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promptedwordsmith · 2 days ago

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Hiyaaa

I have a request , if that’s fine with you?

So Reader is MC’s long lost twin sister, they reunited a bit after and have been close ever since.

Reader is much different to MC , she likes the opposite things that mc likes and has different ticks and such.

She has a crush on (any of the LADS boys) and slowly watches as he falls in love with MC. She doesn’t say anything as she knows MC likes him too.

She gets invited out by sylus and slowly hangs out with him as she isn’t a hunter but does work in the N109 Zone. They soon get close and get into some sort of relationship , she then notices he keeps buying stuff that MC would like for her.

She brushes over it but he keeps doing stuff that the Mc would like usually, the food she’d like, the clothes she’d like.

She gets sick of being in her sisters shadow and confronts him and leaves.

OK, so I literally watched this ask come into the inbox and it was like a lightbulb switched on and I NEEDED to do this I love writing angst, this is also my longest fic yet - 5.2k! Wow

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the quiet city streets. The air was cool for a spring evening, a gentle breeze tugging at the edges of your jacket. You adjusted the strap of your bag, sighing as you looked down at the study materials clutched in your hand. The exam was tomorrow, but the words in your textbooks felt like they were swimming in a fog. Your mind kept drifting, not to the dense chapters of history or theory, but to her—your twin sister.

It had been years since that night, the night that shattered everything. You could still remember it as if it was yesterday—your parents' sudden, tragic death, the screaming sirens, and the confusion. And then, the moment you looked for her—searched frantically in the smoke-filled wreckage—only to find that she was gone, just... gone. You were left alone, confused, scared, and eventually, separated from the one person who had always understood you. Your twin.

The accident had changed her. The doctors said she was lost, somewhere deep inside herself, locked away in a mind that didn’t remember you anymore. But what hurt even more was that you had no one to ask. No one to explain what had happened, or why you had been torn apart. Your adoptive parents had been kind, if a bit too overbearing at times. They tried to fill the void, but they couldn’t. No one could.

You had learned to adapt, to bury the ache in your chest, and to focus on your studies, your goals. But even now, on the eve of the exam, you couldn’t stop the thoughts of her. You couldn’t forget.

Turning a corner, you stopped in your tracks.

There, standing under the flickering streetlamp at the end of the block, was a woman. She was looking down at a piece of paper in her hands, dressed in a long, dark coat, her hair flowing gently in the breeze. Something about her was oddly familiar, like a half-remembered dream, pulling at the edges of your consciousness.

For a moment, you stood frozen, your heart hammering in your chest. It was as though the universe had conspired to throw you back into the past. Your breath caught in your throat, and you took a tentative step forward, hesitating with every step.

She looked up, and your gazes locked.

The world around you seemed to fall away, the bustling city noises blurring into a distant hum. The world became small—too small, as if everything else had faded and there was only her. The same eyes, the same face... The face you had longed to see for so many years, and yet, the years had passed, and there was something different about her now.

The wind picked up, swirling the air between you as you took one more step forward. She looked... older, wiser, more distant. But it was her. It had to be her.

She didn’t say anything at first. Neither did you. You just stood there, staring at one another, time stretching thin between you.

“...Are you real?” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, your chest tight. The question escaped your lips before you could stop it.

She blinked, her expression softening, and then she took a step toward you, as though testing the waters, unsure if the reunion was truly happening or if she was simply dreaming.

“You... don’t remember me?” Her voice cracked slightly, almost as if she, too, had been carrying this pain for all these years, but had somehow forgotten how to reach out. Her words hit you like a wave, and you couldn’t breathe.

You opened your mouth, the years of unspoken words flooding your mind. “I’ve been looking for you,” you whispered, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. “I thought you were lost.”

Her hand slowly reached out, trembling. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before placing it gently against your arm. “I—I’ve been lost,” she admitted softly, her gaze lowering for a brief moment. “But... I think I’ve found something again.”

And in that moment, standing there with your twin sister after so many years, something broke open inside you. All the hurt, the loneliness, the anger... it all began to pour out, mixing with the relief and joy that surged in your chest.

You didn’t need words for a while. You just stood there, side by side, as the cool breeze tangled in your hair, the world beginning to shift back into place as though the years had never happened.

You had found her again. And she had found you.

From that moment on, you were always together.

The years apart had created a distance, not just physically, but emotionally, and it was clear you had to relearn everything about each other. Every day was a new discovery—a moment where you would uncover something that had once been second nature between you. It was like rewinding time, only to realize how much had changed and how much still remained. It wasn’t easy at first. Trust was something you both had to rebuild, piece by piece, like constructing a puzzle you’d once finished but now had to start anew. But as the days passed, that bond, that unspoken connection, began to stitch itself back together in ways you never expected.

You learned so much—how different you had become over the years. You realized you had vastly different food tastes—she loved spicy, you preferred sweeter dishes. She always gravitated toward bold, vibrant colors, while you found comfort in softer, more muted tones. Even your tastes in men were different, and that was a shock at first. You would laugh at the things you found so amusingly out of sync—how she was drawn to a certain type of guy, while you found yourself leaning toward someone else entirely. And yet, every difference felt like another piece of the puzzle, making you realize how beautifully unique you both were.

You adored the differences. They were like little windows into the person you had missed all these years. Every new fact felt like an adventure, and the more there was to discover, the better. There was something so exciting about learning her quirks, her preferences, the subtle shifts in her personality you hadn't seen in years. And whenever you discovered something that you shared—whether it was a similar reaction to a movie or the same favorite childhood memory—it felt like a victory. It wasn’t just the similarities that made it fun, it was the process of rediscovery. And those small shared moments, they made you feel closer, like you were stitching the fabric of your connection tighter with each day.

As you spent more time together, you naturally introduced each other to your friends, and you couldn’t help but notice something that piqued your curiosity. Your sister, with her charm and warmth, had a lot of male friends—attractive male friends. You could see it the moment they walked in the room—the way they gravitated toward her, how they’d exchange casual, easy banter as though they had known each other forever. It was a little surprising at first, but not entirely unexpected. She had always been the social one, effortlessly making connections wherever she went.

But there was one guy who stood out among the rest.

Caleb.

He was different. There was something about the way he carried himself—confident, but not overly so. He had this easy-going charm, with a touch of mystery that made him hard to read. You noticed the way he looked at your sister—like she was something worth admiring, something worth protecting. But it was also the way he looked at you. Subtle glances, the kind that made your heart race for a moment longer than it should. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Caleb than he let on.

You couldn’t deny the attraction, the pull that seemed to draw you toward him. It was more than just physical. There was something in his presence that made the air feel a little warmer, a little more electric.

And it wasn’t lost on you that Caleb was always there. Always around, always at the edge of the conversation, casually participating, but never intruding. He made you feel like you had to pay a little more attention, like you needed to be aware of everything happening in the room, even when it was just your sister and her friends hanging out.

The more you spent time with him, the more you realized that what you felt for Caleb wasn’t just admiration—it was something stronger. Something unspoken, something that pulled at the edges of your consciousness, making it impossible to ignore. You were drawn to him, and yet you couldn’t tell if it was just your curiosity or something more.

What made it even more complicated was your sister. She was so open, so comfortable with him. She trusted him in ways that made you question just how much you really knew about him. Could you both be seeing the same man in such different lights? Or was something else at play here—something you weren’t sure you were ready to face?

And so, as you navigated this new chapter of your life—one where your sister was back by your side and Caleb was somehow intertwined with everything—it was impossible to ignore the sense that things were about to get a lot more complicated.

But maybe, just maybe, that was the fun part.

You had always been so happy for her. When you saw the way your sister looked at Zayne, the way she couldn’t stop talking about him or looking for him, it was clear that she was head over heels. You had never seen her so alive, so full of excitement. You were thrilled for her, even if, deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have someone like that in your own life.

And yet, it all seemed to shift so suddenly.

You didn’t expect to walk into your bedroom that evening and find Caleb leaning over her, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. You stopped at the doorway, your heart sinking in your chest. The moment felt like it stretched for an eternity, the warmth of the room suddenly feeling suffocating. Caleb’s lips were so close to hers, so tender, and in that instant, everything you thought you understood about your connection with him seemed to slip away.

You had spent weeks getting to know him, laughing with him, sharing subtle glances, those moments that made your heart race. You thought you were beginning to get somewhere with him, slowly, cautiously building something, but now it seemed like he had already found what he wanted.

Your sister.

The realization hit harder than you expected. You hadn’t spent enough time with him, hadn’t made him see you in the same way she had. Maybe you had waited too long, or maybe Caleb had simply been drawn to the one person who had always captivated him—your sister. The thought was like a weight on your chest, suffocating you, but you couldn’t let it show. Not now.

You cleared your throat, the awkwardness of the moment making your voice sound more strained than you intended. "Oh, sorry," you muttered, trying to sound casual, like walking in on them didn’t sting at all. "I didn’t mean to interrupt."

Caleb pulled away quickly, looking genuinely embarrassed, while your sister turned to you, her cheeks flushed with the same warmth that had been on Caleb’s lips. You could see the joy in her eyes, that sparkle that was so unmistakable. She was happy. That much was clear. And you were happy for her too... right?

You forced a smile, trying to ignore the way your heart was shattering into pieces. "No big deal," you added quickly, hoping your voice didn’t betray the devastation you felt inside. "I didn’t know you two were, um... together now."

Your sister giggled, her face lighting up with excitement. "Yeah, it kind of just happened," she said, her words soft and dreamy. "I didn’t even know I saw him that way before, but now... I can’t stop thinking about him. Caleb’s all I can think about."

You swallowed hard, nodding even though your chest felt tight. Caleb's all she can think about. The words echoed in your mind, each one a reminder of how you had misread everything. You had spent so much time hoping that maybe, just maybe, Caleb was beginning to see you, and yet here he was, kissing your sister, the one person who had always been in the center of everything you cared about.

"That’s... that’s great," you forced out, your smile faltering just for a second before you caught yourself. You couldn’t let her see. Not now. Not when she was so happy.

That night, as you both sat together on your bed, your sister gushed about Caleb to you—how she had never really seen him in that light before, but now that she had, he was all she could think about. She talked about how incredible he was, how easy he was to talk to, how he made her feel seen. It was clear that Caleb had become her world in a way you hadn’t expected. The excitement in her voice, the warmth in her words—it was everything you had wished for her, and yet, the sting of jealousy cut deeper than anything you had ever felt before.

But you didn’t let it show. You buried those feelings deep, far down where they wouldn’t be seen. She didn’t need to know that the happiness she was expressing had left you in a state of quiet devastation. You couldn’t make her feel guilty for being happy. You loved her too much for that.

So, you sat there, nodding, smiling, laughing along with her excitement, all while hiding the fact that a part of you was crumbling on the inside. You pushed the hurt away, because you wanted her to feel supported, to feel that you were there for her, no matter what. And if that meant hiding your feelings from her—hiding how much it hurt that Caleb, the man you thought might be yours, was now hers—then you would do it.

After all, she was your sister. And she deserved this happiness. Even if it meant you had to sacrifice your own.

In the weeks that followed, you worked hard to move past your feelings for Caleb. It wasn’t easy—those emotions had been strong, intense, and they hadn’t just vanished overnight. But you did your best, gradually pulling away from him, creating more distance, more space between the two of you. Every time you saw him with your sister, you pushed back the ache, burying it deeper, focusing on the things that mattered.

And Caleb? He didn’t seem to notice. At first, you weren’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, it was a relief. You didn’t have to explain yourself, didn’t have to confront those feelings head-on. On the other hand, it left you feeling... invisible. Was he so wrapped up in your sister that he couldn’t even tell that something had changed?

It was both painful and freeing.

But then, just when you thought you might stay in that stagnant space forever, someone new caught your eye—Sylus.

He was different. Tall, broad, and absolutely HOT. From the moment he joined the group, you couldn’t help but notice him. He had this presence, an undeniable aura that commanded attention without even trying. His voice—deep, rich, and full of a kind of quiet authority—carried across the room and made you pause every time he spoke. There was something magnetic about him, something that drew you in. And unlike the others, Sylus seemed more... open to spending time with you one-on-one.

You couldn’t explain it, but whenever he was around, you found yourself wanting to be near him more than anyone else. The way he spoke to you, the way he listened—it felt different. His attention felt genuine, unlike the usual banter you shared with the others, and before you knew it, you were looking forward to every chance to spend time with him.

In those moments together, you found yourself forgetting about Caleb, especially when Sylus’s attention became focused entirely on you. It wasn’t just that he listened to you, but that he actually seemed interested in what you had to say. And his compliments? They were always on point—never too much, never too little. It was just the right amount of praise to make you feel noticed, but never over the top.

The more time you spent with Sylus, the more you realized that your feelings for Caleb were truly fading, being replaced with something new. And this time, it was something stronger. You weren’t the type of person to rapidly shift who you liked, but there was something about Sylus that you couldn’t deny.

There was an intoxicating mix of calm and excitement in his presence—his voice, the way he held himself, the way he challenged you with his wit. When he spoke, it was like everything else fell away, and all that mattered was the conversation between the two of you. It was thrilling. Sylus had this ability to calm you with a single glance, yet rile you up with every word he said. The duality of it all was intoxicating, and you found yourself more drawn to him with each passing day.

And it didn’t go unnoticed. Sylus seemed to enjoy your company as much as you enjoyed his. You could tell by the way he teased you, the sly smile that would tug at the corner of his lips whenever you got a witty retort in. He would praise you, telling you that you were one of the few people who truly kept him entertained. It felt different from how he interacted with the others—more personal, more real.

It was almost like you were the one person he didn’t have to try too hard with, the one person who could match his sharpness, his intelligence, and his sense of humor. Every time you spent time with him, you felt like you were getting closer, like a bond was forming that you couldn’t ignore.

And you didn’t want to ignore it. You didn’t want to bury it.

The problem was, you weren’t sure if Sylus felt the same way you did. But the moments you shared together, the laughter, the conversations, the way he looked at you—those small, intimate exchanges made you feel like you were more than just another face in the crowd.

As time went on, you began to wonder... Could there be something real between you and Sylus? Something beyond the friendly banter and the chemistry that had begun to grow between you two? You weren’t sure, but the more you thought about it, the more you wanted to find out.

For the first time in weeks, it felt like you were starting to feel again. And this time, it wasn’t with Caleb—it was with Sylus.

It all changed that day.

You had thrown out another one of your usual witty retorts, something playful but sharp, and the way Sylus laughed made your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t just any laugh—this was different. He laughed harder than you’d ever heard him laugh at anything you’d said before, as if your words had truly caught him off guard. It was genuine, deep, and there was something about it that made you feel... alive.

But it wasn’t just the laugh that had you on edge. It was the look that followed it—the way his gaze lingered on you afterward. It was almost imperceptible at first, but the intensity of it hit you in an instant. His eyes darkened just a little, like the playful laughter had shifted into something else entirely. Something... charged. Smoldering.

You had felt a twinge of attraction before, but this was different. This wasn’t the kind of attraction you could brush off with a casual smile or a quick change of subject. This was real. Undeniable. The kind that made your pulse quicken and your breath catch.

You couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement as you realized what it was. It wasn’t the easy chemistry you shared during your banter—it was something deeper. Something dangerous in the best way. Something that left you craving more.

And that moment marked the beginning of a whirlwind.

The next few days felt like a dream. Everything moved fast, but it was all so right. Sylus and you, the two of you together—it was like the world fell into place. You spent hours talking, laughing, and simply being together. Every time he smiled, every time his gaze met yours, you felt the undeniable pull between you. And he wanted you. You could see it in the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he leaned in just a little closer than necessary. There was no mistaking it. This wasn’t a fling. It was real.

For five weeks, it was bliss. You felt happy in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time. With Sylus, you didn’t feel the weight of anything—no doubts, no second-guessing. It was pure, it was exhilarating, and it felt like everything was falling into place.

Your sister, ever the cheerleader, was beyond excited for you. She practically glowed with happiness whenever she talked about your relationship, always praising how great Sylus was for you, how perfect you seemed together. She was genuinely happy for you, and that made everything even better. You had always dreamed of being there for each other, no matter what, and now, here she was—celebrating your happiness right alongside you.

Even Caleb, for all the tension and unspoken feelings you had shared with him, came to congratulate you. It was strange, but in a way, it felt like a weight lifting off your shoulders. He wasn’t resentful. In fact, he seemed to mean it, offering you a smile and a casual, "You two seem good together."

And for the first time in ages, you felt like everything was aligning in the way it was supposed to.

You were happy. Your sister was happy. Caleb was supportive. And you had Sylus—your Sylus. The man who had brought something back into your life you hadn’t even realized you were missing: passion.

It felt like the perfect little bubble—one where everything was harmonious, where there were no complications, no unresolved tensions.

But as you basked in that bliss, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder—could it really stay like this? Would it always be this easy? The kind of happiness you were feeling, the intensity of your connection with Sylus—it was almost too good to be true.

And yet, you pushed those thoughts aside. For now, everything was perfect.

At first, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was small things, subtle things that didn’t make sense at first—until they did.

Sylus’s behavior began to shift. At first, it was easy to ignore. You were happy. He was happy. It was bliss. But then, the little things started to slip through the cracks.

He would do things—small gestures—that felt like they were meant for someone else. Like when he gave you a plushie that looked oddly similar to one your sister would love. Or the little trinkets he’d bring you, clearly in your sister’s favorite color, her favorite pattern. You’d laugh it off at first, joking about how he must’ve gotten confused, but it kept happening. And it wasn’t just the gifts—it was the way he started to interact with you. Sometimes, it felt like he expected you to react the same way your sister would. When he teased you, the way he smiled at your response, the way he looked at you as if he were waiting for you to be your sister.

At first, you dismissed it. Maybe it was just a quirk of his. Maybe he didn’t even realize what he was doing. You told yourself that he must just be a little... forgetful, or perhaps overly fond of your sister's personality. After all, they were close friends before you came into the picture.

But soon, it became too obvious to ignore.

You caught him. More than once. His gaze would linger on your sister when he thought no one was watching. The longing, the desire—it was palpable in the way his eyes followed her movements, the way his expression softened whenever she spoke. And you saw it. You saw it all.

You thought it was just you. That maybe you were reading too much into things, that maybe you were imagining the way his attention seemed to always drift toward her. But then you started noticing how often his attention seemed to shift, how you could feel him becoming distant in the moments when your sister was around. When the two of them would talk, you could sense it—something you couldn’t ignore. He wasn’t just in the moment with you anymore. It was as if he was waiting for something, waiting for her, always comparing you to her.

That’s when it hit you. The truth that you’d been avoiding for so long.

You weren’t really the one he wanted.

You were a stand-in. A placeholder. A substitute for your sister. The realization was like a punch to your gut, a sharp, jagged truth that twisted inside you. Sylus had been drawn to you because you reminded him of her, because you were the closest thing he could get to her.

It hurt more than you ever expected.

You thought you were special. You thought there was something between you two that wasn’t just about her, but now you realized that you had only been the next best thing. A consolation prize for the woman he truly wanted.

You tried to push the thought aside. You tried to tell yourself that it wasn’t true. That you were more than just a stand-in, that Sylus could see you for who you were—not for who you resembled. After all, you were funny, witty, confident—you had your own charm, your own uniqueness. You weren't your sister. You were you. And surely, that should have been enough.

But still, you couldn’t ignore the truth that simmered beneath the surface. Sylus seemed to be looking at your sister with an intensity that he never directed at you, no matter how many times you tried to make him see you as more than just a shadow of her.

You told yourself that if you just kept being you—if you kept showing him that you were interesting, funny, and as unique as you truly were—then maybe, just maybe, he’d see you. Maybe he’d see that you were more than just a stand-in. That you deserved more than to be a shadow in your sister’s light.

But the doubt lingered, gnawing at you. Every time he smiled at you with that distant look in his eyes, every time he gave you something that seemed like a gift meant for her, you couldn’t help but feel like you were chasing something you couldn’t quite reach.

And you hated that. You hated how much it hurt to realize that the person you were falling for might never really be falling for you.

It was that night—the night everything snapped.

He had come home with a beautiful pair of earrings, the kind that glittered in the light and caught your eye the moment he handed them to you. You were taken aback by their beauty, thinking, maybe this is the turning point. Maybe he was finally seeing you, you for who you were, not a reflection of your sister.

But then he spoke.

“You’ve been eyeing these for a while now, haven’t you? I thought I’d surprise you with them. You said you wanted to start saving for a pair like these.”

Your stomach sank. That wasn’t you. You hadn’t ever seen these earrings before, and more than that—they weren’t even your style. They were elegant, delicate, beautiful, but they looked like something your sister would wear. Something she would pick.

Your hands trembled as you stared at the earrings in disbelief. He had gotten them for her. They weren’t for you.

It was as though the fog had lifted in that moment, and the truth came crashing down. Your heart, which had been trying so hard to hold on to the illusion that Sylus saw you for who you were, shattered in an instant. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think.

“Wait… you thought I wanted these?” You forced the words out, your voice shaky. “These aren’t mine. They’re hers. They’re for her.”

The shock on his face, the confusion that washed over him, made your chest tighten even more. He tried to explain, tried to cut in with some excuse, but you didn’t want to hear it anymore. You had been so patient, so willing to let him see you, to let him find what was special about you.

But this? This was the final straw.

“No,” you cut him off, the anger and pain bubbling over. “I’ve been ignoring it for so long, hoping you’d finally see that I’m not her. I’m me, but you never did. You’ve been treating me like I’m a substitute for her. A stand-in for someone who isn’t even here.”

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but you didn’t want to hear it.

“Stop.” Your voice was harsh now, sharper than you ever thought it could be. “I’m done with the excuses. You’ve made it so clear that I’m just the next best thing. You’ve made it so clear that no matter what I do, I’ll never be enough. I’m not her.”

Every word you spoke felt like a knife twisting deeper, but it didn’t matter anymore. You couldn’t keep pretending. You couldn’t keep hoping he would finally wake up and realize you were more than just a stand-in.

Sylus tried to step forward, to apologize, but you weren’t having it.

“Don’t,” you snapped, your heart pounding, your emotions raw. “Don’t even try. This is over. We’re over.”

You turned away, your vision blurring as your emotions surged. You grabbed the things he’d given you—the gifts, the memories, the little trinkets he had left scattered around your apartment. Each one felt like a betrayal now, a reminder that you were never really his first choice. You packed them hastily into a bag, shoving them into his arms before he could say another word.

“I’m done. Get out,” you forced out, each word a struggle to maintain composure. You shoved the bag into his chest, feeling the finality of it. This was it.

You didn’t want to hear anything else. You didn’t want to see him.

Sylus stood there for a moment, the shock still etched on his face. But you didn’t care anymore. Your heart was too broken to care.

With one final glance, he turned and walked out, leaving you standing there, the door slamming behind him with a deafening finality.

And in that moment, you knew. It was over.

The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was suffocating.

#Sylus #Sylus x mc #Sylus x reader #Sylus x you #Sylus love and deepspace #sylus lads #lads sylus #lads x you #lads x reader

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sheeple · 2 days ago

Text

Part two to this. This series also has a title now: John has liked your photo! Hope you enjoy this as much as last time. Does it also show how little I know about kissing?

The second time you and John see each other in a cafe in the city centre. This time it's you who suggests meeting up. It made John feel giddy and like a schoolboy again when your text lit up his phone screen.

Your anxiousness made you way too early — as usual. But not too soon after, John appears in the cafe, also way too early. It makes you giggle.

"What is your go-to coffee order?", you ask while waiting in line, eyeing the menu and the delicious-looking pastries.

John hums, his hands clasped behind his back. "I hate to disappoint you, doll, but I'm a black coffee guy. Or tea."

Turning towards him with your eyes wide, not knowing if it is because of the nickname or the confession to drink coffee with nothing in it. "Not even some milk?"

He shakes his head with a smile. "None. If I'm in shipped out I'm happy to get a cuppa so I got used to the stuff raw."

Now you feel stupid for your usual very sweet coffee order. John sees the subtility in your face and he bumps his shoulder against yours. "Well, you are what you eat. So no wonder you're so sweet."

It makes your face heat up and you stumble over your words, not sure how to get out a response.

The line quickly moves along and John orders his black coffee and you your white chocolate mocha. Before he has time to grab his wallet, you've whipped out your phone and paid for it. You give him a daring smile while giving your name.

The two of you go sit in a quiet corner and wait for the coffee to arrive. You are telling some story about what has happened at work this week and halfway your name gets called out. John holds out his hand so you can stay put, and he grabs the order.

"Sorry, go on", he says with a smile when he returns with the coffees, placing yours in front of you with the ear facing your dominant hand.

"So", you say after finishing your story, "we haven't really talked about what we seek. You know... with dating and such." You nervously trace the rim of the glass, glancing up at the man.

John's leaning relaxed back into the chair, his legs spread wide and a comfortable smile on his face. "Gauging the vibe, doll?"

You can't help but feel your cheeks heat up again as you slink slightly down. "Maybe. Wouldn't want to waste your time if you want something completely different than me." You shrug, trying to play it cool.

That makes him lean forward a bit. "You sayin' that your time's less valuable than mine?"

That leaves you gaping like a fish. And it makes John crack a cheeky smile, showing he's teasing you.

"So do I have to worry about crazy exes or something?", he asks with a smile.

You shrug, putting your hair behind your ear. "Don't have to worry about something that's never been there", you say casually, taking a sip of your drink.

John's eyes bulge out of their sockets. Did he hear you correctly? Have you never dated anyone? How could such a wonder as you not have boys and men lined up and down the street, jumping for just a glance from you?

"Do I?", you ask timidly at his wide eyes and no response.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he clears his throat. Now is the time to come clean. "I mean... not like you have to worry about her, but there is my ex-wife."

"Wife?!" You clasp a hand over your mouth as you said that a bit too loud. "A-and for how long are you divorced? If I may ask, at least."

John smiles at your bashfulness. "Almost two years. We were married just short of a year. It was impulsive and I quickly discovered that being married to her wasn't as great as I thought it would be."

Unconsciously, you reach out and take hold of his hand. You can understand how hard it is to admit something like that to practically a stranger. "It must have been hard, going through that time in your life. Never mind the judgement of others."

He nods. "Something like that. It was more of the pitying glances of my family and their comments that got me at first. Their opinions about her and me and our relationship weren't always the kindest. But you get used to it and after a while, you get desensitized."

As you open your mouth to say something, a call of your name makes the two of you turn your heads. "Oh lord", you mumble as your aunt and cousin come walking towards the two of you.

"How are you, dear? " your aunt smiles widely, pulling you up for a hug. "I haven't seen you in a while! How's school? Oh, right. Your mum told me you quit and are working now. How do you like it? And who is this?" She turns her attention towards John.

The man dutiful stands up and offers his hand to your aunt. "John Price, ma'am."

From behind your aunt, you see your cousin lean over and mouth the words, "Who's that?", to you. "Date", you mouth back. She checks him once over and nods in appreciation.

"Oh mum, didn't you say you needed to go to that one store before it closes?", asks your cousin loudly, pulling the attention from your aunt.

"Right! It was lovely meeting you, John. See you next time, dear." Your aunt kisses both your cheeks as a goodbye before pulling her daughter behind her. You just know you'll get a text from her later on to demand the tea.

"I am so sorry", you laugh as you sit back down, hiding your face behind your hands.

John joins you and shakes his hands. "It's fine. Aunts are kinda my speciality."

"Really?"

"No", he smiles.

The rest of the afternoon goes by with smiles and laughs and good conversation until the staff has to, again like last time, kick you out and you're reluctant to say goodbye to John.

He walked to your car. It cracked him up to see the bright yellow car that lights up when you press the unlock button. Oh, how fitting of you to drive such an eyesore.

You hoover by the door, fiddling with your keys. "I had a really good time today, John." You shyly look up, your cheeks radiating heat.

John slowly inches closer, laying a hand on your cheek. "I did too." His eyes flicker between your own and your lips. You can't help but swipe your tongue over your bottom lip before taking it between your teeth.

"I desperately wanted to kiss you all day. Can I kiss you?"

Looking at him, you nod, searching for the right words. Stumbling out a 'yeah', John closes the distance and lightly presses his lips against yours.

Not knowing what to do, you lean into the kiss and close your eyes. John slides his other hand around your middle to pull you flush against his body. Your hands feel awkward so you replicate what you've seen over the years in movies and TV and place them first on his shoulders before sliding to the back of his neck.

A soft grumble comes from deep within his chest before you pull back, feeling like you are going to pass out if you don't. Either from the lack of air or your first-ever kiss.

Smiling wide, John rests his forehead against yours. "How am I to drive away from you now, doll."

You shrug, still slightly out of breath. "I'm wondering that myself." A giggle escapes you, licking your lips. "But I really have to go through... My parents are waiting for me. We're going to my grandma..."

"Those blasted parents of yours", teases John, letting go of you. "But if you have to go. Text me when you get home safe?"

You nod, opening your car door. "Will do. You too?"

John nods with a smile and watches how you drive away. Dear God. Is he crazy that he could envision the rest of his life together with you after the second date?

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starlinkz · 12 hours ago

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Very glad to see people enjoy these so much so Imma leave a few design notes and other stuff because these are some of my favorite pokemon designs I've done

The thing about Pokemon Unite is that it has a limited amount of playable pokemon, so if I want to keep all the lifers as playable pokemon I have to make some odd choices and have some repeated pokemon which is a fun design challenge

- Scar is a decidueye because HotGuy (Both in being an archer and the name sounding like Hawk Eye, so archer + bird with good sight boom decidueye) Shocking I know.

A small detail I didn't fit in this doodle page is that his leaf cloak thingy is actually brown (like the jacket in his usual skin) but since he changes skins SO MUCH during the life series he just dyes (?) the cloak and decorates it to look cool <3 I would also like to point out that his claws are red and not dark like usual, aka he paints his nails to fit the cloak.

-Grian is a (Shiny) talonflame because there's not that many bird pokemon in unite and the fire typing just kinda fits him. Besides, as someone who used to main Talonflame in unite, it's an absolute beast when used right, much like Grian being overall really good at the life series and usually ending up in a pretty high spot. You could also add some spice and lore into the mix by saying he's actually a mew but spends most of the time transformed into a talonflame

-Espeon Martyn was mostly an impulsive choice. Really the only thing backing this up was big ears = listener and psychic type = Watcher / higher being- related. Tbf I think his design is the weakest of the batch so I may change it up a bit when I inevitably do fullbody designs for all of them.

-Ren is a Zacian mainly just because of being associated with royalty and Zamazenta (who has a more red color palette) not being a playable pokemon. So red Zacian go brrr. Someone also brought up the idea of this big legendary wolf being defeated by smaller pokemon and I think that's funny as hell.

-Absol Jimmy is pretty self explanatory and has cause multiple threats of being strangled in the tags /j

-Ninetales Scott just kinda fits. I honestly don't know that much about Scott outside of the life series but an elegant and seemingly dainty but powerful pokemon came across as the best choice. Also allowed me to sneak in some star motifs in there ;)

-Lizzie just screams fairy type, Sylveon is such a Lizzie pokemon and I cannot be convinced otherwise. She does have some umbreon motifs to spice things up in her design (which is my favorite btw) and also separate her from another lifer that will also be yassified (turned into a sylveon).

- I originally planned on umbreon for Joel to fit his personality but ultimately went for Leafeon because 1) I like angsty/angry leafeon designs and 2) Leafeon's playstyle (attack-focused and pretty fast and aggressive, or furious if you will) felt more fitting for Joel than umbreon's (defensive). I think the softer looking and plant themed pokemon is a good contrast with Joel's personality

- i don't know if Delphox gives off Gem vibes, or Gem gives off Delphox vibes, but there is A Connection. Psychic type also kinda connects to her wild life power being astral projection, and being an offensive pokemon fits her ability to demolish everyone in pvp

- Zoroark Pearl is a cool contrast with Gem, being both foxes of a related but opposite type (Dark and psychic) and more or less associable with sun & moon / day & night. Unite Zoroark is also able to take down several rivals completely solo under right cirsumstances (<< written by a Decidueye main who played during the introduction of Zoroark in the game and has been traumatized since) which I guess you could link with Double life Pearl

I can't wait to have some free time an motivation to do the next doodle page because I already have every lifer assigned to a pokemon and considering I've never drawn some of those pokemon I am excited <3

I had the most random idea ever so ofc I had to doodle it

I present to you Life series/hermitcraft except it's Pokemon UNITE

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transmcytshowdown · 2 days ago

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Joel Smallishbeans^4:

Submitted for: Hermitcraft, Third Life, Last Life, Double Life, Limited Life, Secret Life, Wild Life, Empires SMP Season 1, Empires SMP Season 2

Headcanons: Transmasc, he/they; Trans man, he/him; Genderfluid, any pronouns; Trans masc, it/he/she; Transmasc Genderfluid, he/any; Identity not specified, they/he

Propaganda: “He’s just a silly little terracotta man with only a vague understanding of human gender he tries to impersonate but fails at.”

“Lizzie and Joel are a t4t bi4bi couple in [the submitter’s] heart. Lizzie transfem (she/her) Joel transmasc+gender fluid (he/any).”

“Basically anywhere you see him. Just like, the constant ‘Ooh i'm so manly, the manliest, I’m so tall and strong and handsome,’ and always insisting that he’s really tall despite being super short and the way his voice will sometimes get all high and squeaky these are all very transmasc coded things. He’s one of us, okay, he’s got the vibes, trust, he’s got our humor. Every time he goes mining on Hermitcraft there is always a caption that’s like ‘straight white male mining content’ which is more of his constant need to assert how macho and manly he is and in double life he says he’s not going to get in the pool cause he’s ‘ashamed of his Minecraft body’ which is very trans behavior. He’s got that confidence he can wear a dress for mcc and still know he’s a man which is very transmasc cause other men just got handed it, but we afab men have to look at masculinity and go ‘yeah that’s me’ and then make sure everyone knows it like that’s how you know being trans isn’t a choice because men kinda suck and I still went out and actively was like um guys I’m actually a man sorry. Some days he’s cool with just throwing gender norms out the window and some days he feels the need to yell for the whole world and the next couple galaxies as well to hear that he’s DeFiNiTeLy NoT WeArInG a CoRsEt GeM. Can you tell [the submitter’s] projecting? Cause [they’re] projecting. You can pry this headcanon out of [their] cold dead hands lol.”

“He has fluctuating chest dysphoria so sometimes he doesn't bind and sometimes he does. His bad dysphoria days are rare enough that he's not gonna bother with top surgery.”

“Transmasc Joel Smallishbeans is everything to [the submitter] and [the submitter] like[s] to think that forming the bad boys is what made him plug the tv back on and turn the brightness to the max, like he went ‘Oh we’re bad boys?? Guess I’m finally a boy now!”

“Nonbinary bad boy Joel except he is not a boy.”

"First, [the submitter] think[s] she was raised as a gender that just. doesn't exist here. She was raised in Mezalea where how gender works is just. different and, because she has a beard, everyone assumed she was a man but she's NOT and in recent years has been figuring out her own identity and pronouns in a way she hasn't ever thought about before and also she and Lizzie are butch4femme, amen. Or bi4bi. Both? She’s a masculine person and she likes stuff like the bad boys because it's more of a title separate from her gender. She’s just a masculine woman, amen.”

“He's a sopping wet tanooki (cat /j) and [jizzie] are t4t bi4bi coded.”

“Joel hasn't been called girlfriend/wife/girl by his friends for NOTHING. Bro’s the definition of gender and he slays in a dress no matter what (in Minecraft and in irl)."

Joel Smallishbeans^4:

Submitted for: Hermitcraft, Third Life, Last Life, Double Life, Limited Life, Secret Life, Wild Life, Empires SMP Season 1, Empires SMP Season 2

Headcanons: Transmasc, he/they; Trans man, he/him; Genderfluid, any pronouns; Trans masc, it/he/she; Transmasc Genderfluid, he/any; Identity not specified, they/he

Propaganda: “He’s just a silly little terracotta man with only a vague understanding of human gender he tries to impersonate but fails at.”

“Lizzie and Joel are a t4t bi4bi couple in [the submitter’s] heart. Lizzie transfem (she/her) Joel transmasc+gender fluid (he/any).”

“He has fluctuating chest dysphoria so sometimes he doesn't bind and sometimes he does. His bad dysphoria days are rare enough that he's not gonna bother with top surgery.”

“Nonbinary bad boy Joel except he is not a boy.”

“He's a sopping wet tanooki (cat /j) and [jizzie] are t4t bi4bi coded.”

“Joel hasn't been called girlfriend/wife/girl by his friends for NOTHING. Bro’s the definition of gender and he slays in a dress no matter what (in Minecraft and in irl)."

#transmcytshowdown #poll #joel smallishbeans #top joel smallishbeans^4 #bottom joel smallishbeans^4 #hermitcraft #empires smp #empires season one #empires season two #life series #third life #last life #double life #limited life #secret life #wild life

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fwol-jintu · 3 days ago

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Yo what if shen yuan was a flower parasite

Like, dude kept a flower vase near his computer, but then accidentally spilled it and the water electrocuted him and he died by the flowers

And thne he gets into the PIDW world and the system's like-

[MISSION: GARDEN WORLD.]

[This system has found the perfect world for the host.]

[A world capable of growing your beautiful flowers.]

[Start the infection? Yes | No]

Sy: wtf (clicks no)

[Start the infection? Yes | ///] (system deleted the "no" key)

Sy:

Sy: bitc- (ignores it)

[Infection has started!]

Sy: WHAT

So like, the system starts infecting the surroundings with parasites that look like flowers

It started off with the forest he spawned into, which slowly got overrun with his parasitic flowers (not rly parasjtes but they kinda created a sort of forced symbiosis?)

the flowers havent infected the creatures, atleast not until one of them tried to attack shen yuan- and then out of no where a gigantic sharp root bursted from the ground and pierced through the creature, killing them

A meek yet beautiful flower sprouts from the corpse.

"Holy fucking shit."

Shen yuan thought it was cool and all, like yeah ok its a lil weird but its just some world, and since hes not really harming anything with this he just goes along with it

Until well whatever just happened to the creature that tried to attack him

Others pov:

The demons fled to the nearby forest, being chased by cultivators and stuff

And then they just see the forest being absolutely infested with the same kind of flowers but at first they didnt really care cuz they were about to die

BUT THEN they came across this gorgeous gorgeous man and then uh the cultivators get killed right infront of them (pierced by root)

And theyre saved and yes they worship shen yuan now how could they not

And then bro becomes a local legend

Play with this au however you want lol

system: i'll make the perfect garden for you

Sy: who tf

System: nourish the ground and feed your flowers with the blood and death of creatures

Sy: ....you should be the one doing this job ngl...

System meeting binghe: kill him, his core can strengthen your beautiful flowers!

Sy: bro???????

System: (obsessed w wanting binghe's blood) (its a heavenly demon's blood afterall) (eh its kinda diluted but its ok) MAKE HIM DRIP CRIMSON!

Lbh: ???

Lqg: (the roots have him tangled and stuck in the air) "you..! You filthy demon! Let go of me at once and fight me, you dirty coward!"

Sy: (in awe at the view) holy shit thats hot

System: i question our goals here

Sy: theres no goals to question. If theres a hole theres a goa-

System: can you like stfu

#monster shen yuan #demon shen yuan #shen yuan #Parasite mother shen yuan #Parasite au #svsss #mxtx svsss #scum villain #luo binghe #liushen #liu qingge #svsss liu qingge #svsss shen yuan #svsss luo binghe #scumbag self saving system #scum villian self saving system #svsss system #System is a freak

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 days ago

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A Curse [Chapter 3: Flower District]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, medical stuff, a creepy dude, a special surprise is found in Aegon's office!!!

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

You sleep in late and wake to the sound of excited voices out in the kitchen. When you follow them, you find Baela using a pink Click ‘n Flame utility lighter to ignite the candles on a sloppily but lovingly homemade cake, Pillsbury Funfetti according to the blue box left upturned on the countertop, lumpy white icing dotted with multicolored sprinkles. Jace must be responsible. You panic, thinking that you have forgotten a birthday, but no: you quickly recall that Baela is a Sagittarius and Jace is—somewhat improbably—a Capricorn.

“What are we celebrating?” you ask.

Baela looks up from the cake, the candlelight luminescence radiant on her face. She is beaming, she is glowing, she is definitely meant to be an actress. She shines too brightly to belong anywhere but among the stars. “I got the part.”

“Which part?”

“The one in the new Yorgos Lanthimos movie!”

“No way!” you shout, and you rush over to hug her; but already there is a sinking feeling that you are dimly aware of through the rush, and when the revelry is over you will lie in bed alone with these thoughts, treasonous yet true: When will it be my turn? Why can’t this happen to me? “That’s so exciting! I’m so happy for you!”

“It’s about the French Revolution,” Baela says when you pull away, still grinning hugely. “I’m getting third billing, my name will be on the promo posters! I’m flying to Paris for filming next month!”

“Wow.” Your smile is frozen on your face. “Wow, wow, wow, I can’t believe it. This is so awesome!”

Then Baela realizes how it must feel for you, and she is sympathetic, rubbing your shoulder as her expression twists into something soft and bashful. “But hey, your luck is turning around too!”

“Yeah,” Jace says. “You got to be in Episode 5,000 of Grey’s Anatomy.” Baela gives him a reproachful glare. “What?” he asks, clueless.

“No, it’s totally cool,” you insist. “I’m really, really thrilled for you, Baela. You have to take a million pictures in Paris so I can see all the architecture and desserts and hot French dudes!”

Jace snorts. “Are French dudes even hot?” He sounds skeptical.

“You can be my date to the premiere,” Baela tells you. Jace gapes at her, incredulous. “We can pose together on the red carpet and you can do some networking! Maybe Yorgos will even like you and cast you in his next project!”

But something about the way she says it makes the prospect sound ludicrous, fantastical, fictional. Baela’s breakthrough is reality, yours is unicorns and mermaids and the Loch Ness Monster. “You are so wonderful, but you should take Jace.”

“Yeah, you should take Jace,” Jace says.

Baela pulls a knife out of the bamboo block on the kitchen counter. Her parents bought it, like they bought almost everything else in the apartment; they believe in her, lots of people do. “Do you want some cake? When’s your appointment?” The appointment you didn’t cancel, contrary to Aegon’s explicit instructions. Technically, you never agreed to, so you haven’t lied to him. That makes you feel better. Baela glances at the calendar and reads the time written there in red ink. “Oh good, not until noon. You definitely have time for cake!”

“Babe, you gotta blow out your candles first,” Jace says. Baela closes her eyes, becomes still and serene, extinguishes the tiny golden flickers of light with one delicate puff. Then she begins cutting the Funfetti cake. You get three forks from the silverware drawer. Jace hands you a plate from the cabinet as he complains about having to go to class today: Music Aesthetics, Analysis, and Philosophy.

“Just a little one, please,” you tell Baela. A moment later, she plops a skinny slice of cake onto your plate. “Thanks, Becca! Wait, no, I mean Baela. Sorry.”

She laughs, still wielding a knife covered in white frosting. “Who’s Becca?”

“Aegon’s fiancée.”

“Oh, your agent’s future wife? The agent that you are definitely not into at all?”

“Yeah, that one, you got it.” You give her a wink and take a bite of cake: frosting so sweet it hurts your teeth, tiny kaleidoscopic flecks of candy like gold in a stream.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So, which one are you liking the feel of?” Dr. Cunningham asks, smiling in a way that is effervescent and yet impersonal, vaguely impatient, a real estate agent type of charisma. He must be in his mid-fifties, and yet his face is nearly entirely purged of wrinkles, smooth and shiny and evenly tanned. His teeth are too perfect to not be veneers. People keep suggesting those to you too; you need more time to wrap your mind around the idea of having your canines and incisors shaved down to helpless nubs.

“Um…” You go down the line again, squeezing all three samples that are arranged on the stainless steel utility table that Dr. Cunningham wheeled over to you. “I walked in wanting the gummy bear implants, and I think I feel the same way now.”

“Excellent!” he says, wearing that same smile. His eyes, very blue, never change; they are alert yet vacuous, like the fatal error screen on a Windows computer.

“And they’re safer, aren’t they? The gummy bear ones?”

“Statistically, yes,” Dr. Cunningham agrees, somewhat briskly, as if he is eager to change the subject. “But I wouldn’t worry about that. I hardly ever see ruptures in any of my patients.”

Hardly ever, not never. “That’s good!” you say spiritedly, like a star pupil.

“As I mentioned earlier, they are a bit more expensive than the other options, but we have several financing options available.”

“My parents are paying, so no worries there.”

“Fantastic.” He’s still smiling. You kind of wish he would stop. “You want to be an actress, I assume?”

“I do, yeah! How’d you know?”

He chuckles as he rolls the small metal table away. “That’s what all the girls are doing out here, right? And if it’s not acting, it’s singing, or modelling, or…what do you call that, when you make money on TikTok or wherever?”

“Being an influencer.”

“Right,” Dr. Cunningham says. “Well, I wish you the very best of luck.” It’s chivalrous but hollow, an echo of the encouragement he’s given to thousands of women just like you, except probably more beautiful and more talented and actually getting some of the parts they audition for.

I got a part, you think, and your mood lifts a bit. Aegon finally found me one. And he believes I’ll get more.

“Is it okay if I take a look?” the ever-smiling Dr. Cunningham says, and your heart begins to pound beneath the gown you’re wearing, scratchy white polyester-blend fabric that opens in the front. But this is all standard procedure, and you knew to expect an exam, and you should not feel like you’re lining up for the firing squad.

“Of course!” you exclaim too enthusiastically; your voice cracks. You undo the tie down by your waist and the fabric across your chest and belly goes slack. Your tan TOMS wedges are scattered on the linoleum floor that’s supposed to look like wood. The sundress you wore to the appointment, patterned with large sunlit palm leaves, is folded on a chair. Your eyeshadow matches: matte green Thorns by Anastasia Beverly Hills, sparkly gold Whisper by Natasha Denona.

As Dr. Cunningham opens your gown and begins the exam, you stare at a framed print of Venice Beach on the wall, and you pretend you are there under the hot glaring daylight instead of here in a frigidly air-conditioned office being prodded and manipulated, measured not to be admired or understood but only to be improved upon.

Dr. Cunningham is saying: “Just so you’re aware, due to how firm a gummy bear implant is, we typically have to make a slightly larger incision in order to insert it. Saline and traditional silicone implants, being more flexible, can be squeezed in through a smaller opening, for example using a transaxillary incision in the underarm. But they’re also more prone to wrinkling and rippling, and they must be replaced more frequently, so that pliability comes at a cost. I think gummy bear implants are a very good choice for you.”

“And…where exactly would the incision be?” Your heartbeat is still thunderous; you can hear the scorching red blood flow throbbing in your ears. Dr. Cunningham either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mention it.

“We’d go in right here,” he says, skimming his gloved fingers just beneath your left breast, your raw heart just two inches away. Goosebumps prickle on your arms. “It’s what we call an inframammary incision, and it gives us more room to work with to ensure the implant is placed properly, and…”

He loses his train of thought, interrupted by a commotion out in the lobby. Through the closed exam room door, you can hear people arguing and then something being spilled—the jar of pens on the receptionist’s desk? the glass bowl of mints?—and heavy sprinting footsteps. Dr. Cunningham pulls his hands away and you snatch your gown shut just as the door bursts open, and Aegon stands there breathing heavily from the exertion, hair in disarray, white Nike Killshots with a red slash of a Swoosh, dark jeans, salmon-colored t-shirt that’s too big for him, tan sport coat jacket yanked off of his shoulders. His attacker, the elderly receptionist, has chased him to the doorway.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she’s shrieking. She smacks him with a massive leather purse. “You can’t just go barging in on patients! What are you, some kind of druggie? We don’t keep any opioids in this office!”

Dr. Cunningham yells: “Will you call the police, Barbara?!”

“No wait, I know him,” you say, and both Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist stare hostilely at you. You ignore them and look at Aegon instead, stunned. “Hi.”

He straightens his jacket. His eyes, that dark and turbulent blue, are fixed on your face as you hastily retie your gown so it stays shut. “Hi. What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s just a consultation.”

“For a surgery you’re not going to have?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “How did you know I was here?”

“I just had this feeling you weren’t going to cancel,” Aegon says. “So I went to your apartment and you weren’t home, but your roommate told me where you were and gave me the address that you wrote on the calendar.”

“Oh.”

“She’s very nice. Your roommate, I mean.”

“Yeah, Baela’s cool.”

“She offered me a piece of Funfetti cake.”

“Did you take it?”

“No. I was in a hurry to get here.”

“Right.” You remain seated on the edge of the exam table with your hands clasped together in your lap. The receptionist and Dr. Cunningham’s bewildered gazes fly between you and the intruder.

Aegon sighs and nods towards the hallway that leads out to the lobby and the front door of the office. “Come on,” he says gently. “Get dressed. Let’s go.”

“I can’t,” you reply.

“Why not?”

You don’t answer; your eyes dart to the print of Venice Beach on the wall and stay there as they begin to water. Aegon crosses the room—the receptionist and Dr. Cunningham shuffle around the cramped space to keep away from him—and stops when he is standing right in front of you, his hands in the pockets of his rumpled tan jacket.

“Why not?” Aegon asks again, very softly now.

You look at him. Your voice is a quivering whisper. “I don’t want to have to give this up.” The city, the potential, the dream.

“Hey,” Aegon murmurs, leaning in close. You can smell the ocean and sunlight and Juicy Fruit gum. Strands of blonde hair, ripped from the sheen of gel, shag over his forehead. “You’re bright as hell just the way you are. You don’t need surgery to be an actress. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

And immediately, you are ready to leave. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You wriggle down off of the exam table, check your gown to make sure you’re still covered, and turn to Dr. Cunningham. “I guess I’m not interested anymore.”

“Please never set foot in my office again,” he says.

“No problem,” Aegon snaps. And then to you: “I’ll meet you outside. We’ll get lunch.”

“Sure,” you reply, still a little dazed.

Aegon hurries out of the exam room before the police are summoned. Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist leave too, muttering to each other and casting you appalled glares. When you are alone, you throw off the gown and put on your bra, wedges, and sundress…and as you are smoothing the creases from the soft cotton patterned with palm leaves, you smile to yourself, kind pink heat swirling in your cheeks.

Aegon is in the parking lot and leaning against his white Chrysler Sebring convertible. He has put on his black aviator sunglasses to blot out the intense afternoon sun. Dr. Cunningham’s office is on a busy street in Beverly Hills; you can hear car horns, pedestrians shouting into their cellphones, toy dogs yapping, Shape Of You chiming from a passing Mercedes. Across the street is a series of shops in a row, Starbucks and Neiman Marcus and Gucci. Aegon says, pointing to your 2003 Honda Accord: “I’ll drive you back to get your car later.”

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“Chinatown,” he says, opening the passenger’s door of his Sebring. “And from now on, you listen when I tell you to do something, just like you said you would.”

“I’ll be your best client ever,” you promise, climbing into the car. The top is down, the wind blowing in from the Pacific Ocean to the west.

“I’m here for a reason. It’s not to be ignored. I can be your advocate, but you have to be honest with me.”

“I completely understand. I won’t mislead you again.”

“The Grey’s Anatomy people really liked you, by the way.”

The hope unfurls across your face like dawn over the earth. “Really?”

Aegon gives you a teasing, crooked grin. “Don’t pretend you’re shocked.” He shuts the car door, jogs over to the driver’s side, drives east through thick midday traffic.

At the same restaurant you went to the day you met, seated beside the same large fish tank, you and Aegon place the same orders: moo goo gai pan, boneless spare ribs. The waitress, Lanying, asks Aegon about how his siblings are doing before she speeds off to tend to her other customers.

Aegon watches the malevolent ember-colored oscars for a while, then taps his paper Chinese zodiac calendar, rimmed in red and gold. “Which one are you?”

You laugh, thinking he’s joking. “You already know.”

But Aegon doesn’t smile; he only stares at you blankly. “What?”

“I told you about my zodiac sign. The first time we had lunch here.”

And he looks at you as if his skull is as clear as the transluscent blue-tinged water of the fish tank, all the lights on but nobody home, and for a split second you almost feel as if you don’t recognize him, as if he is a stranger wearing Aegon’s windswept blonde hair and ill-fitting clothes and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Then Aegon repossesses himself and he is flippant, casual. “Oh yeah, right. Totally. I remember now.”

But you have the sense that he doesn’t. You try to hide how much this wounds you. It must not have been memorable. It must not have meant anything to him. “I’m a dragon!” you say brightly, and hold up your hands as if they are claws, opening and closing your hooked fingers.

Now he does smile, a little preoccupied, a little forced. “Of course you are.”

You scan the calendar. “What year was Becca born?”

“Uh…1994, I think.”

“She’s a dog,” you say. You read the description silently to yourself as the tea and wonton soups are brought to the table: Loyal and honest, you work well with others. Generous yet stubborn and often selfish. Look to the horse or tiger. Watch out for dragons.

~~~~~~~~~~

You arrive at Aegon’s office twenty minutes early, mostly because you miss him. It’s Wednesday, June 25th, and you park your Honda on the narrow sloping street and step out into 80-degree sunlight, ambient dog barking, powerlines crossing overhead. A lady walking her chihuahua waves at you and adjusts her sunglasses. Window air conditioning units whir. The trees, ginkgos and pink trumpets and Victorian boxes and palms, are still in the bright breezeless afternoon. The skyline of Downtown is a mirage on the horizon. From the barber shop across the street, you can hear a radio playing Bailamos by Enrique Iglesias.

When you clop into the lobby in your TOMS wedges, you see that Aegon’s door is closed. At his desk, Brandon is on the landline phone and jotting notes down in his planner, his flower pen scribbling rapidly across pink paper. When he spots you, he covers the phone speaker with his hand. “Hey girl!”

“Sorry, I know I’m early. Is he busy with another client?”

“No, go on in!” Brandon reaches down to dig around in the minifridge and sets a Perrier on the ledge of his desk. You take it, thank him, and go to Aegon’s door. You are puzzled to hear people talking on the other side, muffled indistinct voices. You wear an ocean blue sundress and cool metallic shades on your eyelids: Shellshock by Urban Decay, Strike by Natasha Denona. You open the door.

Aegon has his Nike Killshots up on his untidy desk and is playing the Nintendo 64. Mario is running through what appears to be some sort of underground maze, foggy and strewn with gold coins. The greenish haze must be toxic. Mario’s Power Meter is slowly ticking down; each time Mario snags a coin, it is partially restored. Aegon is watching the screen as he talks to a woman whose back is turned to you: tall, willowy, long dark hair. They don’t realize you’re here.

Aegon is saying as he clicks the transluscent orange Nintendo 64 controller: “That’s great, babe.”

“And the charity thing is on July 19th. I got a custom suit from Tom Ford, it’s powder blue, all you have to do is show up to the fitting.”

He sighs euphorically. “You’re the best.”

She giggles. “I know.”

Then Aegon notices you, and for a moment he seems shaken—not in a good way—and for some reason you feel like you’ve made some horrible mistake. The woman spins around to see what he’s looking at. She is stunning and ethereal and wearing a plain sack dress that hangs perfectly on her, a young Cher, and she smiles at you, kind and dazzling.

“Hi!” you say. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m a little early, I mixed up my appointment time because I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re fine,” Aegon replies, but he’s still distracted. Mario suffocates in the maze and drops over dead. Aegon turns off the game. He clears his throat. “Uh, this is Becca.”

You shake her hand when she offers it. Gold bangle bracelets jangle on her wrist. “It’s so nice to meet you, Becca!”

“And you must be the new client!” she says warmly. “The one from…where was it, Michigan?”

“Minnesota,” you reply.

“Oh, brr!” Becca says, pretending to shiver, and you laugh.

“Yeah, I’m really happy to be here. And you’re getting married soon, I hear!”

Becca beams, clapping her hands together. “Yes! I’m so excited but so stressed. The planning is endless.”

“Are you going to do it here in the city somewhere?”

“Aegon didn’t tell you?” Becca is perhaps a tad disappointed. “It’s a destination wedding.”

Aegon says from his desk, somewhat recovered: “Turk…something.”

“Turkey?” you say doubtfully. An interesting choice.

“Turks and Caicos,” Becca clarifies.

“No way! My sister just got engaged there, she said it was gorgeous.”

Aegon asks you from his desk: “Have you ever been?”

“I wish. Not yet, maybe one day.”

“You’ll have to come to the wedding!” Becca says cheerfully.

“Me?!” It’s ridiculous; you’re a nobody, you barely know her, you have a crush on her future husband.

“Yeah, all of Aegon’s clients are invited. Aren’t they, babe?” Becca glances at him, and then her eyes catch there and they stare at each other, Aegon slumped in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, Becca standing next to you, and there are several slow awkward seconds of silence. Aegon gets a piece of Juicy Fruit gum from a pack on his desk and shoves it into his mouth. Becca looks at you and then back to Aegon, who is pretending to organize the clutter on his desk. You notice for the first time that there is a ceramic bowl of Honeycrisp apples there.

“I thought you didn’t like those,” you say to alleviate the tension that you don’t understand.

“Well, Brando eats them,” Aegon explains.

“That makes sense.”

“And I guess they’re growing on me.”

“They’re really good for you,” you say. “Helps to balance out all the boneless spare ribs.”

Now Becca is studying you, and instead of being warm she is now cold and rigid and perplexed. After a while she asks stiffly: “What are you two up to today?”

“We’re going to the Flower District,” Aegon tells her as he rolls his gum wrapper into a ball between his palms. “I’ll be done in a few hours, I just have to get some current pics of her to send to people. So we’re going to do a quick impromptu photoshoot.”

Becca nods, still scrutinizing you. You open your Perrier and start gulping it so you have an excuse not to talk.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” Aegon asks Becca, and she perks up a bit.

“Beef bourguignon. It’s a new recipe, I’m really excited to try it.”

Aegon pretends to drool. “Amazing. I can’t wait.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Becca says, and goes to leave.

“It was so nice to meet you!” you call after her.

Becca replies curtly without stopping: “Yup. You too.” You hear the two-inch heels of her gold sandals tapping on the scuffed wood floor and then the rough opening and closing of the front door of the half-duplex.

“What just happened?” you ask Aegon.

“Nothing,” he says, standing from his desk. His shoes match his shirt, a green plaid Ralph Lauren button-up that isn’t tucked into his jeans. His hair is slicked back and shiny with gel.

“I’m sorry, did I…did I do something wrong…?”

He sighs. “No.”

You toy anxiously with your Perrier bottle. You don’t want Aegon to fire you; you don’t want to lose him. He’s the only person who understands. “You should have told me we were going to be taking pictures. I would have done my hair and worn normal eyeshadow.”

He smiles. “I wanted you to look like you.” Then he heads off to his Chrysler Sebring, and you follow him.

The Flower District is on the other side of Chinatown in Downtown Los Angeles. It’s the largest wholesale flower market in the country, six blocks of vendors selling every plant imaginable, from ordinary daisies and tulips to bamboo shoots, ferns, herbs, cactuses, succulents, baby trees, house plants like monstera and ivy. The aroma is overwhelming; when you breathe deeply, you imagine prismatic blossoms bursting up through the alveoli of your lungs, roses and irises and calla lilies and orchids. Aegon weaves through the aisles and frowns at the magnificent flowers, none of them right for some reason. You are endlessly pausing to sniff petals and gingerly graze your fingerprints over leaves. Aegon has to backtrack to find you when you stop to watch a demonstration of a Venus flytrap being fed.

“Here we go!” Aegon announces triumphantly when at last he is satisfied, and he lifts the large bouquet from a plastic bucket for you to see: massive sunflowers, water dripping off the cut stems. “They’re sunny, just like you. You like them?”

“I love them,” you say, taking the bouquet and beaming. Aegon pays in cash.

Outside under the harsh cloudless sunlight, he poses you in front of one of the flower shops, pedestrians walking behind you and a rainbow myriad of blooms out of focus. He uses his phone to take a series of photos, some up-close and some full-body shots, and you had assumed it would be awkward but it’s not, Aegon is making jokes and you are laughing and trying weird angles and spinning around so the skirt of your sundress swishes despite the lack of a breeze.

“Cool, got some good ones,” Aegon says, scanning through his phone. “We’re done.”

“What should I do with these?” you ask about the sunflowers. “Do you want them back?”

“Why would I want them back?”

“I don’t know. You paid for them, it feels weird for me to keep them.”

“They’re yours. Enjoy.”

You inhale the faint floral scent that emanates from the yellow petals. “I’m going to put them in a vase on the kitchen counter and buy them flower food so they live as long as possible. And I’m going to talk to them, because that’s supposed to be good for plants.”

Aegon chuckles. “You are ridiculous.” He slides his phone into the pocket of his jeans and sees an ice cream vendor up the street, then gestures for you to come with him. The ice cream is allegedly homemade and only comes in five flavors. Aegon orders for you both. “Hi, one vanilla and one strawberry.”

The vendor scoops the ice cream into two waffle cones. Again, as he always does, Aegon pays in cash. You locate an available bench and you and Aegon sit together with the sunflower bouquet lying between you, watching the pedestrians stroll by with their friends and partners and children and dogs.

“Tastes better when you make it,” Aegon says, licking melting strawberry ice cream from his waffle cone. “I might have another job for you.”

“Really?! Yay!”

“It’s a little unorthodox, but you said you’d take anything.”

“I definitely will.”

“It’s a music video for Maroon 5,” Aegon cautions. “It’s honestly pretty uninspiring and stupid, but it’s work. It’s another last-minute thing, at first the girlfriend of one of the band dudes was supposed to be in the video but I guess now they’re fighting all the time and the guy doesn’t like the idea of having a permanent reminder of her if they break up, which seems likely.’”

“I want to do it,” you say immediately. “When?”

“They’re planning to film the first week in July at a mansion in Beverly Hills. They already have a male actor cast. And you don’t even have to kiss him or anything, you get to argue with him in the first scene and then the rest of it is mostly you just moping around the mansion in designer outfits. Again, it’s super unoriginal. Boy and girl have a miscommunication and split, boy regrets it afterwards, they both secretly and photogenically yearn for each other. It’s very Edward leaving Bella in New Moon.”

“Sounds fantastic! Do I get to meet Maroon 5?”

Aegon is disappointed. “Are you a fan?”

“Well…not really.” You both laugh. “But I feel like it’s always cool to meet celebrities in real life.”

“Yes, you get to meet them.”

You cheer. “You are the most talented agent ever!” You take a lick of your ice cream; it’s almost gone now. You look over at Aegon, serious now. “You’re the only person who doesn’t think I’m absolutely insane for trying to do this.”

He crunches his waffle cone with his teeth. “Your roommate’s an actress, right? She must get it.”

You shrug. “Baela is confident, and magnetic, and she wants to be famous. She’s very obviously meant to be in this industry, and agents and directors respond to her. But I’m not like that. Most people don’t notice me. And that’s okay, I don’t really want to be famous. I just want to be able to be a working actor and get to stay here. If I’m not making significant progress by the end of the year, I have to choose between going back to Minnesota or being disowned and impoverished.”

Aegon watches you, thoughtful, maybe a little sad. “I like you the way you are, sunshine.”

You smile shyly at him. “Thanks. I like you too.”

“And I don’t want you to change. It’s horrible to watch someone disappear.” He devours the rest of his waffle cone. “You know…I think helping you get to where you’re going, and making sure it’s done the right way…that will be the last good thing I ever do here.”

“You don’t have to retire.”

He shakes his head. “Circumstances change. Priorities change.”

“Do you want kids?” If Becca is in her thirties, perhaps now is the time to start planning for that.

“No,” Aegon says, flinching. “Definitely no kids. You’re anti-horse, I’m anti-kid.”

“Then what’s the rush to leave L.A.?”

“It’s the right time.”

“Not for me.” You grin. “I just got here. You can’t abandon me yet.”

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of before I go. I’ll get someone I trust to sign you.”

“But I don’t want another agent.”

“The music video director asked to meet you before filming,” Aegon says, deflecting. “It’ll be quick, just ten or fifteen minutes. We’ll swing by his office on the way back to Elysian Park.”

“Okay,” you agree. You take a makeup compact out of your Patricia Nash purse and use the mirror to make sure you don’t have any ice cream on your nose or chin.

“I haven’t worked with him before,” Aegon says. “But I’ve heard very good things and obviously I’ll be there at the shoot.”

You snap your compact shut. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

In a spacious, glass-walled office in Downtown, the director introduces himself as Dan Sacco. He is tall and broad through the shoulders and extremely welcoming, offering you drinks and snacks and asking about your hometown as Aegon stands in the corner of the room, his hands in his pockets and his eyes watchful. Two jobs in two weeks; Aegon is a miracle worker.

When you get home to your apartment, it’s empty. Baela and Jace must have gone out somewhere for dinner. You put the sunflowers in a vase and then scroll through Instagram. Aegon has posted a new story: a photo of you standing with your bouquet and smiling, not sexy or alluring or arrogant but simply happy, and he must be very knowledgeable about filters because you think you look great.

Future Hollywood Walk of Fame star recipient, Aegon has added as a caption. If you want to book her, you know where to find me. He finished with a sunflower emoji. You press the heart button in the bottom right corner of the screen to like the story. Your own heart is racing now in the best way possible, feverish and loud, intoxicated, needful, seams ready to rupture.

You look up Becca’s Instagram, but her account is private. You send her a follow request. She doesn’t accept it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The night before the shoot, there is a knock at your door. It’s 8:30 p.m., a strange hour, not early enough for Amazon deliveries or a visit from one of Jace’s eccentric PhD program friends, not late enough for a drunk tenant to have mistaken your apartment for their own. When you open the door, you are at first so shocked you can’t place him. Then you remember where you know the hulking man in the tan suit from. It’s Dan, the director of the music video.

“Oh my God, hi!” you welcome him. You have just gotten home from Cold Stone Creamery and are still in your drab grey uniform. You always drive to and from work now, per Aegon’s insistence. You promised you’d listen, and you’re trying your best. Jace is in Baela’s bedroom banging on his Yamaha keyboard. From the velvet orange couch in the living room where she is watching The Vampire Diaries, Baela peeks curiously over at where your visitor fills up the doorway.

Dan seems pleased by your enthusiasm. “Hello again.”

“Can I help you with something? I know the shoot is tomorrow, I’m really excited. I was about to get ready for bed so I can go to sleep early and be well-rested. There’s not a problem with the music video, is there? Please don’t say it’s cancelled or that I’m fired or something.”

Dan chuckles, a deep slow rumble. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to give you a heads up that we added a scene to the script.” He holds up a thin packet of papers held together by a single staple. “I’m not allowed to leave it in an unsecured location, so I have to take it with me when I go. But I thought you should be aware so you’re prepared when you show up to set.”

“Aw, that’s so thoughtful of you!” You take the packet and flip through it, skimming for an unfamiliar scene. “Did you get my address from Aegon? Or Brandon, his receptionist?”

“It was in your file that they sent over,” Dan says, perhaps a bit guardedly, and before you can ask anything else you stumble upon the scene, and your stomach drops. The actress—me, you think, that’s not some other woman, that’s me—will be lying in a vast empty bathtub, soaked hair, dripping skin, black lingerie, writhing and whimpering as she mourns the loss of her lover.

“Um…the bathtub scene?” you squeak.

“It’s going to be so cinematic,” Dan says, his large hands painting a picture with dramatic gestures. “Sunlight streaming in through a window, your skin glowing, you’ve drained the tub but you’re too heartbroken to get up so you’re just sprawled there, still drenched from the bathwater. Obviously it would make more sense if you were naked, but…we can’t do that in a music video.” He laughs. “But the aesthetic will be divine, like sexy mourning widow. And we’ll get all kinds of shots, you crying, you angry, you pining, you flirting and beckoning the camera closer, and we can get creative, you can just kind of crawl around all over the tub and we’ll see what you come up with.”

You gaze at the script until all the words vanish, imaging a room full of men watching you roll around in underwear, black lace wet and clinging to your skin, no secrets, nowhere to disappear. I can’t do that. But you can’t say no. “Is there going to be a woman on set to…you know, to…like…supervise, or, or something…?”

“You mean an intimacy coordinator?”

“Yes, thank you, that’s the term I was looking for.” Does Aegon know about this? He has to, right?

“Well, it’s not a sex scene,” Dan says rationally. “It’s not even a kissing scene. So we would never pay to have an intimacy coordinator around for this, it’s completely unnecessary.”

“Oh.” I can’t do that. I can’t do that. You feel nauseous; you feel dizzy, like you might stagger if you try to move.

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable, that’s totally cool,” Dan says. “I get it, a job like this isn’t for everyone. I have a list of backups I can call, and I can find somebody else—”

“No!” you cry out, then give the script back to Dan and manage a smile. “No, sorry, I was just a little confused, but I understand now. Thank you for letting me know about the new scene, and I can absolutely handle it.”

“Great.” He grins proudly. “I knew I could count on you. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

Dan lumbers down the hallway, and you close the door when he’s out of sight. Baela asks from the couch: “What do they want you to do?”

You swallow noisily. “Roll around essentially naked in a bathtub.”

Baela nods; she doesn’t seem alarmed. Is this normal? Are you unreasonable? “Bikini?”

“Lingerie.”

“Want to know a trick?” she says. “After you shave, run a Stridex pad over your skin. I have a container of them in the bathroom cabinet, use as many as you want. It’ll burn at first, but it kills any bacteria and prevent razor burn. No bumps or ingrown hairs!”

“Thanks,” you reply weakly.

Baela squints at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” A lie.

“It’s not that bad,” she says reassuringly. “I know it seems like the end of the world, but once you do a nude scene or a sex scene once, the nerves go away and it’s just another day at work. You’ll get through it. You’ll do an incredible job.”

I don’t want to give up the dream. I don’t want to leave Los Angeles. I don’t want to leave Aegon.

“You’re probably right,” you tell Baela, and you pretend to be fine so she won’t worry, or pity you, or be further convinced that you don’t belong here.

You shower, shave, scrub your skin with stinging Stridex pads, and long after you were supposed to be asleep you’re still staring up at your bedroom ceiling, a deep blue shadowscape with no stars.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x you #hotd fic #hotd fanfic

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apomaro-mellow · 2 days ago

Text

The Road to You 2

Part 1

As far as Doug, Jeff, and Gareth knew, Eddie was simply running from the police and Jason’s mob. The less they knew about monsters he had faced, the better. They visited him in the hospital once they had heard where he was. All three were surprised to see that Steve Harrington was in the room. They were even more surprised to find that this was a regular thing from Eddie’s uncle. Then they learned from Dustin that apparently Steve had been with Eddie during all of this.

It made a solid rock of guilt settle in their stomachs. Jeff was the only one who had said anything outright to Eddie about it though.

“I wish you hadn’t been alone”, Jeff had said.

“I wasn’t alone”, Eddie replied. “I had a whole party with me.”

Jeff scoffed. “I love Dustin, but the rest of them? Especially Steve?”

“Steve was…”, Eddie chuckled. “He was the MVP, man.”

“Not the way Henderson says it. If you let him tell the story, you saved the whole world.”

Eddie smiled. “Let’s call it a team effort.”

It was an odd new status quo to get used to. But there wasn’t much to do about it but getting used to it. Anytime they wanted to visit Eddie, Steve seemed to be there. Eventually, someone had to say something about it. And that someone was Gareth.

“So can we talk about how weird this is?”, Gareth said, in between snacking on chips.

“Look, I get it”, Eddie said. “But if you knew him like I knew him…” He shook his head and smiled. “Harrington’s actually kind of a dork. He’s not…” Eddie was about to say Steve wasn’t like he was in high school, but that wasn’t true. Eddie didn’t truly know Steve back then. It took the end of the world for him to see him as he was. “He’s not what I thought he was. He’s cool. Case in point, he got me this tape recorder”, Eddie gestured to it, sitting on the floor.

“What for?”, Gareth asked.

“Song ideas. One great thing about near death experiences - inspiration”, Eddie grinned. He had felt inspired since he’d awakened. But one of the not-so-great things about near death experiences was losing control over your body, even if it wasn’t permanent. Eddie had been unable to write down his ideas. He couldn’t even doodle. Dustin was the one to bring up recording his voice. But it was Steve that bought it for him.

“Can’t believe you got me this. Wait. Am I dying? Do I only have three months? Oh say it isn’t so, Steve!”

“Yeah, yeah just don’t make me regret it”, Steve rolled his eyes.

Now whenever the feeling struck Eddie, he could record them, whether it was lyrics or a hummed melody. He was slowly regaining his fine motor skills, so it would happen someday. But for now, this helped.

-----------------------

Mike, Will, and Dustin started clearing their stuff, packing it away. Eddie blinked, then he looked at the clock and just barely held back a sigh. Visiting hours were just about up.

“You nerds got any plans tonight?”, he asked conversationally.

“Yeah, we’re having a movie night at Mike’s”, Will said.

Eddie knew who was included when they said ‘we’. Their whole crew usually turned up to these things. And that included Steve. Eddie found himself almost wishing he could go. What was Steve like when he watched movies? It was odd but he wanted to know. He got the next best thing though - talking about it with him the next day.

“Of course, Dustin thinks he could totally beat the Thing”, Steve said, legs crossed, magazine over his lap.

Eddie snorted and rolled his eyes. “Didn’t he raise one of those monsters in his turtle tank?”

“Exactly! Everyone else had to remind him too.”

“Do you think you could figure it out?”, Eddie asked.

“I guessed who it was and was right every time. I’m pretty much an expert on the Thing”, Steve said.

“It’s pretty crazy how it got MacReady so early.”

“....What are you talking about? MacReady wasn’t a Thing.”

---------------------

Doug heard shouting from Eddie’s room and it didn’t raise any alarms until he realized it was Steve Harrington’s voice he was hearing. He picked up the pace and thrust the door open, only to see Steve pacing around Eddie’s bed, gesturing wildly.

“It was Childs! It was goddamn Childs!”

“It got MacReady when he was leaving that message!”, Eddie shouted, arms moving stiffly but still conveying his frustration.

But Doug knew when Eddie was arguing, versus when he was debating. Eddie argued when he felt he was in the right and someone was trying to tell him he was wrong. His temper would rise, his voice would start cracking, and he looked almost mean enough to scare small children. But sometimes Eddie liked to argue for the fun of it. Debating. He’d still get loud, but there was no irritation in his voice. And he smiled. Like he was doing at Steve right now.

Steve looked frustrated but wasn’t backing down. If Doug didn’t know any better, he’d say that Harrington was enjoying himself too.

----------------------

Eddie wasn’t better, but he was well enough to be discharged at last. Solid foods were no longer off limits. He could stand for short periods of time. And his mobility had improved. And there was also the fact that he’d been cleared of all charges. Eddie had grown sick of that room in all this time. The same plain ceilings, floors, and walls. But now that he was being pushed towards the exit in a wheelchair, he felt nervous.

Wayne put a hand on his shoulder. He knew his uncle could sense his apprehension. If it were anyone else, Eddie would hate how they were able to see right through him. But he knew Wayne would never use it against him.

“Ready to go back out into the world?”

Eddie took a deep breath before nodding. Wayne brought him outside. And there was Steve. Leaning against his uncle’s car. Suddenly the outside world didn’t seem as scary. Eddie tried tamping that feeling down but it won out and bubbled up when Steve saw them and smiled.

“Hey.”

“So uh, your uncle asked me to come and take your chair in my car. Said his didn’t have enough room and with your van totaled…”

“Harrington’s moving service, you’ve really diversified.”

“Shut up”, Steve smiled.

Steve took the chair and put it in his car once Eddie was situated in Wayne’s. They took off then, but Eddie was confused to see them pull up to Steve’s house and not the little place Wayne had gotten for his troubles. But Eddie figured it out when he saw a small face (possibly Erica’s) in the corner of a window. She disappeared, presumably to tell the others that they had arrived. It was the best surprise-not-surprise party ever thrown for him.

The party lasted hours and at times Eddie felt overwhelmed. He didn’t think there were enough people in his life that cared this much. And he certainly never thought police chief Hopper would ever attend a party in his honor. It reminded him that he still had to learn about his part in all of this. Eddie had learned bits and pieces here and there, but it was hard to really string the story together like that. He’d save that for later though. Right now, he could use some air. He asked Wayne to wheel him outside and he sat by the pool. He lit up and was able to get a few drags in before Steve came out to join him.

“Here to lecture me at Buckley’s behest?”, Eddie teased.

“No, I’m here to bum one off you”, Steve said. He pulled up a lawn chair right next to him. Eddie handed a cigarette to Steve, then his lighter. Eddie averted his eyes, pretending to be interested in the treeline. For some reason, watching Steve felt like too much right now.

“God what I would do for some weed”, Steve breathed out.

“You and me both”, Eddie said, bringing the cigarette to his lips. “But Rick’s still in jail. And my stash went through the Earth’s crust.”

“Shit, don’t remind me. I could use the weed for that too.”

“...The memories?”, Eddie ventured to ask.

Steve lied back on the chair, eyes to the sky. “Don’t you wish you could forget? Even just a while?”

“Yeah. Yeah of course I do. Shit the nightmares I get…” Eddie’s hand went to his side. Sometimes he still felt the teeth in him. There were nights where he swore there was a hole that went through his stomach. He’d wake up in a sweat, afraid to touch and find that his hands went all the way through. “Does it ever get easier?”

“I don’t know”, Steve answered honestly. “Never gone that long without the next crisis.”

Eddie didn’t know how to feel. There seemed to be this finality with things but also everyone still seemed on edge. Like it was the end but…was it? Even Eddie felt like that was too good to be true. But the thought of having to deal with this all over again before a full year had even passed… Eddie didn’t want this to happen again in ten years, let alone ten months.

“What if it’s really over?”

Steve blew smoke out of his mouth before replying. “I don’t know.”

Eddie let that hang in the air. Because he didn’t know either. Every single plan, idea, and dream he had back in March seemed like nothing now.

“Your agenda’s open then. Good”, Eddie nodded.

“Good?”, Steve raised a brow.

“Yeah. It means you can be my manservant now that I’m discharged. It’s gonna be a lot of work, but I think you’re up to it.”

“I don’t come cheap, Munson.”

“Rick’s not my only plug”, Eddie winked.

“Deal.”

Part 3 coming soon

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie

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akawifeyy · 2 days ago

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LEMONADE | fic (DR3)

description: as much as he would miss the high-stakes lifestyle of formula 1, daniel ricciardo is ready to start fresh. and the perfect start seems to be in his hometown, where a little girl is running a lemonade stand.

tropes: meet-cute, happy ending, lemonade stand au!, single mum!reader

face claim: none

trigger warnings: mature content (!!), swearing

| note: i love dr3 soooo much y'all, i hope i did him justice 🫶

It all started with the lemonade stand.

A young girl, probably five or six years old, with curly brown braids tied up in pink ribbons, was standing by its side. She stood at attention like a miniature soldier, her eyes watching the street for potential customers.

The hand-painted sign swinging from the top read "Leia's Lemonade Stand" in blocky yellow writing, and a giant beaker of the refreshment was perched on the counter.

Daniel was intrigued. He patted his pockets, looking for any spare change, and found a wad of bills. "Hey," he greeted the little girl, who looked up at him with owlishly large eyes. "I'd like to buy some lemonade? One glass, please."

She beamed, dashing behind the counter to hand him a cool glass filled with sugary yellow liquid. "That'll be two dollars!"

"Here you go," Daniel said, counting out the money and leaving her some extra change, handing it to her. "Thank you for your service."

As Daniel was turning to leave, you walked up to the girl, who was your carbon copy, just a decade or two younger. You were her mother, Daniel assumed. "What do we say, Leia?" you asked, a proud smile evident on your face.

"Thank you and you're welcome!" Leia chirped.

Daniel took a sip of the cool refreshment, sighing in contentment. "This is delicious stuff. Did she make it herself?" he asked you.

"I helped out a bit, but most of this was done herself."

He outstretched his hand. "I'm Daniel."

"Y/N," you replied, taking it. "I haven't seen you around before. Did you just move here?"

Daniel shook his head, trying to formulate an answer. "I just moved back from, uh...out of the country."

"Oh?" you inquired. "I'm jealous, I've never lived outside of Perth. My parents were born here, I was born here, and now Leia was born here. It's tradition, I guess."

He laughed. "Perth is a nice place. The rest of the world is overrated."

"At least you've experienced it," you griped.

Daniel huffed out a breath, reminiscing on his years of fast-paced travel. City after city, country after country. He never stayed in one place for long. "Yeah, I suppose so. Have you really never been outside of Perth?"

You lowered your head, self-conscious. "I mean, I've visited Melbourne for a weekend girl's trip, but my life has been pretty busy ever since I had Leia. And her father...doesn't help out."

Daniel's attention sparked at the mention of Leia's father. "Is he around?"

You twisted your lips in consternation. "He's alive, but he skipped town shortly after Leia was born. Said he was destined for greater things, or some shitty statement like that. I don't remember, and frankly, I do not care. Leia and I get on just fine."

Daniel grinned. "I can tell." He set the glass back down on the counter, and Leia picked it up, putting it under the stand to be washed and cleaned later. "Thanks for the lemonade. Keep up the good work, hm?" he said to her, and she gave him two enthusiastic thumbs-up.

"I'll see you around?" you asked, hopefully in a casual tone.

Daniel nodded, giving you a cheesy wink. "Of course."

Two days later

The doorbell rung half past noon, and you checked the peephole to see who was there. Daniel. He was shifting nervously, wringing his hands out. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" you greeted him, stepping aside so he could enter the house.

"I was wondering if I could get another glass of the lemonade? Leia's done an amazing job with it."

You sighed sorrowfully. "We're all out, sorry. Leia has just started school again, so we haven't continued the business. Maybe we'll make some more during the weekend?"

Daniel pouted. "That blows. I've been looking for a way to talk to you again."

"Sorry." You shrugged one shoulder, and then you realized what Daniel had said. "Pardon me, what did you say?"

Daniel's eyes widened, his face reddening with embarrassment. "Uh, I was hoping to chat with you a bit? If that's alright? I don't want to intrude."

You shook your head, leading him into the living room. A variety of Leia's toys were scattered about, and you bent down to pick them up and move them out of the way. "It's OK, don't worry. My job's remote, so I don't have to leave or anything. Not until two, when Leia comes home from school."

"Great," Daniel said, sitting down on the couch beside you. "I've been bored out of my mind since I've come back to Perth."

You swallowed, not exactly sure of how to respond. "Yeah? Is your past haunting you or something?"

Daniel chuckled. "Not exactly. I'm just used to a lot of hustle-and-bustle, and Perth...isn't really delivering on that."

"Where did you work?" you asked.

He fidgeted with his hands. "Er...I used to be a Formula One driver. I know, wild, but yeah. DR3." He laughed again, but this time it was dry and full of resentment.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Formula One? My sister's obsessed with it. Wow, that's really cool."

"Yeah, it is. But they moved on to better talent, and now I'm back here." He slouched down, avoiding your gaze.

You gently nudged his shoulder. "Well, I'm glad you've returned and that we've met."

He gave you a wan half-smile.

For another hour, you two chatted away, talking about your past, about Leia, and about your hobbies. You told him about your Star Wars obsession (aka the reason why you'd chosen the name Leia for your daughter), showing him the vintage R2D2 toy you kept on your bookshelf. In return, he told you about how he used to go fishing with his parents in Lake Monger and about some of his F1 exploits.

Eventually, the alarm you set to keep track of when to pick Leia up went off, marking the end of your conversation. "I've got to go," you apologized.

"It's no problem." Daniel waved a hand, brushing you off. "Here's my number in case you want to keep in touch?" He wrote it down on a piece of paper and handed it to you.

"Thanks," you said, flustered.

"See you around, Y/N," he said as he stepped out the front door.

Text messages between Daniel and Y/N (Takes place a week to two months after their first meeting)

Sydney, Australia (Two months later)

"Come on, Leia," you urged your daughter as you led her through a thick crowd of people in the airport. "Don't let go of my hand."

Daniel was in front, leading you towards the exit, where a glossy crimson Ferrari was parked. "Here we go." He opened the door for you, sliding beside you and helping to buckle Leia in.

You smiled at him. "Thanks so much for inviting us."

"No problem, darling."

The pet name sent a curl of heat through your core, and you looked out the window so you wouldn't have to respond. The view was stunning: metallic skyscrapers, a bustling city center. You couldn't believe that this was what you were missing out on your whole life.

About twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of a sleek modern hotel. You saw Daniel's mum wave at you, and swallowed roughly. You prayed that she would like you.

"Leia, be nice," you chastised her before you disembarked from the car. "Use your manners."

Leia bobbed her head up and down. "I know, Mum."

When you walked over, Daniel's mum immediately struck up a conversation with you, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I'm Grace!" she introduced herself. "And this must be little Leia." She bent down to shake Leia's hand. "You look just like her."

"Thanks," you replied. "It's nice to meet you."

Grace put her hand on her heart. "Danny's told me all about you. I'm happy to see that you're exactly as I hoped."

Your gaze whipped to Daniel, who turned even redder. One more shade, and he could pass for a bearded tomato. "Really?"

"Yep!" Grace clapped Daniel on the back. "He loves you."

You blinked, but didn't blurt anything out. "We should probably head inside."

Daniel nodded fervently. "I agree."

That night

"You want to explain to me what your mum told me?" you probed Daniel, crossing your arms over your chest.

Daniel covered his face with his hands. "Fuck, Y/N, I'm sorry. She's not a good secret keeper."

"Are you saying that she was lying?"

His eyes peeked out from behind his palms. "Do you want me to say no?"

"Tell me the truth," you scolded.

Daniel sighed and took a step closer to you. "She wasn't. Ever since I saw you at that lemonade stand, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. You're funny, and strong, and independent. I want to prove to you that I won't be like the other one. I'm here to stay."

Without a second's worth of hesitation, you tugged on his shirt collar, pulling him down to your height, and kissed him. He moaned softly, his arms snaking around your waist and caging you against the wall. "Fuck, Y/N."

The kiss became more passionate as you tangled your fingers in Daniel's brown curls, and his own found the swell of your breasts underneath your shirt. "You're so perfect," he murmured softly. "Can I?"

You nodded, at a loss for words. Daniel lifted your shirt over your head, revealing the lacy pink bra you were wearing. "Fuck, I'm going to come in my pants like a schoolboy right now. My God, you're a fucking work of art."

You unbuttoned his shirt and loosened the waistband of his pants, letting them fall to the floor. Daniel picked you up, placing you on the bed. "The door's locked," he assured you when you opened your mouth. "If we're quiet, Leia won't know anything."

"Good," you whispered. "I don't want to traumatize her."

He laughed, and kissed you again on the collarbone. Carefully, he placed your hands above your head and said, "I want to have sex with you. Is that OK?"

"You don't have to ask, Daniel," you rasped.

Daniel shook his head. "Yes, I do. Consent is not a laughing matter, darling."

You expelled a breath in faux-annoyance, and he continued his mission. One slow thrust, and he was in you, filling your pussy and making you groan with pleasure. "Daniel..."

"Does it hurt?" he asked worriedly. "I'll go slower."

You twisted your head to look at him. "No, it's fine. Just...not used to this. It's been a while."

He pecked you on the forehead, his arms caressing the curves of your skin. "I won't hurt you, I promise."

He drove into you, the movements firm and sure. Soon, you felt the tidal wave of pleasure build up in you like an insistent hum. "Daniel, I'm going to..." you trailed off, the sentence ending with another moan.

Daniel kissed you on the temple, the touch exactly what you needed to tumble over the edge. "Let go for me, darling."

And so you did, the orgasm rippling over you and making you shudder with satisfaction.

He pulled out a moment later, his own orgasm succeeding yours, and he flopped down beside you, one arm wresting you closer to him. "You're stunning."

"When I'm all fucked out?" you teased.

Daniel played with a loose strand of your hair, his eyes bright with happiness. "Yep."

"You're so silly, Daniel," you poked fun at him, tapping his nose twice.

He flicked your nose, and stated the very obvious fact, "But you adore me."

Three weeks later

Daniel clutched the bouquet of tulips in his hand, suddenly nervous. It wasn't the first time he had taken you out on a date. Hell, it wasn't even the second time. Yet each and every time, he was terrified.

You were perfect.

And he was...he was Daniel, the former F1 driver for four teams.

"Thanks for picking me up," you told him as he ushered you to his car. "I really appreciate it."

He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead. "No problem, darling."

You sat down, and then readjusted your position, feeling something poking your back. It was a box.

"Not a ring," he promised when he saw your expression. "I wouldn't have you accidentally sit on your engagement ring, darling."

You scowled at him, but popped open the top. A beautiful ruby necklace gleamed up at you, and you let out a gasp.

"It's my mother's. She wanted you to have it," Daniel told you.

"Wow, Daniel. This is...breath-taking." You hugged him.

"Just like you," he flirted, and you rolled your eyes. "It's the truth."

You extricated the necklace from the box and clipped it around your neck. "How does it look?"

"Perfect." He kissed you on the lips, one hand nestled on the crook of your jaw. "And all mine."

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #dr3 #dr3 x reader #daniel ricciardo #formula one #f1 fic #f1 writer #f1 fanfic

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rebelfell · 2 hours ago

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Sooo this started out being all cute and fluffy but veered over the edge into the flangst canyon…my bad. 💌 1.8k

Thinking about bestfriend!eddie who shows up your boyfriend on Valentine’s Day.

Unintentionally, of course.

It was never something he planned to do.

He just happened to be in CVS the night before, blazed out of his mind and wandering aimlessly while the guys argued about what snacks to get. And when he made the mistake of turning onto the designated holiday aisle, he was met with a barrage of pink and red glitter and sparkles and hearts exploding off every shelf—an absolute affrontal assault to his cynical sensibilities.

But then he picks up this one card that catches his eye. It’s got a watercolor painting of this cute little porcupine who’s holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates, and there’s a speech bubble at the top that says “I Porcu-PINE for you!”

Eddie absolutely loses it.

He stands there making these stuttering giggling sounds and they’re coming out way louder than he intended, and the pimply and dead-eyed clerk behind the register leans over to give the laziest evil eye Eddie has ever seen. He does his best to stifle himself, but more little snickers still eke out as he picks up the envelope that goes with the card, and starts scanning the shelves for the Valentine’s variation of your favorite candy.

(Because it would be weird just to do the card, right? If he throws in some other stuff too, maybe it’ll be less conspicuous. Yeah? That makes sense, doesn’t it? Yeah, totally it does.)

Before he knows it, he’s collected a whole armload of crap. Two bags of the candies (they’re 2 for $5, that just makes good business sense), a little plushie with giant sparkly eyes (its stare is hypnotizing in an odd way, it kind of reminds him of you), and a small (tiny, honestly) bouquet of daisies wrapped in crinkly cellophane (he knows you like those way more than you like roses.)

He puts it all down on the counter and gets another withering glare from the cashier after he’s rung it all up. Eddie wonders if this guy is judging him; thinks he’s some lazy, loser boyfriend buying a bunch of junk gifts at the last possible minute. But Eddie doesn’t have the mental capability at the moment to explain that he’s not even buying these for a girlfriend—they’re all for his best friend, who he sometimes, occasionally, has some slightly inappropriate thoughts about, which yeah, is kind of inconvenient in a lot of ways, but it’s cool, he’s fine with that—

There’s another huff from the cashier as he repeats the total due, and Eddie realizes this guy doesn’t give a shit that Eddie might be a crappy boyfriend, he’s much more annoyed by the fact that he has yet to take out his wallet. And as he scrambles to do so, the rest of Corroded Coffin comes up to the front, still loudly arguing about the snacks they’re carrying in their hands.

They all give Eddie a funny look when they see what he’s getting, Grant being the first to bluntly ask who it’s for. They fall silent, exchanging wary glances when Eddie mumbles your name under his breath as he hands over a creased and wrinkled bill to pay at long last.

“That’s super weird, man, don’t do that,” Jeff argues immediately. “Just give it to Gareth, and he can give it to Annie instead. Problem solved.”

“Excuse me,” Gareth snaps, “but I’ve gotten my girl her gifts and they’re a hell of a lot better than this crap. Er, uhh…no offense.”

Their drummer winces, and his eyes dart guiltily between Eddie and his purchases.

“No—” Eddie’s face scrunches and he shakes his head defiantly. “They’re not, like, serious gifts. It doesn’t mean anything. And she’s dating that rich asshole, I’m sure he’s gonna bury her in expensive shit. This is barely gonna land on her radar,” he insists, now clutching his bag in his fist.

“So then why bother?” Jeff asks, widening his annoyingly perceptive eyes under arched brows.

But Eddie doesn’t respond. He just stomps out to the parking lot and waits by the car. All the while thinking about all the things he can never quite manage to say out loud when it comes to you.

The next day, Eddie’s rethinking everything.

Sober now and staring down at the offerings piled up in the van’s passenger seat, he can’t help but think this might be the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his life. And that’s saying something.

He talks himself in and out of going through with it about twenty times just in the ten minute drive it takes him to get to your apartment. And even as he climbs the stairs and raises his hand to knock, he has yet to decide if this is a good idea or not.

He came over semi-early, figuring you’d likely be busy later getting ready for some fancy dinner at some restaurant where Eddie probably couldn’t afford to order so much as a glass of water.

But when you open the door, he can’t help but frown at your appearance. You don’t look like you are getting ready to go out, if anything you look like you’ve retired for the evening before 5pm.

Your face is bare except for a couple spots of zit cream, and you have on an old headband pushing your hair back out of your face. You’re swathed in the kind of baggy, oversized clothes he only sees you in when you’re ass deep in a cold or some other similarly debilitating illness.

You don’t look sick, though. Just…sad?

How can you be sad on Love’s birthday?

“Hey, uhhh,” he says, forcing a tight smile. His palms start to sweat around the plastic handles he’s clutching behind his back. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” you reply.

There’s no sharpness to it, yet it still comes out kind of flat. Like you’re trying not to sound upset. But Eddie doesn’t push it as he follows you to the kitchen, sliding into his usual seat at your bar.

“What’s that?” you ask, eyes falling to the bag he plopped down on top of the counter.

“It’s stupid,” Eddie starts, “just some dumb little things I picked up.” For you, he adds in his head.

A small smile finally breaks the thin line your lips had been set in since he arrived and Eddie’s back broke out in a cold sweat under his leather jacket as he bashfully pushed the bag over to you.

He then watches, choking on his own heart, as you start pulling things out one by one.

You grin at the daisies, bringing them to your nose to sniff even though they probably smell more like weed than flowers after spending all night in the trailer. You squeal over the plushie, holding it up next to your face and squishing it. You hum excitedly at the first bag of candies, and laugh when you pull out a second one.

Then you get to the card.

Your eyes roll, but you can’t help smiling when you see Eddie’s nickname for you scrawled on the front of the envelope in his chicken scratch. And you’re still smiling as you slide your finger under the flap to tear through the bright red casing.

Then you read it, and your smile falls.

Your whole face does, in fact. It starts with a minute tremble of your chin that escalates into your brow pinching and your mouth crumpling into a frown. And you seem to clench every single muscle in your face to stop yourself from crying, but you just can’t keep it from happening.

“Hey, hey, wait, no, no, nooooo—”

Eddie doesn’t think, he doesn’t take a second to consider doing anything differently, he just jumps to his feet and comes around the counter to your side. He puts his arms around you automatically, letting you bury your face in his chest as you cling to him and try to settle yourself.

“I’m so-sorry, I’m s-so sorry, I’m sorry,” you babble, blubbering through the words.

“No, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I swear, I just thought it was cute, I didn’t mean to—”

“It is cute,” you wail as tears stream down your cheeks, “It’s fucking adorable!”

“Okay, then what’s the problem?” Eddie chuckles, pulling back slightly and ducking his head to look you in the eye, trying to get you to smile back.

You sniffle a few more times before you manage to collect yourself and swipe your fingers under your eyes to smear the wetness of your tears across your cheeks. Eddie’s fists clench at his sides to stop them from reaching up to do it again for you when you miss a stray one.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been in such a weird funk all day since Matt, um…”

Your voice wobbled again and Eddie’s expression turned stony, scolding himself inwardly for letting even a tiny bit of excitement rise in his chest at the thought that you might have broken up.

“Is everything okay?” he asked. “I mean, did you guys…are you…”

“No, nothing like that,” you inhaled shakily. “He just…he doesn’t really do Valentine’s Day. And it feels so stupid to get upset over it. Like it’s just a dumb holiday, and I don’t need, like, presents or a dinner or flowers or anything like that. I just…”

Your arms crossed, as if you were trying to hug yourself. Eddie wished he could do it for you.

“I don’t know, I thought we’d do something,” you finally add quietly.

“He’s not even coming over?” Eddie scoffs. Suddenly the outfit made more sense. “At all?”

Your eyes closed in a pained wince. “Don’t make me feel worse, please,” you beg him somberly.

“No, I—” Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to upset you. Honest.”

His head dropped guiltily, eyes glued to his sneakers that stood out against the tile in your kitchen. He glanced one last time at all the stupid stuff he bought now strewn across your counter.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you told him firmly. “That was really sweet, Eddie. Seriously, like the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Your hand reaches out for the plushie again and you cradle it in your palm as you swoop in to drop a light peck on his cheek. The warmth of it makes Eddie’s whole face hot and he feels his neck tense from how much he wishes he could turn his head to the side and allow for his lips to meet yours.

But of course he doesn’t. He wouldn’t dare.

He sure would think about it, though.

Eddie was still staring at his feet, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off you for long. He glanced back up to see you pushing through all of the extraneous things you were feeling to give him a smile, small as it was. He nodded and opened his arms, welcoming you back into them.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispered into your hair. Too quiet even for you to hear him.

I thought for a while about whether or not this is them, but I think this might be an entirely different set of idiots.

also is it just me or is v-day particularly oppressive this year?

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson stranger things

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wonboni · 2 days ago

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☁︎꙳ FALLING FOR YOU┆N.RIKI

『•˙synopsis: Ni-ki, the popular boy, forms an unexpected bond with you, the quiet girl. As they grow closer, they face the challenges of high school and their different worlds.

『•˙pairing: Nishimura Riki x female reader

『•˙genre: Romance, High School Drama, Fluff, Slow Burn

『•˙warnings: Mild language, bullying, high school drama

『•˙word count: 1.3k

『•˙note: Ni-ki would def be one of those popular kids

Ni-ki had always been the one everyone noticed. The boy who seemed to glide through school without a care in the world. His effortless charm and the way people gravitated toward him made him a fixture in the school’s social scene. He was always surrounded by friends, admired by peers, and never alone. But for all the attention he received, Ni-ki still felt like something was missing—something that couldn’t be found in the glitz and glam of popularity.

And then there was you.

You weren’t the type to stand out. Quiet, reserved, and incredibly focused on your studies, you were the girl who lived in the background, surrounded by books rather than friends. You were comfortable in your little corner of the school, hidden away from the chaos of cliques and high school drama. It was safer that way.

At first, you never gave Ni-ki much thought. He was just another popular boy, someone who seemed so out of reach from your world. You didn’t even think he knew you existed. That was until one day, during lunch in the school library.

You were sitting at your usual table, flipping through a book that had long since become your escape. Your lunch remained untouched beside you as you became engrossed in the story. It was peaceful, calm—just the way you liked it. That is, until the sound of footsteps interrupted your reading.

"Hey," a voice called out, breaking your focus. "Is this seat taken?"

You looked up, blinking in surprise. Standing in front of you was none other than Ni-ki. His familiar, confident smile made your heart skip a beat. You quickly glanced around, but the library was unusually empty, and no one seemed to be watching.

"No, I don't mind," you stammered, unsure of why he was speaking to you.

He pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, his eyes casually glancing over the book in your hands. "What are you reading?" he asked, a slight tilt to his head.

You hesitated, not sure what to say. "Just... a fantasy novel," you replied, feeling awkward.

He nodded, seemingly intrigued. "Sounds interesting."

For a moment, there was an awkward silence between you two. You were waiting for him to leave—he probably just needed somewhere to sit—but then, to your surprise, he spoke again.

“I always see you here during lunch. Do you ever go to the cafeteria?”

You chuckled lightly, feeling the heat rise to your face. "Not really. I like the quiet."

“That’s cool. I’ve never really been into the cafeteria crowd either. Too loud,” Ni-ki said, his voice more relaxed now, like he had let his guard down just a little. "So, what’s the book about?"

This time, the conversation flowed more naturally. You began talking about your favorite books, and to your astonishment, Ni-ki seemed genuinely interested in what you were saying. You weren’t sure if he was just being polite, but there was something in the way he listened, the way his eyes never strayed from your face, that made you feel like he actually cared.

Over the next few days, Ni-ki started to sit with you in the library more often. At first, you thought it was just a fluke, that maybe he was bored and needed a quiet place to get away from the crowds. But soon enough, it became a regular routine. Every lunch, Ni-ki would show up, sit across from you, and ask about your books, your day, and even your thoughts on different topics. It was strange to have someone like him—someone so out of your league—care about your opinions.

One afternoon, he surprised you when he asked if you’d like to study together for the upcoming math test. “I’ve heard you’re good at this stuff,” he said with a playful smirk, “and I could use some help.”

You blinked at him in disbelief. “Wait, you want me to tutor you?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly a math genius,” he admitted. “But I’ll buy you coffee afterward, so it’s a win-win.” He raised an eyebrow, as if daring you to turn him down.

With a soft laugh, you agreed. "Fine, I’ll help you."

That study session became the first of many. Ni-ki showed up to your table in the library day after day, determined to improve his grades. But as the sessions progressed, you both started to realize that it wasn’t just about studying anymore.

There were moments when he’d glance over at you, his eyes soft and focused, as you explained a tricky concept. Or when he’d look at you with that mischievous smile, teasing you about your ability to solve problems faster than he could. You found yourself looking forward to those moments, to the way he would make you laugh or the way his presence seemed to bring warmth to your otherwise quiet world.

One day, Ni-ki showed up late to their usual study session, looking a little out of breath. "Sorry I’m late," he said with a sheepish grin. “Had some… stuff to do.”

You smiled but noticed the slight tension in his shoulders. “Is everything okay?”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding, though there was something in his eyes that hinted at something more. "Yeah, everything’s fine. Just a lot of drama with the guys. You know how it is."

You didn’t fully understand, but you didn’t press him. Instead, you let the conversation shift back to math. As the session continued, however, you couldn’t help but wonder what had been on his mind.

Weeks passed, and the connection between you and Ni-ki only deepened. It wasn’t just about schoolwork anymore. You started to talk about everything—family, hopes for the future, fears, and dreams. There was an ease to being around him, a comfort you hadn’t expected.

One afternoon, as you were walking out of the library together, Ni-ki suddenly stopped. You turned, puzzled, only to see him staring at the ground for a moment before he looked up at you, his expression softer than usual.

“Hey,” he began, his voice quieter than usual. “I just wanted to say… thanks. For all the study sessions, the talks, and for just being... well, you.”

You blinked, unsure of how to respond, but the sincerity in his eyes made your heart flutter. “Of course. I’m happy to help.”

Ni-ki’s gaze held yours for a few moments, and for the first time, you saw a glimpse of something more than the confident, charming guy everyone else saw. There was vulnerability there, something you hadn’t expected.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence with a smirk, “I think I might actually be starting to look forward to these study sessions. Not just for the math, but because… well, I like spending time with you.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his words, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. Ni-ki—of all people—was saying this. He was looking at you like you meant something to him.

“You do?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He nodded, his playful grin returning. “Yeah, I do.”

From that moment, things between you and Ni-ki started to change. It wasn’t just about studying anymore. The more time you spent together, the more obvious it became that there was something deeper between you two. But even as you grew closer, there were still challenges. Ni-ki’s popularity came with its own set of pressures, and you couldn’t ignore the whispers in the halls whenever people saw you together.

But no matter what anyone said, Ni-ki made it clear: he wanted to be with you. And for the first time, you felt like you didn’t have to hide who you were.

It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was worth it. Together, you and Ni-ki would face whatever high school threw your way, learning that sometimes, the most unexpected connections were the ones that changed you forever.

©️ WONBONI

#wonboni #enhypen #k-pop #k-pop idol #enhypen fic #enhypen x reader #enhypen ff #enhypen niki #ni ki enhypen #ni ki #ni ki x reader #ni ki scenarios #ni ki fluff #ni ki x you #k-pop smau #enhypen nishimura riki #nishimura riki #niki nishimura #riki nishimura x reader

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solshii · 7 hours ago

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here’s sol’s wip notes for her mlp svsss

sqq has a horn guard to cover his cracked horn (i assume it was near broken off when wu yanzi got to him and wyz would do some hoodoo voodoo backwater magic & cultivation to cure it to near perfection (without repercussions that would set back his magic and cultivation ofc))

lbh’s horn comes and goes (like a lightsaber) with his zuiyin. it helps with disguising as a normal pony, plus it goes in line with his whole rise to power with a ‘nopony is actually a secret alicorn’ pipeline LOL

higher class demons (i.e mbj, shl, heavenly demons) are more reminiscent to ponies (the same way they look more like humans in normal svsss) though majority of the demon realm consist of various species

i imagine majority of demons also dont have cutie marks as they are a variety of species, but maybe powerful demons probably get the chance to gain one (excluding binghe who gets to have one regardless since hes half pony)

we’ll.. figure out how to mix cultivation and pony magic together 💀🤞 somehow…

speculating lqg’s colour palette to be blue/grey/white (and naturally he has more moles around his body)

only heavenly demons get alicorn privilege so mbj is a unicorn

and sqh is a pegasus (airplane himself wouldve been an earth pony)

pony shen yuan would’ve been an average unicorn who can at most carry a few things at once. he wouldve been really excited when he could do all the cool unicorn stuff as shen qingqiu that he couldn’t when he was shen yuan

blackened binghe would probably have more black and red in his design

also everyone wears robes agsksj but yk i was fighting for my life 😞

some ponies (like lqg, sqh) only wear upper robes (and bracers) while some others (like sqq) wear robes the also cover their flank, though leave some open room for legs to move freely (see mlp gala dresses)

non-pegasi cultivators can probably still use their swords to fly (if we can fit two people on a sword, they can fit all fours on it i trust them 🤞🤞)

also yeah lbh’s guanyin pendant is in the same colours as the jade tassel on sqq’s cutie mark

i just thought it was cute

on cutie marks

i was gonna make lbh’s cutie mark just be his zuiyin but its subject to change

lqg’s cutie mark is cheng luan and a (probably white?? blue??) phoenix

i have no clue how to go about yqy’s cutie mark but i was telling someone about entertaining the thought of chains incorporated into it somehow as like,, symbolism for his whole deal with xuan su and his past as a slave, while also symbolising strong bonds (read: his attachment to sj), strength unity and all that makes him sect leader

since i wanted yqy to have something relating to how his past grapples at him without being inconspicuous for a sect leader and also having symbolism that really makes sense for a sect leader lol (plus chains are grey and it matches his colour scheme (put a b&w filter on this bad boy and u wont see a difference))

during their time as slaves, yqy and sj’s flanks were marked with 七 and 九 respectively. i think that if sj were to get a slave brand from the qius (icl ive read so many fics idk if this is a canon or fanon thing) it would be placed there as well

which is what makes the fan for sj a meaningful CM to me imo, like he’s hiding his past as a slave behind the fan like he does in reality, or generally metaphorical in the way 九 would define shen jiu and the fan defines his persona as shen qingqiu, iygwim

i took the poem on the fan from chapter 5 of dark clouds by invidia_envy LOL youll find it if you type in lyrics to the tune of wuyeti by li yu

i have no clue what to do for sqh either but i may just give him the generic scroll with a brush (sorry airplane (but it would be kinda funny if some of the scrolls are all crumpled up n everything))

also i imagine sj and yqy got their cutie marks when sj was in the qiu manor and yqy was having his whole xuan su fiasco, so they never saw each other’s CMs until their reunion. but i also dont know if this would be considered too late by mlp standards ahsjdj

my pens fixed and i havent drawn in a while

by the way theyre supposed to have robes guys i was just too confused to figure it out 😞

#ask and u shall receive #my on the whim brainstorming #the rusty gears in my head are slowly turning #svsss #scum villain's self saving system #my little pony #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #yue qingyuan #liu qingge

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hexgirl13 · 2 days ago

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nobody gets me

wc: 1,329

summary: one night, two loner teens find comfort in one another

warnings(?): fluff, smidge of angst, cursing, shitty dads, smoking, use of y/n

a/n: another edition to the rafe x maybank!reader series. lwk the ending is kinda bad 😭 but i tried. lemme know if y'all wanna see more!!

the cool waters lapped against the shore, washing up little treasures from the ocean. taking a long hit from your vape, you leaned your head back to let the smoke fall from your lips. you slightly grimaced at the watermelon flavoured smoke. it had been a while since you did nic, but jj finished up your last joint. you found comfort in the cold and silence that was wrapped around you. it had been a long night for you.

you came home from your workshift to find jj gone. probably out with john b and all of. however, shortly after, your dad barged into the house. definitely drunk and definitely angry. that was, sadly, something that wasn't new. you took another hit and closed your eyes, trying to drown out the hateful words that he spewed at you.

"maybank?" you heard a voice call out to you.

you opened an eye to find none other than rafe cameron staring down at you. it was a surprise to see anyone, but especially someone like him, this late at the beach.

"what're you doing here?" he asked, moving to stand in front of you. his hair was messy, like he'd run his fingers through it a bunch, and his clothes were disheveled. and was he... crying? you couldn't tell in the dark.

"i could ask you the same thing." you eyed him up and down. his movements were jittery, while his eyes darted across the beach. he didn't stop fiddling with the hem of his shirt either. either he was about to have a panic attack or he was high. maybe both. "you wanna sit down?" you offered, your voice a gentle tone. his blue eyes made eye contact with you, before shakily nodding "y-yeah."

he dropped down next to you on the sand. knee bumping yours as he did so. you glanced at him through the corner of your eye. his gaze stays focused on his hands. numbly picking at his fingers. "stop doing that, you'll bleed." you pushed his hands down. almost immediately you realized what you'd done. "sorry," you mumbled, letting go of him.

he wearily watched you, but stayed quiet. when he wasn't with his asshole friends, he wasn't that bad. he was practically hated by your friends. especially by your brother. you never thought of him that way. with you, he was nice and... shy. "i'm sorry that i interrupted your quiet time or whatever," he muttered, now intently watching you.

"it's okay. it's a public beach, rafe. not just mine," you replied lightly. a minor way to lighten the mood. he let out a quiet chuckle. "maybe not, yeah. but i find you here often. speaking of, why are you here? thought i saw your pogue brother and his friends having a party."

"oh, uh, i'm not a big party person. prefer to be alone and stuff like that." you take another quick hit. his eyes drop down to where the smoke falls from your lips and he suddenly feels his mouth dry up. he swallows. “do you mind if i…?” he asks hesitantly.

you feel yourself stiffen up when you notice him looking at your lips. however, you soon realize he was talking about your vape. “huh? oh, yeah, here ya go.”

he gratefully takes it from you and hits it. a slight grimace spreads on his face when he tastes it. “watermelon, really?” he asked.

you let out a soft laugh. “yeah, sorry. jj finished my last joint. can't even find my dispo, either.”

“you know, i, uh, i sell. all kinds of shit. like, weed, geekbar, whatever you want. if you're interested, obviously. you don't have to feel-” he started to ramble.

you place a gentle hand on his bicep to stop him. “rafe. i get it. i’ll keep that in mind.” you could feel his body stiffen under your touch and gently smiled. no way rafe cameron was getting nervous around you. your hand trails down to hold his wrist, swiping at his pulse point.

his heart was racing.

“you wanna talk about why you’re here so late?” you asked softly.

his breath hitched at your feather like touch. “uh, m-my dad. him and i got into a fight. some stupid shit about the family. i mean, he acts like i don’t care!” he begins to ramble, hands shaking and eyes welling with tears, “b-but i do… i do care, i just don't understand why he can't see that. he makes me feel like shit, y/n… and i-” his voice breaks as some tears fall.

“oh, rafe,” you cooed, guiding his head to your chest. you ran your fingers through his blonde hair, brushing his bangs out of his face. his shaky hands gripped the front of your sweater, tears soaking it. it was so odd to see a typically strong and cocky boy break so much. you always hated ward cameron. he was a terrible man, both as a person and a father. it was defnitely clear to see now.

there was always an unspoken connection between the two of you. despite growing up on opposite sides of outer banks, you both felt like you shared more qualities than most. both of you always were the odd siblings out, like the black sheep of your families. so you understood what it felt like to be practically hated by your father, yet still craving to be loved and accepted by him.

“i get it, rafe. it sucks to feel like that because of your dad,” you whispered into his hair. “but you're not a careless person. i can see that you care, you just… show it differently. you're a good man, rafe. don't let him make you feel like you're shit or anything less than.”

he sniffled, lifting his head from your chest. “you think so?” he asked shakily.

“course i do. despite what others say, i can tell who you are. who you really are.”

i can tell who you are.

rafe had never heard those words before, and if he had, he'd probably never have believed it. yet coming from you… he did.

“thanks, y/n. i know i don't say it much, hell, i rarely say it, but you're a good person to me. no matter what,” he said, smiling gratefully at you.

you smiled, noticing something. “you called me y/n…”

“what?”

“you called me by my name. like, my actual name. you never do that.”

he hadn't even noticed that. “huh, i guess i am. can't exactly call you by your last name, right? that's reserved for your brother, who i’m… not particularly fond of. i kinda like you though,” he said with a slight wink.

there he was. the rafe that you knew and grew up with. “alright, rafe,” you replied, playfully shoving him. “i literally hate you.” yet there was a smile on your face.

“nah, you love me,” he countered.

you were thankful for the moonlight, or else he’d see the blush blooming on your face. “whatever.” a few moments of silence pass by, but it's not awkward at all. suddenly, you ask, “you wanna go to the gas station with me? i’d rather not walk there alone.”

his head turned towards you, blue eyes shining. “hell yeah. you got a car?”

you shake your head. “dude, i’m a pogue. i barely got any new clothes.”

he laughs softly and it makes you feel giddy. “that's okay, i don't have mine with me. we can just walk.” he stands up, dusting off the sand from his shorts. holding out a hand towards you, you accept it. once he pulls you up, he doesn't let go. neither do you. “c’mon, let’s go.”

the two of you walk towards the boardwalk, a blanket of silence covering the two of you. it isn't awkward though. understanding, and perhaps something else, passes between you two. and maybe, that's all either of you needed. somebody who understood.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x maybank!reader #drew starkey x reader #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron #drew starkey #outer banks

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asnowperson · 2 days ago

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Takemiya Keiko interview about Kazeki OVA (1987)

Here's another short interview from platypus's stack of old magazines with cool interviews: Takemiya Keiko talks about Kaze to Ki no Uta Sanctus: Sei Naru Kana in the 1987 December issue of Puff.

Translation is under the cut, and please let me know if you spot my mistakes.

Kaze to Ki no Uta – OVA is finally on sale!

Takemiya Keiko Interview

“It will not ruin your image of the work, so please watch it!”

Let us first hear your thoughts on finishing this project.

Mr. Yoshikazu was sitting at the director’s chair. That alone assured me that everything would go smoothly, and I left everything to him. He read the manga thoroughly and gave the work his own interpretation. I had nothing to worry about. I didn’t have to ask him not to do a certain part in a certain way, or to avoid including too many “risqué” scenes. I can feel that he gave the work the treatment it deserves. Even the animation style was not too flashy and anime-like. The movements were more orthodox. Everything worked out perfectly, so I have nothing to say.

The background art was amazing. Did you ask them to draw them that way?

Both Mr. Yoshikazu and I thought that she’d be a good fit, and suggested having the same person who was the art director for “Natsu e no Tobira”, but we couldn’t get a hold of her. We found out the reason later: The producer thought she was too slow, and we should give up on working with her (laughs). But when we said that she was the only person who could draw the backgrounds, she was hired to work in the project. However, she was too late to turn in the drafts. We really were in a tight spot. She might have been slow, but she really is an artist. When she can’t draw something, she just can’t. She gave it her all… Even though it was something that’d only be on screen for two seconds… If we couldn’t ask them to do something, I said I should go ahead and do it myself.

So, I gather that you drew some key animation yourself. Are manga and anime too different to draw for?

Both mediums are used basically to capture “movement,” so I think they are the same. You go with the flow, trying to capture “movement”… You think about how original you can express it. That’s a really fun undertaking. For example, even if it’s just a scene of a character turning to look back, if you strive to give it a little touch, you can really bring out an erotic feeling. That’s the stuff I’m talking about. If I had a lot of money, I would dabble more in in-between animation. I now understand why Otomo Katsuhiro-san was so obsessed with it (laughs).

I’ve seen the OVA. It felt like reading one of your works.

Do you think so? I didn’t ask him to do it, but to keep close to the atmosphere of the original work, Mr. Yoshikazu outlined the key points. He put the same things as my drawings in those scenes. But if you looked closely, you could tell that they were different. When I saw the whole thing, I thought “wow, it’s the same!” However, upon closer inspection, I found out that such scenes did not exist in the original. I even thought maybe something was wrong with me. The same also goes for the lines. “Did he ever say that? He might have said that…” But when I re-read, I see that no such line was uttered. I had so many moments like that.

What was the fans’ reaction to this OVA adaptation?

When I said it was happening, I received an equal amount of positive and negative reactions. Well, that’s only to be expected. So, like I thought, only when I said that Mr. Yoshikazu was the one directing it, I saw the real opposition. The animation director was decided on, but the VAs weren’t cast yet. When news of the production got out, I received letters saying “it’s too late, I give up!” (laughs) They said stuff like, “Here we are, so against this idea, but you still say that you’ll do it! I don’t care anymore!” I can say that there are people who definitely won’t watch it. It makes me happy to see the work being loved that much, but when people are that obsessed with it… It’s kind of scary. I sometimes go as far not seeing it as something I myself created. But well, there are still a lot of people who say “I might cry and whine, but I’ll still watch it.”

Can we have Ms.Takemiya, the creator herself, do some advertisement for the OVA?

The OVA didn’t embarrass me, so I’ll keep promoting it. I don’t think it’ll ruin your image of the work. But I know that there are people who are too nitpicky and say stuff like the lines of a character’s profile is kind of off and they hate it, or that their legs are too thin or that their feet look weird (laughs). In that sense, we paid extra attention to the movement itself and tried to animate the characters in a natural manner. “The Poem of the Wind and the Trees” makes you think of subtle movements, right? We can’t have them move too briskly, and even the fight scene is nothing too serious. Because Mr. Yoshikazu didn’t want to create too vivid of a scene. Rather, he didn’t want it to stink of “masculinity” that much. And people who’ve only seen the character designs might think that they look nothing like the manga, but when they are in motion, they do look like their manga counterparts. As for the voice of the characters, I don’t know the actress of Gilbert, but we have Nobita-kun for Serge (laughs)! People who are into anime will recognize her voice, so they might be a little bit of put off by that, but she doesn’t sound like Nobita-kun here. Not at all! The more you listen to her acting, the more you enjoy it! There are parts that reflect Serge’s character, so I’m really content with the result.

Can we consider this as “episode 1” of a series? Do you have plans for a continuation?

If this OVA sells, it might happen. If this one gets a positive reaction, I think we can make another one. The producer said that’s what he thought would happen. If you ask Mr. Yoshikazu, he says it’ll be at least 6 episodes long, but I doubt that. I can’t bring myself to believe that we can make that many episodes. Anyway, to think that we won’t be working with the staff who brought it to life with such resemblance feels so sad. But I also think that if we ask them to do it again, they’ll simply run away (laughs). We’ve already done Yoshikazu-san’s favorite part right off the bat, so what remains is the hard part. He says he can’t decipher a character like Augu (laughs). Maybe another director might do better.

And what about the future of the story in manga?

There’s the stuff about marriage and children problems, how to reach enlightenment, and everything in-between until Serge’s death. But even if I drew that, that would have no meaning for people who are only here for what Gilbert and Serge had (laughs). I don’t have any plans to draw any continuation for the moment, but one day, if I ever get the chance… If the are conditions right, I think I’d like to draw it.

Can we have your final message for Puff readers?

Watch the OVA. Please do it. I believe that if you watch it once, all of your worries will be washed away.

#takemiya keiko #keiko takemiya #竹宮恵子 #風と木の詩 #kaze to ki no uta #70s manga #70s shoujo #retro shoujo #vintage shoujo #retro BL #80s anime #ova #ぱふ #puff #interview

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777bae · 1 day ago

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HIS JERSEY WILL SMITH

Summary :: Will wasn’t expecting to find you curled up in his jersey, but the sight stops him in his tracks. What starts as teasing shifts into something unspoken—a quiet claim, a piece of him that now belongs to you. (REQUESTED :: prompt 25)

Warnings :: none

Word count :: 2.5k

The apartment is quiet, save for the soft hum of the TV playing a rerun of some show you don’t particularly care about, the kind that’s easy to leave on as background noise. The comfort of the silence wraps around you like a warm blanket, the world outside your apartment fading with every lazy minute. You’re curled up on the couch, the soft cushions cradling you as you sink deeper into them. Your legs are tucked under a pile of blankets, the weight of it all settling perfectly against your skin. It’s the kind of night you don’t get too often—one where you can completely let go, allow yourself to just be.

The room feels like a sanctuary—warm, inviting, cocooned from whatever chaos may be happening elsewhere. The walls seem to hum with a quiet energy, and the dim lighting casts long shadows that dance lazily around the space, creating a sense of peace you didn’t realize you were craving until now. Your breath slows, your mind quiets, and the small comforts of home—blankets, the faint aroma of coffee still lingering in the air, the soft whir of the fridge in the other room—become everything you need in this moment.

It’s then you realize you’re wearing his jersey.

The realization doesn’t come as a shock, not exactly. You’d noticed the familiar fabric draped over the back of the chair earlier, and without thinking, you’d pulled it on, reveling in its softness and how easily it swallowed you. It’s too big on you—sagging loosely around your shoulders and flowing down over your thighs—but it’s comfortable in a way nothing else is. The fabric feels like it was made for this, made for you to wear in this space, in this moment of complete relaxation. And even though you hadn’t expected him home yet, it feels right, like a part of him has been woven into the fibers.

The faint scent of him clings to the fabric. It’s a blend of ice and cologne, sharp and fresh, with just a trace of sweat from the game still hanging in the air. It’s the scent of him when he’s just finished skating hard, his body still buzzing with the adrenaline, his presence still lingering even after he’s left the rink. You find yourself tugging the jersey closer, as if that scent could somehow ground you more, hold you tighter in the warmth of this moment.

You hadn’t expected him home so early, not with his usual routine after a game. The late-night practices, the media stuff, the need to unwind with the guys after everything winds down. You figured you’d have more time, more space to just sink into the couch, stay hidden under the blankets in your own little bubble. But then, the quiet rhythm of your world shatters.

The front door clicks open. You hear the jingle of keys and the familiar sound of a bag being dropped by the entrance. Your heart skips a beat—shifting from lazy contentment to sudden alertness. The door creaks as it pushes open, and you hear the soft shuffle of boots against the hardwood floor.

And then he steps inside.

Will.

You don’t need to see him fully to know it’s him—his presence fills the space before his face even appears, an easy confidence that always seems to follow him in whatever room he enters. The scent of him—colder now, but still unmistakable—seems to fill the doorway as he walks in, the cool air from outside trailing behind him. His hair is damp from the post-game shower, still dripping slightly, the dark strands sticking to his forehead in a way that only seems to make him look more effortlessly disheveled. He’s wearing a pair of worn jeans and a loose hoodie that looks comfortable, but it’s the way he carries himself that commands attention. His eyes scan the room for a moment, settling on you when he spots the jersey you’ve pulled on.

It’s like the world slows for a second, his gaze locking onto you. You can’t help but notice the way his posture shifts when he notices you—slightly straightening, that familiar grin tugging at his lips. He’s surprised, but there’s something else in his expression too. Something softer, quieter. Like he’s just found something he didn’t know he was looking for.

For a beat, neither of you says anything. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and he stands there for a second, just watching you.

Then, he speaks.

“Well, well.” His voice is a little rough from the game, low and gravelly in the way it always gets when he’s just walked off the ice. “Didn’t think I’d be coming home to this.”

It’s playful, teasing, but there’s something in the way his eyes linger on you that makes your breath hitch. His gaze drifts over the jersey that hangs too loosely around your frame, like he’s taking in every detail of you, and it feels oddly intimate.

Your hands instinctively tug at the hem of the fabric, unsure if you should pull it tighter or let it hang. You were comfortable before, relaxed in the warmth of the jersey, but now, with him standing there, so close, it feels different.

You try to keep your voice steady. “You weren’t supposed to be home yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, and that signature smirk of his begins to stretch across his lips, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. There’s something about the way he watches you that makes the air around you feel heavier, like the space between you both is shrinking, becoming charged with unspoken understanding. “Clearly,” he says, his voice low and effortlessly confident. The way he lets the word hang in the air tells you he’s already figured it out, and for some reason, the realization makes you feel a little exposed—though you don’t quite mind it.

He drops his bag by the door with a soft thud, the sound breaking the silence, but he doesn’t rush. He takes his time, each step toward you deliberate, measured, like he’s savoring every second of this moment. There’s no hurry in his movements, no rush to break the distance. It’s that slow, easy swagger of his—one that always makes you feel like he’s got the world under control, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, where he’s going. And now, it feels like he’s walking directly into your space, right into your bubble of comfort that you’ve carefully crafted all evening.

He stops just short of you, so close now that the air between you seems to pulse. Your heart skips a beat, caught between the unexpectedness of his arrival and the quiet tension that’s suddenly settled into the room. His eyes—dark and warm—are locked on you, and in that moment, it’s like nothing else exists. He leans down over the back of the couch, his frame towering over you as his face inches closer. You can feel the heat of his body now, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the sharp, fresh smell of post-game sweat. It’s intoxicating in a way that makes your pulse race a little faster, your breath hitching in your chest.

He hovers there for a moment, his eyes scanning you, lingering on the way his jersey hangs on your frame. There’s a flicker of something playful in his gaze, but then it shifts—just for an instant—into something deeper. Something more intense. His lips curve into that familiar, teasing grin, but it’s softened now, edged with something unspoken. And then, as though the weight of it all hits him, he asks in a voice that’s a little quieter, a little more intimate than before:

“That mine?”

His words seem to hang in the air, his tone a little lower than usual, like he’s considering something more than just the obvious question. His eyes move over you, not in the usual way, but with a kind of focus that makes you feel both exposed and utterly seen. He’s not just looking at the jersey—he’s looking at you, taking in the way it fits on you, how you’ve made it your own, how it’s become a part of you in this moment.

You want to act casual, to brush off the weight of his gaze, but your heartbeat picks up, skipping erratically in your chest. You can’t quite keep your voice steady, but you try. “No,” you say with a light laugh, even though your throat feels dry. “I went out and got my own personalized Smith jersey.” The words feel almost ridiculous coming out of your mouth, because you both know that’s not the truth.

Will lets out a soft laugh, rich and warm, and the sound wraps around you like a comforting blanket, but it’s the way he says the next part that makes your stomach flip. “Looks good on you.”

His words settle between you both like a quiet confession, a whispered truth that wasn’t there a second ago. You weren’t prepared for the weight they carry, for the way they shift something in the air, in the way you feel. He says it with such ease, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like it’s obvious, undeniable. The way he’s looking at you now, with that half-smile still playing at the corners of his lips, makes your breath catch in your throat. His eyes don’t leave you, they linger there, and suddenly, the room feels smaller, the space between you both much less comfortable than it was just moments ago.

Your skin tingles under his gaze, a heat rising to your cheeks that you can’t quite explain. You want to brush it off, to pretend like it doesn’t matter, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you—so effortlessly and with such intensity—that makes you feel like you’re both standing on the edge of something.

You roll your eyes, trying to play it off, but even as you do, you know it’s half-hearted. His grin is contagious, that knowing, easy smile that makes your lips curve despite your attempts to resist it. The playful spark in his eyes pulls at you, and before you realize it, you’re tugging the jersey down a little further, trying to hide behind the fabric, but it doesn’t really work. Will isn’t looking away. He’s still watching you closely, his focus sharp, like he can see straight through the act.

He doesn’t say anything, though. Instead, he just shifts, his body moving closer, closer until his hand brushes against the back of the couch where you’re sitting. The light touch is enough to send a shiver down your spine, the air around you suddenly charged. He settles down beside you, that easy confidence never leaving him as he leans back against the cushions, his knee brushing against yours in the most casual way, but you feel it all the same.

“Hope you weren’t too comfy,” Will teases, his voice warm and playful as he stretches his arm across the back of the couch, the movement casual but somehow deliberate. His knee grazes yours just as he settles in beside you, the faintest touch that sends a jolt of warmth through your body. He’s making himself at home—his presence completely filling the space in a way that only he can. The familiar ease with which he claims the space beside you makes everything feel… different.

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes your lips, breathless and slightly nervous, but it feels good—genuine in its lightness. “I was fine until you showed up,” you admit, glancing up at him with a half-smile, feeling the quiet shift in the room, like the atmosphere has become just a little bit heavier.

Will shrugs, his movement effortless, the way he always does, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But then his fingers reach for the blanket, pulling it more firmly around you both, his arm curling just a little closer to you. It’s subtle, almost instinctual, but there’s something in the way his hand brushes the fabric that feels different, like an unspoken promise. “Well, now you’re stuck with me,” he says, his voice light, but there’s a softness underneath the words, an undercurrent that makes you pause, your breath catching for just a second. The playful glint in his eyes is still there, but there’s something more behind it now. Something steady and quiet.

You shift slightly on the couch, trying to adjust your position, but the feeling of the jersey—his jersey—around you feels suddenly more charged, more intimate. You hadn’t noticed before how the fabric clings just a little more to your skin now, how the weight of it against your body seems to amplify every small shift, every breath you take. It feels like a piece of him, like something that’s meant to be close. But you’re not sure if it’s the jersey itself or the way he’s leaning into your space, closer now, his presence surrounding you completely.

His gaze doesn’t leave you, that same confident but knowing look in his eyes, like he’s made some quiet decision that this moment, this space, belongs to both of you. You can feel it without him needing to say it aloud—he’s not rushing, not forcing anything. There’s a calm, patient certainty to him as he watches you, and it makes something stir inside you.

Then, as if to seal the unspoken promise between you, he leans in just a little closer, his voice quieter, his words hanging in the air. “Keep it,” he says, and there’s no playfulness this time, no teasing edge—just pure sincerity. “It looks better on you anyway.”

His words hit you like a soft wave, unexpected and gentle, but somehow grounding. The way he says it—so matter-of-fact, like it’s an obvious truth—makes something inside you shift. You weren’t prepared for that. Not for the weight those words carry, not for the quiet implication that goes beyond the jersey itself, beyond what’s happening between you in this moment.

For a heartbeat, you blink, your breath catching in your throat as you process it. You’d expected him to joke, to keep up the playful banter, but instead, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes now—a softness that you hadn’t seen before. It’s not just about the jersey anymore. It’s about something more—something deeper between you, something unspoken, but heavy with meaning.

The words feel like a quiet confession, a little piece of something shared between you both, something that feels real in a way you weren’t prepared for. You didn’t know what you were expecting when you threw on the jersey, but you sure as hell didn’t expect it to feel like this. The fabric still hangs loosely on you, a little oversized, the edges of it crinkling around your thighs, but now it feels right. It feels like it belongs—like this moment belongs.

The world outside fades away, and in that quiet stillness between you, everything feels perfectly aligned. You don’t need to say anything more. There’s no need for words when the weight of the unspoken feels like it fills every inch of space between you, when the simplest act of wearing his jersey feels like a connection that goes deeper than anything you’ve shared before.

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