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thefallennightmare · 7 months

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Just Pretend-Twenty Four

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Musician! Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.

Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.

Authors Note: Did y'all bring your umbrellas and washcloths? Cause it gets a bit messy in this.

FUCK YOU. EAT SHIT. KILL GOD. DETHRONE.

We are Fallenvvitch. Goodnight.

🪽🔮

Collaborating With: @thescarlettvvitch(better give her all the love as well)

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @ozwriterchick @waake-meee-up @notingridslurkaccount @niicoleleigh @sammyjoeee @xxrainstorm @dominuslunae @notmaddihealy @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @iknownothingpeople @writethrough @thebadchic @blackveilomens Claudia on Tumblr @tobe-written @blacksoul-27 @loeytuan98 @loverofagoodbeard @comfortcharactercraze @lma1986 @plutonikchaos1 @spicywhenspeaking @lyschko666 @somewhere-diamond @hi-fancy-seeing-you-here @koskeepsake @bngurngheart @shilohrosechicken @emzandthevoid @casangel1986 @qualityvoidcollectorsblog @myownthoughts12 @jilliemiw86 @bellaboo967 @halloweenaesthetic @collapsedglasshouses @iamamatus

NOAH

“So are you saying there’s a new Bad Omens music video on the horizon?”

With a trick smile, I adjusted my position in the chair and shrugged to the camera on my computer. “Uh, yeah. I can’t tell you which one but it’ll be out there soon.”

The group of people who were interviewing me via Zoom cheered until one of them asked the next question. It went like this for a few more minutes and I did my best to pay attention and not reach for my phone. Tonight was important and even with how poised and professional I looked during the interview, my knee was bouncing under my desk with nerves. Everything had been planned down to the last detail, Michael giving me shit for stressing out about nothing.

“It’s Y/N, you know she’d be fine with just an easel and new paints,” he chuckled while watching me set up Y/N’s studio.

I paused setting up the plants on a shelf to turn towards him. “I know. But she deserves this; all of this. She needs a place to escape by herself for a little while.”

“You have to relax,” Michael rested his hands on my shoulders, looking directly into my eyes. “You need to enjoy the new beginnings of your relationship. You and Y/N love each other, that’s what matters. Not how many plants she has.”

Shaking my head from the earlier memory, I hummed towards the interviewer. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

She chuckled. “We’ve seen some growth vocally on this new record from the last. Can you give us a little insight on that?”

With a nod, I divulged how I recently started working with a vocal coach who helped bring out this side of me that I had always hidden under a veil of self-doubt and insecurities.

Suddenly my phone buzzed on the desk and I quickly peered down at it, my heart jumping into my throat.

Angel 🪽: I’m walking out of therapy right now, I’ll be home and ready to go in an hour!

While the interviewers chatted amongst themselves briefly, I typed out a fast response before taking a long drink of my coffee.

Me: No rush, angel. We have all night. I should be finishing up this interview soon.

Another question and another answer. It went on like this for a few minutes until I noticed another text from Y/N.

Angel 🪽: You already got coffee?🥺

My heart dropped when I saw that emoji because I could vividly picture her soft lips in a pout just like it. Her bright eyes wide.

Me: Don’t do that, you know I can’t resist that face you pull. Jolly brought it from Fika. Astrid made an extra by mistake. We can swing by and get you one.

Thankfully, my hands were just off camera so no one who was watching would be able to see my texting.

Wait.

Me: Wait, are you watching? You little sneak.

Deciding to give my attention back to the interview, I finished it within the next thirty minutes and thanked them with a wide smile before clicking out of Zoom. Standing up from the desk in the studio, I read Y/N’s message as I trotted down the stairs toward my bedroom.

Angel 🪽: Of course, I’m watching. I watch all of your interviews. I also love teasing you. I already stopped by Fika after therapy. I will say that I’m excited about what you have planned for later.

Veering left instead of right, I stepped inside Y/N’s art studio and stood in the middle of the room, assessing every inch of it to make sure it was absolutely perfect. The memory of earlier today stumbling inside with both arms full of bags that contained a variety of different paint and drawing supplies. The guys merely smirked as they saw me struggling even having a bag hanging from my teeth before I motioned to the outside with my head and mumbled two words.

Help. Car.

The studio was perfect and spotless when I made sure that everything was where it needed to be. As I headed across the hall into my bedroom to finish getting ready, I sent a text to Y/N; one she responded to almost immediately.

Me: I can’t wait. I love you.

Angel 🪽: I love you too, mochi.

READER

“Oh my god, I’m stuffed. I can’t eat another bite,” I groaned while stepping out of Noah’s car as he held the door open for me.

“Greek was a good choice, huh?” He chuckled as he walked around the car towards me; a little bell jingling behind him.

I looped my arm through his and rested my head against his shoulder. “You know I’d never turn down a chance for Greek food.”

“I never thought I’d be such a fan of it. I’ve always thought it was just gyros. The spinakorprita was good.”

I stifled my laugh into his bicep. “It’s spanakopita.”

“Spa-na-ko-pi-ta.”

Noah sounded out slowly and I kissed his shoulder. “Good job! Pretty soon I’ll have you fluent in Greek and we can visit Greece.”

He brushed a kiss along my forehead and I peered down at the feline that rubbed his face along Noah’s leg.

“Are you sure he’s okay on the harness?” I bit my lip. “He can’t slip out of it?”

“Salem is fine, angel. He loves this thing. You should have seen him running through the grass when I had him a couple of months ago.”

To reassure me worries, however, Noah picked up Salem to hold him against his chest, our cat purring loudly as I pressed a kiss on his head.

“Thank you for letting me bring him. I figured it would be good to get him acclimated here in case you have to watch him for me,” I said as we began walking up towards the house.

“I’ve been wanting to show him the new cat tree I bought him,” Noah smiled.

When we came to a stop at his front door I untangled myself from him and then reached inside my purse for my camera.

“Angel,” he started.

Waving him off, I backed away a few feet and motioned to him to stay there. “Just one picture in front of the house. You look so cute tonight. Plus, I need a picture of my boys.”

Even with the dim street light but the bright glow of the moon, I saw the red hue cover Noah’s cheeks with my compliment, and eventually, threw up his trademark peace sign with one hand and continued to hold Salem in the other.

Snapping a few different poses, I pocketed the Polaroids after they printed and skipped back toward Noah, who had opened the front door and allowed me to step inside the quiet house.

“Where is everyone?” I wondered.

Noah hung up his keys on the hook next to the front door. “Movies. The local theater is playing the old Japanese version of Godzilla.”

“You turned that down?” I asked with wide eyes. “You love old Japanese movies.”

“No place I’d rather be than right here, with you,” he mused while wrapping his arms around me to place a chaste kiss on my lips.

“How sweet,” I cooed while patting his chest.

Noah let Salem off the harness so he could explore the house, he immediately found the cat tree and curled up in the top bed part.

Something was bothering Noah, however, no matter how bright he smiled. I could sense it in the way he kept fidgeting with his hands during dinner to how often he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel on the way back to his house.

“What’s on your mind?” I questioned while palming his cheek.

He left a kiss on the inside of my palm. “I want to show you something.”

“You do?” My heart fluttered.

Linking our fingers together, Noah led me down the hallway towards his room, but we veered left instead to stop in front of a closed door. With our hands on his chest, I felt the rapid beat of his heart and let out a low laugh.

“Mochi, your heart is racing,” I said.

He nodded. “I’ve been working on something the last few months since I’ve moved in trying to make it perfect. I think I’ve annoyed both my roommates and yours.”

“Chase and Malcolm know about this?” I questioned.

“Yeah. They sent me some of the products you use, your favorite brands; things like that. I wanted to make sure that you don’t have to worry about lugging things back and forth,” Noah shifted on his feet.

“Okay, what is it?” I bounced on my heels with excitement. “You’ve already surprised me with the vanity. What do you have hiding behind that door?

I gasped. “Is it a puppy?! No, wait. That wouldn’t make sense.”

Noah chuckled while cupping my face to leave a kiss on my forehead. “No puppy. Maybe down the road.”

“Well, will you show me already? I’m getting antsy!” I patted his chest before messing with his chain between my fingers.

I still wore my matching set, never taking them off.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered.

With a pout, I tried to get out of doing it but instead, Noah covered my vision with his large hand. Feeling his presence behind me, I heard the door click open and he led me inside the room. The hand over my eyes shook so I grazed my fingers over the back of it, letting him know that he didn’t have to be nervous.

“I want to make sure you love it, angel,” Noah pressed a kiss behind my ear. “OK. Are you ready?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed.

Blinking a few times to adjust to the light, a hand went to my mouth as a gasp fell from my lips. It was overwhelming and almost too many different things to take in, I didn’t know where to look first.

There were four different-sized easels in each corner of the room.

An angled desk in front of the large window, one that people would use to draw on.

Three shelves above that desk held various paints, brushes, and charcoals.

Plants littered almost every inch of space that wasn't overtaken with painting supplies.

The closet in the room was wide open, showcasing even more stock of supplies and different size canvases.

The best part? Hardwood floors.

With tears in my eyes, I slowly turned back to Noah, standing in the doorway with his hands behind his back.

“So?”

“I-,” I cleared my throat when the words came out jumbled. “You did this?”

“Yeah. I wanted to give you your own space here. To come too whenever you wanted, even if I wasn’t home,” he wrung his hands together.

“Really?” I choked out. “Don’t you think you should maybe check with the guys about having me come over here all the time unannounced?”

“Angel,” he took a step towards me and grabbed my hands, his thumb brushing mine. “Jesse was the one that suggested I give you a key.”

My eyes doubled. “A key?”

Noah now dug into his pocket to pull out a black key, gently setting it in my open palm. “I want you to have a place to come and stay. I’m not asking you to move completely in, but if it's getting a little stuffy in that small apartment with Chase and Malcolm, you and Salem can come to spend the night here.”

I let out a small chuckle, a few tears falling from my eyes, and then held the key close to my chest. “You gave me all of this but I have nothing in return, Noah.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and mused. “Your love is enough, Y/N.”

“I love you. Thank you for all of this.” I pressed my head against his chest while wrapping my arms around him.

“I love you too.” He kissed the top of my head. “Now, welcome to the other part of our first date.”

I gazed up at him through lashes. “We’re going to paint?”

“Now, I’m not a professional like you,” he snorted before pulling me over to two easels that were next to each other. “But I thought it would be a cute idea.”

“I would not call myself a professional.”

“Still better than me,” Noah said.

I raised a playful brow while crossing my arms over my chest. “Want to make this interesting?”

He smirked while resting his hands on my hips. “I’m all ears, angel.”

“Whoever has the worst painting has to get the winner's birthday tattooed on them.”

“Oh, it’s a bet,” he sealed it with a kiss.

Noah pulled out the little stool for me to which I sat with a smile, pulling up the ends of my yellow maxi skirt to sit comfortably. While Noah busied himself with setting up music to play from the Bluetooth speaker, I removed my jacket to set it neatly on the ground at my feet.

“Do you want an old shirt of mine to change into?” He asked while pointing to my white top.

I noticed that Noah had shed his gray button-up and was wearing a blank tank top. I licked my lips at the site of his muscles, the tattoos suddenly seeming more fitting now that he had been working out a lot more.

Remind me to thank Ash.

Snapping my eyes away from the broadness of his chest, I shook my head. “I’ll be fine, mochi. Thank you though. I don't typically make a mess.”

“Hm, the paint stains on the dining room carpet say otherwise,” he teased.

Playfully smacking Noah’s arm, we both got settled as the music filtered into the air and I got lost in my mind, painting whatever my soul called for. We found ourselves in a peaceful quiet, simply enjoying each other's presence. Every so often I would glance over to Noah, making sure that he was enjoying himself only because I knew painting wasn't for everyone.

He had narrowed eyes of precision as he stroked the brush wave after wave against the canvas. From this angle, I couldn’t see what he was painting. Instead, I leaned over to rummage in my purse, pulled out my Polaroid camera, and snapped a few shots of Noah before one of me, with him in the background. I set the pictures on the desk next to me before getting back to my painting.

“How’s it going over there?”

Noah’s soothing voice brought me out of my trance and I glanced over at him with a smile. “Good, I’m almost finished. What about you?”

“Promise you won't laugh?”

“Of course, mochi.”

I made a show of crossing my heart but let out a squeal of laughter when Noah hooked his foot around the foot of the stool and dragged me over towards him. He gave me a quick kiss but still wouldn’t let me see what he painted.

“I’ve been told I’m a great artist, granted that was in the second grade,” Noah chuckled before finally showing me his canvas and what he spent the last thirty minutes painting.

I covered my mouth with a hand not to stifle a gasp but instead a laugh. He painted stick figure versions of him, me, and Salem in front of a house; even with the bright yellow sun in the corner of the canvas.

“Wow,” I nodded. “All I’ll have to say is don’t quit your day job, mochi.”

Noah scoffed. “Fuck, that was cold. But it's true. There’s a reason why I’m a musician, not a painter. I’ll leave that to you, angel.”

“I love it!” I beamed while ruffling his hair and laying a gentle kiss on his cheek. “I’ll hang it up above my bed.”

“What did you paint?” He wondered.

“Oh nothing too important, just some abstract colors. I didn’t really have an actual vision. I kind of let the paint speak to me as I go,” I said.

When I showed him my painting, Noah’s eyes glinted and he smiled. “I like it. I’ll have to hang this above my bed.”

“So I think it’s safe to say that I won the bet? And now you have to get my birthday tattooed on you,” I grinned while going about to clean up the paint and brushes.

When Noah didn’t respond, I glanced over my shoulder to see that he had a very sly smirk playing on his lips and I popped my hip out, resting a hand on it.

“Noah Sebastian. Did you purposely lose this bet so you could get my birthday tattooed?”

He hummed along to the song playing on the speaker, still not answering my question but never getting rid of that smirk on his face. His silence, however, was exactly the answer I needed.

What a cheeky little...

With the dirty paintbrush in my hand, I flicked it over at Noah, the leftover paint spraying over his chest when he turned towards me. His eyes bounced down to the paint splatter over his black tank top to me, a shocked expression on his face.

“Did you just throw paint on me?”

I shrugged. “Oops?”

“Really? Oops?” Noah dipped a larger paintbrush into a handful of different colors before throwing it all over my face and neck.

“NOAH!” I screeched with a boisterous laugh.

Suddenly, he picked me up to twirl me in the air before tackling me onto the ground then started painting my arms and neck as I found underneath him.

“I’m sorry!” I giggled while trying to reach for the paintbrush I dropped; fingertips grasping at it.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. I’m busy painting a masterpiece,” Noah responded, painting shapes on my cheek now.

With my fingers finally grasping the brush, I flicked some paint into his hair, covering it in bright pinks, blues, and yellows. Our peals of laughter overpowered the music still playing in the room and eventually, after we both were covered in pain, I threw up my hands in surrender.

“OK!” I chuckled breathlessly. “You win. You win.”

Noah kissed me, smearing the paint over my lips. “Damn straight I do.”

Somehow in the shuffle of our paint fight, I managed to straddle Noah, who lost his tank top; it was destroyed due to all the paint. So he lay shirtless underneath me and I couldn’t help but bite my lip at the sight of him with his arm propping his head up and his tattoos on full display for only me to devour.

Reaching up towards my easel, I grabbed a few different paints and clean brushes before settling back on Noah’s hips, getting to work on painting the flowers of his chest piece.

He hummed at the feeling of the cool brush and let his eyes flutter shut for a long moment, reveling in the feeling of me on top of him. And not in a sexual way but in a way of knowing that I was here and not going anywhere.

“Am I an adult coloring book for you?” Noah questioned after he took a few Polaroid pictures of me painting him.

“Maybe,” I teased with a glance down at his face.

His chest was a vibrant picture of greens, reds, and oranges. I was working on painting the headband in the girl's hair when he spoke again.

“Well don’t stop, I like this form of meditation.”

Once the round frame was painted gold, I adjusted my position so I could sign my name just above the words across his sternum.

Noah opened one eye and smiled. “I see you signed your work.”

“I did because you’re not it anymore.” I pressed a soft kiss along each letter.

“I’m not what?” He breathed in pleasure, slightly arching off the ground.

“You’re no longer desolate,” I promised into his skin then took a couple of Polaroid pictures of my masterpiece.

Noah let out a soft noise from the back of his throat when his strong hand wrapped around the back of my neck to pull me down to his lips, we met in a fiery, air-bending kiss. Every single fiber of my soul blazed with such passion I melted into his embrace, folding into him as we became one. His tongue brushed along my bottom lip, lapping up the strawberry chapstick I applied in the car earlier, him humming in delight.

I adjusted myself as I lay flat on Noah, his hands running up and down the skin of my back underneath my shirt. The heat radiated off of him making my insides flare with so much desire that I was practically burning up at his touch.

“Noah,” I whined when his lips began attacking my neck.

When he pulled away, his almond eyes gazed up at me with pupils blown wide with lust; pure black over taking his eyes.

“How about I run you a bath?” His thumb brushed along my bottom lip, voice hoarse from our kiss.

“I’d like that a lot,” I beamed.

NOAH

I sat on the edge of the tub to check the temperature of the water making sure it was perfect before adding the bubbles and bath salts. As it began to fill up, I peered through the open bathroom door to gaze over at Y/N who was sitting at her vanity taking off her makeup. My heart swelled in my chest when I noticed how relaxed she was, as if she was meant to be there; here with me.

Sitting here in observation, it struck me like a bolt of lightning. I’d been so lost in constructing scenarios for tonight that I was surprised to see how far I’d come. Y/N’s movements were so fluid, so serene as she gently wiped everything off her face and neck. I’d never been so jealous of a makeup towelette before.

Observing her using the vanity table I fussed over for weeks made my stomach flutter, the ongoing moment of quiet bliss was by far my favorite way to let time tick by.

Waiting here offers me time to let my mind escape the boundaries of the ordinary. From where I sat here in the bathroom, watching her carefully with the faintest of smiles, I knew I wanted this view for the rest of my life. After all the bullshit endured on and off over the years, for both of us, this was what I got to see.

Watching Y/N was such a gift, a blessing of time. Something I vowed right now that I wouldn’t take for granted.

Shaking off the excess water after checking the temp, I turned off the tub and walked into the bedroom with a light spring in my step. I snuck up behind Y/N and rested my chin on top of her head, watching her smile in the reflection of the mirror.

“Your bath is ready, angel,” I informed.

She reached for my left hand to lay a gentle kiss on the floral design. “You mean, our bath is ready.”

I raised a brow at her when she stood and led me into the bathroom with her.

“Wait, what?”

Y/N chuckled at the slight confusion in my voice. “You heard me. You’re covered in paint too, Noah. You need to clean up.”

I rubbed the back of my neck as we stood together in the bathroom. “I was-uh- going to take a shower once you were finished. I don’t want to pressure you into-.”

“Stop overthinking this,” she cupped both sides of my face and pressed a kiss to my nose. “I want you to join me if you’re comfortable with it.”

I may have nodded a little too eagerly but it didn't bother her.

“I’d love that, angel.”

While she shed her clothes, I stepped out of my pants and briefs, both of us watching each other with such inferno in our eyes and when we were naked, Y/N reached for my hand. She stepped into the tub first then me, positioning myself behind her. Even though it was a larger tub, it was still a snug fit for the both of us so to make sure she had enough room, I kept my long legs bent; my knees breaking the surface of the water.

“Oh this is perfect,” Y/N groaned while leaning herself into my chest.

Reaching for her shampoo, I went to work scrubbing the paint out of her hair, my nails scraping along her scalp. Her fingers traced over the rose tattoo on my knee, delicately following the design.

“What’s on your mind, angel?” I questioned after rinsing out her hair and then applying the conditioner.

“You’ve really thought about everything, huh? You have all of my products here so I don’t ever have to bring a bag over?”

The giggle that erupted from her throat made something twinge inside of me.

I kissed her shoulder. “I’ve already told you. This is your home just as much as your apartment is. We can bounce back and forth as long as you want.”

Once she was completely clean of the dried paint, Y/N turned to position herself on my lap to face me. The head of my cock brushed along her folds and I grasped at her hips, trying not to let my hormones push her too far.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

She smiled and reached for my shampoo. “You washed me. Let me wash you now.”

Sighing in content, I sat back against the tub to let Y/N wash my hair. Her fingers worked meticulously in scrubbing out the paint.

“You know,” she shifted herself on me and I choked on a groan.

Surely she had to know what she was doing.

“While I love how you look with this new haircut. I really do miss your long hair.”

I gazed up at her, tracing the drop of water that trailed down her neck, over the silver chain, and between the valley of her breasts that were just peeking above the bubbles.

I licked my lips, tongue begging to trace the water in its wake, but refrained.

“Imagine if you gave yourself bangs. You’d be in your Shelby era,” Y/N chucked while moving my hair in a certain way so I could have bangs.

I glanced over to the mirror above the sink and smirked at the sight of us in the tub, especially me with bangs.

“You think so?” I asked.

“You can pull off any look, mochi.”

She gently went about washing the paint off my chest with the loofah while I continued to watch her.

“You’re staring,” her eyes flicked up at me.

“I love you,” I brushed away the wet strands of hair from her face.

“I love you too,” Y/N kissed the freckles on my shoulder.

Once again we found ourselves in our previous position, her back to my chest, and we sat there for some time as the water began to chill. Although neither of us was ready to get out yet.

“Noah?”

Snapping my eyes open, I wrapped my arms around her. “Yeah?”

Y/N shifted a bit in my embrace and with how she was wading her fingers through the water, I knew something heavy was on her mind.

“Do you think we could listen to Bad Decisions?”

My body stilled behind her. I knew at some point we would have to talk about the songs I wrote when I was in the dark parts of my life but it still didn't prepare me for the moment it happened.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

She turned slightly in my arms to leave an array of kisses on my chest.

“I know you were in a dark place when you wrote it. It holds bad memories so I’d like to create new memories for this song with you if you want to.”

“I’d want nothing more, Y/N,” I whispered into her hairline.

After asking the Alexa device on the bathroom counter to play the song, I let my voice echo in the confines of the room. Y/N eased into my embrace as I linked our fingers together while I sang along with the words in a hushed tone. She hummed along with me as our bodies swayed together in the water.

“No God. No religion. Just you,” I vowed when the song faded out, cupping her cheek so I could kiss her lips.

Without missing a beat, Y/N returned the kiss just as slowly as I, our tongues lazily fighting for dominance as her hand snaked behind my neck to play with the wet strands of hair.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled against my lips.

Pulling away, I remained holding her face but furrowed my brows. “What are you apologizing for?”

Her gaze left mine. “I just hate that it took us so long to get here. I know we talked about everything at the party but I still feel the need to apologize for everything.”

“It’s not all on you, angel. I did some things I wasn’t proud of during our time apart and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for it.”

“Stop, Noah,” Y/N straddled me again to hold my chin with a stern grasp, the water sloshing around us. “You need to stop blaming yourself for what happened. I’ve already told you all is forgiven. Please stop letting that moment of weakness eat away at you.”

I blinked away the burning tears in my eyes and cleared my throat. “I only want to make better memories with you. I know in the beginning I couldn’t communicate, even now it’s a bit hard for me, especially with everything that happened. It was a mess and I apologize too.”

Y/N bent low to kiss me; it was slow at first but soon became heavy with passion when her tongue slipped between my lips. Her hips began grinding against my cock revving me up with such force, I wrapped my hand around her neck with my thumb against the pulse point in her neck.

Breaking free from the kiss, I dragged my teeth along her jawline and then down her neck.

“Noah,” Y/N breathed. “I love you.”

Her pussy was now brushing over the head of my cock and every inhibition with me wanted to plunge myself deep inside of her, feel her grip me with that vice grip I’ve missed and longed for.

Something inside of my chest rumbled before I realized it was my voice.

“How many have you loved before me?” I rasped as my tongue brushed over her nipple.

Y/N arched herself back so she could fully expose herself to me. “None.”

With one hand holding her throat, my other slipped between our bodies underneath the now-freezing water to glide over the slit between her legs. I attacked her lips again with a ravenous desire, nibbling on her bottom lip.

“And after me?” I demanded to know, slipping a finger inside of her finally.

“None,” she moaned while digging her nails into the skin of my shoulders.

Trembling fingers trace Y/N’s skin. To be in her company is a little slice of heaven as if her aura were an elixir. Emotions swam in our eyes, in our body language, and the inflections of her voice.

She was the one who I thought of when I needed to restart my heart and rekindle my soul; for so long I kept that to myself. Feeling the intensity of her intelligence, Y/N’s words were my medicine.

Deep inside I couldn’t help but feel like I’ve over-explained my feelings to compensate for what hadn’t been said. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t shake the fear of losing her. She needed to know where I stood, where we belonged.

Soulmates.

To be a possessor? I don’t know if you’d call it that. I yearned to be her protector, the one who held her heart in my hands, just as she held mine. These large hands are secured. I would grant her any wish in my power, to be the one who will always love her.

My fingers worked in sync as I pumped them in and out of her. She squirmed in my grasp, and the head of my cock nearly slipped inside of her. Every single part of me was sensitive to her touch and it felt like any moment I would combust underneath her.

Peering up at her face, I noticed that there was worry pulling tight in her forehead.

“What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?” I asked briefly, stopping.

“No, you’re fine,” Y/N reassured me with a kiss on my forehead. “It’s just-.”

When her words trailed off, I lifted her chin with a knuckle. “Talk to me, angel.”

Her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “The water is really cold and I was hoping we could move this to the bed.”

A playful smirk pulled on my lips and just before agreeing, I was struck with a thought.

“How far do we want to take this?”

“Noah, I can’t wait anymore. I need this. I need to feel connected to you again,” she rubbed herself against me.

Shit.

Even though I was ready for this, something was keeping me from lifting her out of this tub and tossing her on the bed to feel all of her again. The last time we slept together, it ended in disaster and heartbreak. I was stronger than I was back then but I don’t know if I could recover if it were to happen again.

It won’t.

It was as if Y/N’s soul could feel the pain in mine because she cupped both sides of my face so I had no choice but to meet her gaze.

“I’m not going anywhere, Noah. I’m right here. Always.” She reassured me with a firm nod, not an ounce of lies behind her bright eyes.

I kissed her palm. “I know. Are you sure this is what you want? I don’t want you to feel like you have to rush.”

“You’re not, Noah. I want this. I need this. I need to be connected to you so deeply, that it feels like we’ll never be apart again.”

Her hand wrapped around my cock, pumping it up and down under the chilled water. By now the bubbles have dissipated and I peered through the clear water to choke on my moan.

“We won’t,” I promised.

Y/N’s warm breath fanned over the shell of my ear. “Please, Noah. I need you to fuck me.”

READER

I erupted with laughter as Noah dropped my wet body on top of the bed. Resting up on my elbows, I gazed over his naked form as he stood at the foot of the bed. Water traced every bend and groove of his muscles and the tattoos that littered his skin were something that seemed to surprise me each time.

When my gaze lowered to his cock, a starved moan fell from my lips and I licked them hungrily.

“Y/N?”

I hummed while tearing my gaze away from him to look into his eyes.

“If you feel any pain, please let me know,” he said.

“I’m okay,” I nodded. “I promise.”

Noah towered over me as he crawled up the bed, droplets of water falling from his hair onto my chest. His chain hung just above my lips as I looked up at him, spreading my legs when his fingers tickled the inside of my thigh.

“I want to make love to you tonight, angel. Will you let me?” He asked into the crook of my neck.

“Please,” I nodded vigorously.

Once more, Noah’s fingers slipped between my folds to gently tease me, slowly dragging them up and down. I whined in protest and dug my nails into his back, feeling his muscles tense from my touch. When the pad of his calloused finger pressed against my clit, I arched my chest into his, the itch I felt from the moment we were in the tub together finally being scratched.

My knees buckled when his finger twirled in fast circles and when Noah flicked his tongue over my nipple, before slowly trailing down my stomach. The warm wetness of his tongue flicked over my nub when he replaced his fingers. His lips wrapped around my clit to suck up my arousal.

“Noah,” I hissed. “So good.”

I ran my fingers through his hair to bring his mouth closer to me as the coil in my stomach pulled tight. I’d been on edge all night, I knew I wouldn’t last long. And it was like Noah knew or understood because his tongue speared inside of me, in and out, before rubbing against my clit again.

Stars danced at the edge of my vision, nearly overtaking my gaze when I looked down at Noah between my legs. His face was buried there as if he was meant to be there. I brushed away the hair from his face just for his eyes to meet mine, his tongue darting in and out of me. There was pure darkness in his eyes when his hand ran up my stomach and torso to grasp at the silver chain around my neck. He wrapped it around his fingers, pulling taunt, and I felt the breath leave my lungs briefly. Before I could say anything, Noah loosened the grip but still held onto the chain.

I raised my hips off the bed to try and get closer to his mouth when his tongue began to slow, fearing that maybe he was getting tired. But I was so close that my body ached with the release it so desperately needed.

With a tight hold against the back of his head, I tensed my legs and core when he flattened his tongue. Now I rubbed myself against his tongue and my moans echoed throughout the room. I couldn’t even warn him that I was about to cum because my orgasm washed over me without warning. Noah hummed in delight when my arousal coated his lips and chin; it dripped from him and he gathered it up with a finger before sucking it clean himself.

“Fuck,” I panted while running a hand through my hair. “That was-fuck.”

“Watching you cum is addicting, angel,” Noah buzzed with a tender kiss inside of my thigh.

As my heart rate slowed, I ran my tongue over my bottom lip and let out a deep breath in a way to center myself again.

“Missionary hurts right?” Noah asked while leaning over me.

“It depends,” I shrugged. “But if I’m being honest, it’s not my favorite.”

The smirk that pulled on his lips made me tilt my head at him. However, before I could ask what he had in mind, he swiftly turned me to lay on my stomach and raised my ass in the air.

“Noah,” I breathed while peering over my shoulder at him.

Not saying anything, he leaned over towards the nightstand to rummage through it and retrieved a condom. Lust-filled eyes watched as he ripped it open with his teeth and swiftly rolled it over the length of his cock, which was thick and dripping with his arousal.

“Stay on your knees but if you need to lay your lower half on the bed, do it. I want to make sure you're comfortable,” a gentle kiss in the middle of my back; against the snake tattooed there.

I positioned a pillow underneath me to give myself some more leverage and comfort while Noah lined his cock up with my entrance. Slowly, much to my dismay, Noah sank himself inside of me inch by inch until he was fully seated inside of me.

“Shit,” his forehead rested against my shoulder blade. “So tight. I’ve been dreaming of this feeling again, angel.”

“Me too. Oh fuck.”

I moaned when Noah pulled himself almost out, pumping just the head of his cock in between my folds. Then with a snap of his hips, his cock stretched me open again and the weight of his body pressed me farther into the pillow. His chest collided with my back every time he thrust into me and his nails dug into my hips to keep himself grounded. For extra measure, I managed to hook my feet around his ankles.

“I love you,” Noah panted in my ear.

My smile was buried in the pillow. “I love you too.”

“Any pain?”

I did my best to shake my head. “Keep going. Please.”

One hand caressed the grooves of my spine, up and down, while his other wandered around to thrum against my clit again. Noah’s pace was slow but steady, his words from earlier ringing true.

I want to make love to you.

I brushed away the hair from my face so I was able to see, noticing our reflection in the large mirror Noah had leaning against the wall next to the closet. A strangled moan crawled out of my throat when I saw the muscles in Noah’s ass clench with every drive into me. I could vividly see his cock every time he pulled out of me, my arousal glistening on the condom, before disappearing inside of me again.

“I.”

Thrust.

“Love.”

Thrust.

“You.”

I mewled at Noah’s proclamation in between each of his thrusts. “I love you too, Noah.”

The slow pace of his cock but the fast pace of his fingers worked in perfect harmony and I felt my second orgasm slowly creeping its way into my veins. The heat spread like wildfire inside of me with such intensity I began to shake underneath Noah.

“I love you, angel,” he proclaimed again then bit down on the sensitive part of the skin at the back of my neck.

I was gone, blissed out in sheer ecstasy that my words were muffled against the pillow. That wasn’t good enough for Noah so he turned my cheek so I could face him.

“I love you too,” I huffed when my orgasm was seconds away from bursting.

He linked our hands together as he continued to meld with me from behind and I noticed that the hands that were linked were the ones that both had our bracelets. It was almost a good omen, no pun intended, that our souls were always destined to be one. For added measure, I felt the coolness of his necklace brush along the heated skin of my back.

Noah lightly laughed, almost as if he thought the same, and when his cock twitched inside of me, I realized he was close. I wanted to watch him when he fell apart because of me so I glanced back over to our reflection in the mirror. Then with two fingers pressed against my clit, Noah began rubbing up and down which was exactly what I needed for the coil to snap. To finally teeter over the edge where ecstasy was waiting for me.

His name fell from my lips in prayer.

“Fuck, Noah. Oh God, it’s so good,” I cried out through the rest of my orgasm.

“No God. Just us,” he grunted.

There was no God; only him and I.

In the reflection, I watched as his movement stilled, cock throbbing between my walls, and his mouth fell open when he tilted his head back; groaning out his release. Then softly, Noah’s body fell onto mine and he buried his face in my neck.

“Are you okay?” He wondered.

“I’m good, mochi. So fucking good,” I lazily smiled but whimpered when he pulled out of me.

“Let me get you a washcloth,” he left a kiss on my shoulder before slipping into the bathroom.

I snuggled closer into the pillow on my chest to let my eyes rest for a moment. Exhaustion dug itself so deep within my bones that I didn’t even notice when Noah began cleaning me up with the damp but warm cloth then he draped the blanket over my naked form.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed or noticed he left until the bed dipped beside me and I opened one eye to stare up at him. Noah kissed me from between my shoulder blades down my back, his nails grazing beyond the wake of his lips as he traced over the large snake tattoo on my back.

“This sight is familiar,” Noah spoke quietly.

I propped my chin on my hand. “But I’m not going anywhere after. I’m not leaving you to deal with my inconsiderate decisions. I’m right here with you, Noah.”

“I know,” he nodded. “We’re creating new memories now. Righting all of those wrongs. I’ve been excited for both of us to leave the past and move forward.”

“Me too,” I left a chaste kiss on his chin, feeling the slight stubble tickle my lips.

Noah tucked a piece of hair behind my ear then began tracing the line of my cheekbone, and jaw, then booped my nose, earning a giggle from me.

“I brought you some clothes in case you want to get dressed,” he said while handing me a pair of black joggers and a matching shirt.

I took them with a smile. “I think I should start keeping some clothes here.”

“Plenty of space in the closet,” Noah threw a thumb over his shoulder.

My heart fluttered at his words, realizing yet again that Noah was allowing me to occupy parts of his private sanctions.

“I’ll clear out two of my dresser drawers for your stuff the next time you’re over,” I promised with a kiss on his lips.

He hummed while grasping the back of my head to keep me there for a second longer.

“It’s a deal, angel.”

Slipping out of the bed, I trotted into the bathroom to get dressed while I heard Noah open his bedroom door and rummaging in the kitchen. When I hopped back into his bed, Salem came bounding into the room with the bell on his collar jingling.

“Hi baby,” I cooed when he jumped up on the bed. “So, what do you think of the cat tree dad bought you? You like it?”

His response? Curling up on Noah’s pillow with a chirp of approval.

“I’m gone not even five minutes and he steals my spot,” Noah chuckled entering the room again; dressed in nothing but a pair of black Bad Omens joggers and bright yellow socks.

“Get used to it. You invited him over and now what’s yours is his,” I scratched between Salem’s ears.

“I’ll gladly share with him,” he said while handing me a plate.

My eyes lit up as a gasp fell from my lips. “Is that limoncello tiramisù?”

“Yeah, I picked some up from that Italian bakery you love. Carlos’.”

“Yes!” I exclaimed while quickly digging into the treat.

As I leaned against the headboard to eat, Noah sat cross-legged in front of me to eat his share, both of us basking in the silence; beside Salem’s purring.

“Are we a family now?” Noah asked.

With a bright smile, I leaned over to press a kiss on his cheek. “Yeah. We are.”

I set both of our empty plates on the end table next to Noah’s bed then pulled my knees to my chest.

“You know what I’d love right now?” I asked.

Noah winked which caused me to playfully smack his chest. “Not that.”

“OK, sorry. What would you love?” He chuckled while rubbing his chest.

“I’d love to listen to The Grey. I’ve been dying to know how you worked in my poem ever since you sent me that video.”

“Alexa, play The Grey by Bad Omens,” Noah said with a smile.

“Now playing The Grey by the band Bad Omens.”

When Noah’s voice finally broke through the music, I let out a small gasp. It was different, new, hearing this voice come from the man in front of me. It made me proud to see how far he’d come from Finding God Before God Finds Me, knowing what his work ethic was like. He was always trying to break down the typical stereotype of what rock should sound like. He wanted to make changes and from this song alone, Noah was doing that.

Gave you way too many chances, you ran through 'em all. Got everything I could want, but it wasn't enough. Nobody left for me to talk to, nobody to call. Got everything I could want, but I still wanted more.”

My eyes lit up. “Oh, this was from the video!”

Noah giggled. “Yep.”

I continued to listen to the song when he linked our hands together, bringing them to his lips to leave a kiss on each of my fingers.

“I did it to myself, tried to be someone else. I let it tear me down, and I'll never be the same. I did it to myself, tried to be someone else. And you didn't notice 'til I finally got, finally got away.”

“Noah,” I beamed. “This is amazing. The lyrics, your voice, the beat. Everything about it.”

A red hue crossed his cheeks as he sheepishly glanced down at his lap where our intertwined hands were.

“Do you like it?” He gazed up at me through his long lashes.

Rising to my knees, I now draped my arms around his neck and kissed his forehead, nose, both cheeks and then finally his lips.

“I love it, Noah. And I love you.”

He twirled my necklace between two of his fingers. “I love you too, Y/N.”

For the first time since we rekindled our love, it was then that I noticed the tattoo on the side of his hand.

K.E.A.T.O.N.

When Noah realized I was reading the letters, he held up his other hand so I could read the letters on that hand.

P.I.E.R.C.E.

“Noah,” I breathed while putting his hands against my chest.

“I needed to. He needs to know that he can sing his songs through me while he’s gone,” he explained with a lone tear slipping down his cheek.

“I know.” I kissed his hands. “It’s okay.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I took notice of the time and frowned. Earlier, Noah mentioned that tomorrow, well technically later today since it was already nearly two in the morning, Bad Omens were shooting the music video for The Death of Peace of Mind and he needed to be up early for it.

In six hours.

“I should probably get home,” I sighed.

Noah’s hold against my hips tightened. “You can stay. I’ll sleep better if you’re next to me.”

“You need your rest, mochi,” I patted his cheek. “I also have plans with Astrid to help her open up Fika then we’re going shopping right after.”

Reluctantly with a sigh, Noah agreed and let me go, not before leaving a kiss on my forehead.

“Salem is staying here tonight though,” he said.

My jaw dropped as I stood from the bed and placed my hands on my hips. “Excuse me?”

“Look at him,” Noah pointed to a sleeping Salem. “You can’t wake him.”

“Fine,” I dragged out the word with narrowed eyes. “Tomorrow night. My place.”

Noah towered over me when he stood to full length in front of me. “I’ll be there, angel.”

NOAH

Stuffing my hands deep into the pocket of my yellow hoodie, I let my black slides drag my feet behind Y/N as we walked closer to her apartment door. The chill midnight air breezed through the loose strands of hair but I was too far gone in my mind to brush it away. Even though we promised to see each other tomorrow, making plans for me to spend the night here tomorrow night, part of me was worried. Afraid that once we parted ways, Y/N would second guess everything that happened and ignore me for months on end.

Why was I so nervous?

I kept asking myself that as we came to a stop in front of her door. I shook at the thought that what I was doing in all aspects of my life mattered. I felt the need to get it right; especially with Y/N.

Dr. Poulos once said “Nerves are a signal of truth, of what you value, of what you need and cherish. The constant needs of what I’ve wanted, the comfort and stability I desired. That the idea of not gaining happiness brings on those telltale tremors. Always ask yourself what the nerves are telling you. It’s an important way your body speaks.”

She wasn’t wrong. I knew in the back of my mind that I was terrified Y/N would never come back.

What if I wasn’t good for her?

I desperately needed to fight these demons and not let them win.

Y/N loves me. She loves me.

“Mochi, you’re shaking.”

Snapping out of my thoughts, I noticed that Y/N had wrapped her arms around my midsection to pull me closer to her.

“Oh, I am? Didn’t notice,” I mumbled under my breath.

“What’s wrong?” She questioned.

“Angel, let it go. It’s nothing.”

Part of me wanted to remove her grasp from me; the part that was used to shrinking away from my problems. But the other part of me that wanted to be a good man for her made me cup the back of her neck instead.

“Talk to me,” she quietly begged.

However, I remained silent; the words weighed heavy on my tongue.

“Noah-.”

“I don't want you to leave,” I blurted out.

Y/N’s eyes softened. “Noah, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“No. I-I don’t know. I’m-.” I ran a shaking hand through my hair. “I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and change your mind. I’m not perfect-.”

“Stop,” Y/N shook her head. “Don’t even say that, Noah. You know I love you. Just like I know you love me. Nothing will ever change my mind, alright? We’re both right here. We need to remain here, focus on that.”

I let out a broken breath and brushed my lips over her forehead, my hands going back to grasp behind her neck. “Please don’t leave, don’t leave me in the shape you found me.”

“Never. I will never leave you like that again,” she buried her face into my chest, breathing me in.

I rested my chin on top of her head. “I love you and I want this so bad, angel. I want you.”

“I love you, Noah. I’ll reassure you as many times as I have to,” Y/N turned her head up at me now. “But you have to trust that I won’t let you fall. I’m here with you. It’s you and me, okay?”

I blinked while letting out a calming breath. “I didn’t mean to ruin the night with my worries.”

She kissed the tip of my nose. “You didn’t. And don’t apologize for your feelings. I know what we’ve gone through has done a lot. But we’re moving past that, Noah. I’m proud of that and I’d like for you to start trusting me.”

“I do,” I promised her with a kiss. “I do trust you.”

“Good,” she rose to her tiptoes to lay another kiss on my lips, this one deeper than the last but she pulled away before I could slip my tongue in. “Take care of our baby. I’ll see you two tomorrow night.”

With a heart doubled in size and adoration in my eyes, I watched Y/N as she slinked inside her apartment, throwing a peace sign over her shoulder at me.

We’ll be okay.

NOAH

Grunting, I helped Nicholas, Folio, and Jolly maneuver the large board out of the truck and down the ramp to bring it inside the large warehouse where we had everything else almost set up. It was just before eleven a.m. and even with a second cup of coffee, the caffeine hadn’t seemed to take effect quite yet. After I dropped off Y/N at home last night, I returned to Salem, who was still curled up on my pillow when I left him, and as I lay next to him, my mind was plagued with negative thoughts I tried so hard to push away. It kept me up till almost four in the morning then four hours later, Jolly knocked on my bedroom door to wake me.

As soon as we all arrived at the warehouse, I put on my best professional face and went to work going over the original plans with Orie, making sure we all were on the same page. This was our first music video in our new era so we wanted to make sure it was perfect.

Now, as I stared up at the large board, pulling on the ends of my white shirt, I allowed my mind to wander to Y/N, wondering what she was up to right now.

Did she like the paint idea?

Was the sex good enough? It was great for me but I hoped there was no pain for her. She said there wasn’t.

It sounded like she enjoyed it.

Was I too vocal in my proclamations?

No, I know I wasn’t. Y/N returned those proclamations every time.

I ran an unsteady hand through my hair while letting out a long sigh, and staring down at my feet.

My emotions were a part of me, and in this relationship, they blended with Y/N’s. Although, there are times I had these storms inside of me, never because of her, but from previous damage; the triggers from my past. I was certain things would be okay and this self-deprecation would pass.

I desired Y/N’s presence like a madman gone awol. In those moments of a storm, I had to find my calm and center myself, typically by myself. But with Y/N, I didn’t have to do that. Like my music, she was my muse.

“Noah?”

Glancing over my shoulder, I gave a small smile to Nicholas. “Yea?”

“Are you alright? You’ve been kind of quiet all morning,” he observed while stuffing his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie.

I eventually knew someone would notice my quiet demeanor. I’d only been humoring when it was dire to do so.

Fuck, I missed Y/N. The negative thoughts monster has bitten his way through the bars.

I hated that this had come out of nowhere, sinking its teeth inside of me with no abandon. Our date last night was amazing but these fucking nerves kept trying to sabotage things once again. I did my best to not allow them to.

I needed to stop worrying about last night, knowing I could change anything about what happened even though there was nothing that needed to change. Just like today, I needed to stop worrying about everything that could go wrong and focus on everything that would go right.

“You know you can talk to me,” Nicholas’ voice snapped me from my thoughts.

“I know,” I nodded curtly. “I’m fine. I just want things to go perfect today.”

He reassured me with a squeeze to my shoulder. “It will. We’ve been planning the details for months.”

I shifted all of my weight from one foot to the other, casting my gaze away from him and towards everyone who continued to work tirelessly.

“You miss Y/N?”

My eyes darted back over to Nicholas. “She texted me earlier after she helped Astrid open Fika. They’re going shopping before grabbing some late lunch. I was going to meet Y/N at her place with Salem once we were done here.”

“So let that be the light to help you through today.”

I scratched my chin and nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“Noah! Nicholas! The red lights on the masks aren't working!” Orie’s voice boomed in the vast space of the warehouse.

Motioning Nicholas along, we spent the next handful of hours directing, watching, and redoing some scenes of the music video a few times over to make sure everything went off without a hitch; the perfectionist in me. We even stopped for a few-minute break so Orie could try and throw candy into Folio’s mouth while I peeked at the few unread messages from Y/N.

Angel 🪽: I may have bought a few things I’d like to model for you later. If you’re up for it. 😉

A sudden burst of warmth spread to my cheeks, something that didn't go unnoticed by Orie, who snickered.

“Oh, there’s only one person who can get you to smile like that.”

My eyes pinned into him, a sharp look that said mind your own business. Stepping away from the group of them, I responded to Y/N’s message.

Me: I’d never turn down a show from you, angel. Can I get a hint?

Angel 🪽: It’s red. And I’m very excited for you to take it off.

Fuck.

I adjusted myself with a cough and spent the next couple of minutes texting her with a bright smile. It was nearing nightfall which meant we were close to recording the next scene of the music video.

Angel 🪽: Astrid has not stopped gushing about Jolly. It’s kind of cute though when she calls him Joakim. Did you know that she’s thinking of naming a drink after him at Fika?

I snorted while glancing up at Jolly, who was busy texting away on his phone; most likely to Astrid.

Me: I’d love to know the name of this drink.

Angel 🪽: Älskling. It means honey. She’s thinking honey, Earl orange, and pomegranate tea. Because he’s “sweet like honey.”

Angel 🪽: Noah Sebastian, don’t tell Jolly I told you because I know you can’t keep things like this to yourself.

Feigning a hurt expression, I sent her a selfie and then typed out my response.

Me: My lips are sealed. But I have to get back to work. Me and Salem should be at your place around ten. I’ll grab some food on the way.

Angel 🪽: Burgers? 🥺

Angel 🪽: Also, you gave you the right to look so fucking good, huh? I can’t wait to kiss those lips.

The way my heart jumped in my chest made it almost hard to breathe.

Me: Whatever you want, angel.

Angel 🪽: Just you. And burgers. I’ll always take a burger.

Pocketing my phone, I rounded a finger towards everyone, my voice carrying throughout the space around me.

“Alright! Let’s film this pool scene before it gets too cold for the girls.”

Two hours later, it was nearing eight in the evening and all we had left to shoot was Bad Omens part of the video. We were in the home stretch and I was practically bouncing on the soles of my feet knowing that I’d be seeing Y/N in a few more hours.

As the four of us were dressed in our outfits for the music video, I chatted quietly with Folio while fixing the collar of his jacket. He’d been busy on every break today either talking to his girlfriend or planning something.

“How are things going with her?” I questioned.

The smile that spread on his face made a faint one pull on mine, knowing that one of my best friends was happy.

“Really good. I’d love to have you guys meet her soon.”

I nodded. “Definitely.”

Folio’s eyes peered over my shoulder, a smirk now pulling on his face and he wiggled his eyebrows. Before I could ask what he was staring at, that invisible string in my chest vibrated with such vigor, that it nearly knocked me off my feet.

“Well, look at this group of handsome men!”

Spinning on my heels, I saw Y/N and Astrid walk into the warehouse with bags of food from one of our favorite diners and both of them holding onto two trays of drinks. My heart ran amok in my chest as my stomach flipped three times over at seeing Y/N wearing the yellow hoodie I wore last night when I dropped her off.

“I swung by your place to grab Salem and pack you an overnight bag so once you’re finished here, we can head straight to my place. And yes, I did steal your sweater,” she answered my thoughts.

“Yellow is your color, angel,” I mused while slowly closing the distance to her. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”

Astrid walked up to Jolly, who grabbed the things from her and laid a kiss on her lips; her laughter echoing around us.

Y/N shrugged while I mimicked Jolly’s actions of taking the things from her hands.

“We know how hard all of you are working today, it’s the least we could do.”

Orie came up to grab the food and drinks from me before dispersing it to everyone.

“Thank god you’re here, Y/N. Noah’s been really bossy today.”

She placed a hand on her hip, cocking it out while narrowing her eyes at me. “Bossy, huh?”

“He’s a tyrant,” Orie chuckled before taking a bite of his burger.

I wrapped my arms around Y/N, breathing her in when I brushed my nose along her hairline. “You’re not going to turn her on your side, Orie. You’re wasting your time.”

She raised her lips to meet mine and I hummed in delight when I tasted the milkshake she must have had on the way over here. Even though Y/N was here in my arms, I still couldn’t quiet the negative frame of mind that plagued me throughout the day.

“I like this new look,” Y/N straightened out my jacket.

All I could do was nod in response and her brows creased in worry. “Are you alright?”

Linking our hands together, I pulled her through the warehouse to slip outside where I knew no one would be. We finished the pool scene a while ago and the extras had left for the night.

“Oh, a pool? Are we going skinny dipping?” Y/N teased with a wink.

I ran a hand through my already-styled hair, still not saying anything. My mind was a jumbled mess and I was afraid if I tried to speak, my words wouldn’t make sense.

“Noah, what is going on? You’re worrying me.”

Her warm hands cupped my cheeks so I had to look at her, those bright eyes pleading with worry.

“Talk to me,” Y/N breathed.

“Did you enjoy our date? Was it to your standards? Did I do alright with everything?”

The questions blurted out like word vomit.

“Of course I did, Noah!” Those eyes darted back and forth between mine. “I had a wonderful time. Did I do something to make you think otherwise?”

I clutched her sides. “No, you didn’t! I promise. I know we talked about things last night. I wanted to make sure last night was everything you wanted.”

“It was,” she adjusted the collar of my turtle neck. “I promise.”

“I felt even closer to you than I ever have before. Especially when we had sex and I just wanted reassurance,” I sighed. “That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Mochi, I loved every second with you. I loved everything about it. I felt closer and more connected with you too. Stop fussing if I had a great time. I’d sit and watch ants crawl out of the ground if it meant I could be with you.”

Something flashed in my mind that brought a genuine smile to my face and washed away all of those worries.

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest. "You'd sit and get a tattoo with me?"

I brushed away a loose strand of hair that fell from her braid behind her ear, fingers trailing against the skin of her neck.

"I'd sit and watch ants crawl out of a hole for hours if that meant I'm sitting next to you," I vowed with hooded eyes as I stared down at her lips.

I pressed a kiss to her lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I take it we’re on for a second date then?”

“I’m wide open,” Y/N winked with a kiss on my cheek.

“Good,” I grinned.

“Noah! We’re ready!”

We both glanced over to the large opening of the warehouse to Nicholas who was waving us inside.

“So, you’re staying the rest of the shoot?” I asked.

Y/N beamed. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

READER

As I moved about my bedroom, tossing things into the suitcases that laid out on my bed, there was a delicate knock on my open door and Chase gave me a warm smile.

“Malcolm and Noah are at the store right now and wondering if there’s anything else you need for this weekend,” he sat down on the edge of my bed.

“No, just the list I gave them,” I said while zipping up my suitcase.

“Are you nervous?” Chase asked, playing with Salem.

“A bit, yeah,” I sighed while plopping down onto the bed next to him. “This is our first album as a three-piece. It’s completely different from our other albums so I’m afraid people won’t vibe with it.”

Chase squeezed my knee. “They will. The reviews from the singles we already released are positive.”

“I know. I’ve just been in my head a lot.”

There was a slight hesitation in Chase’s breath before he asked his next question.

“Have you talked to your parents at all?”

My heart sank with guilt and I began chipping away at my nail polish. “It’s been a few days since I talked with my dad. With everything from trying to plan the album release party and Noah, I guess I kind of forgot to call him.”

Chase wrapped an arm around me to pull me into his chest. “Your dad understands how busy you are. He’d never hold it against you.”

I snorted. “Unlike my mom. Part of me wants to call her and give her an update on my life. Because I do love her, regardless of all of her faults, but I’m just afraid that she’ll judge me; again.”

“Do whatever your heart tells you, sweets. You never know, she might surprise you.”

Both of us shared a knowing look before we burst out in a fit of laughter knowing the odds of that happening.

“But stop worrying about the small stuff, Y/N. Ethan said the house is booked, the guest list was sent out, and the caterers are paid. Everything is set, all we have to do is show up and promote the album,” Chase said as Salem lay between us.

When I nodded, he stood to his feet and placed a kiss on top of my head then slipped out of my room. Pausing packing for a moment, I reached for my phone that was charging on my nightstand and I let my finger hover over my mom's contact for a long moment, wondering if I really wanted to do this or if it was the guilt for not reaching out to her more.

Pros: she could be happy for me and even want to show up at the party.

Cons: she calls me a disappointment yet again and criticizes my choices.

“Fuck it,” I groaned then clicked on her name.

It rang twice before going straight to voicemail. I rolled my eyes, knowing that she ignored my call, but tried not to dwell on the way my stomach dropped.

“Hey mom, it’s me. How have things been? I heard you went to Greece for a few weeks to visit family. I bet that was nice, I’d love to see some pictures. Maybe we could meet up for coffee to talk?”

I ran my sweaty palms on my sweats before continuing. “I have some news. Hollow Souls new album releases this Saturday and we're throwing this party to celebrate it. I know you never were too keen on my career choice but it would mean a lot if you came. I’ll text you the details. S'agapó.”

Ending the call by saying I loved her in Greek, I hit the red button with a disappointed sigh. I knew there was a higher chance she wouldn’t answer my call rather than actually answering it. Instead of dwelling on it, I texted my dad.

Me: Can I call?

His response came almost instantly.

Dad: You never have to ask, sweetheart.

With a smile, I decided to FaceTime him instead and broke out in a large smile when his face appeared on the screen. His hair had a bit more gray than the last time and a few more wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. The glasses were practically falling off his nose but when he saw me, he pushed them up.

“There she is! Oh, I’m loving the new hair!” He beamed.

“Thanks Dad. I’m sorry I haven’t called in a while, life’s been kind of crazy,” I explained while leaning against the headboard.

My dad waved me off as he spun around in his office chair, the large and filled bookcases now his backdrop. “It’s alright, sweetheart. How have things been?”

We spent the next few minutes catching up when Noah entered my room, both hands full of bags. When I went to help him, he held up the bags higher so I couldn’t. With a playful glare at him, I turned my attention back to my dad while Noah went about emptying the bags.

“So your mom didn’t answer?”

Briefly ignoring the questioning glance from Noah, I shook my head at my dad.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s like she has this radar that goes off before I call to talk about my life. If it’s not about her, she doesn't care,” I pulled my knees up to my chest so Noah could sit down in front of me.

My dad took off his glasses to rub his eyes before putting them back on his nose. “I’m sorry sweetheart. I wish she never took her own frustrations out on you. She’s unhappy with how things ended with the divorce and she can’t seem to heal from it.”

Noah’s fingers grazed over the exposed skin of my ankle.

“All these years later and I still try to make her proud of me,” I shrugged.

“I know sweetheart. But sometimes, you have to think about yourself and make yourself proud before her. That’s what matters.”

Noah’s hand brushed away the hair from my face and I smiled up at him.

“Oh, whose hand is that?” My dad's questionable voice came from my phone. “Those are a lot of tattoos.”

With a glance at Noah, he nodded so I shifted my position for my phone to not only show me but him as well.

“I wish I could introduce you two face to face but this will have to do. Dad, this is Noah.”

Noah gave a small wave to the phone. “Hi, Mr. Y/L/N, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“Shit, even your neck is covered! That had to hurt,” my dad chuckled while rubbing his own neck. “It’s an honor to meet you as well, Noah. My daughter has told me quite a lot about you. All good things, no need to worry.”

My cheeks burned and Noah wrapped an arm around my side, pulling us closer.

“You have a wonderful daughter. I want to assure you that I love her and will take great care of her,” he vowed.

My father snorted while moving about his house now. “I knew it from the moment I saw that video of you two performing on stage together during your last tour that you loved Y/N. It was clear in the way you smiled at her.”

“Dad,” I muttered under my breath.

Noah, however, looked at me with deep affection in those almond eyes. “I think I knew it back then as well, it just took me longer to admit it.”

“Call it father’s intuition,” my dad said. “But I have to go. I’m meeting some friends for ramen.”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “I would kill for some Japanese ramen right now.”

“Well,” my father started while slipping into his jacket one-handed. “Bring Noah the next time you visit and we can all go out for some. There’s this great place next to this shop that sells some kind of Manga drawings. I don’t understand it but the kids your age seem to love it.”

“We’ll be there,” Noah promised with a kiss on the side of my head.

“Have fun at the album release party, sweetheart. I can’t wait to hear the new songs!”

We both waved at the screen before it went black, me hanging up the call.

“Your dad seems like a great guy,” Noah noted while rolling off of my bed and trotting over to my dresser.

He opened the top two drawers, rummaging around for some of his clothes.

About two weeks ago, he slowly brought some of his things over here while I did the same at his place. We’d been bouncing back and forth between the two but with how busy I’d been planning the album release party and all the finishing touches for the album, it’d been a few days since Noah and I spent the night together. So now that we were leaving tomorrow for the weekend, he decided to spend the night at my place so we could ride up to Big Bear with Chase and Malcolm.

“He is,” I rested my chin on my knees. “I really hope one day we can visit him together.”

“We will.”

Noah promised with a kiss on my head before retreating out of my room so he could shower while I finished packing all of our things, the excitement of this weekend making me dance around my bedroom.

READER

My heels clicked against the hardwood floor as I typed away on my phone, the hustle and bustle of everyone setting up for the party falling away from me.

The Power Puff Girls group chat:

Me: You guys on your way back?

Astrid: Had to stop at the store quickly! Matt texted Jolly to grab some Dr. Pepper. We picked up Maxxine about thirty minutes ago but would have been back at the house by now if Jolly wasn’t taking FOREVER in the book section. He’s trying to find some kind of new fantasy book to read this weekend.

Maxxine: It’s kind of cute watching the two of you giggle with your own inside jokes while I just stand here as a third wheel.

I let out my own chuckle as I stopped in front of the large mirror in the rental house, brushing away any lint from my white dress. The sleeves were lace and stopped right at my elbows and the bottom of my dress rested mid-thigh. I was afraid that the front may have been too low cut but Noah reassured me it was fine.

With an array of kisses between my breasts.

My phone vibrated in my hand and I read the new message.

Astrid: Oh hush you.

Me: Well, we’re very excited for you to join us, Maxxine. Bring some more females into this group of male hormones. I’d been dying to introduce you to someone!

Maxxine: No, Y/N. Please. My last date was so horrendous, I still haven’t recovered.

“Angel?”

Glancing away from my phone, I smiled at Noah as he came bounding down the stairs dressed in a black long-sleeve and almost eggshell white pants. I licked my lips at the sight of him dressed up. It wasn’t anything fancy but it still made my heart flutter.

“Have you seen my shoes? The black-.”

“The black lace-ups,” I nodded. “Yes, they’re in the closet in our room. Next to my house shoes.”

He pressed a kiss to my lips. “Thank you.”

As Noah retreated upstairs again, I turned back down to my phone.

Astrid: We promise, this guy is different!

Maxxine: I don’t know. I think I should just be single for a while. My luck with men hasn’t been the greatest. I always chose losers.

Me: Please, you’ll be thanking us for setting you up with him.

Setting my phone on the kitchen counter, I peered over to Jesse, who was setting up the drinks and snacks at the dining room table. Noah mentioned to me the other night how Jesse had been feeling quite down a lot lately due to his anxiety and had been falling into himself, closing himself off from everyone. While Jesse wouldn’t admit it, we all had an inkling feeling that seeing some of his best friends get into relationships, made him doubt himself in finding someone. We also knew how hard of a time he had in Pittsburg when Erra was there touring a few months ago, so Astrid and I decided to set him up with a mutual friend of ours and I invited her to the party tonight.

“Hey,” I slinked up beside Jesse and bumped my shoulder with his.

“Hi,” he smiled. “You look beautiful. Excited for tonight?”

“Thank you! I am. But I just wanted to let you know that there’s someone I want you to meet tonight.”

He set down the cups and raised a brow. “Why me?”

“Oh, no reason,” I shrugged before patting his chest and walking away.

“Y/N! What’s that supposed to mean!”

Giggling, I met up with Chase and Malcolm in the main living area of the house. Chase was brushing away Maclolm’s long auburn locks and I smiled at the two of them. I knew they were nervous about being open about their relationship in the beginning but now they were blossoming together and I couldn’t have been happier for them.

“How are we feeling?” I asked them to check-in.

Malcolm ran a hand down the front of his black dress shirt. “Nervous as hell.”

Chase rubbed his shoulder. “It’ll be fine, love. The support already has been incredible. It’s only going to get better.”

I wrapped my arms around both of them. “In case this album flops, I want you guys to know that I’m glad we took this chance. I love what we created.”

“It’s not going to flop,” Chase rolled his bright blue eyes but returned the hug. “Love you two, idiots.”

I pulled away from them and turned towards the front door when it opened, smiling at Astrid, Jolly, and Maxxine who walked inside. My eyes darted from Maxxine to Jesse, who froze in the middle of his tracks. He took in the sight of her; long legs, olive skin, long black hair, and bright hazel eyes.

Maxxine, who had her arms full of bags, gave a slow once over of Jesse with a blush and faint smile.

“Hi,” he cleared his throat. “Let me help you.”

“Thank you,” she allowed Jesse to take a couple of bags from her.

Astrid and I shared a proud smile.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

Noah’s deep voice sang in my ear as he wrapped his arms around me from behind, a kiss to the side of my neck. Turning in his embrace, I pecked his lips.

“Hm, once or twice,” I wrapped my arms behind his neck.

With the soft tune of music playing in the background, our bodies began to sway lightly. When his eyes fell behind me, his brows furrowed together.

“Who’s the girl with Jesse?”

I turned slightly in his embrace to see Jesse and Maxxine laughing about something with each other. She was lightly touching his arm and the smile on his face was one that you couldn’t scrub away no matter how hard you tried.

“Oh, that’s a friend of mine and Astrid’s. Her name is Maxxine. I thought that maybe she and Jesse would hit it off,” I explained.

Noah’s lips left feather-like kisses along my forehead. “I love you.”

I grasped the front of his shirt, engulfing myself in his scent.

“I love you too. But before the party starts, I want to show you something.”

Linking our hands together, we slipped away from the group and down the hall of the rental home to the office where I already had things set up. I closed the door behind us and motioned for Noah to sit on the long sofa while I sat on the recliner chair diagonal from him. On the table was a pair of wireless headphones that were already hooked up to my phone.

“What’s this?” Noah wondered after falling onto the couch.

I handed him the headphones. “I know you’ll hear this song later but I wanted you to hear it for the first time with just the two of us. It’s an important song and it means a lot.”

My heart was drumming inside of the confines of my chest making it hard to breathe. I finished recording this song months ago and besides me, Chase, and Malcolm no one else heard it. I wanted Noah to be the first.

Once he placed the headphones over his ears, I loaded up the song on my phone and hit play. Even though I couldn’t hear the song physically, I could hear it in my mind.

I know it's warmer where you are and it's safer by your side. But right now I can't be what you want. Just give it time.

Noah’s shoulders went stiff as he flicked his eyes up at me, steepling his fingers together in his lap. I gave him a reassuring nod, urging him to continue.

And if you and I can make it through the night. And if you and I can keep our love alive, we'll fight.

Now nothing gave way on his face as he stared down at his hands, the only movement was the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

We can meet in the middle. Bodies and souls collide. Dance in the moonlight where all the stars align. Oh you and I, oh you and I, oh.

I couldn’t bear being so far from him while not knowing how he was feeling so I rose from my chair to sit on the other end of the couch next to him.

Well, it's cold when we're apart and I hate to feel this die. But you can't give me what I want. Just give it time

Noah’s eyes fluttered shut and I swore I saw all the oxygen leave his lungs, telling me I knew what part of my lyrics he just heard.

But for now we stay so far. 'Til our lonely limbs connect. I can't keep you in these arms. So I'll keep you in my mind.

My bottom lip caught between my teeth as my knee bounced with anticipation, wanting desperately to know what he thought about my song. But I didn’t want to disturb him yet.

Can we meet in the middle? Bodies and souls collide. Dance in the moonlight. Where all the stars align. Oh you and I, oh you and I, oh.

Glancing at my phone, I realized the song ended, but Noah made no effort to take off the headphones. My lips parted to speak when I noticed a lone tear roll down his cheek.

“Noah?” I tapped his arm.

With the heat of my touch, it was as if he came alive again. Ripping off the headphones, Noah’s lips attacked mine with an inferno, making me fall back onto the couch with him on top of me. My fingers quickly found their usual place in his hair while he hooked my leg around his hips.

“Angel,” he fanned in the crook of my neck.

“Did-did you like it?” I asked.

Noah’s tongue brushed along the pulsepoint of my neck and I shivered underneath him.

“I loved it,” he breathed as his teeth scraped up along my jawline before slipping his tongue into my mouth.

We had a short fight for dominance before reluctantly I let Noah win, his hands running up and down my bare thighs. When he pulled away, I was dizzy; kiss drunk. And his eyes burned as he looked down at me.

“Are you sure?” I questioned, still filled with worry he didn’t like it.

“Y/N,” he lifted my chin with the finger that had the small heart tattooed on it. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this. It was perfect.”

“Thank you,” I wrapped my legs around him to bring his body closer to mine, moaning when I felt the outline of his cock brush along my heated core.

His forehead fell onto my chest and sighed. “Do we have to go out there? Can we stay here the two of us? In our bubble.”

I lifted his head to kiss his nose. “Unfortunately, this party is partly for me so I have to show up.”

Grudgingly, Noah untangled himself from me and then helped me to my feet, fixing my dress and hair for me.

With our fingers linked together, he led me back into the main part of the house where the party was already well underway.

THIRD PERSON POV

The crowd of people kept congratulating the members of Hollow Souls for an amazing album. Everyone loved the new songs and was excited about the new direction they were headed toward. Chase and Malcolm chatted with one of the reps from the record label while Y/N was talking with someone she didn’t expect to see there.

“I can’t believe you flew all the way to Los Angeles from Vermont for this! You didn’t have to,” she smiled while wrapping her arms around the man in a hug.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Y/N,” Joe shrugged. “Where’s Noah?”

“Um, last I saw he was talking with his friend Bryan.”

She glanced around the room but broke out in a large smile when Noah slinked up beside her and left a kiss on her cheek.

“There you are. I have someone I’d like you to meet. This is Joe,” Y/N pointed between the two men.

Noah extended a hand. “Nice to officially meet you.”

“Yeah you too,” Joe shook his hand with a smile.

The three of them chatted for a long while after moving to one of the couches in the living room, Y/N watching with fondness as her boyfriend and one of her good friends got along pretty well. She even stole a glance over towards Jesse and Maxxine who were seated on the couch across from them. His arm was thrown over the top of the couch, fingers grazing over the skin of Maxxine’s shoulder. Every so often she would slink in closer towards him.

“Would you like a drink, angel?” Noah asked.

Her eyes snapped back to him and she nodded. “Dr. Pepper, please.”

Once Noah stood from the couch, Y/N opened her mouth to ask Joe how life was going when someone else sat down on the couch next to her, almost in Noah’s previous spot.

Devon? Derrick? No, his name was Dennis; a mutual acquaintance of Ethan, their manager.

“Hey, Y/N. I thought I’d sneak in to tell you how awesome the new album sounds,” he slicked back his overly gelled hair.

She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you.”

While she knew of him from things Ethan would say, Y/N never actually met him.

“I love the new vibe you guys have going on. It’s very different from your old albums. Although, I must say that my favorite is still your self-entitled. Trey’s vocals kick ass on that.”

Joe sat up straighter from his spot on the other side of Y/N while she narrowed her eyes at Dennis.

“Everyone has their own opinions I suppose,” she said while trying to pull down the ends of her dress when she caught Dennis staring at her legs.

“You know,” he licked his lips and moved closer to Y/N. “You’re doing really well without Trey. How about we go out for a drink?”

“No thank you, I’m not interested.”

Y/N slinked back closer to Joe, who gladly accepted it.

“One drink?” Dennis tried again with a sly smirk.

“I don’t drink,” Y/N narrowed her eyes while crossing her arms over her chest, hoping to show the guy that she was finished with this conversation.

Joe sent a look over to Malcolm, who was standing in the kitchen next to Noah, and with that shared expression, the redhead nodded.

“Noah,” Malcolm motioned behind Noah.

With a perplexed look, Noah turned around and nearly crushed the glass in his hand at what he saw. Y/N was almost in Joe’s lap, trying to get away from some douchebag who kept advancing towards her.

“What the fuck,” he grumbled under his breath, nostrils flaring.

Tonight was not the night to lose his cool but he could feel that ugly feeling burning low in his gut; the feeling he despised. He didn’t want to come off as jealous or that he couldn’t trust Y/N because he could. But Noah did not like the way this guy was almost undressing her with his eyes.

Joe wanted to intervene but also knew that Y/N had it handled; something she’d proven before.

She glanced around the room with panic in her eyes until they fell on Noah, utter relief filling them. The guy followed her gaze and scoffed when he realized what she Y/N was looking at.

Noah’s blood ran cold as his heart was thumping loudly in his ears, everything becoming white noise to him. His fingers shook at his sides, doing his best to remain calm.

“Who is that guy?” He asked Malcolm.

“Dennis. Ethan’s assistant.”

Matt, who had snuck up beside Noah, urged him with a look.

“This asshole just asked Y/N to go outside with him for more privacy.”

Fire burned in Noah’s eyes as he snapped them back over to the couch, where he nearly choked at the sight in front of him. Dennis was dragging his fingers down Y/N’s neck with intimacy that was reserved for Noah only. That was his spot. Y/N was his, it was proven tonight when she played her song for him.

His insides burned with rage that it nearly made him unable to see anything in front of him.

The sound of Y/N’s hand smacking Dennis’ hand away broke through the haze in Noah’s vision.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she seethed.

Joe quickly pulled Y/N up from the couch just as Noah pushed himself off the edge of the counter and made his way through the crowd over towards his girlfriend; hands shaking with more vigor now. It would be so easy to punch Dennis and show him who Y/N belongs to, however, Noah wouldn’t create a scene tonight; not when this night meant so much to Hollow Souls.

With three deep breaths, Noah came to a halt in front of Y/N who quickly found solace underneath his arm.

“Everything alright?” He wondered.

Y/N, albeit with the annoyed look in her usual bright eyes, wore a faux smile. “Yeah, now it is.”

“I think you were just leaving, no?” Joe asked Dennis.

The man shook his head while slowly rising to his feet. “No, actually I wasn’t. I heard that Y/N is single so I thought to shoot my shot.”

Noah’s body vibrated with anger so Y/N rested a hand on his chest, her touch immediately calming him.

“I’d like to know where you heard that,” Noah spoke slowly, even though he was on edge.

“Does it matter?” Dennis harshly laughed. “All I’m saying is that she looks sexy as fuck tonight. I thought we could sneak away for a bit but it seems like she’s too far up your ass to even notice there are other guys here.”

“I already said no,” Y/N’s voice was stern.

Noah’s eyes sliced Dennis in half but remained calm; an eerie calm that seemed to have the gathering crowd of their friends on edge. His arm was still around her, claiming Y/N as his own but for added measure he left a kiss on the side of her head.

Dennis raised his hands in defeat. “Alright, I get it. It’s fine, from what I hear from Trey, you can’t be satisfied anyway.”

Chase appeared almost out of nowhere and grabbed him by the collar of his green polo. “Time for you to go. Now.”

“Chase, please. No fighting,” Y/N begged still in Noah’s embrace.

His usual bright blue eyes were dark, a deep hue of midnight, while he glared at Dennis.

“I promise, no fighting,” Chase gritted out through clenched teeth. “I’m only going to show this asshole the way out.”

Noah and Dennis shared one final glance, victory dancing on the former's lips before he whispered in Y/N’s ear.

“Upstairs. Now.”

Her eyes sparkled when she gazed up at him with a mischievous smirk. The both of them slipped away almost unnoticed by everyone, running up the stairs two at a time with Noah smacking her ass, her giggles echoing far behind them.

READER

As soon as we were in the confines of our bedroom in the rental house, Noah lifted me in the air to press my back against the door. I wrapped my legs around his waist while his hands gripped my thighs. There was a dire need of want in his eyes as he crashed his lips to mine in such a frenzied, hungry kiss, that it made me see stars from the force of it. His teeth grazed over my tongue and then my lips, drawing the teeniest bit of blood.

“Fuck, Noah!” I exclaimed while dotting a finger to my lip.

Growling, he began biting my neck, licking away Dennis’ touch. “I don’t know who the fuck he thinks he is. No one will ever fucking talk to you like that or touch what’s mine.”

“Oh god, yes,” I hissed, running my hands through his hair when he sucked on my sweet spot.

Somehow Noah managed to yank off my panties in our position and stuffed them deep into his pocket. One lone finger slipped between us when he pinned me to the door again and started rubbing fast circles on my clit.

“Shit. Fuck. So good,” I crowed while pulling on the ends of his hair.

Once I was wet enough, Noah quickly pulled out his cock, rubbing a fist over it for a few pumps before slipping in between my folds with a hard snap of his hips that we rattled against the door. I felt so full, so stretched open, that I gasped; not realizing at first that Noah forgot to put on a condom.

“I want that motherfucker to hear who you belong to, angel,” he grunted with each thrust, nails digging into the skin of my bare ass to keep me grounded against him.

“Fuck, god. So good,” I panted while scratching at his shoulders. “Right there.”

We both were grunting so loudly and with the banging of the door, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that everyone could hear us downstairs. But none of them mattered.

Only Noah and I did.

His lips attacked mine once again, teeth smacking and tongues exploring every inch of each other's mouths.

“Say my name, I want him and any other man who thinks they have a shot, to hear who you belong to,” Noah bit down hard on my neck, his thrusts were fast and relentless.

“NOAH!” I screamed when his finger pressed against my clit again, being exactly what I needed to come apart on his cock.

My body writhed in his tight hold on me and with the force of his hands on my ass, I knew that I would have bruises in the morning but I didn’t fucking care.

“You’re mine.” He grunted while craning my neck back by my hair.

Noah went back to working on the raised red mark on my neck, right alongside the other bite marks he left before.

“Yes, I am,” I rasped, gone in ecstasy.

“Forever angel,” Noah’s hips stilled before pulling himself completely out of me. “Fucking say it.”

“I’m yours forever, Noah!” I proclaimed with a feverish nod.

“You’re mine, angel,” he gruffed while now wrapping his hand around his cock.

It was thick and red, almost angry from being denied release.

“It felt too good and I didn’t want to risk it,” he sighed while letting me fall to my feet.

I kissed his lips, this time more gentle than our previous kisses. “Cum on my chest.”

Noah’s movements around his cock faltered for a moment, pupils dilating to pure black.

“What?”

Dropping to my knees, I pulled down the front of my dress to expose my bare chest to him and peered up at him through my lashes.

“I want you to mark me, Noah. Mark what’s yours,” I begged.

“Shit, Y/N,” he mused while running one hand through my hair, dragging his fingers down my neck over my chest to pull and pinch my nipples.

His grip around his cock was tight, knuckles turning white as he moved his hand up and down with such a velocious pace, it almost made it hard to focus on it. I licked my lips when I spotted the precum Noah used to spread over the head of his cock and I whined with the desire to taste him.

The hand he had wrapped around the back of my neck to keep me in place tightened its grip as he bent over me, resting his forehead against the door. Noah was still dressed but I could only imagine that the muscles in his stomach were taut, his release so close.

“Cum for me, Noah. Please,” I begged with a whiny breath.

“Fucking hell,” he howled my name when his warm release shot all over my neck and down between my breasts.

I hummed in pleasure, seeing the white stickiness run down my stomach, reveling in the feeling of his mark all over me. Noah stared down at me through hooded eyes, his chest heaving with each deep breath.

“I didn’t think,” he took a deep breath while licking his lips. “I didn’t think that would be so hot.”

Allow him to help me to my feet, I couldn’t wipe the smirk from my face. “I did, why do you think I asked for it?”

Noah’s eyes flashed as he bent low to capture my lips in a kiss. “Am I going to keep finding out your secret kinks, angel?”

“I think so since you discovered two of them already,” I dragged a finger down his cheek.

“You like possessive sex? I feel terrible for throwing you against the door,” Noah rubbed the back of his neck.

I shrugged. “It’s not so much the possessive side of it but more so the dominant side of you.”

He lifted my hand to his lips, leaving a kiss on my palm. “Do you want to head back downstairs?”

“No, I’m exhausted and need a shower,” I giggled while motioning to my chest.

Even though his cheeks reddened, the look that crossed his face as he looked me over made my core clench.

“Get cleaned up and I’ll sneak downstairs to grab us some snacks,” Noah patted my ass, dismissing me towards the bathroom connected to our bedroom.

“Think Folio will share those chocolate-covered pretzels he brought?” I wondered.

Noah chuckled while stuffing his cock back into his pants before zipping them. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Right before he slipped through the door, I chastised him when I noticed the large red mark on my neck.

ASTRID

“Okay, I think they’re finally finished,” I chuckled while walking into the bedroom I was sharing with Jolly. “The door stopped rattling awhile ago and when I walked past their bedroom, I heard one of them snoring.”

Jolly peered up from strumming a few notes on the guitar in his lap and smiled at me.

“It’s most likely, Noah. Do you know he wears those nose strips?”

“No way!” I gasped while pulling down the sleeves of his sweater I was wearing, moving about the room to finish getting ready for bed.

It was his black Bad Omens hoodie, with the hand and gun on the front.

“Yeah, try sleeping in a moving sweatbox and hearing that. I sometimes worry he’ll inhale the bus curtains. That’s Y/N’s problem now,” he chuckled while reaching for me and pulling me to the bed with him.

I broke out in a fit of giggles when he placed me in his lap and then rested the guitar in mine. He set my fingers in the position they needed to before helping me strum a few notes.

He placed a kiss on my shoulder. “I’m glad you were able to leave Fika for the weekend to be here with me.”

I turned my head towards him and kissed his lips. “Jessica can handle it. I need to start loosening the reins a bit and enjoy things more.”

Jolly’s eyes glinted as he set the guitar down on the floor before lying me back down on the bed, lifting my end of the sweater to reveal all I was wearing underneath was a pair of black underwear.

“You walked around like this?” His voice rumbled deep within his chest.

I innocently shrugged. “I didn’t run into anyone. Besides, I’m practically swimming in your sweater. No one would have seen anything.”

Hooking my underwear with his fingers, Jolly practically ripped them down my legs before flipping me onto my stomach.

“Keep the sweater on, käraste,” he demanded while spreading my legs wide.

“Fuck, yes,” I nodded while burying my face into the pillow, hearing Jolly’s belt buckle fall to the floor.

NOAH

Jolly and I moved around the large kitchen, almost with ease like we’d done this countless times before as we made breakfast for everyone. It was our last day up in Big Bear and we had a full day of activities planned.

Breakfast, a mountain hike, lunch at a diner in town, and Y/N wanted to steal me away for a few hours to go horseback riding.

The large table was filled with everyone and I had to stop for a moment to appreciate everyone here who came out to support Hollow Souls. They didn’t need to but they did because Y/N, Chase, and Malcolm became part of our family with that tour that seemed so long ago now.

“Noah, can you hand me the eggs?”

Snapping my gaze away from everyone, I turned towards Jolly and handed him the carton of eggs.

“So,” I smirked while pouring more pancake mix onto the sizzling griddle. “I heard you had a great night last night. I walked past your room to come down to the kitchen for a drink and heard you grunting something in Swedish. What was it?”

He froze, mixing the eggs in the large bowl for a moment before scoffing. “Like you’re one to talk. We all heard you guys last night. The door wouldn’t stop rattling, shaking the walls.”

My face was beet red and I adjusted the collar of my sweater to ease it away from my neck. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m surprised you even heard anything over your snoring,” Jolly shrugged with a sly smirk. “I told Astrid you use nose strips.”

I dropped the spatula, it clattering to the counter and gasped. “You did not!”

A sudden movement from the stairs caught both of our attention, our heads snapping to the forms of Jesse and Maxxine walking down, her wearing one of his shirts. With a shared look, Jolly and I scurried over to our girlfriends, me pulling on Y/N’s shirt while she poured herself a cup of coffee.

“Mochi,” she smacked my hand away. “Not now. I’m hungry and need caffeine. Sex in the shower took a lot out of me this morning.”

“Angel,” I reached for her again.

“I’m serious,” she held a stern gaze over the rim of her cup as she looked at me. “I need a break.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned her around just in time for her to see Jesse hold out the chair for Maxxine, who blushed up at him in thanks.

“No fucking way!” Y/N sputtered into her cup and then looked back at me. “She stayed the night with him?”

I wrapped my arms around her, breathing in the peach scent of her body wash, and smiled. “Look at you, little matchmaker.”

We shared a kiss before I motioned for her to sit down at the table so I could bring her a plate of food.

Everyone went about the kitchen, filling up their own plates while I sat down next to Y/N, handing her the plate. Once everyone was seated, Malcolm took a long pull of his coffee before setting it down on the dark oak of the table.

“So, who do you think was louder last night? Jolly or Noah?”

The noise of my fork falling on my plate rang loudly in all of our ears while Jolly nearly choked on his scrambled eggs. Both of us slowly sank into our seats while Astrid and Y/N shared a look across the table, stifling a fit of giggles behind their hands.

Noticing the way our faces reddened, Folio spoke up to change the subject. “Did anyone enjoy seeing the snow dogs? Michelle and I had a great time when we were here last time.”

“Oh that’s right,” Davis nodded. “You guys were here for Valentine's Day, right?”

While their conversation fell on deaf ears, I felt my heart stutter in my chest and glanced over to Y/N, who was having her own conversation with Michael who sat next to her. The realization hit me with such force, that I had to lean farther back into my chair.

Even though it was well into March, we never spent Valentine's Day together, and honestly, that wasn’t something that sat well with me. My heart yearned to make up for all the times we missed during our time apart and for the rest of breakfast, I made those plans in my mind.

“Were we really that loud last night?”

Y/N asked me at the same time Astrid asked Jolly and I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into me with a chuckle, brushing my lips against her ear.

“Want to see if we can get even louder before we leave?” I nibbled on her ear lobe.

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian and reader #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian reader insert #noah sebastian smut #enemies to lovers #right person wrong time #tina and sarah talks

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powderblueblood · 8 months

Text

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER NINE — EDDIE the OBVIOUS and the LADY SPHINX

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: a tense dinner at rick lipton's place reveals some part of al munson's reason for returning to hawkins. your saturday morning detention is tense, and you and eddie both get more than you bargained for when you crash hellfire club to profile them for the school newspaper. content warnings: MINORS DNI AS ALWAYS warnings for smut, cunnilingus, dick-fondling, p in v, reference to drug usage, slight perv!eddie, silly teenagers having silly teenage fights that actually aren't so silly (kinda antagonistic ronance version!), reference to childhood physical abuse, al munson jumpscare, lacy's dad jumpscare, both lacy's real first name and surname is used in this chapter. no description of body type. just descriptions of a good time eye emoji eye emoji word count: 16.4k

Dear Lord,

Grant me the serenity to accept the shit I cannot change, the courage to change the shit I can, and the wisdom to seize a damn fine opportunity when I see one.

Amen.

When Al Munson cooks a spaghetti dinner, you know he means business.

Once a line cook with aspirations higher than diner fumes, always a line cook with aspirations higher than diner fumes.

He learned to cook on the grill, but perfected it in the joint. During one of his stints, a homecoming tour of the state of Kentucky, he fell in with this web of wiseguys who made him stagiaire in their makeshift kitchen, slicing ghostly slivers of garlic with a razorblade.

Al’s insisted on the method ever since. Even now, hunkered over in Rick Lipton’s kitchen, preparing a meal for which Eddie’s already lost his appetite.

Eddie had already given up on the whole there are a bunch of knives right there suggestion, knowing his father loves few things like he loves performing his whole Kiss the Cook bit. He plays it to the hilt, an exercise in tart, rich, floral smarm that beats out the complex flavoring of his tomato gravy by a country fucking mile. Down to that bullshit Serenity Prayer.

“Courage to change the shit you can? Man, you can barely change your underwear!” Rick heartily chuckles, heaping pasta onto his plate. The way the noodles slide against each other, thick and glistening like worms full of nefarious promise, makes Eddie want to ralph.

He hadn’t had much of an appetite for anything since he’d visited the nurse’s office.

He felt weird. Strung out. Guilty. And angry. Guilty like, what got into me, why’d I do that and angry like, why’d I leave you just standing there like that, and why’d you let me.

“C’mon, kid, you look famished,” Al pulls that anger-inducing Cheshire Cat face, placing a solely ornamental leaf of basil on top of the dish Rick passes. This fucking asshole. These fucking assholes. In cahoots together. “Wayne’s Hungry Man dinners ain’t hittin’ the way they used to, huh?”

Al’s smile doesn’t slice through the tension of the room nearly as clean as he wants it to. Eddie feels Wayne stiffen at his right elbow, sees Rick divert his eyes from across the table.

“Well, Dad,” Eddie says, forcibly stabbing and winding his fork through the spaghetti, “You know what coulda solved that?”

“What’s that, huh?”

“You staying out of lockup for longer than the duration of an MC5 song.”

Al doesn’t falter. Eddie bets he could open-palm slap him and that shiteater of a grin wouldn’t slide from his face.

“I’m here now, ain’t I?” his father clicks his tongue, digging right into his own dish, “You really gotta learn to live in the moment, kid.”

Eddie’s spaghetti-filled mouth starts to form around the indignant words, I’m not a kid! but Al beats him to the punch. Quite literally.

“Though, judgin’ by those scuffs on your knuckles, looks like you did somethin’ without thinkin’ it the whole way through first. Huh?” Al slurps his pasta noisily, and Eddie feels Wayne tense even more, if that’s possible. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

The sense memory of silver flashes colliding with Billy Hargrove’s face in the parking lot, the sense memory of you and your vicelike grip trying to pull him off before he killed him. The sense memory of bile blowing through his veins, stumbling upon those lowlifes talk to you like that. Rage blackout. Yadda yadda.

According to rumor, Hargrove was lucky that Eddie didn’t cave his entire cheek in. He still couldn’t totally see out of his right eye, the swelling was that gathered and insistent.

Eddie lets the question droop in the air, before eventually mumbling, “S’nothing. Just– shit at school.”

Wayne had been the first one to ask him, obviously, catching sight of his bandaged hand when he came upon Eddie staring a hole into–you guessed it–yet another Murder, She Wrote rerun, following your encounter on the examination table.

Eddie had given it the brush off so Wayne had given it the brush off. He was no stranger to his nephew bearing busted knuckles, even if it did make the old man’s blood chill every time he saw it. Those interactions always reeked of you poor kid, like Eddie was the perpetual victim. Got under Eddie’s skin a little.

But Al asks him like he knows something. And Rick won’t look at Eddie.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your lovely new neighbor, would it?” Other shoe, meet short, hard drop.

Eddie’s grip tightens around his fork, and in the back of his mind, he summons the spirit of the sharpest tongue he knows.

“Who?” He’s this close to prank calling people using his Lacy impression, that’s how good it’s gotten.

Al cradles his cheek against his palm. His eyes, the eyes that might as well have been scooped out and shoved into Eddie’s skull, they’re such iris perfect replicas, search his son for cracks in his composure. Al stabs, stabs, stabs aimlessly into his dinner.

“You’re a lot of things, Eddie Munson,” he says, “but you ain’t dumb.”

“Truly do not know what you’re yakkin’ about. Can I eat?”

“Come on, Eddie boy! You out there getting into scuffles over that little gold-plated piece’ah something?”

“Can I eat?”

“A little forbidden flame, maybe, two’ah you?”

“Can I eat?”

“Can’t say I blame ya. If I were… twenty years younger.... Or maybe she likes ‘em a little more mature. Think I got a shot?” Al’s teeth are starting to grit, spittle starting to fly. Frenzied in the way he’s trying to eek a reaction out of his kid. “Huh? Eddie?”

Al’s lecherous suggestion of you toed the line of too much for the Munson men, it seems. Eddie and Wayne’s voices overlap.

“Maybe we leave that girl out of this, Al–” “–can I eat, or what?”

SLAM! Al’s fist comes into direct contact with the hardwood of Rick’s dining room table, plates and cutlery and glasses clattering nervously. Rick jumps a little, groaning under his breath. Wayne drags a hand over his eyes.

“You can answer the goddamn question! Shit!”

Eddie, for his part, should probably feel a little scared, his dad raring up on him like that. Instead, he just lets his wound-up fork sag in a pile of spaghetti and leans back in his seat. The thing with Al Munson is this– his bark has always been way bigger than his bite. Especially when he’s as coked up as he is right now.

Ever since he’d roared into Rick’s driveway in that eyesore of a muscle car (alright, it was a little cool– but in, like, a lame Dukes of Hazzard kinda way), Al had been operating in sharp angles and backed-up nostrils.

Shit, Eddie would be shocked if there wasn’t residue on that razor blade he used to slice the garlic. That stupid, reckless, peacocking-as-a-father motherfucker.

He folds his arms, waiting for Al’s tone to pitch on down, for the tremor in his hand to act up, for him to say–

“Sorry. Sorry,” pressed through a line of grit teeth, “I just… Hmm.” It’s like Al is actively trying to plaster the mask of his charming grin back on his face but it keeps slipping out of his fingers. “She’s a real dime. Smart as hell too, huh? Shame about–”

“Al, what’re you gettin’ at with all this?” Wayne asks, and thank god he does. Eddie doesn’t know how much more dancing around the subject he can take, but he won’t be the one to bend first. “What did you bring us up here for? And don’t–” the eldest of all Munson holds a hand up, “--say you just wanted to get together. I don’t buy it. Eddie sure doesn’t buy it. And if Lipton here buys it, he’s a fool.”

Al shrinks, a snot-nosed kid under the magnifying glass his big brother holds to him. “Wayne–”

“You bring us up here to make us part of that goddamn stupid high school feud with that girl’s father? You really spin out that far?”

It’s not often that Wayne speaks up, but when he does, boy. Can that man dress a situation down.

Al falters. Wayne has that ability to knock him out at the knees, and Eddie makes a mental note to ask him how he does that.

“Listen. Alright. It’s not– alright,” Al clenches his hands in fists, a flex in and a flex out. A gesture Eddie notices, because he does it too. As if he’s trying to grasp the last threads of trust from them. “With that girl’s old man permanently benched so to speak, there’s an opportunity for another batter to step up. Okay? Jail sentences get doled out like Halloween candy–who knows that better than me, right?--but life goes on. There is… an opportunity here. Work still needs to get done. Work that I could’ve– that I can do.”

Eddie knows that his dad doesn’t realize he’s saying a lot of nothing, because Al’s always saying a lot of nothing. Vague promises with no real end to them. What catches him this time around is the glint in his eye, hidden behind the drug-induced one, and the glint of a gaudy ring on his finger. A green gem stamped in the middle, like a cat’s harvested eyeball. Huh.

“... let me make good on this, boys. For once. Let me take care of y’all.” Al huffs a faux-humble breath, glancing toward Rick for some kind of illustrative reassurance. “Y’know, seeing how it screwed up that little girl, seeing her big, upstanding daddy go to jail and all, I really–,” a swallow, for dramatic measure. Gunning for Best Actor here. “--felt it. Made me think, Eddie, of all the times when you were just a squirt… Made me wanna do right by you, is all.”

“How much of that doin’ right have you got up your nose, Dad?” Eddie sneers, putting two and two together. Of course this is what he’s back for; not to sell, couldn’t possibly be that simple in the convoluted world of Al Munson, but to supply. To get a suit fitted, pretend to be the big man. “Try before you buy isn’t exactly the most cost-effective policy.”

“Jesus, why, why have you got to make this so hard on me, kid?” Al is just about wringing his hands right now, scaling the apex of his desperation. “You have an in! You have the in!”

The in, of course, being Eddie’s connection to you, and by proxy, your dad. Al’s like a bloodhound that way, sniffing out the few good things that Eddie has going for him from miles off and tearing them right from his hands and acting like he’s doing Eddie a favor by making him his man on the inside.

“This whole town could be ours if you would just–”

That does it. Eddie leaps from the table, chair clattering to Rick’s warped wooden floor.

“I don’t want this whole town, are you fucking crazy?!” he yells, spittle flying, “And–and I certainly don’t want it if it’s anything to do with you!”

What the hell would make Al think that Eddie would hitch his wagon (which, granted, ain’t in too great a shape–he’s barely passing any classes, thanks to a pickup in business he guesses he can thank his dad for) to the living sunk cost fallacy that his father is? What the hell does Al Munson want with that kind of fantasy, one where he’s king bastard of the Hawkins cockwalk when he can’t even stick within county limits for more than a couple of weeks?

Well, Eddie actually has a pretty good idea, one that occurs to him like a lightning strike as Al struggles to keep his temper level. Let Eddie look like the tantrum-throwing brat.

Yeah. Exactly.

He’d wind Eddie into whatever scheme he was cooking up and ditch it, half-baked, leaving Eddie in a kitchen with all the smoke alarms going off. Elbow deep in an unsalvageable mess, because Al could never follow through on anything.

He’d have Eddie exploit your relationship for a couple of instances of, “That’s my boy.” Because Al still thought that trick worked; making him believe he’s loved, valuable, wringing every last drop of loyalty out of him because a boy needs his father… and a father needs his boy, y’know!

Fuck that.

“We should split.” It’s Wayne who says it, batting away the apologetic glance both the Munson men get from Rick– like he’s Al’s keeper or something, managing his moods. Like he isn’t raking in a cash cow from Al’s great Ray Doevski replacement theory.

“No, c’mon–” Al half-heartedly protests, like he could still save the evening but can’t really be bothered.

Wayne follows Eddie’s furious stalk out the door, tearing a cigarette from a soft pack as he hauls into the passenger side of the van.

Eddie, a tightening ball of rage, whacks the steering wheel with one good thump. He’d been stupid enough to entertain Al these past couple of days– out of confusion more than anything else. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it were.

“The in,” Eddie mockingly mumbles as the van roars to life and he peels out against scattering gravel.

Wayne has his cigarette pinched between his thumb and index and lets that settle for a beat or two.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Fists flexing around the wheel, Eddie knows very well he’s been caught red-handed. There’s no way Wayne had gone this long without suspecting anything, even after he’d specifically warned him. More of a suggestion, actually; Wayne knows that Eddie will do whatever he wants, regardless.

Unfortunately, he’s like his father that way.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Eddie says, a shoulder shrug, a mirthless lilt in his tone. “She…”

Again, Wayne stays silent. Waiting for Eddie to tell on himself, like he always does.

“She doesn’t deserve to be in the middle of this,” Eddie arrives at, voice a little choked. “Whatever Dad’s planning on doing–”

“Neither do you,” Wayne reminds him. This is where Wayne and his stoicism pulls Eddie up short. Neither do you, and the only way you avoid the blowback is if you two avoid each other. But at that same time, Wayne always knows where Eddie’s heart is at. Knows that his heart is too big not to follow.

Even if Wayne hasn’t seen you two together, laughing ‘til you’re stupid like the kids that you are, can’t he see…

“Why can’t this be easy?” Eddie asks, his voice small. Echoes of a littler him, one that Wayne would pick up in the truck after school. Head hanging, backpack trailing, kicking pebbles and cursing the world.

Instead, through a sage swirl of smoke, Wayne’s hard stare seems to peel back some. He’s always known where Eddie’s heart is at. Eddie’s starting to think he wishes he knew less.

—

Jesus Christ, are you ever sick of learning your lesson. Of reflecting on what you’ve done.

It’s exhausting, and more to the point, pointless, and even more than that, boring.

Truth is, you’re beginning to second-guess your adoration of brilliant thinkers. Those motherfuckers knew too much, and in the past week, you’ve found yourself yearning for the days where you got by on knowing nothing but the good stuff! The juicy gossip, where the best parties were at, what lipstick could not stand up to what nail polish! When intellectualism was a bedtime story you’d read to yourself under the fucking covers and you didn’t have to decode the labyrinth of your own stupid feelings!

Sure, you felt like a husk most of the time, but you’d take that over this graceless stumbling shit!

You should be allowed to smash the windows out of Billy Hargrove’s car and no one should be able to say boo about it! God!

Instead, however, you’ve been caught up in an as-yet-unprecedented display of seething and sulking. People are still whispering about you, natch, glancing at your belly like you would’ve if that heinous spawnous prank was played on anyone else. At the very least, they still have the good sense to flinch when you match their stare.

Billy Hargrove’s two week suspension means you don’t have to worry about seeing his ugly face, but it also comes with the two week guarantee of not seeing Eddie.

And the probable delay of your Hellfire article. Which is paramount. Obviously.

Speaking of Eddie, there’s too much speaking of Eddie to do.

You keep replaying the sneak attack from Al Munson in your head, him sliding his aviators down his nose to get a look at you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Payin’ my respects. Your father, shit. Shame what happened to him. He was– well. I was gonna say he was a ‘good man’, but that sounds kinda funny, don’t it?”

It wasn’t about Eddie, except it was about Eddie, because every stupid thing is about Eddie.

Especially the fact that you’re sitting in your college-going beau’s chariot, about to slink into Saturday detention. If it weren’t for him…

“Lacy?” a voice calls from the driver’s seat. “You alright?”

You snap to, rearranging your face into something definitive and sharp and pleasing to the eye. Because you’re fine! You’d said as much when he snuck you into the basement of his parent’s house–why wasn’t he back in school yet–and said as much when he squirmed against you, asking you if you were okay in that weighted way that really meant can I put it in yet.

You’d gotten on all fours because it allowed you to roll your eyes when he was all, oh, woah! sliding it in from the back.

You’d reached around and teased your clit to attempt a climax. Trying to imitate that clumsy rhythm from the nurse’s office. It didn’t quite stick–paled in comparison, like a Simon and Garfunkel tribute act made up of people that didn’t secretly want to fuck each other.

And then he gave you a ride this morning. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to bore yourself out of misbehavior– but you’d told him that you had newspaper business to attend to.

“I’m fine,” you brightly declare for the fourth and final time, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. It was a weird gesture, but the shine had buffed off. He’s cute and all, but you two had gone to see Paris, Texas at the Hawk and he didn’t get it.

He didn’t get how much you clowned on him for not getting it afterwards either. You hadn’t been able to get it out of your head, the way he shrugged away from you at the diner as you ribbed him for his plodding misunderstanding of Harry Dean Stanton.

Coldly, you thought of the trade-off that you and Eddie had agreed on. Repo Man for Paris, Texas once it came out. You had to pretend you liked Repo Man a lot less than you actually did to swing that one, because Eddie wasn’t keen to lock in to some movie about a dude crying in the desert or whatever unless you angled in the fact that you owe me for making me sit through all that machismo.

“You love machismo. You wanted to nail that sweaty little punker, I saw you squeezin’ your knees together.”

“For Emilio Estevez? Please. I had my eye on the old guy. ‘Ordinary fuckin’ people, I hate ‘em’--that kind of shit really does it for me, Munson, you know that.”

“That why you’ve been entertaining the pleasure of my company for so long?”

“Down, dog.”

Anyway. Fuck.

“Listen, Lacy, I gotta tell you s–”

“Can’t right now! I’m already late and Fred is gonna have my head,” you chime, all saccharine, climbing out of the car. “Call me!” You pray that he doesn’t.

Slam. What an extraordinary waste of time.

As instructed, you make your way to the gym, which you think is a little weird. Detention usually denotes writing pointless, go-nowhere laments on how sorry you are for being such a bad kid, right? Think on your sins, yadda yadda yadda.

Typically enough, no one’s here on time. Everyone’s late. You’re perched on the bleachers like an asshole, sitting alone like an asshole. That’s the goddamn ticket, isn’t it? You’re alone in all of this. You always have been.

Like, for example. The Al Munson walk-on role into the surrealist tragi-comedy that is your fucking life. You can’t tell that to anybody. Not Eddie, naturally, not your mom, not Nancy because then you’d have to explain the continued and complicated Eddie of it all, not Ronnie because just because. And the ickiness of it hangs off your every move, and you can’t shake it, and no one can share it.

You’re beginning to wonder if that’s true of all the parts of you. The ickiness. It’s all a little heavy, isn’t it?

As if on cue, hearing ickiness called by name on the wind, Mr Kaminsky pushes open the gym’s double doors.

“Oh, what the fuck.”

“Had to see it for myself.” Your loathed History teacher says, full of glee.

“Sir, if this is some kind of elaborate courting ritual, I have to say, you’re not my type.”

“Careful up there, Doevski. There’s more detentions where this came from.”

“Freak accident. I can’t be caged.”

“Well, let me enjoy the exception to the rule!” Kaminsky claps, and you jerk at the echo.

You sigh so hard you almost unlatch something. “What elaborate torture have you got planned for me today? Want me to run laps or something? Because these shoes aren’t built for that.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lacy,” the teacher digs, “We’re still waiting on your comrades.”

“I’m late, I’m late, I know I’m late!” a familiar voice comes skidding right up behind Kaminsky, baseball hat askew, mud stains on the knees of her overalls. “Some goddamn lunatic tried to run me and my bike off the road–”

“Ronnie?”

“Hey, Lacy!” she calls brightly and breathlessly, slamming herself down on the bleachers beside you.

“Ron, what’re you–”

An unmistakable heel-click rounds its way into the gym, and in walks Nancy Wheeler with her face all pinched like a porcelain doll. She receives your big ol’ center-piece-missing jigsaw puzzle of a look with a knowingly arched eyebrow.

“You’re late, Wheeler,” Kaminsky tries, but Nancy’s already consulting her wristwatch.

“Detention starts at nine sharp, right?” she says, impenetrable as always. “It’s 8:58.”

“Then can I have my admission of lateness struck from the record, actually?” Ronnie asks and Kaminsky shoots her a withering one, consulting his clipboard.

“Alright, we got one more. Give it the goddamn two minutes, but then I’m bumping her to suspension. You wanna count it, Wheeler?” he scoffs. Wow, so he’s like a round the clock douchebag. To everybody.

At what you only can assume is 8:59, the mismatched gangle of Robin Buckley comes slinking over the waxed floor, looking half-awake and pissed off–more pissed off, you might argue, now that she registers her company. She perches on the furthest end of the bleachers, pointedly away from the loose gaggle of you, Ronnie and Nancy.

You shoot Ronnie a look like, what’s the sitch there? Thought you two were getting all bosomy.

Ronnie just shrugs.

“Alright!” Kaminsky claps the clipboard again, “So, this is a fun group. Bunch of smart girls who got caught doing idiot stuff. We’re gonna make you pay for that today. Sound good?”

The whole bad bunch of you just stare at him, slit-eyed.

Your collective punishment, as it turns out, comes in the form of scraping old, disgusting, errant gum and other mystery sticky bullshit from the bottom of the bleachers.

“Stupid is as stupid does,” Kaminsky sagely says, handing you each a tiny chisel from the art room, “And I understand that some of you are violent offenders,” that’s a pointed look at you and Ronnie, by the way, “but please. Don’t use this opportunity to take another girl’s eye out. Your community college acceptance is riding on it.”

Motherfucker. Everyone knows Ronnie Ecker is in the running for valedictorian.

He leaves the four of you to your own devices, promising to check up on you all in a solid forty-five.

“How many times you think he can beat off in forty-five minutes?” Ronnie immediately asks as the teacher disappears through the door.

“Depends. Is he doing it in the shameful privacy of his three-door rust bucket or the clandestine confines of the AV room?” you question.

Nancy makes a gagging sound but adds, “And is he using his imagination or Ms Kelley’s yearbook picture?”

Nasty Wheeler! That girl has truly endeared herself to you.

Robin, however, doesn’t weigh in at all. She just sort of glares and angles herself onto the nearest bleacher rung to start scraping the age-old mastication from the wood. Tension in the air.

“Buckley’s got the right idea,” you say, twirling the chisel in your fingers, “Sooner we get started, sooner we get the grossness over with…”

Ronnie sticks close by you, which is nice. You always like having her in proximity. Nancy, who’s nothing but work ethic in everything she does, starts furiously working on a corner a little ways away from you both– and Robin.

It doesn’t take long, maybe fifteen minutes of silent, resigned scraping, for you to get bored. And disgusted.

“At what point do we get to do the whole prison thing of what are you in for?” you say, sitting up and letting the blood rush back to your head.

“Well, yours goes without saying,” Ronnie chuckles, “going all batter on Hargrove’s car like that. Did you actually bust a window?”

“Just swung it around,” you say, driving your heel into the bench, “I may have inherited the felony misdemeanor gene, but I didn’t inherit getting caught. What about you?”

Ronnie flicks another gum wad off with her chisel, “Actually, you might wanna ask Wheeler about that.”

Your brow furrows. “Nance?” your voice rings down to the lower rungs, “Ronnie here says you were implicated in her detention-getting.”

“Yeah, um. Well, I heard about everything when you went–”

“--totally awesome psycho–”

“--in the parking lot and… I just. I wanted to clean up all that shit. From your locker. And then Nicole came by, smacking her stupid gum, and it kind of got ugly.”

Nicole. The irony of it, Nicole, gnashing out shittalk about you and Eddie in order to impress whatever unfortunate member of the wrestling squad she’d dug her press-ons into this week. Nicole, who’d already invaded Eddie’s territory, much to her apparent shame.

What a majorette of a bitch.

You would’ve given anything to be ringside for this, her versus Nancy.

“You toed up to Nicole Summers?” a little pause, your voice goes smaller, “For me?”

Nancy sits up, her perm clouding around her. She points her chisel Ecker-ward.

“Ronnie was the one who smacked all her books out of her hand.”

Ronnie pffts. “Like she hasn’t done that to me a million times. Eye for an eye.”

“Nicole wouldn’t even go near her on account of that one time she bit that one kid for catcalling her.”

“Oh, stop,” Ronnie’s gathering a blush, batting her hand all coquettish.

“Wait, that was real?” you say, eyes darting between them, “I thought that was just some freak rumor we came up with.”

Rabid Ecker was one of the less clever nicknames your group of crown ghouls had come up with, so it obviously didn’t stick too long.

“We?” Nancy scoffs, not mean.

“The royal ‘we’,” Robin Buckley drawls from her prostrate position on the bleachers. That sounds mean, the bite in her voice.

Your hackles can’t help but rise at that cold snap in her tone. Does she have a fucking problem, or something?

“And why are you here, Robin?” you call, hands knitting in your lap.

“I was with these bozos,” she says, a note-faithful mockery of your pointed voice, “For some godforsaken reason… and now I really wish I wasn’t.”

“Why’s that?” you press.

Nancy’s whole upper half tenses. “Robin–”

Robin’s chisel clatters on the bench, a toss made out of frustration. She looks to the three of you with pursed lips before letting loose.

“Steve found out,” Robin says, “About the pregnancy test thing. In like, the worst way he could possibly find out, which is so goddamn unfair, unfair in the first place because of Nancy not telling him–like, I get it, your choice or whatever but you guys have been together for, like, a really significant period of time and you know how he feels about you–”

You and Ronnie can’t even get a breath in before Nancy rises from her seat, fingernails digging into tiny little fists at her side. She’s all spit and fury, she’s on Robin.

“Oh yeah, the worst way he could find out, Robin, the worst way which is that you blabbed to him!” Nancy yells, ricocheting around the gym, “‘Oh, I couldn’t help it, he asked me what was wrong and it all just came out–’ Give me a break! I mean, are you really that co-dependent that no one can tell you anything in confidence without you running to tell Steve?”

Robin’s face seizes in a snarl. “Are you really that stupid that you forgot to use protection with your long term boyfriend?”

“What is your problem?” Nancy’s voice whistles through her teeth, sheer exasperation, “How is this any of your business?”

“Should we stop this?” Ronnie whispers, with no intention of moving.

You shake your head in tiny, tiny increments, gossip monger past getting the best of you. “I kinda wanna see where this goes.”

“He is my friend, Nancy! And you broke his heart, dumping him right after– after–!”

Both your and Ronnie’s mouths drop into an ‘o’. You’re kind of disappointed–a big Wheeler-Harrington bust up and you weren’t first on the call list?!

“Jesus, Robin!” Nancy spits, perm flying, stomping towards Robin, “Get a personality! Sublimating yourself onto Steve Harrington isn’t doing you any favors!”

“Why, Nancy? I thought you loved him.” What confusing wording.

“I–”

Okay, these two girls are walking right into shit you can’t take back territory. You and Ronnie rush the bleachers, breaking the negative space between them both.

“Ladies! Break it up!”

“You heard Kaminsky! We’re all holding chisels, this could get ugly fast!”

You look to Nancy and her eyes are glistening. Reddening with the heat of anger and frustration. Robin’s jaw has hardened into a tough clinch, arms bound around her chest. Ronnie, she just lingers awkwardly, not quite knowing where to look. Your hand goes out to Nancy’s elbow, and she jerks away from you at first.

“Let’s go. Come on.”

“We’re supposed to be chiseling,” Nancy seethes. Your eyes roll, no patience for this go-nowhere brat routine, and you lead her to the other end of the bleachers anyway. Saying something like, we’ll take one end, Ronnie and Robin take the other, we’ll get this shit cleared in no time.

Nancy starts working furiously, but that’s kind of not what you had in mind here.

“You broke up with Steve?” you ask, point blank. Like she’d ask you.

She keeps chiseling for a few heavy, angry seconds. “I wasn’t gonna tell him, you know. I wasn’t gonna tell him, and we were gonna be fine. He could have lived without knowing. And then–fucking Buckley– and he had all these questions.”

“Like what?”

“Like why didn’t I tell him. And why was I so put out by the idea. Like, why didn’t I want to have his hypothetical baby at age seventeen… stupid shit like that.”

“He’s sensitive.”

“He’s a moron.”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” as if you didn’t have irrefutable proof in her favor. But that was the old Steve Harrington, wasn’t it? He’s meant to be some soft-hearted do-gooder dream boy now, right?

“No, Lacy, he’s a moron,” Nancy hisses, spit flying again; you’ve never seen her like this. Blue eyes bold and frightening with conviction. “Why should I have to tell Steve about something like that if it’s just a big nothing? If I was never even actually pregnant or whatever? Why can’t I just have that to forget about myself? Why do I owe him part of every single goddamn decision I make about my life?”

This is a bigger conversation, isn’t it? What you’d once regarded as poor Nancy and her perfect boyfriend, boo-fucking-hoo is now poor Nancy and her perfect boyfriend, stifled by his redemption.

“At least if he was still an asshole, I wouldn’t feel bad about breaking up with him. After all this.”

“Now it’s just like you’ve kicked a puppy.”

“Exactly.”

“What total bullshit.”

Nancy shoots the tiniest smile up at you, a stiff little nod bobbing her neck forward.

There’s a long beat as your focus reframes around Nancy. All the two of you wanted were lives of your own. Existences not indebted to anybody, good or bad. Shit.

“I’m the sublimator, by the way. I know that,” Nancy whispers, great big eyeballs glittering at you, “It’s easy to… fold into someone like Steve when, y’know… you’re not exactly likeable on your own. I just. I wanted to hurt her. She doesn’t deserve it. But I wanted to.”

Her chisel gestures towards Robin, working alongside Ronnie in relative silence that Ronnie awkwardly tries to puncture.

You understand that. Wanting to hurt people after you feel like they’ve breached your trust. Even accidentally. And doing it. And the ugliness of the shame after, you’re familiar with that too.

You reach forward and brush a little lint off her collar. “Thanks for getting in trouble for me, by the way. With that stupid prank and everything.”

“What are you talking about?” she scoffs softly, “You covered for me. And you didn’t have to.”

“Hey,” you hold out your pinkie finger. It’s the least you can do. “Promise is a promise, right?”

—

The members of Hellfire Club gather in an awkward row, standing under the odd, warm glow of the drama room lights like a police lineup of suspects least likely to score a date to homecoming. Sorry, Ronnie.

“What do you think,” you say, swiveling your focus to Jonathan, who’s standing there twice as awkwardly with his camera slung around his neck, “Should we take ‘em outside, make ‘em do Abbey Road?”

In the middle of it all sits the man who can’t help but be of the hour, what with the throne and the glowering and the gravitational pull. Eddie, slumped into that wild set piece left over from god knows what drama club production of, like, Henry VI or Pirates of Penzance or whatever, is so beyond unhappy with what’s unfolding in front of him.

Good.

Ronnie clearly hadn’t even fluffed him into the idea. Which she offered to do, when you’d hitched a ride home on the back of her bike after the tension of Saturday detention dissipated. You’d firmly nixed the idea, the sneak attack being the whole point of this thing.

You’d also learned that a two week suspension was no way no how going to keep Eddie from sneaking in and running this Hellfire session, which meant your article wouldn’t be delayed after all.

So, nah. Good ol’ Ronnie, she just let you stalk in there with your notebook and your pen and your glasses and your Pentax-wielding Jonathan Byers, ready to entirely fuck up Eddie’s day, which gave him no opportunity to protest or call for embargo. Because if he did, it’d raise eyebrows of suspicion and everyone would be like, I thought you two were weird trailer park friends? Is something going on? Something emotionally incoherent and ambiguously erotic? Should we tell everyone? Should we call the Mayor?

“Capital idea,” Eddie says, not exactly to you, but to those in general attendance like he’s playing to the cheap seats, “Maybe I can mow them down in my van and save them from this torture.”

Your smile tightens and Eddie matches your expression, both your mouths straining against your skulls. Wisecracks will not save him. He should know that by now.

“Let’s get a couple of the maestro while I excavate the disciples’ brains,” come the instructions and a swift pat to Jonathan’s shoulder. He flashes you a bewildered kind of look.

“Wh– how do you… want him?”

Incredible phrasing. You glance at Eddie, but not really at him–not enough that he can register and sucker your gaze in. Bathed under the dramatic glow like he was born to sprawl all cock-kneed on a throne like that.

“Exsanguinated and hung on a meat hook, preferably,” you say to Jonathan, “But, I trust you. Do whatever.”

As you gather the rest of the Hellfire denizens at the end of the table to interview them talking head style, Jonathan Byers slinks towards Eddie.

Eddie shifts uncomfortably, less equipped to keep up that fuck you stormcloud persona when he’s at the other end of a focusing lens. Plus, Byers always kind of gave him the creeps. Not to be a dick, but. Here we are.

Byers, to Eddie’s complete and utter horror, clears his throat and attempts to scrounge up some semblance of conversation. But, of course, it’s Jonathan Byers so it’s not fucking small talk. Any other day of the week, Eddie could get behind the notion of eschewing such how about this weather we’ve been having type social norms but Byers decides to jump in with–

“So you guys are…” he trails, leading the witness. Snap goes his little aperture. That’s unfair. Means he caught Eddie’s immediate facial reaction which, hands up, he has never been good at hiding.

“Neighbors,” Eddie supplies in a rush, twisting on his throne again. “She can… hear me yelling about DnD from my trailer. S’why she’s here. To shut me up, I guess.”

Byers adjusts his stance, capturing Eddie from a lower angle– a little more badass looking, he hopes. Frame the fucking curls, for god’s sake.

“Gotcha journalism,” Byers quips. Byers quips.

Eddie’s mouth relaxes and he huffs out a little, “Exactly.”

Byers shifts yet again, clearly covering all wondrous angles with his dinky little thirty-five millimetre whatever the fuck.

It’s not that this whole sneak attack article for the Streak thing is getting under Eddie’s skin– Eddie didn’t even have a chance to acknowledge it getting under his skin. You just breezed in here and started sticking bamboo spikes under his fingernails, like the little warmongtrix you are.

And now you’re sitting at the end of the game table, ruby red end of your fountain pen pointing at Gareth, noting down everything he says without even the slightest hint of condescension. These dorks are looking at you in awe and fear, save for Ronnie who just looks smug, and you’re listening to them. Really listening to them. Your face fixed with that hard little glare that tells him you’re recording the minutiae of their answers.

Eddie digs the pad of his thumb into his lip. Why would you want to do this? Why aren’t you avoiding him at all human cost? What is your angle here?

“She’s cool, y’know.” Click, goes Byer’s camera again. “Lacy.”

Eddie’s voice comes out distant, his focus tugging away from you super, super slowly.

“I heard you blew it with her.”

Byers, caught off guard, lowers his lens. “She told you about that?”

Eddie shrugs, like it’s nothing. It’d be easier to pretend like the idea of you and Byers hanging out was nothing if Byers and Eddie weren’t both classified outsiders.

“Well, uh,” Byers fiddles with something on his camera, shrugging in turn, “It was weird, talking to Lacy back then. You know. She was kind of–”

“She’s different now.” Eddie answers too fast, springing to a defense that didn’t call for him. He sits up a little bit straighter, spine iron-rodding, and tries to recover. “I mean. She’s retired the whole icy Swatch rat bit. She’s not, like– pretending to be something.”

Jonathan gets this look on his face. One last click of the camera.

“I wouldn’t know. I blew it, remember?” But you didn’t, man.

Little does he know.

“Are we done?” Eddie says, launching himself from his chair and slapping palms on the table. His DM screen shakes. Byers steps back with a flared little danger zone! look tossed your way. “We’ve already lost–”

“--fifteen minutes of glorious game time?” you drawl, crossing a final ‘t’ in your notes. “Of course. My apologies. Tight schedule?”

Your eyebrow arches as you flash your eyes up at him. His jaw flares. You– you’re good. You’re vicious and you’re good.

“Theee tightest,” Eddie grits through the falsest of grins and jerks his head, waves flying and the rest of his little Hellfire sheepies following in motion to take their seats.

Ronnie takes her time, mumbling under her breath, “You sure this is a good idea?”

And she was right, with what she’d said before. You are using this as an excuse to get in his face–bolstered only by the fact that he had now gotten in your pants, and you weren’t letting him slink off that easy. Especially with the workplace cameo appearance from Al Munson that you had just been forced to live through.

You’d been looking over your shoulder ever since, expecting to see him leering at you over those sickening aviator sunglasses.

“Oh, I’m positive,” you assure her, turning to Jonathan. “I need, like, one or two shots of them playing then you can take off.”

“Waiwaiwaiwaiwaiwaiwait,” Eddie interrupts, an arm raising over his head to signal halt, “Okay, so first, you storm the castle with your little camera boy without my approval, now you think you’re going to stay for the game?” His ire is genuine. “It’s Hellfire Club, Lacy. Members only. We don’t need bleacher bunnies.”

“Oh, come on, Munson!” you lilt, situating yourself on an abandoned desk, away from the game table. “The people want to know how the Satanic sausage is made.”

“The people being?”

“Your critics and fans. What is this all for, if not to piss off Hawkins’ Presbyterian and garner a whole new legion of Hellfire acolytes, huh?”

“We don’t need any help from the press on that front.”

“Really?” You drag out your single-word answer, using the seconds to count the minimal amount of players in the room. Not even Ronnie could boast 100% attendance, with her marching band obligations clashing with Hellfire sessions. Eddie glares at you. Yeah, yeah.

“A–actually, Eddie… I think it’d be… pretty cool,” Gareth says, waver slowly fading out of his voice. “I mean, if we’re in the school paper, my Mom’ll be less suspicious that we’re like–”

“--doing k-bombs in the drama room…” you mutter, loud enough that only Jonathan can hear.

“--and stuff.”

Eddie exhales so hard his nostrils flare, his shoulders tense, he’s about to shit.

“And who else would like to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Gareth the Treacherous here?” he snarls, looking pointedly around the table, “Jeff? Dougie? Cyrus? Ecker?”

The dorks erupt in yapping agreement, totally swinging for Gareth’s angle.

“Shut up!” Eddie barks, throwing himself back onto his throne. Ringed fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But this, in the business, is what they call a mutiny. Don’t come cryin’ to me when you’re all gettin’ swirlies with half of the Weekly Streak stuffed in your goddamn mouths.”

That’s creative. He really could have had a fruitful career as a bully if he wasn’t so gooey in the middle.

“Munson, I promise you can ride circles around me on a motorbike on live TV if this all goes to shit.”

You make a fluttering hand motion that reads proceed, which he, naturally, hates. He stares at you, like white light white heat searing through stares at you. And then his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath.

What follows is… exactly what you should have expected, actually.

Eddie Munson transports the present-and-correct party of adventurers back into the eye of their campaign. Their mission? Infiltrate a cult of royal knights that have been bewitched by a high priest who is forcing them to sacrifice the kingdom’s innocents in order to fuel his dastardly arcane magic. The plot is… involved. You’d done a light touch of research on how exactly the dragons and the dungeons all worked, so to speak, but it didn’t really seep into the membrane. It’s something you could only really engage with if you saw it in action– you’d have to rely on Eddie and company to fill in the blanks that the extensive lore left. Like, how exactly did these mythical dice come into play? How does a character sheet set you up for success, or failure? What the fuck is a skill check and why does it read so complicated?

And fill in they… kind of did.

Aside from the technical aspects, you find yourself suckered into the story. Quite literally, gripping your seat as Ronnie’s character–a highly capable bard, from what you understand–attempts to escape the hateful royal sect and find her way back to her party. They’d taken her hostage, and she’s managed to escape her chains but they’re ruthless, on her like dogs. Eddie illustrates every sweaty, panicky movement as they close in on her, and your fine, painted fingernails are dug into every word.

Eddie weaves these stories like gossamer– both in the sense of delicate intricacy and destructive nature of that big red monster thing from Looney Tunes. Each plot twist is created to elicit a sense of true foreboding, embellishing how effective his storytelling is. It forces each and every person at the table to face fear head on, dig deep and use what they were given in order to prevail, even if they’re shaking in their boots while doing it– shit, this is good, you should be writing this down.

Blindly, you sketch the word gossamer into your journal, not tearing your eyes away from the table. You barely notice the flash going off to your immediate right– Jonathan Byers’ lens pointed right at you.

“Uh–” you start, Jonathan reaching to grab his jacket from behind you as the game goes on.

“I’m headin’ out– gotta pick Will up from…” he trails off, but you fill in the blank. Nancy had mentioned that Mike was hosting his friends for a DnD session tonight too, and the party naturally included the most junior Byers. You nod, checking the time– Jesus, where had the last three hours gone?

“Tell Nancy I said hey, if you see her,” you say, “and thank you.”

Jonathan shrinks into himself, bashful. “Don’t worry about it.” A beat. “I still want that Echo & the Bunnymen, though.”

Your face peels into a grin that says don’t worry, I”m good for it! and you wave him off. The Hellfire party don’t even notice his leaving, except for Eddie who, being judge, jury and executioner, notices everything.

“...and on that sweltering note, germies and Eckermen, we must bid each other good eventide. Until next time.”

An operatic groan of disapproval goes up from the players, and you realize this must be a regular thing. Eddie always leaving them wanting more. Tease.

“I know, I know, if you had it your way, you’d be locked in here, pissing in buckets and the show would go on all night,” Eddie jeers, rising from his seat to start collecting his stuff, “but I wouldn’t inflict that on the janitorial staff. ‘kay? Scat. Outta my sight.”

With great indignation that swiftly turns into backslaps of appreciation, the Hellfire Club moves out of the drama room one by one. You stay put, and Eddie avoids your eyes completely.

Folding shit back into that madly overstuffed DM folder, he throws a strained-casual, “Need a ride?” to Ronnie, the last straggler.

She shakes her head, smile barely contained. “Uh-uh! Two wheeled my way here and I’ll two wheel my way back– you, uh, have fun though.”

“Bye, Ronnie,” you call after her, voice properly piercing through the air for the first time in hours. Eddie reacts like he’d completely forgotten you were there. Which, impossible. It’s also impossible for him to keep up the whole punk-ass overlord act when it’s just the two of you. As it is now.

Alone, together. Again.

There’s a charge between you, as if that even needs pointing out. Like the electric fences surrounding McCorkle’s farm.

You and the wagonful of your one-time buddies, Carol and Tommy and Tina et al, used to drive out there more than a little under the influence. Your favorite trespassing activity was reaching out for the electric fence, hooking your fingers around it to feel the darting shock permeating your skin.

“What the fuck are you doing? Can’t that, like, fry your brain?” Carol’d ask you, slugging back the last of her beer as Tommy and Steve Harrington attempted to tip a cow in the background somewhere.

“Try it, Care,” you’d giggled, half drunk and half coursing with adrenaline, half alive and half dead, “It feels weird. It feels good!”

You’d woken up the next morning in your plush bedroom in Loch Nora, two little blisters on your fingers, smarting from all that pleasure seeking. Did you regret it? Or did it just make you want to do it again?

Eddie still doesn’t look at you as he speaks from the opposite end of the table.

“Get everything you need?”

“No,” you answer, short. “Missing my key interview.”

Now he looks. Now he has the nerve to. And irises lock on irises, Eddie frozen in place. He knows he’s not getting out of this.

What’s more, you don’t think he really wants to.

“Pretty controversial subject matter,” he says, tone a whole shade softer than the commanding voice of God he’d used through the duration of the session. A little higher. Nervous. “What with the panic, and all.”

“Me and controversy are bedfellows,” your shoulder darts up, “I’m the big spoon.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod; your tone is as marble-solid as ever, eyes trained and undarting, “Like when I implied the Tigers were straddling a generation-defining line of bold faced failure. I got in a lot of trouble for that.”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth twitch a little. “Define ‘a lot of trouble’ by your standards.”

“They made me print a retraction!” You’re genuinely incensed by the memory, hitching forward in your seat, “I mean, how insane? ‘Bad for school spirit,’ they said. Like I’m some kind of pep exorcist.”

Eddie tongue folds in between his teeth and he turns his head a split second too late. You can see him biting back a snicker, or something, and point to Lacy and yadda yadda yadda—but you smile, and the tension feels like it’s waning. Thank god, because it is suffocating you. You take your in and up you get, moving to the seat closest to his right-hand side.

“Can we get started?” The fountain pen is uncapped, the notebook cracked, your legs crossing. Eddie sinks back into the throne, his face warming up under the yellow stage lights.

“Okay. Hit me with your best shot.” Fire away.

You’re quick with it. “Why this?”

“Really? That’s your first question?” Eddie looks bemused.

“It’s the least rudimentary of all the Ws,” you explain nice and plainly, plucking up fingers to illustrate your points, “People know who you are–against their will, mostly. People can glean what the game is–or will, once I put a fine point on the… everything that just happened there. What people don’t get is why. Why indulge yourself in this?”

His fingers knit together in his lap, nearly shy.

“Because it’s fun.”

“Nope, too vague.”

“Vague?”

You physically knock the notion with a waving hand, leaning closer over the table, errant miniatures and spare pencils still scattered there.

“Basketball is fun. Chess club is fun. Throwing rocks into a rusted can of SpaghettiOs is fun if you can make a case for it. Too vague. Didn’t come here for the everyman answer.”

“What did you come here for?” That’s loaded. The way he’s daring himself to look at you is loaded. How soft his voice turns is loaded.

“The Munson answer.” It hangs in the air like someone dropped off the gallows. “Dig for me.”

A long, metastasizing beat. Resistance is futile, as it is and ever will be with you. Eddie hitches his arms across his chest, hiding a smile in the heel of his palm. Flattery works with him. Even if you'd never call this flattery.

“Escape,” he eventually tells you.

“Go on,” you press.

“There is this… insatiability when it comes to fantasy. To stories like this, the kind with big, thriving worldscapes. Reading ‘em, even writing ‘em– it’s good, but it isn’t enough sometimes. Sometimes you want to wrap yourself up in the reality of elsewhere. Travel to a world where things are different.”

“But not idyllic.”

Eddie’s eyebrows pull together.

“No. If these campaigns were just… the bad guys are defeated by a mighty sword that you and you alone always happen to have on you, that’s not a campaign. That’s a circle jerk.”

“The idea is to be challenged. To fight for something.”

“Right. To adventure. Beat the odds.”

“And you can’t do that alone.”

“Well, you can. I think that’s called, like, writing a book.”

“Ohh-kay, Eddie…”

“No, no, no, I mean,” Eddie shakes his head, planting his elbows on the table top, “Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the thrill of the unknown? Of not knowing what the other characters are gonna do, or what sick twist the dastardly, brilliant DM is gonna pull out next?”

He’s on one now, so you don’t stop him. Eddie’s eye takes on that mercurial shine, the same one he had while he was cruise directing the campaign. You wonder when he got like this—got bit by the God complex bug. Here, he could dare people to defy him when he’d been the defiant one his whole life.

You think about a littler him, yearning for escape.

“It also doesn’t work if everyone wants to be a hero. Too many heroes spoil the stew, okay, so you need to find other, y’know, likeminded weirdos who fall into different alignments. Those alignments only work when they’re played off other characters. Your merry band of outlaws or pirates or underdogs or whoever. You work together, or you betray each other, or you come back together because of some mighty sworn oath and you see your mission through. It’s not about winning or losing, y’know? Whatever happens out there,” he gestures to beyond the barricade of the drama room doors, “doesn’t matter. Whether life’s beating the shit out of them or not, my little acolytes, as you call ‘em, sit at this table and they’re part of something bigger. Something thrilling. Magical. Alchemic. They’re part of–”

“--a team.” You think about a littler him, yearning for people to escape with.

Eddie flaps his ever-animated hands. “Not my phrasing. But.”

“That thread runs through it all,” you say, drawing a line down the center of your notes with the inactive end of your pen, “Teamwork. Belonging. Victory– an escape from the mundane to victory, especially when you can’t find it elsewhere.”

Eddie’s chin rests on the back of his hand as he squints at you. “Sounding a little sportsmanlike there, Lacy.”

“And?”

“Thought you weren’t pulling for the everyman answer.”

“A hook’s a hook’s a hook,” you quirk your eyebrows, “–and, when you put it that way—”

“When you put it that way.”

“—what really makes you any different from, say, the Tigers?”

“Besides the cult of personality surrounding all jocks–”

“As if you don’t court your own little cult of personality—“

“—we actually win our campaigns.”

You start to retort, then stop. Letting that sink in.

“Oh. Oh, that’s good,” you say, sketching it down.

“I foresee letters to the editor in your future,” Eddie says, and he’s smug about it. Anything to aggregate the status quo, no matter what the blowback might be.

No one in their right mind here behaves like him. He just… does whatever he wants.

You find yourself wanting to touch the fence.

And maybe it’s that you stare at him a beat or so too long, but Eddie shifts his gaze down to the wood grain, flexing his hand. Scabs still marring his knuckles and all.

“It wasn’t broken or anything, then?” you ask, gesturing to his hand.

Eddie looks back up with a drag. You can feel what’s coming.

“Oh no, it was shattered,” he tells you, eyes-wide earnest and lying through his teeth, “My bones just heal super fast. My mom, she ate a shit ton of canned spinach when I was in ute.”

“Right, the calcium—”

“Nah. Rare botulism side effect,” he shrugs like, whaddaya gonna do!

Dumbass.

“Rare Botulism Side Effect is a good album title.”

“I’ll tell the guys.”

Silence falls again, and if you reach around, there’s something close to normalcy in there. Among the spikes and confusion.

“Um,” Eddie’s face contorts into a tiny cringe, “I found out what the… what the prank was, by the way. I obviously wasn’t here to witness the whole masterpiece theater of it all but– but Ronnie told me.”

A tight and ugly feeling constricts your chest. You look away, nodding through a grimace. You’d opened your locker with the practiced caution of someone diffusing a bomb since that whole incident, which sucks as someone who derives real joy from slamming metal doors.

“Pretty creative bit, huh?” is all you offer.

“Almost too creative for Hargrove,” Eddie counters, uprighting a fallen miniature with one finger.

“Are you trying to say I was being hysteric, jumping on his car?” It sounds like you’re offended, but.

“No,” Eddie meets you right where you’re at with this sparkle framing his stare, “I’m saying it was probably a collaborative effort. You could go seek even more batshit revenge, if you wanted to.”

“And would you be there to stop me before I cut Carol Perkins’ breaks?”

You can see Eddie biting his tongue between his teeth oh-so-lightly… Saliva catching in the low light. It’s warm in here. Stuffy.

“Prob–”

“I miss you.”

You cut him off in such a harsh, unforgiving way that Eddie feels his words rammed back down his throat. He blinks a couple of times, tempted to shake his head to make sure he heard you right. But there you are, your sight line running clean through him. You couldn’t be talking to anybody else.

“You do?” His voice is so small that his lips barely move. His lips, teased by his tongue, wetting them.

“Don’t act brand new. Everything’s harder without you. You have to know that.”

He gets snagged on the angles in your voice. By without you, he can only imagine you mean since he started giving you the cold shoulder and you started hitching rides in that college dork’s Ford Cortina. And by everything, he can only imagine…

“Lace…”

This is hard. This is horrible. This is uncomfortable and risky and as exposed as you have ever been, but it’s necessary.

“I can’t stand the tension of not being around you,” you say, breath feeling harsher as it speeds past your molars, “And I can’t stand the tension when I’m with you either, with you and wanting to–... so what do I do, Eddie?”

You focus on him, adjusting as if you were looking through the viewfinder of Jonathan’s Pentax. Eddie’s face, bewildered and angelic, with his parted mouth and his honorific glow of the stage lights haloing the frizz in his hair. He looks like something you want to commit to memory, as if to say see?! How could you deny this?

You rise from your seat, ever the investigator, and bear over him with hands on the table. Cards on the table, too. A genuine question smarts in your mouth, too sour candy you have to spit out.

“What do I do, Eddie?”

Eddie inhales with a sharp touch as you stand up, inspecting, demanding. He goes to tell you I don’t know… in the meekest of tones but the arch in your eyebrows says don’t you goddamn dare. You terrify him, and you make him dig.

“Forget it. Forget about all of it,” he breathes, almost tasting your perfume, “We can reset. Blank slate. Pretend like we don’t know each other. Pretend like none of this ever happened. It’d be better. Safer. Easy. Right? We could totally do that. We’ve fooled everybody so far. Even ourselves, into thinking this was… we could...”

“Fuck you,” you say in a soft rush.

Eddie only realizes that you’re both smiling when you kiss him. It’s clumsy at first, teeth knocking and everything, your hands winding around his collar and your frigid fingertips finding his neck. The shock of your skin on his, the matchstick crack of your mouth on his propels Eddie onto his motherfucking feet. He leans over you, knocking you into the table as your tongue works its way deep into his mouth.

You give him an, “Mm,” and if feels like an ascent to heaven.

Sparkles in the static makes the stuffiness evaporate, makes the room come alive. Your legs part to invite him closer to you, your hands faster and more insistent than his are. You pull at the hem of his Hellfire shirt and yank your head back, a string of saliva married between your mouths.

Fingers are more bold than they were in the nurse’s office, weaving the leather out of Eddie’s belt buckle. A deep ridge etches between Eddie’s eyebrows and his hands are propped in a mid-air surrender. Your eyes, your everything fucking eyes, are weighted with want. And challenge. Because you always do have to get one up on him.

“Reset this.” You tug at his zipper. “Tell me to stop.”

“Lacy…” Eddie whispers, watching you pull at the waistband of his boxers with his mouth agape. He’d dreamt about this. Thought about this. His cock about jumps into your hand like you’re Snow White and it’s a goddamned hummingbird. Pen marks on your fingers. “Jesus, y–...”

Eddie’s arms angle up behind his head, like a strung-up marionette, fabric of his shirt ghosting against his nipples in the stretch. This only makes him angle his hips further into you, eyelids flickering and his blood breaking the speed limit on its descent. Fuck, and then you fucking touch him– fingertips along the length of him, featherlight and goading.

Eddie’s groan is broken, half-caught in his nose. You’re looking at him like he’s a bad puppy, like you’re teaching him a lesson in scolding masking adoration. You’re beautiful and he wants to tell you so, but it all comes out in a whimper. Your hand closes around his cock, thumb brushing rii-iii-iight along the ridge of his head.

“Tell me to stop,” you echo yourself, and you’re fascinated that it comes out sounding like you know what you’re doing. You don’t. You’ve never been thrust into a net of feeling like this, never had anyone look at you the way Eddie is now– like he’d throw himself on a bed of open flames for you, so long as you kept touching him. It’s drunkard-making. It’s a full headrush. The gradual glisten of his reddening head looks delicious to you.

“Tell me to s–”

Grip tightens around him and Eddie moans from right in his sternum, his arms dropping to cradle around your head. He can’t believe he’s doing this, he can’t believe he’s fucking doing this but–

“Stop,” he gasps, fingers winding in your hair. His entire spinal cord is begging him to buck into your hand, your mouth, your anything, but he steels himself. “Stopstopstop, Lacy. Fuck– fuck.”

Your eyes widen, cheek in his palm. “Really?” Said in the most painful, the most misread did I do something? lilted tone. Your hand doesn’t exactly go slack right away.

“Yeah. Yes,” Eddie murmurs, eyes screwing closed and opening again, the most manual effort ever put behind a blink. “I c–I didn’t do this right, the first time. This is stupid. This is so stupid.”

And so your hands go, and you feel the anchor of your heart slowly dropping… But Eddie drops his face right down to yours.

“You deserve… so much more than giving me a handy on school property,” he tells you, and feels almost coherent about it. “Hot as it is. Right out of my… nastiest dreams as it is.”

Oh. Oh. The corners of your mouth pick up as Eddie presses his forehead to yours, just about evening out his breathing.

“Had a premonition about this, didja?” The pressure of his face on yours, his breath on yours, his skin on yours. It’s nice.

“Came to me in a vision,” he grins, crooked. Slides his thumbs along your cheeks and kisses you, slowly and noisily. “I’m a prognosticator.” Tongue half in, half out your mouth. Your heartbeat sinks between your legs. In a good way. “Been known to prognosticate.”

“Five dollar vocab word,” you mumble into his mouth, can’t help but push your body against him like a cat begging for attention. Eddie’s lips latch to the space right below your ear, a place where his mouth makes you feel like cymbals are clashing in your stomach.

“Come home with me,” he says, the note of pleading in his voice making your legs go numb. His nose and his lips dragging against the side of your neck, begging you to focus on the details and not the bigger picture. “Please.” A swallow. A beat. A ragged whisper. “... I missed you. Too. Y’know?”

“I do…” you sigh into his curls, readjusting his boxers, “actually need a ride… so.”

—

The van ride back to Forest Hills is tight with a tension that makes you both laugh, your mouth still buzzing from the kiss Eddie’d laid on you right before he’d helped you into the passenger seat. Even after he’d insisted you not touch him from the drama room to the parking lot, insisted because, “This thing,” he’d gestured to his crotch, his hard-on painfully zipped into submission, “this thing is gonna get me hauled over by the cops!”

“Don’t laugh!” you scold, mouth straining around the gleaming smile you’re suppressing, body all giddy. Voice ringing clear and high even over the cranked radio. Sabbath, naturally, Vol. 4. Wheels of Confusion sounds like treacle to you, mixed in with his laugh.

“I’m no-oo-oht!” Eddie says, syllables punctuated with chuckles, “I just– I am expressly escorting you back to my place! To, like, have sex with me!” His hands beat against the wheel, teeth sunk into that pretty bottom lip, giddy-upping so hard he actually does swerve the van a little.

“Woah!” you yelp, “Eddie, the road! You should’ve let me drive, you’re feral!”

Eddie moon eyes at you, reaching over to pinch your chin. “Lace, please don’t get all sore about this, but I will never trust you behind the wheel of this van. She’s a delicate piece of machinery and you would drive her like it’s the demolition derby.”

Narrowed eyes and all, you kind of have to concede. You’ve never been the best behind the wheel, a road rageaholic, and if you were to add feeling as frisky as you do now on top of that sundae… you press Eddie’s DM binder into your lap a little harder. Down, girl. He doesn’t help, thumb stroking your chin and everything.

“This is suh-rreal.”

“Stop zooming out so hard or I’m not gonna have sex with you!” You’re kidding. You’re so completely kidding. If he doesn’t touch you someplace lower than your neck soon, you’re going to disintegrate.

But Eddie pauses. “Like, you don’t. Have to.” Panicky, freezy. Hastily pulling on his good guy hat. “You don’t– by the way. It’s whatever you want. Call timeout at any time. I know I’ve been kinda–”

“Eddie.”

“...you still want to though, right?”

The giggling dies down as you edge closer and closer to your respective trailers, darkness washed over them like a swathe of dark blue paint. The lights in both trailers are out. Nobody home. Wayne, something about the weekend, something about overtime. Your mom… who knew. She’d been moving around in shadows more so than usual lately.

Everything out there is dimmed, except you two. Eddie doesn’t waste a second once the motor shuts off and the radio is silenced; he slams the driver door shut but the teensiest knot of hesitation tightens in your stomach before he reaches the passenger door.

And then he reaches the passenger door, gathering you out of it and pushing you up against the side of the van. Snapping you out of it instantaneously using the bare force of his mouth against yours.

“Eddie…” mumbled, your lips barely unstuck.

“Sorry. Shit, sorry. I just really like kissing you.”

Something pops in your chest; he’s… Jesus, he’s so sweet. Coal-eyed and excitable and lovely, kissing you with nothing left to spare.

“Hey. Redirect,” you shiver, his fingertips pressing into your waist. “Come to my place.”

Eddie casts a wide glance back toward your double-wide. The forbidden castle. “Your… y–are you sure?”

“Sure that my bedsheets are cleaner than yours, yes.”

He murmurs, “Bedsheets,” with a darkened gaze and a grunt. Bedsheets. You wanted him in your bedsheets. “Get your key. Get your key. Get your key before me and my dick have a shared brain hemorrhage.”

That new lock doesn’t stick at all, thank god.

Eddie, ordinarily, would nosily register all of his surroundings– he had an extremely barebones idea of your place, cast mostly in darkness like this, from that first night he’d driven you back from the fallout at Harrington’s. But he’s too busy nosily exploring your throat with his tongue, recording and archiving every breathy sound you make as you tug him toward your bedroom.

Cardboard boxes still trip you up a couple times. Did you ever unpack, or what?

You break from his heady kiss, vision doubling, taking in a lungful of air as you push Eddie through the door. Spine flattens against it as it shuts, the noise drawing a little bit of sobriety into the room. You reach to hit the floor lamp on and your bedroom is illuminated in a soft, orange glow, a scarf thrown over the bulb to diffuse light. A half-effort to make you forget where you were sometimes. It works; the edges of everything softens, which is such a contrast to the definitive presence that he is.

Eddie’s chest is heaving. He attempts to get his bearings but he can barely get his eyes off of you, squirming ever-so-slightly, ever-so-sexily against the door. Like you’d captured him.

Lips swollen, watching you watch him from the door, he turns a little shy and turns to look at the ephemera around him instead.

He’s standing in your bedroom.

You’re far more cluttered than he expected you to be.

He expected pressed sheets and a pristine dressing table, like a prison cell designed by a set dresser from Dynasty.

Well, that’s wrong, actually. He expected that of the Lacy people thought you were.

On the walls are a couple of tear-outs from the Rolling Stones he’d helped you liberate from your porch in Loch Nora, a mission you’d bought him breakfast for but didn’t have to. But mostly, every surface in the room is covered in piles. Piles of books, records, tapes, pens, jewelry, nail polish. And the clothes. They hung from everywhere, bursting out of your tiny closet space like bodies trying to escape.

It’s confused in here; feels like someone who has unearthed parts of herself that she hasn’t been able to organize yet. Eddie wants to comb through it like a collector at a rarities market, he thinks, running a finger along the spine of a porcelain cat that sits on your dresser.

“Place is filthy, cheerleader.”

“You’d know about mess, freak.”

The only really neat, clear space is, fortunate for tonight’s entertainment purposes, the bed.

As he’s sliding his jacket (jackets, plural) off, Eddie’s eye travels to the window.

“Did you fix your blinds?” he asks, pivoting back and forth on his heel.

“My blinds?” you parrot. The blinds that had been broken when you moved in. The ones that sure were shuttered now. You’d made a point to fix them with whatever was left out of your first paycheck from the Bookstore. “How’d you know about my blinds?”

He could’ve lied, if he caught himself quicker. If he didn’t straighten up his back like someone had snapped him to attention. “Uuh.”

It dawns on you like a flashlight in the eyeballs. “Were you… watching me, Munson?”

Not spying, mind. Not peeping. Watching. Eddie sinks down to sit on the edge of your bed, because whether or not he’s ever going to get to be here again kind of hangs in the balance right now.

“That. Dep…ends. What do you,” Please don’t kick him out. Please don’t kick him out. Look at the line of your fucking body as you round on him, staring him down like you want him for dinner. Christ, he hopes you want him for dinner.

Eddie swallows roughly, tone bumpy, face a dime store Halloween mask of nonchalance. Paper thin. “What do you think about that?”

Fact is, he’d subsisted on a couple of very guilty glimpses of you. Catching sight of the lines of your bare back and taught shoulders would keep him in jerk-off material for a week, just thinking about kneading out your knots and undoing your bra clasp with his teeth.

Eddie felt positively Victorian about it. Maybe you’d flash an ankle at him next and he’d be institutionalized for hysterics.

You look at him with the same pinpoint as you did earlier. Like you’re studying him. And then you edge closer, closer, nudging his knees apart. Echoes of the nurse’s office.

But this isn’t the goddamn nurse’s office. You’re not straining to adapt to the element of surprise. You know that the breath Eddie takes, shuddering and wondrous as you tilt his chin up to look at you, is a sound you want on repeat for as long as you can bear to hear sounds.

“They’ve blinded men for that, y’know? Before.”

Eddie can’t answer. Just let out a huh! as your fingers trace his jaw, thumb brushes his lip. His hands squeeze the curve of your ass, fingers beg into your thighs as he watches you, dumbstruck. His tongue unconsciously presses to the tip of your thumb and he hears your breath hitch.

A sustained shock travels up your neck.

“I mean, was it worth it?”

“Was it w… Lacy.” Eddie’s hands have breached the hem of your skirt and with a groan, his face burrows into the silken fabric of your shirt, like he’s trying to nudge it off with his nose or his mouth. Fingers are working mindlessly to loosen some article of clothing from your body and it makes you feel buzzy and trancelike. “Don’t ask stupid questions. I might have fuckin’ carpal tunnel because of you.”

Jesus. He makes you feel so…

Desired. Needed. You’ve never felt that way before, and you don’t quite know how to navigate it. So your buttons start coming undone with the work of one hand, the other shoving Eddie by the shoulder to lean back on your bed.

Eddie, here, among all your things. Disparate in your shabby little dollhouse, looking at you like you just swallowed the sun.

Your shirt comes off, and Eddie, in a game of match point, tugs his off too. Pause comes over the both of you. You’d seen him shirtless before; shower-bare in his trailer when the first security breach happened, a crack in the containment whatever you were pretending your relationship to each other was–affable enemies, irritated acquaintances. He’d looked at you like an animal cornered, tendons tense under his tattooed skin and you’d wanted to drag a finger or two down the center of his chest.

You didn’t, though. You’d sniped, asked where the cigarettes were.

This is all one big case of making up for lost time.

You’ve been looking at him so long, bra strap slipping off your shoulder, that Eddie leans forward. As if to come get you.

Remember me? I’m real. You can touch me. Touch me, please.

His warm arms pull you to him, pull you onto the bed, pull you against his lips. It’s gentler there; not as furtive. It says, hi, I’m here. Your arms, tugging him closer as he eases you beneath him say, good, I’ve been waiting. Eddie brushes his nose against yours, you laid down with your hair fanned out on the plush comforter.

Both your pulses must have stuttered at the same time.

His smile is serene but you can feel his forearms trembling. “I feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

“Don’t,” you tell him, very quietly while his hand nervously tries to find the zipper on your skirt, “I just got you back.”

Your hips lift to help him and you’re wiggling the thing off and you’re wiggling your tights off and he’s thrashing his jeans off only to land back between your parted legs with bouncing recoil from the mattress. Laughter biting in one another’s mouths. The nerves are teeming off him in waves and it makes you want to kiss him all over.

The feeling housed in your body is different; not jittery, but struck somehow. This doesn’t feel like the way it usually feels, the way it does when you disappear into spare rooms at parties or the shadow of Skull Rock or hitch your leg up against the center console of someone’s shitty car. It doesn’t feel rote, like you’re doing it to stack up experience points– that is a Dungeons and Dragons term you found particularly interesting. How many bad tongue kisses had you accepted just to feel like you’re progressing, instead of waiting for someone who wants to taste you like Eddie does?

Your bodies caged together, you feel the eager, hard, tragically clothed line of him rub against your center. Eddie manages to free your bra clasp on the first try, which you almost goadingly applaud him for–but he cuts you short with a bewitched stare, his lovely, hot mouth laving over your nipple as he slips the fabric away. It tears the first real moan from you, your back arching into his kneading fingers as his tongue curves over your tightening bud.

Eddie can’t believe what he’s hearing. He can barely see straight, but he’s trying to commit every second of this to a glorious Technicolor memory, sound and image capturing working overtime. The sound that comes from your beautiful, balmy mouth sounds fresh out the packet–like you’d never made it for anyone before. The look of suppressed surprise on your face confirms as much and Eddie feels like he might explode.

He, too, has no idea what he’s doing but he can’t help his hips from jerking into you as he plays on. Playing with your nipples, remembering that making them glisten with his spit will make you whimper, and so will kissing the center of your sternum. He’s watching wide-eyed and fascinated as your brow furrows and your legs tighten around him. He’s a wonderful student, when he wants to be.

Eddie is throbbing, and there’s too much cotton and lace between you.

There’s also this other thing, and it comes out of him like word upchuck as you try to tease his boxers down around his hips using only your feet.

“I oughta tell you,” Eddie whispers, voice all raspy, all boyish with his hair tickling your collarbone, “I’m, uh. I’m not good at this.”

“At what?” He’s got one hand roaming over your chest, the other making indents in the meat of your thigh. It feels like he’s holding your breath right in his hands.

A new shade of pink rises high in Eddie’s already straining cheeks. He really doesn’t want to have to use his words to spell it out. “Thiii-iiss.”

Oh. A rivulet of cold realization runs through you. Nicole. Cass. Girls daring themselves to get near to him. Experience points. The great freak experiment project.

“This isn’t that.” Your hands hold his chin, perhaps a little roughly, to make sure he’s listening. And Eddie is, breath baited. You press your forehead to his like he pressed his forehead to yours. “It’s not.”

He’s really about to ask you, what is it, then? but that feels like something you can work out later. Eddie lets you tug at his lips and you let him tug at your panties, arching up so you can wiggle them down your legs. His eyes cast to the downy hair at your mound, and it’d usually occur to you to apologize for your unshaven legs, as if it mattered.

But the way he regards you doesn’t call for that; it calls for you to open up for him. Spread.

A rough pad of a finger runs along your slit, feeling the generous drip that’s gathered, and Eddie moans as your breath hitches into an animalistic, “hahh!”-- he’s edging down your body to bury his face there. He wants to feel you, smell you, taste you. You tense at the sudden contact of his palms pressing your thighs open, his nose against your clit and he feels it. A jolt of worry passes through him. Did you not want that? “Sorry–”

“Don’t– no, Eddie, don’t stop,” you strain, laugh a little, “You just… surprised me. Keep– keep surprising me. Please.”

Shockwaves break through you as he gingerly offers his tongue. And more, and more, until he’s lapping at you with a vigor and no real direction. You dig against him, made speechless by the building ache in your core.

In your fantasies, you hadn’t anticipated him being so giving–so eager to please and explore. Like all things, this moment projected itself in your head with the hard edges of some imagined cockiness, Eddie telling you to spread your legs and you, nymphlike and fluid and still somehow holding all the indiscriminate ‘power’, doing so.

But this? This is soft and messy and spitty and real. Eddie is drooling and babbling into your pussy with the uncalculated effect of someone who has improvised his whole life and it’s tearing you at the seams. A satisfying little rip, every keen movement he makes.

You know when you’re close to climax, that familiar feeling of your cunt suckling at nothing, but it doesn’t feel as jagged as the first time he brought you there. Urgently, you tug at his hair, claw at his shoulders, begging for his attention.

“Eddie,” you gasp and his hands flex around your thighs at the sound of his name in your mouth. It’s yours, he wants to tell you, rutting heedlessly into the mattress from his position between your legs, keep it! Please! “Eddie, Eddie– come here, come to me.”

Your velveteen voice summons him, his face glistening from the exploration of you. Embarrassment threatens to ping at you, but it flames into want, seeing how wet and obscene he looks. That’s all from you?

Eddie does as he’s told, heart pounding– and the sensation of fabric dragging against the raw tip of his cock nearly makes him pass out.

“Fuck! Fuck, you–” he stammers as your hand pulls his heavy length free, balls tightening under your firm touch, “N-not fuck you, obvi-ously, but–hunh–okay, kinda fuck you…”

Eddie’s lips fold against yours as he attempts, with shuddering arms, to brace himself over you. He whines at your dexterity, swiping his head against your entrance. The wetness from him, the wetness from you– the sheer impact of sensation slices clean through him. It’s not a tactic, you’re not teasing; you’re angling to get him inside you. You need to get him inside you, your entire body is begging for it.

“Baby, please, please, I’m not gonna last–”

“Who said you had to?” you ask, voice a drop of dark syrup. Just for him. “Who said you had to?”

The earnestness in your eyes gives Eddie pause– for all of a pulsating second.

“I want you… inside. Don’t you want to feel me?” you ask with real conviction, thumb swiping over his moistened head in a way that makes his vision go galactic.

Eddie yanks your hand away, kissing roughly it, nailing it beside your head as he tries to ease into you.

“Want? It’s all I want–fuck, it’s all I fucking think about, Lacy–huhh–”

His first attempt results in a gasp of pain– the sting, the stretch, it’s a little much a little fast. The sharpness has you wincing and has Eddie searching your face with an arrested kind of guilt.

“Y–shit, baby, are you–”

“I’m okay,” you recover, hand steadying on his flushed cheek. “Just–slower. Ease it in. You’re– you’re pretty remarkable, Eddie.”

“Remarkable?” he mumbles against your cheek, focused and slowly lining his head against your entrance. “Really?”

“Prodigiou—ss, uhh–fuck!” Whispered swears come streaming from you as he sinks right into the velvety constraints of your cunt.

Your eyes roll right back, mouth tipping open and the grip of you arresting around him makes him cry out into your chest.

Eddie’s cock is long and heavy and thick, constricted to the point where you can nearly feel every ridge of him. It hurts, the stretch of him aches, but it’s delicious–pinned and sweetly painful.

“Prodigious–is a five dollar–fuckin’--vocab word–” he strains, lifting his hips ever so slightly– you’re clutched onto him so tight that you move with him. Eddie open-mouth groans against your neck. “Lacy, Jesus, you’re so tight–you feel so good–how the fuck do you feel so good? Who invented you?!”

There’s a tinge of a giggle in your moaning, which doesn’t let up. Eddie’s voice rings out like a church bell, making one slow stroke inside you, then another. Then another, then another, picking up speed, groans chorusing into the hollow of your neck around the lewd sound of his flesh slapping against yours. The sound alone brings you close to cumming. “Oh, pleasepleaseplease, fuck, Lace, I’m g– fuck, I’m–”

The way Eddie’s hands are carving permanent marks into your hips, the way his movements are halting, you get the idea that… “You holding out on me?” you ask him, short of breath around your panting but demanding still, “Don’t you dare–don’t you dare.”

“Lacy, uhh– please, ’mgonnafucking–”

“Cum for me? Are you?”

Your fingers tug at his curls so you can look at him as his face tenses. Eddie’s hair is flattened across his head, face glimmering with exertion. You drag your lips against his forehead, the salty flavor of sweat breaking across your tastebuds.

“For you, for you, shit, only for you–only for you, only fucking ever–fuck–”

His dark eyes have been blown out since he pulled you to the mattress, eyelids flickering over his irises as he pistons into you with speed that hurts but you love it.

You barely hear yourself beginning a prayer of dirty little succors, but there it is, easing him through his orgasm as he shudders a load between your legs. “You feel like nothing on this fucking earth, you know that, you’re so good for me...” The tension breaks with one final rasping cry, his expression dissolving into a softness as he exhales a lungful, neck stretching to lean into your touch.

A couple of half-cracked dry sobs escape him.

Looking up at you, cradled against your shoulder, Eddie’s cursing himself for every second he’s wasted not doing this with you.

And you, looking down, are stroking his damp curls from his forehead and cursing yourself. You’re going to burn the world down for this boy.

“Lacy. You–”

And then, y’know, the fucking front door of the trailer clicks.

Little too much deja vu for your liking these days!

Immediately, you seize upwards, jolting a confused Eddie with you– which breaks your heart, in a way, seeing him darty-eyed and shocked out of his bliss so fast.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.” These are not like your prior ‘fucks’, he can register through the haze of his post-nut state. These are bad fucks. So he responds in turn, “Fuck?”

“My mom!” You hiss, naked and scrambling. Panic crests on you like a wave, a wave that should have been an orgasm mind fucking you, and your fingernails tear at the comforter beneath you.

“Under, under, gogogo!”

Because if there’s one thing your mother, in all her former-center-of-attention glory, loves to do? It’s enter a room uninvited.

Case in fucking point–

“Lacy?” A perfunctory knuckle rap from the other side of the door, just as you manage to hide Eddie by shoving him behind you and tenting the comforter around you both. You’re praying to anything with a little more gusto than God that it works. And then, enter your mother and her cloud of Shalimar.

Soon as she opens the door, you can tell something is terribly off.

She’s smiling, face as serene as the Virgin Mary. Usually she’s got a sharpened dagger of a glare, just for you. Two of you haven’t been spending much quality time lately, see.

“Lacy! What–” your mom’s brow knits, but it’s a look of amusement. Which freaks you out. She’s looking at your just-fucked-by-Eddie-Munson hair, isn’t she? The mascara that’s surely streaking down your face? Does she know? Can she sense he’s in this very room? “--what are you doing?”

“Napping. Crying. What does it look like?” you snap, hiking the comforter up a little further and begging that she doesn’t notice Eddie’s incriminating clothes strewn across the floor.

Eddie, for his part, is not breathing. He’s crouched behind your bare ass, a position he’s in no rush to get out of, arms caged around your thighs like a petrified child. This is almost funny–or would be, if he wasn’t scared shitless of everything your mom would definitely do to him if she discovered him buck ass naked in your bed.

Dreamily, Eddie reminds himself that he’s buck ass naked, in your bed. He smiles into one of your cheeks and considers how biteable it is.

“Well. Wrap it up,” your mom says, tone still light, and you twinge at the irony. At least you’re on the pill. “I have a surprise.”

Slam. Door shuts. Your lamp wobbles with the force of it and Eddie emerges from behind you, like a freshly-fucked groundhog.

“She sounds happy,” he mumbles, arms sliding up around your waist.

You want to kiss the mirth out his mouth but you have to shove him back behind you first– cue your mom, doubling back through the door. Jesus!

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” you say, shortly and breathily because Eddie nips at your fucking ass cheek back there. “Just–you sound happy, mom!”

She shakes her head at you, a smile curving her tulip colored lips, like a mom from a detergent commercial. Y’know, were it not for the whole Italian widow getup she’s alway sporting.

“Get on with it already.”

You count to a full five before you even let out a breath, snapping your attention back to reality and the fact that Eddie Munson is very naked in your very bed.

“You gotta get out of here,” you tell him, and you want to kill yourself about it.

The both of you balance on your knees. Eddie tugs you into him with shining, begging eyes. Standing almost at full attention again, already.

“Jesus, that thing’s impressive.”

Eddie’s fingers wind around the hair at the nape of your neck. Despite the brief jolt of fear from your little interruption just now, he’s all romance–totally suckered, rose-colored glasses, the whole bit. Thoughts not exactly creating a straight line just yet, but he doesn’t care. He’s had his hands all over you for the better part of an evening now, and he doesn’t want to let up just yet. It might kill him. It might kill him.

There’s no unringing this bell between the two of you, and he knows that.

And you knew it first, because you know everything first.

“You sure?” he hums into your sweet lips, “You absolutely positive? Because I could be real, real quiet…”

Eddie’s also thrilled by the fact that he seems to know instinctively what to do to turn you on.

“What if I don’t want you to be real, real quiet?”

You kiss him back, sighing and sliding a single finger down the length of his cock.

“Lace…” he whimpers to you, his commandant fantasy of being dominant in the bedroom officially, officially escorted out back and shot. He wants to please you too badly. Be the jester in your court that makes you cackle and makes you cum.

“Lacy!” a shrill yell comes from the hall. Your eyes snap open, Eddie’s dancing with amusement and yours heaving with alarm.

“Fuck, okay, go! Window!”

Another scramble, you tossing jeans and socks and the rest of Eddie’s uniform at him while you clean yourself off, try to pull a robe around yourself. A stray thought occurs to you as you watch him trip over himself, ripping the hole in his jeans a little further–you hate what he wears, but you love it on him. And off him. And…

You yank up those blinds and unlatch the window with a faint smile. Nothing about you two makes any conceivable sense–

Eddie starts out the window, shirt barely pulled down his torso and his shoes in his hands, then turns to hook you to him by the elbow. Smiling with the full blush of his mouth, he kisses you. Firm and knowing and whole.

–except that. That makes sense.

The pad of his finger clears a lock of rumpled hair from your forehead.

“To be continued?” Eddie searches your face, with those crazy dark brimming universes of eyes.

Your heart is leaping in your ribcage. You nod sharply, gleaming back at him.

“I’m comin’ back for you, Lacy Doevksi,” he tells you with all the brazen confidence he can muster. “And I am gonna go down on you until I drown. On pain of death, I swear it.”

“Go!” you command, and regret it as soon as he drops out of your bedroom window. Eddie starts a cant toward his trailer across the way.

“Faster!” you hiss, just as an excuse to watch him.

He pivots mid-jog, hair swinging wildly, his hand grabbing at his crotch.

“You try runnin’ with a hard on! Witch!”

It’s far, far, far too quiet once he’s escaped through the front door of his trailer.

It's not fair, you think. You should be basking in some kind of afterglow, sharing a stupid cliché cigarette, you feel like you should be... celebrating this.

You shouldn't have to keep running away from each other.

The warmth the two of you had created, through mere physical friction or just how much you… you like each other, rapidly dissipated into a chill as you advance through your bedroom door, to deal with the other thing.

Surprise, you thought, What kind of goddamn surprise could mother o'mine have for me? Did she boost a bank? Did she win the Indiana Sweepstakes? I don’t want to know about any g–

“Lorelei.”

The universe has a way of shoving you back in place when you get ahead of yourself.

You don’t just stop in your tracks, you’re repelled a half-step backwards. The centrifugal force urging you away, telling you there’s an immediate threat in the heart of your home.

No one uses that name anymore. Not even him. Not since you were fourteen.

“Daddy.”

Your father sits at the shabby dinette that you and your mother don’t even share meals at, sits there in the suit he was sentenced in. A rich navy pinstripe, chosen because gray would have been too flashy and black would admit defeat. “Of course!” your mother had said, marveling at his ingenuity. But the pantomime of his defense was wearing real thin on you; whispering at school had started growing louder and louder and you were finding more and more chips in the porcelain of your father’s worldly facade.

“Why not compromise. Wear charcoal,” you’d said, leaning against the kitchen counter in Loch Nora, drinking orange juice from your parents’ wedding crystal as the movers taped up your boxes, “You can plead guilty and still look smug about it.”

Your father had smacked the flute from your hand and it shattered in forty thousand pieces on the ground. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe, because you knew if you did, you’d be next.

Navy it was. And navy it is. He sits at that dinette like he’s expecting white jacket service. You swear even more gray has started glimmering through his hair. Flashy.

“Should I ask how you’re here?” you say, stiff and scared. Your mother, standing at your father’s shoulder, tuts and sighs. Can’t you just enjoy this? she silently bemoans.

“Good behavior,” Ray smiles, “Can’t say the same for you. Can I, Lorelei?”

“Principal Higgins called,” your mom chimes in, “Or rather, that odious little secretary called. You think you could get a Saturday detention and they just wouldn’t tell us?”

“That’s why he’s here?” You laugh a little, inwardly. “With all due respect, Daddy, that’s a terrible reason to break out of prison.”

To your surprise, your father chuckles too. Makes your blood run cold, obviously.

“Y’know, I really didn’t anticipate this for my homecoming, I gotta tell you,” he says, shifting in his seat and plucking a cigarillo from his jacket pocket. “I mean, honestly. I thought, a nice bottle of Beaujolais–”

“We’re fresh out,” you gesture to your cringing mother.

“--a dinner at, Christ, Enzo’s, since that’s where our budget is at now,” his lighter flicks and ignites the end, “But no. I have to sit here and cross-examine my daughter about… fraternizing with the lowest of criminal elements.”

The lack of self awareness here is off the fucking charts. It makes your blood pressure spike.

“Take a seat, Lacy,” your father so gallantly gestures to the vinyl backed kitchen chair in front of him, “and tell me all about Eddie Munson.”

Chair drags aggressively against the linoleum. You sit, and swear that the next time you’re caught off guard by anyone’s father, it’d better be God himself.

This bit is getting old.

author's notes: so i'm not fucking around when i say i need to hear everyone's thoughts on what just happened immediately. i really do think that happenings-wise, this was my favourite chapter to write thus far. felt cathartic, from the al munson to the hellfire article of it all. anyway. onto the good stuff - like i feel like everyone who reads this series will have clocked this but of course i lifted the garlic slicing right out of goodfellas. i just think it's a perfect al munson attribute to have - al munson kicking out the jams instead of picking up his kid i know that's right - our dukes of hazzard ref is a tribute to my own personal al munson fancast - not that paris, texas but this paris, texas. (and you know when lacy eventually gets eddie to watch it he CRIES. they both cry) - i should probably put the repo man trailer in here as well - speaking of another fancast! the manager of forest hills trailer park is, of course, to me, in my heart, carl rodd. - the best song off of abbey road by the beatles, fight with the wall - SHOULD WE CALL THE MAYOR - lacy promising eddie that he can ride circles around her on a motor bike is a reference to hunter s thompson being ambushed on canadian television by one of the hells angels he wrote about in his book. dude rolls onto set on his hog. it's crazy. - eddie is kinda gossamer coded - cow tipping? at mccorkle's? anybody? our love is god - god wheels of confusion is kinda horny sounding huh i think that this might be the shortest references recap so far in the series?? one of them anyway. probably because i wrote 4k words of FILTH. anyway, thank you all so much for continuing to read this fucking thing. we're almost at the end of this part of the story which is wild to me. now let me get on your ass and remind you that REBLOGGING FICS IS ESSENTIAL TO YOUR FIC WRITERS HEALTH. SO ARE COMMENTS AND SO ARE ASKS so send those pls :) love you hellcats. be well, cats

#published by powder #hellfire & ice #in progress #e. munson by powder #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x oc #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic

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glittervame · 4 months

Text

They both die in the end.

Mattheo x Y/n (Reader)

This is the most random shit I've come up with so far.

As Y/n and Mattheo rehearsed their lines for the school play, the air was thick with anticipation and a tinge of nervousness. They played the iconic roles of Romeo and Juliet, their performances intertwined not only onstage but also in their daily lives. Being in different Houses only seemed to heighten the drama as they navigated the treacherous waters of young love amidst the ever-present rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

The rehearsal hall was abuzz with activity as other students from their Houses watched them from afar, their expressions a mix of awe, envy, and trepidation. It was clear that their relationship was anything but ordinary, and everyone wanted to see how it would unfold. Even though they were both talented actors, the chemistry between them was undeniable, and it seemed that every glance, every touch, every word was charged with an electricity that was palpable to everyone around them.

As they practiced the balcony scene, Y/n felt her heart race as she looked into Mattheo's emerald eyes. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach flutter wildly, and it was all she could do not to lose herself in the moment. He leaned in closer, his voice a husky whisper as he spoke the words that had been etched into their memories for months now: "But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun."

Mattheo's voice sent shivers down her spine, and she couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to truly be with him, to share the passion and the pain that their characters experienced.

As the rehearsal came to an end, they parted ways, promising to meet up later to discuss their scenes. But even as they walked away from each other, they couldn't shake the feeling that they were playing out a much larger role in their lives than just a school play. They were Romeo and Juliet, Slytherin and Gryffindor, and somehow, they had to find a way to make it work despite the odds stacked against them.

"So, You and Mattheo…" Aliza, Y/n's friend, broke their quiet study session that was happening in the library. Y/n's quill broke, and ink splattered all over her position's homework, "Me and him what?" She asks hesitantly.

Aliza grins pushes her notes and book out of the way turning to the girl in front of her, "You both look cozied up to each other during rehearsal," She wiggles her eyebrows. Y/n's noes scrunched up and she gives a dry heave, "Please that Slytherin is nothing but trouble." "You guys are just like Romeo and Juliet," The raven-haired girl giggles and clap her hands together, "From different sides forced apart by society, lovers in the end" she sighs wistfully looking out into the distant.

Y/n whacks her head with a scroll of paper, "Keep dreaming, he's so not my type and gods forbid if we actually end up 'in love' do remember how Romeo and Juliet's story ends?" her friend just looks at her blankly. Y/n deadpans, "They both die in the end, that's why communication is key, miss-communication leads to death," She hums.

"Well, maybe they'll be like that other couple, you know, the one that survives?" Aliza grins and leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, "Harry and Ginny. Those two were made for each other, even though they came from different sides of the tracks. Maybe if you and Mattheo just give it a chance…"

Y/n rolls her eyes and shoves Aliza's shoulder, "Don't start with that 'star-crossed lovers' nonsense. We're in different Houses for a reason, and I'm not about to risk everything just for some stupid school play." She stands up, brushing herself off and heads towards the exit, "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some studying to do." Aliza watches her friend leave with a small smile playing on her lips.

Outside, the wind picks up, carrying with it the faint scent of autumn. Y/n sighs, trying to shake off the strange feeling in her chest. She can't deny that there's something special between her and Mattheo, something that goes beyond their characters in the play. But the thought of actually being with him, in real life, outside of the confines of their Houses and the school grounds… it's terrifying.

She knows that if they were to try, they would have to be incredibly careful. Not only would they be defying the odds, but they'd also be risking everything they've worked so hard for. As much as she wants to believe in a happily ever after, she can't help but feel that this is one story where fate has already written the ending.

She shakes her head getting the those thoughts out of it. It's just a school play, after all. They'll finish the play, put on a great performance, and then go back to their separate lives. That's how it's supposed to be. Isn't it?

The next play practice Y/n couldn't help but pay more attention this time. The butterflies in her stomach were back, and she found herself blushing whenever Mattheo looked at her. Y/n finished her musical number of her, Juliet, admitting her love for Romeo. Her heart was racing as she walked off stage.

Mattheo was waiting for her backstage, his eyes searching for hers. "That was amazing, Y/n," he breathed. "You truly are the best Juliet I've ever seen." She couldn't help but feel a blush spread across her cheeks. "Thank you, Mattheo." There was an awkward silence that hung between them. She couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking, if he felt the same way she did.

Finally, he broke the silence. "You know… we could make this work, you and I." Y/n's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "I mean, we could be together. Even after the play is over. We could find a way." Y/n's eyes widened. "But… our Houses…" He shook his head. "That doesn't have to matter. We could make it work, if we really wanted to." His words echoed in her ears, and for a moment, she could almost imagine it.

She looked into his eyes, and in that moment, she knew that she wanted it to be true. More than anything else. But the fear was still there, lurking in the back of her mind. What would happen if they tried and failed? What if they were discovered? The risks were high, but so was the reward.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. "Let's see what happens after the play, okay?" She said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. Mattheo nodded, his expression hopeful. "Okay," he agreed. "Okay."

They finished the rest of the practice in a bit of a daze, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Afterward, they parted ways, promising to meet up later to discuss their scenes. But even as they walked away from each other, they couldn't shake the feeling that they were playing out a much larger role in their lives than just a school play. They were Romeo and Juliet, Slytherin and Gryffindor, and somehow, they had to find a way to make it work despite the odds stacked against them.

The night of the play finally arrived, and Y/n found herself pacing backstage, her heart pounding with nervous anticipation. Mattheo appeared beside her, handing her a bouquet of roses. "For the best Juliet I've ever known," he said with a smile. She felt her heart melt a little at his words, and she couldn't help but smile back.

The audience filed into the Great Hall, and Y/n's stomach did a flip-flop as she heard their applause. It was time. She took a deep breath and stepped out onto the stage, her eyes meeting Mattheo's for a brief moment before she turned to face the crowd. The play went by in a blur of lines and movements, and she couldn't help but feel that she was sharing not just a story, but a piece of herself with Mattheo.

Their scenes together were electric, their chemistry undeniable. They finished the play to thunderous applause, and as the curtain fell, Y/n felt a sense of euphoria wash over her. She turned to Mattheo, her heart racing as she realized that she wanted this, wanted them. "Well, that went better than expected," she said with a shaky laugh. "Don't you think?"

He smiled back at her, his eyes filled with warmth. "I think it went perfectly."And with that, they made their way off the stage, hand in hand. As they walked backstage, the other students and teachers congratulated them on their performance, but Y/n barely heard a word they said. All she could focus on was Mattheo, and the way he was looking at her.

"So," he began, leading her to a quiet corner of the room, "what do you say? Do you want to find out what happens after the play?"

Y/n swallowed hard, her heart in her throat. "I think… I think I do," she said finally. "But we have to be careful. We can't let anyone find out."

He nodded, his expression serious. "I know. We'll have to meet in secret, and be discreet. But I promise you, Y/n, it'll be worth it."

Her heart soared at his words, and before she knew it, she was leaning in, pressing her lips against his. It was a chaste kiss at first, but it quickly deepened, their tongues dancing together in a way that seemed to defy everything they had been taught about their Houses and their rivalry. When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless, their cheeks flushed.

As long as they don't end up dead in the end.

#fypシ #y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x y/n #romeo #romeo and juliet #juliet

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mysticmunson · 2 years

Note

Maybe some Alpha!Eddie x Plussize!Omega!Reader comfort fluff/smut? Acquaintances to Lovers, she didn't think Eddie looked her way until it was discovered she was an omega. Reader is feeling low wondering if Eddie actually has feelings for her or if it's just because she finally presented. Turns out he always had a crush on her. He shows her he would've chosen her regardless.

from the sidelines: alpha!eddie munson x omega!reader

authors note: hi darling! thank you so much for the lovely ask, i'm a bigger girl myself so these hit close to home. i hope you enjoy! i also want to note that my work can be interpreted as any body type, but this piece does reference being bigger. i'm not sure how i feel about this so feedback is welcomed as always. (not proofread whoopsies)

warnings: mentions of being bigger than others, insecurities, brief smut (18+)

When going through a turbulent time, a good friend can be the remedy or the impairment, but you weren’t sure which one had occurred with your relationship with Eddie Munson.

Being the outcasts in middle school meant you stuck together, hushing the boys who teased him as he scared the girls who belittled you. Watching him grow was an unexplainable experience, not knowing the exact day when your platonic connection became romantic.

Change knowingly came when you both presented, him as an alpha and you as an omega. The knowledge of one another was by pure happenstance, but he didn’t hesitate to come to your house, assisting your situation. Already in a state of blatant desire, all his attributes became more prolific, noticing every line by his eye or fainted freckle on his shoulder.

The next few days were spent beside each other, comforting the other through affirmation or unspoken caresses. But as you faded from your heat, the knife in your chest began to twist, that there was a future beyond what was in front of you.

The delusion brought by nature during this time had blindsighted you to the impact this could have on your friendship, on your other friendships, and your mental health. The thoughts swarmed in your brain once Eddie pulled on his Metallica tee for a final time, kissing your head and going to his van.

The warmth of his skin still left you shuddering, recalling it like a forgotten song as he played every string of your body, a one sided symphony being left in its wake. His duty as composer satisfied his need to create as you reeled in the masterpiece at hand.

You hadn’t spoken to him since, taking every opportunity to avoid those soft brown eyes that were once so close to your own. However, the game of cat and mouse could only go on for so long, especially when he wasn’t one to beat around the bush.

Trudging to the door, it was the first knock you heard on your door all day, the sun now set as the star just began to shine. The pounding increased as your steps went in sync, prepared to politely scare away whoever decided to ruin your night of somber. As you threw the door open, the tall man with a mane of curls was before you with an unamused look, stepping inside without saying.

He looked at you, crossing his arms over his chest with furrowed brows, clearly not entertained by your avoidance. It made you feel two feet tall, glancing down at your feet, only to realize your state of undress in only small shorts and a thin tank top.

“Shit, Eddie, let me get changed.” You mumbled, walking quickly, but he followed right after you. Cutting you off to your room, he went in first, flopping on your unmade bed.

“Not like I haven’t seen you in less,” He sassed, propping himself up on his elbows, “Now tell me why you’ve been ignoring me.”

The silence laid thick enough to cut, emotions swirling around you as you tried to think of any congruent thought. His attitude would typically amuse you, but now it felt too real. As if this were an interrogation, the bright light beaming down on your face as you broke a sweat, barely able to see him under the pretense that you had been caught. An unspoken crime.

Walking to your dresser, you pulled on a baggy sweatshirt, despising the heat while aching for the coverage. The same eyes that were looking at the back of your head had seen every crevice and crease of you, but you doubted he truly perceived you as you did him.

The detail in which you find yourself yearning for him goes beyond skin, but it’s the part of him you can touch. The self-given tattoos that took residency on his arms, the dimple in his back, the way his hair poked through the pores of his face.

“Hey,” He broke you from your daze, “Talk to me, you’ve been ignoring me since last week.”

He sat at the edge of the bed now, pillow in his lap and, seemingly, much calmer. What you hated was the way it made you feel even lower, that your longing was so blind to him.

Rubbing your hands down your face, the burning within your skull made you curse yourself, struggling to control your emotions. The hitch in your breathing made his attention heighten, standing to pull your hands away to see your distress.

The combination of loneliness, affection, anxiety, and all the other unexplainable sensations brewed into anger. Pulling from his loose grip, you pointed at the door while looking towards your feet, tapping one to show your lack of patience.

“I’m not leaving, not until you say what’s wrong. What we did was completely natural.” He sighed, flopping his hands against his jean clad thigh, wishing things would resume to how they were.

But the past was as painful as the present for you, maybe even more so now knowing he had touched you. It irked you that maybe the past was so easy for him to go to because nothing had truly changed.

“Eddie, stop, you don’t get it.” You spoke with a waving voice, trying to reign in the racing beat of your heart.

He scoffed, making you lose your grip on the invisible rope, blood flushing to your cheeks in a mix of embarrassment and pain.

“What makes you think I don’t? We’re going through this together!” He emphasized, “I know it's different for alpha and omega’s, but we have each other.”

The band of false serenity snapped as your fists clenched, biting your lip for a brief moment before letting your words loose.

“Eddie! You don’t get it because you didn’t have to watch you leave!” You sighed, his eyebrows furrowing in momentary confusion, “You went into your van and you drove home, but I’m still there. I’m still at the night you arrived, the night you left, and every fucking minute since.”

Your usual calm tone was exchanged for a fierce one, but through the frustration, the agony rose to the surface. He felt frozen in place as you continued your rant, wishing he could take a peek inside your brain.

“I have spent years watching you look at girls and I supported you every single time even though it made me want to die. These girls looked perfect and only had to worry about if your personalities matched, not if they even liked bigger girls in the first place! And I was there every single time. Shit, I was here when you presented!”

The tears rolling down your cheeks cascaded like the words streaming out, losing any bit of secrecy you had from him, hoping the feeling of relief would wash over you soon.

“I was here and I felt so beautiful and amazing and worthy. It hurts like hell knowing that was a natural instinct for you when it was so much more for me.”

Before you could continue, arms wrapped around your body, securing you firmly to a warm chest you knew too well. One that you would fall into without hesitation, greeted by the familiar aroma that infiltrated your senses.

A palm stroked your hair, hushing your cries as you nuzzled into his neck, inhaling as if this were the last time. As if this were a pitiful action to cease the awkwardness, but there was nothing that could make Eddie seem anything less than accepting of you.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, swaying you both to soothe you, but you tensed at his response.

All the years of friendship seemed to be dripping from both of your hands, piling into a mess on the floor that would dissolve without a trace, just a memory. The thought of letting him go and never seeing him again terrified you, enough to humiliate yourself just to get one more minute of his love.

“You mean so much to me and I fucking mean that. I wanted you before we presented and even more now, it felt like destiny, like a plot twist in DnD.” He gasped, his nerdiness making you laugh as you smacked his chest, looking up at him, “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but the thought of you here, so needy, made me insane. More insane than usual.”

Hands gripped your hips as he pulled you to his body, “I need you, I wanted to ask you to be my omega, but I chickened out. I think you’re magnificent, like a beautiful princess from those old fairy tales.”

Unexplainably dorky and with a hint of self depreciation, nothing could have been more genuine from your curly haired knight in shining armor. The cracks in your confidence would take a while to patch up, there was now assistance in the job as mere words helped mend the destruction.

“I have thought about you every day. How gorgeous you are, how perfect we are when we- uh- made love? Fucked? Whatever, that was great.” He laughed walking you both over to the bed, having you lay down as he threw his shirt to the floor.

Noses skimming across one another, his brown eyes pierced your own, his own breath tickling the hairs above your cupid's bow. There was no time for insecurity as his lips met your own, melting together into an entanglement of words left unsaid.

As the clothes came undone into an accumulation on your childhood rug, your bodies mended as the doubt washed away, flooding into the forget worries of only minutes previous and longer.

“I love you, I’m sorry I’m shitty with my words and didn’t say it sooner.” He breathed out, stretching you as he rutted into your cunt as you elicited a moan.

“I love you too.” You whimpered, cupping his face while your thumbs ran across the hair protruding through, scratching the pads of your fingertips.

It felt like you were creating a work of art as he made love to you, as if no one had felt so strongly about one another as the two of you felt right now. That no matter what occurred in the world outside of your home, it wouldn’t amount to the pure passion filling your bodies.

Finishing quickly with him right behind you, his body felt limp against yours as his arms shook, making you giggle that was music to his ears. With a wet kiss to your nose, he stared into your eyes and wondered why it took him so long to ask in the first place.

He had never felt this close to anyone, ever since joining forces in middle school, and he didn’t plan on anyone else. He had considered others, but no matter what, he couldn’t wait to run home and call you. To hear your voice on the opposite end of the fuzzy phone line, reminding him that you were always there.

Truthfully, even if you hadn’t presented as an omega, he thinks he would’ve done anything in his power to adapt. He wasn’t ready to move through adulthood without you and if there was anything he could do about it, neither of you would have to find out.

tagging some who were interested in my other alpha content :) @elizabethmidnight2017 @iheartyouyou @forksloree @fantastic-fantasy-fanfics @sillypurplemurple

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azrielhours · 2 years

Text

Star Crossed Lovers (Pt. 2)

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 4.6k

Synopsis: Reader and Az are in love but have a falling out bc Az self sabotages. Rhys and Cass play matchmaker. Reader sneaks into his room on solstice; they have a heart to heart and a groin to groin :)

Warnings: Smut.

(Part 1)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fall.

Flipping through your book, you basked in the life found on the pages. These days, you’d made a habit of walking the streets of Velaris when night fell, seeking the cold to contest the numbness inside. A phantom amongst the citizens; the biting wind your companion, the night sky your witness. Today, you found yourself stumbling into the bookstore you frequented with Azriel before your fallout.

You hadn’t seen him since that summer night in the Day Court mansion. A room with less rigid walls than those enclosing your heart. A desk that went from barrier to brace. A hazel-eyed prince amongst males with his head between your thighs—

You shuddered. It haunted you in the most delicious way. Shelving the book, you made your way to the shop exit.

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice had you halting, turning. Cassian and Rhys were in the foyer, looking just as surprised to see you.

Before you could offer a greeting, Cassian came bounding over. He enveloped you in a crushing embrace, lifting you. You laughed at his affection, hugging him back just as tightly. “Hi, Cass.”

“Where’ve you been hiding?” he asked, setting you on your feet. He looked down at your figure, brows pinching at your visible weight loss.

“Nowhere, I’ve just been—uh, I’ve been busy, you know, with writing and stuff.” You gave your most convincing smile.

Rhys approached you, opening his arms to you. “How’ve you been?” he hugged you warmly, placing a kiss on your shoulder.

“I’ve been good. How’ve you guys been?”

“Everyone’s good, we missed you these past few weeks,” Cassian said.

Rhys looked you over, his concern concealed as poorly as Cassian’s was.

You shifted beneath their assessments. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We bought some books for Nesta for Solstice,” Rhys said.

Cassian silently offered his arm, turning to exit. “So, Y/N,” he drawled.

You laughed, taking his arm. “Yes, Cassian?” you smiled up at him as he led you out of the shop, Rhys following suit.

Cassian smiled lovingly. “Everything going okay, sweetheart?”

You blushed. “Yes, everything is good.”

He hummed, skeptical. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you laughed. “I’m fine.”

He dropped his charming demeanour. “Did you leave Damian? Is that what’s bothering you?”

“No, we’re still together.” A deep breath. “He, um, he asked me to marry him, actually.”

Cassian’s eyes widened, his stride halting. “What?” He faced you. “Did you say yes?”

“I—I said I’d think about it.” The brothers swapped a troubled glance before facing you again. “What?” you asked.

Rhys gave a contemplative look. “Are you…happy with him?”

“Yeah. I’m—I’m happy.” They stared blankly, making you laugh at the blatant disbelief. “I am, guys. Really.”

“Sure you are,” Cassian jested. “You look like a ghost, Y/N. I don’t know if that’s my idea of nuptial bliss.”

“Why does this sound so familiar,” Rhys broke into a sly smile.

Cassian caught onto the insinuation. “You’re right, Rhysie. This is the type of delusion Az was spewing before he left his girl.”

Your jaw dropped, making both brothers grin. “What?”

“Yeah, kid. Az broke up with his girlfriend. Did that jackass really not tell you?” Cassian added.

“When?”

“Before the summer,” Rhys said.

Before the summer.

Before the fucking summer.

That means he’d been single when he saw you in the Day Court when he—

“You good, Y/N?” Cassian’s shit-eating grin brought you back to reality.

You cleared your throat. “Yes. I’m fine.”

Rhys’s smile persisted, the bastard clearly enjoying this.

“Come to think of it, I really need to head home to Nesta. You need to go too, don’t you Rhys?”

“Oh, yes. Look at the time,” Rhys said, making no move to look at the time.

You glared, sensing a conspiracy at hand. “What are you two bats—”

“So,” Cassian cut you off. “You’re coming to Solstice, right?”

“I—yes.”

Cassian squinted, unconvinced.

You laughed. “Yeah, I’ll be there. But what’s going—”

“You’d better be,” Rhys supplemented.

“Is that a command?” you laughed.

“Now it is,” he smiled devilishly.

Cassian suddenly grinned at something behind you. You sensed who it was.

Azriel was here.

“Hey, Az,” Rhys said casually, hands in his pockets.

“Is everything okay?” Azriel asked. “I winnowed in as fast as I could.”

“Everything’s fine. False alarm.” Rhys winked at you. You glared, then turned to finally face Azriel.

You stared abashedly at him. His assessing gaze swept down your figure and back up, looking for whatever harm Rhys must’ve told him about mind-to-mind. When his eyes met your gaze, you didn’t miss the tension in his jaw.

You knew exactly where his mind went because that’s where yours had been dwelling previously. Where it often wandered. Your face burned.

“Azriel, would you be a dear and walk sweet Y/N home?” Rhys drawled from behind you.

“I—yes, of course,” Azriel answered.

You turned to take in your traitorous High Lord. “Perfect. All settled, then. You two have just a splendid evening.” One final wink before the pair shot to the sky, grinning like fiends.

You turned back to face your companion.

“Azriel,” you breathed.

“Y/N. Are you alright?”

No. “Yes. I—yes, I’m fine. I don’t know what Rhys told you.”

His eyes glinted. “He said you needed me.”

“Oh.” You shifted on your feet like you could squirm away from the truth in those words. Azriel looked healthier than the last you saw him. “How are you?” you tried.

“I’m doing okay.”

You nodded. The tension was stifling.

“What about you?”

“I’m good,” you said.

Another beat of silence. “You look well,” he said.

You laughed genuinely. “I think we’re beyond dishonesty.”

The knowing glint in his eyes made you blush. “Okay, fine,” he indulged. “You’ve seen better days.”

You laughed again, relaxing. “Don’t enjoy it too much.”

He shook his head. “Never.” He swallowed. “Let me walk you home, yeah?”

Something tugged at your chest. You allowed yourself the small amnesty. “Okay.”

Silence befell as you walked side by side, but the politeness of the encounter was too strange to ignore. You didn’t know how to act, what was too comfortable now that you’ve shared such a vulnerability with him, confessions and intimacy that only he and you knew about. It’d been not only a physical release but also an emotional one from the anger you’d used as shields; a resentment you’ve outgrown.

“Azriel?”

“Yes?”

Baby steps. “How’d you know I was published?”

He smiled mischievously. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Tell me.”

He didn’t say anything, making you scoff and roll your eyes. So insufferable.

“You got something you’d like to say?”

Yes. “Nope.”

“Yeah? Because you seem like you’re holding back.”

Always. “Nothing.”

“You sure?”

It should’ve been us. “I’m sure.”

“If you say so,” he still smiled.

A comfortable hush fell. Perhaps honesty was the best approach while you were in this…purgatory with him.

“Azriel?”

“Yeah?” he said, endlessly patient with you, relishing his name on your lips like a prayer.

I miss you. You swallowed. “Is this how it’s gonna be between us forever?”

“I don’t know,” he answered thoughtfully.

You walked in silence for another block before you came up on the Townhouse street.

“You wanna know something?” he asked, halting his stride. You stopped walking, facing him.

“What?”

He gave a soft smile. “I’ve, uh—I’ve been working on myself.”

“How so?”

“I started seeing the counsellor that works with the priestesses.”

A pleasant shock warmed you. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

You couldn’t stop the words that came next. “Wow. I’m proud of you.”

Fondness softened his eyes. “Thank you.”

You offered back the same small smile. You both stared at each other, trying to make the moment last.

“Okay,” you said, taking a step back. “I’ll, uh, see you around, then. Thank you for walking me home.”

“Of course,” he inclined his head, staying where he was on the sidewalk.

Before you turned to walk the final stretch home, you considered your next words. “Az.”

“Yes, angel.”

“I don’t—um, I don’t want it to be weird between us.”

The expectant look widening his eyes squeezed your heart.

“Maybe—maybe we can be friends again,” you said quietly. Maybe we can be okay. Speaking the words reopened the wound in your chest.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to think those words before, let alone hope to have him at that capacity again. You didn’t know what you expected him to say, hugging your stomach. Azriel frowned, eyes searching yours. “I don’t know if…I can do that.”

His words stunned you. “You can’t?”

“I mean—I don’t know if it’ll ever be honest,” he said gently. “I don’t know if I can go back.”

You stared wide-eyed, trying to keep the pain contained, lost for words. It’s always rejection with him.

Azriel’s brows pinched at your vulnerability, at your visible pain. “You’re breaking my heart.”

You frowned. Why was every interaction with him a pendulum swing from one extreme emotion to another? Why does it have to be this hard? He watched as tears welled in your eyes, chin trembling.

“Hey, hey, none of that.” He finally broke the physical barrier between you two, stepping forward and gently cradling your face in his hands, wiping your tears as they fell. You wanted nothing more than to envelop into his arms, but you couldn’t, so you settled for his wrists. “I’m sorry,” he spoke soothingly. “I’ll be your friend, angel.”

“It’s hard, Az,” you hiccupped. You eyes fell shut, savouring his warmth.

“I know,” he breathed. “We’ll be okay.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

You tried schooling your emotions. He didn’t move, letting you take your time until the tears finally abated. No one had such a hold over your emotions as he did, but you gladly surrendered that claim. One final shuddering breath calmed you down. You then gently lowered his hands from your face, regretfully releasing his wrists.

You took him in, getting your fill. Friends again, you reminded yourself. Friends don’t yearn.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

You shook your head. “It’s okay. Maybe I… who knows.”

He squinted, tilting his head. “What does that mean?”

You shrugged, feeling a weight lift off your chest. “I don’t know just yet. We’ll see.”

“Hmm,” he mused. “Sounds hopeful.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “I’ll see you around, Azriel.”

He just gave a small smile, inclining his head and winnowing away.

Despite the heaviness of the interaction, you felt clear-headed. Felt the stifled flame of inspiration alight again at the hands of your Illyrian muse.

When you made it inside, you found yourself writing for the first time in months.

iii. Star crossed lovers

Desire in corporeal form walking streets when it should be soaring home to you. You’ve brought my soul knocking, a poltergeist rattling between ribs, stardust in a skeleton. You are mine and I am yours.

Still, I listen. Still, I hurt. Still, I hope.

Winter

You lounged on the couch in the House of Wind watching your family interact, satiated as your drink warmed you up inside. Despite asking you to come, everyone had been pleasantly surprised when you arrived. It’d taken a few days to convince yourself to go, but in the new spirit of taking care of yourself, you’d decided to make an appearance.

It’d been both a disappointment and a relief discovering Azriel’s absence. He’s always away these days, Cassian had murmured to you when he saw you silently scouting the room.

Mor smiled at you from where she sat next to you. “I’m really happy you came.”

You smiled back. “I’m happy I came too. I missed you all.”

“You’re glowing,” she said, eyes bright.

“I’ve been… healing,” you blushed sheepishly.

Mor nodded in understanding. “I’m glad I get to have my friend back,” she squeezed your shoulder.

It was late into the night when things quieted down and sleep began overtaking your friends. You relished in the peace after a year of loneliness and self-imposed isolation. As Rhys took Feyre’s hand and began leading her away, Feyre turned to you. “Stay the night, Y/N. Cassian’s too drunk to fly you back to the Townhouse.”

You laughed.

“Your room’s all ready,” Rhys added.

“Okay,” you agreed. Everyone retired one by one, then you finally ventured up to your old room. You took your time, relishing the feeling of being back at the House, how natural it felt to be amongst your loved ones.

When you made it back into your room, you breathed in the woodsy smell, watching the snowfall outside. The longest night of the year; that'd been how the past months of hurting felt like, but now the darkness didn’t seem so hopeless. Baby steps.

You crossed the threshold. True to Rhys’s word, the room was as you’d last seen it. You took in the familiar space—

There was a gift placed on your bed.

You approached it. A package beautifully wrapped in brown paper. Your heart raced, knowing who’d take the time to do something this intimate despite the lack of writing attaching it to a person. You unwrapped it.

Inside was a vintage leather-bound writing journal. The leather was embossed with your name; an artistic print encircled three mountains, a star above each mountain and the Sidra below. Velaris.

Opening it, your heart swelled upon finding the note on the first page.

Beloved beyond measure

In every language. Every lifetime.

I hear the silent words you speak.

Yours truly. Yours always.

You reread the words over and over, letting them warm you inside. Placing the gift on your nightstand, you reached for your own secret package that you’d intended for Azriel. You padded through the corridor to his room, faelight in hand to light the way. At his door, you drew a deep breath. Everything felt new and old at the same time. Before you could turn the doorknob, you paused; though no sound could be heard from within, shadows seeped out from beneath the door, drifting gently around your ankles.

It was too late to turn back when the doorknob turned, and the door opened.

“Oh,” you breathed. “Azriel.”

“Y/N.”

“I was just—I was going to leave your gift inside,” you said shyly, breaking his gaze. You shifted on your feet. “Thank you for the gift, by the way. It was—thank you.”

When you looked back up into his eyes, he was smiling fondly. “Would you like to come in?” he asked lowly.

You held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. He stepped aside, allowing you to pass by him and enter his dimly lit room. As he closed the door behind you, memories of the last time you’d been in a room alone flashed before your eyes. Know that I love you, Y/N. Always. Azriel came to stand before you once more. You extended your wrapped gift to him, unsure what words to say.

Azriel unwrapped the gift. He beheld the hardcover book titled Star Crossed. His eyes flashed to yours.

“It’s, um, a limited-edition book I published. For you.”

“For me?”

You nodded. “It’s…the only copy.”

His face softened, brows turning up. The smile that overtook his face was devastating. He opened the cover to find the last of your messages in the dedication.

iv. Star crossed lovers

I surrender to this truth til the stars wink out and the shadows slumber. In the place between dreams and consciousness, I hear the answer. You are mine and I am yours.

To whatever end.

“Read it later,” you said sheepishly, closing it before he got the chance. You weren’t prepared to face the vulnerability that came with seeing him read your confession.

“Okay,” he smiled sweetly in understanding. You were still in your dress from the evening. Az was in a plain black t-shirt and pants.

“You didn’t come to solstice,” you said.

He nodded. “I heard Cass say you might be coming. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

You frowned. “I’m not uncomfortable around you, Az.”

He shrugged, smiling. “I wasn’t certain.” His eyes raked down your figure. “You look really healthy.”

You nodded, smiling. “The last time I saw you, you said you began taking better care of yourself.”

He nodded, urging you on.

“I started doing the same,” you finished.

Azriel’s lovely smile deepened. “I’m glad to hear that, Y/N. I’m proud of you.”

“Stop stealing my lines.”

He chuckled. “You copied me.”

“How?” you laughed.

“Trying to leave a gift in my room like I did with yours.”

“Whatever, Az.”

He still smiled. “But I am proud of you.”

Your heart swelled. “Thank you.” A beat of silence underneath his intense gaze. “How’s the counselling going?”

“It’s good.” He cleared his throat. “I receive love in abundance. I deserve fulfilling relationships. Real love starts with me,” he deadpanned.

You stared blankly. “I…sorry, what?”

He grinned. “I’m kidding. But it is good. It’s been really helpful actually. Those are affirmations I’m supposed to believe.”

You returned his smile. “Good. Because they’re all true.”

The loaded look he gave you made you blush. He huffed a laugh. The two of you were still standing near his door. A distinct feeling of juvenility made you bite back a smile, like adolescents navigating new territory. You found Azriel watching you fondly, pink staining his high cheekbones. “Maybe we should sit,” he said nodding to the armchairs.

“Will you also serve me tea?” you trailed his hulking form.

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” he said, comfortably stretching his long legs before him.

“Good. I’d like the Dead Trove please.”

He laughed richly. “Right. No problem at all.”

“Cass told me you’re away most of the time these days,” you said more seriously.

Azriel nodded. “Being busy prevents ruminating thoughts.”

“Ah, yes.” Though the thought of him needing distractions from being in his head stung.

His throat bobbed. “I heard you’re getting married.”

You recognized his carefully crafted mask of stoicism. You couldn’t help your small smile. “Actually, I, um, I left him.”

Azriel’s face lit up, making your heart swell. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well.” He broke out into a grin, making you laugh at his unabashed reaction.

Speaking of which—“Az, why didn’t you tell me you’d broken up with your girlfriend?”

His smile faded. “I didn’t want you to think I felt like my breakup obligated you to do the same. I didn’t want you to think I felt…owed anything.” He took a deep breath. “It was also because I felt like I deserved the…feelings I had while you were with someone else for hurting you.”

You frowned. “What feelings.”

He smiled grimly. “Pain. I learned that I had self-sabotaging tendencies and I self inflict punishments on myself. I’m working through all that.”

His honesty was deeply touching as it was painful. “You don’t deserve pain or punishment, Az,” you said quietly.

“I’m learning that now,” he said.

You took a deep breath. “Well. It seems our foursome’s down to two.”

Azriel laughed. “Looks like it’s just you and me, now.”

You smiled. “Just you and me.”

As you took each other in contently, the words he wrote in his gift to you renewed your courage. Beloved beyond measure. You took a deep breath. “What you said to me the last time I saw you…”

“I said a lot of things,” his mouth tipped up cheekily.

You held his gaze, steeling your nerves. “You said you…loved me.” In this life and all the rest, his words echoed.

“What about it?” he still smiled, unphased like he was discussing the weather.

“Do you…do you still feel that way?”

His smile faded, gaze intense. “Yes, Y/N. I do.”

Your throat tightened. “You love me?”

“I love you.” Azriel stood and walked over to where you remained seated, your hands clasped tightly in your lap. You tipped your head back to look up at him as tears pooled in your eyes. He cupped your face in his hands, looking down at you with such softness it broke your heart. “I missed you so much, pretty girl.”

You turned your face to place kisses into the palm of his hand, cradling his hands with your own. “I missed you too, Az,” you rasped. He tugged you to stand, and you complied. He didn’t step back, so you were flush with his body, bracing your hands on his chest. His hands bracketed your waist, pulling you even closer to his torso. You stared into his face, savouring the closeness, the openness; you traced your fingers over his brow bone, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his mouth.

He was living art.

You began shaking. “Azriel,” you breathed.

“Yes, angel.”

“I love you too,” you whispered with all your courage.

Relief pulled his brows. His gaze travelled all over your face, breath fanning your cheeks as he leaned in closer. Too slowly. You stood on your tiptoes and closed the distance, kissing him. Azriel immediately held your head and kissed you deeper, making your limbs go slack. His soft mouth moved with yours, and your hands roamed through his hair, neck, back, shoulders—unable to get enough of him. He only broke off to gasp for air, but you remained breathless despite the lungful you heaved in. Gone was any trace of his laidback saunter and charisma from before. His eyes were wild, hair tousled from your hands, and he leaned forward like you were oxygen.

He kissed you again, hands now travelling down your form. When they reached your hips, you tugged on his shoulders. He understood your cue, cupping the backs of your thighs and hoisting you up as you wrapped your legs around his trim waist. You kept kissing him as he walked over to his bed.

Despite the emotional release, he slowed down, placing you onto his bed with such gentleness it nearly tightened your throat again. You scooted back on his bed, giving him space to move closer. He stopped when you were knee-to-knee. “I know that was…a lot,” he rasped. You knew he was referring to the emotional intimacy rather than the physical. “We don’t have to do anything further if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head. “Az, I want you.”

He searched your eyes for any hesitation. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

He exhaled in relief, kissing you again. You tugged on the hem of his shirt; he helped take it off, then reached for your hem, tugging it up. You undressed each other until you both remained in your undergarments. Azriel placed his hands on your hips, tracing them up your form. You shuddered at the feeling of his hands on your body, letting the warmth in your lower belly grow. He tugged you to him, embracing you tightly. His hot skin on yours eddied every thought in your head. You relaxed in his hold, breathing hard as your desire grew and grew. He began kissing your shoulder to your neck, undoing your chest binding til you were bare. He leaned forward, laying you down. He rose, sitting between your legs and looked down at you, marveling at the sight of you on his bed. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, voice guttural.

“You’re beautiful, Azriel.”

He shook his head, taking off his underwear. You began shaking again, in desire and anticipation. He placed his hands on either side of you and leaned forward, cushioning his hips against yours. You gasped at the sensation of his length on your clothed core. He ground himself into you, drawing keens from you into his mouth.

“Please,” you whimpered when he didn’t cease. You matched his movements, needing more. You reached down and tugged your underwear down yourself. He paused his movements, watching you bare yourself to him. He reached down to touch you, but you stopped his hand. “Please,” you breathed again. “I need to feel you.”

He inhaled the scent of your arousal, and you noted a tremor in his arms. “You’re sure?” he rasped. You nodded, releasing his hand. He reached down to guide himself in. As his length teased your entrance, his gaze returned to study your face. You only nodded, encouraging him. He began entering you, inch by aching inch.

The stretch of his size stung.

When he bottomed out, he paused, letting you adjust. He ran his hands over your breasts, teasing your nipples and kissing you until your hips jerked forward. Then he pulled back, staring into your eyes once more. “You are mine,” he rasped, “and I am yours.”

“All yours,” you whimpered. “I’m all yours, Azriel.”

With that, he began withdrawing and thrusting, bit by bit. Every roll of his hips sent pleasure rippling through you, drawing out moans and whimpers. You wrapped your legs around his waist, giving him even deeper access. You stopped breathing, silenced and overwhelmed by the bliss, staring at him in awe.

“Breathe for me,” he commanded. Your sharp inhale was nearly a sob. You were already nearing the edge. He sped up his motion as your breathing grew shallower and shallower, trembling around him. “Let go,” he breathed. “Let go, angel.”

With that you came crashing; wave after wave of ecstasy washed through your body. He didn’t relent, working you through it as you panted. It was pleasure like you’d never known. You were utterly helpless in his arms, but the safest you’d ever felt. As you came down from your high, he slowed his movements, giving you reprieve as you caught your breath.

He was still nestled deep inside you as you pulsated around him. “More,” you rasped. He only kissed you, so you reached a shaking hand behind his head to his wing and began stroking the inner erogenous area. He shuddered, his hips reflexively snapping forward, making you cry out. You continued your ministrations, stroking back and forth until Azriel was the one heaving breaths.

He moved inside you at a punishing pace, his rhythm thrown off by his overwhelming pleasure. His groans reverberated through your torso, flush with his. You neared the edge of release again. He kissed you as you tightened around him. “That’s it,” he breathed shakily into your mouth.

You tried to continue stroking his wing but your arm went slack as release tore through you a second time. He drew cries out of you as you finished but all you could hear was his shaky breathing in your ear and growls of approval. A few final thrusts and you felt him release into you as well, felt him exhale in relief and lower himself and lay his weight upon you.

You took your time collecting yourselves, breathing steadily. When he finally rose and pulled out of you, you shuddered. He cupped your face tenderly and searched your eyes. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, satiated. “Yes. You were perfect.”

He left and returned to clean you up and you let him, basking in his attentive nature and loving care. When he finished, you opened your arms to him, relishing in the sleepy smile that overtook his face as he accepted your invitation. He lay his head onto your chest, the weight of him anchoring you to reality. You could’ve sworn something deep inside snapped as everything fell into place with Azriel. He suddenly flinched but didn’t say anything, only tightening his hold on you as you were lulled slowly to rest. The love you felt for him beat in your chest like a sentient thing, and it echoed beyond.

“So I take it we’re not just friends anymore,” Azriel murmured into your chest. You laughed, wringing your arms around his shoulders, tugging him impossibly closer.

“You’re my love,” you breathed.

“I like the sound of that,” he whispered.

“What happens now?”

A steady stream of comfort and affection crept through you on a tether as you slowly submerged into unconsciousness, but you heard him like you heard all the silent words he spoke. “We’ll figure it all out, angel. We got all the time in the world.”

taglist:

@iimisty-a @feyretopia @cityofidek @cullenswife @reiincarnatiion @sfhsgrad-blog @answer-the-sirens @mrstangerinejohnson @marigold-morelli @courtofjurdan @azriels-mate123 @punishers-girl @marina468 @slvtherinseeker @owllover123 @quill-and-the-curse @hyacinthoideshispanica

a/n: thank you sm for sticking around for part 2!! Ily guys sm I hope you enjoyed this.

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel smut #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel/reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel angst #azrielhours #cassian

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 1 year

Text

Something There (Chapter 4)

7.6k words

Roy Kent x Reader

Warnings: Language, more enemies-to-lovers, some sexual references, Roy Kent starting to realize he's a pining fool

Series Masterlist

As I sat at my desk, I stole a glance into the Greyhounds’ office. There was Roy, sitting at his own desk, arms crossed, staring up at the tits drawn by an eight-year-old child, although I could tell by his stony expression that he wasn’t really looking at the drawing. He was thinking.

It had been almost a week after the team retreat, and he still hadn’t really looked at me or talked to me, not since we sat on the floor of that little shed and talked about “fairy tale shit”. Part of me had thought that something was about to happen as we sat there, something I hadn’t realized I could even be interested in, but Roy had ruined whatever that was. After we left the shed, he avoided me in a way that made the prior weeks seem downright warm and friendly.

During the rest of the retreat, he’d pointedly leave the table when I sat down for meals, completely shut down in our small group unless directly spoken to by anyone that wasn’t me, and on the bus ride home, without Rebecca instructing us to sit with anyone in particular, he’d made a beeline for the Greyhounds’ bus and sat with Jamie Tartt, who I heard looked both surprised and pleased to have his coach next to him for two hours.

Being back at the Dog Track was just as bad. If I walked into a room, he found a reason to leave. When we passed each other in the hall or when rotating use of the pitch, his phone was suddenly incredibly interesting, even if all he was staring at was a black screen. And he was no longer running next to me in silence after work while Lust Conquers All played overhead; instead, I caught him pulling up to Nelson Road an extra hour before his usual arrival time to use the empty weight room.

But I didn’t care. Not at all. Nope, not me. Roy Kent could do whatever the fuck he wanted. It didn’t matter to me one bit.

I turned my gaze away from the Greyhounds’ office and refocused on the email I was writing, letting Keeley know that a local paper, The Richmond Star,wanted to do profiles on some of the Whippets and asking her what I could do to help.

“The Richmond Star?” Lucas hummed, hovering over my shoulder. “That wouldn’t happen to be the newspaper of one George Willows, would it?”

My cheeks suddenly felt warm. “It might be,” I answered coyly as I hit SEND on my email. I turned my chair around to face my assistant coach.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Interesting.”

“Why’s that so interesting?” I snorted, knowing exactly what he was about to say.

Indeed, his smile turned wicked. “Oh, just that I keep seeing that particular name light up your phone every five seconds. And your interview with him was supposed to only be about a half hour, but the two of you sat in here for like two hours.” He leaned forward. “And I heard a certain coach hates him.” His wide eyes told me that he was relishing sharing that bit of gossip.

“Beard? Nate?” I asked, playing dumb, as if I hadn’t watched Roy Kent confront George in the hall the day of that two-hour interview. “They’re too nice to hate anyone.”

Lucas shrugged, glancing through the window I’d been staring at earlier; Roy was typing now, hopefully completely out of earshot of this very childish conversation. “All I know is that if you go out with George Willows, you might be ruining your chances with Kent.”

My face was now on fire with annoyance. “Oh no, whatever will I do? The guy who hates me won’t want to go out with me if I go out with a nice guy?” I hissed as I turned back to my computer, opening a spam email so I could look anywhere but at Lucas or Roy Kent. “Besides, it’s not like George Willows has even asked me out. And as for Roy fucking Kent-”

I stopped talking when I saw him get out of his chair. As he exited his office through the locker room, his eyes shifted towards our office, landing on me. For a fraction of a second, I saw that look I’d seen in the shed in the woods, the one when I swore his gaze flickered to my lips. The soft expression was quickly replaced with an icy glare and matching scowl before he disappeared into the locker room, his gruff voice commanding his players to hurry out onto the pitch.

My point proven, I looked at Lucas. “Oh yeah. That man is dying to go out with me.”

Roy stared at his phone with a deep frown. He hated having her phone number; more than once, when he was home alone with a drink in his hand, he found his thumb hovering over her name, tempted to text her or- even worse- call her. He wasn’t sure what the fuck he would even say, but he knew one of these days he was going to fuck up and hit that button.

Not that there was a single text between the two of them; they were, however, in a couple of group chats together. Right now, there was a new message for the two of them from Rebecca: Come to my office please.

Without a word, he showed the text to Beard, who simply nodded, immediately understanding that Roy wanted him to take charge for a bit. Wishing he had an excuse to avoid this meeting, maybe even meet with Rebecca one-on-one instead, Roy trudged back into the building and began to make his way to Rebecca’s office, grateful that he could at least walk alone.

Alone until he felt someone fall into step beside him. He didn’t need to turn his head to know it was her; and if he did, he didn’t know what he’d say. Unfortunately for Roy, she decided to fill the silence.

“We’re not in trouble, are we?” she asked, her voice almost light. “I mean, we haven’t even been in the same room long enough for us to argue.

Roy didn’t even give a grunt of acknowledgement. Instead, he picked up his pace ever so slightly, hoping she’d take the hint. Instead, she sped up as well, walking entirely too close for his comfort. When her shoulder bumped into his, he swore his whole arm felt like it was on fire.

Two incredibly long minutes later, they arrived at Rebecca’s office, where their boss sat at her desk, looking, for the first time, happy to see the two of them together.

“My managers!” she greeted, gesturing for the pair to sit down across from her. “For once, no one is in trouble,” she assured them with a wink, as if she knew what they were thinking. “The exact opposite, in fact.”

Roy tilted his head, relieved he could focus his attention on Rebecca. “Everything alright?”

Rebecca nodded enthusiastically. “Everything is great.” She turned to the other coach. “You feel ready for your first match?”

There was that cocky grin. “Oh absolutely. Next Saturday, we make history. The first of many Whippet victories.” Her voice was so confident, so sure. It managed to be simultaneously infuriating and attractive.

“That’s my girl,” Rebecca chirped with a wink. She turned to Roy. “And you fellas?”

Roy cleared his throat and sat up. “Yeah, feeling good. Got Crystal Palace here at home, should go in our favor.”

Rebecca nodded. “Excellent. Should be a good opening weekend all around.” She twiddled her thumbs, clearly wondering how to pivot to whatever she wanted to talk to them about. “I don’t want to add to your workload,” she started slowly, clearly intent on adding to their workload. “But at the retreat, I was watching your teams play that silly little game after their practice time. The one-on-one scrimmages?”

“Oh, that was great.” The American turned to Roy. “We should try that here sometime.”

Not wanting Rebecca to see him ignore his fellow manager, he nodded with a small grunt. Apparently enough of an answer to satisfy both women, since Rebecca went on.

“It was fabulous to watch. Really reminded me how much talent we have here, on both sides.” Her smile began to grow, green eyes sparkling. “So, I sent Keeley a video and we began chatting about how fun it was to see both teams together like that…” She shrugged. “And we’ve decided to have a little exhibition match.”

Roy leaned forward. “An exhibition match?” he repeated incredulously.

Rebecca nodded. “We’ll split each team and half and combine them so it’s a mix of Greyhounds and Whippets. You’ll each manage one of the teams.” She glanced at her computer. “You’ve both got a weekend off in five weeks, so that’s when it’ll be.” She was beaming, that same proud smile she’d worn when she first told the Greyhounds about the women’s team. “And Keeley thought we could make it a charity event. Half the proceeds to my foundation for underprivileged children, the other half to a charity of the winning manager’s choosing.” Her eyes shifted between the two gaffers. “So?”

Roy wasn’t surprised when the Whippet’s coach broke out into a grin. “I think that’s incredible,” she gushed. “It’ll be a great opportunity for the community to see us as one team.” She glanced at Roy. “What d’you think, Kent?”

Her asking for his thoughts was surprising. “I think it’s fine,” he blurted out. “I mean, good. Good idea, Rebecca.”

That was exactly what she was hoping to hear. “Excellent! I’ll have Keeley and Higgins get right on advertising and tickets and just-” Her smile looked like it hurt, it was so wide. “This’ll be fun. So fun.” She cleared her throat, composing herself. “Right. You two just have to worry about creating the teams and choosing your charity, then.”

“The Women’s Sports Foundation.” Roy had never heard someone answer so quickly.

Rebecca nodded. “Of course,” she chuckled. “Roy, just let me know when you’ve picked-”

“BMA Charities,” Roy blurted out. Rebecca blinked at him. “I mean, I’ll probably check in with Beard and Nate, but…” He shrugged. “I like ‘em.”

Next to him came the sound of someone clearing their throat. “BMA?”

Reluctantly, Roy turned his head, his eyes finding hers as if by magnetic force. “British Medical Association,” he clarified, pretending he didn’t feel like there was an elephant on his chest. “They do shit for doctors and med students.”

“Oh.”

Why did Roy want more than “Oh”? Why did it matter what she thought of his charity?

And why, once they were dismissed from Rebecca’s office and had walked down the hall to head back to their respective trainings, did Roy wish they could’ve walked together just a little bit longer?

For nearly a week, my first Game Day outfit hung up in my bedroom. The entire week before was spent selecting each piece carefully. My most flattering jeans, Richmond-blue blouse, white blazer, and the white low-tops I’d bought especially for the occasion.

As I cuffed my jeans, I looked at myself in the mirror. Yes. Good. Professional, sporty, and- dare I say it?- pretty. My first few months in England had been a blur of soccer, soccer, and more soccer, which hadn’t left me any time for… extracurricular activities, as Lucas put it.

In fact, the closest I’d gotten to dating would have to be at the club when Roy Kent thought I was hitting on him. Yeuch. Maybe Lucas was right, maybe I should get on the apps or something.

I shook my head at my reflection with a groan. Seriously? The morning before my first game in England, and there I was thinking about dating? Good Lord, Gloria Steinem was going to revoke my feminist card if I didn’t focus.

Determined to keep my eye on the ball, so to speak, I finished getting ready, throwing my hair into a ponytail and saving my red lipstick for last. I had worn this bright red lipstick my first time coaching a professional game and had won 5-0; it had become my good luck charm after that. Never went to a game, or a press conference, or an interview without it.

“Look at you,” Lucas greeted when I opened my door, looking at me over the top of his sunglasses. “Soccer Coach Barbie.”

I gave a little twirl, laughing at my friend’s praise. “You feel like winning, Luke?”

We walked into Nelson Road with smiles on our faces and Whippet water bottles in our hands. There was an electric buzz in the halls, and I couldn’t help but notice the particularly bright smiles on the faces of the women who worked for A.F.C. and W.F.C. Richmond. The biggest smile was on Keeley’s face, which we saw as soon as we walked into our office.

“Big day!” Keeley squealed as she pulled me into a hug. “You excited?”

“Very,” I confirmed, giving her a squeeze before letting go.

Keeley stepped back and looked down at her phone. “So, we’ve got a bit of pomp and circumstance before the match. Introduce the team, and you, little speech from Rebecca.” She winked at me. “A few words from our fearless manager. Then we go out there and kick some ass!”

After Keeley’s little itinerary, the rest of the time before the match was a blur. Players strutted into the locker room, pride on their faces when they looked up and saw their names above their lockers- a change made to celebrate our first match. After today, they’d be changed to reflect both players who used the locker, but today the Greyhounds insisted on letting the Whippets have their moment to shine.

Lucas and I spent some time in our office, reviewing our starting lineup and plays we wanted to keep in our back pockets. I did my best to ignore the goosebumps that formed every time I looked at the clock and saw the time inch closer to game time, but I found myself beginning to bounce on my toes.

I almost confused the buzzing of my body for the buzzing from my phone.

My office please.

Normally, Rebecca’s texts made my heart freeze, but not today. Today was a good day. The best day. I practically skipped to her office, feeling weirdly aware of the feeling of my sneakers hitting the ground. My eyes travelled over the photos of the Greyhounds’ history, of the men- coaches, players, owners- who made A.F.C. Richmond what it was. And it dawned on me that we would someday be on that wall- me, Rebecca, Keeley, Lucas, the magnificent women who were now changing into their Whippets kits for the first time.

By the time I reached Rebecca’s door, tears were threatening to fall.

“You wanted to see me?”

It was the millionth smile I’d seen that morning, but it was easily my favorite. Rebecca looked as if she was about to explode at the sight of me, looking glamorous as ever in her dress and coat- a coat that I noticed bore a little W.F.C. Richmond pin.

“Are you ready?” came her whispered question as she approached me.

“More than ready,” I assured her, a tingle going through my whole body as she took my hands in hers.

She gave my hands a squeeze. “I just… needed to say thank you,” she said. “Thank you for taking such good care of this…” She blinked a few times, her eyes shiny with tears. “I feel as if my child is going for her first day of school, I’m just so proud. I love the Greyhounds, but this is the very first thing that has ever been mine. All mine.” She shook her head. “And I am so happy that you are our manager.”

“Oh, Rebecca-”

Rebecca released my hands in favor of pulling me into a hug. “We’re going to win,” she hummed. “We’re going to win the whole fucking thing.”

I carried Rebecca’s words with me back through the building as I returned to the locker room, where my team would be waiting for one more pep talk. People nodded and waved to me in the hall, each moment of acknowledgement adding just a bit more weight to my shoulders.

“Oi.”

Just outside the locker room, I turned around. Roy Kent was a few paces behind me, hands in the pockets of his Greyhounds jacket. He gave a nod as he walked up to me.

“Good luck out there.”

It was probably the kindest thing he’d said to me since we’d met. Maybe the second kindest, after our moment in the shed.

“Thanks,” I stammered out. “You getting ready for your match already or something?”

To my surprise, he shook his head. “Here for your match. Rebecca asked us to come, show solidarity or some shit.” He shrugged. “So, I just thought I’d wish you luck.” He paused, glancing at the wall beside us, one that held a photo of him in a Greyhounds kit, running on the pitch. “It’s kind of scary,” he mumbled. “Your first match as a manager.”

“I’ve managed a team before,” I reminded him, giving a little cough into my closed fist. “But, you know, new country and all. Still scary as hell.”

“Right. Right.” He gazed at me for a moment, his eyes locked onto mine. I wondered if the shiver I felt was from the air conditioning or the intensity of his stare. “Well. Go get ‘em. Or whatever.” With a small grunt, he turned and walked away. Before I went into the locker room, I turned to look at him again. At that same moment, he turned his head and glanced back at me. As soon as our eyes met, he whipped back around and picked up his pace.

Weird.

But I couldn’t focus on that. My concentration needed to be entirely on the game.

“Alright Whippets!” I called as I entered the locker room. “Are we ready?”

I had rehearsed this speech for weeks. In bed before I fell asleep, in front of the mirror as I brushed my hair, in the shower while I avoided getting shampoo in my mouth, even to Lucas on a couple of occasions. And now I stood in front of twenty-seven talented women, ready to hear it.

“Alright, here it is,” I started. “Our moment. You are the first women to call yourselves Whippets. Wear it proudly.” I took a deep breath. “Never forget why you’re here. Never forget that feeling you had the moment you fell in love with this sport, when you knew that nothing else would make you as happy as being out there on that field.” I saw some wistful smiles appear. My own mind wandered to that afternoon my grandfather had taken me out to the backyard, the afternoon I knew I wanted to play soccer forever. “Remember that little girl who fell in love with the feeling of the ball at her feet. And go out there and play for her. Because today, we’re going to help the little girls of Richmond fall in love too.” I stretched out my arm, watching my players follow suit until all of our hands were in the center of the locker room. “Let’s go show them how the Whippets do it.”

There were cheers of agreement as a lump formed in my throat. I nodded to Kira Malone. “Captain?”

“Whippets on three, Whippets on three! One, two, three!”

“Whippets!”

Roy sat in the owner’s box next to Keeley, fiddling with the case on his phone, needing to do something with the burst of energy he felt. It only grew when the Whippets were introduced and took their places lined up on the field, bouncing with excitement as their names were called. Roy, of course, clapped along with the rest of the crowd, determined to be supportive with everyone in the box watching him.

“And the manager of your W.F.C. Richmond Whippets-”

A buzzing began in Roy’s ears. He watched as she took her place beside her team, the smile on her face evident even from where he sat. She looked gorgeous. Strong, joyful, confident. The sight set his whole body aflame.

He tried to focus on Rebecca’s speech, he really did. He knew this was a big moment for his friend. But fuck, all his eyes wanted to look at was her. And, once Rebecca handed over the microphone, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Hello Richmond!” she began, eliciting cheers from the crowd- a sold-out crowd, much to Keeley and Rebecca’s relief and excitement. “Thank you for making history with us today. We are so proud to be your W.F.C. Richmond Whippets.” She smiled, soaking up the roars that naturally followed the team’s name. “We just want to say thank you to our dear Rebecca Welton and Keeley Jones, our incredible foundresses.” She wrapped her arm around Rebecca. “They are truly the heart of this team. We’d also like to give a giant thank you to your Greyhounds.” Thunderous applause. “Coach Kent and the team have been great housemates and have helped us to really feel at home here at the Dog Track. Thank you, boys!”

Keeley nudged Roy, whose face was on fire at the sound of his name. “She’s a fucking natural, isn’t she?” Keeley gushed. “And doesn’t she look stunning?”

Roy grunted. He was having a hard time hearing anything but her speech. “And we want to take a moment to say thank you to all the parents that brought their daughters here today. They are why we’re out here.” She turned to her team, who were watching her with admiration on their faces. “Whippets, are you ready to show them what it means to play like a girl?”

The stadium was deafening as she handed over the microphone to someone before smiling for photos beside her team. He sat quietly through the rest of the opening ceremonies before the match began. He hadn’t realized it before, but the owner’s box had a perfect view of the dugout; he spent half the game with his eyes glued there, watching her shout to her team, pacing back and forth, effortlessly cool in her blazer and sneakers. He bit back a groan when her blazer came off, revealing perfectly tanned shoulders, kissed from all the time the former athlete had spent in the sun. He wondered what those arms would feel like wrapped around- fuck.

Roy Kent really needed to get ahold of himself.

“You alright, Roy?” Keeley looked at him with genuine concern. “Your face is all… blotchy and red. Are you having a fucking heart attack or something?”

Rebecca, who’d taken her seat just before the match began, leaned around Keeley, her eyes still half-glued to the pitch. “Roy’s having a heart attack?”

Roy rolled his eyes and slouched in his surprisingly comfortable seat. “’m not having a fucking heart attack,” he grumbled.

From in front of him, Coach Beard grunted. “Oh, your heart’s doing something, alright.”

“Fuck off,” Roy growled, forcing his eyes to return to the pitch, hating the way he couldn’t help looking at the dugout every few seconds.

“What’s this?” Keeley leaned forward with more interest than Roy knew what to do with. She studied him carefully, taking in the sight of his red cheeks and shifty eyes. “Oh! You’ve got a crush, haven’t you?”

“Fuck off,” Roy repeated, sagging down further.

Instead of doing as she was told, Keeley began surveying the pitch carefully. “Hmm. Wonder who it could be… Amanda Camacho’s quite pretty… Samara Scott’s fit…” She stopped turning her eyes carefully to Roy, who was staring straight ahead, refusing to let his eyes land anywhere incriminating. “Unless…”

“Unless?” Rebecca repeated; the woman should have been holding popcorn in her hands, she was so invested.

“It’s not a player, is it, Roy?” Keeley leered at Roy. “Maybe it’s a coach?” She nudged him. “And I don’t think Lucas is quite your type.”

Roy knew his bright red ears were a dead giveaway, but if he couldn’t admit it to himself, he sure as hell wasn’t admitting anything to Keeley Jones, ogling at him with those fucking eyes of hers. “Keeley, I’m getting real fucking annoyed,” he warned her. “I was basically ordered to come to this game, I’ve got my own season opener tonight, so I don’t need you acting like we’re fucking thirteen making up imaginary crushes and shit, alright?”

Keeley’s squeaky little hmmph told him that while she wouldn’t keep pushing him right now, this conversation was far from over.

The shriek of the whistle had me throwing my arms around Lucas and squeezing him tight. A 3-1 win was a pretty great way to announce W.F.C. Richmond’s arrival to the league. A blur of hugs and handshakes eventually carried me inside, where I passed a few players starting to do short interviews, their faces glowing with sweat and pride.

“Any chance The Richmond Star could get an exclusive with the winning manager?” George Willows smiled at me, one of those charming move-star smiles, the kind that a girl couldn’t help but feel grateful to receive.

“You could always show up for the press conference,” I teased, gesturing down the hall. “I promise to call on you for a question. Bet I could even get you a front-row seat.”

His smile turned awkward. “Oh, I’m not allowed in there,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head in an attractively self-effacing way. “Your Greyhound counterpart got me completely banned from the Richmond press room.” He leaned in close, as if sharing a deep, dark secret. “He once threw a chair at me during a press conference. Since then, I’m not allowed to cover the Greyhounds or go in the press room.”

My mouth fell open at this piece of information. “That’s insane,” I hissed. “He throws a chair, and you get banned?”

George shrugged, clearly used to it. “Can’t exactly ban a manager from his own press room, eh?”

“Well, if you stick around,” I started slowly, stretching out my flirting muscles that were dreadfully underused, “I can fill you in on whatever you miss. Give you that exclusive.”

“Oi.”

Of course. Of course the moment I flirted with a guy, Roy Kent was there to interrupt, with his stupid beard and deep frown and eyes that lingered a moment too long on my face. “What?” I groaned, knowing I sounded like a petulant teenager caught kissing a boy on her front porch.

His frown deepened; if he was any other man, I’d marvel at how it did nothing to take away from his handsomeness. “Keeley’s asking for you. Says they’re ready for you in the press room.” His eyes narrowed in George’s direction. “Same rules, apply, Willows. Stay the fuck out.”

I offered George an apologetic smile. “Think we could stake a raincheck on that exclusive?”

“I’ll text you,” he promised with a wink.

There was a definite blush on my face as I turned to follow Roy to the press room. “Surprised you stuck around,” I mused as we fell into step together. “Thought you’d be long gone by now, get some rest before your game.”

“Wanted to offer my congratulations,” he mumbled. “To Rebecca,” he quickly added. “And the team. And Lucas.” His eyes flashed to my face for a brief moment. “And you.”

“Well, thanks,” I huffed as we arrived at the press room. “Meant a lot having you fellas here.” I kicked the ground, making a mental note to clean my shoes when I got home. “Hope you all win your game tonight,” I added as we stopped in front of the press room.

“Will you be there?”

Those were the last words I expected to come out of Roy Kent’s mouth. It reminded me of when my high school crush invited me to his baseball game, right down to the fidgeting and the question marks in Roy’s eyes.

Ignoring the way it made me feel, I nodded. “Uh, yeah, yeah I’ll come.” Rebecca had offered me a ticket, but said she understood if I wanted to be out celebrating. But if the Greyhounds came to my game, I should definitely go to theirs. Right? “Better get in there.” I jerked my head towards the closed press room door.

Roy shrugged, his eyes almost playful. “They’ll wait for you.”

I let out a small chuckle, unable to believe that we were having a civil conversation. “I’ll see you later, Kent.”

“See you, Coach.”

Sundays were for Phoebe. Roy would pick her up and take her to breakfast, letting her gorge herself on chocolate chip pancakes, then let her pick something to do together. Sometimes it was going to some Disney movie at the theatre, sometimes a museum, sometimes a trip to the toy shop, once in a while a beach excursion. Today, she simply wanted to go to the park for a picnic.

Of course, Roy obliged his niece. He packed up some sandwiches and snacks, rolled out a blanket, and brought a football and some cones. He might spoil the girl, but he was still her coach. Once they’d devoured their lunch and sat around for a bit, he pulled her to her feet and began kicking around the ball with her.

Being eight years old, her aim wasn’t always perfect. So, Roy really shouldn’t have been too surprised when she gave a wonky kick that sent the ball flying out of their play area.

“You kicked it, you get it!” Roy called, nodding in the direction the ball flew in.

Phoebe obediently jogged off, always eager to do what her uncle asked. Roy perked up when he heard her little voice, high-pitched with excitement.

“Oh! Do you play for the Whippets? My uncle Roy coaches the Greyhounds!”

He turned around and saw, to his great astonishment, Phoebe gazing up at a familiar pretty face.

The eyes Roy kept telling himself not to think about snapped up in his direction before looking back at Phoebe. “Um, yeah, I know your uncle Roy. I actually coach the Whippets.” She rolled the ball between her hands.

Roy walked over, watching Phoebe’s face light up. She gasped with joy. “You’re Coach Buck! My mum told me about you. You have an Olympic Gold Medal!”

That fucking medal.

She gave an awkward little laugh and tossed the ball back to Phoebe. “That would be me. Do you play…” She offered Roy a small smirk before looking back at Phoebe. “… football?”

“I do! My uncle Roy coaches my team at school. He’s very good.”

“I’m sure he is.”

Feeling his face warm at the praise, Roy tapped Phoebe on the shoulder. “Oi, Pheebs, why don’t you go set up the cones? Do some dribbling?”

Phoebe stuck her little hand out, her politeness reminding Roy of how mature she was becoming. “I’m Phoebe, by the way. It was nice to meet you, Coach Buck.”

“Very nice to meet you too, Phoebe.” She shook the girl’s hand firmly. “We’ll have to get you and your mum out to a Whippets’ game sometime, alright?” The wink she gave Phoebe had Roy holding his breath.

“Yes!”

Roy cleared his throat. “Pheebs, the cones?”

Phoebe scurried off to do as she was told. Both adults watched her for a moment before turning back to each other, exchanging awkward half-smiles.

“You coach her school team?”

Roy shrugged. “They’re good girls. Decent players, too. And they listen a hell of a lot better than the pricks at Richmond.”

She nodded, studying Roy carefully. “So, you don’t hate women’s soccer. It’s just me.”

“I don’t hate you.” She shot him a skeptical look that he couldn’t help chuckling at. “Alright fine, I fucking hate you.”

Her laugh would echo through his head for the rest of the afternoon. “Don’t worry, I hate you too.”

They both stood there, grinning and hating each other, both kind of wishing literally anyone from Nelson Road was there to witness their civility. Hell, someone might even mistake it for friendliness. Some idiots might go so far as to get it mixed up with flirting.

“So that’s your niece.”

“That’s my niece,” Roy confirmed, following her gaze to Phoebe, who had finished setting up the cones the way he’d taught her and was starting to dribble between then.

“The one that draws the…”

Roy chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, the one that draws the…” He mirrored the way she trailed off.

Her smile grew soft as she watched Phoebe. “She’s cute.”

“She’s a fucking idiot,” Roy scoffed. “But she’s my fucking idiot, I guess.”

A small hmmph escaped her lips as she tilted her head thoughtfully. “You know, for the exhibition game, Keeley and I were talking about having kids escort the players out to the field. Thought it’d be nice to have it evenly split, boys and girls.”

“Because we don’t have enough girls walking out with the Greyhounds?” His defensiveness was almost a reflex at this point. “Because honestly, we do our best, we just get a lot more boys interested, alright?”

For once, she didn’t take the bait for an argument. “Actually, I was wondering if Picasso there would be interested in being one of our kids.”

Roy blinked, feeling like an idiot for his reaction. “Oh. Yeah, I think she’d like that. Just need to ask my sister.”

“She can even hang out in the dugout during the game.” Her voice was light, friendly. “Let her see a woman coaching a team. It’s important for girls to see that kind of thing, you know? Why d’you think I keep Brandi in my office? Even if your niece isn’t interested in soccer as a career, any little girl would benefit from seeing women doing ‘men’s work’.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice, thanks.” Roy paused, kicking a rock with the toe of his sneaker. “My sister’s a doctor, by the way.”

“Oh.” She looked directly at Roy now, thoughtfulness coloring her expression. “She’s why you picked your charity. The med student one.”

Roy nodded. “Exactly.” He hesitated but decided to continue. “She’s a single mum. Things aren’t always easy. She’s stubborn as hell and refuses my help outside of babysitting. She’s, er, had to rely on BMA for help once or twice.” He stared at her for a moment. “I get the strong, independent woman thing. I respect it.”

He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the sight of her soft smile. “You must be proud of her.”

“I am,” Roy confirmed. “And of Pheobe too. She’s a strong kid.”

There was a comfortable silence as they watched Phoebe continue her drill, her blonde hair flying in her face, not deterring her tiny focus. Roy found that he really liked the way Coach Buck looked at his niece; there was a fondness there that made his chest feel warmer than it had in a long time.

“She’s why I love my job,” she finally murmured. “Girls like her. I was so lucky to grow up with heroes that made me believe that seeing my name on the back of a jersey and being an Olympian was something I could realistically aspire to. And all I wanted was to be the same for other little girls. My dream was that someday, some little girl would have my poster on her wall.”

Roy knew that feeling. “Be her Brandi Chastain,” he murmured before he had the chance to even think.

She looked surprised, almost impressed, her mouth forming a perfect O when she realized he’d remembered that name. The grin that grew on her lips was slow and gorgeous. “Be her Brandi Chastain,” she repeated softly.

Roy thought they’d get to share another moment of just looking at each other, wondering how else to fill the silence, when her eyes suddenly widened. She whipped out her phone and took a look at it.

“Shit,” she hissed. “I’m late.”

“Late?”

Her eyes suddenly became shifty as she avoided Roy’s gaze. “Got an interview about yesterday’s match,” she murmured.

George fucking Willows. “Oh. Right.” Roy cleared his throat, retreating back into himself. “Better get going, then.”

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow?” She took a step backwards, away from Roy, away from their conversation and whatever moment they were having.

Roy knew he was offering up a grimace rather than a grin. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

The next few weeks were… peaceful. Probably the most peaceful I’d had since starting at Richmond. I wouldn’t say Roy Kent was friendly to me, but we weren’t screaming at each other, and he wasn’t pointedly ignoring me the way he had after the retreat either. He was even running silently on the treadmill next to me again. We were finally just coexisting. And I kind of liked it.

“How’s this?”

A paper was shoved in front of me on my desk, interrupting the email I was writing. I looked up and saw Roy looking at me expectantly. When I looked down, I realized it was a pair of rosters, with our teams divided up and combined.

“Oh.” I blinked. “You picked the teams already?”

“Had Isaac and Kira do it,” he corrected me. “Wanted to see what the captains thought before we did it ourselves.” He shrugged. “Did a fucking good job in my opinion. I’m okay with their picks if you are.”

I took a moment to read through the rosters; he was right. “Well, it saves us the work,” I chuckled, handing the paper back to Roy. “They’re split evenly enough to make things fair. My team’s still going to kick your ass though,” I teased.

He raised one of those thick eyebrows at me. “Care to make a wager?” he challenged.

“I mean, there’s already the whole thing with our charities,” I reminded him, twirling the pen in my hands between my fingers. “But what’d you have in mind?”

He thought for a moment. “Winner gets to pick someone for the loser to dance with at the gala.”

Rebecca’s charity gala. It was just a few weeks away, and already it was all everyone could talk about. Both teams were buzzing with gossip about outfits and dates; a couple of Greyhounds had even asked a couple of Whippets to attend with them, much to everyone’s amusement and nerves. My favorite rumor I’d heard was that one of my goalkeepers was bringing Timothee Chalamet as her date.

“Fine.” I stuck out my hand to Roy. “It’s a bet.”

His eyes froze on my hand for a moment before he took it, giving it a firm shake. “Right,” he muttered, letting go quickly. “Got to head to the pitch. Just wanted to run the teams by you.” He gave an awkward little salute. “See you around.”

He was gone before I could even say “see you”.

The morning of the exhibition game, I found myself leaning back in my chair and staring up at Brandi Chastain, thinking about how crazy it was that I, an American who had won the World Cup and had an Olympic Gold Medal, was in England, the head coach of a professional women’s team. And it was because of Brandi Chastain, and Mia Hamm, and Kristine Lilly, and so many other names that were etched into my very soul. I wondered if somewhere out there was a little girl who felt the same about me.

“Hi, Coach Buck!”

I turned around and felt my mouth immediately turn into a grin. “Well, hello, Phoebe.” The woman behind her was looking at me with interest as I shot out of my chair and strolled over. “You must be her mom.” I stuck my hand out. “I’m-”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are,” she said with a laugh, shaking my hand warmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh.” My eyes flickered to Roy, who had appeared behind the duo.

His sister cleared her throat. “You know, from the news. Seen you on the telly, read a few articles, saw a couple of TikToks.”

I forced a smile, scolding myself for thinking Roy Kent talked about me at home. “Oh, wow, I’m on TikTok? Biggest accomplishment of my life right there.” I turned to Phoebe, who was wearing a Whippets jersey. “I hear you’re joining me on the pitch today.”

Phoebe nodded enthusiastically. “Uncle Roy said I get to hang out with you the whole game.”

“That’s right,” I confirmed. “Here, you can hang onto this for me.” I grabbed my clipboard from my desk and handed it to her. “It’s got my lineup and notes. Very important. Think you can manage?”

“Yes!”

I reached out and ruffled her hair. “Excellent. Just don’t let your uncle Roy see it, alright?” I shot her a wink before I turned back to the adults. “Your brother got you good seats, I hope?” I teased Roy’s sister.

“Owner’s box, believe it or not.” She raised her eyebrows. “In fact, I’m heading up there now to take advantage of the free booze and snacks.” She turned to Roy. “Can I leave Phee with you?” When her brother grunted and shrugged, she knelt down and began to say goodbye to Phoebe, offering last-minute reminders about behavior and listening to adults.

As mother and daughter spoke, I took a step closer to Roy. “Ready to lose?”

He snorted, an almost friendly sound. “Nope. Yourself?”

“Nope.”

By the time we were on the pitch, Phoebe was my new little best friend. She proudly stood by my side as we lined up, with Rebecca reminding the crowd that each team was playing for charity- my team for the Women’s Sports Foundation, Roy’s for BMA Charities. He and I exchanged curt nods as we turned to our dugouts, all business as the match got underway.

Phoebe clutched my clipboard to her chest and stuck to my side the entire match. I had expected her to want to sit and relax at some point, but instead she was my second shadow, mimicking the way I paced, watching me even more than the game. It was the most flattered I’d ever felt in my life.

I snuck a few glances over to the other dugout, amused at the opportunity to watch Roy Kent coach up close and in person. He was loud- unsurprisingly- and passionate. What was a bit more surprising was the compassion he carried, the way he shouted support to his players (and mine) throughout the game.

And his Greyhounds parka looked pretty good on him.

Shaking my head as I caught myself staring for the umpteenth time, I turned my attention back to the game, feeling thankful to have Jamie Tartt on my team. He’d scored two goals already, and we were all tied up. No one had brought up the idea of what to do in the case of a draw, but I didn’t want to think about that; I wanted the win. And, with less than two minutes left in stoppage time, Kira passed the ball to Jamie, who breezed by one of the Greyhound defenders to come face to face with one of my goalkeepers.

“Let’s go Jamie!” I heard Lucas shout beside me.

When the ball hit the back of the net, I threw my arms in the air. We were close, so close to the end of the game. After the kickoff, there were only a few touches before the referee blew her whistle.

“Yes!” I yelled, bumping fists and hips with Lucas. I turned and high-fived Phoebe. “Great job, Coach Pheebs.”

She beamed at me. “Thank you! That was so much fun!”

Both teams lined up on the field, exchanging hugs and high-fives as we all waited for Rebecca to come onto the pitch to announce the donation. She was absolutely glowing as she stood on the field, flanked by Roy and myself.

“What a game!” she began. “Thank you to our players for giving it their all, and of course our wonderful managers for leading these impressive teams.”

Roy stepped out in front of Rebecca and offered his hand. Shooting him a grin, I reached out and shook it firmly, keenly aware of the shuttering of cameras going off the moment our hands touched.

Rebecca went on. “Thank you all for joining us today. The proceeds from our tickets, as well as the generous donations from our sponsors and so many of you, will be going to two wonderful charities. The first is the Welton Foundation, which benefits underprivileged children in our community. The second-”

Without thinking about what I was about to do, I tapped Rebecca’s shoulder. She shot me a confused look but leaned in close. “I’d like to share it.”

“What?”

My eyes shot to Roy, who was staring at me with perplexed eyes. “The money. Split it between the Sports Foundation and BMA.”

Rebecca’s face turned soft. “Lovely,” she murmured, giving me a proud nod of approval. She returned to the microphone. “We have a slight change of plan. Our winning team has chosen to split their donation. So, all the proceeds from today’s match will go to the Welton Foundation, the Women’s Sports Foundation, and BMA charities.”

Roy Kent broke out into a full, true smile as he looked at me. “Thank you,” he mouthed.

All I could do was shrug in response, ignoring the heat on my cheeks when I saw the way his eyes lingered on me long after the cheering had died down. When I did finally turn away, Lucas was giving me his smarmiest grin.

“Oh, shut up,” I hissed as we made our way back towards the locker rooms, ignoring the now-familiar feeling that someone was staring at me.

Taglist: @optimisticsandwichgladiator @reading-blogs @callmecasey81 @ladygrey03 @puckyou-forpuckssake @royalestrellas @shineforever19 @rae4725 @burnafter-reading @her-fandom-sanctum @infinetlyforgotten @giggling-sewer-ginger @whataloadofmalarkey @agentstarkid @kingleahhh @tortilla-maria1 @geekgirl1996 @amatswimming @meg-ro @spicyraccoonlordking @spaghetti-dad187 @needlesthreadandbuttons @elissaaa @imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme @reverieisaway @djskakakaksjsj-blog @thatonedogwithablog @allthetroubleiveseen @sunderland-6 @netflix-addict @paranormal-is-my-life @jill2629-blog @itsbuzzfeedbitch @pretzelactivist @amieinghigh @kashee-h @beingalive1 @mythicalbinicorn @needyomega @kno-way-home @janalustare @sssatorus @its-a-rich-mans-world @confessionsofatotaldramaslut @hesitant-alien33 @katie-sheep-111 @bonesbonesetc @seacactusplant

#roy kent something there #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfiction

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icedgarlic · 8 months

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yall hyped up amnesia batjokes so much i was expecting some ultra yaoi star crossed lovers type shit but ended up in midland with jimbats

#sighh comics be like that #the jim batman stuff was just so uninteresting #BUT BLOOMS DESIGN WAS SICKK #i loved it #i can't believe i read the entire superheavy arc ergegr #batman #batman comics #dc comics #joker #batjokes

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rwuffles · 23 days

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just wanted to thank you for genuinely being educated on wtf paras are. holy shit so many people hear the word paraphile and only think of the harmful ones and refuse to educate that its literally a huge umbrella term for any "weird/not normal" sexual interest / fantasy. its nice to see people who are anti c harmful ones yet still pro para (including those who need help for theirs regardless of what type of para it is). Thank you - star crossed lovers

honestly dude it's really no problem — it'd be weird if we were anti-para or uneducated on it considering both of our partners are paras LOL. we are one ourself but we're very uncomf talking abt it in public 😭

personally i think it's just really weird to persecute paraphiles for their thoughts while being supportive of... literally any other "unpalatable" disorder because paraphilias aren't the only thing that ??? could make you have "unsavory" thoughts???? and thought crime doesn't exist .... it's just weird all around HFKSJDS

plus ion't see the issue with harmless paras .... ppl really be looking at pro-para and think pro-contact w/o doing any actual research

#︵︵﹒ @rwuffles ｜ ⚣#︵︵﹒ talking ｜ ⚣#︵︵﹒ mail ｜ ⚣#︵︵﹒ @star crossed lovers ｜ ⚣

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kitasuno · 2 months

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kag kita suna — who are u marrying who are u making out with who are u pushing off ze cliff ?

oh god. i’m not going to lie i let this stew in my inbox overnight because i was THINKING SO HARD. and then i was going to ignore it and say im marrying ALL OF THEM (but u wouldn’t like that…) so here IT IS:

okay so obviously. the top choice is to marry kita right? right….? right..? because he’s a rice farmer and he probably has extra muscles from being in the field all day and maybe he comes back home a little tan and a little sun kissed after the day is over and then he will send me to pound town👍 BUT. here’s the thing: i do NOT like japan countryside. way too hot in the summer and way too cold in the winter and oh my god i think a part of me dies when im in the countryside and only nature so i’m SORRY kita but i am NOT THE GIRL FOR U!!!! and i remember standing in a rice field in kyoto and it was like 1000 million degrees and i almost KILLED MYeld.

AND THE BUGS… THE BUGS…. THE BUGZ!!!! remember that fuckinh cicada huge thing in the train station in the countryside

and kita would definitely. Hate me just a little bit. (we are star crossed lovers i swear but only in thought)

SO ANYWAYS WE R KISSING KITA!!! and we are kissing him HARD!!!!

i am a tokyo girl through and through and if im living in japan i am living in SHIBUYA. so..

suna and kageyama are the next choices.

and let me tell u.

kageyama is maybe just a tiny bit hotter. and he looks really really delicious in his adlers jersey. and he has been through so much that i feel like i couldn’t push him off a cliff. (suna, however… i will PUNT that little shit)

but SUNA is maybe more my type? isn’t kageyama off to italy? and would kageyama play super bunny man with me? …….and would kageyama play valorant with me…? would kageyama duet love is an open door with me and drink melon soda with me in the karaoke booth…(actually i would make him) (maybe if he loved me)

but i always say i want an idgaf boyfriend and SUNA please he would fuck with me so hard so I DONT KNOW. I DONT KNOW.

I DONT KNOW!!!!!! can i kiss all of them and we all live together in a mansion

but also Idk kageyama might give me stability.. I DONT KNOWWWWW aauughhhhh

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thefallennightmare · 8 months

Text

Just Pretend-Twenty Two

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Musician! Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.

Authors Note: PHASE II comes to an end! Strap in everyone, PHASE III is going to be a smutty ride.

FUCK YOU. EAT SHIT. KILL GOD. DETHRONE.

We are Fallenvvitch. Goodnight.

🪽🔮

Collaborating With: @thescarlettvvitch(better give her all the love as well)

NOAH

I let out a long sigh as I ran my hands over my thighs, the green couch becoming a familiar place for me. Even the dying plants on the shelf behind Dr. Poulos brought a sense of comfort. She had her book open on her lap, tapping her pen against it.

Three times.

She always tapped it three times.

“You seem happier today Noah,” Dr. Poulos noted.

I nodded. “I am. For the first time in a long time.”

“That’s great,” she smiled warmly before she used her pen to point to her hair. “New look?”

“Uh, it kind of happened. I didn’t expect to cut my hair, it’s been long for so many years now, but I felt with what happened I could use a change. But it still might be too long for my liking. I might cut it some more,” I said.

“Hm, typically that’s a sign of some growth. What happened?”

For the next few minutes, I filled her in on almost everything that happened at Chase’s birthday party, leaving out the intimate details between Y/N and I. Although, with the way my cheeks burned red, I had a feeling Dr. Poulos already knew.

I explained from top to bottom everything from the last time Y/N and I spoke to the night she told me she loved me back. Even saying the term ‘I love you’ was a huge step on the mountain for me. But to have her say it back? I’m finally catching up on years of sleep. Y/N loves me. She fucking loves me back.

“Do you believe her?” Dr. Poulos questioned.

“I do! I do, I love her with all of me,” I answered with a stern nod. “I just don’t know how to stop worrying about Y/N leaving if shit gets messy or if I don’t live up to her expectations. There’s this perception of me out there and even so, I don’t want it to taint her or us.”

She sat straighter in her chair. “Noah, you’re putting too much work on yourself. You really are. You’re both heavily aware of who you are as people. You’re human beings.”

Dr. Poulos adjusted her glasses and took some notes before speaking again when I remained silent.

“From everything you’ve explained; you both seem to be willing to start over. Start with a new slate, the situation at the party seemed to have changed the situation from both of your points of view. I have homework for you.”

I playfully rolled my eyes. “Oh, but you know I’m busy, I don’t have time to do homework. I haven’t done homework since I was 15.”

“Not that type of homework,” she chuckled. “What I’m saying is now that we’ve set the foundation regarding perspective, energy, and intention, we can move on to what to actually say to Y/N about your unmet needs and your fears of emotional and maybe physical abandonment.”

She went into each definition thoroughly as I sat with my hands resting on my knee, listening intently.

“I wouldn’t go that far. Abandonment? That sounds silly and almost too serious. I don’t know about that,” I said once she finished.

With a sigh, Dr. Poulos shut her book and set it on the table between us. “Noah, we’ve been seeing each other a while now. It’s my personal observation you indeed have conditions hindering you from this. It’s why you’re having a difficult time communicating and allowing this new slate to happen without fear.”

To be frank, I didn’t want to hear the entire gist. All it did was give me flashbacks of things I wasn’t comfortable dealing with. At least I thought I wasn’t prepared to handle it, I suppose I was now. I knew I needed to have a prosperous and healthy life, as well as one with Y/N.

“Noah? Noah, are you listening?”

I blinked a few times. “No, I’m sorry, can you repeat what you said?”

“Every satisfied emotional need breeds connection and deepens your bond. Therefore, every unmet need has the opposite effect. It breeds disconnection. This happens because when your needs aren’t consistently met, it produces anxiety in you, which leads to conflict, which, if not handled skillfully, breeds further disconnection, and on and on. The cycle is never-ending.”

She spoke so softly, so calmly while I sat there with my hands in my lap so desperately trying to get into what she was saying to me.

To be blunt? This was a-fucking-lot.

Dr. Poulos tucked a strand of hair that fell loose from her bun to behind her ear. “Noah, you and Y/N must erase any confusion or doubt surrounding your needs. Learn to powerfully communicate your needs using a simple yet powerful template, and overcome the two most common barriers to having your needs consistently met.”

She handed me a piece of paper to which I took it from her hands and began to skim over it while she kept talking.

“I offer suggestions for what to say, but they are merely suggestions. The goal is that you speak from your heart and express your truth with love and gentleness. I have a worksheet for you, review it. Think about it, and see what you can come up with. Practice in the mirror.”

On the drive leaving therapy, I thought back to my entire session with Dr. Poulos. It all seemed so silly, so corny. It did. However, I had to put my ego aside to let myself take in the seriousness of what was in front of me. I didn’t want anything to destroy my future with Y/N, hell even me just as a man. I had to do this.

To realize I’m not powerless and finally take charge of creating the loving dynamic that I for so long struggled to have and keep.

Maybe this week away in the house Bad Omens rented would help clear my mind and I could practice this worksheet she gave me; when I wasn’t busy recording the new record.

Instead of going straight home, I had to make a quick stop at Y/N’s place. As I knocked on their apartment door, I waited not so patiently with excitement in my veins. Malcolm opened the door with Salem in his arms.

I clapped my hands while stepping inside. “There he is!”

Chase snorted from the living room as I took Salem from Malcolm. “Clearly, Salem will be fine while we’re gone.”

“Y/N isn’t getting him back so easy, I hope she knows that,” I scratched Salem between his eyes; his favorite spot.

“Oh, by the way,” Malcolm started while handing me the bag of Salem’s things. “I know you guys have a couple hour drive to your rental house but Salem hates the carrier. He’ll most likely move around the car before settling into someone’s lap.”

“Have you guys thought about buying him a harness and leash?” I suggested.

Chase sucked in a breath. “Do not tell Y/N that. She won’t even let Salem sit in front of an open window because she’s afraid he’ll jump out and run away.”

“Speaking of Y/N,” I adjusted Salem in my arms. “Is she home?”

“No, not yet. Do you want to stay and wait? See her before we leave?” Malcolm offered with a smile.

I looked at my watch and internally cringed. The guys were waiting for me to get back from therapy before heading out towards our rental house a few hours away.

“Shit, I would but I have to get back home. Plus, I don’t want to push her. I want this to happen naturally,” I said.

Chase snorted, now standing next to Malcolm. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m serious,” I chuckled.

“We know, dude. But, you could always-.”

“I have to get back home,” I said, interrupting Malcolm. “But I’ll text Y/N later.”

“Okay,” Chase says in a sing-song voice, belting out the last few words. “Whatever you say.”

I cringed, covering Salem’s ears. “Wow, almost as good as me. Except, my ear drums are probably fucked now.”

“Oh fuck you, Mr. Steve Perry meets Cher. I can sing,” he held his hands up.

“No, you can’t, love” Malcom left a kiss on Chase’s cheek.

He looked between us with a wild expression. “WOW! Taking his side!?”

“Well!,” I adjusted Salem and the bag. “That’s my queue to leave.”

“Figures, thank you for taking care of your new cat,” Chase said.

“My new cat?”

“Salem Sebastian L/N, that’s pretty much his name now,” Malcolm said while throwing his auburn-colored hair up into a messy bun.

I hastily shook my head. “We haven’t even labeled it yet.”

Chase and Malcolm shared a look before the former spoke. “Oh no, we’re not doing this again. You and Y/N are two peas in a pod, and I know how badly you both want to be in that pod.”

“Especially with that new haircut,” Malcolm nodded towards my short hair.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” I bid them goodbye with a nod and turned on my heels, stepping through the door.

“Bye Salem’s dad! Talk to you later,” Chase called after me.

On the drive back home, Salem was perched in my lap with his front paws resting on the door, his wondrous eyes taking in every sight I drove past.

“You know,” my voice broke the silence. “I guess your uncle isn’t exactly wrong, Salem. I mean, I could be your dad. Do you want me to be your dad? I think you do.”

He then positioned himself so he could curl up in my lap, his soft purrs vibrating against me.

NOAH

“Are you guys ok with steaks tonight?” Jolly asked from the kitchen.

Matt, who sat next to me on the couch, nodded eagerly. “We’ve eaten like shit the last two days. A nice home-cooked meal sounds delicious, thanks, honey.”

Jolly flipped him off with a smile before going back to getting things set up for dinner.

Nicholas and Folio were talking amongst themselves on the couch next to the one I sat on, but the conversations fell on deaf ears as I continuously scrolled through my phone. The last two days, we’d been locked away in the rental house recording the new album and now, we were taking a much-needed break tonight, opting to grill out and have a bonfire; Jesse and Michael joined us earlier today.

The guys and I have been talking about this for a while now and after the incident right before we left to come up to the mountains, it was time for us to put this idea into motion.

Also, the picture I saw on Y/N’s Instagram story minutes before had me set in stone with my decision.

“We need a bigger house,” I blurted, nearly scaring Salem as he slept between Matt and me.

Jolly nearly dropped the raw steaks while Jesse turned towards me from his spot at the kitchen table.

“That’s random,” Michael said slowly while pausing his mixing at the laptop station.

I shrugged. “We’ve been thinking of moving anyway because of the notes on the car incident and now with that fan showing up on our doorstep, I think it’s about time we move. Too many people know where we live.”

My three roommates shared a glance before Jesse spoke next. “I mean, we have been browsing Zillow lately. A few have come up that we liked.”

Jolly agreed with a nod. “I’ll send an email to the realtor who was working with us before. See if she can get us set up with some tours.”

“Tomorrow,” I said.

“Kind of last minute, don’t you think?” Nicholas asked.

“We’re going to be busy for the next few months. I’d rather get this shit done and over with.”

Matt, who was scrolling through his phone next to me, snorted quietly. “I’d suggest looking for hardwood floors or tile.”

I turned toward him while narrowing my eyes. “What?”

“For the paint spills, it’s easier to clean,” he said while showing me his phone; Y/N’s Instagram post up on the screen. “Look at your face! You’re totally turning turnip fucking red!

With a bashful smile, I scratched my chin. “No, I’m not.”

“Noah and Y/N sitting in a large tree because of Noah’s height! K. I. S. S. I. N. G!”

I shoved Matt. “Fuck off.”

Then I turned back to my roommates. “We need a bigger space with seven bedrooms.”

Jolly quirked a brow. “Seven?”

“Uh,” I ran my hands over my thighs. “Y/N wants a studio for her art, her paintings. I want to make sure she has one.”

Michael smiled. “Well that certainly is a grand gesture isn’t it?”

“It’s something I want to do, man,” I defended.

“I know, Noah. We’ll find a bigger place, it’ll all work out,” he reassured me.

“I hope so.”

Jolly paused prepping dinner to send an email to our realtor, Jackie, as we all spent the rest of the night searching for different houses that would be perfect. All the while, Folio’s phone conversation rested on my ears.

“I know those Mexican candies are your favorite, Michelle. Why do you think I sent you them?” Folio chuckled with a wide smile.

“Noah, it’s almost ten!” Nicholas called from the deck outside.

The patio door was open, letting in the cool night air, and I was helping Jolly clean up the mess from dinner. Salem sat on the counter, every so often licking up the leftover food from the plates I was washing.

“Shit,” I cursed, quickly drying my hands, and pulled out my phone.

However, before I could send the nightly text to Y/N, one from her appeared.

Angel 🪽: I love you, mochi.

Jolly peered over my shoulder. “Oh, that’s adorable.”

I playfully stuck out my tongue at him. “Someone is nosy.”

My fingers worked fast to text Y/N back.

Me: I love you too, angel.

Part of me didn’t want to stop talking to her yet so while leaning against the counter, I scrolled through the videos folder on my phone, selecting the one I took earlier today. It was when we finished mastering The Grey and I was feeling great about how it came out, confident that Y/N would love it so I recorded Salem as he slept during it. Before recording another video of me singing it.

I sent her the first video I took; the one of Salem lying on the couch while The Grey played in the background.

Angel 🪽: Hi Salem baby! Mom misses you! Also, I hear something in the background. Is it..?

I decided to mess with her and not come out right and say it was that song. The one that she gave Jolly the lyrics to. The one she thought was too dark for herself.

Me: He’s napping. He had a long day of playing outside.

I laughed out loud, knowing that her brows were raised to her forehead with this text.

Angel 🪽: You took him outside?

“Do you think Mom is upset with me?” I asked the cat, who simply didn’t bother to care what I was showing him; he wanted the leftover mashed potatoes from Matt’s plate.

Me: Don’t worry, angel. We had him on a harness and leash. He loved laying in the sun on the back patio.

Angel 🪽: I trust you with him, Noah. But what’s that playing in the background of your video?

With my finger hovering over the other video I took, I contemplated sending it. Was it too much? Was it not enough? Would she figure it out? I mean, it was partially her words- meaningful, important. I just added to them. Both of us pulled out the dark from each other. Adding it shirtless, was just another decision- a good, good decision. I wanted her clenching and biting her lip.

Not bothering to overthink it any longer, I hit send.

Me: I can’t wait for you to hear the final version.

NOAH

Mother fucker.

Piece of shit.

Douchebag.

I paced the floor in the living room of the rental house, back and forth. I was so angry, the rage inside me was desperately trying to break through. Ever since I saw that video all over Twitter and Instagram, no amount of meditation and deep breathing could calm the burning anger.

I should have hit him when I had the chance.

Fucking Trey.

“You’re doing the pacing thing again, Noah,” Nicholas sighed.

I ran my fingers through my hair, one of the stands wrapped around my long finger, a hiss falling from my lips when I tugged on a knot. “Ow!”

“Sit down! Stop pacing and stop tugging your damn hair! You’re giving me whiplash.” Matt demanded.

“You saw the video, Matt! It’s been all over Twitter and Instagram all fucking day. I can't even check Bad Omens socials without it showing up. You heard what Trey said to Y/N! He had no regard for her feelings, for any of them. He has no fucking business even being there to begin with.”

It seemed like last night after the Hollow Souls show, Trey managed to get backstage and confront Y/N, Chase, and Malcolm. No one was sure who recorded it but from how close the video was, my guess was one of the venue workers. Probably sold it to TMZ for a few extra bucks.

“I’m aware, Noah. We’re all aware and so is half of Twitter. He’s an asshole and his dad should have pulled out,” Matt said.

I snorted, halting my pacing only for a moment. “We should tweet that.”

He chuckled, “You know I’m game.”

Jesse spoke next. “There’s nothing you can do, Noah. But based on her reaction, Y/N stood up for herself. She got the closure and told Trey to fuck off. You can’t control and fix everything. She handled it on her own.”

I marveled at how much he sounded like Dr. Poulos. Always reminding me of what I can’t control. I knew I couldn’t control or fix anything but it still made me angry.

“He still had no right to say things like that; not to her,” I fell onto the couch next to Michael, my leg immediately beginning to bounce.

Bailey told Y/N a piece of her mind, followed by Trey. I could only imagine how broken she must have felt with the two in such a short amount of time. But Y/N was a strong woman. She held her head high and always took the high road. She defended herself and stood up for what she believed in, what she wanted out of life.

For that, I will always admire her.

Matt leaned against the pool stick in his hand, he and Jolly pausing their game of pool when I rushed down the steps to show them the video.

“I get it. So many fucking people with their opinions and people who say shit just to say it; even that slimy fuck. But, think of how fucking cool Y/N is. She told him off and he's never going to come back from that. Trust me, everyone’s trashing him. I doubt he’ll ever be in a fuckin band again.”

“You’re right,” I smiled proudly.

He snorted, going back to the pool game. “I know I am, thank you.”

Peering at the clock on the wall, I noticed it was only 7 in the evening, still a few hours until my nightly text with Y/N. Although I wanted to ask her about how she was feeling but knew that if it was something to worry about, Chase or Malcolm would have texted me.

I was, however, shocked when I received a text from an unknown number; the message making me sit straighter up on the couch. Michael noticed the way my body went stiff for a brief moment and motioned to my phone.

“Don’t tell me it’s another video.”

“No,” I shook my head. “It’s a text; from Joe.”

Folio’s head snapped up from petting Salem who was lying in his lap. “Joe Mulherin. The artist they’re touring with?”

I nodded now. “Yeah.”

Unknown: Hey Noah, this is Joe. I got your number from Chase and Malcolm. This is a little awkward but I wanted to introduce myself. I’ve actually listened to your band- you’re really talented! The acoustic version of If I’m There was killer, seriously.

“Oh, is he sweet-talking you?” Matt asked while peering over my shoulder as he knelt behind the couch.

As I went about saving his number, another message from Joe came through.

Joe Mulherin: I’m texting you because I’m sure you saw the video of what happened with Trey and Y/N. I will firstly say, she’s fucking awesome! And I’m honored to be on this tour with her and the guys. Incredible musicians and incredible people. Gearing back to the whole Trey situation, he showed up out of nowhere; but I feel it’s important to let you know, at least from my side, that Y/N kicked ass. She stood up for herself and I could see she felt a world of relief.

“What are you going to say?” Jesse asked while taking a bite from his apple, now sitting on the other side of me.

“No fucking privacy,” I grumbled under my breath as I worked out a response.

Me: Hey Joe, it’s Noah. I’ve heard a lot about you as well. Y/N has been a huge fan of yours for a long time. She was stoked about this tour, and yes she is awesome. Y/N’s special to a lot of us. She’s a genuine person and has a heart of gold; Chase and Malcolm as well. I appreciate your kind words. That means a lot. You know how it is- especially in this industry. And I did see the video, unfortunately. You were there?

Joe Mulherin: In case she needed support.

Running a hand over my jaw, I pushed away the feeling of regret for not being there for her. Y/N didn’t need me there with her all the time to fight her battles. She clearly could do it on her own.

Me: Right, thank you for that. I hated what Trey said, I wish I could have stopped it myself but I also know how important it was for Y/N to have closure. I’m so fucking proud of her.

It was true. My heart was soaring in my chest with how proud I was of her. She needed this closure. Not enough to bring her back or get closer to him because Y/N knew she couldn't live through that again.

Joe Mulherin: You should be proud. She’s awesome and she’s over the moon about you. From what I’m told you really lit a fire inside her, and that seems to be shining through. My partner did that for me when I found her and I’m sure it’s the same for you as well. So I just wanted to pass this along and formally introduce myself. I’m sure Y/N will bring this up to you but I wanted to show you how I saw it on my end. I hope we can meet soon.

Joe Mulherin: Oh, also. Hollow Souls new record is going to be sick. What they’ve been working on is sounding great.

With a bright smile, I leaned back onto the couch as I typed out my message.

Me: For sure! Thank you so much. I wish I could be there. But, I understand it’s not the right time. I do hope soon we can chill at my place to shoot the shit. Thank you again for sending me a text. Very kind of you and I’m sure we’ll talk soon. I can’t wait to hear her new album. We’re all very stoked about it. We’re also close to releasing our record, I’d love for you to check it out!

Joe Mulherin: Hell yes!

Matt hummed while patting my shoulder. “He seems like a cool dude.”

I agreed with a nod as a sudden surge of inspiration hit me; so much so I sat up with a start.

“Hey, Jolly. Can you open the file for Like a Villain? I have a verse I want to add real quick.”

Nicholas responded. “Weren’t we worried that it might have been too long?”

Cursing, I nodded when I remembered that we were running into that issue the other day when we were mixing Like a Villain. We were already over the five-minute mark but I needed to add this verse; it was important.

“Let’s split it. Make the first half its own song,” I suggested when the idea struck me.

My bandmates all shared a look before Folio nodded. “I like it. But we’d need a name for it.”

I pursed my lips as I thought about the lyrics, humming them quietly.

You couldn't wait, wait, wait for the day, day, day I lost. It's such a shame, shame, shame you couldn't change, look what it cost.

“What It Cost,” I said.

Jolly smiled. “I like it. Why don’t you head in the booth and we can record the new lyrics.”

As I set myself up in the booth, I muttered the new lyrics to myself a few times over, trying to figure out the best way to lay them out and what kind of cursive to use for it. The music picked up in my headphones and immediately moved to the beat. My fingers drummed against my thigh in beat with Folio’s drumming on the track. I let my eyes flutter shut, licking my lips, before belting out the fresh lyrics in the confines of the booth.

The dark filled the room, any feelings I had earlier regarding Trey died down, and the shadows were lost. A fry of my larynx and siren-like soprano erupted from me. Slowly the bravado went from soft almost alluring- “Go the fuck away, don’t come again.”

To a bite so vicious and raw, the growls come from activated my soft palate, ribcage expanding and within my diaphragm spreading to my throat and out my mouth.

“I’ll see your face in the fire” ribcage closed exhale alto “And burn it out.”

I added a deep growl to the word fire but didn’t like how it sounded. So with a twirl of my finger towards Jolly, we redid the take a few more times until it was perfect.

This is confidence hard-won yet deep, anchored in the true self that is always safe at my core. I let it rip. If Y/N can close that chapter, so will I. From what I knew of him, what I remembered. What I’ve seen.

Good fucking riddance.

Later that night in the comfort of my bed, I grasped my phone in my hand as my eyes drifted in and out of sleep. It was almost 10 pm and even though I was exhausted, ready for slumber to drag me to its dark depths, I needed to send this text; sleep be damned.

Me: I love you, angel. I’m so proud of you.

I didn’t say why but I didn’t have to. Y/N knew.

Angel 🪽: I love you too, mochi. 🖤

NOAH

I shook my head with a disappointed sigh. “No, this house won’t work. It’s not big enough. “

Jackie looked around the living room we were all currently standing in; smaller than the one back at our house.

“Why? It has enough space for the four of you. You’re all in music, right? There’s a room perfect in the basement for that.”

Jolly sucked in a breath as I scrunched up my face. We want our studio to have light, and not feel as if we’re making music in a dungeon.

“We need four rooms for us and two extra. One for our studio. And the other would have to be bigger, better lighting,” I informed while stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jeans.

This was the second house we’ve toured today; Jesse, Jolly, Michael, and myself. We took the day off of recording to do this, so to see yet another one fail, my mood souring pretty quickly.

“What are you wanting it for?” Jackie wondered.

“An art studio.”

She shifted on her feet while clutching her iPad to her chest; the one she used to look up the dimensions and notes of the houses. “Mr. Sebastian, we can keep looking if you’d like, however, you’re asking for a little much in this area. I don’t mean to pry or speak out of turn, but it sounds like you’re asking for a risky property. Are you sure you need something of that magnitude if it’s only a few of you living here?”

My eyes narrowed as Jesse let out a low whistle. “I was very clear about what I wanted. I personally don’t believe I need to discuss the details of why I need it.”

“Of course, I apologize,” Jackie’s lips were pulled in a tight line. “It sounds like you’re asking for more out of pocket than what’s actually necessary.”

“With all due respect, don't tell me what you think is necessary. I want the home to be right, for all of us. And what I want and need is a space large enough for 2 studios and the master bedroom to be fully sufficient with space. The details don’t concern you. You either want our money or you don’t,” I finished with a shrug.

“My apologies, we will keep looking.”

While Jackie went about looking for another listing on her iPad, I turned towards the guys; Michael giving me a reassuring smile.

“Don’t stress too much about it, Noah. It’s only the second house.”

“Y/N’s art studio has to be next to my room, with the perfect lighting and easy cleanup. I don’t want her feeling uneasy if paint gets everywhere,” I said.

“Is this how you actually feel or is this your OCD talking?” Jesse wondered.

I rubbed my jaw. “No, no it’s not just about that shit. She needs to be comfortable where she doesn’t feel the need to be careful. Y/N needs to be able to be carefree and safe. Here. With me.”

Jolly rested a hand on my shoulder. “It will be fine, I promise.”

“I know,” I blew out a shaky breath. “I don’t want her to be unhappy here and give her a reason to walk out”.

“Noah, she’s gonna love this so much. Y/N isn’t going to just walk away from this. Not this time,” Jesse reassured me.

Feeling a little more at ease, I gave a slow nod. “Oh, we need a big window with a lot of light too. Salem loves to sunbathe.”

Michael snorted. “You say those three words and all of a sudden you become a cat dad.”

Damn straight.

With a plan to tour a few more houses in two days, we parted ways with Jackie and piled into Jolly’s car as he began the drive back to the rental house we were staying in the last week. Right before we arrived, however, my phone rang with a call from one of the reps at Sumerian.

“Oh boy,” I muttered while answering the call, setting it on speaker.

“Hey, guys! How’s it going? I see that you guys are busy recording. We love that!” Logan’s fake voice boasted through the phone.

Jolly and I shared a look in the rearview mirror and I nodded. “Yep. We’ve been working nonstop.”

“Well listen, we’re getting some push from the higher-ups, with everything going on and we know you guys have been working endlessly, the singles we’ve been approved to release are straight-up fire! However, we need something else. We need a hit. The radio push would be great for the band- exposure and all that. Think you can do it?”

“Yes,” I forced out through gritted teeth.

One thing I didn’t like was being told how to work and how to create my music.

“Awesome!” Logan cheered. “We’ll talk soon!”

Once the call ended, I tossed my phone in my lap and ran my hands down my face.

“Fuck, they’re pushing this radio shit. I don’t give a fuck about the radio, that’s not why we do this.”

“I know,” Jolly nodded while he took the turn to the familiar street. “But business calls. This is the unfavorable side. The question is, how are we going to magically write a hit in this short amount of time? We planned on releasing the album in a few weeks.”

“It’s easy, writing a modern rock song isn’t hard, Jolly.” I shrugged. “We’ve seen how many of the greats have done it. I have one just in mind.”

Jesse turned towards me from his spot in the passenger seat. “Are you going to pull out your Scott Stap voice?”

I smirked. “Fuck, maybe I will.

“You have to use that false bravado,” Michael smacked my arm.

I knew I could do this, I wasn’t attempting to sound cocky but, like I said many of the greats knew how this went down.

Business.

Fuck business

I feel it right into my bones that I’ve got more than it takes to make this work. I began humming random sounds, my facial expressions twitching, the cogs just continuing to turn. I had the perfect sound. It all came to me like a gust of wind.

When you resonate your mind with your soul, you will learn to live through a love that is so honest it is raw. There was another risk with a song like this; with writing like this.

I needed to get it out of me.

NOAH

I sat outside on the deck of the rental house, the fresh morning air was crisp but fine enough to wear a sweater; the heat of the sun warmed the skin of my face. Salem lay stretched out on the warm wood of the deck, his black fur shining with the rays of the sun.

“Don’t tell Mom I didn’t put your harness on,” I pointed to him

I realized early on that Salem wouldn’t run, curious as he was, he always stayed by one of us.

My laptop was set up on the table in front of me, the Zoom app idling as it waited for the incoming call. With the stress of trying to come up with a radio hit in less than a few weeks, my anxiety was running rampant. Even though I had the song all laid out in my mind, it still scared me to finally put it out in the air for everyone to hear.

I texted Dr. Poulos if she had time for a few-minute chat, one she agreed with. Thankfully her prior appointment was also a Zoom meeting so she was able to hop right on another one with me.

Jolly appeared in the doorway leading outside, donning his leather jacket. The wind blew through the long strands of his hair as he nodded towards me.

“I’m heading to that newish coffee shop nearby. Did you want anything?” He asked.

“I could go for something,” I nodded while taking off the hood of my yellow sweater.

After I gave him my order, I noticed the way the corner of his lips curled before he turned to walk away.

“Try not to fall in love!” I called after him with a laugh.

Jolly froze and then looked over his shoulder. “Wh-what?”

“The coffee,” I smirked. “Try not to fall in love with it. I’m all open to something new but we like our usual.”

“Oh,” he ran a hand through his hair. “Right.”

With Jolly gone, my computer lit up with a new call from Dr.Poulos and I answered it with a faint smile.

“Good afternoon, Noah. How’s it going in the mountains?” She smiled wide at me.

“Uh, really great actually. We always like to find some kind of solace when we either write or record; it helps us mentally,” I answered while moving the screen to show her the mountains behind me.

“That’s wonderful to hear! Now, you mentioned something about your record label pushing for a radio hit?” Dr. Poulos adjusted her glasses.

I ran a hand through my hair while nodding. “Yeah. I have no problem with that; writing it. It’s been inside of me for a while now. I just don’t know what to call it. I keep putting that part off, pretending it’s already completed so it’ll name itself.”

“Can I be frank with you?”

“Of course,” I nodded.

Dr. Poulos took off her glasses and steepled her hands together underneath her chin. “What do you feel like you’ve been doing, Noah? You’ve mentioned the word pretend on and off for a while in our sessions. Is that what you’re doing? Pretending things are going well when internally you’re struggling to accept the status you’re at with y/n?”

My eyes snapped up from my keyboard to the screen. “What was that?”

“Pretending? Are you just pretending?”

Suddenly, it was as if I’d been hit with a metal baseball bat to the knee, knocking me to the ground below.

Something Y/N told me that night of the party. “I’m so tired of you pretending that you don’t have feelings for me.”

Just Pretend.

That’s all I ever do.

Dr. Poulos spoke again. “You said your label is pressuring you to write a hit. Have you given any thought about if that pressure and the pressure of wanting to be with Y/N romantically is almost conjoined?”

I pursed my lips while leaning back into my chair, giving this question a deep analysis; although the answer came to me almost instantly.

Yes.

NOAH

With a yawn, I held the steaming cup from the cafe in town as Salem and I walked out to the front porch, both of us opting to sit on the swinging chair this time. We had two days left in the rental house and I wanted to take full advantage of the peace that was held in the mountains.

Something that maybe in a few years, I’d look for with Y/N.

“Alright bud, ready to watch Mom’s interview?” I asked Salem as he got comfortable on my lap.

He purred loudly in my lap as I pulled up the live stream from the podcast that was interviewing not only Y/N but Joe as well. He was finishing up his performance of one of his songs and when the camera panned over to Y/N, who was smiling as she watched, my heart soared. She looked fucking breathtaking and my soul yearned to have her close to me again.

Soon.

“Mom looks beautiful,” I whispered to Salem, who didn’t bother to wake from his nap.

“That was phenomenal. We appreciate you being here with us.”

I didn’t miss how the interviewer kept his attention on Joe, not bothering to give praise to Y/N. With a scowl, I kept the video up while opening my text messages, and clicking on her contact. I got a glimpse of her phone in her lap so I knew eventually she would see the message.

Me: You look phenomenal, angel.

As I watched, I took a sip of my coffee, humming at the rich taste. I had to admit that this new coffee shop knew how to make a drink.

“Everyone online is begging me to ask you two this but what’s the dating situation? There’s so much chemistry between the two of you in the behind-the-scenes clips you guys post on Instagram. Everyone wants to know; are you two dating?”

I rolled my eyes with a groan, knowing that this question was bound to be asked. It’s always a common thing any time two artists of the opposite sex tour together. People see the great chemistry between them and automatically think they’re fucking. Now, I did see the videos on Hollow Souls Instagram account but to me, it looked like a group of friends having fun while on tour; harmless fun.

I trusted Y/N. She knew that.

Y/N crossed her legs. “Just because a male and female artist tour together, doesn't mean they’re dating.”

A flood of endorphins rushed through me. The interview was important, but I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful and fucking sexy Y/N looked. A few moments in my imagination and I’m released from the troubles of the upper brain, wanting so badly to be happy with her in a space where pleasure is king, and I couldn’t wait to stick my head between the legs of my queen.

“Fuckin tell him, angel,” I said while working out a new text to her.

Me: Tell him who’s boss, angel. You know who you belong to.

“See? Your mom is cool. Salem you should be watching this. No? Naps are important. I feel you,” I chuckled while scratching his head.

I felt a surge of pride in my chest when Y/N continued to stand up to the interviewer, not taking his shit questions.

“Video surfaced online that Trey was at the show a few nights ago and it looked like the two of you were having an intense conversation. Is there a chance he’s joining Hollow Souls again?”

My lips pulled in a low scowl as I saw a flash of pain behind Y/N’s eyes when she forced a smile before leaning forward with narrowed eyes.

“Here’s what we’re not going to do; we’re not gonna focus on my love life, or personal life. I make art, not headlines. I’m cool because I'm me, and my band is cool. The art is what’s the focus, not anything else. I do feel as if people need to understand that having a private life is my right. I don’t feel comfortable sharing every aspect. Like I said, I make art, not headlines.”

The interviewer tried to joke. “That’s a bold statement to make. It comes with the whole fame territory.”

“I refuse to allow this time in my life to be touched, tainted, or bastardized by anyone,” Y/N finished while crossing her arms over her chest.

All the heat rushed straight to my dick with the image of Y/N bossing me around like that so I sent her another text.

Me: Fuck I love when you put douchebags in their place. You’re so sexy, angel. Fuck. I’m going to think about you bossing me around all night.

I knew I succeeded when I noticed a red hue cross her cheeks and Y/N squeezed her legs together as she read my text.

As the interview continued, I began to sing lyrics that came out of nowhere. “I know the pain that you hide behind the smile on your face and not a day goes by where I don’t think I feel the same.”

Y/N’s soft voice brought my attention back to the interview.

“I’m becoming a very private person as of late so I don’t need to go into the personal aspects of my life. Just know I’m moving past things, and I’m very content. Dare I say happy with where the future will be.”

The interviewer nodded. “Fair enough. Would you say you’re hopeful for what the future will bring?”

With a bright smile, Y/N looked directly at the camera, her eyes staring directly into my soul, and winked.

“Oh yes, more than hopeful.”

Once the interview ended, I locked my phone and began to swing on the chair, every so often petting Salem. The sun was hiding behind an array of dark clouds, a storm was approaching; the perfect kind of weather to cuddle inside with the ones you love.

Or write a radio hit.

“I can wait for you at the bottom,” I hummed. “I can stay away if you want me to.”

Salem woke and looked up at me with bright green eyes.

“I can wait for years if I gotta, heaven knows I ain’t getting over you,” I hummed, this time louder.

My eyes bulged as I picked up Salem and ran back inside to where Jolly and Matt were lounging on the couch.

“They want their radio hit? Well, I’m going to fucking give it to them!” I smiled widely as they looked up at me.

Hours later after the song was written, all of us hung out in the living room of the rental house; Jesse and Michael playing pool, Folio on the phone with his girlfriend, Nicholas and Jolly working on the music for the new song. Matt and I were sitting on the couch together watching a movie, Salem perched on the back of the couch, resting his head on Matt’s shoulder.

Noticing it was nearing 10 p.m., I pulled out my phone to text Y/N only to realize she texted me already with four pictures attached.

Angel 🪽: You were bold to text me earlier like that, mochi, I could barely contain myself. Here’s a little payback. Hope you’re all flustered and bothered, whatever you’re doing I suppose will have to wait. Dream of me. I love you.

Clicking on the first picture, I nearly dropped my phone in my lap when the bright red lingerie graced my eyes.

Holy shit.

Y/N seemed to be in the bathroom of her tour bus as she posed in different positions showcasing the red lace teddy that hugged every inch of her marvelously. The color red did absolute wonders for her skin and I licked my lips, wanting to taste the valley between her breasts down her stomach to the sweet mound between her legs. The floral tattoo on her arm looked gorgeous as she held the phone out wide for the picture.

Tilting my phone away from prying eyes, I quickly sent four texts in a row to Y/N.

Me: Matt’s right next to me, angel. What if he saw this?

Me: fuck, my dick is throbbing right now but I can’t do shit about it. Consider this my karma.

Me: I can’t stop staring at the pictures. Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Beautiful. A true definition of an angel.

Me: I’m going to call you in a little bit. I need to hear your voice. I need it.

My cock was aching in my joggers and I tried so hard not to make it noticeable as I shifted in my seat.

Matt peered over at me with a raised brow. “You good?”

I coughed. “Yep. I’m going to head to bed.”

All but jumping from the couch, I made my way upstairs towards my room but Jesse’s voice stopped me.

“You’re not bringing Salem? He always sleeps with you.”

Running a hand over my jaw. “I’m going to take a shower first then I’ll grab him.”

“Right after you look at those pictures Y/N’s sent you again,” Matt teased, not bothering to take his eyes off the television.

A low growl came from my throat as I pointed to him. “You didn’t see shit.”

He raised his hands in the air. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Bidding them goodnight with a nod, I took the stairs two at a time and then locked the door to my room. My skin felt a blaze, those images burned in my brain, and my cock was almost standing straight out as I peered down at it; a tent in my joggers.

Y/N texted me and I let out a shuddering breath as I read it, trying to compose myself for a minute.

Angel 🪽: I’m going to bed early tonight. Maybe we can talk on the phone tomorrow. I love you.

Even in my aroused state, my heart yearned for the one that held it and my soul in her hands.

Me: Fuck, I love you too angel. So fucking much.

Quickly shedding myself from my clothes I then positioned myself on the bed, my hair falling into waves against the pillow as I planted my feet on the edge of the mattress. My knees were up and spread wide as my cock stood straight up, little beads of precum oozing from the small slit. I took a finger and swirled it all around the sensitive part of my head.

“Fuck,” my hips bucked with the high amount of sensitivity.

My room was eerily quiet, too quiet for what I was about to do, so I turned on some music; more specifically Eyelids by Hollow Souls.

If she couldn’t be here with me physically, I needed to hear her angelic voice somehow.

I glanced at the pictures on my phone again, focusing on the one of Y/N sitting on the bathroom counter, her legs spread wide showcasing her sweet pussy that was barely covered behind the red lace, and her perfect tits were almost falling out at the top of the lingerie set. The sinister smirk on his lips told me she knew what I was going to do the second I was alone.

I was fucking obsessed with how that teddy looked on her; her knowing what the color red did to me. It was so sexy, all I wanted to do was take it off with my teeth. I imagined Y/N as she rode me while wearing this teddy and she shoved the panties in my mouth when I would moan too loud.

“Oh god,” I groaned while gripping my cock tight after pulling on the skin.

Her voice sang sweet words to me but all I could imagine was her leaning over me to drag her lips across my throat.

“You’re being too loud, Noah. We can’t risk the others hearing you.”

I could almost taste those panties soaked with her arousal and I halted my stroking for a second.

“Fuck! I have to improvise,” I leaned over the bed to rummage through my suitcase to find a thin sock.

I hesitated for a brief second. “Shit, am I really doing this just to help get me off?”

The image was still clear in my mind, Y/N riding my cock with her panties shoved in my mouth.

“Fuck it,” I stuffed the sock in my mouth and began stroking my cock faster this time.

I knew I wouldn’t last long, my orgasm burning low at the base of my spine and my stomach muscles contracted as I spread my knees wider apart. I lifted my hips off the bed when the grip around my cock was almost bruising, needing the slight pain to push me closer to release. One hand around my cock, the other holding my phone with the picture of Y/N, I supported my moans into the sock.

If I was being honest, Eros took hold of me. I couldn’t wait to be able to actually fuck Y/N again. I’d make love to her every night, no question. This evening, carnality took flight. I wanted to leave her shaking, crying, and clawing at my chest. Begging me to never stop.

“Oh gods, angel. I can’t wait to feel you again,” I moaned into the sock as I nearly dropped my phone when my orgasm was so close.

My grip was tighter and pace faster when I laid my legs straight out now, ready for pure euphoric bliss to drown me in waves.

I was completely blissed out and exhausted, but I needed this release. I tried harder to hold the phone up eventually losing grip of it as it clattered to the floor. With my free hand, I now grasped at the blanket beneath me when my orgasm finally ripped through me. Warm cum shot out on my hand and stomach as I rode out the aftershocks with muffled screams, the song ending right as I finished.

“That’s so good, Noah. So good for me,” Y/N’s soft voice cooed in my ear.

As I came down from my high, one thing was clear. I wanted Y/N imprinted in my mind as vividly as possible, not that her silhouette wasn’t always there already. I could feel my tongue involuntarily move in a wiper direction. Naturally envision grazing her insides with my warm, wet tongue.

NOAH

Folio came bounding down the stairs with a happy smile on his face. I raised a brow to him as I sat on the couch, strumming a few notes on the guitar.

“Where are you headed?” I asked.

“I’ve got a date with Michelle tonight. We’re going to Wingstop then head to the drive-in. It’s showing her favorite Cillian Murphy movie,” he answered while slipping into his leather vest.

“Taking the bike out?” Jolly asked from his spot at the computer as he paused mixing our current track.

“We’re going to have a picnic at the drive-in; there’s a nice area designated for this. Michelle has no idea. I’m planning on surprising her after she gets out of class by picking her up.”

“Good for you, man. I’m really happy that things are going so well for you,” Nicholas smiled.

“You guys don’t need me tonight, right?” He asked.

I shook my head with a smile. “No, go enjoy your night. We can't do much drum tracking here anyway. Tell Michelle we say hey.”

“WEAR A CONDOM!” Matt, who was sitting on the floor playing with Salem and his new batch of toys, yelled just before the door shut behind Folio.

While Jesse and Michael played a game of pool, I shifted my attention to the notebook on the coffee table. Tonight we had plans to record our new song but nerves were eating away at my insides. To become so raw and vulnerable in front of everyone as I poured my heart and soul out into the song gave me a bit of pause.

“You know what’s wild?” I asked suddenly.

“What’s that?” Jolly questioned while turning around in his chair.

“It’s crazy how everything always comes full circle, I guess. With our last record, I said, “writing songs instead of letters, 'cause I’m too afraid.”

“Have you written actual letters?” Matt questioned while lying on the floor with Salem, his head resting in the new bed I bought Salem.

“Sort of,” I shrugged while tapping the pen against my notebook. “More like entries to Y/N, I guess. I can’t write fucking letters to her knowing that there’s a chance they’d get lost and she’d never get them.”

I sighed while running a hand down my face. “The only way I know how to express how I feel is through music. I have these lines I keep repeating over and over; things I've said, things I haven't. I just need to make sure that when Y/N hears this song she knows how I truly feel.”

“Here we thought you were writing this song out of spite to the label, or poke fun at radio hits,” Jolly jokes.

“I don’t know what that means. They wanted a fucking hit so we’re going to give it to them.

Nicholas rubbed my shoulder. “She knows, Noah. You two say I love you every night.”

“I know but I need her to know how I feel deep down. How sorry I am for how everything went down the last few months. The fighting, Bailey, and not being who she needed when she needed me.”

The guilt about Bailey still lingered. The way Y/N’s face looked so broken when she found out about me sleeping with Bailey. I have a lot of regrets in my life and that was one of them. Y/N and I are in a good place but I couldn’t help but worry that she still wasn’t over what happened.

I couldn't risk any reason to have Y/N leave me again.

“The both of you have grown since then. You’re where you’re supposed to be right now and soon, when Y/N hears this song, she’ll never leave,” Michael reassured me.

Jesse agreed with a nod. “We’ve read the lyrics, Noah. It’s a great song.”

“It's not hard to guess what the true meaning behind the song is. You’ve been subconsciously working on it off and on for months.”

“Jolly-.”

He continued. “You both need to just make it official already. Your perfectionist nature and need to control everything is making this not so simple. You’re both so alike. You’re right there. You're saying I love you, call a spade a spade and ask her to be yours.”

I stared down at the socks on my feet. “If Y/N shows up to the album release event maybe I can officially ask her then.”

“Maybe?” Matt snorted. “What the hell do you mean, maybe? You’re looking for houses with an art studio and you’re saying maybe? Of course, she’ll be there.”

“You’ve done everything you’ve set your fucking mind to, Noah. Don’t let this be another thing you regret,” Nicholas said.

I wanted to let this song be the rock and holy anchor for her. Coming to terms from a healthier perspective.

New beginnings.

My vulnerability was laid out on paper. If anyone else needed to hear it it would be there for them. The message is there, you’d just have to find it.

The way travelers seek the stars at night.

With a deep breath, I tossed the notebook back onto the table, not needing it because I knew every single word of this song. So much so, I sang it in my sleep.

“Give me five minutes, I need to do something first,” I called over my shoulder as I walked towards the bathroom of the rental house.

Once inside, I pulled out my phone with a long sigh and worked out the long message.

Me: Hi angel. I know it’s not 10 o’clock yet but I felt the need to text you a little sooner. Shit has been weighing on me. I want to apologize for what I put you through. The miscommunication, the mind games, the confusion, and Bailey. I should never have brought her into any of our lives. It was a dark moment that I succumbed to and I’ll never forgive myself for using Bailey as a way to hurt you. It was never my intention. I was drunk the night I slept with her, not saying it’s an excuse, but it was a dark place in my life that I never want to go back to.

Blowing out a shaky breath, I hit send before working out another message.

Me: My apology is for not being better, for not getting here sooner, for not rescuing earlier or with greater strength; all I ask is that you forgive me for those transgressions. In those times I was doing the very best I could and loving you so very much all the time. I love you so much, Y/N. I’m hoping that with this, we’re starting clean. There’s been a lot of different phases of my life and I can’t be the best I can unless I make amends for everything wrong that happened between us. I love you.

As I waited for Y/N to reply, I sat on the counter in the bathroom and let my long legs dangle off, swinging with anticipation. I nearly dropped my phone when it buzzed in my hand.

Angel 🪽: hi mochi. Well, first I’ll say thank you. Thank you for communicating with me and apologizing. With the weeks we’ve been apart since I’ve been working on myself too. I forgive you. I accepted that while it did hurt me, you made a mistake. I want us to let go of the negative emotions and painful parts of memories.

For many years I had punished myself, feeling that if I forgave more fully then love would blossom; yet in truth, it had never been there at all. Things have changed. I want to be better too.

Forgiveness brings the liberty to love again and to heal the heart, soul, and mind. Thank you again, mochi. I love you too.

With a lighter heart full of so much love for Y/N, I hopped off the counter and nearly barreled through the door, clapping my hands loudly.

“Alright, let's record this hit!”

My heart was pounding as I stepped up to our makeshift booth, put on the headphones and shook out the nerves from my hands. Over time I learned how to shake the nerves from doing my vocal takes in front of others, and lose the embarrassment.

With our first two records, I tried to emanate vocals from other artists because I wasn’t confident in myself as a vocalist. Now, I wanted Y/N and everyone else to see that this was me; this record was Noah Sebastian and Bad Omens.

With Jolly and Matt's cue, I took a deep breath and started on the first verse.

“I'm not afraid of the war you've come to wage against my sins. I'm not okay, but I can try my best to just pretend. So will you wait me out? Or will you drown me out? So will you wait me out or will you drown me out?”

Y/N’s face flashed in my mind at that first meeting; our first day on tour when I stepped off of my bus. She looked absolutely breathtaking with her long blonde hair blowing with the gentle breeze. Her toned legs were accentuated by the boots she wore and the ink of her Greek Gods tattoo on full display. The way her lips parted as I stole the breath from her longs with our first of many stolen glances.

I licked my lips, eyes fluttering shut as I let the first chorus rip through me with my cursive singing. “I can wait for you at the bottom. I can stay away if you want me to. I can wait for years if I gotta. Heaven knows I ain't getting over you.”

I didn’t bother opening my eyes to see the other's reaction. I needed to stay in this place I found myself in; my soul screaming for Y/N’s.

“I know the pain that you hide behind the smile on your face and not a day goes by where I don't think I feel the same. So will you wait me out? Or will you drown me out? So will you wait me out? Or will you drown me out?”

We sat on the beach together, all those months ago, and Y/N continued to try and hide herself from me. She wore the faintest of smiles as she blew out a shaky breath when I lifted her chin with a knuckle.

"You shouldn't be with someone that drains your spirits. Drain the light from your soul, angel."

"It can't rain all the time."

“I can wait for you at the bottom. I can stay away if you want me to. I could wait for years if I gotta. Heaven knows I ain't getting over you. We'll try again. When we're not so different. We will make amends. 'Til then I'll just pretend,” my hand rested on the windows of the booth, nails digging into the glass as I continued to pour myself into this.

“Weigh down on me, stay 'til morning. Way down, would you say I'm worthy? Weigh down on me, stay 'til morning. Way down, would you say I'm worthy?”

Y/N didn’t want to leave, I could see that in the way her movements slowed once she was dressed, almost as if she was buying time for me to say something that would change her mind. But she refused to meet my gaze.

"Angel, look at me. What's the matter?" I asked again.

"Nothing-," she began with a sigh.

"Then why won't you stay?"

I tried not to think back to the negative aspects of our night together. I always tried to remember the way her skin tasted or felt against mine. But every once in a while her face as she was seconds away from walking away from me came crashing into me without warning.

“I can wait for you at the bottom. I can stay away if you want me to. I could wait for years if I gotta. Heaven knows I ain't getting over you.”

Still buried deep inside of Y/N, I rolled our bodies so now she was straddling me. Her hands sprawled over the tattoos that covered my chest and she leaned down to lick across the snake and apple on my neck. The noises I made, and my moans were so soft as Y/N’s hot tongue went up and down my neck. She grazed over my Adam's apple with her teeth and bit down. I shook underneath her and wrapped an arm around her back to bring her closer, burying my aching cock, deeper inside of her.

We felt the rush, the aching, burning blush. We surrendered to the touch. Y/N gave me a show. This was heaven in hiding.

I sucked in a large breath, ready for the crescendo of the song, and let every fucking feeling I have for my angel come out through me in a surge of passion and energy.

“We'll try again. When we're not so different. We will make amends. 'Til then I'll just pretend,” I nearly fell back into the booth as a lone tear fell from my eyes, quickly wiping it away.

Rain poured around us with the onslaught of the storm as Y/N pointed a firm finger at me. “You always just pretend that everything is fine when it’s not! Then you stand there and have the right to say I’m the pain in the ass? Fuck you, Noah! I’m so tired of you pretending that you don’t have feelings for me.”

With the last few lines of the song left, I envisioned the one memory that I remembered every morning when I woke and every night before I fell asleep; the same thought was always there at the end of it.

I am worthy.

“Weigh down on me, stay 'til morning. Way down, would you say I'm worthy? Weigh down on me, stay 'til morning. Way down, would you say I'm worthy?”

“You what?” I urged while taking a step towards her.

Y/N wildly shook her head as her makeup ran down her face, staining her cheeks and neck in mascara.

“I-I can’t.” Y/N pressed her palm into her forehead.

“Yes, you can,” I licked my lips in anticipation. “Fuck, Y/N! YOU WHAT?!”

“I’m in love with you! Okay?! I fucking love you!

I tossed the headphones off of me to let out a deep breath and center myself once again, coming back to reality; not before one final memory flashed in my mind.

“Well, that’s what we do. We fight. You tell me when I am being an arrogant son of a bitch and I tell you when you’re being a pain in the ass. Which you are, 99 percent of the time. I’m not afraid to hurt your feelings. You have like a 2-second rebound rate, then you’re back doing the next pain-in-the-ass thing!”

By now, the rain was a torrential downpour, branches of the trees swaying widely in the wind as the sky cracked loudly with lightning and thunder; it shook both Y/N and I to our bones.

“So what?” Y/N scoffed. “Why does it matter to you?”

“Because I fucking love you, angel!” I blurted out.

NICK R

Holy shit.

I looked over towards Jolly, who also had a shocked expression on his face. We all just watched Noah pour his soul into a song, one that would typically take more than one vocal take to get right, but he was so confident in this song that he didn't stop once.

As soon as Noah stepped out of the booth, Salem trotted over to him and was swiftly picked up in his arms. “Did you like that, Salem? Do you think it was good enough?”

Matt snorted. For the record label, my ass.”

Noah’s eyes narrowed at him as he plopped down on the couch next to me. “I still feel like something is missing.”

Almost immediately as he sat, he nearly stumbled off of the couch as he reached for his phone on the table in front of him.

“It’s not ten o'clock yet,” Michael teased.

Noah flipped him off. “No, asshole. I need something from Bryan. There’s something I want to use from the video of our day at the pier. I want to bury Y/N’s voice in the track.”

I turned towards him when Salem decided to sit in my lap now. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Do you think she’ll notice?”

“No. Because nobody is going to know what this record truly is or who it’s about. It’s not their business. I’ve got it all worked out in my head.”

We could all see the bags under Noah’s eyes since he stayed up all night the previous night writing this song, making sure it was perfect.

“You should also get some sleep. We can figure this out tomorrow,” Jolly suggested.

Noah immediately shook his head. “No.”

“Noah-,” Jesse started.

“Let me fucking do this, guys. Please. I need this,” he almost begged, his voice quiet.

Eventually, I nodded. “Alright. This is your song, man. If you want to do it, go for it.”

He smiled while throwing his hair in a low bun and turned towards Matt, shaking his phone. “Bryan sent over the audio. Think you can mix it?”

Matt held a hand to his chest and had a faux hurt expression. “Is my dear Noah doubting my mixing abilities?”

As the two of them along with Jolly began working on mixing the audio to bury it in the track, I had my own agenda. Salem looked up at me with curious eyes as I began typing widely on my phone.

“Your uncles better be cool with this idea because if not, I don’t know how else I’ll be able to pull it off,” I muttered to the cat.

Me: This new song Noah just recorded is heavy. We need to plan something to finally get their asses in gear and stop the bullshit.

Chase: I’m down.

Malcolm: You don’t even have to ask me twice. What are we thinking?

While I worked out the plan with them, Michael spoke from his spot in the kitchen as he grabbed a round of drinks for all of us; non-alcoholic for Noah since he recently started his sober journey.

“Does this masterpiece have a name?”

Noah leaned back in his chair, hands resting behind his head, and smiled wide. “Just pretend.”

I raised a brow. “Just pretend?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, cuddling the blanket closer to his chest that he had wrapped around himself.

“I love it,” Jolly admitted. “It’s perfect.”

Noah smiled, bumping fists with him. “Thank you, I think so too.”

NOAH

I stood in the middle of the large bedroom, mind running a mile a minute as I envisioned how the space would look. Jolly, Jesse, and Michael stood behind me as we all decided together that this place was perfect. It was our new home.

“So, we’ve been thinking,” Jolly started as he walked around to face me.

My brows furrowed. “Do you guys not like this house? I know it is a bit out of our price range but it’s worth it, I think. It has enough bedrooms for all of us and the two studios.”

Jesse chuckled. “You’re rambling.”

“Sorry,” I breathed while scratching my cheek. “I’m just nervous that this might be too good to be true. This place is perfect and if we don’t get it, I don't know how long it will be until the next one comes up; if it does.”

“Stop thinking of all the negatives and for once, think of all the positives. Like how you get the master suite.”

I snapped my head towards Michael. “What?”

The three of them nodded and Jolly spoke again. “It’s only fair, Noah. The three of us don’t need this big of a bedroom and knowing that Y/N will be over a lot, it’s only fair the two of you get as much privacy as you can get.”

“Also helps that this room is on the main floor while ours are upstairs,” Michael joked.

I playfully pushed him. “Thank you guys. I love the optimism but we don’t even know if our offer was accepted.”

We’d been back home for the last few days, finally finishing recording the new album, and while touring a couple more houses, we fell in love with the one we were currently standing in and immediately put in an offer.

Enough bedrooms, a large window in the living room for Salem to lay in front of, a decent-sized backyard with a jacuzzi, and the art studio that was right next to the master suite. It had a large window that showcased the small creek that ran along the side of the house. And hardwood floors throughout the entire house.

Not to mention, the privacy of the neighborhood was a huge bonus.

A soft knock sounded on the door of the empty master bedroom and we all turned toward Jackie who had a wide smile on her face.

“Great news! The sellers accepted your offer. Now while we do have to wait for the bank to accept the sale, I want you guys to remain optimistic. Typically this kind of thing takes a while so I don’t want you to stress out.”

Jolly gave me a sideway glance, one that I ignored. I was too fucking over the moon with excitement. Our offer was accepted and we were one step closer to finishing this part of our new phase.

Three weeks later, we closed on the house and were moving in with hopeful hearts. The guys stayed true to their words and allowed me to take the master suite, which currently seemed bare with my desk and computer setup, and the long table on the opposite wall as it peered out to the window, the flowing creek the only thing Y/N would see whenever she sat there. I decided that a new bedroom called for a new bed; a bigger one. It would be delivered in a few days along with a few other things I ordered. I bothered Chase and Malcolm with ideas for days.

Me: Do you guys think this table will be big enough?

I sent a link to yet another vanity I found online.

Chase: Noah, this is the 4th vanity table you’ve shown us.

Me: And?

Malcolm, dude you have to relax. It’s perfect. Way better than the small suitcase she uses to hold every one of her products now.

Me: well with me, she’ll never have to.

Later on that day, I received another text from Chase.

Chase: Noah, beware of paint all over the carpet.

I snorted as I typed out my response.

Me: Already taken care of.

Chase: Good. Because even though I love her to the ends of the earth, paint is a fucking bitch to clean.

Me: Here’s the address. I would love it if you and Malcolm come check it out.

Chase: Definitely. Let's plan for Friday?

Jesse and Michael gave me shit any chance they could get about obsessing over a vanity table.

“Y/N does her own makeup. No one else does it for her so I need a spot for all of it.” I said while we browsed Ikea the other day.

Michael tossed a new blanket into the cart I’d been pushing. “Damn, you really got it all figured out. I never thought I’d hear you ever say you need space for a vanity.”

“That was before I ever cared. I just wanna make sure she has her own space. That’s all,” I defended while setting a cat tree into the cart.

Jessed raised a brow, one I shrugged at. “Salem needs one for our place.”

“I bet you cried your eyes out when you dropped it back off at Y/N’s place this morning.”

Rolling my eyes, I ignored Micahel and continued down the long aisle of kitchen ware.

“It’s going to all work out, Noah. This is a lot, especially when you’ve never done this before. I mean, we’ve been a fraternity for a long time if you think about it,” Jolly said.

“Yeah, I know. But you guys know me, I’m in my head over the smallest things. This is a big deal. I don’t want to give her a reason to say no.”

Jesse rubbed my shoulder. “She won't, Noah. It’s going to be awesome so don’t stress about this.”

Letting out a deep breath, I set aside the screwdriver and paused building the new end table to run my palms over my white star shorts. I’ve talked to everyone in my life about this but neither of them gave me peace of mind the way I needed.

Clearing my throat, I spoke out to the space in front of me.

“Uh, hey Keaton,” I now rubbed the fresh tattoo on the sides of both of my hands, tracing each letter. “It’s been a while since we’ve had one of our talks but life has been a bit chaotic.”

“We moved into a new house. Orie moved in with his girlfriend and we decided the rest of us needed a new place ourselves. A fresh start, if you will. A new phase for all of us.”

I sniffled but kept the tears at bay. “Y/N and I are, well I don’t know what I would call us but we admitted our feelings for each other. We say I love you every night but the unknown of what we are still lingers and it fucking scares me to death not knowing if she’ll stay. I’m trying to do everything right to make sure she does. I can’t handle her walking out of my life again, Keaton.”

Now running my hand through my hair, my bottom lip wavered. “I need a sign from you, man. I need to know that Y/N will stay. That all of this won’t be too much for her.”

The eerie silence of the house was all I heard until seconds later, the Alexa device on my desk began playing a song; one I never expected but ended up smirking at. Memory Fiction by Erra echoed throughout my room and I shook my head with a laugh.

“You would choose one of Jesse’s songs,” I wiped away a few stray tears. “Thanks, Keaton, I know we’ll talk soon.”

I sat on the floor, letting Jesse’s words resonate deep within my bones. Y/N and I were reaching out towards the next phase of ourselves, autonomous from what connected us.

When the song ended, the silence didn’t last long because there was a knock on my open bedroom door and when I hastily stood, I gave Chase and Malcolm a soft smile.

“Hey, I’m glad you guys could make it,” I waved them inside.

“Jesse just gave us the tour. It’s a nice place. I’m glad it worked out,” Chase said.

I nodded. “Thanks. I wanted to make sure you guys gave me the okay. I don’t plan on rushing into things with Y/N. She can stay here as many nights as she wants. I just want to make sure she has a home here with her and Salem.”

I motioned to the table. “Do you think this is big enough for all of her products? I want her to have space for it and all her skull nick-nacks and Valak Funko pop. She’d get that demon tattooed on her if she could”.

Chase agreed with a boisterous laugh.

I pointed to another window that I placed another table in front of moments before they arrived; this one smaller than the vanity.

“I thought that she could use this space for her plants. I know she’s obsessed with them. Honestly, she could turn our room into a fucking jungle for all I care. As long as she was here with me.”

Malcolm had a hand over his heart. “Noah, this is great. Y/N loves you. You could have bought a studio apartment and she’d still make it a home.”

I agreed with a slight curl of my lips. “Because she’d be there.”

NOAH

I blew out a nervous breath as I stepped through the front door, clutching the bag tightly in my hand and when three sets of eyes landed on me, I halted in place. I was unsure of how they would react to this since I didn’t tell them where I was going when I left a few hours ago.

Jesse was the first to speak with an approving nod. “Well hello, my friend.”

“Don’t start,” I pointed a finger at him.

Jolly stopped as he carried the high stack of towels, ready to put them away in the linen closet upstairs when he took in the sight of me. “Woah, I didn’t think you’d go through with it.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I got tired of not seeing my neck. It was still suffocating.”

“It’s different seeing you like this,” Michael said as he lounged on our new couch.

The couch I spent years yearning for and imagining what it would look like.

“You think Y/N will still find me attractive like this?” I asked while shifting on my feet.

Jesse's eyes widened. “Are you dumb?”

“No, I’m just a little worried she won’t find this appealing. I mean, I love it. But you know, I don’t want her to be repulsed.”

“Noah, stop thinking that,” Jolly spoke. “Stop worrying, you look sharp and fierce. It's a great look. And last I heard she gave herself a little makeover too.”

My eyes snapped up from the floor towards him. “She did?”

“Yeah,” he smiled before heading up the stairs.

I couldn't stop the smirk that spread to my face. “Damn, maybe we can be all mysterious and unveil at the release party. She’s going, right?”

“Nick said he texted her about it weeks ago. Y/N will be there,” Jesse patted my shoulder for reassurance.

Now in the solace of my bedroom, I stood in front of the full-length mirror that was in the walk-in closet and admired how I looked. St. Patrick by Hollow Souls played from the Alexa speaker and I nodded my head along to it, amping me up on how the final look came together.

“And I’m not spiritual but please stay. ‘Cause I think you’re a saint and I think you’re an angel,” I sang along quietly.

I took a step back from the mirror but something felt wrong; off. I was missing something.

Opening the small drawer in front of me, I rummaged through the small variety of jewelry, knowing that once Y/N had her own pieces in here it would become filled until I found the two pieces I was looking for.

The silver chain and bracelet shined under the light overhead and I ran a finger over it, remembering the day I gave Y/N her matching set.

She opened the box as a gasp left her lips, the silver necklace and matching bracelet shone under the light of the room. It wasn't anything over the top and there were no diamonds but that didn't matter to her. She wasn't one for over-the-top jewelry, this simple chain and bracelet were enough.

With wet eyes, Y/N gazed up at me as I nervously fiddled with my rosary. "Do you like it?"

She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me into her embrace, burying her face into his neck. "I love it, Noah. Thank you so much."

With the bracelet and necklace now clasped onto my body, my look was complete. My fingers worked through the curtain-style bangs. The long fringe was paired with a middle part, a 3-guard short side.

“The Levi Ackerman haircut. I wonder if anybody will catch the reference. I’m a nerd,” I chuckled at myself in the mirror

Earlier, I left the Harley Davidson shop with a new outlook; the oil-slick leather gloves in the bag. I was excited for the new era of myself and Bad Omens. I was ready for the new phase for what it was, what I’ve conjured in my mind.

The power of visual aesthetics to convey emotions and enhance the overall experience of the music. The glove serves as a physical extension of my artistic vision, adding an element of mystique and intrigue to this persona I've created. Allowing me to create a distinct identity and connect with the audience on a deeper level.

I stared at myself in the mirror taking it all in. Completely engulfed in the Yohji Yamamoto coat and cargo pants. I spritzed Sauvage, opening the turtleneck I was wearing for the liquid to drip down my chest. It was snug in some areas, but all the same showed off the physicality of my dedication, as of recent.

I look good.

I reached into the coat pocket for my phone eager to show Y/N but stopped myself from taking the photo.

No, leave it as a surprise.

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian and reader #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian reader insert #noah sebastian smut #enemies to lovers #right person wrong time #starcrossed lovers

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lavenderhhaze · 2 years

Text

解体愛好家 - DEMOLITION LOVERS

pairing: Hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: angst, 00's alt rock band!au

words: 4.3k

warnings: recreational drugs, profanities, toxic relationships, manipulative behaviour, underage smoking and alcohol consumption, alcohol poisoning, attempted suicide, mentions of self harm, mentions of guns and violence, allusions to sex, blood, both hyunjin and y/n are toxic mfs

A/N: inspired by robbers by the 1975. hyunjin is literally matty healy. SO many MCR and 1975 references sprinkled in there. took a long time to escape my drafts but hey. really dark topics, do read the warnings, please.

For Hyunjin, you began with a feeling of inevitability. Since his eyes had crossed yours, that one fateful encounter opposite the big screen re-run of The Street Fighter, he knew you. You were meant to know him a little bit better than everyone else; to know him as more than just the lead-guitarist of the latest face of the alt-rock scene. Two lives meant to converge.

And so you were; lovers meant to find each other time and time again, despite the world coming in between. Repeated patterns of lost and found. His heart yours to break and yours would be his — robbers of each other's happiness.

Twin flames? If he believed in that sort of thing.

You came to him — a face he had never seen and a voice he had never heard; an unexpected surprise and a defining moment.

"Mind filling me up on what I missed?"

"In that movie, he didn't give a shit about anything. Exept live fast, die young and leaving behind a good looking corpse."

"Like you?"

"Like me."

It was strange, how one girl and an empty theatre was no less than a collision of stars, slamming into him so hard that it sent his relatively neat looking world descending into this sort of madness.

Hwang Hyunjin's neat looking world is tiny, crowded and anomalous — just how he likes it. From the very beginning, it has always been Minho, Jisung and Felix. Despite the ups and downs, all the broken glass and the screaming matches, he is their's and they are his.

Hyunjin's neat looking world is art and music. It is his white Epiphone Les Paul guitar, Mahogany body and Rosewood fretboard, he would announce proudly. It is the scribbled lyrics in his notebook which would make it to the second verse of their next single. His love for music is a stroke, a heart attack — both sudden and complete.

"Hwang, what is this mystery girl bullshit I'm seeing?"

“As the dust settles on disbandment rumours and drug scandals, The Muse guitarist and frontman: Hwang Hyunjin spotted with mystery girl in AMC, Jersey.”

Felix laughs, head tipped back with his dimples at full display, his chair only balancing on its last two legs, "Apparently Hyunjin is a hopeless fucking romantic now."

It had been everywhere. Perhaps, maybe, the ever stone-faced lead guitarist has an ounce of romanticism in his body? A little bit more than his facade—he air of confidence and cigarette smoke that surrounds him, that moves with him, that often times was him?

Perhaps he is one of gentle touches and tactile love — one to find music in laughter, to make music of laughter. One to find his lover's face in the sunset, love songs blasting loud on the stereo while he sings along—

"Bullshit."

Minho only watches — Hyunjin now a subject to his curiosity, with an eyebrow raised. He knows him through and through, his washed up past, all the cliché rock star origins and the stacked up liquor bottles. And of course, he knows when Hyunjin is lying.

"It's a good look, though," Felix reasons, his crossed legs now tipped up on the table, his smile grows smug by the second. "You seem less. . .untouchable. The movie dates and holding hands type, you know? The boyfriend kind of guy."

Jisung chips in," And with that face of yours, it means more fans you bring in. As long as the Manager doesn't fucking mind, of course."

Minho hasn't said a word yet. He doesn't have to. The all dark singer is the picture of a menace. Inky hair and inky eyes, earings glinting as they catch the light, he doesn't even need to try. And he keeps it up, day through night; because this intimidation is the only thing holding the group together.

For Minho, it has always been simple. Words come to him and he writes them. Taste of Blood, Contagious, Sonder. It has been hit after hit for the singer-songwriter. He doesn't abridge; his words are raw. And that? The reason he could fetch the limelight.

And after that, it had been easy. Signing to Black Records, so much paperwork, managers and P.R., and marketting and recruiting. He had his three boys and his past well swept under the rug. So terrifyingly easy.

His past doesn't exist anymore. Unless he wants it to. Years of abuse swept under the fucking rug, because he needs to be indifferent. He is indifferent. Being raised by a single mother coming home drunk every morning didn't matter because he can do what he loves. Raising Felix himself, sheltering him from the fucking hell he lived through doesn't matter because they both can do what they love.

Because now, he doesn't have to deal with pain that's grotesque and raw. No more bleeding himself dry just to feel something, winters spent in a thin knit sweater, tired and hungry out of his fucking mind. Now, his pain was the kind to be dealt with quietly. Polished smile against the polite corruption in this white collared industry. Because he learnt to get up and leave.

And that's what he keeps doing: leaving, leaving and leaving.

Minho is what he wants to be — arrogance personified. And his past doesn't slip through the cracks; not to a single interviewer no matter how hard they try to dig. Because he's perfectly good at leaving. Hyunjin can't, he could never.

Indifferent, arrogant and a charmer — that's who Minho is for anyone who cares to know. And a mystery for anyone who tried to find out.

And finally he speaks: Hyun, I don't want you to fuck it all up.

The next fifteen months follow, fifteen months where they are expected to churn out another album, with a long line of managers and promoters and agencies with their hands around their necks. Fifteen whole months where Hyunjin's life has been you, you and you.

It had started that one February evening, the end of the European tour, all four had been brought back to Newark. Italy and Paris seemed like a distant dream; mornings and evenings and nights — all bleeding into each other. Days spent at the studio — the boys, their cigarettes and their booze.

Cigarette in hand, Hyunjin only hopes to smoke himself to death.

"Your coping mechanisms don't seem real healthy, Hyun."

A deep breath, Hyunjin hopes he won't say things he'll come to regret, he prays.

"I don't think yours are that healthy either, darling," he glances pointedly at his Felix's arms, now covered up in that silk button up he bought him for his birthday. His words are sharp, tied up neatly with a nickname despite having the same effect.

That's who Hyunjin is — he bites back.

The pair stands in solidarity outside the entry sign of a club, awaiting the eldest. Minho had wandered off with a girl — his girl; doing god knows what.

Unlike Hyunjin, Minho was free to love — or fuck, he really didn't know what went on between the two of them. All he knew was that Minho counted days to meet this girl. Despite the half hearted one-nighters he had pulled all around Europe — the blonde in Paris, the freckled-brunette after their show in Oslo and that obnoxiously loud red head in Vienna — he found his way back to her. They held this strange fucking gravity for each other.

Felix is quiet, no longer fazed by Hyunjin's harsh words. Although his arms are crossed, fingers digging into the exact spots the elder had pointed out seconds ago and Hyunjin already regrets everything he has said.

But he won't apologize. He hasn't, ever.

The streets, earlier thick with cars and people have now thinned out, slowly sinking into the calm of the late evening. The wait for Minho has been getting maddening, the seconds between him and his drugs, girls and booze far too long to handle.

"Fuck it, Felix. He can get in by himself."

He shoves past, a sideward glance of acknowledgement at Felix, asking him to come along.

"Take care, Hyun," Felix whispers, grabbing at his collar and his voice low. "I will fucking cry if I find you lying half dead on the sidewalk again."

Again, he's quickly dismissed. Hand on heart, with a promise from Hyunjin. But he's never one to keep promises. He never did.

He's been at it for hours; Felix and Minho lost in the drunken haze and the red lights diffused by paper lanterns at the bar. He throws back shots as if it's water, enjoying the numbness that he subsides in.

And then, he sees you — a vision in red, drawn in back, you fit right in. Hyunjin's world is in pieces : your eyes, your hair, his hand on your shoulder, slowly engulfing you so close that he can hear your heartbeat. His world is shattered and he couldn't be happier.

"Hyunjin?"

He's far too mesmerized to answer. You — in flesh, in front of him. Your eyes the colour of midnight and your skin the shade of sunset, you — his very own north star.

"It's me."

"I read about you in the newspaper last week. Is it true? Are you okay? This hiatus, the hospital photographs— shit, are you fucking okay, Hyunjin?"

That article. That week. When he had drunken himself to near-death, the feeling of death's fingers on his neck still so fresh. And Felix had found him, lying on the side walk; breathless, hopeless and lifeless. It haunted him.

And the paparazzi had followed him all the way, eager to catch glimpses of Minho and Jisung carrying him to the hospital. They had cashed in on everything — Hyunjin's lifeless body, a crying Felix on the verge of a panic attack, Jisung's shaking hands and Minho — still stoic and impassive.

"Ask me again, darling. One by one."

After his third shot, he had kissed you. Hands in your hair and your shoulders and your waist, your skin so warm under his fingertips. The first time he had kissed you — under the red lights of the bar, liquor on his tongue and glitter in your hair. One kiss and he was already hooked.

He would follow you across the fucking world to find you again.

You're the same as him — broken, and he held you so, as if you're glass waiting to shatter. He sees it in your smile, in the way your eyes glimmer under the muted red lights as you withdraw from him.

You're peace to him — a getaway from the three months he spent cooped up in the crammed studio. So he holds you close, deathly afraid of losing whatever he has.

"I wrote you a song."

"You did?"

He did. He fucking did; and for once, he was proud of himself. Midnight's spent hunched over his guitar and that notebook so that he had something tangible of you.

So, at 3:05, back pressed against the cool counter of the bar, you within his reach and drunk off his fucking mind, he sings.

You're cold and I burn, I guess I never learn.

Hours later, he's at the same bar, hands and feet too heavy to move. And you're gone, all that's left of you being the phone number scribbled on his wrist. Dissapearing into thin air like sand slipping from his closed fist. All he remembers is your laugh — ringing through the air like music to his ears and then suddenly — nothing.

He had spent the rest of the night pushing through the crowd, looking for Minho and Felix and then giving into this solitude — breathing in lines of powdered dust from sticky tabletops and alcohol ridden fingertips. He is burning, his fire fuelled only by the endless list of failures.

He almost laughs, remembering his promise to Felix. Like always, he never keeps them.

The hospital again. Felix is absolutely sick of the hospital — the white tiles and the smell of bleach, the awful silence weighing down the air and the undertone of sickness running through and through.

And still, he wouldn't leave.

His eyes are only on Hyunjin — his friend, his brother, his fucking lifeline — lying limp and lifeless under the crisp white sheets, held back by a network of IVs and tubes. Hyunjin is a strange sort of calm, his skin now porcelain white, purple veins branching and scattering under his eyelids and on his neck.

It has been three days. Three whole days since Felix was met with a broken promise. Three whole days since the paramedics arrived and Hyunjin was carried away from him, dissapearing amidst all the shouts and ambulances and the paparazzi. Everything was a haze — the mechanical beeping, the latex gloves against skin and the clicks and flashes of cameras.

Felix was shoved out of the way, his arm held firmly by Minho as he cried. He tried to reach for Hyunjin, his fingers combing into his dark hair only to be slapped away by a nurse.

"Sir, please."

For the first time, he seen a tear slip past Minho's eye, only to be swiped away by the sleeve of his shirt. His brother had cracked. And he was fucking terrified.

Felix hasn't given death much of a thought. The last one was his mother's, and he didn't care much. Dead; death; dying. It was nothing but a fleeting thought — a nightmare he was too young to care about. But suddenly, as the elder lies before him, his chest tightens and his heart sinks.

He can almost see death looming in front of him. And truth be told — he is terrified.

Hyunjin's life has always been a nightmare — absent mother and absent father. Then a gun pointed at his head at fifteen. 0.357 Magnum, execution-style; he had said. Then came the cigarettes, the alcohol and finally the coicaine and heroine. And now finally, it was this mystery girl from the theatre. A drug of choice, I choose my poison.

But Felix always believed he could be the sunshine to Hyunjin's moonlight. It isn't his job to heal all his wounds, he is aware. But it is more of a responsibility. And he had failed. Fucking miserably. Twice.

He exchanges shifts with Jisung, leaving the crammed white room to sit in the hallway. It's a void — white, white, white, with misery and sickness. Felix needs air, he needs his guitar, he needs to be held.

Fucking weak, he chuckles at himself. Making everything about yourself.

"He's back, he's back. He's fucking back, goddammit."

And there he is — eyes the shape of cresents, honey coloured and tired. Almost a smile, he sees. The white of the hospital doens't seem to faze him, like he expected this, as if he's used to this.

"You asshole, Hwang."

A ghost of a smile haunts his lips as he's surrounded again. Nurses checking his pulse and his oxygen in a rush. But Felix feels peace. He's alive.

"You stayed the whole time?"

"I can't fucking leave. Even if i want to."

The second time was in March, when Hyunjin was out of his fucking mind, deprived of any uppers and downers. Even his last dead resort — prescription medication, was heavily monitored. By the managers, by Minho, by the entire fucking world breathing down his neck.

Your phone number was an imprint in his mind, and his fingers with a psyche of their own as he dialled it up. His heart erratic — hoping, praying and pleading.

"I want to see you," his voice breaks. So does he. "Please."

And suddenly, it's you, you, you again. You don't ask about that February night. The newspapers were talking again, pictures and articles and quotations, all about that goddamn scandal. He knows that you know.

Peach and honey in the air, sunlight and your skin. Sometimes Hyunjin wonders if he has ever truly loved. You're lying on his stomach, your hair a wild display his hand runs through.

"Have you ever been to Vegas?" You ask, eyes faraway.

"Nope."

"Did you know that when they're done with all those neon lights, they just dump them in this big graveyard in the desert? Don't you think that's sad? Abandoned. Never lit up again."

"I could light them up."

Hyunjin has never been a romantic. He has never dreamed of promises rolling off your breath — you in your cocaine coloured wedding dress. Summer wind in your hair and wedding photographs tied up neatly in his attic.

And yet he dreams of you that night. An overhead conversation with your name mentioned. A half read book of yours on the coffee table, you were right there — minutes before. He finds himself walking down the street, catching a glimpse of you, only to find out it wasn't you at all. It has always been like that; always reaching for you but never quite touching.

"Do you love her?" Minho had asked that morning.

He's empty. He wonders, do I? Or is she the same chemical happiness the drugs brought him. Ten minutes of numbness that subsides as soon as you're gone.

"Of course, I do."

"Stop fucking lying." Minho's words are venom, his eyes dark. He has never cared so much. "If you did. If you gave a shit about her — about us, about me — you would get up and fucking fix yourself. Get off the fucking drugs, stop drinking. Would you?"

Hyunjin is silent, his face a dark shadow. The words are heavy. And Minho is screaming, his facade off. He can't keep up his arrogant calmness any longer; not when his friend is dying — killing himself the longer they go. He's crying, for the first time in fifteen years, hot tears running down his face. Burning. There is something so delicate about this time, so fragile.

Because he's been there, seen everything through and through. Being held back in rehab because the sight of those little white pills terrified him. He refused to take them, crying and throwing up at the mere thought. Eventually as he was broken down piece by piece, he started downing them unthinkingly — sometimes holding them under his tongue or between his teeth.

And he is reliving his nightmare. Seeing his best fucking friend ruining himself on the floor, his past slipping through the cracks.

He holds on to him by the collar of his shirt, his grip so tight his fingers sting. This time, he can't just get up and leave.

"You wouldn't. So don't you fucking dare tell me you care about us until you've fixed up this goddamn mess."

And he's gone. Leaving. Leaving. Leaving.

Leaving Hyunjin abandoned and weak. He rubs his face, holding himself for once. He's sick to his stomach, he can't stand himself. He was a self fulfilling prophecy — a tragedy writing itself. Broken home, unrequited love, another soul subsiding to chemical happiness, a broken fucking rockstar — such a cliché.

Fix yourself, goddammit. Sometimes he wishes love was enough.

That evening, a mid-March sunset, Felix had found everything in place. Hyunjin's shoes neatly arranged by the entrance, the bedsheets folded and crisp, notebook half open on the bed with overflowing lyrics.

"He'll skin us alive if we're late to the recording again," he had warned, bass slung on his shoulder.

Two knocks on the only locked door — the bathroom, and hope fucking extinguishes.

Panic settles deep in his bones, his maniac heart beating a disgruntled rhythm against his chest. He's screaming, shouting, his words a bleeding mess. Hyunjin, don't you do this to me a third time. Time is still, he's floating.

Hwang fucking Hyunjin, I hate you.

It isn't supposed to go like this. Nothing is supposed to go like this. The industry is stressful, sure; but he was promised money, fame and most of all his fucking friends. It's supposed to be years of their bullshit catastrophic friendship, their patience stretched so thin, it's yet to snap.

Hyunjin — his skin pale, his jaw slack, drenched. A pale arm limp, hanging off — reaching to him; reaching for him. His best friend — a beautiful fucking tragedy.

"What the fuck. You're kidding me, this is a fucking joke."

He's screaming, Minho is screaming. Jisung joins the turmoil. The eldest has the sense to dial up the number. He's still screaming, grabbing at his friend — his cheeks, his neck, his arms; looking for a pulse, for any sort of life.

The paramedics are here, guiding the three through the last ten minutes of panic. Hyunjin chokes and chortles. He's alive. He's fucking alive. Perhaps an awful figment of his imagination, the subtle heaving of his chest: he's breathing. But fuck, the time between each breath too long — excruciatingly long.

"Hurry. Please, fucking hurry."

And yet again, Hyunjin is taken away from him. All Felix can do is stare at him with a look of distant horror. It's all a dream. A bad fucking dream, he convinces himself, hardly aware of the chaos surrounding him.

Hyunjin had said he wanted to kill himself. And Felix? He just let him.

Felix has always been the fragile one, the one who needed to be taken care off, the delicate one. A dandelion inflorescence losing a part of himself to life with every passing year. And Hyunjin is the one who did the caring — Minho, his brother but Hyunjin, his twin flame.

And this being the third straight week he has spent at the same hospital, his best friend lying motionless in white for the third time broke his heart.

And then there is you, Hyunjin's girl, appearing and dissapearing from thin air none the same. You had come to the studio shaking, talking about some letter. A suicide note. So you got the privilege of a suicide not, not his brothers, his own bandmates. And Minho had talked some sense into you — both of your hands held in his, earnest.

He doesn't wake up for two days. Two whole days driving Felix fucking insane.

He still spends the hours on his bedside, with you. It is driving him insane. The constant beeping of the machines, the drip of the IV, the day melting into night and the night into day.

And the first time he sees movement, your hands are already sliding across Hyunjin's cheeks, holding him through blurry vision and the tears on your face. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Hyun."

Felix is next: "Why didn't you tell me, Hwang? Fuck you for doing this to me thrice."

Liar.

Hyunjin seems to panic, his cresent eyes now wild and scared : he's lost, despite being with the two he cherishes the most. And as another crowd of nurses takes over him, Felix sees the articles writing themselves, adding him to the list of fallen stars in the likes of Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin.

After fifteen minutes of checking his vitals, the nurse speaks again, a pointed glance at Felix although his words are directed at Hyunjin, "Press the button if you need anything, if anything happens."

And she leaves, the door closing as the pale white uniform dissapears from sight, leaving the three alone.

Three people. Three stories.

The silence is heavy and fragile — and you the first to break it.

"Hyunjin."

"I know. I told you, it's a mess — I am a mess. I can't do this.”

Felix just stands, uncomfortable. A thousand words on the tip of his tongue but with the intensity of the way Hyunjin looks at you, he feels like he's interrupting. He's different. You're different. And Felix is a thousand times more careful.

"No, Hyun," you continue, your voice terrible, broken. "You tried to kill yourself."

"Do you hate me?"

You ponder, looking at him over and over, studying him, looking through him. "Yes. You broke my fucking heart, Hyun."

Hyunjin burries his face in his hands, as if she told him what he already knew. His heart in his own hands — broken like a promise. He's an insolent child, reprimanded by his mother.

"I didn't mean to."

"You didn't?" you breathe, voice dry, tone incredulous. "It doesn't matter! You still did it. You love me, Hyun? And you still drowned yourself in that fucking bathtub. You broke my —" a sideward glance at Felix, "you broke our hearts. It doesn't matter, you didn't mean to."

Hyunjin flinches, recoiling within himself. He falters, swallowing his words.

Next is Felix, leaning over to catch one of his wrists in his hands. He feels the pulse against his thumbs, rhythmic and assuring — alive, alive, alive. He stands sniffling, tears dripping down his chin, but only frowns, not gathering his best friend up in his arms and smoothening his hair.

"Feli—"

"No you don't." He interrupts, unable to hide the bite in his voice. "You put me through hell, you know that? If you died, you know what would be left of me?"

Hyunjin is silent again, only his hand outstretched asking him to take it. And with him in his arms, Felix is a child again — used to being taken care of. He's heaving, all his sobs hidden in the mess of the elder's hair.

"This doesn't change anything. I'm still mad at you. You're a goddamn mess."

Hyunjin laughs, his voice so full despite the sound being muffled, "I fucking hate you, Lix."

Minutes pass, minutes of nothing but them holding each other. And you watch, content and complete, the reassurance a constant chant in your mind: alive, alive, alive. Felix won't look at him; not yet. He can't. But he'd take a bullet for him, and he'd never say it out loud.

"Hyunjin. Rehab. Do it for us."

And for once, Hyunjin doesn't care. Beyond the tightlit hospital chamber, beyond Felix, Jisung, Minho and you; perhaps the world thinks of him as aimless and a little bit mad. But for now? Hyunjin doesn't fucking care.

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