua. you watch him give her two of the lighter bags of groceries, and raises her arms to show you, a big smile on her face. you smile back and press in the garage code and tell her to go inside of the house, seemingly leaving you and joshua alone. you sidle up next to him, and joshua lightly bumps his hip into yours. “hmm?” you question without looking up from the numerous bags in the back of the car.

“why are you avoiding me?” he asks, and the directness makes your hands clam up.

“i’m not avoiding you,” you say, taking a few grocery bags and backing up from him.

“you quite literally are.”

you stare up at him, his eyebrows knitted together in slight irritation. “i still love you, if that’s what you’re asking,” you clarify. his features soften and his shoulders relax a bit. those shoulders. your eyes drifts down his figure, lingering on his flexed forearms, veins bulging out from the tension of carrying the grocery bags.

joshua watches you obviously ogle and check him out, his entire figure relaxing at his realization. “oh, i get it now,” he teases, a slow smirk sliding across his lips.

“get what?” you play dumb, taking a tentative step backwards before turning around and trying to keep your walk casual as you walk through the garage. it’s so obvious you’re trying to keep space between the two of you, putting anything in the way to keep you off of him.

“that you wan-“ joshua cuts himself off because you push open the door that leads you into the house. he clears his throat and closes the garage door before following behind you into the kitchen. your daughter is standing on her tippy toes trying to reach a cupboard that’s way to high for her, concentration etched on her face. “need help, bub?” he asks, setting his bags down on the counter.

“i can’t reach,” she whines, yawning immediately after. joshua lifts her up into his arms and opens the cupboard for her abd allows her to put the item away. “i’m tired, daddy.” she rests her head on his shoulder, tiny arms encircling around his neck.

you watch them and you feel your heart grow three times in size, like the grinch. joshua coos at her and pats her head before agreeing to put her down for a nap. you busy yourself with unloading the groceries, stomach flipping at the thought of having at least an hour alone with your husband. you can’t believe how depraved you feel.

joshua comes back downstairs a few minutes later, right when you’re putting the last thing into the fridge. “you finished?” he asks. you nod, heart hammering in your chest as he walks over to you. his hands drop onto your hips, pulling you flush against him. you keep your eyes straight ahead, leveled wirh his chest, and joshua dips his head down to meet your eyes. “see: you’re avoiding me.”

hear creeps up your neck and you shake your head. “i’m not.”

“don’t try to gaslight me,” he teases, making you roll your eyes and finally look up at him. “there she is.” he murmurs, leaning down a few centimeters to connect your lips. your hands flatten against his chest, and he walks your backwards into one of the kitchen counters. joshua leans over you, trying to press you flat against the surface despite the lack of space.

“shua,” you breathe once you pull away when he unbuttons your jeans.

“what, you’ve got somewhere better to be?” he asks, arching one of his eyebrows.

“i… i have to do laundry…” you say halfheartedly. joshua laughs at this, dropping his forehead against yours. “i’m serious!” you say, but you’re smiling too. “i want to go back to avoiding you.”

joshua pulls back to look down at you, making a face that says for what? “i thought you wanted me to fuck you?”

“yeah, i’m afraid nothing will keep me off of you if we start,” you say honestly. joshua blushes deeply, a boyish grin on his face. “i want you so bad—i think i might be ovulating? i don’t know. i just want you so. bad.” you punctuate the last part with the press of your knuckles into his chest.

“you’re ovulating?” it’s like bells went off in his head.

“maybe, i don’t know. i don’t keep track of that shit. i just need an explanation for how i feel,” you say, hands sliding along his chest absentmindedly.

joshua raises both of his eyebrows at you, fake shock on his face. “maybe because you have a super hot and sexy husband who is also a really good father? just a hunch.”

“no, i don’t think that’s it,” he rolls his eyes at you and you giggle, balling his shirt up into your fists and pulling him down to you. joshua grips onto the counter to steady himself, his hold tight enough to turn his knuckles white. he presses his pelvis into yours, his his erection pressing against your leg.

joshua wraps an arm around you and splays his hand across the small of your back. he presses you down onto the counter and you grip his shoulders tightly, craning your mouth away from his to breathe out, “not here.” he pulls you up from the counter and looks down at you, his chest moving up and down quickly. you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he thinks about a place to fuck you that won’t bring attention to the two of you. “laund-ah!” he swoops you up into his arms easily, already carrying you in the direction of your laundry room before you can even get the entire word out.

you wrap your legs around his waist as you buzz with need and anticipation. you let yourself revel at being carried by him after lusting over his arms all day. he carries you like you’re weightless, with his his hands resting under your ass for support. “god,” you whisper to yourself, pressing a kiss into his neck.

“i love you,” he rasps as he enters the laundry room. he shuts and locks the door behind him before dropping you onto the washing machine. his hands are flying to undo the buttons of your blouse and you pull him closer using your ankles that are still wrapped around him.

“love you more,” you murmur, helping him with removing your top. “your turn.” your urge, pulling the hem of his shirt.

“sure you can handle it?” he teases. you flush and lightly push at his abdomen. “don’t wanna make you pass out or anything.” he smirks at you, loving to watch you squirm.

“i can handle it,” you say, feeling so embarrassed to even be in this position. luckily, joshua is sweet to you above all and draws you in for a kiss. you skate your hands up underneath his shirt, nails lightly scratching against his torso. “take it off.” you mumble against his lips, hands pushing up the material of his shirt. you feel like you could rip him out of the fabric.

joshua pulls back and makes an entire show of getting undressed. he runs a hand through his hair and purposefully flexes his bicep as he does so. if this was any other time, you’d roll your eyes and call him annoying. but today, all you can do is watch and try not to drool.

he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it into an empty laundry basket nearby. you waste no time leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss, threading your fingers through his hair. you move to kiss his jaw and then his neck, your hands sliding down his body. you kiss across his chest, going lower until the position becomes uncomfortable. lightly shoving him, you hop off of the washing machine and drop to your knees in front of him.

joshua watches you with dark eyes, holding onto the edge of the machine. you fumble with his belt, hands shaking with anticipation of finally having him, and he makes no effort to help you out. your hands work too fast, and you mess up when you try to pull the buckle open for the second time. “i’ve got all day,” he say smugly. you ignore him, and finally pull his belt free. you work his pants down to his ankles, leaving. him in just his briefs. you let out a breath and look up at him with pure lust. “as pretty as you look right now, you’d look much better with my cock in your mouth.”

quickly, you pull his underwear down and let them pool together with his pants, hands flying to grab ahold of his member. you pump him a few times, flicking your eyes to look up at him. joshua gives you a slight nod, signaling you to start sucking, and you eagerly oblige. sticking your tongue out, you lick up the precum that dribbles out of the tip before you wrap your lips around the head and push him into your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you go. a groan escapes joshua’s mouth and he gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

you drag him into your mouth inch by inch, your eyes never once leaving his. his chest heaves up and down, moving faster and faster the closer you get to taking him all the way. tears prick in your eyes when he hits the back of your throat, but you keep going until your nose nearly presses into his hips. “shit,” he whispers, leaning more of his weight into the washing machine.

you bob your head up and down, pulling back and stroking what doesn’t fit. you swirl your tongue around the tip, cheeks hollowing to create more suction when you suck on the tip. joshua moans lowly above you and tells you how good you’re doing. his eyes flutter shut, squeezed shut in pleasure and his chin drops down to his mouth. you want his eyes on you, want him to watch you as you make him feel good, so you purposefully scrape your teach against his dick to get his attention.

his eyes fly open as he jerks back from you, glaring at you when you smile around him. “brat,” he spits and tightens his grip on your hair. you sigh through your nose and press your thighs together, cunt throbbing with need. you keep bobbing your head, speeding up slightly and taking more of him into your mouth. when joshua presses your head down, you relax your throat and let him take control, hands moving to hold onto his thighs. “good girl.” he grunts, holding your head down on his dick for a few seconds until you gag, and then he pulls you off of him.

he does this a few more times, his cock twitching against your tongue. tears gather in your eyes but you power through, determined to make him cum. he pulls you down onto him, cursing each time he hits the back of your throat. “fuck, you take me so well. i’m c-close,” tears slip down your cheeks and mix in with the spit and cum. your face is a mess, but neither of you care.

joshua fucks his cock into your mouth, holding your head steady in his hands. you dig your nails his thighs to combat the ache in your jaw. he thrusts into your mouth until he can’t take the feeling of your warm mouth around him anymore, his cum shooting into the back of your throat. you keep your mouth open to catch all of his seed, some of it gathering around the corner of your lips. “s-swallow,” he demands when he pulls his cock away from your mouth.

you obediently swallow, and he whines in the back of his throat. “goddamn, i love you,” he holds his hands out to you and helps you up onto his feet. he wipes the corners of you lips with his thumb and shoves it into your mouth, lips parting when you suck on his thumb like you just did his cock. “youre such a slut.” he murmurs, a loving gaze in his eyes.

a trail of saliva connects your lips to his thumb when you pull it out of your mouth. “promise?” you ask.

joshua smiles and pulls you into a kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. his hands make use of unbuttoning your jeans and shoving his hands down your pants. your panties are damp, and he’s a bit shocked and honored that you’re this wet for him. “i need you,” you whine, peppering kisses down his neck. you don’t even want his fingers, just want him inside of you.

“i know,” he rasps, slipping a finger between your folds. you shudder when he touches you, his finger playing with your arousal and brushing over your clit, just to make you jump. you clench around nothing, and it’s nearly painful how turned on you are.

“joshua!” you whine, nipping at his neck. his hand immediately grabs onto your hair and yanks, a hiss emitting from your lips followed by a smirk.

“needy brat,” he grumbles, walking the two of you over to the work bench in the room. he drops onto it and spreads his legs invitingly. you quickly step out of your jeans and underwear, his eyes roaming over your body. “you’re a beautiful, y/n.”joshua says sincerely; at the end of the day, he is simply a lover boy.

you smile at him and quickly drop yourself onto his lap, straddling him and wrapping your arms around his neck. you reach between the two of you and position yourself over his cock. his hands grip onto your hips tightly and guide you down onto him, bottom lip drawing in between his teeth.

“ah-fuck!” you cry when you sink onto the tip, the initial stretch rippling through you.

“you’ve got it, baby,” he encourages, thumbs rubbing sift circles into your hips. you bite down on your bottom lip, hands gripping tightly onto his shoulders as you sink lower and lower onto him. “goddamn, girl.” he grunts, hips bucking when you clench around him.

when you manage to take all of him, you sit still and catch your breath, head resting on his shoulder. joshua unhooks your bra and you lean back to slide it off your arms. “you okay?” he asks, hands groping your chest.

“uh huh,” you rasp, taking it as a sign to start fuckign him, licking your lips and raising your hips before dropping onto his lap. “fuck, shua.” whimpers leave you lips as you fuck yourself onto him, using his shoulders as leverage to move yourself up and down. joshua relaxes into the wall, his grip on your hips loosening as you gain momentum and find a rhythm.

“you’re so tight,” he groans, one of his thumbs finding your clit and rubbing slow circles around the sensitive nub. “been thinking about fucking you all day.” joshua sighs and rubs your clit quicker, eyes peering up to watch your facial expressions. “you need me as bad as i needed you?” he mumbles, voice low and husky.

“more,” you pant, still bouncing up and down on him. your cunt clamps around him like it’s trying to keep him there. “shuaaa!” you whine, thighs burning. you sit on his lap, rolling your hips into his.

he chuckles breathlessly, rolling his other thumb over one of your nipples. “yeah? tell me,” he grins at you devilishly, this side of him only coming out in your intimate moments.

“so bad,” you cry, grinding down onto his lap. “w-wanna give you a-another baby.” you squeeze around him involuntarily, a knot forming in your stomach. joshua twitches inside of you at the mention of having another child.

“yeah? want me to fill you up?” you whimper and nod, legs starting to shake. “want me to fuck you full of my cum until you’re pregnant again?” he lets go of you breast to place both hands underneath your ass. he lifts you up and drops you down, a show of his strength as he fucks you up an down onto him.

joshua grumbles filthy things into your ear; tells you that he’s gonna fuck you until you can’t walk, that he’s gonna stuff you full, that’s he’s going to give you another baby tonight. “f-fuck! i-im gonna cum,” you cry, throwing your head back in pleasure. he bucks his hips up into you, hitting that spongy spot inside of you repeatedly.

spots blur your vision and your cunt spasms around him as you reach your climax. it hits you like a thousand bricks, and you’re shaking in his arm and crying out his name. you expect him to stop, but he keeps thrusting up into you, drawing out your orgasm further. you can hardly think through the waves of pleasure, which is why you hardly register that he’s lifted you up until you’re placed on a cold surface.

joshua drags you to the edge of the washing machine and slams his cock into you, nearly knocking the wind out of you. “o-oh my god,” you gasp, tears brimming in your eyes for the second time tonight. “you feel so good!”

he drives his hips into you brutally, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. “f-fuck, i’m not gonna last,” he groans, dropping his head into your neck. he kisses your skin and lightly bites, though not hard enough to leave marks. you cling to him, arms secured around his shoulders like you may fall if you dont hold on.

his thrusts get sloppier by the second, indicative of his nearing climax. “i love you,” you breathe, nails clawing at his back. he grunts, whining out curses as he cums inside of you, his dick twitching between your walls. he stills, fingers applying bruising pressure to your hips.

after a few moments, he lifts his head from your shoulder and looks at you, a tender smile on his face. he presses his lips to your gently, sighing against you as he goes soft. “shit,” he pants, followed by a light chuckle.

you can’t help but giggle back, running a hand through his hair. he doesn’t want to pull out, not yet at least, wanting to make sure his cum stays inside of you as long as possible. he lets go of your thighs and wraps his arms around you, squeezing you into his chest. you kiss the column of his throat, right on his adam’s apple and rubs soft circles into your back.

“we should clean up,” he murmurs, starting to draw back from you. you make a sound of disagreement and squeeze around him on purpose. “b-brat.” he stammers, curling away from you.

he pulls out of you with a lewd squelch, both of you turning light shades of pink at the noise. he helps you off of the washer and you lean against it. he finds a random towel and comes back to wipe between your legs before cleaning himself off and tossing it in the same basket he threw his shirt in. “i guess i could start a load,” you say, looking at all of the discarded clothes, making joshua laugh.

he helps you gather them up and drop them into the washer. you add in the detergent and slam the top closed. except, when you go to start the washer, joshua places a hand on your back and presses you flat against the washer and slots his knee between your legs to spread them open. you don’t get a chance to prepare yourself because he’s pushing into you again, a strong arm wrapping around your middle to hold you steady as he fucks into you from behind, determined to get you pregnant tonight.

#svt smut #svt imagines #seventeen x reader #svt x you #svt x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen smut #joshua x reader #joshua fluff #joshua smut #hong jisoo #hong jisoo x reader #hong jisoo smut #hong jisoo fluff #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #svt scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios

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pucksandpower · 6 months ago

Text

Oscar Jack Piastri-Leclerc

Charles Leclerc x wife!Reader

Summary: congrats … it’s a boy!

You wake up to the sound of the apartment door closing, followed by Charles’ familiar footsteps down the hallway. Sunlight streams in through the curtains as he enters the bedroom, still dressed in his sweaty workout clothes.

“Mon amour, you’ll never believe what just happened,” he says, unable to contain his excitement.

You rub the sleep from your eyes. “What is it, babe?”

“I adopted Oscar Piastri.”

You blink a few times, unsure if you heard that correctly. “You … adopted Oscar Piastri? The McLaren driver?”

“Yes!” Charles exclaims, flopping down on the bed beside you. “It all started when he tweeted about wanting to find Monégasque roots so the Monaco Grand Prix could be his home race.”

“Okay ...” You try to wrap your head around this bizarre situation.

“So I replied saying I could just adopt him if needed. And you know how Oscar is, always ready with a witty comeback.” Charles grins. “He said to call him Oscar Jack Piastri-Leclerc and that he wants to meet Leo on Thursday at McLaren.”

“Charles ...” You can’t help but laugh at the sheer absurdity. “You can’t just adopt a fully-grown man! Especially another F1 driver!”

“Why not?” He throws his arm around you, pulling you close. “We’re gonna be one big happy family. The two of us, Leo, Oscar, Ollie, and whoever else we decide to adopt along the way.”

You playfully shove him away. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe a little.” Charles winks. “But you love me for it.”

Rolling your eyes, you get out of bed and head for the kitchen, Charles trailing behind. “So does this mean Oscar is coming for family dinner this Thursday?”

“Of course! We have to celebrate properly.” Charles scoops Leo up from his bed, cradling the puppy in his arms. “What do you say, Leo? You ready to have another big brother?”

Leo licks Charles’ face, tail wagging excitedly. You lean against the counter, watching your husband and puppy with a fond smile.

“I suppose I’ll have to set an extra place at the table,” you muse. “Your mother is going to flip when she finds out about this.”

“Maman keeps asking when we’ll give her grandchildren, she’ll be thrilled!” Charles insists. “Who wouldn’t want Oscar as a grandson?”

You snort at that. “Grandson? You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“I’m serious!” He sets Leo down and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “We can make it official. Have a baby shower and everything once this weekend is over with.”

“You’re unbelievable.” You shake your head in amused exasperation, resting your hands on his chest.

Charles leans in close, his warm breath fanning across your face. “Admit it, my particular brand of crazy kinda does it for you.”

You bite your lip to stifle a grin. “Keep talking and maybe I’ll consider it.”

His eyes spark with mischief and he dips his head to capture your lips in a searing kiss. You melt against him, tangling your fingers in his hair and kissing him back with equal fervor. A loud bark from Leo breaks you apart, both slightly flushed.

“Not in front of the puppy,” Charles teases, booping Leo on the nose.

You swat his arm. “Stop being a brat and go take a shower, you’re all gross and sweaty from the gym.”

“Mmm, why don’t you join me?” He waggles his eyebrows in an over-exaggerated leer.

You laugh, shoving him away playfully. “Not a chance, mister. I have to go out and buy another place setting for our new family member.”

“Can I at least have a good luck kiss? It’s Monaco race week, after all. I’ll need all the luck I can get.” Charles bats his eyes at you in an exaggerated pout.

Shaking your head fondly, you rise up on your tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “There. Now go get ready.”

Still grinning like a loon, Charles saunters off to the bathroom. You crouch down and scoop up Leo, pressing a kiss to the top of his fuzzy head.

“Your dad is something else, you know that?” You murmur affectionately.

A few hours later, you return home laden with groceries to find Charles lounging on the couch scrolling through his phone. He looks up as you enter, eyes bright.

“Good timing, I was just about to call you.”

“Oh yeah?” You set the bags on the counter and start unpacking. “What’s up?”

“I was thinking ...” Charles gets up and comes over, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “We should do something special for Oscar’s first official family dinner. Maybe a nice home cooked meal out on the balcony?”

You lean back against his chest with a contented hum. “That does sound lovely.”

“I’ll cook!” Charles volunteers immediately. “My famous carbonara?”

“You just want to show Oscar you can manage to make something without burning the apartment down, don’t you?” You laugh, twisting in his embrace to face him.

Charles ducks his head sheepishly. “Maybe a little.”

“Well, I’m not complaining.” You peck him on the cheek. “Go ahead and make your carbonara for our new adopted son.”

“Yes!” He pumps his fist in the air victoriously.

You shake your head at his antics, warmth blooming in your chest. “I love you, you big goof.”

The smile Charles gives you is utterly radiant. “I love you too.”

He pulls you in for a deep, lingering kiss, holding you close. You get so lost in the moment that you don’t notice Leo trotting up and pawing at your legs until he lets out a pointed bark. Laughing, you reluctantly break the kiss.

“Sorry, baby.” Charles scoops up the puppy, scratching behind his ears. “We didn’t mean to leave you out.”

You take Leo from his arms, pressing a smiling kiss to his soft fur. “Don’t worry, you’ll always be our favorite.”

“That’s right,” Charles agrees, booping Leo’s nose. “No matter how many race car drivers we adopt, you’ll always be number one.”

The three of you spend the rest of the afternoon lounging contentedly together, Charles and Leo snuggled up on either side of you. It almost makes you forget the madness that kick started this whole situation in the first place.

Almost.

A few days later, after the drivers have finally been freed from their Thursday media obligations, your doorbell rings. You share a look with Charles as Leo starts barking.

“I’ll get it,” he says, already knowing who it is.

Sure enough, a few moments later Charles returns to the living room with Oscar in tow, looking rather sheepish. You rise to greet your new son.

“Oscar, hi! Come on in.” You pull him in for a hug, which he returns tentatively.

“Sorry about all … this.” Oscar gestures vaguely as you part. “I was just joking on Twitter but then Charles actually went and-”

“Adopted you, yeah.” You laugh. “Don’t worry about it, we’re happy to have you as part of the family.”

“Still getting used to that idea, to be honest.” Oscar scratches the back of his neck.

You wave a dismissive hand. “Well, get ready for lots of family gatherings and parental nagging from this point on.”

“Oh boy.” Despite his words, Oscar’s mouth quirks up in an amused grin.

“Starting with tonight’s big family dinner out on the balcony,” Charles interjects, slinging an arm around Oscar’s shoulders. “You like pasta?”

“Do I ever.” Oscar brightens. “Is Leo gonna be there too?”

“Of course! Can’t leave out my favorite son.” Charles scoops up the puppy, plopping him in Oscar’s arms. “Here, get acquainted with your new little brother.”

“Hiya little guy,” Oscar says softly, instantly melting as Leo licks his face. You watch the tender interaction with a warm smile.

“He’s taken a real shine to you already,” you comment. “I think Leo approves of his new big brother.”

Oscar ducks his head shyly but you can see the corners of his mouth tugging up into a grin. “Guess that makes me an official part of the family then.”

“Damn right it does!” Charles crows, throwing an arm around each of your shoulders and pulling you both in for an enthusiastic group hug.

You laugh, squished between them. “Easy there, dad. You’re gonna smother the poor kid before he’s even settled in.”

“What, you’re not excited to finally have your dream son?” Charles teases, ruffling Oscar’s hair affectionately. “Our little family is complete now.”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you extricate yourself from the embrace. “Why don’t you boys go set up for dinner while I start cooking? The balcony still needs to be prepped.”

“You got it, mon cœur.” Charles drops a kiss on your cheek before herding Oscar out towards the balcony, Leo cradled in his arms. “Come on, son. Let’s get this place looking perfect for your first official Leclerc family dinner.”

You shake your head as their voices fade down the hall, chuckling under your breath. Only your husband would take a silly Twitter joke this far. But as you start gathering ingredients for your grandmother’s legendary bolognese recipe, you can’t help but feel a swell of contentment.

Having Oscar around is certainly going to take some getting used to. But there’s no denying the warm affection and familial love you already feel towards the bashful but kindhearted young man. He fits right in with the playful, chaotic energy that defines your little household.

By the time the sun begins to dip below the horizon, bathing the apartment in a warm golden glow, the balcony is set up beautifully. You carry out the steaming pots of food to find Charles and Oscar setting out plates and glasses, Leo scampering around their feet. Your heart feels full just looking at them.

“This all looks wonderful, you two,” you say, setting the food down on the table. “Now we just need the guest of honor to arrive.”

“Maman’s never been late to dinner a day in her life,” Charles assures you. “She’ll be here any minute.”

Sure enough, there’s a rapid knocking at the door only moments later. You share an amused look with Oscar before going to answer it, Charles and Leo trailing behind.

“Maman!” Charles exclaims as you pull open the door to reveal his mother waiting on the other side. “Perfect timing.”

“Of course, we can’t start dinner without-” She breaks off abruptly as her eyes land on Oscar hovering behind you. “Charles, darling, who is this?”

“Maman, I’d like you to meet Oscar.” Charles beams as he gestures between them. “Your new grandson.”

A heavy silence falls over the room as Charles’ mother processes this bombshell. Her gaze flicks between the three of you, searching your faces for any sign that this is all an elaborate prank.

Finally, she seems to deflate with a sigh. “Oh Charles … what have you done now?”

And just like that, the floodgates open as both of you rush to explain the situation, talking over each other eagerly. Watching the animated scene unfold, Oscar catches your eye with a helpless look.

You just shrug, a soft smile playing at your lips. Chaotic as it is, this is your family now and wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

The following week, the doorbell rings just as you’re putting the final touches on dinner. Charles bounds over to answer it, Leo hot on his heels.

“Oscar! Ollie! Good, you’re both here.” Charles’ voice carries easily through the apartment.

You poke your head out of the kitchen, oven mitts still on. “Is that our other son I hear?”

“The one and only!” Ollie Bearman strolls in behind Oscar, looking completely at ease.

Oscar raises an eyebrow at the younger driver. “Why is nobody surprised you’re here?”

Ollie shrugs nonchalantly. “Teen pregnancy?”

You let out an undignified snort of laughter as Oscar gapes at him. “Don’t look at me, Charles carried you for nine months himself.”

“What?” Ollie whips his head around to stare at Charles in abject horror.

Charles just grins, slinging an arm around each of their shoulders. “You heard the woman. My body is a wonderland.”

“Oh my god.” Oscar buries his face in his hands as you dissolve into peals of laughter. “Why are you like this?”

“Because it’s fun to watch you squirm,” Charles replies cheerfully.

You wipe tears from your eyes as you head back into the kitchen. “Dinner’s just about ready, come grab a plate! Oh, and pray you don’t get food poisoning.”

Soon you’re all settled around the balcony table, tucking into plates piled high with food. Ollie kicks things off by turning to you with a smile.

“This is amazing, thanks for cooking!”

“Don’t thank me, it was all Charles this time,” you say, gesturing to your husband sitting across from you.

Ollie’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You cooked all this? Damn, maybe having you as a dad won’t be so bad after all.”

Charles throws his hands up in mock offense. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’m an excellent father.”

“If you say so.” Ollie smirks, shoveling another forkful of pasta into his mouth.

Oscar just shakes his head in amazement. “I still can’t believe you actually went through with adopting us.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Charles leans back in his chair, casual as can be. “You’re both great kids. Perfect sons.”

“Even if we didn’t ask for it?” Ollie points out around a mouthful of food.

You tsk disapprovingly. “Mind your manners, young man.”

Ollie’s eyes go comically wide and he quickly swallows his bite. “Sorry, mum.”

That sets you and Oscar off into another round of laughter. Even Leo gets in on the action, letting out a little bark from where he’s curled up nearby. Charles watches the scene with fondness.

“See, you’re already fitting right in,” he says warmly once the laughter subsides. “My two idiot sons.”

Ollie opens his mouth to retort but you cut him off, leaning across the table to affectionately pat his hand.

“Don’t listen to your father, Ollie. We’re happy to have you both here.” You shoot Oscar a wink. “Even if you did get adopted under … unusual circumstances.”

“You can say that again,” Oscar mutters, but he’s smiling.

Over the course of the evening, you take great delight in watching Charles easily slip into the role of devoted dad. He makes terrible jokes and embarrassing comments at every turn, clearly intent on annoying his new children as much as humanly possible. Yet it’s impossible to miss the deep well of affection beneath his teasing words and actions.

For their part, Oscar and Ollie play along enthusiastically. They roll their eyes and groan as if put-upon, but you can see the sparkle of happiness and contentment in their eyes as the night wears on. An easy camaraderie develops between the trio, fueled by plenty of back-and-forth needling and good-natured ribbing.

You sit back and watch it all with a permanent smile etched on your face. Your strange little family just keeps growing, and you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

At one point, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. When you return, the three of them have their heads bent together conspiratorially, hastily falling silent when you reappear.

“What’s this?” You raise an eyebrow as you retake your seat. “Am I being left out of the loop here?”

Oscar shares a look with Charles before turning to you with a sly grin. “We were just thinking ...”

“This family isn’t quite complete yet,” Ollie picks up easily.

You glance between them, utterly perplexed. “What are you two on about?”

Rather than answer, Charles pulls out his phone and starts typing furiously. A few moments later, your own phone buzzes with a Twitter notification — a new tweet from your husband.

Your jaw drops as you read the words over and over. “Charles! You can’t be serious!”

“Why not?” He shoots you an impish grin, clearly reveling in your stunned reaction. “Kimi’s a good kid, he’d make an excellent addition to the family.”

“I … you ...” You sputter, completely at a loss for words.

Oscar and Ollie watch the exchange with matching looks of unrestrained glee. Ollie raises his glass in a mock toast.

“To Mum and Dad, the most extra parents on the grid!”

You shake your head in bewildered amusement as they all crack up. This family just gets more ridiculous by the day.

A short while later, Kimi responds to Charles’ tweet.

The notification sets off another round of laughter and delighted hollering from the three drivers. You hide your face in your hands, torn between mortification and hysterical giggles.

“I can’t take you three anywhere,” you mutter, though you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

A warm arm wraps around your shoulders as Charles leans over to press a smiling kiss to your temple. “But you love us anyway.”

You catch his gaze, momentarily speechless by the contentment shining in his eyes. For all the silliness and absurdity, it’s clear just how much this strange little family truly means to him.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in your throat, you reach up to cup his cheek tenderly. “More than you’ll ever know.”

He beams at you, pure adoration written across his features. Then the moment is broken as an Italian-accented voice rings out from the hallway.

“Hey, did someone call for a new son?”

Oscar, Ollie, and Charles practically tumble over each other in their haste to greet the newcomer. You hang back, taking a moment to catch your breath as you watch the now quartet bound back onto the balcony, a fresh wave of chaos and noise in their wake.

One thing’s for certain — life is never going to be boring with this group around. You shake your head with a soft chuckle, heading back to join your one-of-a-kind family.

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eddiernunson · 8 months ago

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I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+

Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back.

Warnings: idiots in love, best friends to lovers, ANGST, brief EddiexChrissy, ooc Chrissy, attempted SA, bestfriend!Steve, and needy, desperate smut that makes it all worth it.

Thanks to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing bestie

I’m astounded at the response to the preview I posted last week. Thank you so much for the love, I hope you enjoy all 40k (20k wtf did my brain go)

As you pull up to the little house at the end of the street, you look over to the sweet boy with blonde hair and green eyes nervously, curtaining a strand of hair behind one ear. He shoots you a smirk, white pearly teeth peeking from behind pretty pink lips. The date has gone phenomenally well, the conversation over dinner was easy and your date even easier on the eyes. You smooth your hands over the dress you’re wearing, picking at imaginary lint as you’re entirely unsure of what to say next.

Daniel, your date, leans onto the center console, the scent of his minty breath roping you in. “So, dinner was like, forty dollars.”

Your brows pinch together, the topic of conversation coming from left field.

“And the flowers were about twenty.” He says, his voice hinting at a subtext lost on you.

You think back to the flowers, a cascade of spring colours that drenched you in their floral scent. They sit on your dresser in a vase, waiting eagerly for you to come home.

“Okay…?” You ask, unsure of what he’s getting at.

Daniel sighs, suddenly the frustration you didn’t see before is clear on his face. “Well, I think I deserve some compensation for the princess treatment, don’t you think?”

He’s raising his brow suggestively, and the atmosphere in the car turns thick as you realize what he’s referring to. You feel so stupid. Suddenly the smirk on his face isn’t sweet, it’s sleazy. The cologne he’s wearing isn’t earthy, it’s gross. He’s not a good guy, and you feel foolish for thinking otherwise.

You think fast, lowering your eyelashes in a feigned blush. “Actually, I think it deserves just a little more than that. Be right back, I’m going to grab a condom.” You wink as you get out, the cherry on top.

Daniel lights right up, apparently not expecting his ridiculous method to work. The sound of him undoing his belt makes you nearly gag as you run in the front door.

Your dad, the sweetheart of a single father he is, welcomes you with a kind smile until he sees your crestfallen face. “You okay?”

“No,” you choke back, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. “He’s demanding I repay him for dinner.”

“Repay?” You tilt your head, inferring what it means. “Oh. Fucking twerp. You need me to–”

“Can I have 60 bucks?” You interrupt him, avoiding his angry eyes.

He melts. “Sure.”

You walk back out the door, head held high right to the little corvette that sits at the end with the cheeky asshole sitting contently, waiting for his treat. The window is still open from earlier in the night, which works right in your favor.

“Here,” you toss the bills at him, allowing a small smile to grace your face at his confusion. “Since you’re so worried about being paid.”

As soon as he understands what you’re telling him, his face curves into a scowl, embarrassed, but too proud to say so. “Like I wanted to do it with Eddie Munson’s slut anyway!”

Halfway back up to the house, you turn back to the car as the engine growls into the night. How does that make sense? you wonder. Why am I being called a slut when I refused to put out?

The front door to your house slams shut again, and your dad receives the message that you would not like to talk about it. “Ed called just now, by the way,” he mentions as you reach the top of the stairs. Your pause in gait tells him you heard him, but you don’t respond because you can hear the smirk he wears, as much as you repeatedly tell him that Eddie is just a friend.

The flowers you thought so fondly of now have a looming presence in your room, like a dark shadow menacingly waiting in the corner. You ignore them as you lift the pastel phone to your ear, dialing the number you know by heart.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hi, sweetheart.” Relief washes over you, instant and comforting.

“Hey, Eds. How was your date?” You and he had the same plans tonight, you just hope it turned out better for him.

“It sucked,” he sighs, sounding like he’s rummaging through his messy chest of drawers. “She didn’t want a date, I guess.”

“Well what did she want?” You ask, going through your own drawers for something comfier to wear.

“Uh, to be shown a good time,” he answers dryly, the sound of rummaging coming to a sudden stop. “Heard the rumors of Munson’s magic fingers and apparently only wanted that.”

Yikes, you think. Eddie’s had many hook ups in the back of his van, but as of late he’s finding himself defeated when they don’t want him, just what he can do for them. Your heart hurt for him last week when he admitted they rarely, if ever, reciprocated.

You didn’t think it’d be an appropriate moment to tell him you would happily reciprocate for him.

“That’s extremely shitty. Guess it’s not all that different from my date though, who expected payback from spending a lousy sixty bucks.”

“Payback?”

“Asked me to suck his dick and pointed to it,” you say, a million times more bluntly than you could to your dad.

“I knew that Daniel guy was an asshole,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “I think our shitty dates deserve each other.”

You laugh, holding the PJs you plan on wearing as you sit cross legged on your bed. “To be honest, I don’t think Daniel would’ve been all that great in bed anyway.”

“I could’ve told you that. He looks like he would call thirty seconds a long time,” Eddie laughs. “Sit tight, princess, I think we’ve earned pancake night at Benny’s.”

“C’mon, I was just about to get comfy!” You whine.

“Nah, wear the pretty dress. It deserves to see a strawberry milkshake, don’t you agree?”

Honestly, a milkshake night with your best friend is exactly what you need. “Sure. See you in twenty?”

“Eh, ten.”

You throw out the flowers, tossing the vase full of water into the kitchen sink, shrugging when your dad gives you an apologetic look. You certainly are already over it, just another asshole in Hawkins, who would’ve thought? When the loud music from Eddie’s stereo pulls up, your dad nods in understanding, telling you to have fun as you leave through the front door.

The date night dress you wear is a summer dress that sits just above your knees, held together by spaghetti straps decorated with pretty blue florals. It's a dress you go to for formal events, and even saw a dance or two back in high school. Of course, you had to dust it off for the cute boy in your Psych class who ended up being a complete dickwad.

The fabric of Eddie’s beat up van is familiar. So familiar that you could argue his passenger seat has a permanent indent from your ass. Eddie has, in fact, pointed it out from one night stoned in the back with him, giggling as you vehemently denied it. At your sudden quiet shut down stature, he patted your ass gently, claiming that he didn’t want any other person’s ass planted on his seat except yours.

That conversation, as hazy as it was, stayed in your mind for days after the fact.

Eddie’s dressed in his own version of a date night outfit, tight jeans exposing his knees with jagged rips under a leather jacket and plain black t-shirt. He’s gorgeous, tauntingly so. It’s not much different from an ordinary outfit, but the faint smell of fresh laundry detergent and his best cologne is the best evidence he’s all dressed up.

The loud music speaks for him, loudly, pulling off before your seatbelt is even clicked into place.

The path from your house to Benny’s is well trekked by you and Eddie on late nights when you should’ve been doing homework but ended up goofing off instead. Martha, a waitress that’s been working there well over twenty years, smiles with smeared red lipstick and too much blue eyeshadow.

You walk in stride with each other, straight to the corner booth as the husk of 20 years of chain smoking barks over the gentle music, “Hey, you two! Eddie, are you finally taking this girl of yours on a date?”

Shut up, you silently beg her, avoiding either of their eyes as you stare at your lap, seemingly fixated on a loose thread at the hem of your dress.

“Oh, I’m not that lucky,” Eddie winks, throwing his arm behind you on the back of the booth. “We’re just recovering after shitty dates.”

“One day, you two,” she muses, tapping her pen rhythmically on her little notepad. It’s never been the same notepad twice, always decorated with a little cartoon sticker on the front. You’re tempted to run to the dollar store and grab her a larger one, but a part of you thinks she thrives on her many little notepads. “Alright, a large strawberry milkshake with two straws, pancakes with extra strawberry sauce and fresh strawberries on top, and waffles loaded with whipped cream and sprinkles. Correct?”

You nod in unison, both aware that she insists you will collectively rot the teeth out from your gums if you insist on overdosing with sugar every damn time you waltz in late at night. She’s given up offering other menu items, having ordered extra strawberries just to make up for your love of the fruit.

Less than five minutes later, following the blissful sound of a blender, the milkshake is wordlessly dropped off at the table, closer to you as even Martha knows you will be drinking 75% of it. The sweet, pinky taste flows easily down your throat, humming softly as you dip into the whipped cream with a finger. “Best milkshake in town,” You assert.

“I wouldn’t know,” Eddie answers, smirking, “you never let us get a milkshake from anywhere else!”

You giggle, licking some of the whipped cream that found a home in the corner of your mouth. “I could never! It would be like cheating! This milkshake would just know,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “it would smell the other milkshakes on me!”

“We couldn’t have that,” Eddie grins, grabbing the large glass to take a sip. “Sorry your date was such a jerk.”

You shrug, already having gotten over it. You’ll just need to sit on the other side of the lecture hall from now on. “He seemed so nice.”

“No offense, sweetheart, but I could’ve told you that Daniel Moore was a shitty person,” Eddie finishes another sip of the milkshake, making a large dip in the glass as the pink slush is pulled up the straw. “He likes to instigate.”

You rest your chin on your elbow, sad the milkshake is already nearly gone. “I had just hoped he would’ve matured by now…”

“In seven months?” Eddie asks you incredulously, raising his brows past his curly bangs. His expression quickly turns curious, tilting his head at you.

“What?”

“So, you’re willing to bet that Daniel Moore has improved just based on personal speculation alone but you’re not willing to believe me when I say Steve Harrington is no longer a douche?”

You roll your eyes. God, you should’ve seen this one coming. “That’s different! I only heard about Daniel. Steve Harrington actually sat back and laughed when Tommy asked–”

“You out as a joke, yeah, I know, I’ve heard it before,” Eddie mumbles, grinning at your shocked expression. “Well, that was like what, three years ago?”

“I still can’t believe you’re friends with Steve Harrington now, of all people! Listen, I know he’s also Dustin’s friend, but I find it hard to believe that you guys even have something in common,” You shrug.

“I still can’t believe you refuse to give him another chance!” Eddie playfully retorts, licking some of the whipped cream that still sits on the rim of the glass. “He’s in your Sociology class, isn’t he?”

Yeah, and he seems to insist on forcing his friendship on you, too, no matter how much you resist it. If you found friendship in Eddie, it seems reasonable to find friendship with Steve, too. Yet, there’s a little part that remembers the cruel laughter, his carelessness with others’ lives, and it ripples down your spine in a violent shudder.

You haven’t gotten rid of the notion of being his friend completely, but it’s just not the right time for you, yet.

You shrug. The topic has too much nuance for a nice dinner with your best friend. Just in time, Martha wordlessly drops off the two plates, the smile that spreads across your face is effortless. Zachary, the night chef must’ve heard about the shitty night and added extra for you, because the mountain of strawberries on the table is huge, even for your standards.

Eddie smirks, reading your mind. “You gonna finish all those?”

“Absolutely!”

Eddie sits on one side of the open courtyard, flicking off ashes from his cigarette as he waits for you to get out of class. He mentally reflects on his crazy afternoon, taking another long, much needed drag. The car with the million symptoms was one thing, but the proposition he got right before, he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

It’s been 13 days since Daniel, four awkward classes of avoiding his glare, and you’ve decided to give up on boys completely. The one you want doesn’t want you, and the dates you’re going on don’t seem to do well no matter who you say yes to. The two offers you’ve gotten in the last week were therefore denied, realizing that even if they are cute, you don’t want to lead anyone on when your heart belongs to someone else.

Before the aforementioned date, you were practically begging for someone to ask you out, but for some inexplicable reason, now you’re getting offers left and right. Somehow people just know when you’re playing hard to get.

At least Eddie’s dates seem to be going terribly for him, as well. That’s one thing you can thankfully count on.

The puff of smoke that leaves his lips as you approach him should not be as gorgeous as it is. It’s practically unfair. “Hey, Eds.”

He flicks the filter, killing it on the cement table he sits at as he blows out one more puff. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Just from that particular look in his eye, you can tell something is on his mind. “You okay, there, Munson?”

He smirks, effortlessly standing up. “I suppose. I’m not sure how to react. Or how you’ll react.”

Your brows meet your hairline, watching his mind move at a million miles per hour. “Ok, Eddie, this better be about a new class of creatures in DnD, or something, because you’re scaring me.”

He smiles, nodding his head over to the halls that lead toward the front door of the campus. “Someone asked me out on a date, earlier, today.”

Your brows furrow, biting back the jealousy that eats at your chest. Every little part of you holds back the monster that threatens to claw its way out, to snarl and hiss at every girl that even so much as looks at him wrong. It’s hard to bite it back, to choke on it purposely, but if you must, you will.

It tastes like venom as you swallow it back down. “Oh, who?”

A faint pink spreads across Eddie’s cheeks, much to your dismay. Not once, in your fuck, what, seven, eight years, of friendship have you ever managed to see Eddie blush. (Just once but it was when you nearly walked in on him jerking himself off a few short years ago.) “Who?”

“Um Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham?”

Your jaw drops, but your gut falls through the floor. You swear you hear it smash through the tiled floors and fall into the depths of hell.

“She asked you out?”

“Hey! Don’t act so surprised! A cheerleader could like me!”

That was the last thing on your mind. Of course a cheerleader could like Eddie, they’d be stupid not to. No. Every other girl that Eddie has either slept with, or gone on a date with brought no worry to your head, competition, per se. But a girl like Chrissy, one with pretty blonde curls, adorable smile and a sweet disposition, it’s like your worst nightmare come true.

Thanks to living in such a small town, you can recall 99% of the names that Eddie had told you, whether they be hookups or a date. Most of them didn’t intimidate you, only because, selfishly, you could nitpick at things you think wouldn’t work out with Eddie. Whether they were too vapid, too shallow, had none of the same interests as him, only shallowly liked him for his looks, or was a bully…you had something to give great comfort to you to prevent that little jealousy monster from clawing its way out.

This time, your brain wracked itself for some sort of answer. Some sort of flaw in the Queen of Hawkins High that could settle this uneasiness that has taken over your mind. Nothing. Nothing.

“I’m not surprised a cheerleader could like you, I’m surprised that Chrissy Cunningham asked you out,” you answer candidly, walking in step with him to where you supposed was his van. “I’m guessing you said yes?”

“I’d be crazy not to!” Eddie answered sheepishly, tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket. “I’m taking her out on Friday night.”

“Ah, you’ll tell Steve to take Creeper off hold for us, then?” You try to keep your tone nonchalant, but bitter jealousy coats your tongue.

Eddie stops mid stride, faltering, his brows pinched as he gives you those big brown eyes. “Shit. It totally slipped my mind.”

This is also new. Even as his dates would happen, any previously made plans with him were always a priority. You just hope this doesn’t become a new habit of his.

“We’ll do it on Saturday, yeah?”

You nod, giving him the comfort you suddenly find yourself craving. From the pep in his step, the rosiness of his cheeks, the warm glint in his eyes, you can tell that he’s truly excited. As a best friend, you try to be happy for him, however hard it is to make the smile on your face even remotely convincing.

Eddie curls his arm around your shoulder, tugging you along with him for what will probably be another afternoon in his room, clouded by a haze of weed.

You smoke more than usual, if anything to allow his excitement and plans for his big date in two days to buzz into the background, the bong hit rippling through your lungs as a punishment for yourself.

A weight on your bed suddenly dips down and you sit up quickly to face Eddie sitting on the corner of your mattress with a small smile on his face. Your headphones, still playing the obnoxiously loud music that drowned out his knocks, fall off your head as you sit up. You press the STOP button, clicking loudly in the silence as you stare at your best friend.

The anxiety of his date has eaten you all night long, the only thing strong enough to distract it being music loud enough to hurt your eardrums. You always feel some sort of anxiety, but tonight was even worse, eating at your brain in fear of how painful it might be to be third wheeling with him after being his #1 for so long.

For once, you can’t tell how it went. A slimy, selfish part of you is hoping he shares bad news. His smile breaks. Into a bigger, much brighter beam. Damn.

“How did it go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Eddie slams himself onto the bed next to you, hiding his eyes with his hands with his dimples deep, his pearly whites exposed. “Fuck, it was the best date I’ve ever had.”

Your heart shatters. “That good?”

“God, she’s– much better than I thought she could’ve been,” Eddie answers, peeking out from behind his hands. “It’s fucking crazy.”

Of course Chrissy Cunningham, a known sweetheart, is everything he’s ever dreamed of. Of course she lived up to his expectations. Just your luck. “I’m just jealous of your remarkable turn in luck, I guess.”

Eddie chuckles, turning onto his stomach to face you as he kicks his feet. “You’ll have your turn, baby.”

The pet name stings in the worst way. Instead, you raise your brow at him. “Look at you lookin’ like a schoolgirl with a crush. Pretty boy doesn’t even need makeup with all that blush.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching you on the shin. “You’re such a shithead.”

“Yeah, well you still choose to hang out with me anyway, so, that’s on you.” It takes everything in you to ask the following question, “So, tell me about your date, will ya?”

He does. He rattles on and on about how pretty she is, how easy the conversation was, how much she surprised him, how the night ended with a kiss that had Eddie giggling. He lays next to you, leather jacket put aside on the corner chair and boots next to your bunny slippers at the end of your bed. Your small twin mattress has you close in proximity, your side in direct contact with him as he rests his head on his hands.

“She’s such a cool girl, you know?”

You’re half asleep by now, allowing the exhaustion to overwhelm the slight ache in your chest. It zaps through your heart, overwhelms your senses and makes you dizzy. Your eyes flutter shut, but Eddie keeps talking softly next to you.

“Why were you blasting your 8-track, anyway?”

The question harshly yanks you out of the haze, failing to think of something that doesn’t seem completely false. You wish you were a better liar. “Just stressed out about your date.”

He gives you a strange look, eyebrows tilted. “Hmm?”

“We both haven’t had a very good track record, lately, and if things won’t turn around for me, then at least they should do one of us a favor.” Not, not the truth, but definitely an over exaggerated version of it.

“You’re so good to me, you know?” Eddie asks, intertwining his hand with yours. “Wasting your anxiety on me.”

The rings are harsh against your skin, squeezing your fingers tightly. The physical hurt is almost comforting in direct contrast to your emotional hurt.

His scent is comforting, as it lures you like the pied piper into the land of sleep. It’s about another twenty minutes until he realizes there are soft snores coming from you. He doesn’t care to drive all the way home, despite it only being a five minute drive away.

He falls asleep to your comforting breaths, allowing your hand to remain engulfed in his.

The loud ringing of your phone jerks you awake, quickly crawling to the side of your bed as you grab it from the dock housed on the floor.

“Hello?” Sleep sits deep in your voice, spelling out clearly to your caller that you just woke up.

It just occurs to you that you could’ve just allowed your dad to answer it.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Eddie’s voice is chipper, alarmingly so since you’re not even awake yet.

“You sound way too awake for someone that didn’t believe in waking up before 1pm,” you quip, rubbing your eyes sleepily.

“Ha,” he deadpans, yet it's clear he’s smiling. “Chris wants to meet you. I mean, I know you’ve already met her, but you know, as my girlfriend?”

Ugh. It’s been a harrowing three weeks. “Yeah, sure. What did you want to do with her?”

“I thought we could introduce her to pancake night,” Eddie sheepishly answers, like he knows you would be hesitant to invite someone into your holy ritual.

Yeah. You don’t want to invite her. But…you asked for patience last month and it seemed that the universe has answered with a lovesick Eddie Munson.

“I don’t see why not,” you lie, finding it rolls off the tongue much easier than it used to.

“You’re the best! I’ll see after you study in the library, yeah?” He knows your schedule. On Thursdays after the morning Sociology class, you opt to crawl up into a small corner and hermit yourself with snacks and a pile of books to get the work that needs to be done finished.

In high school, you could get away with doing minimum work and passing, but with your dad paying and barely able to afford it even with his second job, it sent the need to do your work to the best of your ability for once. You owed him at least that much from all the calls of missed classes for four years straight.

“Sure.”

As you stretch while hanging up the phone, you glance over to the alarm clock to see the time and it lurches you forward in bed to scramble for clothes, textbooks, and scattered papers as your lecture starts in less than twenty minutes. You’re usually already sitting in the seat by then.

On your way out the door, your dad is surprised you’re still home, offering to drive you. You don’t want to burden him even more than you already have, so you insist you can ride your bike and still get there on time. Well, at least you hope you can.

The bike rack is nearly full when you get to the college, six or seven locks messily put around the poles, most bikes already fallen over. You jam your bike in between two of them, hurriedly wrangling the annoying coil of sturdy cable between what you’re sure is entangled in someone else’s lock, too. Whatever, they should’ve been more organized.

The clock on the wall tells you class started three minutes ago and your heart falls to your stomach, knowing the professor is a stickler for punctuality. His words falter as soon as you enter the hall, the heavy door echoing its creak against the walls. He graciously allows you to sit and get situated before he continues. He makes examples of every late student, and you figured you would never be in his laser eyed focus. Well, before your alarm decided not to go off.

The last chair available is the corner chair in the front row, the one spot in class you love to avoid. It’s too close for comfort, a place he often chooses for students to answer his questions even if they don’t raise their hand.

That, and it’s right beside Steve Harrington.

His fingers raise from the desk as a greeting, sharing a sweet smile as you start to collect your textbook and notes. You awkwardly smile back at him, your attention snapped back to the professor as he pointedly talks right at your desk in his lecture. Fuck, this’ll be annoying.

By the time the three hour lecture ends, your hand hurts from the amount of notes you wrote down, one side covered in graphite from smudging the paper. Your stomach grumbles, asking loudly for lunch after neglecting to eat breakfast as usual.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve follows a step behind. “That lecture was brutal,” You hear from behind you. You toss your head over your shoulder to glance back at him before turning back around.

“I guess.” You say awkwardly. Here we go again.

“Out of curiosity, how are Eddie and his new girlfriend doing? Chrissy Cunningham, huh? I cannot say I saw that coming.”

Neither did you. “They’re doing great, from what I hear. Haven’t really met her, yet,” you answer, heading straight to the small cafe that has a home in the heart of the campus. “Listen, Steve, I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Why not? You don’t think he’s happy with her, or something?”

You stop midstep, turning to face him. “It’s not that. I just don’t have the capacity for it, ok?”

“You like him,” Steve accuses, his brows meeting his hairline.

Your jaw drops, stuttering through an empty sentence. “I do not like him!”

“Really?” Steve laughs, crossing his arms as he watches you build a brick wall around yourself. “So you not wanting to talk about his new girlfriend has nothing to do with the way your face fell when I asked about it?”

How the hell did Steve Harrington pick up on it so fast, of all people?

“Even if I did, why the hell would I want to talk about it with someone I don’t even know?” You sigh, looking wistfully over to the cafe. “Besides, I’m not even caffeinated yet.”

Steve rolls his eyes, nodding towards the said cafe. “Here, if I treat you to some coffee will you talk to me about it?”

“If you add a wrap to the deal, then I’ll think about it,” You say dryly, pulling a laugh from him.

The barista, a student who you’ve gotten to know is somehow managing to do pre-law and work part time smiles nicely.

“I’ll get a vanilla latte with nonfat milk and an extra pump of vanilla, please.”

Steve raises his brow at you before making his own order, “I’ll get a medium black coffee with room for creamer, please, and whatever this lady wants from the menu.”

You scan until you reach the egg omelet wrap with mushroom, bell peppers, and tomatoes. “The loaded omelet wrap.”

After Steve pays he meets you on the handout counter. “Why nonfat milk and the extra pump of vanilla?”

“If I get nonfat then I can replace the sugar with the extra vanilla.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how that works.”

You pick up the cup as it lands on the counter, wincing at the temperature on your tongue. “It works.”

Steve grabs his, shaking his head as he makes his way over to pour some creamer in.

The wrap is soon presented as well, steaming in its cardboard sleeve as the scent alone pools on your tongue with saliva. The only thing that got you through that lecture was just the thought of lunch.

Steve meets you at a two-top by the window, setting his own bag down as he sits right across from you.

The omelet, much too hot to eat, sits waiting for you on the chestnut brown table as you sip on the latte. The latte is much too hot as well, but you’ve never had enough patience to wait for that caffeine kick. If you weren’t so afraid of your professor’s wrath you would’ve shown up another ten minutes late with a coffee cup in hand.

Steve allows you and himself a few minutes of quiet before he speaks. “So, why don’t you tell him?”

You cough mid sip, mentally apologizing to your lungs for allowing non-oxygen to make its way in. “I’m sorry?”

“Stop pretending. Eddie was dead on when he said you were a bad liar,” Steve says, grinning with stupid smirk on his face.

“Why have you and Eddie talked about me?” You ask, narrowing your glance towards him.

“Are you kidding? You’re all he talks about,” Steve shrugs, so nonchalant that you have no choice but to believe him. “Kind of annoying, actually.”

“Why?”

“I have to hear about how great of a friend this girl is but also how she can’t stand me.”

You huff in laughter at how distraught he genuinely seems by it, his face contorted into someone who definitely isn’t used to rejection. You cock an eyebrow at him. “Can you exactly blame me?”

“Yes! I can! Everybody loves me!” Steve rolls his eyes playfully, and damn it if you can’t help but find it mildly amusing.

“Hate to break it to you, there, sweetheart, but the people who were picked on by you don’t exactly crave to be around your oh-so-wonderful presence.”

He squints, crossing his arms as he leans forward. “Picked on? I mean that’s a little harsh, considering–”

“Fine, yes, you didn’t exactly jeer, or outright bully even, but you watched and laughed along and sometimes that feels even worse,” you admit, feeling suddenly small under his gaze. “Tommy and Carol said shit, that’s just what they did… But sitting back and watching sometimes is just as bad. You were nice, sometimes, I guess. But the fact that you had that capacity for kindness and chose against it just spoke volumes.”

“I met them in seventh grade. They weren’t as bad back then, mostly just somewhat belligerent. They got worse over time, but we all had terrible home lives, it was like we were the only ones that got what that was like…and somewhere along the way, I forgot that just because we had an excuse didn’t mean they had the right.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you answer, glancing at the omelet, debating taking your first steaming bite. “I mean, I’m not condoning it, but sometimes loyalty can be blinding.”

“I’m not that douche, anymore. I got that knocked out of me when I was seventeen. Literally. Now I spend most of my free time with a high school junior,” he laughs, taking another large sip of his coffee.

“Aah, Dustin,” you hum, thinking of the many instances where he had tried to convince you of what Steve had just told you. What made you so insistent on denying believing in either of your friends seems to dissipate, however, just in the friendliness that Steve radiates alone. Damn his charisma. “Would you believe me if I said he vouched for you many times?”

“The kid loves me, what can I say?” He shrugs, not hiding his laughter. “Now. Back to you. Why not tell him?”

No use in hiding it. If Steve can bare his soul in the middle of the day at a damn cafe just to get you to trust him, you suppose you owed him the same. “‘Cause he doesn’t feel the same,” you answer, starting to peel open the snack from the hunger pang. “Why make it weird when there’s nothing that could come from it?” You shrug, looking down sheepishly as the weight of your words sink into your heart like a stone.

“Doesn’t like you. Are you sure about that?” Steve asks, licking his lips.

You hesitate. “Is this a trick question?”

“Nope. I just wonder if you truly believe it, or if you’re too scared to let yourself have something you’ve wanted for so long.”

“Where do you get off on acting like you’re some sort of expert on this?” You ask, folding your arms across your chest. The question rings out from the mere fact that he is dead on the nose. He couldn’t be any more right. The very idea that Eddie had even an inkling of what you had for him scares you to death. You would rather keep him as a friend and lie in wait than lose him from a great love and not have him at all.

“I’m more observant than most people give me credit for,” he admits, twirling his almost empty coffee cup. “I’ve heard countless hours of Eddie talking about you, yet I haven’t heard him speak once about Chrissy. That says a lot, don’t you think?”

“Well, me neither, and I’m his best friend. Don’t get down on your luck.”

“You are both idiots. Just tell him. Seriously. I’m sick of you both acting like a pair of love sick fools.”

“You seem to be very convinced of something that is not real,” you tell him, garbled from the bite of omelet you’re in the middle of swallowing. “If you keep this energy up when you’re studying, you would probably do pretty well for yourself.”

“Fine. Remain in denial. I don’t care. You can destroy yourself from the inside. Who cares? Just, let me in. I need someone to help me with these assignments. They are mind numbingly dull.” He throws his hands up like he’s admitting defeat.

“You need a study buddy?” You laugh, hiding the food that sits in between bites. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

“Sweet. Now are you gonna treat me to a coffee every now and then, or?”

“I have a single father, not an unlimited credit card from Daddy’s big business, Steve Harrington.” You say matter-of-factly, jabbing your finger towards him accusingly.

“Oh, so I have to provide the newly released movies and buy the coffee, I see how it is.”

“Privilege breeds responsibility, Stevie. I don’t make the rules.” You give him a half smirk. As you look at him, you’re finally seeing the person you thought could see all those years ago behind the mask of his terrible friends. Steve’s ambush would be the best thing to come out of the next few weeks.

Because it turned into hell.

As your hair runs wild behind you, there’s a grand attempt to allow yourself to let the wind distract you from the sinking feeling in your gut. It grows bigger and bigger, until it becomes unbearable as you reach the gravel lining the trailer park. You allow your bike to fall heavily on the trailer, taking a moment to collect your courage before knocking on Eddie’s front door.

It feels weird knocking. You can’t even recall the last time you did. But, you refuse to overstep any boundaries that might not be communicated yet. Being on Chrissy’s good side will make your life a lot easier.

Eddie answers the door, out of breath and sweating with wild eyes and even crazier hair. “Hey!”

“Hey,” you greet, stepping in right behind him. You blink, taking in the pristine surroundings. It’s like stepping into an alternate dimension, one where Eddie and Wayne regularly cleaned their trailer and preferred the smell of lavender over stale beer and greasy pizza boxes. The kitchen is spotless, the living room has a lit candle sitting on the coffee table, and the shelves containing the million mugs were dusted. “Who are you and what the hell did you do with my best friend?” You laugh.

He chuckles sheepishly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as protection. “Uh, is it too much?”

“Better warn her now so she doesn’t get used to cleanliness,” you answer, watching as the surfaces around you sparkle and shine.

“Ha, ha. I have to get dressed. I have some snacks on the kitchen counter. You mind starting the popcorn?” Eddie doesn’t bother waiting for you to answer, already walking to his room.

You get a glimpse of his bedroom as he shuts the door behind him, smirking at the clothes still scattered on his floor. At least one part of this little haven of yours remains normal.

The popcorn shakes in your hold as you continually stir it on the stove to prevent it from sticking to the bottom of the thin aluminum bottom and burning. Just as the first batch of kernels reach their limit, a knock from the front door hits, each one feeling like a crack in any normalcy you’ve ever had.

Things will never feel the same ever again. Not after tonight. On your way to open the door you try to tell yourself that it can be a good thing.

Right?

The door opens to the once head cheerleader of Hawkins High, wearing a pink dress that fits her tiny frame nicely with blonde curls and bangs that beautifully frame her face. Her hands are folded behind her back, standing meekly in white sneakers and long lashes and blue eyeshadow. It’s hard not to be envious of how pretty she is.

It’s clear she’s not expecting you to open the door. “Hey! Sorry, Eddie’s just in his room. He should be out any minute.”

“Oh. Ok,” she enters as you back up, wringing her hands together, probably out of anxiety. “What movie did he rent?”

“You know, I was so busy making fun of him for cleaning up for once I didn’t bother to ask,” you admit, hoping to make the atmosphere just a little bit lighter.

She looks around the place, seemingly taking it in. “Hmm,” she hums, walking over to the couch. “It’s cute when they try so hard.”

“Sure,” you answer, walking back to the kitchen, hoping the popcorn isn’t irredeemably burnt. “Do you want butter on the popcorn?”

“Yes please!”

You’re in the middle of mentally begging Eddie to come out already while the butter melts in the microwave, the hum of the microwave loud in the silence.

“Okay! I’m ready!” Eddie announces, opening the bedroom door with a flourish. “Sorry for the wait!”

As he gets to the couch behind Chrissy, he wraps her in a big hug and plants kisses all over her neck. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

You hold back the nausea as you pour the hot butter all over the popcorn in the large plastic bowl. You find it ironic that this is the same bowl you’ve held back Eddie’s hair over as he hurled into it. You just hope Wayne thoroughly cleaned it.

“Popcorn is ready, can y’all help me bring the chips and candy?” You ask, shaking the bowl to coat the butter over each kernel.

“We can do that,” Eddie answers, grabbing Chrissy’s hand as they walk to the kitchen.

“How can I help?” Chrissy asks, arms open as she looks around a kitchen she has no familiarity with.

“Um there’s some soda in the fridge, grab me and Ed a Coke, and you can grab yourself whatever you want,” you answer, pointing to the twenty year old fridge in the corner.

“Hand me some,” you command, holding a single hand for one of the many bags of snacks Eddie juggles.

The popcorn and a couple dozen little bags land on the coffee table in front of a blank tv screen. Chrissy sits with a soft grunt in between the two of you, cradling the cans of coke and sprite in her tiny arms.

She distributes the cans, handing them over to you and him. Eddie squats in front of the TV, pressing play on the tape which he apparently already prepared to watch. His plaid boxers peek out of his jeans, sitting above the studded belt as he adjusts volume and picture.

You share a smile with the blonde, opening your can and wincing at the loud hiss. You keep thinking about the days you and Chrissy will look back on how awkward this was. How the first days of this trio were so weird, and off putting, and how she thought you were a bitch when she met you.

Where she’s a friend.

You have to try.

“What are we watching?”

Eddie turns around slowly, that over exaggerated smile on his face that tells you he’s up to nothing but trouble. “Oh just a little somethin’”

“Oh god,” you wince, knowing that look on his face. You lean into her, whispering, “Hope you like horror.”

Chrissy turns to you with wide eyes and a queasy smile. “Not really.”

“Oh, this one is a classic,” Eddie promises, animatedly using his hands as he crouch-walks back next to her. “If any movie can turn someone into a horror fan, it’s this one.”

As soon as the music starts playing you recognize it. It’s a tune you’ve heard many times in his living room, subjected to it too many times if you had anything to say about it. Of course, you’ll watch it with him every time, regardless.

“Halloween? Seriously? The serial killer stalking the babysitter? You couldn’t think of anything else?” You roll your eyes. He could probably do a whole reenactment of the movie word for word if he tried.

“It’s a classic for a reason, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you, grabbing the bowl straight away. Of course, he will rip through the popcorn, he always does.

You feel Chrissy tense up, not that you can blame her. You suppose a talk about proper pet names will be necessary.

Each bag of snacks is eventually opened because you can’t stick to one bag long enough to finish it even if you tried. You get bored of the same taste too often. You have your favorite few, fuzzy peaches, M&Ms, Reese's Pieces, Swedish fish, and last and most controversially, at least where Eddie’s concerned, salt and vinegar chips.

He always has his own snacks at his disposal from nights of having the munchies, always on a dollar store run for said snacks. At each movie night he restocks, both yours and his alike, and suddenly you realize you will need to remember Chrissy’s too, if you’re going to be cordial.

With each bloody death that splatters the walls on screen, Chrissy grows closer and closer to Eddie. There’s a part of you that has considered using scary movies to cuddle up to him, but you’re just not genuinely scared of them enough to consider it. The ruse would’ve faded eventually. You try not to let the jealousy eat you up from the inside, no matter how much it burns your skin.

His arm wraps around her, petting her shoulder gently as she whimpers at the slash of his knife. “It’s corn syrup. Totally fake. You can tell by the color, it’s way too bright.”

Towards the end, the loud, chirpy, nauseating sound of kissing fills your ears. Your eyes can’t help it, they move towards the noise and immediately regret it. Oh god, they’re kissing. If you can even call that kissing. He’s practically engulfed her mouth.

Surely, with the company they have, they’ll stop, right? Their heads will remember and sheepishly get the fuck off each other? Right?

Two scenes and what feels like forever, later, you realize how wrong you are. “I’m glad you two are crazy for each other, really I am, but can we please wait until I’m gone?” You give an awkward laugh to try to stifle the discomfort coursing through your veins.

Eddie makes a surprised sound, almost like he completely forgot you were there. “Shit–sorry.”

Chrissy doesn’t make any apologies, in fact, you miss the way she rolls her eyes against his chest. She wanted to keep going, hoping you would take her hint to get lost.

Before long, the end of the movie finally arrives, the end credits rolling with that famous piano tune. Chrissy has practically stitched herself to Eddie’s side, her arms wrapped around his waist. The popcorn bowl is nearly full. All that work on it for nothing.

You sigh, about to claim that it’s your cue to leave when–

“I’m thinking we should show Chrissy one of our pancake nights, don’t ya think?”

No. You don’t want that. From the way Chrissy completely tenses up, neither does she. But for his sake, you both reluctantly agree.

Hawkins looks a lot different from Eddie’s backseat.

As the ring of the bell against the glass door announces your arrival, Martha’s head snapping up from the magazine she’s buried her nose in. “Hey you two, I was wondering when I would see you again!”

You and Eddie walk directly to the corner booth, as per usual, Chrissy trailing a half step behind him with her left hand intertwined with his right. Before Martha walks up to the booth, she starts the blender, the sound oddly comforting for how uneasy you feel.

“Well, looks like we got ourselves a little straggler! What’s your name darlin’?” She asks, the notebook she now holds a dark purple instead of the red she had last time.

Chrissy stares blankly at her, curling back into him. You don’t remember her being this shy in High School.

“This is Chrissy,” Eddie introduces her, giving her a fond look. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Martha’s penciled brows raise straight to her ruby red hair, the chewing gum loud in her silence. Her surprise only lasts two seconds, shifting into hospitality for the new member. “Welcome to these two’s many, many nights spent here at Benny’s. In fact, could you make them come a little less often. We’re starting to get annoyed at them.” She jokes, throwing a wink at you.

You laugh with Eddie, taking note of the fact that Chrissy is still silent.

“Alright, well I already know what these two want, did you need a second to look over the menu?”

She nods.

“Alright, well, I’ll be right back with your milkshake.”

“Can you make it one medium, one large with two straws?” You ask Martha, sure it would get more awkward if she brought one for you and Eddie to share.

“Oh, sure,” she answers, her voice unusually soft.

Less than five minutes later she returns with two milkshakes and a menu.

“Oh,” Chrissy comments, looking curiously at the pink ice cream drink in front of her. “I don’t really like strawberry. Can I get vanilla instead?”

Your forehead meets the table, punishing yourself. “Shit. I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think to ask.” Eddie apologizes.

“It’s fine.” Chrissy smiles sweetly at him.

“Oh, you gotta eat breakfast, it’s tradition,” Eddie mutters, switching her page to the all day breakfast menu.

“Hmm,” she responds, pointing to one of the menu options. “I think I’ll get the poached egg with the avocado toast.”

“Alright. Should be out quickly,” Martha answers, grabbing the milkshake from them.

“How often do you guys come here?” Chrissy asks, turning her face to Eddie.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Probably more often than we should. Like when shit goes sideways, or we need a hit of sugar, or when we just feel like bugging Miss Martha, over there.”

“When did you start coming?”

“My junior year,” you answer, smiling at the memory, “his second attempt at senior year, we both didn’t want to go to the stupid school dance, so we decided to get dressed up and come here, instead.”

“Why didn’t you want to go?”

Eddie shrugs, petting her shoulder with his thumb. “We thought it was dumb. Then, we ened up coming back when both of us failed this one really important bio test. Then, by the third time she remembered our orders and had the blender going by the time we sat down.”

Eddie asks how your day was, so you inform him you managed to have a civilized conversation with Steve Harrington. You have an audience for the conversation, one member animatedly interested, the other politely listening.

Polite is definitely the way to describe it, no spark in her eye. At least, not the one she wears when she listens to her boyfriend speak. In fact, you can practically see them glaze over.

Just as you nearly avoid explaining the main topic of the awkward conversation, Martha comes back over with two plates, one for you, one for Chrissy. It’s only half a moment until she’s back with the new milkshake and third plate.

The mountain of strawberries is bigger than average this time, this larger size becoming something you might get used to if the staff continues to spoil you like this. You take another flick of whipped cream from the top of the milkshake, suddenly realizing you’ve barely taken a sip the entire time. Damn, it’s usually half gone by the time you get your food.

“Do you guys order the same thing everytime?” Chrissy asks, looking at both of your plates.

“Yup!” You exclaim, spreading the strawberry sauce around your plate.

Her blonde brows furrow. “Maybe it’s not good to eat this much sugar every time you guys come here,” she comments, cutting at her squishy green toast. It doesn’t look appetizing to you in the least.

“It’s not like we come here every night,” Eddie laughs, spreading his sprinkled whip around the fluffy waffle. “It’s fine to indulge every now and then, you know?”

“Maybe you guys should try something a little healthier?” Chrissy asks, her voice having what you think is a little bit of a bite in it.

“People don’t exactly come here to eat healthy, Chrissy,” you laugh, thinking of the menu item called Heart Attack Jack, which is a burger doused in American Cheese with layers of bacon and a bucket of grease. It’s not going to be a soccer mom’s number one choice for health.

“You don’t have to bite my head off, it was just a suggestion,” Chrissy mutters, curling into herself.

“I-I didn’t,” you reply, very surprised at her knee jerk reaction. “I’m just saying, if we wanted to go somewhere to eat healthy, we probably wouldn’t pick a greasy diner in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, I’m not sure anywhere in Hawkins really has the healthiest choice.”

“Chris, what she’s trying to say is that eating a crap load of sugar is just tradition at this point,” Eddie says, intertwining her hand with his. “It’s a part of our ritual. You don’t have to eat like us if you don’t want to, we just thought you’d want to be included.”

“It’s just a lot of sugar, is all.” She’s barely taken a chunk out of her food, resembling a bunny in the very small, very tiny bites she continues to take. “Maybe I won’t join you guys next time. I don’t really understand the point.” She says sheepishly.

In the depths of your soul, you feel at that moment you would probably never get along with her, have given up hope on her completely. It wouldn’t be for a handful of weeks until you acknowledge that you had sound reasoning.

The bill is paid, money hitting the table on your and Eddie’s parts, the vanilla milkshake just barely touched. If you knew she wasn’t gonna drink it you would’ve doubled down on the strawberry, Eddie hates vanilla.

As you walk out to the van, trailing behind them as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, you find yourself at an impasse. “Eddie, can you give me a ride home?” Chrissy asks. She moves on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Maybe I can ride you before you drop me off?”

The pancakes you wolfed down churn back up your throat, threatening to make their second appearance for the night.

Eddie’s cheeks flush, his eyes wide as he tugs her in. Guess that answers that question. “Um, do you need a ride?” He asks you, almost avoiding your eyes.

Chrissy’s death stare is plain as day, silently warning you not to take it. Fine, you didn’t want to sit in the van with these two, anyway.

“No, it’s fine. I can grab my bike from the back.”

Chrissy beams, her curls bouncing as she jogs to the passenger seat. You hope your ass imprint is uncomfortable for her.

Eddie returns with the bike, putting it gently down in front of you. “Hey, Ed?”

“Hmm?”

“Might want to teach your girlfriend how to whisper,” you tell him, grabbing the handles from him. “It’s not considered a whisper when everyone in a ten foot radius can hear!” It comes out harsher than you intend it, but with how horribly tonight has gone, you can’t bring yourself to want to apologize.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie swears, the pink in his cheeks now from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t mention it,” you insist, dismissing it. You had a feeling she said it loud enough for you to hear on purpose, anyway. “Just use protection, ok? We don’t need any more Munsons in this world running around, creating chaos.”

If you got Chrissy pregnant I would actually be sick, is what you mean.

“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, wrapping you in a hug over the bike. “See you next time, slugger.”

That was when you changed from sweetheart to slugger.

There’s no whiplash like discovering your best friend is a completely different person when he’s in a relationship. On one hand, phone calls with him are as ordinary as always, teasing and jeering and flush with the familiarity of a best friend.

On the other hand, when you meet with him and his girlfriend, he seems to dampen his wild personality and slice it into ribbons for her sake. It kills you.

Reruns play on the small tv, old cartoons Wayne recorded for a rambunctious little kid in his mix. You’ve watched them enough to know some of them by heart, especially your favorite gags.

Eddie sits in the corner of the couch, curled up with Chrissy on his lap as they talk quietly. They’re low enough you can barely make out what they’re saying, but from the giggles alone, you have no interest in the nausea it would give you.

She was already in his lap when you got there, a sarcastic comment choked back having something to do with maybe getting off, opting to sit on the other end.

“Oh, Ed, the movie is next Friday,” you remind him, taking another sip of the ice cold coke in front of you.

“Remind me what that was?” Eddie asks you, peering his chin over Chrissy’s head.

You narrow your eyes, scoffing in incredulousness. “Uh, hello? I did not wait in line for hours for the Princess Bride just for you to forget!”

“OH, fuck I didn’t realize that was coming up so quickly!” Eddie exclaims, a wild look in his eyes. “Well, shit I’ll make sure to free my oh-so-busy schedule!”

“Sweet.”

“Oh, I totally wanted to see that movie!” Chrissy chirps, sitting up in Eddie’s lap. “Are there any more tickets for the night you guys are going for?”

“It’s been sold out for weeks,” you shrug, chomping on a potato chip. “I stood in line for like six hours that morning.”

“Oh,” she mutters, curling into him.

You wish you could say it doesn’t give you great pleasure to know she won’t be able to crash your movie night.

“You think, uh,” she starts, turning around to face you. “You think I could have your ticket and Eddie could take me?”

You scoff, bewildered that this even crossed her mind. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, I really wanted to see it and it doesn’t really make sense for you two to go out for a date, now that he’s dating me…”

“I think you forgot the part where I stood in line for six hours to get these tickets,” you reply, trying to catch Eddie’s eyes. He’s avoiding you.

“And I’m sure we’ll all go next time!” She offers as an almost smug smile plays at her lips.

She can’t be serious. After watching her face, you realize she is fully expecting you to give up your ticket so she can go with him. Guess that Iron Maiden concert coming up this summer is off the table, too, you think, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

You look at him, waiting for him to say something to indicate how ridiculous his girlfriend is being, to stand up for you.

Oh. He’s not going to.

“I really don’t see the big deal.” Chrissy scoffs.

Of course you don’t. “I’m sorry, but I’m not giving you my damn ticket!” you snap. “If you really don’t want Eddie to come with me that badly then I can get Steve to take me.”

Which is ridiculous, Eddie was the one who wanted to see this movie in the first place. It looked like it was about adventure, something Eddie loves in movies. You decided then sure, since his birthday is right after the movie comes out, you’ll stand in line for the tickets then treat him to a fun movie night.

If Chrissy is uncomfortable with that, then that’s her prerogative, but she can choose something else to do with her boyfriend since she wants to so badly. You won’t let her walk all over you.

Chrissy doesn’t answer, but she’s clearly upset by yours. “It’s alright, babe,” Eddie hums, tugging her up against his chest so she curls into him. “I can wait until it comes out. We’ll just rent it, yeah?”

You’re not sure which makes you more nauseous, the fact that he just made a plan with her that won’t come to fruition for six months, or that he had nothing to say in the conversation.

You’ve never felt so unwelcome on his couch. “I’m gonna head home. I’ll see you later.”

Whatever comes out of Eddie’s mouth then falls on deaf ears as you fight the tears that irrationally threaten to spill over your water line. They’re stupid, your emotions are stupid, the movie is stupid.

Steve sits on the other side of the light brown table in the library, hunched over some notes as you explain the concept to him once more.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous, I’m going to forget this as soon as we learn it,” Steve whines, rubbing his eyes.

“Well you’re only taking Sociology because you haven’t claimed a major yet and sociology is required in most degrees.”

“That’s true,” he smirks, stretching his arms. “This still is all starting to look like gibberish. I get it, we live in a society in which the rules are not in our favor, why does that have to be studied to this intent?”

You shrug. “It’s fascinating.”

“To who?”

You roll your eyes, wondering how he grew on you like a weed. “Alright, we’ll take a break, then.”

“Any plans upcoming for next Wednesday?”

“Uh, no, at least not that I’m aware of,” you answer, putting your highlighter down. “We were supposed to see the movie for it, but, well you know how that turned out.”

“I’m sure there’s something he’s planning,” Steve assures, tapping his pencil rhythmically. “It’s not like him to not make a spectacle of his birthday.”

That, you agree with.

“Dustin said he hasn’t heard anything about it, either. He almost planned a surprise party for him. You think he’s just taking it easy this year?”

You doubt it, he’s turning 21, after all. Not like hasn’t been going to bars since he was fifteen, but now at least he’d be able to go into a major city with his real ID without getting flagged. Last year he prattled on about plans for this one, how he was gonna have a big rager at Steve’s and drop a whole paycheck on kegs.

You’re sure if he was going to do anything in those next two days, then he would’ve told you by now.

That Wednesday morning, you rise early to the sound of your alarm.

The kitchen counter is already filled with the ingredients you need, preparing for a labor of love. You hook your Walkman to your jeans, listening to the music blaring in your ears as you add one ingredient at a time, watching the batter slowly come to shape.

It’s familiar, your mom’s famous homemade recipe for cake batter. After missing her many cakes and the familiarity of her food, you finally searched for the cards containing her neat print, clearly and concisely telling the reader what her recipes needed.

It became your favorite thing to do when you missed her.

As you pour the batter into each divet in the tray, you recall the first time you thought to make a birthday cupcake for Eddie.

Neither of you cared much for first period, so it was easy to catch him before he woke up. That day you presented a vanilla cupcake with a swirl of black and blue frosting. You learned that morning he hates vanilla.

Every other instance of making him a cupcake has been a litany of flavors, but never vanilla.

As they bake, you whip up the frosting with a hand mixer, hoping the low hum doesn’t wake your father. He works so hard already. Red food coloring turns it from white, the process all too satisfying.

A plastic sandwich bag with the corner cut off is always just enough for you to pipe frosting on, the skilled hand you’ve trained after trial and error working fast.

Your dad always knows on February 19th he will wake up to 11 cupcakes on a big plate.

The pastry sits in a comically large container as you borrow your dads truck, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon as you climb the stairs to the Munson’s front door.

You balance the cupcake in your hand as you head straight down the hall towards Eddie’s room. The sounds filling the trailer take a moment to register, for some reason not realizing how quiet it should be on an early weekday morning. The only sounds should be that of an early bird or newspaper hitting the front door.

Dread finds home in your stomach, as if on a very instinctual level you realize what you’re hearing. Though for some crazy, masochistic reason, those instincts wanted to be sure.

His door, wide open, reveals him hunched over Chrissy with the blanket barely covering his broad shoulders as he’s rocking. He’s rocking…and oh, you can hear her, too.

She’s moaning, whining, clawing her nails up his back like a leech, or worse, a tick, digging itself in and refusing to give up the tight hold they have on their victim.

Your mind goes empty, numb, until you hear her faintly wish him a happy birthday. You blink yourself out of the trance, blindly stumbling back into the fresh air of the living room. The cupcake lands on the kitchen counter on your way out the door, not caring as it slams behind you, definitely alerting Eddie and Chrissy of the third unknown presence in the trailer.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to even care about it, the queasiness deep rooted in your stomach threatening to make itself known on the outside plants.

You have a class in less than an hour, something you need to continue into the second year of your Communications degree, but not something that requires brain power.

The simple question of how you managed to ride your bike all the way to the campus, take notes in your class and blindly walk over to the library will always escape you. You somehow watch yourself go through the motions until you meet Steve at the cafe.

The moment he sees you, he knows something is wrong just by the deadened stare that’s taken over your face.

When you break down into tears, he brings you to his house, letting you finally admit to him what you’ve been afraid to admit to yourself.

You’re in love with your best friend. And while you’re doing your best to be happy for him, your poor heart can’t handle it.

The cupcake isn’t mentioned until you call him two days later, still heartbroken, but missing his voice. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, despite the great ache that makes each and every day fuzzy.

Usually, more than half the cupcakes get eaten by him, which is why a dozen are made each year. There’s still more than half left, the very sight of the cupcakes depleting your appetite as his continued absence carves a bigger and bigger hole in you.

He answers on the fifth ring, sounding as if he’s in the middle of rummaging through items in some way, slightly out of breath. “Hey, Chris, sorry I can’t find–”

You swallow the pain. Maybe the lump of pain swallowed in your stomach will finally evict itself like the contents of stomachs should. Yet, the more you throw it up, the more it seems to gather. How does that work? “It’s me.” You say dryly, tiredly.

“Shit,” he breathes, the background noise coming to a sudden halt. “Hey, you.”

“Hey. How was the cupcake?”

“The mysterious appearing pastry was delicious as always, slugger.” Slugger. “What-what time did you drop it off?”

You know that he knows that you heard something. He doesn’t know how much you heard, but he knows the slam of his front door was you.

“I didn’t hear much. Just enough to know you had already received your birthday present for the year,” the attempt at humor doesn’t hit you very well. You’re not sure how it’s received, but Eddie laughs regardless.

“Sorry about that, she slept over the night before unplanned. I should’ve remembered your yearly morning cupcake.”

“Should’ve remembered you have a girlfriend,” you answer, wishing you had that better judgment. “Did you do anything for your birthday?”

“Chris took me out for dinner with her parents.” Honestly, that sounds like it was for her more than it was for him.

“Sounds fun,” you deadpan, earning earnest chuckles from him.

“They’re an acquired taste,” Eddie offers, allowing your slight criticism of his birthday party.

“You sure you still don’t want to go to Indianapolis and bar hop?” You can’t help but ask. It’s like you can hear his reluctance to accept the celebration he got.

“Nah. Besides, we can’t risk your fake ID, after all.” He pauses, an understated sigh passing through his breath. “How has school been?”

Small talk is not often something that passes through a conversation between you two. You’re aware of it, he’s aware of it, and it turns the conversation into something almost jilted.

“I miss you,” you admit, lying back on your bed.

“I miss you,” he parrots, soft and sweet.

“Can we do something? Just you and me?”

He chuckles, low and under his breath. “Sure. Pancake night. Just you, me, and Martha’s perfume.”

…that never happened.

The less you see Eddie, the more you end up hanging out with Steve. He seems to want to introduce you to his own best friend, but your admission of not wanting to be a third wheel again gets him to drop it. You can’t help but notice the only times you speak to Eddie are when you call him. He hasn’t called you since asking for Chrissy to join pancake night.

That alone wouldn’t entirely convince you to not call him anymore. The jilted conversations always ending with promises of time with one another never coming to fruition. It’s the equivalent of being skinned alive, one strip at a time.

Steve has watched the circles under your eyes darken, the enthusiasm in class deplete, and the lust for life dissolve before his very eyes. To say he’s pissed at his friend is to understate it, he’s ready to tell you to give up on him and forget he exists.

Yet, Steve knows how unlike Eddie it all is. Dustin has complained he hasn’t been called back for a long time, Gareth reached out to you asking if you’d heard from Eddie lately as they haven’t rehearsed for a while. He garners more concern than anger at times.

Steve’s living room has become a new choice of hang out space, but the unnatural cleanliness of the house, the lack of cologne that both Eddie and Wayne use, the familiarity of eight years of friendship, it gives this unrelenting feeling of emptiness. It’s worth trying to fill it with edibles and weed.

It doesn’t seem to work, but you’ve become more open, more free willing with him as a direct result. He doesn’t favor horror movies like you and Eddie, but you find common ground in action and slapstick comedy, instead. Anything but romcoms, you implore. Anything even close to resembling romance is rejected.

Steve spills the latest he heard from Hawkins’ elite country club group, a bunch of ladies with nothing better to do with their afternoons than spread rumors about the population as a whole and judge them for it. Steve knows for a fact which members of the country club have side women, bringing them in hours after walking in with their own wives.

It’s so nice to be concerned with the lives of others and to not care about yours falling apart at the seams. Well, really it's being ripped apart by Chrissy Cunningham’s greedy little claws.

Ironically enough, you get paired up with Steve for a major assignment in Soc class, one required to analyze social constructs that have been deep dived in class. Another little gift of irony is you were given Social Stratification, which is the hierarchical arrangement of individuals or groups within a society based on various factors such as wealth, power, and prestige.

Being from two very different classes, you and Steve find yourself uniquely qualified to discuss the topic.

It provides opportunities to hang out together, distracted by the collective want to not work at all, but driven by an looming due date. Your mind wanders to Eddie non stop, wondering how he is, if he’s ok, if work is still giving him a hard time, did he finally get the belt he was needing, if Wayne was taking it easier.

Your fingers itch for the phone to call and ask, always haunted by the memory of each phone call, the polite conversation and empty promises. You crave to remember what it was like before.

Steve seems to act as your voice of reason, disencouraging you every time you mention wanting to call him. He sympathizes, of course, but he recalls the last time you called him and the aftermath following it.

When the assignment is finally in the last stages, making final edits to clear up any loss in conciseness, the final second guesses if the point has been made clear, you sit on the floor of Steve’s room cross legged, going cross eyed as you reread it, again.

“I can’t wait for this thing to be handed in,” you groan, throwing your pen at him.

“I think we earned a celebration,” he sighs, throwing the pen back to you. “On Friday, after we finally hand over this paper to this asshole, I am throwing a big ass party in your honor.”

“A party will not make me feel better,” you reprimand, glancing at him under your brows.

“No, but a good excuse to drink the pain away, might,” he grins, leaning forward on his stomach and kicking his legs animatedly. He looks so innocent, as if he doesn’t have his own agenda. You’ve come to know him well enough that he really doesn’t. “C’mon. Let loose with me just for one night!”

You reluctantly agree to it after he pulls out his dumb puppy eyes.

News of Steve’s party spreads fast across campus, and you find yourself curiously excited for it when you usually dread dancing with complete strangers. The strangers at this point make it better, not needing to concern yourself with anything other than how the alcohol burns.

Your dad drives you to the party, the rain heavy on the pavement making it hard to bike in such weather. He’s noticed the way you’ve shut down a little bit as of lately, more than happy to bring you to a party if it means putting some life back into the eyes of his one and only daughter.

When you enter the door with slightly damp hair just from the walk from the truck, the party is already in full swing, music overtly loud, bodies bumping and dancing, empty cups already scattered on dusty surfaces.

As soon as you see Steve, he waves you over, talking to Robin, who he’s introduced you to. She became your friend the same way he became your did; ambush. Turns out, Robin is really cool. She hands you a beer, winking as you tilt your eyebrow out of skepticism.

“Beer, really?” You ask over the music, turning the bottle around in your hand.

“You’re drinking to forget, right?” She asks, an air of wisdom in her scratchy voice. “Then what does it matter what it tastes like?”

Well, you guess she’s right. You grab another from the fridge while you’re at it before they lead you to a couch. It’s surrounded by a crowd of people you mostly have never met before, more than happy to laugh with them at the particularly stupid topics of conversation.

You’re already pretty buzzed less than an hour spent at the party, having asked Steve to get you a third bottle. “Might wanna slow down, sweets.”

“I’m drinking to forget, remember?” You ask him, winking cheekily.

Time starts to meld together as the bottle gets emptier and emptier. Robin grabs you by the hand to dance with her and Steve in a circle, top 40 pop acting as a soundtrack while you forget any goddamn trouble that might have plagued you.

You’re chatting about some mindless gossip when something tells you to turn your head towards the door. The door opens to Eddie and Chrissy, holding hands as they look around the party that got even rowdier since your arrival.

Eddie’s eyes meet yours, frozen in place as the emptiness his absence has left consumes you.

“Oh shit,” Robin mutters right next to you, but you don’t answer it as you stumble your way into the kitchen.

The internal debate on whether you need to drink water or more alcohol is roaring, so you drown it with more alcohol. Maybe you can shut it up. It’s too fucking loud. The ajar door opens and closes, a presence in the kitchen you don’t bother acknowledging. You don’t smell Eddie’s cologne, the momentary disappointment flooding your senses that he saw you and didn’t even bother talking to you.

Another sip. Another gulp. Make it go away.

“I was wondering when I would run into you,” it’s not Eddie, or Steve. Confusion takes over you as you wonder which male voice in your life you’re forgetting, turning to face the culprit.

Daniel.

“Here I am, I guess,” you mutter, taking another swig. “What exactly do you want?”

“Retribution.”

“Huh?”

He laughs, cruel and blunt. “I’m here for what I’m owed, sweetheart. I don’t get told no. Girls don’t say no to me. So, I think I’m owed some payback for the humiliation you put me through.”

What the fuck?

The laughter that leaves your throat is loud and abrupt, clearly not what he’s expecting. “Oh my fucking god, you’re just delusional. Girls don’t owe you shit for buying them dinner! You ask us out for a date, that’s on you, bud!”

“I don’t fucking think so,” he growls, slinking in closer. You can smell his breath, he’s clearly been drinking. “I will get what I want, I always do.”

Panic floods your brain, suddenly realizing he’s being dead serious. “Wait–” you protest as he leans in, the wall and your back colliding harshly. “Wait, no–”

“All you had to do was blow me, baby,” he chides, as if he’s reprimanding a small child. His hand harshly wraps around your waist, preventing you from weaving from between him and the wall. “Now look what you made me do.”

You try to push him off, panic continuing to push up your throat as he proves himself much stronger than you. Oh god, am I about to get raped in Steve’s kitchen?

His hand feels slimy as it pushes past your shirt, sending a jolt of shivers down your body. You’re shaking from fear, one cheek against the wall as you continue to resist him. “Stop– Daniel, please stop–” Your voice is frantic, eyes wide in terror as you try to push his hands away.

The harsh laughter directed at your pleas are cut off, an incredibly familiar voice slicing the air with malice. “She said stop.”

The heat you were surrounded by is thrown off, leaving the cold air behind Daniel to overwhelm you as he’s thrown onto the floor.

Blows of fists on flesh fill the room, watching in horror as Eddie has him pinned, delivering blow after blow to his face. You only see a portion of Eddie, his dark jeans and leather jacket as he hunches over his victim and blindingly delivers one punch after the other. Daniel has stopped fighting back, just a limp set of limbs as it jumps from each hit.

When Eddie has shown no signs of letting up you’re forced to jump into action, stumbling as you run into his line of eyesight. “Eddie, stop! You’re going to kill him!” You plead.

The sounds of brutal fists on soft flesh die immediately, Eddie huffing as he rises to his feet. “You okay?”

You blink as his hands frame your cheeks, petting them softly with his hands. A tear falls, splashing his hand. His concern is comforting, but the direct juxtaposition of his concern from the silence he’s fed you the last few weeks washes over you, confusing every emotion that has been hurting.

Despite the sweet shine in his eyes as they watch you, you back from his hold in a jerk reaction. “Didn’t know you still cared about me.”

He wears the hurt from this statement on his sleeve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You wander back over to the fridge, grabbing a beer from the second six pack you’re working through. You pop it open from the mounted bottle opener, taking a handful of sips. “You’re kidding me, right? You haven’t called me in weeks. Weeks.”

He stands there, blankly watching.

“I might be more forgiving if it weren’t for Dustin and Gareth and hell, Steve also saying the same thing. None of them have heard from you. You went from calling at least once a week to radio silence! I wanted to get along with Chrissy. I really did. I started all the conversations, offering snacks, asking questions about her, letting her set her boundaries, but she had something to say about everything we did together!”

Eddie stutters, blinking as he watches you talk. He doesn’t try to talk, doesn’t try to defend himself. You don’t give him the chance.

“She clearly doesn’t respect you, otherwise you would still be my best friend and I would remember the last time we had a normal fucking conversation. I get wanting boundaries, but at this point, I don’t think she even wants you to have friends! Is that what you want? A girl who makes you make yourself smaller for her sake and isolate completely? Really? Because that’s what you have. No horror movies? No more junk food? No heavy metal music? She’s making you shrink yourself so she deems you desirable! Fucking– I can’t watch it anymore.”

“Wait, what do you mean–” he’s interrupted by the door closing, a yelp filling the room as Chrissy runs to him.

“What happened to your fists?” You glance down to them, seeing bruises lining his knuckles.

“Nothing, it’s fine. I’m fine,” he assures her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Alright. Well. I meant exactly what I said. I can’t do this one sided friendship thing with you anymore,” you take another swig, wondering how the bottle was already so light. “I can’t. Call me when you find my best friend, because I haven’t seen him in three months.”

You leave the room, ignoring the calls from his mouth that suffocate you. As you stumble into the living room, you catch Steve’s eye right away, chin trembling. The hot tears that trail down your face have already drenched your cheeks by the time you realize it’s even happening, choking on the emotion that drowns you.

Steve guides you into the guest bathroom, closing the door as he watches you attempt to stop the sobs long enough to tell him what happened.

“I think–” you hiccup, sniffling loudly, “I think I just lost my best friend–” tears rattle through you once again, just saying it out loud feels like lightning in its startling ability to shatter you once more.

By the time the sobs diminish again, you’re sat on the floor by the tub, head sitting in his lap as he pets your hair. You sit up suddenly, mid hiccup as you give Steve an odd look.

He almost asks if you’re okay when you spill over his lap, whimpering between gasps as you know what you’re doing, the toilet only a foot away, but it continues to explode from your stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” you explain, tears falling again, as he sits in shock.

He grins sadly, undoing his belt. “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

He finds someone, Robin, to grab him a second pair of pants, ditching the ruined pair in the bathtub.

The dry heaving seems to stop the tears, now staring blankly with a wet face and lashes that stick together. Steve brings you upstairs, wrapping his arm around your waist as he brings you to his bedroom.

As your head hits his pillow your eyes fall closed, mumbling something about fucking up, about three months ago.

Steve locks his door from any stragglers, walking down each step to find a particular metal head to give him a piece of his mind.

From how your sobs shook your body, he might give him the whole thing.

The light cascading through the blinds hurts, like a dagger through your brain as you take in your surroundings. You don’t know how you got into Steve’s room under his blanket.

As soon as you sit up, the pain stabs you, pushing you back down. Ow. You don’t even attempt to get up again until the urge to pee hits you, when it’s too much to ignore. You rub your eye, tip toeing to try to get back under the dark blue comforter decorating Steve’s bed.

On the corner of the bed Steve sits, one foot resting on the other knee as he holds a jade green drink. “How badly does your head hurt?”

You wince at the volume of his voice, placing your hands over your eyes. “Not great.”

He winces sympathetically, offering the smoothie. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Blurry images flash through your mind, the kitchen, Daniel, half of the second case gone. You attempt to remember past that point but it comes up blank. “I remember running into Daniel.”

As you sip on the surprisingly delicious hangover smoothie, Steve watches you, wearing a clear expression of concern.

“Anything after that?”

You can tell he’s egging you on, digging for something with an unprecedented seriousness in his tone. But there’s no memory after that. You gingerly shake your head, which sends more needles of pain through your skull.

“Why?” You ask weakly. Steve pauses, ruffling a hand through his hair as he releases a long sigh.

“You really don’t, huh?” Steve asks, one last attempt. “Maybe it’s good you drank as much as you did, then.”

“Steve, you’re scaring me.” Images of worst case scenarios course through your mind. What did you do?

Steve pats the spot on the bed next to you, double checking you don’t feel the urge to throw up. You don’t.

“Daniel tried to force himself on you.” He’s gentle, compassionate in his admission as he watches your reaction.

Huh. “How far did he–” you stutter, breath hitching as you bite back the sobs that suddenly threaten to rake through your body.

“He was interrupted before he even got that far,” he comforts you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he caresses it. “Eddie sort of bashed his face in.”

Now that you think about it, the memory of Eddie hunched over Daniel as he delivered blow after blow to his nose, his cheekbone, his eyebrow. You didn’t see the final result of Eddie’s defense, but the bruised knuckles you vaguely recall spell out how brutal the retaliation was.

Eddie.

“What–” you pause, stuttering through your breaths, “what happened after that?”

“You yelled at Eddie. Berated him. I think you even told him you didn’t want to be his friend anymore. At least, that’s what I gathered from what you told me,” he admits.

Your blood grows cold. From the weeks of silence, the jilted conversations, the slow resentment that bloomed through your stomach for him. The ache already hurt just from the absence of your best friend, but it was good for you. Fuck, this hurt.

“Is that all?”

He laughs, pulling your head into his neck. “Just that you can’t hold back your liquor.”

That’s why your breath tastes like vomit.

From the extra strength tylenol he gives you, the rest of the morning is spent helping Steve tidy up the trash around his house. Only after spending twenty minutes in the kitchen on his hands and knees scrubbing up the red stains does he allow you to help him. You only catch a glimpse of the paper towel soaked in dried blood and bleach when throwing out red solo cups, a small hint of the mess Eddie made of Daniel.

The thought of his name is a self betrayal, and you work faster once it crosses your mind.

Once the place is clean, you allow Steve to drive you home at his insistence, repeatedly asking when he pulls up to your house that you’re sure you’re okay.

Your dad is at work, not there to ask any questions you wanted to avoid from the previous night, namely why your eyes are swollen from tears. The blinds in your room fall with a trill resembling a xylophone, blocking the sun from your intense migraine.

For the first time in weeks, you’re stirred awake from sleep from the ringing of the phone on the floor that has been pushed under the bed. You let it ring.

Just as sleep pulls you back in, you’re abruptly startled as the phone alerts you again. You roll over, ignoring it as you wrap your head in your hands, curling into the pillow. No one has to get a hold of you that badly.

This person does, it seems, as they call you again. You groan, crawling over the edge as you grab the phone from your receiver. “Hello?”

You refuse the want to chew them out, to take your emotions and friendship breakup out on the person who has interrupted your sleep.

“It’s me.”

You lurch forward in your bed, still tethered to the receiver by the tightly coiled wire as it forces the receiver to scuff against the hardwood floor. Eddie.

Eddie’s sat on his couch, limply resting his head on the couch arm as the shrill voice of the main character complains over a problem that could be solved if she had just told someone. His hand rests on his eyes, shielding himself from the light to prevent the headache he can feel coming on. He’s given up on suggesting other movies by now, but she somehow seems to only play the movies that get on every last nerve.

He would probably be more willing to watch the romcoms in question if they weren’t the bottom of the pack. Last time Eddie even suggested a romcom he actually doesn’t completely hate he had to hear about it for an agonizing twenty minutes. Fine. She could watch her movie, he can practice on his guitar, right?

You would think.

So he dissociates and focuses on the gentle petting of his calf as he rests his leg on her lap. His mind floats to his best friend, how much he misses the smell of your shampoo, or when you make fun of the cheesier horror movies he loves to watch. If Chrissy wouldn’t make a near temper tantrum every time your name is mentioned in conversation, he would’ve called you weeks ago. He missed your voice.

Chrissy continues to insist that you like him, that you’re trying to steal him from her. It turned into many fights where Eddie felt like he was losing his mind, insisting he just wanted to see his best friend. There is a stubborn, immovable force still holding hope that something will just click one day and realize just how wrong she is. There’s a little nagging part of him, eating at his brain, warning that it probably won’t ever come true.

The possibility is almost too much for him to mentally handle, because when it blows up in his face and you decide not to forgive his radio silence, he doesn’t think he will be able to handle the absence in his life. So he procrastinates the detonation.

“I’m surprised you’re not going to Steve’s party,” Chrissy chirps, interrupting Eddie’s disarray.

Eddie blinks, trying to recall any mention of a party that might’ve slipped his mind. That might’ve been the reason for his ignorance if he could remember the last time he even spoke to Steve. He’s sure Chrissy knows that.

“I didn’t even know he was having one.”

She grabs at the extra material of his jeans, pulling his attention. “Did you want to go?”

He mentally rattles through the mechanics of going to Steve’s stupidly large house, knowing damn well his distance has managed to drive you straight into the arms of someone new, even if it’s only platonic. You’ll be there, the chance much more likely than not.

He wants to see your face, even if it’s in passing. He wonders if Chrissy sees you there if she’ll decide to leave early or just avoid you altogether. But it’s just the chance that drives him to agree.

By the time he gets there, vehicles have already littered the streets surrounding his house, some even audaciously blocking his neighbor’s driveways. Chrissy’s hand is in his as he walks in, anxiously looking around the party for you.

He peers into the living room, to the couch containing members of some of Steve’s closer acquaintances and it wasn’t long until he saw you, sitting right next to Robin holding the bottleneck of a beer bottle.

Your eyes are already on his, wide and still as you stare at him. You’re even prettier than he remembered, any polaroid he’s ever had of you does absolutely no justice to your radiant smile or vibrant eyes.

Fine, you’re staring at him like you would rather be anywhere else for the moment, panic flooding your features, but it’s a breath of fresh air for him compared to his last few suffocating weeks. As you stumble to your feet, Eddie tricks himself into believing that you’ve gotten up to talk to him until you pass the front entrance straight into the kitchen.

He supposes he deserves that, fading as Chrissy tugs him to the dance floor. His hands find her hips, allowing himself to get lost in the relentlessly catchy pop tune. He can’t help but allow his eyes to float back over to the couch every now and then, something in him carnally needing making sure that you’re safe.

Alarm bells go off, goosebumps trailing over his skin as something in him screams that you’re in danger. You could very much just be avoiding him, which he wouldn’t blame you for, not for one moment, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he found out his worry had any footing.

“Babe, I’m gonna grab a drink,” he mutters, blankly kissing her sweet scented blonde hair before his long legs take him to the kitchen.

His stomach drops as your voice fills the kitchen, asking the asshole with wandering hands to stop as he forces himself on you.

The next thing he knows, Daniel is under him, his back slammed on the floor with a face scrunched up in pain as Eddie’s fists are flying. His fists, his jeans, the floor, the whining little shit’s face, it all gets painted with blood.

Eddie doesn’t realize when the pair of arms stop trying to push him off, or when the green eyes no longer stare at him in horror, shut from the trauma of one blunt hit after the other. He just continually bashes his face in for even daring to attempt to force himself on the woman he loves.

Fuck this guy. Fuck him.

Eddie’s blind with rage, but he’s also blind with his own regret.

Your voice cuts through the anger, a warning that seeps in his brain like a sponge. If he keeps hitting him like this he will end up taking his life.

He stands up, facing your trembling form as you seem to be in shock. You melt in his hold, tears spilling over his hands as he caresses you, doing his very best to take care of you. He knows the answer when he asks, but he has to hear it from you.

Finally, the words seem to sober you from wanting his comfort to the hurt that you’ve felt from his silence. You lurch yourself from him, staggering blindly to the fridge as you grab another beer. The scent was harsh on your breath, the sight of you glugging back as much as you can sends jolts through his system.

Then you tell him everything. And he deserves it. He wants so badly to tell you how badly he wanted to call you, but the excuses sound lame even in his own mind.

When you tell him you’re done is when he finally snaps out of his own trance. He knows what you mean, but surely, you don’t really mean it? Before he can ask, Chrissy comes into the picture, doting over his bruised knuckles, ignoring you completely as she asks what happened. He’s fine. He’s not, but he’ll say anything to get back to what you were just saying.

Choked back sobs escape as you tell him with absolute finality that you are done, tripping over your own feet when you leave through the kitchen door.

No, this has gone too far. Eddie hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol but feels as if he’s wasted from stumbling after you, blocked by his girlfriend.

That conversation goes as well as can be expected.

In the hours following, he doesn’t seem to find you anywhere. But without Chrissy trailing after him, he finds himself free to converse with friends he’d missed, meeting their snide remarks of coming back to the land of the living with grace. Eddie stays for hours, half heartedly partaking in any conversation he finds himself witness to just in case you make another appearance.

Steve walks down the stairs after what feels like forever, wearing a grim look on his face. Eddie approaches him. “Hey have you seen–”

“She’s upstairs,” Steve answers, sighing. “Passed out. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning.”

“Is she okay?”

“Didn’t choke on her own vomit, at least,” Steve quips, his voice harsh. “Physically, she’s okay.”

Steve moves to walk around Eddie, seemingly done with the conversation.

“Physically?”

Steve sighs, angry, frustrated. “She just sobbed on the bathroom floor for an hour and a half, Ed. I literally watched her heart break! Safe to say, I don’t think she’s doing so well emotionally.”

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, feeling hopeless, like he should’ve been there to take care of you instead of being the cause of your suffering. “Steve, I–”

“Listen, Eddie. I just heard a bunch of shit from her that I’m not even sure she knows that she said. Other than her I guess telling you to fuck off, what else happened?”

Eddie gulps, not exactly wrapping his own mind around it, yet. “I found Daniel Moore trying to force himself on her.”

“Jesus,” Steve mutters, passing Eddie straight into the kitchen.

“Steve–” Eddie tries to stop him, or warn him at least, wondering how no one else has seen him, yet. There is almost no reason for most to make their way into the kitchen as the drinks station is in the living room, but usually a straggler or two, especially couples would make their own way in. He’s definitely not up and partying from the blood that seeped through the shirt he was wearing…

Should Eddie have called the ambulance?

“What the fuck–” Steve barks, taking in the crumpled form before him. “Jesus, Eddie, what happened?”

“You listen to your best friend beg someone to stop assaulting them and not beat the shit out of him?” Eddie retaliates, watching as Steve double checks to make sure he’s still breathing.

“Well, now I gotta get him out of here before someone has you fucking arrested,” Steve mutters, wracking his brain through old morally questionable friends of his that would help with no questions asked. Fuck. He has a few favors to call in. “Where’s Chrissy gone?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Eddie spits.

“Considering she has control over who you’re allowed to spend time with, probably somewhere nearby with binoculars,” Steve mutters, a fragment of seriousness in the joke.

“Well, not anymore,” Eddie shrugs, feeling surprisingly pragmatic about it.

“Oh.” Took you long enough, Steve thinks. “I’m gonna get him out of here, but I suggest you do the same.”

“Can I stay? I wanna be here when she wakes up.” His eyes pleading to Steve.

Steve’s brows raise. “Respectfully Eddie, I don’t think she really wants to see you.”

“I haven’t been able to tell her anything for weeks, I’m staying!” he insists, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Steve shakes his head, leaning on the counter. God, he wished he hadn’t invited a few dozen people to come to his house for the night. “God, you’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re an idiot. You’re both idiots, but, man I think you’re the bigger one.” Steve walks around the kitchen island, getting unreasonably close to him. “I don’t know if you’re blind, or just selectively ignorant. She loves you, dude! She was willing to support you getting a girlfriend, but then you just shut her out. It’s gonna take more than an apology to be back in her good graces. When she wakes up with a killer hangover, I think the last person she’ll want to see is you. God, if one of you just made the jump years ago this never would’ve happened!”

Eddie’s heart drops at Steve’s angry words, refusing to believe any of his feelings for his best friend are reciprocated. “Sure, because three months of friendship tell you everything you need to know about a person.”

Steve chuckles, walking over the snoring asshole as he steps out to the living room. “I would have to be blind not to see it. She talked about you one time about this stupid fucking movie she watched with you and I could tell. Rather than telling your girlfriend that you have a best friend and she has to get over it, you shut her out. For weeks. And left someone else to pick up the pieces.”

“Steve, I know. I know I was being an ass–”

“Then why didn’t you stop? Why didn’t you give her a call? You had to know she wasn’t going to forgive you so easily–”

“Of course I fucking knew that, Steve! Why do you think I put off letting it explode in my face?”

“Because you’re an idiot! She loved you. She loves you! If you can’t see that then I really don’t know what to tell you. Listen, if you call her tomorrow, I’m not all that sure what would happen. It’s gonna be a while before she’s ready to forgive, bud. For now. Maybe you should go.”

“Oh,” you sigh, hugging your knees into your chest, feeling small. A war rages in your mind. You were hurt enough by him to break your friendship off with him, but you don’t even remember it. The other side of you just wants to be close to him again, willing to sink into the apologies that he owes you and happily accept them.

But you shouldn’t. And you know you shouldn’t.

“Do you wanna come over for a movie?”

You want to come over and watch a movie so badly, it wraps around you and constricts your airflow. “Will she be there?”

“No. Just me and you. I promise,” Eddie swears, voice low enough that it resembles a whisper. “She won’t be, uh, crashing our movie nights anymore.”

You diminish the pulse of hope that threatens to bloom. “What do you mean?”

Eddie sighs. “I was hoping to tell you in person, but we broke up last night…come over, I’ll tell you more. I just need my best friend…and a horror movie…and junk food, god, I miss junk food.”

You miss him so much it hurts. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The bike ride sends pulses through your head, worsening the ache of the hangover. If the pain isn’t gone by tomorrow, you might just ask someone to shoot an arrow through your head to put you out of your misery.

It’s been more than long enough since the last time you were on his front door step, nervous as you hesitate to knock. Eddie’s footsteps are rapid and loud as soon as your knuckles hit the door, the opening to him, wide eyes, graphic t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. He appears unlike himself, almost tired. You wonder if you noticed it last night.

Before either one of you says a word, he tugs you in, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace in his scent. Overwhelming emotion takes over, his shirt absorbing the tears that fall. He feels like home, every part of him. His scent, the muscles flexing under your grasp, his steady breaths.

“I missed you,” he mutters, his voice low, choked, even.

Then why didn’t you call me? “Me too–” you whimper, squeezing onto him even tighter. You sniffle, curling your head into his neck.

The hug lasts forever, or at least long enough for your arms to become numb.

Your butt lands on the couch, the spot that was once permanently marked by you now weirdly lumpy from the lack of use. Did Chrissy know she was allowed to sit in her own seat on the odd occasion? On the coffee table, Eddie has already prepared the popcorn and your favorite snacks, only your favorite snacks. Three movies are laid out, all awaiting their turn in the VCR.

“What’s this?” You ask, rubbing your nose from the snot.

“Uh, three movies. Pick one.”

You read the titles, Back to the Future, Friday the 13th, and Labyrinth. “What happened to wanting to watch horror movies?”

“I have a lot of sucking up to do before I get to be picky with our movie night,” Eddie answers, his voice gentle and careful. “Pick one.”

If he says so, then you’ll have to pick your favorite, rather than his favorite. “Alright, then, Labyrinth it is. David Bowie in leather pants, here I come!”

As the movie plays, a teenage girl desperate to find her brother, you sink into the comfort of the ratty old couch. Through Eddie, you found out that the rattiest couches are actually the most comfy. The more tears and rips, the better. Eddie stands up, running to the kitchen to grab fresh cans of soda from the fridge.

He sits back down, handing you a Diet Coke while popping open his own. Two things you notice when he sits. One, he’s remarkably close, his ass nearly planted in between the cushions. Two–

“Since when did you start drinking diet coke?” You ask him, wincing at the aftertaste.

“Since Chrissy was such a stickler for sugar,” he answers casually, grabbing a bite of the popcorn.

His simple tone, emotionless and understated, squeezes your heart. “What happened with her, anyway?”

Chrissy blocked him, staring at him with wide eyes as she held his shoulders. “What–what is going on?”

“I need a minute,” he stuttered, attempting to walk around her.

“Did you do that?” Chrissy asked, pointing to the lifeless piece of shit on the floor.

“Chris, it’s really not a good time, right now. I will tell you later, I promise. I’ll be right back.” Eddie promised.

She blocked him again, hands pushing on his broad shoulders. “You’re not seriously thinking of going after her, are you?”

“Chrissy, she’s my best friend! That creep just tried– I have to go check up on her, make sure she’s okay!”

“You mean the girl who is pathetically in love with you?” Chrissy asked, belligerent and full of sass. “Sure, go and give her more false hope! She was practically all over you at the diner, mooning over you, desperate to take you out on a date, I mean, don’t give her fucking hope!”

Eddie sighed, rubbing his face angrily. “I don’t know how many times I need to fucking tell you, Chris. She is just my friend. She was being nice, trying to include you. I’m so fucking tired of this conversation!”

“So am I!” Chrissy crossed her arms, popping her hip out. It was times like these Eddie was absolutely sure of why Chrissy and Jason dated for so long. “You know what? Fine. Me or her.”

“What?” Eddie was unsure if she was being serious.

“Pick! Me or her? Because when you pick me maybe then she’ll get the fucking hint!”

It was the easiest decision he’s ever made in his life. “Her.”

Eddie finishes explaining it, mostly nixxing the parts where she berated you or talked shit. You just needed to know the part where she practically had a temper tantrum.

“Wow,” you mutter, remembering how you called Chrissy sweet when they first started dating. “And…you, you picked me?”

“Of course I did.” Eddie pops a kernel into his mouth, leaning back into the couch. His body heat is warm, his scent intoxicating. “You’re my best friend.”

“You haven’t called in weeks, Eddie.” It comes out quietly, the hurt overflowing in your body and pouring out your mouth. “I thought you had a new best girl.”

Eddie sighs, grabbing your hand. “If I could take back the last three months, I would. I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“I missed you so fucking badly,” you admit, focusing on how your hand feels intertwined with his.

“I missed you. I know– I fucked up, but believe me when I say, I missed you so fucking much.”

On one hand, it’s hard to believe him. It seemed like it was so easy for him to cut you off. On the other, the glint in his eyes, his thumb caressing the back of your hand, gentle and unequivocally vulnerable.

Eddie leans forward, connecting his forehead to yours. “I will make it up to you, I promise.”

“You have a lot of making up to do, mister,” you inform him, pulling away from him to lightly nudge his hair.

“And a million strawberry mountains covered in strawberry sauce,” he answers, kissing your forehead softly.

“You really had me worried,” you admit, taking a good look at his face. “I believe you when you say that you missed me, but Eds, you hurt me. I want to trust you, but–”

His movement is swift as he grabs your face with his hands, pulling you in close. “I know, baby, I know.” The pet name takes your breath away, music to your unsuspecting ears. The name wraps itself around your like a warm hug, melting all those months of worry and panic away. “I’m so fucking sorry, if I could just–”

Maybe it wasn’t the right timing, months of silence, unanswered questions, hurt, but all that just conveniently disappears the moment his lips touch yours. You startle, jerking backwards as you look at him curiously, looking for something that’ll tell you he’s not kissing you out of pity, or obligation.

You’re met with the exact way that he always looks at you, but this time, it’s radiant. How did you miss it this whole time? You smile, wrapping your hand behind his neck as you tug him in, entangling his lips with yours and chasing that emotion that ran through you the first time.

Eddie meets your kiss with enthusiasm, grinning madly as he pulls you in closer, your body flush against his as he pulls you down with him.

It’s maddeningly enchanting, the way you can taste his minty breath and his hums against your lips, buzzing and tickling. His tongue sweeps along your bottom lip, pulling a gasp as you happily meet his with yours. Your skin feels electric as his hand sneaks under your shirt, as if he’s just getting the feel of you.

You sigh, curling your arm around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. His kisses trail along your jawline, down your neck, pressing sweet kisses down your jugular. “You taste like strawberries,” he mutters, audibly smiling. “I should’ve known, all those damn strawberries you eat.”

“Before we go any further,” you gasp, clutching at his t-shirt, “and believe me, I want to, you owe me a proper date.”

“Taking you out for a date, baby?” He places more rapid kisses on your neck, letting himself absorb your laughter. “God, I’m lucky.”

You’ve learned one thing for absolute certainty, Eddie Munson knows how to grovel. Between the many kisses you’ve shared that night you tell Eddie with surety that just because he knows how to kiss doesn’t mean he’s suddenly forgiven. Eddie relishes in that, grinning just because you’re kissing him.

The previous night he was losing his mind at his ex-girlfriend’s terrible movie choices, and you, his best friend, the person who has always known him best, you’re finally here kissing him. You could ask him to write a 1000-page apology letter entirely in rhymes or haikus and he would do it heartbeat, but all he’s required to do is prove it?

He’s more than willing.

When the date is proposed, he swears he would love to take you anywhere. He provides a list, with all of the restaurants you know he can’t afford. When you ask him and inquire about such, he shrugs casually. There’s a silent question there, wondering if Chrissy had even considered his wallet size before their date nights.

Instead, you answer with, “Our first date should be the diner, no?”

You’ve never been so nervous before, looking through your small arsenal of date night dresses. He’s seen all of them, whether from a school dance or the aftermath of a date gone sour. One dress catches your attention, at the very back of your closet covered in plastic, just waiting for the right time.

White, with blue flowers hand embroidered on the bodice, a sweetheart neckline and bubble gum pink ribbons tied together as the straps. Periwinkle blue that bleeds into mint green leaves along the hemline, fanned out into a hoopskirt. You’ve stared at this dress when it sat in your mom’s closet, asking when it might be your turn to finally wear it.

The dress fits you like a glove, looking remarkably close to the photo on the easel downstairs, a first date 25 years ago that ended up being one of your favorite bedtime stories.

As you finally make your way down the stairs, hair half up in curls in a ribbon matching the ones on the dress, your dad looks at you with pride and glossy eyes. Whispered words of the resemblance as he hugs you, eyes too tired for a man in his forties from loss and stress, a whiff of gratitude hits you.

It’s a warm spring evening, no need for a coat as the van pulls up with the usual melodies of heavy metal and drumming. You make your way down the sidewalk to his passenger side, butterflies erupting as you open the door.

The volume is turned down to a background noise, the heavy metal feeling oddly out of place at such a low volume. “Hi, sunshine.”

You grab his hand, petting at his calloused skin. “Hi.”

You feel his eyes on you, taking in the dress that is on its first night out in decades. “I don’t know how you show up looking this good and expect me to act normal.”

You grin, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and sniffing at the leather. He can’t say shit like that and expect you to go on like normal. “C’mon. I haven’t had a strawberry milkshake in ages.”

You open the window just a crack, appreciating the scent of fresh grass in the spring. New beginnings, fresh starts, rebirth. It seems oddly poetic.

He pulls up to the diner, bright neon lights against an evening sunset. It looks as if it’s painted, yellow into orange into blue. A lonely diner isolated sitting against a watercolor sky, but one of your favorite places in the world.

The bell ringing feels like an old song you haven’t heard in years, bringing some bittersweet nostalgia.

Martha perks up, the diner even deader than normal with only a lone man sitting on a bar chair holding a milkshake like a beer. The comparison sends a gag reflex through your body, never wanting to even smell another beer in your lifetime. As you sit next to Eddie, in such close proximity that the other side of the booth is useless, Martha appears with a cheeky smile on her face.

“If you two aren’t on a date, I’ll eat my notebook,” she sighs, hands on her hips as if she’s chastising two kids.

You and Eddie glance to one another, debating on fucking with her. It’s all the approval she needs.

“Finally! If you came in my diner again with those puppy dog eyes of yours I would’ve about had it with you two. Now, are you getting your regulars again?”

Eddie’s arm curls around your shoulders, his thumb petting the bare skin of your shoulder. “I’m disappointed you haven’t already brought the milkshake, Martha.”

“Smartasses. The both of you!” She walks off, a brand new pep in her step.

His thumb turns under your chin, pulling your face towards his. “C’mere. I need to make up for the times I just wanted to kiss those pretty lips in this booth of ours.”

“Why didn’t you?” You ask him, breathless as you stare at his eyes.

“I didn’t think the prettiest girl I know would want to kiss a goofball like me,” he chuckles, self deprecating and vulnerable.

You shake your head sadly, sighing happily. “You are so wrong.”

His chuckles are interrupted by your kiss, clutching onto the cotton t-shirt clinging onto his chest. It’s like you to forget how to breathe, taking the moment to take a deep breath before kissing him deeper, harder.

Your tongues meet, wrapping together with his and leaning forward to be as close to him as possible. His hand lands on your thigh, petting it roughly as he teases you. You hated yourself, hated how you told him you wanted to wait, because it’s becoming too much. The need for him sits deep in your stomach and begs you for any resolve from his teasing hands.

His kisses keep you only so satiated, whimpering by the time your make out sessions are done and ready to beg him to touch you already.

The glass of pinky sweetness hits the table, interrupting his electric lips on yours. “If you two do it, at least have the decency to take it to the bathroom like every other patron.”

You yelp, avoiding Martha’s eyes as Eddie tugs you in against his chest, kissing your temple. “Yes ma’am,” Eddie obeys, saluting with two fingers. Two, very distracting fingers.

You take a sip, humming. After weeks, you will proudly proclaim that this is still the best milkshake in town.

Eddie kisses your cheek, pulling you even closer. “If you lick that whipped cream off your finger, so help me god.”

It’s a habit of yours, one you’ve done at least once a visit just to get a taste of it before it sinks into the milkshake. The numerous times you’ve done it sinks in, unknowingly teasing him. “Something wrong with tasting whipped cream, Eds?”

“When you do it with that tongue of yours, yes,” he mutters, nipping on your jawline.

“Why don’t you have a taste,” you hum, taking a scoop with your pinky, licking it up.

Eddie pulls you in, humming as his tongue reaches out for yours to grab a taste of the cream melting fast in your mouth. He pulls back all too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he tuts his tongue. “Mmm. Yum. Thanks, baby.”

The milkshake is nearly gone by the time Martha rolls around again, pancakes and waffles in hand, interrupting soft conversation and sweet nothings.

He finally tries a taste of your pancakes, eating from the fork you offer him. His face winces, screwing up as he chews on it. “That strawberry sauce is sweet, ain’t it?”

“A little sour, I guess, but it’s my favorite. The fresh strawberries are a nice little addition.” You tell him, cutting up the pancakes.

“I’ll stick to my sprinkles,” Eddie mutters, dipping a piece of the big fluffy waffle in the whip. “They are the best.”

“I have a question,” you mutter, relishing in the taste of the sweet strawberry sauce. “How-how long have you liked me? Was it more recent, or have you liked me for years?”

Eddie smirks, placing a stand of hair over your shoulder. “Years.” He chokes back the correction of the word like, cause it’s so much more. “The first time I saw you, you were giving one of the football dicks hell for picking on one of the scrawny little freshmen. And I mean, berating him. You’re shy, baby, but not when it comes to others.” He pauses, chewing thoughtfully. “I knew from that moment.”

Oh. It was a handful of months before you found yourself sitting by the hellfire table, shaking your head at their antics. Plus, Gareth was just plain wrong in his opinion, you shook your head disapprovingly as you dug your nose in the book. Eddie caught on to it, demanding you join their group and inform him of how wrong he was. You did. You didn’t realize how charming Eddie was, how welcoming and genuinely kind.

It took your breath away, especially how gorgeous he was. The crush was kindled from then on, only being nurtured as you continued to debate him and his friends on their nerd culture.

Eddie followed up with the same question, asking how long ago for you, too. You tell him that very story, of how he enamored you just from being around him.

“You know, by then I was already head over heels for you,” he admits casually, sipping the last of the milkshake. “Something about sticking it to the man just does that to a guy.”

“Those dimples of yours are a weapon.” You admit in kind, and he laughs. You drop your jaw incredulously. “They’re a weapon! You think your hands are the only things those girls call magic?”

Eddie leans in, hot breath on your ear sending ripples down your neck. “And have you thought about these magic hands of mine, sweetheart?”

You gulp, licking your lips as your heart races in your chest. “Maybe...” You say softly.

He hums, tentatively kissing your skin. He really shouldn’t be doing this in a public space, you think, attempting not to wiggle at the uncomfortable feeling of arousal pooling in your panties. “I can’t wait to show you just how magic they are.”

You hold back a whimper, choking on it as your eyes flutter shut at his tentative kisses.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” You nod, watching as he places the right amount of bills with a decent tip for Martha.

On your way out the door, Martha shouts her goodbyes, happily yelling out her congratulations as the glass door slams behind you. Eddie’s lips find a home on the back of your hand, holding it as he kisses loudly, tickling the skin.

The trailer sits alone in the park, all lights off as he pulls up. With the turn of a key, his arm wraps around your waist as you walk in sync. It’s familiar as you help him turn on the lights, domestic, even. His jacket is off, tossed on the couch as he tugs you by the hand towards his room.

You’ve thought about it so many times, whisking away into his room with him to devour him completely. Usually it occurs when you’re mad stoned, happy and horny, but too blizted to make a move.

Your hands curtain the back of his neck, thumbs petting the nape of his neck and tangling themselves in his curls, rubbing in small circles. His lips connect to yours, stumbling over dirty laundry as he guides you to his bed. “Hmm, strawberries.”

He yelps as lands on his back, laughing as you collide with an oof. The playful moment is quickly replaced with intensity, staring down into his brown eyes, darkened by desire. Across the years of being his friend, he’s darkened his eyes in many moments, right before he decides to pin you down and tickle you senseless or when you talk down on yourself.

There were moments when his intense gaze took you aback, mostly when you innocently used too much enthusiasm in eating ice cream or put your hair up in a ponytail.

Or when you wore a sundress that sat a bit too high on your thigh.

All these moments suddenly make sense, filling you with a gust of emotion as you grab at him, tugging him harshly for a kiss much more powerful than you knew you had in you. He gasps into it, deep and desperate against your lips as you pull him closer. One of his hands travels downward, hiking under your skirt and grabbing at your thigh, your knee pulled up against his stomach.

Eddie turns you over on your back, hands grabbing at the skin harshly, his rings pressing at your skin hard enough to create an indent. Your leg wrapped around his waist tugs him down, his chest landing on yours.

“Question, my love,” Eddie mutters, words intertwined with his kisses. “Why the hell haven’t I seen this dress until now, it’s…oh my god.”

You grin against his lips, pushing your hands past his cotton shirt. “Waiting for a special occasion.”

“You telling me I could’ve seen this ages ago, baby?” He gasps, wrapping your tongue against his, delicate but enough to make you mewl into his mouth.

“Probably.”

He nips your lip, a punishment for your cheekiness. “It’ll look better on the floor.”

Your hips grind up, meeting the bulge in his pants just right. “You can’t say stuff like that–” you gasp, arms wrapping around his neck to hold on to him pathetically.

“You have no idea the things I’ve wanted to say to you.” His hand travels further up, passing the waistline of your panties and spreading on the skin of your tummy. “All the things I’ve held back…”

The admission is thrilling and terrifying, giving you almost everything you’ve ever wanted.

Now if you could get that bike you wanted for Christmas when you were twelve…

“Can you tell me now?” you ask, smiling up at his pretty, bewildered face.

“Hmm, patience,” he tuts, using his hand to explore. “Right now I just really want to touch your pussy, please, baby, please.”

It’s your turn for bewilderment. He’s acting like touching you is this great honor, instead of a means to an end like anyone else you’ve slept with. “Uh, yeah, I want that. I really, really want that.”

Eddie sighs, using his traveling hand and dipping it under the waistband of your panties. As his best friend, you’ve gotten so comfortable around him, arguably too much. Late nights in his room with a t-shirt and panties as his room fills with smoke. Eddie is only human, appreciating them too much as as you sat cross legged with the strip just a tad too thin for what it was supposed to cover.

This particular pair is decorated in lace up the front, a sheer lace for the bum, a light blue to match the flowers. His fingers latch to your pussy, delicately moving them up and down the folds.

“Oh my god,” he sighs, playing with the slick and spreading it. “You’re so wet, all this…all this for me?”

He adds more pressure, rubbing small circles and watching you throw your head back and melt in the heat that spreads across your thighs and takes form in a tremble, in a shake. “F-feels good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, placing his thumb on your clit and rotating it in tiny circles. “You like the way I play with your pussy, baby?”

You frantically nod, grinding up against him. “Need..need more. Please? More?”

“What does more mean?” He leans in, decorating your neck with sucks and bites and licks. “You want me to lick it, baby? You need my fingers, you already beggin’ for my cock? C’mon my girl, use your words.”

You might just beg for his cock, but you don’t want it to be over so quickly. “Want–want your fingers, Eds.”

He giggles, planting a nice wet kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.” He doesn’t wait a second, curling one finger past your entrance and pumping it slowly, building a slow momentum that pulls at your stomach. He sighs, husky and deep, “Fuck, it’s so tight.”

He removes his finger without warning, not commenting on the moan in disappointment that escapes your mouth. He sits up, grabbing at the waistline as he tugs them down your legs, slowly, carefully, savoring in the moment. He lifts up the skirt, exposing the landing strip that sits waiting for his eyes.

“Did you decorate your pussy just for me? It looks so pretty… Thank you, baby girl,” Eddie is borderline emotional in his gratitude, showering you with praises.

Your legs attempt to close back together in embarrassment from his intense stare. He notices it, pushing your legs back down. “Do me a favor, won’t you? Keep these legs open while I eat your pussy.”

You drench your thighs, turned on even from the mere idea of being with him. “Mmkay.”

“You–” he gasps, delicately licking at the mound. “You taste so good. Wanted to bury my face in this little cunt for so long.”

His hands lift your thighs up and over his shoulder. His mouth tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing, listening to the cues you give him through your quivers and whines. The dress is completely covering his face, hiding the man that is eating you out, slowly and carefully, as if wanting to taste every drop of arousal you feed him.

Before long, your legs start shaking in his hold from the pleasure that has your hands tangled in your hair, eyes squeezed tight as he pulls whine after whine from you. One finger slides right back in, facing no resistance, sucking on your clit simultaneously. That arches your back and curls your toes, gasping from his build up, his words, god just from the years of mental torture.

You cum against his lips without warning, for him or yourself, twitching around his fingers and crying out his name.

He coaxes you through it, kissing your pretty pussy lips gently until your legs stop convulsing. Sweat beads on your forehead, spreading on your back and neck and making the thick fabric of the dress too hot. You untie each ribbon, desperately grabbing at the neckline to pull it up and off.

He kisses up your torso, laughing as you get stuck with the dress half off. One heel digs in his back in retaliation, whining as you gesture to him to help you. “I’m sorry, you’re just so cute.” Eddie giggles.

You whine, kicking your legs for him to hurry up. Your hair is stuck in your dress. It lifts over your head, a light bra covering your tits acting as a tease for him. The dress lands on the floor, nice and splayed out as it’s done its purpose.

You roll your eyes, tugging him in for a desperate kiss by the neck, wandering hands moving south to tug at his t-shirt. “Wanna see you, too,” you confess, helping him rid of his shirt. “Show me those tattoos.”

“You like the tatties?” You nod enthusiastically although you know he’s just teasing you. “Oh, I bet ya do. Probably ogled them while I wasn’t lookin’ huh?”

With a chest like his, you don’t imagine he could blame you. You let your eyes speak for you, raking over his covered chest and openly staring. “Wanna suck your cock.” You look up at him with big doe eyes, silently begging.

Eddie’s eyes widen at your admission, groaning as you start to undo his jeans. “Fuck, I don’t know if I’ll last that long…I need to be buried in you, wanna feel that pussy around my cock.”

You gulp, wrapping your legs around his torso so his jeans meet your pussy, probably drenching a wet spot on the front. “Me too…but I remember you said you didn’t really get reciprocated very much.” You inhale, gathering courage. “I remember thinking how I’d love to spend hours with your cock down my throat.”

Eddie keels over you, curling his face in your neck as he whimpers. “You were holding that back from me?” He punches the mattress right next to your head, a mild temper tantrum. “What other depraved thoughts have you been hiding from me?”

“You want me to tell you, or show you?” You’re not sure where this surge of confidence is coming from, but you’re running with it, especially if it means you can hear him make that sound again.

“Sh-show me- want you to show–” he nods, whimpering into your neck and shuddering.

“Mmkay,” you muse, smirking at just how easily the shoe falls on the other foot. “Get on your back.”

He complies promptly, wrapping his arm around the small of your back and turning the two of you over. You straddle him, grabbing at his chest carefully as you plant kisses all the way down his lean torso. You bring teeth into the mix, sucking and biting and marking your territory.

You’ve been itching to do so since he showed up one morning with bruises decorating his neck, claiming his hookup got a little too eager.

I'll show you eager, you begrudgingly think, wishing that all the boys were teasing him from bruises you gave him, instead. God, there was one planted on his collarbone that was excessively large, annoyingly so.

You mark your way down his chest, his stomach, lapping greedily at his treasure trail as he whimpers at your enthusiasm. This is power, you think to yourself, wondering what other noises you could conjure from him. As your mouth moves, so do your hands, undoing his belt slowly, taking your time as you unzip his fly.

The evidence of his arousal is strikingly clear, his boxers bulging out of the open fly and begging for your attention. While your subtle glances downward gave you an inkling of his size, his hardened cock presenting itself to you, even disguised in its plaid wrapping, had you letting out a gasp in unbridled lust.

You wrap your hand around it, gleaming as he hisses, a hushed swear passing through his lips. You watch his face, observing him as you place your lips on the covered shaft, just letting him feel the heat of your breath on it. “Oh, fuck–” Eddie chokes, letting out harsh shudders.

The sight of his face is borderline angelic, all of his walls down as he focuses on you. You can’t help but smile at that, at how you desperately wished for nights like these, only paying attention to one another. You poke your tongue out, drenching the cotton fabric with your spit, working your way down the length.

At his little whines, you finally curl his fingers under his waistband, drooling at the taut cock that pops out, giving you a friendly hello, swaying from the spring. You smile ear to ear, delicately wrapping your hand around the base.

You kiss the tip, lapping at the pearl of precum that gives the clear indication of his arousal, as if his hard on wasn’t enough. “Mmm,” you hum at the salty taste, leaning in to suck every last drop from his flushed tip.

You let the saliva that has pooled on the surface of your tongue drool onto his cock, spreading it down the shaft, absorbing the moan he rewards you with. “Shit, that feels–oh my god.”

You smile with pride, finally taking him into your mouth, enthusiastically bobbing up and down on his length. Your eyes remain on his, watching him as his face melts, committing it to memory.

“Oh, Jesus,” he swears, hips rutting up, clawing further into your mouth. You take him in further, gagging on it as you wrap your tongue around it experimentally, choking loudly and purposely. “Ch-choke on it, yeah, ch-ohmy god, just like that–”

Your hand moves in rhythm with your mouth, slobbery sounds of spit on flesh, his and yours, deliciously wet. He tenses up beneath you, whines growing more desperate, moans huskier, deeper. It’s a marvelous melody, one no composer could make even if they tried their hardest.

“St-st-stop,” he stutters, curling over himself, writhing under you. “Stop–I-I’m gonna cum.”

Reluctantly you listen, lifting your head off him with a pop and cheekily smiling at his heaving chest. You crawl upward, yelping as he wraps his arm around the small of your back and tugs you in for a kiss, more powerful, wrapped in an unnamed emotion you couldn’t possibly let yourself be delusional enough to define as. The one hand crawled up your back undoes the clasp of your bra, tugging it off your arms and flinging it across the room.

“Gimme those tits,” Eddie sighs, kneading them in his hands and toying with the flesh and nips. “Oh, they’re so pretty, baby. I love them, I‘ve wanted to play with them for so long.”

Eddie’s legs move under you, kicking off his jeans while holding you close to his chest. You sit up, tugging him up with you as you hover just over him.

His skin directly on yours, close and toe curling as you straddle his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you stare into his eyes. There’s a glow in them, eyebrows relaxed as he holds your hips, staring up at you with such enamour. “Want your cock,” it’s only a whisper, but loud in the intimacy between you two. “I want you.”

His brows furrow, only a moment. The thought passes through him quick as a flash, but you see it.

“What was that?”

He smiles, relieved and tender. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He leans in, pressing kisses on your clavicle, your neck, your shoulder, the swell of your breast. “Not-not just like this. I mean, fuck, I wanted it, so, so bad. But…I’ve wanted you, wanted your late nights and early mornings, to help you when you need to study, wash the dishes…sorry, I’m rambling.”

You pet his cheek, shaking your head. “No. Keep going.”

“I mean, we’ve always sort of had that, you know? It was just torture, not kissing you stupid whenever I wanted…because I wanted to. I wanted to, so much, baby. I love you. So much. You’re my best friend, my person, and I just love you so fucking much.”

A breath of a laugh passes through your lips, attempting to absorb what he had just told you. “Really?”

You smile, holding him tightly as you kiss him, sighing happily as he confirms, nodding frantically. The head brushes against your entrance, pulling a whine from you. “Eds, I-I love you, too.” The kisses get more fierce, Eddie clinging onto you harder and nearly attacking your lips. “But…if you don’t fuck me soon I might actually lose my mind,” You giggle.

He laughs, combing his fingers through your hair, away from your face, from the sweat. He slaps his cock against your clit, teasing you with his head. “Of course, baby, you wanna ride me, hmm? Hop up and down on my big fat cock?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip, hissing when he pushes his head in, watching as your jaw drops. “Oh, look at you, I knew you could take it like a good girl.”

You choke back a whine, swallowing hard as his words have such a strong effect on you. ‘Fuck, f-feels so good.” You stop, mewling as the burn of his girth becomes too much.

“Don’t rush yourself, baby, it’s okay.” He puts his hands on your hips, digging into the soft flesh. “So nice and tight, fuck.” His eyes practically roll to the back of his head.

You sink further, taking him deeper as the burn bleeds into bliss and back to burning again. “Jesus, s’good.”

“Mm, almost there, baby.”

“Move, please. Eds. Need-need you to move.”

Eddie chuckles, large hands holding your back. He lifts his hips, slowly filling you to the hilt and bringing it back out, one hand landing by his side to use it for leverage. You chirp out his name, mewling as he slowly rocks his hips. “Love the way you say my name,” he gasps.

You start rocking, slowly lifting your hips as you assist him. “You gonna make me scream it?”

“If that’s a challenge, then I will happily accept,” Eddie growls, gripping onto your hips harder and pulling you down so the union of where your bodies meet hurts in the best way. “Wonder when those legs will give up, hm?”

“I’ve thought about riding you on the couch too many times to give up easily,” you admit, giggling at his wicked grin.

“Oh, have you now? Been wearing those little panties just so I’d snap and ravish you, hmm?” He asks, hair wild as he watches you bounce on him.

“Maybe,” you admit, though that was mostly just out of comfort and trust of your best friend. “You have stronger will power than I thought you would.”

“Hmm, you think too much of me, baby,” Eddie mutters, framing your face with his hand and pulling you in for a kiss.

Admittedly, your legs are growing tired, but you soldier on, connecting your forehead with his desperately and watching his eyes glaze over. Your head already feels hazy, heat building in your stomach as you rapidly climb towards your climax. “You getting close? About to cum on my cock?”

You nod, startling in your movement as he starts to move you quicker with just the tightening of his grip on your hips. “Eds,” You whimper as he rubs his thumb on your clit, rapid movements as he hurdles you towards your orgasm, your cunt tightening around him as your eyes roll back.

“Lemme feel you squeeze my cock, baby, wanna feel you cum all over it.” Almost as he demands it into existence, you finish with a start, twisting your toes together and hunching over his shoulder while he rolls his hips, gasping and whining and mewling. “Oh, that’s my girl. Here, bet those legs’re gettin’ tired, hmm?”

You nod, giddily giggling as he maneuvers you on your back. “God, I love you. I really really do. I don’t–I don’t know what the fuck I’ve been thinking–”

You slap your hand on his mouth, giggling at his wide eyes. “Sorry, but…shut up. Rail me. Destroy me. We have time for all that later, now quit getting all emotional on me.” You take your hand off his mouth and pat his cheek. “Be a good boy and make me scream your name, won’t you?”

He chuckles deeply, his jaw dropping as he nips on the palm of your hand. “‘Be a good boy,’ hmm? Yes, ma’am.”

Okay, this turns you on too much not to eventually dissect it, but Eddie’s hips start moving, harsh and raw and brutal, just as you asked for. With each collision of his hips comes a whimper from the force, each one louder than the last.

His head curls down into your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin as he sucks and bites and laps his tongue over the pain. “Look at your neck, all marked up. All mine,” He rasps.

“All yours,” you whisper, choking on the emotion that fills your throat.

“My good girl who loves to get fucked hard, hmm?” He chuckles, curling his arms tightly around you. “Oh, listen to those pretty little noises you’re making, so pathetic for me, oh fuck.”

“Ed-keep-oh-oh–” you gasp, whining higher and higher.

“Yeah, just like that. Pathetic little princess.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in close, skin to skin, all sticky and sweaty as the smell of sex fills the air.

“You’re moaning like a desperate little slut but you’re not screaming my name, yet. Can’t wait for it. Hmm? Why you makin’ me wait?”

“Maybe you’re not hitting hard enough,” you gasp, a smile spreading across your face.

Eddie’s eyes widen, lifting his body off yours quickly. “Oh yeah? Hands n’ knees. Turn around.” He sends a jolt of fear through you, eyes widening as move into a crawl position. “That’s a girl.”

His hands tighten on your hips, lining himself up and pushing in all within the span of 3 seconds. He’s relentless with it, lurching forward as he grabs a fistful of your hair. “C’mon, I can’t hear you.” He taunts you, pulling deliciously at your scalp.

He starts moving faster and harder, clumsily planting his lips on your back, messily trying to take any claim he can on you. One hand slaps your ass, Eddie hums, appreciating the print of his hand on your skin. Moans pass through your lips, the loud ones that Eddie was asking of you. HIs name is added into the mix, cross eyed and desperate as he somehow increases his force.

“There we are. Where do ya want me to cum, baby, I’m so fuckin’ close.”

“Cum–cum in me, Eds. Fill me up.”

“Fuck-you, y’sure?”

“Fill. Me up.” You say again, getting your point across.

“Oh fuck–” he stutters, jaggedly rutting into you as he bends over you, filling you up with sticky white ropes. “You feel that, baby? Fuck. You feel all full?”

Eddie releases the hold on your hair as you fall forward, breathing heavily as you collect yourself. He pulls himself out, collapsing right next to you. His arms easily wrap around your back, pulling you in against his chest. You curl into him, sighing happily as you listen to his racing heart.

You lay like that for a while, listening to his breathing even out as he pets your hair gently. He plants a kiss on your forehead, humming. “Why did that take us so long to do?” You ask, still trying to regain control over your breathing.

“Hmm?” He pulls away, processing your question. “Oh, I don’t know. We’re idiots.”

You tug him back in, feeling sleepy as you smile against his chest. “Yeah. Big, big idiots. I love you, idiot.”

He hums, pulling you in tighter. “Love you too, ya idiot.”

It’s strange. You thought it would change everything if he were to finally be yours. It doesn’t change anything, banter traded as always, only with a caressing hand that tugs you in for a kiss when he teases you. Hormones go wild, finding resolve in one another as movies are no longer watched, just a nice background noise.

Thank you so much for reading, remember replies and reblogs are the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

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