#like. that guy will have two “childhoods”

[trashytracktales]

hey gurlll first thing first id like to say that im IN LOVE with ur fics. not to be dramatic but im seriously on my knees whenever u post bcs how do u write them so GOODD😭😭😭😭 so i have a request hehe🤭 u can totally ignore this. no pressure!

if u would consider this, hear me out. lando and reader are childhood best friends. they are like two peas in a pot but something made them fought (nothing specific, u can write anything!) that had them not talking for almost 6 months which never happens. since they have the same circle of friends, they got invited to a vacation in portugal. the tension between them is like WOW. then one night, when everyone was already asleep, they had another argument maybe make it like an angry confession that leads them to ANGSTY HOT LONGING YEARNING MINDBLOWING SEX but turns out it was one sided where reader kinda disappeared the next morning lol idk u can imagine the rest. OK THANKS LOVE YA💋

Not quite us | LN⁴

🛥 summary ──── A cold winter fight shatters their friendship, but it’s the heat of the Portuguese sun that brings them back together, months later.

🛥 pairing ──── Lando Norris x fem best friend!reader

🛥 rating ──── explicit

🛥 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, mentions of drinking, angst and emotional tension, arguments, swearing, jealousy, smut, unprotected sex, manhandling, passive-aggressive behavior, pining, emotional miscommunication, past relationship dynamics.

🛥 word count ──── 8.6k

🛥 date ──── Apr. 23, 2025

🛥 a/n ──── Wrote this one straight off the vibes, just went with the flow and let the request guide me here and there. Sometimes the chaos cooks itself, so I hope you guys enjoy it either way ♥︎

IT’S NEW YEAR’S, and Lando would have a lot more fun if he stopped looking across the room every twenty seconds. But he can’t help himself. If someone looked at him right now, it would be so easy to read it in his body language: he is exasperated, beyond frustrated, and maybe a little drunk. His fingers encircle his glass so tightly that his knuckles have turned white, and his jaw clenches every time he sees the way she flinches when her boyfriend talks back to her.

Suddenly, the music gets too loud, the champagne is too warm, and even if he’s trying his damn hardest to pretend otherwise, his night is completely ruined.

She’s sitting on the edge of a sectional couch with her phone clutched in one hand, refusing to look up at her man, her face carefully blank in a way that screams something is wrong. All it takes is a blink of an eye and he walks towards the exit, visibly annoyed, leaving her behind.

Lando frowns while taking another sip of his drink, forcing a smile as one of his friends says something he doesn’t quite register. Still, he nods along anyway. But all he can think about is her. The girl he’s known since he was seven years old. The one who always matched his chaotic energy. The only one who managed to beat him at Mario Kart and made fun of his haircuts and once almost peed herself laughing during a round of mini golf when they were thirteen.

His best friend.

Or at least, she used to be.

It has been different for a while. They only see each other at events now, like birthday parties and New Year’s gatherings. It sucks, but it’s better than not seeing her at all.

It started shifting the day she met her boyfriend — some guy from uni, older than her, quieter, a bit too polished for Lando’s liking. She said he made her feel seen. Lando didn’t say anything then, just nodded, smiled and pretended he wasn’t dying a little inside.

He told himself he was just being protective, but truth is, he never liked the guy. Something about him felt off, and Lando noticed it in the way he was too controlling and dismissive at times. But Lando had no proof, therefore, no real reason to speak up. So, he stayed quiet. Let the distance grow. Let the invites slow. Let her disappear into another life that didn’t include him the way it used to.

There are a few minutes left until midnight, and he’s still watching her. She smoothes her dress with the palm of her hand, breathes slowly a few times, then gets up from the couch, apologizing with a small smile every time she bumps into other people in her path. Then, she disappears down the hallway, shoulders hunched, phone still in her hand. Her head is down, like she’s trying to avoid any potential encounter. At that sight, something in Lando twists and, for a moment, he thinks she’s going after her boyfriend, his body instinctively tensing. But he relaxes when he realizes she’s just turned right instead, stepping out onto the balcony.

Without thinking, he sets his empty glass down and slips away from the crowd, past the streamers and glitter and flickering lights, heading in the same direction she went. It doesn’t surprise him when he finds her deep in thought, typing on her phone then shoving it angrily into her purse.

Her back is facing him, arms folded over the railing now, the cold air nipping at her exposed shoulders. She must be freezing, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s also not turning when she hears more steps, then the door closing.

She lets out a breath, but it’s not relief. More like she’s trying not to cry. “Hey, Lan.”

She doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s him. They’ve spent so much time in each other’s company that she’s memorized his footsteps, the sound of his sigh and the hesitation in his voice before he speaks whenever he’s unsure of his words.

Lando pauses a few feet behind her, careful, like he’s afraid she’ll shatter if he’s too loud. “You alright?”

Without waiting for her to answer, Lando just shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders from behind. The girl stiffens for a second, then lets his scent settle around her like a familiar comfort.

She knows things that no one knows about him, like the way his laugh changes depending on who he’s with, but the real one, the high-pitched one that sounds like a hyena giving birth, only comes out when he’s with his friends. She can tell when he’s nervous just by the way he starts tapping his fingers against his thigh. She knows he prefers sleeping with the fan on, even during the winter, that he can’t eat spicy food without tearing up, and that he pretends to like certain people just to keep the peace.

Her best friend.

Or at least, he used to be.

“He left,” she finally says, her voice just a whisper.

Lando moves to stand beside her, copying her posture. “What happened?”

“He said he was going home, but I don’t know.”

He blinks, confused. “Midnight’s in, like… five minutes?”

She shrugs, wiping under her eye with a knuckle, trying to be discreet. “Yeah, well. Apparently I was laughing too loud and drinking too much and fooling around. I was embarrassing him. So he left.”

Lando stares at her, stunned. “It’s a party. What the fuck is he expecting you to do? Sit quietly in the corner and sip water?”

Her laugh is short and sad around the edges, “No, but I know he doesn’t like it when I’m loud or hyper or… whatever.”

There’s a long pause in which she reconsiders her behavior, thinking that maybe her boyfriend is right. Meanwhile, Lando tries to find the right words to counter every single lie that asshole has fed her, the annoyance flooding back in. He turns his head to look at her, and her profile knocks the wind out of him. Her eyes are wet and tired, like she’s trying to hold herself together for longer than just tonight.

“Don’t listen to him,” says Lando quietly, playfully bumping his shoulder against hers, “I love your loud laugh.”

She looks over at him then, a warm wave of safety covering her from head to toe, despite the cold that feels like it cuts across the skin of her face. The words settle heavy between them: I love your laugh. Not ‘it’s nice’. Not ‘it suits you’. I love it. It means more than he probably meant it to. Or maybe it means exactly what he’s never had the guts to say out loud. Until now.

Lando swallows before continuing, “I don’t get it,” he says, “You should be with someone who wants to hear you, no matter how loud or hyper you are. Who knows how lucky they are to be in your presence.” She laughs, as if dismissing his words, but Lando insists, “I’m serious. I still don’t understand why you’re with him.”

The girl lets out a shaky breath, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “He wasn’t always like this.”

“I know.”

Lando’s answer sounds a little too sarcastic and, in response, the silence stretches between them once again. But it’s not empty this time. It’s charged. Heavy with everything they’ve never talked about, and all the months they spent apart.

She turns her eyes back to the view, but her fingers tug his jacket tighter around her body. And then, without looking at him, she speaks again, “No, you don’t. We didn’t talk much lately, so you wouldn’t know.”

Lando wastes no time, “And whose fault is it?”

She shifts her body towards him abruptly, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a question.”

“Right,” she nods once. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about it. I guess I just… needed my friend for a minute.”

Lando nods too, and steps close enough that their arms brush. Before she can say anything else, he leans in, uncertain but determined, and wraps his arms around her. Her cheek presses against his shoulder, seeking his comfort. The only problem is that there’s nothing casual about how Lando’s heart starts to race. His arms come around her tightly, holding her like his life depends on it, even though she’s the one that’s been ditched by her boyfriend on New Year’s.

They stay like that for a while, their breaths fogging between them in the cold night air. The space they share gets warmer, which makes her snuggle into his chest. She smells like citrus and champagne and every memory he’s ever tried not to think about too hard when he was missing her.

The girl pulls back slightly, enough that her face is tilted up toward his. And when he reaches to cup her cheek, her skin is smooth beneath his palm, her lips slightly parted like she might say something, but doesn’t. They just stare at each other, the same way you only look at someone when you’ve missed them for too long, and you’re finally close enough to touch but terrified to move any further, thinking that maybe they’re not even real.

The countdown begins in the background, a little muffled through the glass door, people shouting numbers like a slow drumbeat from the inside.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

“Break up with him,” Lando’s voice cuts through the haze, rougher than he intended.

One.

The cheers erupt from every direction. The sky bursts into a sea of light above them, fireworks flaring gold, silver, and pink. The noise is distant, like it’s happening on another planet. They wouldn’t know, because they don’t even look. Instead, her eyes are still searching his, confused and a little broken.

He could lean in and take it all, just this once, and blame it on the alcohol.

But she blinks, breaking the ephemeral magic of the moment. She takes a step back, then another, slow and cautious, until she’s out of his arms. “What?”

Lando doesn’t move. “You deserve better.”

“Lando…”

“No,” he shakes his head. “He treats you like shit,” his voice rises gradually, dipped in more emotion than he probably wants to show, “And I don’t know what’s worse: that you know it or that you allow it.”

She looks at him as if Lando is shapeshifting right before her eyes, and he does it far too quickly for her to have time to process.

“Stop assuming things about me,” she warns, all the warmth between them dissolving in an instant. “You don’t know.”

“I know he should’ve been here, kissing you right now. I know he made you cry instead,” he says, stepping forward, closing the distance that she put between them earlier. “I know he left you at a party alone because you were laughing too loud,” he continues, mockingly. “Do you hear how fucking ridiculous that sounds?”

Her voice is sharper next time she speaks, “You don’t know the full story, Lando. He asked me to go home with him, but—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupts her. “Looks like he ditches you whenever you’re too much for him. And I can bet this isn’t the first time he’s made you cry, is it?”

She scoffs, “Oh, so now you’re paying attention?” she asks, adopting a defensive attitude. “It’s been months since you’ve shown any interest in me.”

Lando flinches like she just slapped him. “You’re the one who stopped showing up. It’s cause you’ve gotten busier. With him, eh?”

“Smooth, Lando,” she fires back in a disappointed voice. “You pulled away first,” she reminds him, pointing a finger at his chest; tears threaten her eyes again, but she blinks rapidly to clear them away.

“Yeah, because I didn’t know where I fit anymore,” he says, his voice cracking around the edge of frustration. “You were always with him. Always defending him. I didn’t want to be that friend who hovered too close or some asshole that oversteps your boundaries. Because, believe me, I was so close to cross a lot of those before deciding to back the fuck up.”

She stares at him, incredulous, as if all the months they have been apart have completely changed her childhood best friend. “So, instead of talking to me, you just ghosted me? Very mature.”

Lando’s jaw tightens before replying, “I needed space.”

“You disappeared,” she corrects him. “You didn’t just take space. You shut me out.”

“That was me respecting your sorry ass relationship.”

“No,” she laughs dryly. “You were trying to make a point.”

Maybe, Lando thinks, looking away. But that’s not the whole truth. It’s painful, not to mention frustrating, to watch someone you care about being treated badly. It may have been selfish on his part, but Lando couldn’t stand by and watch the girl who deserved it all get only a piece of it.

“You don’t like him,” she continues, voice quieter now. “I get that. But instead of saying it, you just judged me from a distance.”

“No, I don’t like him,” he admits. “Matter of fact, I despise the guy. But not just because of who he is. It’s because he changes you.”

Her eyes narrow. “That’s not true.”

Lando laughs, but he’s not amused in the slighlest. “You went from having fun to crying in a matter of minutes. Because of him. How many times has this happened before?”

“He never—” she tries to warn him, before Lando cuts her off again.

“Keep defending him,” he says, irritated. “Because God forbid someone call you out when you’re being steamrolled by someone who doesn’t see your worth.”

“And God forbid you admit that maybe you’re not always right!” she snaps. “You don’t get to parachute in and act like some moral compass. If that’s the case, where the hell have you been all this time?”

The question silences them both. He can’t say too much without saying it all, and she’s waiting for something that won’t get to her. Not yet.

Disappointed, hurt, and extremely tired, she shrugs his jacket off and throws it at his chest. “Happy fucking New Year.”

𝟳 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗦 𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥

📍 Somewhere off the Algarve coast, Portugal

AFTER THE HECTIC life she’s lived in the past few months, a weeklong yacht trip along the Portuguese coast is all she needs. Blue water, rosé on deck, and most importantly, no drama.

She says yes before she even checks the guest list, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Everybody in their group knows about the social distancing between her and Lando. Plus, she always checks his calendar, keeping an eye out for the weekends he’s away, racing, meaning she can tag along without stressing that they’re going to bump into each other.

Of course, she still watches his races. Just because they stop talking that doesn’t mean she stopped caring about the dream that Lando has been striving for since childhood. That’s also why she knows that Lando will be in the UK for at least another week, as he mentioned in the post-race interview, which won’t interfere with their little getaway.

By Friday, however, things change drastically. It’s only when she’s already halfway to the marina — after spending the entire afternoon shopping with the girls — that Max texts her.

BTW, just so you’re not surprised… Lando is flying in tonight. I know things aren’t great between you two right now, but he’s still my friend as much as you are, and I didn’t wanna lie or make it weird :D

You okay?

For a moment, everything seems to slow down, including her heartbeat. All the sounds that surrounds her fade into the background, while she tries to steady herself against the sudden rush of emotions.

Is she okay? Well, for the most part yes. But that’s because she haven’t seen Lando in months. There are many ways she can react when they’ll finally be face to face again, and she can’t decide which is worse. But in the end, it doesn’t even matter, because she simply doesn’t have the time to analyze every scenario.

I’ll survive, she texts back.

She will.

She has to.

It gets dark pretty late, but the night is warm, balmy with salt and wine in the air. They decorated the boat’s upper deck with a string of lanterns, their golden glow flickering against the white hull, gently illuminating the space. The music thumps lazily from a speaker somewhere, low enough not to overwhelm the sea’s waves but steady enough to pulse through bare feet on smooth wood.

Someone’s uncorking another bottle of vinho verde, and a few of the girls are still in their swimsuits, legs tucked beneath oversized linen shirts as they lounge across sun-warmed cushions.

She’s also barefoot, her skin kissed pink from the day, a loose skirt swaying at her thighs as she spins around one of the support poles, smiling wide; she decided, hours ago, that she won’t let anything ruin her vacation. It’s the first time in months she’s felt this light, and has no intention to let the feeling be washed away by the waves of a past so distant.

Only when she realizes that she is, in fact, invincible and that nothing can shake her confidence, she hears a familiar laugh, the same one she’ll recognize anywhere. But she doesn’t turn to it immediately. Instead, her body stiffens as fast as if it’s controlled by a remote.

He’s here and, suddenly, the breeze curling in from the sea feels somehow cooler. It’s just a voice, but it’s his, and it sounds so melodic in her ears, even after all this time.

When she finally turns around, all the noise dials down.

Lando’s standing on the deck like he’s never been gone, a duffel thrown over one shoulder, his curls slightly damp from the flight or the heat or the mist. He’s in a loose, black tank top and shorts, his sneakers untied like he didn’t even bother to fix them. He’s already smiling when he sees Max coming to greet him with a drink in hand, sliding easily into hugs and handshakes. Everything is so normal that she almost rushes to the stairs to jump into his arms.

As if he hears her thinking about him, Lando looks up and their eyes catch mid-movement.

The music doesn’t stop. No one freezes. The conversation continues. And yet something just between them shifts, making Lando still for a moment. His smile falters slightly. The duffel slides off his shoulder and drops at his feet. His gaze lingers longer than it should, because he seems genuinely surprised, like he hadn’t expected her to look the way she does — lighter, freer, happier than the last time he saw her.

Like a low-budget movie, they just look at each other for a while and then, barely perceptible, Lando nods once. It is a subtle, tired gesture. Not warm, but not hostile either. More like: I see you. I’ll behave.

And she nods back: I see you too. I’ll try.

That’s all that it is. A small breath of peace in the warzone. Because they both know that this vacation isn’t about them. There are too many people they both love here, too many memories tied up in this group to be so selfish as to ruin everyone’s fun.

With that, Lando disappears below deck with a few of the guys, and the party continues as if nothing happened.

SOMEHOW, THEY’VE MANAGED.

It’s the last night on the boat together, and not once have they really spoken. Just kept on with the civil nods and carefully timed appearances. She took the mornings on the upper deck with a book and her sunglasses pulled low, while he suck to afternoons with Max and Keegan, sunbathing and pretending not to look over when she passed by.

Every time they went out for dinner, they sat at opposite ends of the table, pretending to be invested in conversations that barely held their attention.

When they went to explore the nearby cliffs and hidden beaches, they naturally split into smaller groups, Lando ending up with the boys, as usual, taking the off-road buggy trails that wind through dusty hills, while she tagged along with a few of the girls. They didn’t walk near each other. Didn’t even end up in the same group photo.

But the glances were a constant, and all of them have carried them both here, almost at the end.

There’s a bizzare quiet in the air tonight, the kind that only the sea can create — so deep, violent, and alive at the same time.

After soaking in her own heat for hours, she decides to step out of her cabin for a breath of fresh air.

They’ve ordered seafood for dinner, and her relationship with it is not exactly good. A small breeze brushes across her face, lifting her hair slightly, carrying with it the clean scent of salt. The boat rocks gently beneath her, and the stars above are strewn carelessly across the sky like spilled sugar.

The second she steps into the dark of the corridor and turns toward the small galley, her heart skips a beat. For good reason. Lando’s already there, barefoot and shirtless and deep in thought in the low light, leaning against the railing like he belongs in the night. One of his hands is resting on the cool metal, while the other is wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead.

His head turns when he hears her cat-like steps, eyes catching hers in the dark.

The only sounds are the gentle hush of the waves against the hull, and the occasional creak of the boat. Neither of them says anything, as if they don’t even know how to speak to each other after throwing cutting words at each other, all those months ago. The silence between them doesn’t make them feel awkward. Maybe just a little guarded. However, it’s very depressing, really, not having anything to say to the person who once knew absolutely everything about you.

It would be very easy for her to turn on her heels and walk back into her cabin, avoiding Lando, just like she has done all these days. But then she hears his whispered voice, and his mellow intonation is enough to make the entire planet stop from spinning.

“Everything okay?”

She swallows, caught in the stillness of the night as if she’s a thief. “Yeah,” she whispers back, even though it sounds more like a question than an answer. “Felt a bit sick.”

He nods slowly. “The shrimp?”

“The fucking shrimp,” she agrees.

Lando shrugs. “Ew.”

His reaction triggers a wave of warmth that washes over her, forcing a smile while thinking about the past. The memory flashes rudely uninvited. Still, she weclomes it with nothing but nostalgia in her heart. They were eight, crammed into a bed on a family vacation, and she’d eaten her weight in shrimp and clams at dinner, proudly declaring herself a seafood queen. Hours later, she threw it all up, right there, in bed, all over him. Lando woke up screaming, drenched in the smell of stomach acid, fish and betrayal and, ever since, he couldn’t even stand near a fish without gagging.

Cautious, she edges forward, bracing her arms on the railing only a couple feet apart from him, eyes fixed on the black stretch of sea. The moon paints a silver path across the water, waves shifting like oil under its light. For a few minutes, they just stand there like two ghosts, side by side, watching the view, but probably stuck in different memories.

“So, I’ll go back inside,” she says a little unsure.

His voice cuts through the quiet, “Stay,” says Lando without hesitation.

It’s not just the gentle plea that catches her off guard, but the way he says it. Like he means it more than he means anything else right now. Possibly more than he meant anything else ever.

Awkwardly, she moves forward, letting herself lean closer to him. That’s how she finds out that physical distance means absolutely nothing when it’s the emotional distance that kept them apart. More than that, there are many things left unsaid that fill that void.

Out of sheer curiosity — or plain stupidity, she’s not sure yet — the girl begins to walk uncertainly towards the edge of the space that separates them.

“You remember New Year’s?” she asks, the words coming out softer than she expects.

There is no trace of hatred or resentment behind her voice, which surprises her. She understands that she has, without realizing it, moved beyond their most tensed moment so far. And all that’s left now, besides her curiosity, is the fact that no matter how much time has passed, the two of them still know each other on a level they haven’t reached with anyone else.

Lando doesn’t look at her, but his jaw flexes. “Hard to forget.”

“I threw your jacket at you,” she continues with a small laugh.

“And stormed off like you were in a romcom.”

“To be fair, you were being a dick.”

He chuckles then, and the sound is gentle yet painfully nostalgic. “I probably was.”

“You talked like you knew everything. It was…” she hesitates, fingers tightening slightly on the rail, “A bit cruel. Even if it came from a good place.”

Lado nods. “I know,” he says, “I guess I didn’t know how to talk without sounding like some immature tantrum just because I was missing my friend.”

She glances at him then, studying the curve of his profile in the moonlight. The familiar slope of his perfect sculpted nose. The way his curls fall just a little longer then she remembered. The way he speaks but seems so deeply forgotten in the memory of that winter night.

“I broke up with him the next day,” she admits.

He turns, his eyes searching for hers. “Yeah,” says Lando, “I figured.”

Even though she tries her best, she can’t read his demeanor. He seems tense, even though their conversation isn’t hostile in any way. Not yet, at least. Still, Lando looks as if he’s bracing for some sort of impact that she’s not aware of. There something softer in his expression, though. Something hesitant that encourages her to keep him in that memory.

“I think about it sometimes,” she continues. “That night. All of it.”

He nods again. “Me too. ”

She looks over, eyes wide and cautious, but Lando doesn’t look away.

“But,” he continues, “I won’t apologize for what I said. Because I wasn’t wrong. You do deserve better. And maybe I had no right to say it the way I did, but I’d rather have fought with you than keep watchig you shrink yourself for someone who didn’t even appreciate you.”

His words hit like the waves, tightening her throat. “I get that. But in the moment, it made me feel…” she begins, eyes filling up with tears, “Like you stopped respecting me because of him. And I felt stupid for being so blinded that I lost sight of all the things that were the most important to me.”

The way Lando looks at her now makes her heart sink. Not with pity. Not even with regret. Just a dull ache, like he’s been carrying it with him for months, and he’s too tired to hold it tightly anymore.

“Come on, you know that’s not true,” he says. “I was just irritated and drunk. Watching you disappear like that wasn’t easy, and I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without sounding like a selfish prick. I should’ve just said something,” adds Lando. “Instead of sulking and keeping score and acting like you betrayed me for living your life,” he looks away then, back to the endless sea, eyes half-lidded like the movement of the waves might offer him something easier to face. Anything but this.

He had time to think and weigh his actions. But it all came down to those last few minutes, when it suddenly became too much for both of them.

“I missed you, Lando,” she confesses after a while, letting the words out in a small voice.

The silence that follows is no longer heavy with avoidance, but an intimate warmth that somehow infiltrates under her skin. It merges with all the sadness caused by the time they spent apart and, together, they create a new kind of feeling that she doesn’t yet know how to name. And, for some reason, she’s in no hurry to do so.

Uncertain yet courageous after hearing her admission, Lando’s hand finds hers along the railing and, to his surprise, she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she threads her fingers through his, like she was already waiting for it. For him.

It’s weird, she thinks, how their hands fit together like the end of a sentence that finally makes sense. So she keeps it there, feeling his pulse in her palm like it’s the most normal thing in the world. They can’t look at each other, though. And suddenly, the waves are so much more interesting than the mess they’ve created, their soft undulation bewitching them both, mirroring their feelings in a sick, twisted way; tamed at the surface, yet storming somewhere deeper.

In the chaos of her mind, she can feel the gentle way his thumb brushes the side of her hand. The way he squeezes her afterwards. Like a promise. And she knows, without either of them saying it, that this was always going to happen. That they are inevitable, like gravity pulling them toward the center of each other.

“Are we gonna go back to being cold in the morning?” he finds the strength to ask, voice barely above the hush of the tide.

Truth is, she doesn’t even know what the next few minutes will bring, let alone the next morning.

The girl turns her head slightly, her cheek pressing to his shoulder. “Well, I don’t know how to be your friend nowadays,” she admits, not to make him feel bad, but because that’s the only thing she’s sure of. Her truth.

Lando sighs, “Yeah, that’s not quite us anymore, hm?”

It takes another crushing silence before Lando turns to her completely. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter they can’t be friends anymore, because they’re way past that. Lando is way past that. All he wants is one chance to show her how much it means to him; every word, every touch and every single thought that’s been haunting him for days on end.

He looks like he’s on autopilot when he brings his other hand up to brush her jaw. After his movement, she takes the next step and leans into his touch. She opens her mouth, maybe to say his name, but the words don’t get the chance to get out, because Lando grabs her firmly and pulls her toward him. Hard. Like he can’t take the distance anymore.

His mouth crashes into hers without any warning. It isn’t careful. It isn’t sweet. It’s the result of months of silence, of aching, of watching and wanting and never having. It’s teeth clashing, breath catching, fingers curling so hard into skin that it’ll leave marks.

She gasps into his mouth, as if the ground is crumbling beneath her feet, but at the same time, it’s the most exciting feeling she’s ever felt. Her arms are instinctively wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer like she’s been just as consumed by what they didn’t say. Lando fists a hand in her hair, the other gripping her waist tight enough to bruise. He’s all fire, hot and desperate, and there’s not enough water that surrounds them to cool what’s raging in his chest.

He gives her the kind of kiss that says I missed you too and I’m sorry and I never stopped thinking of you all at once. Her hand constricts around his bicep, grounding herself in the feel of him: his salty lips and the way he exhales with a relieved sigh like she’s air after being underwater for far too long. It’s impossible not to feel how much he needed this, because there’s nothing left unsaid in the way he holds her. The truth — his truth — was always there, waiting for the moment they’d both be brave enough to let in.

The kiss deepens before either of them realizes what’s happening. And it’s her who leans in a bit further. That brings him back to the present moment, not because she is just as desperate, but because of how much she means it. How much she wants this. It’s right there, in the way her mouth moves over his, open and urgent, like a need that’s been burning for too long. It makes Lando groan silently when her teeth graze his bottom lip, her tongue flicking against his like a dare. A dare that he answers to, meeting her halfway, teasing, then licking into her mouth with a skilled confidence that makes her head spin.

Oh, he’s a good kisser.

Dizzy from the sudden intensity, she clings to his neck, tilting her head as he takes control, his hands finding their way back to her waist after roaming up and down her body, guiding her back a few steps until her spine presses lightly to the railing. The breeze kisses across her bare legs, her thin nightdress doing nothing to hide the way her body shivers. Or how hard he gets against her. She feels it instantly, like a sharp contrast between his swim trunks and her body, and it sends a jolt of heat right between her thighs.

Her breath hitches once they stop, glancing up at him, caught between amusement and want. “What are you so excited for?”

Lando meets her gaze with an innocent grin twitching at his lips as he shrugs, “Sorry.”

She can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation she finds herself in. Loud. The kind of laugh that throws her head back a little and makes her cover her mouth when she realizes its heat.

Lando just watches her, enchanted by her mere existence. And, without thinking twice, he asks, “How can anyone be embarrassed by that laugh?”

The sudden comment silences both of them. Lando, because he just heard himself saying it out loud. And her, because of how sincere he sounds. How tender.

Still grinning, he lets his forehead fall against hers. They may never encounter such a moment of peace again, so neither of them hesitates to take it where it’s supposed to go to: her tiny cabin. The narrow door clicks shut behind them, and the space is barely big enough for one person, let alone the two of them tangled in something so close it’s hard to tell where tension ends and need begins.

She backs into the bed, and Lando follows, eyes fixed to her like she’s the only girl ever. When they finally collapse onto the mattress, it creaks under their weight. Their knees bump. Shoulders brush. Lando’s arm wraps around her waist in an instant, and she fits there like it’s hers. That grip. Him.

Somehow, he’s bigger than she remembers. Or maybe she’s just never noticed how broad his chest is, how his legs stretch past the foot of her bed, how small her frame feels when she pulls him into her. And now, in the closeness of their embrace, it’s impossible not to feel it.

It intimidates her, but she keeps her hands all over him, warm skin meeting her palms. Her eyes roam without shame, wandering from his abdomen up to his pecs and then stop on his freshly kissed lips. Her fingers trail along his arms, feeling the strength carved into muscle by years of racing and tension. She watches the way goosebumps rise under her touch, and when her hand flattens over his chest, just above his heart, Lando exhales heavily, with a slight shudder.

He doesn’t look away, though. He doesn’t have the heart or enough willpower. He simply looks back at her, eyes burning, as if seeing her underneath him like this is the only normal thing in their messed up lifes.

“I need to know where’s your head at,” he says, his long fingers brushing the outside of her thigh.

She closes her eyes for a moment. Mostly because she finds it hard to pay attention when her childhood friend — the skinny little boy who used to be blown away by the slightest breeze — is now on top of her in the flesh, displaying groups of muscles she’s never seen on his body before, let alone touched.

Her hand stays on his chest, “Am I ever going to get my best friend back?”

His hearts breaks a little, because he realizes that both of them know the implications of her question. The answer, too, but she still wants to hear him saying it, because that’s the only thing that’ll make it true.

Lando’s eyes search hers for a moment too long, and something in him rearrange, the muscle in his jaw tightening before he leans in. “No,” he simply replies.

She figured. Still, it is not necessarily the answer itself that makes her emotional, but the way Lando said it, as if it is torture for him to even admit it.

“I can’t ruin myself over and over again, pretending that what I feel for you is small. It never was.”

She nods, lifting her hand to the back of his neck, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling him down until their lips are barely brushing. Lando’s hands are pulling at her, slowly sliding the straps of her dress down. He takes his time, undressing her like he’s unwrapping a present he’s waited far too long to touch. And when she’s standing there, bare and warm and only for him to see, he sits back to stare and take as many mental pictures as he can.

“You’re…” he starts, voice nearly breaking, “So fucking beautiful.”

She presses closer, hands moving to his shorts with urgency. Lando lets her, barely breathing and, when the last layer falls away, she looks down at him. All of him. His golden skin that glows in the dim light filtering through the porthole, muscles tightening under her hungry touch.

Impatient, his hand slides between her legs while maintaining eye contact, his fingertips brushing over the soft skin at her inner thigh before he presses just lightly against her entrance. The reaction is immediate, a sharp breath followed by a soft whimper that catches in her throat. Her hips instinctively lift toward him, and his own breath wavers at the sound.

“So wet,” he breaks off, almost spiraling from the realization, from finding out just how much she wants him. Just like he wants her.

For a moment, there’s something feral in his gaze, something that won’t let her move her eyes. Like he’s balancing on a tightrope of restraint, and she’s the drop waiting to pull him under.

“It kills me,” he admits. Then he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of her ear, “But you need to be quiet, darling.”

She nods, her breath still uneven, knowing it’s going to be anything but easy.

Lando presses a kiss to her shoulder, then her collarbone before he continues, “Even though I love it when you’re loud, you’ll have to save that for later.”

Just the thought of her, waiting for his next move all warm and wanting, has his cock already pulsing in his palm. He strokes himself slowly, gaze locked on her as she shifts beneath him, spreading wider with a shaky inhale.

As curious as ever, she glances down between them, eyes filled with want, and he watches her bite her lower lip at the sight of him, so hard and ready. The gap between them closes quickly, suspended in that final moment before everything changes. Her fingers curl into the sheets, watching Lando lining himself up, just barely brushing against her clit. Then, he pushes in with a whimper that sounds like it’s been clawing at his throat for months. Like this moment has been sitting just under his skin, waiting to become real.

“Fuck,” he pants, silently. “You feel better than I ever imagined.”

Right now, all her senses are inhibited by him. The weight, the stretch, the warmth, the way his hands frame her hips like she’s the only thing keeping him in check, and she’s the only reason why Lando isn’t unleashing hell yet. Her legs wrap around his waist, holding him close, as if her body already knows what her heart won’t let her say.

Lando. Lando. Lando!

But he shakes his head, his voice going lower than normal, “No, baby, Let me.”

The bed is laughably small, making Lando huff out a frustrated breath, one arm sliding under her thigh as he shifts them both, gripping her firmly to guide her where he needs her. It’s not graceful in any way, but there’s something about the way he manhandles her, lifting, adjusting, controlling the angle until it’s perfect, that makes her head fall back with a gasp.

He exhales through his nose, lips pressing in a thin line to avoid making sounds that could get them both into trouble. “There. That’s it.”

She lets him move her, pliant and trusting, her breath getting heavier when their skin brushes in all the right places. Every thrust is slow at first, drawing soft moans from her mouth that only make him harder. The way her body reacts only fuels him, encouraged by the way her lashes flutter, and the way her hands slide into his hair when she can’t find the words. She couldn’t say it anyway. Can’t give voice to what’s blooming and breaking inside her.

But Lando feels it in the way she moves with him, and how her body opens like it was always meant to. That pushes him to thrust harder, feeling like the entire boat shakes at the force.

“Easy. You’re gonna break the bed,” she says against his jaw, her voice a breathy laugh.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve broken over you,” he mutters back, but there’s no malice in his tone, except a dangerous affection that’s always lived under his skin when it came to her.

It makes her curious to know what he means, but just as she’s about to ask, Lando finds that angle where their bodies align like puzzle pieces that should’ve never fit but somehow do. He rocks into her so sweetly, and that’s enough to silence her. The answer is in the way her breath stutters. The way her fingers grip his arms. The way her body pulls him in and clenches around his length like it’s never known anything else.

“Shit. Again, please,” Lando breathes wetly against her skin. “Do that again,” he repeats, already buried to the hilt, grinding against that perfect spot inside her, that once he found it, it’s impossible to stop. “Mhm. Let me make it right.”

“You said you can’t,” she challanges him, barely able to speak. “So stop taking your sweet time, Norris,” she pants, breathless but defiant, smirking even as her thighs tremble around his hips.

Lando lifts his head, curls damp against his forehead, eyes dark with a sudden annoyance. “Yeah? That’s how he’s had you all this time? Quick, in and out, job done?”

Her smirk drops into a scoff, her hands pressing against his chest like she might shove him off. But she arches into him instead, loving the way her back rubs against the mattress with each push.

“If anything, he had the balls to be honest with me.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he thrusts deeper, making her gasp mid-retort. “Stop defending him, will ya?”

The sheets are already half off the bed, twisted and forgotten, heat pulsing like a heartbeat between them. Lando starts moving inside her with a relentless rhythm, as if trying to erase anyone who came before him with every shove. But she won’t give him the silence he craves.

Not anymore.

Her head tilts back, sweat glistening at her collarbone, but her eyes are sharp, ready to catch his reaction. “No wonder you drive like that. Always trying to prove you’re better than the last guy, aren’t you?”

His hips slam forward, hard enough to make her gasp again, fingers bruising against her waist. “That’s rich coming from the girl who settled for someone who didn’t even know how to fuck her, let alone treat her right.”

She bites her lip, not in surrender but to hide the moan that slips out anyway. Her nails dig into his back, dragging down like a punishment until he grunts. “You’re such a coward,” she snaps. “At least he didn’t treat every conversation like a race he had to win.”

All of a sudden, Lando slows his movements, grinding deep, making her eyes roll before he fucks back into her harder than before. Only to make a point. Only to see all the places he takes her to.

“‘Cause he had the habit of abandoning before it even started, isn’t it? How many times did you have to fake it?”

Her eyes snap to his, speechless, but Lando doesn’t blink. He grins at her, knowing he is waiting for an answer he’ll never get.

She kisses him then, hard and angry, pouring all the emotions she never thought Lando, of all people, would ever awaken in her. Then she pushes him, her legs squeezing around his waist, her action emphasizing the duality of the thoughts going through her mind.

“Just so we’re clear. You’re not the first to try and fuck me into forgetting,” she finally replies.

At that, Lando stops for a breath, not from exhaustion but from the way her words claw straight through his big ego. He slams into her again, smiling at her, hand catching her thigh to spread her wider. “But I’m the one who’s going to succeed.”

She’s so close, he can feel it in the way her body aches to keep his cock inside and how her insults start to blend with moans. What amazes him, though, is the strength she has to continue their little argument, as if they’re not in the middle of something else right now.

“Never thought you could be such an asshole, it’s unbelievable.”

Lando doesn’t even blink when he speaks again, “He made you cry on New Year’s,” he growls, voice sharp, like a blade slipping between her ribs. “And I’m the asshole?”

Before she can throw a retort back, he tilts his hips, changing the angle, and drives into her so sudden that it knocks the breath from her lungs. Her back arches, while her hips are lifting to meet every punishing thrust.

“Lando,” she moans his name, arms winding around his shoulders like she’s holding on for dear life.

She can feel him in places she didn’t even know could feel. He’s fucking her with such intensity it turns into a blur of slick skin and strangled whimpers, the bed creaking beneath them.

The banter dies somewhere along the way, and all that’s left behind is the heat, the pounding rhythm, the kind of pleasure that makes thoughts disappear and stars dance behind their eyes. Her brows are scrunched, eyes glazed, and she realizes she’s about to scream. Actually scream.

Luckily, Lando places a hand over her mouth just in time, muffling the broken sounds pouring out of her throat. It takes her by surprise, realizing how well he knows all her signals without ever telling him. But it’s easy for him. Especially when he sees the way her body’s trembling under his weight, and the way her eyes plead and challenge all at once.

He nods, hips pistoning into her, watching her come apart beneath him, a quiet, shaking mess.

“Yeah,” he grunts as quiet as possible through gritted teeth, “That’s it. Just me now.”

The words hang in the sweat-soaked air as she comes around his length, clenching so tight it nearly takes him with her. Lando doesn’t stop moving. Instead, he talks her through it, his voice breathless against her ear.

“That’s my girl, let it all out. So fucking perfect.”

Her nails sink further into his back, riding the aftershocks with his cock still buried deep, stretching her in all the ways she was craving. It brings him right on the edge, and with a frustrated cry, Lando pulls out, the head of his cock flushed and swollen as it rests hot and heavy against her thigh. He lets himself go at the sight, thick ropes spilling messily onto her skin. Sticky. Warm. Heavenly.

“Lan,” she breathes, half a protest, half a moan, reaching up to drag him back on top of her.

Lando can’t resist the pull. Not when her touch unravels him with every glide of her fingers over his skin. He used to dream of it, but the reality is always better. He kisses her again, softer this time, letting the moment stretch before his hand finds the curve of her breast, fingers teasing with just enough pressure to make her arch against him. Patiently, his thumb sweeps over her nipple, circling, pressing, feeling it harden under his touch.

It makes her whimper, her hands fisting in his hair. Lando’s lips find the column of her throat then, biting gently just beneath her jaw. Her sounds light him up like the fireworks they didn’t witness that night. He trails his kisses down to her collarbone, one palm flattening over her stomach before traveling back up.

Somehow, the chaos has slowed, but the heat is still there.

Their bodies are tangled in ways that no one could tell where she starts and where he ends, the mess between them so satisfying. When their eyes meet again, he sees her flushed cheeks, the sheen of sweat on her brow, and her chest heaving. Her eyes are so vulnerable as she looks back at him — her Lando, stripped down and completely wrecked.

And without a single word, he slides back in.

No sharp words, no angry breathing. Just the sound of their pants, the wet glide of his cock moving inside her, the weight of emotion that neither of them dares to name. Every thrust is unhurried this time around, his sweaty forehead resting against hers, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of her walls fluttering around him, the way her thighs lock around his waist with each roll of his hips.

It’s not just sex anymore. Is so much more than that, something that will linger for a quite some time after they part tonight. And they both know it.

When the pressure builds again, it’s different. There’s less fire. More ache. She blinks up at him, and her lips tremble. Tears pool at the corners of her eyes, not from physical pain, but from the overwhelming closeness of it all.

Lando sees it, and kisses them away.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

And when he comes again, it’s with a quiet groan right against her lips, buried deep as her body pulls him in, taking every drop of his pleasure and keeping him as if he belongs to her from now on. All of it. All of him.

The silence that surrounds them afterwards feels too full. She lets him stay there, wrapped around her, her fingers idly tracing his back. But her gaze is distant, fixed on the ceiling, already somewhere else.

For now, at least, they can coexist in the same world, breathing each other in until the reality will catch them from behind.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow morning.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[merps]

Note: some changes were made for screen readers to properly parse words. The original style generally is all lowercase and uses shorthand like "abt" instead of "about", "w" for "with", and "ik" instead of "I know"

[ID 1: A reddit post titled, "AlTAH for 'training' a guy 'like a dog'?" that reads:

I (23F) have recently started seeing this guy (26M). he's super pretty, but he's kind of emotionally unavailable and he's alluded to an unstable/unhealthy childhood.

for context, i also work with socializing abused and neglected dogs at a local shelter and i think how much time i spend with the dogs is impacting the way i interact with ppl.

when we were on a date i started subconsciously making mental notes about him like the notes id make abt a dog. for example, i noticed when we went out to dinner i noticed he ate really quickly and was very anti-sharing (resource guarding) but when i offered to pay and suggested dessert it seemed to make him really happy and a little calmer (food-motivated); he's really particular about his car (territorial/crate aggression); he likes when i pick where we go/ what we do (eager to please), etc. so, ive started using the tactics id use on a dog with similar problems.

recently a friend (22F) pointed out that it's weird that i keep peanut M&Ms on me w the specific purpose of offering the guy one when i see him, and offering them again whenever i can tell he feels vulnerable. she said that im being an asshole bc he's a person, not a dog so i shouldn't be "training him like one."

i don't think that's fair, im not trying to control him or anything, i just want him to feel comfortable w me the same way i need the animals im helping to be comfortable with me. humans and animals aren't THAT diff after all, we all just want to feel safe and cared for. the guy hasn't noticed yet as far as i can tell. the problem is, my "technique" is yielding really positive results.

AITAH? should i stop?

/End ID 1]

[ID 2: Screenshot of an edit to the previous post that reads:

[start all caps] Updates / Clarifications [end caps]

for everyone asking me if i've seen the big bang theory episode with this plotline: i have not

for everyone saying they think i am autistic: probably, yeah. i haven't been tested but maybe i should

i do not have loose m&ms in my pocket bc then they'd get all melty and gross - i keep them in a bag in my purse

I know the title was clickbait-y so i want to make some things clear. i didn't think of it as "training" til my friend said it was like i was training him, and that made me feel weird (and it's why i made the post)

i am not and never have been trying to "modify" behavior. what i noticed in him and what i notice in animals were stress responses. we only get aggressive over our food if we believe someone's gonna take it away. we get defensive over our spaces if we reasonably feel like they'll be violated. applies to both animals and ppl. i was trying to establish trust the way i best know how to lol

if he never shared fries and never wanted to park next to a car with wide doors again, that'd be fine w me tbh. i know he's not a dog, so he's not at risk of being euthanized or something

/End ID 2]

[ID 3: Continuation of the above edit:

[start all caps] On to the update proper yay! [end all caps]

so, to all the ppl who told me i should tell him what im doing - you were right and that's what i did. turns out i was [start all caps] very wrong [end all caps] about him not noticing what i was doing - he apparently put two and two together pretty quickly after i started doing it. he didn't tell me he was on to me tho, because he liked it and was worried id get embarrassed and stop if i knew that he knew. so we talked it out and it ended up not being a very big deal at all and im probably gonna keep having m&ms because they're good. that's all i got for yall lol

/End ID 3]

sickens me to my stomach. how dare this guy get to live my dream.

[leashybebes]

If it sparks joy:

Cuddling in a blanket fort for BT ☺️

it sparks so much joy. also for @mediocre-mee, because great minds think alike. warning: remarkably little cuddling, but lots of blanket fort

"You guys are really bad at this," Denny says as the third blanket in a row flutters to the floor. He has his hands on his hips, eyeing them critically.

"Give us a break, kid," Tommy says. "We had sad childhoods."

Buck fights a wince but Denny just rolls his eyes at Tommy, picks up two blankets and starts issuing directions. It was Tommy's idea, when they started talking about fostering, that they should start looking after the 118 kids in larger numbers, kind of a series of trial runs. He called it practice, but apparently he doesn't need practice. Maybe Buck does though - he's starting to think Chris is the exception that proves the rule. Once they get past around five years old, kids think Buck is embarrassing. Tommy, though? Tommy's cool, even if he can't build a blanket fort to save his life, even if he's saying objectively uncool things.

They move furniture around under Denny's watchful eye, repurpose lamps and chairs and picture hooks to build the blanket fort of Jee and Mara's dreams.

"Okay. Not awful," Denny concludes. "I'll go get the girls."

"I'll start the popcorn," Buck says.

Jee and Mara are delighted with their blanket fort, and rightly give Denny most of the credit, the three of them piling into the fort to watch a movie while Buck and Tommy work on dinner. 

When Karen arrives to pick up the kids later, Tommy, Buck and Denny are drinking root beer on the porch, while the girls are sleeping off dinner in the blanket fort. 

"Oh, they have you wrapped around their little fingers," she crows at the sight of their living room. 

"Yeah," Tommy admits, completely unembarrassed. 

"This is why we're the favorite uncles," Buck says, from where he's sorting through backpacks, making sure all three of the kids are leaving with everything they brought with them, apart from the friendship bracelets that had been earnestly delivered - Mara's been on a kick lately and Jee is, as ever, delighted to learn from her.

Once they've waved them off, Buck claps his hands together and says, "Okay. Should we put the room to rights?"

"Absolutely not. C'mon, get in the blanket fort with me, Buckley."

"You're kidding, right? It barely fit Denny and the girls. We'll have a structural collapse within five minutes."

Tommy tugs on Buck's hand, pulling him in for a kiss and then leading him into the living room. It takes a bit of effort, but they manage to crawl through the blanket tunnel Denny had carefully constructed and Buck lets Tommy pull him into his arms without protest. He looks so good in the glow of the string lights Jee had cooed over, so handsome and so big and so steady, smiling happily at Buck.

"You know," Buck says, "I used to think I'd hate anything that promised this level of mess on a regular basis."

"And now?" Tommy asks, smiling like he absolutely already knows the answer.

"I'm going to be a wildly indulgent father," Buck admits. "Stick-on stars on the ceiling, redecorating on a whim, cake for dinner. You're gonna have to hold me back."

"Good luck with that," Tommy says, tucking Buck closer into his arms and kissing the top of his head. "They learn that pout from you and I'm a goner."

"Our kids are gonna be demons," Buck says with a sigh.

Tommy strokes his back. "But they're gonna be happy."

In the cosy warmth of the mismatched blankets, in the endless safety of Tommy's arms, Buck smiles.

[graciescott27]

Childhood best friend! Reo whose parents ran your family’s rival company and just so happened to go to the same school as you.

Childhood best friend! Reo who thought that you were just another shallow heiress when he met you (he was six).

Childhood best friend! Reo who slowly began to realize that you didn’t talk to him for his money and kind of liked being around you.

Childhood best friend! Reo who didn’t leave your side once in ten years.

Childhood best friend! Reo who tried way harder than he should have to get you to be friends with Nagi when they first met. Nagi started third-wheeling everything you two did. And you were third-wheeling, too?

Childhood best friend! Reo who always said “our future” instead of “my future,” as if your lives were already permanently intertwined.

Childhood best friend! Reo whose eye started twitching every time he heard your parents talking about marrying you off to some random CEO (they should’ve just let him marry you).

Childhood best friend! Reo who slowly started to be a little more affectionate than what was considered normal for friends. That was normal for Reo though, right? (Absolutely not)

Childhood best friend! Reo who had to try really hard to not lose his mind any time he saw a guy hitting on you. 

Childhood best friend! Reo who, on pure adrenaline, without thinking, kissed you in front of everyone after the Nationals Qualifier. He had just scored the winning goal

Childhood best friend! Reo who was freaking out for weeks after that, terrified to he would lose one of the only people who saw him past his family. Then you asked him out, and now he was freaking out for an entirely different reason?

Childhood best friend! Reo who started planning your wedding that night.

@graciescott27

[steviewashere]

I don't know when I'll have the time to write this, but:

CW: Minor Mentions of Blood, Character Illness (Hanahaki), Use of Queer as a Slur

Hanahaki AU. Steve develops hanahaki over Eddie. It's not because, oh, Eddie's probably straight and doesn't know I'm into guys...

No, it's because, oh, Eddie doesn't want to be very close to me due to previous hangups he has.

Cut to Steve coughing up dark purple, almost black petals. Soft and wet and sticky to his fingers. Then, after some time, they become small buds. Small black rose buds with gentle, prickly thorns sprouting in his throat.

People around them find out quickly, very quickly, that Steve is experiencing Hanahaki. Everybody, sans Eddie himself, finds out they're related to Eddie—even as these black roses symbolize hatred, even as they come close to death and mourning in their meaning—they're still perfectly Eddie in color, shape, and beauty. Obviously, since nobody wants Steve to, y'know, die, they tell him to confess to Eddie.

However, Steve is faced with a secondary option at one of his doctor visits. A surgery. The petals can be removed, the thorns torn out and tossed, his lungs cleared...but his brain shocked empty of all traces of Eddie. All traces. He wouldn't know Eddie as he is now. He wouldn't know Eddie from when Dustin would ramble on and on and on about his new guy best friend. He wouldn't know Eddie as the mischievous troublemaker in high school.

And he especially wouldn't know Eddie as his childhood best friend that he drifted apart from many, many years ago. Nobody but them knows that part.

And soon, through decision, through the fear of death...Steve chooses to forget that part, too. He chooses to remove Eddie from his conscious. Every last part of him. With the decision made, the party members keep Eddie away, Robin goes through Steve's room and hides anything he has of Eddie's—including a little memory box of their childhood photographs, little trinkets he'd receive from Eddie, doodles and crushed flowers...crushed flowers that look similar to the ones Steve coughed up with a note attached to them: "For the prince to my prince. Mama said they're for royal people, and I thought they were beautiful. These are for you, because you're beautiful, too."

Steve kept all of it. Tucked neatly away for nobody but him to see. All these delicate, baby confessions of two queer kids in rural America, waiting for the right moment; though never getting that after a fall out in their relationship.

According to Eddie, the two drifted away due to rhetoric Steve's dad was spouting; rhetoric that was being passed on and spat right at Eddie's face from Steve's mouth. Even if he saw Steve change during and after Vecna, he'll always remember the last big fight in their friendship; the day he was called a queer.

When Eddie finds out, he's beyond devastated that Steve would make the choice to forget him. He gets it, Steve didn't want to die. He knows. But now he doesn't even have a spot in Steve's life? It cuts deep, it hurts.

He knows so much about Steve. Little details. Favorite things. Where his moles are. How he styles his hair. What he looked like before braces, before Tommy, before high school bullshit, before all the traumas. He knows who Steve really is, sweet and nurturing and nearly unbearably kind.

And now Steve doesn't know him. Doesn't love him.

He wishes he knew, because then they wouldn't be in this mess.

But Eddie gets to fall in love with Steve all over again. Shake his hand and introduce himself. Even though he wishes they could meet each other as kids, just like they did. Because Eddie remembers a dorky, geeky, self-conscious, timid little kid quietly asking him if they could play princes on the playground. And Steve remembers Eddie at twenty-one, full grown and stubborn; not the same shy kid, not the bubbly kid...just a man haunted.

But! Plot twist!!!

What if, yeah, Steve does forget Eddie...initially?

He meets Eddie again, for the first time. He gets to know Eddie. He begins a friendship with Eddie.

And then he begins getting these awful...awful migraines being around Eddie. Flashes of fractured, half-formed memories of some kid with big brown eyes and a shaved head, of a kid crouched down in wood chips trying to find a guitar pick he had dropped. Little glimpses of smiles: some with teeth missing, some with teeth growing back in, some with blood-stained lips, some with a blue tint. There's splintering voices, a little boy's and an older man's and a squeaky, pubescent voice—he hears his own name crackled around the edges, hears Prince Stevie cooed and King Steve snarled, soft words whispered through choking sobs and whip wild yelling.

He looks Eddie straight on at one point, his face open with concern, but all he sees is an angry, sobbing, red-faced, wet-faced little Eddie talking with Steve, "You think I'm...I'm a dirty queer? Why would you say that to me? No...no, Steve, keep your voice down, keep your voice"—and then, quieter, a whisper—"I thought I could trust you. I know I like boys, but that was a secret. You're an asshole, Steve. Go fuck yourself."

And when he blinks again, Eddie's concerned face staring back at him, all Steve does is cough and cough and cough. Eventually, he's hunched tight into himself and spitting directly into Eddie's palm. Out comes a fully formed black rose.

A bud that hadn't bloomed, that hadn't been removed. Sharp thorns and wet petals and an eye that swirls and swirls and swirls.

It all comes back to him, then, staring at that flower, floundering backwards, catching Eddie's eyes in a daze.

It all comes back to him.

How much he's always loved Eddie Munson.

Anyway, just like, a hanahaki surgery gone wrong, I guess. Like they all think it works until, y'know, it doesn't. They get close again and it floods back in. The very thing he tried to get away from.

I imagine that after Steve coughs up that fully formed rose, Eddie squishes it in his palm. The thorns cutting up his hand, the petals crushed between his fingers. And then he just...eats it. Like fully puts it on his tongue, chews it up between his teeth, and swallows the whole damn thing—yes, even the thorns. There's blood in his mouth, petals between his teeth, blood and drool on his hand.

And he lunges forward to grab Steve's face, to kiss him so roughly they could be devouring each other. And all they taste in each other are the bittersweet ghosts of black rose petals and the metallic harshness of one another's blood; Steve had hacked up blood, too, from the thorns cutting his throat.

And when they separate?

"You were the first boy I ever fell in love with," Eddie confesses, "you're the only boy I've ever loved. There's been nobody else in that place, Steve. Only you, after everything, have remained."

Okay. Now I'm done. I promise I'm done rambling. Would this be interesting as a fic? I don't know. It's fine.

[inseobts]

Heartstrings pt.1

trafalgar law x reader

amid the chaos of punk hazard, you reunite with trafalgar law, stirring old memories, buried emotions, and a shared past haunted by corazon’s death. but there's no time to dwell—doflamingo’s name resurfaces, and this time, you refuse to let history repeat itself.

tags: punk hazard and dressrosa spoilers I guess, angst to fluff, childhood friends, slow burn

word count: 3.9k

masterlist || ko-fi

The battlefield of Punk Hazard is complete chaos. Flames roar, metal groans under the heat, and the sharp scent of burning chemicals stings your nose. In other words? It’s just a typical Tuesday with the Strawhats.

You arrive later on the fight. Heart pounding, mind racing. This island is already a disaster zone, and at the center of it all is the man you never thought you’d see again.

Trafalgar Law.

He’s standing a few yards away, dressed in that ridiculous yellow hoodie, his sword resting against his shoulder. His golden eyes widen the second they land on you, freezing in place.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The sounds of battle fade into the background, drowned out by the roaring in your ears.

He looks… older. Sharper. But still him.

You exhale sharply, not actually connecting your mouth to your brain, so all you could say is “Well, damn. You actually got taller.”

Law blinks “What the hell…?”

The shock in his voice makes something in your chest tighten, but you shove the feeling aside. There's no time for that.

Luffy, being Luffy, swings by on a random piece of debris, grinning like an idiot “Oi! Y/N, you know Tra-guy?!”

Law groans “Don’t call me that”

You snort. Still the same old grump.

Flashback – Many Years Ago “You hate nicknames, don’t you?” you muse, watching Law scowl as Corazon ruffles his hair. The little boy smacks Corazon’s hand away “They’re annoying.” You smirk “So if I call you Law-chan...” “Don’t.”

Back to the Present

Your smirk widens “Some things never change.”

Law crosses his arms, studying you carefully. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“You’re with them?”

“Yup.”

“How?”

You shrug “Just happened to meet them on my way”

Law stares and before he can respond, Zoro rushes towards the group, resting a hand on his sword “We done with the staring contest? We got a fight to win.”

Law finally shakes his head, exhaling sharply “We’ll talk later.”

You grin “Looking forward to it... Captain.”

He groans. This is going to be a long day.

Law is still staring at you like you just came back from the dead. To be fair, you might as well have.

“Seriously...” he says, voice flat “You’re with them?”

You stretch your arms behind your head, nodding “Yup. You’re repeating yourself, Captain Law.”

His eye twitches.

Luffy, still hanging off a random metal pipe, grins like this is the funniest thing ever “Oi, Tra-guy! You should’ve seen your face when you saw Y/N! It was all like—” He scrunches up his face, trying (and failing) to mimic Law’s perpetual scowl.

Law glares at him, jaw tightening “We have more important things to deal with than my face.”

Flashback – Many Years Ago “You’re so grumpy” you tease, watching as little-kid Law glares at the deck of cards in his hands. The two of you are sitting outside a small, dimly lit inn, the sounds of the ocean lapping against the dock in the distance. Corazon snores quietly a few feet away, passed out in an awkward position against some barrels. Law, still scowling, slaps his cards down “This game is stupid.” You snicker “You’re just losing.” His scowl deepens. “You never know how to just relax...” you continue, leaning back against the crate “Do you even have any fun?” “I don’t have time for fun.” You roll your eyes, flicking one of his cards at him “You say that like you’re forty.” He grumbles under his breath, shuffling the cards again, because even if he pretends not to care, he actually just refuses to lose.

Back to the Present

Looking at Law now, arms crossed, brow furrowed, looking two seconds away from throwing someone off a cliff, you have to bite back a smirk.

He's always the same Law you knew years and years ago.

“So,” you continue, tilting your head “are we gonna talk about the fact that you look like you literally saw a ghost?”

Law exhales through his nose, looking at you with a very unimpressed look “I thought you were dead.”

You blink “…What?”

He gestures vaguely “After everything that happened, after Cora-san… you just disappeared. I didn't know where you went or what happened to you.”

Oh.

For the first time since you saw him again, your playful demeanor falters slightly. Your chest tightens, old memories stirring... memories of fire, blood, and loss.

“I didn’t disappear,” you say quietly “I just… didn’t know how to find you.”

The words hang between you, unspoken things left unsaid. Law stares at you for a long moment, and just for a second you think you see something soften in his expression.

And then BOOM.

A nearby explosion sends rubble flying, and Law immediately turns, jaw tightening. Back to business.

“We’ll talk later” he says firmly.

You smirk, shaking off the heaviness in your chest “Looking forward to it.”

As you both sprint back into battle.

The battlefield is pure chaos. You’re currently dodging a sword swipe from some grinning lunatic in a gas mask.

“Damn it!” You twist out of the way, rolling across the wreckage-covered ground.

The masked guy lets out a laugh, lunging at you again only for his head to suddenly detach from his body.

"What the—?" You blink, watching as the severed head tumbles to the ground. The body doesn't collapse, it stops like it's... confused. The head groans.

“Ugh… my body…”

You glance at the blue glow surrounding the air. Then, slowly, you turn.

Law is standing a few feet away, looking completely unbothered. His sword is still drawn, golden eyes sharp and calculating.

You let out a low whistle “Still dramatic as ever, huh?”

Law huffs, flicking his sword to the side “You were taking too long.”

Flashback – Years Ago “Any day now” Law mutters, arms crossed as he watches you struggle. You glare at him, sweating as you try to pick the lock on the cell “This is harder than it looks, okay?!” He sighs heavily, kneeling beside you “Move” Before you can protest, he effortlessly picks the lock in under ten seconds. The door swings open with a creak. You stare at him. He shrugs “You were taking too long.” You roll your eyes “Show-off.”

Back to the Present

You shake your head, smirking “You haven’t changed at all.”

Law ignores you, already moving forward like he hasn’t just casually decapitated a man “Come on. We don’t have time to waste.”

You jog after him, stepping over the still-whining head “You could at least pretend to be happy to see me.”

“I don’t have time for that, either.”

You scoff “No time for emotions, huh? That’s very on-brand for you, Captain.”

He rolls his eyes before walking off, and you follow him into battle.

Flames crackle from a collapsed wall, the ground is littered with rubble and unconscious enemies, and the air is thick with smoke and chaos. Luffy is somewhere still fighting Caesar Clown, while the rest of the crew is scattered across the battlefield.

And you?

You’re stuck with Trafalgar Law, currently running for your life down a crumbling hallway while a wave of toxic gas rushes after you.

“Do you ever think things through before jumping into danger?” Law shouts over the deafening roar of destruction behind you.

You flash him a grin “Nope! That’s what makes life fun!”

His eye twitches “You’re insufferable.”

“Aw, you missed me.”

“I absolutely did not—”

A sudden explosion cuts him off, sending debris crashing down from above. Your eyes widen.

“Shit—”

You shove Law forward, forcing both of you into a dive just as the ceiling collapses behind you, sealing off the corridor. A massive cloud of dust kicks up, making you cough as you push yourself up onto your elbows.

For a moment, silence.

“You’re insane.”

You glance up to see Law, still flat on his back, staring at you like you’re the most exhausting person in the world.

You smirk “Yeah, but you like that about me.”

He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose “I don’t.”

“You always used to do this” Law mutters, standing up and dusting himself off.

“Do what?” you ask, doing the same.

“Throw yourself into danger like you have a death wish.”

You roll your eyes “I don’t have a death wish, I just...” You pause.

Law raises an eyebrow “Just what?”

You glance at him, hesitating for a split second before shrugging “I just don’t think twice when someone needs help... especially if it's for someone I care about.”

Law is silent for a moment, eyes scanning your face. Then, with an unreadable expression, he turns “Come on. We’re not done here.”

You grin, falling into step beside him “You’re such a softie, you know that?”

He groans “Shut up, Y/N.”

The battle is finally over.

You stand on the charred ground, catching your breath as the cold sea breeze blows through the wreckage. Your body aches, your clothes are torn, and there’s a smudge of soot on your cheek.

Luffy, of course, is grinning like he didn’t just go toe-to-toe with some of the most dangerous people in the New World “That was fun!”

Law, standing a few feet away, looks like he wants to strangle him “You nearly got yourself killed, Luffy-ya.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t!”

Law pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks two seconds away from throwing himself into the ocean.

You laugh, patting his shoulder “Told you, you get used to them.”

He shoots you a deadpan look “No. I don’t.”

Law watches you carefully, as if he’s still trying to figure out how you ended up here, with Luffy of all people.

Before he can say anything, Robin speaks up “So, what’s next?”

Law exhales, finally turning back to the group “We set sail. Now that Caesar is captured, we move forward with the next phase of the plan.”

“And what plan is that?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Law’s golden eyes flicker to you.

“Doflamingo.”

The name alone makes the air heavier. The casual atmosphere from before vanishes.

You freeze.

Doflamingo.

The name alone pulls you straight back to the past.

Your chest tightens. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

Law is still talking, explaining the next steps of his alliance with Luffy, but your mind is already made up.

All you feel is fear.

Because you’ve just heard the name that still haunts your nightmares after so many years.

You barely hear the rest of the conversation, his plan, the alliance with Luffy, the decision to go to Dressrosa and face him.

Your blood runs cold.

No. No, no, no—

“You can’t” you say, voice sharp.

Law stops mid-sentence. Everyone turns to look at you.

He raises an eyebrow “What?”

“You can’t go after him” you say again, louder this time.

Luffy tilts his head “Eh? Why not?”

“Because he’ll kill you!” your voice shakes, but you don’t care. You turn to Law, expecting him to understand “You should know better than anyone!”

Law’s expression darkens. The others exchange looks, but you don’t care about them right now.

“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with” you continue, now glaring at all of them “Doflamingo isn’t just some pirate, he’s a monster. He’ll tear you apart without even breaking a sweat.”

Luffy shrugs “So? We’ll just beat him up.”

You snap.

“This isn’t some stupid adventure, Luffy! This isn’t about finding treasure or having fun! This is Doflamingo! He’s destroyed more lives than you can count! He—” Your voice catches, you now turn to Law with tears in your eyes “He killed Corazon.”

Silence.

No one says anything.

Law’s golden eyes are locked on you, unreadable. The weight of your words lingers in the cold air.

You swallow hard, chest tight “I can’t—I can’t lose anyone else by him”

Because you remember.

You remember holding Corazon’s hand as his blood soaked into the snow. You remember screaming for help that never came. You remember losing him, losing Law, losing everything.

And now, after all these years, after finally finding him again, Law is walking into the same fate.

You shake your head, fists clenched “I won’t let you do this.”

Law, for a moment, just stares. His face is carefully blank, but you know him too well.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“You think I don’t know what’s at stake?” His voice is low, controlled but there’s an edge to it, something raw “You think I don’t remember what he did?”

You open your mouth but he cuts you off.

“I’ve spent my entire life planning this” he continues, stepping closer. His golden eyes burn with something fierce, something painful “This isn’t just revenge. This is about ending him. For Corazon. For Dressrosa. For everyone he’s ever used and discarded. For you.”

Your breath catches.

Law holds your gaze, unwavering “I’m not asking you to like it. I’m not asking you to approve. But I am asking you...” His voice softens “Do you still trust me?”

Your chest tightens.

Because of course you do. You always have and you always will.

Law doesn’t break eye contact, waiting for your answer.

Finally, you exhale. You close your eyes, steadying yourself and then look back at him.

“…Fine” you say quietly “I’m coming with you.”

Law nods once, like he expected nothing less.

Luffy grins “You can stay on the ship if you want, y’know!”

You snort “Not a chance.”

Because if Law is going into hell again you’re going with him.

The ship is calm for now, headed to Dressrosa to face Doflamingo and you are going to make sure no one, not a single person you care about, gets lost along the way.

You sit at the edge of the ship, the wind pulling at your hair, while the others are belowdeck, preparing, resting, no one else is up here. Just you and the open ocean stretching out before you.

And him.

Law is leaning against the ship’s railing, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, eyes watching the horizon. His expression is unreadable, like always, but there’s a weight in the air between you.

You stay quiet, unsure of what to say, as the distance between you two feels as heavy as the ocean.

Finally, Law speaks, his voice cutting through the silence “You really don’t have to come.”

You glance at him, but he doesn’t look at you.

“I’m not staying behind, Law” you reply. Your voice is steady, though inside, it feels like your heart is pounding against your ribs “I’m going with you. End of the story.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then, softly, he asks “Why?”

Your breath catches. You think about it for a second.

“I—I’m not going to lose you too” you say quietly, eyes still locked on the horizon, not daring to look at him “I couldn’t handle it again. Not after…” Your voice breaks, and you quickly swallow the lump in your throat.

Law shifts slightly, as if he’s processing your words. He doesn’t interrupt, just watches you closely.

Finally, after a long pause, he speaks again “I can’t promise you nothing will happen.”

You finally look at him, searching his eyes “I know.”

For a second, there’s a flicker of something fragile and vulnerable across his face, but it disappears almost instantly. Law looks away, his gaze returning to the horizon.

“I don’t need you getting in the way” he says, his voice quieter now, but there’s a hint of something deeper underneath.

“Don’t worry,” you reply with a wry smile “I’m not going anywhere. But, seriously, I’m helping. And if you try to stop me, I’ll probably make things worse.”

He raises an eyebrow “You’re already making things worse.”

You laugh, that familiar, comfortable tension between you rising again “Good. I like to keep you on your toes”

Law sighs, exasperated but not really surprised “I’ll never understand you, Y/N.”

“I’m not asking you to” you smile, the warmth of the moment softening the edges of everything else.

The two of you stand there for a while longer, watching the ocean, the silent understanding between you both deepening.

“I...” you hesitate, wondering if now’s the right time, but you push through, because you can’t keep avoiding it forever “I’ve been looking for you...”

Law raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t speak, so you continue.

“You know, after everything happened, I...” you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself “I never stopped looking for you, Law. Ever.”

This time, he turns his head just slightly, eyes catching yours, though his expression is still hard to read “You’ve been looking for me?”

You nod “Yeah. Everywhere. When Corazon… When he died, I couldn't find you. For years I didn’t know what to do. Then, I started looking for you following the news, the reports on pirates, on the underworld. Anything that might give me a clue where you were.”

Law frowns, his eyes narrowing slightly. You can see the flicker of confusion, but he doesn’t say anything yet.

“But I actually had no idea where to start, there was no news about you” you continue “But after some time, I finally caught wind of you... Law, the Surgeon of Death, the pirate captain of the Heart Pirates” Your chest tightens as you recall those dark days “I saw reports of you here and there, and I followed the trail. And that’s how I ended up with the Strawhats... since you wanted to know how I ended up with them”

You watch his face closely, trying to gauge his reaction, but his eyes are still shadowed with something you can’t quite place.

You take a slow, shaky breath before continuing “After what happened to Corazon I was never sure you were still alive. I hoped. But after years of silence, I started to think the worst. That maybe you were… At least until I saw a grown up version of you on a bounty poster. For the first time ever, I was actually relieved and happy seeing your ugly face”

Finally, Law speaks, his voice low “You shouldn’t have followed me. It wasn’t safe.”

You stiffen at his words “I couldn’t just sit back while I had no idea where you were, what happened to you. I had to meet you.”

The tension between you both thickens, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

Finally, Law sighs, turning his back to the railing and facing you directly “I didn’t want you to get hurt, y/n. After everything that happened, I thought you were...” His voice cracks, and he cuts himself off, clearly uncomfortable.

You can’t help but soften a little, the edge of your anger fading as you see the vulnerability beneath his words.

“Dead?” you finish quietly, your eyes not leaving his.

Law looks away, his jaw tightening, like he’s trying to keep his emotions locked inside “I thought you were dead. After what happened with Corazon, and everything that came after… I thought you were gone too. And there were no news about you around, you don't have a bounty poster... I'm sorry.”

For a moment, you’re not sure what to say. But then, slowly, you step closer to him “It’s okay. I get it. You don’t need to apologize. Also, I have a bounty poster but they used my nickname instead of a real name, and I used to hide my face with a mask. At least before meeting Luffy a few months ago.”

The silence between you both feels less suffocating now, but there’s still something unspoken between you. A promise, maybe. An understanding.

Finally, you speak again, voice quieter this time “I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere. Not until this is over. Not until we’re done with Doflamingo.”

Law’s eyes are searching yours, like he’s looking for something. Then, after a moment, he nods, just the slightest inclination of his head “Good.”

You both stand there for a few more moments, neither of you needing to say anything else.

But in this moment, the weight of the past doesn’t feel so heavy. There’s a fragility between you both now, an unspoken promise that no matter what happens next, you’ll be facing it together.

“You’re still scared” he says.

You scoff “Of course I am. You should be too.”

Flashback The cold stone halls of the Donquixote estate stretch endlessly around you, silent except for the faint echo of distant voices. You’re small, a child, but you know better than to let your guard down. A shadow looms ahead. Him. Doflamingo stands at the end of the corridor, golden sunglasses catching the dim light. His presence is suffocating, his smile sharp like a knife. “You should be grateful” he says, his voice calm, almost amused “Not many get to live under my protection.” You say nothing. You never say anything when he talks like this. You remember Corazon’s warning: Don’t let him see your fear. But it’s hard, when every instinct in your body screams to run. Doflamingo takes a step closer “And yet, you look at me like you want to disappear.” Your fists clench at your sides. You don’t answer. His smile doesn’t falter. Then, suddenly Law bursts between you, arms outstretched like a shield. His breathing is heavy, but his glare is sharp. Doflamingo chuckles “How touching.” “Leave y/n alone” Law growls. Doflamingo tilts his head, amused “Or what?” Law doesn’t answer. He just stands his ground and for a long moment, there’s silence. Then, Doflamingo laughs while walking away “pathetic.” “…You didn’t have to do that” you murmur. He finally looks at you, his expression unreadable “Yes, I did.” You don’t argue. Because he’s right. Because back then, all you had was each other.

Back to the Present

You let out a humorless laugh “Funny, isn’t it? After all these years, we’re back where we started. Facing him. Again.”

Law’s voice is quiet, but firm “It’s different this time.”

You turn to him, searching his face “How?”

His eyes meet yours “Because this time, we’re strong enough to end it.”

Your breath catches.

Law keeps watching you with that unreadable expression of his.

And suddenly, it’s too much. The space between you feels unbearable.

You spent years looking for him, chasing rumors, hoping, praying, that you’d find him alive and when you finally did you froze.

Because part of you was afraid that if you touched him, he’d disappear. That he wasn’t real. That the universe would rip him away like it did before.

But now, standing here and knowing what’s ahead, you can’t hold it in anymore.

You step forward.

Law’s eyes widen slightly in surprise as you close the distance between you. Before he can say anything you throw your arms around him.

His body stiffens.

For a second, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe, and then slowly you feel him relax.

It’s subtle, but he doesn’t pull away. His arms remain at his sides, but he doesn’t stop you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the fabric of his coat. You whisper, voice trembling “For years, Law. I thought... I thought I lost you, too.”

Law doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move.

Your fingers curl tighter into his jacket “I should have done this sooner,” you murmur “back on Punk Hazard. When I first saw you again.”

There’s a pause. Then, finally, he moves.

“…You’re an idiot.”

You laugh, though it’s watery and weak “Yeah,” you say, tightening your grip “I know.”

Law doesn’t push you away. For a moment he lets himself lean into you.

It’s not much. It’s barely anything. But after everything, after the years of loss, of loneliness, of silence...

It’s everything.

[booklovingturtle]

Well done, Agent Twilight. Prepare to receive your extraction orders within two weeks.

Handler’s final sentence is all Twilight can hear as he unlocks the door to the Forger’s home.

Operation Strix has been a success. Naturally, WISE will give him a new assignment. Most likely, one that doesn’t require him to have a wife or child. The thought makes acid gurgle up his throat. This is it. Loid Forger’s days were always numbered. It’s only now that Twilight can feel the clock counting down each second at his spine.

The whole reason I became a spy in the first place is to make sure families around the globe could live in peace. I achieved my goal once again. I did what I set out to do as Loid Forger. It’s time to prepare for the next mask.

Twilight forces his body to move. He removes his hat and gloves to place them in the closet where they always go. His coat is quickly unbuttoned then placed on the rack beside Yor’s. He slides his shoes right next to Anya’s uniform ones.

Anya…no-don’t go down this road, Twilight. She’ll be fine. WISE will make sure she has everything she needs from here on out.

As if she can hear her name in his thunderstorm of thoughts, Loid’s daughter runs into the living room. Bond is behind her, eyes drooping with a sorrow unfit for such a large pup. The girl, on the other hand, is staring up her father with big eyes full of tears.

“Papa?”

Loid attempts to smile at her. “Why are you still up? I’m sure Yor put you to bed by now.”

“I was worried you wouldn’t be back.”

“What? Why on earth would you worry about something like that?” Twilight was a cruel manipulator to speak that way.

She’ll have a real family and a bright future wherever they place. She won’t have to lie to her friends about her papa or mama.

“Because…” her voice cracks as fat tears slide down her round cheeks. “Because I-we…I have all my stellas and you-you…the bad guys and now you’re-you-“

Loid drops to his knees in front of her tiny frame. “Anya, please calm down. I can barely understand what you’re saying. What is going on?”

You’re doing this for kids like her. She already lost her parents to God knows what. My assignment as Loid Forger made sure she wouldn’t lose her childhood either.

“I don’t wanna new family. I don’t care that mama is a bad cook. I don’t care that papa is a bad liar. I want you, papa.”

Twilight can’t hide the despair on his face at her words. He has no way to soothe her anxiety without telling more lies.

She knows. But how? How does this girl know I’m leaving soon? It doesn’t make sense. I’ve never-

“Papa!” She grabs his sleeve with a surprisingly strong grip. “Please stay.”

Agent Twilight ensured that Anya wouldn’t lose her childhood. But now Anya–sweet, energetic, playful, loving, and innocent little Anya–will lose her papa. The only father she’s ever known.

“I don’t know if I have a choice,” he whispered with shame.

“Tell them you wanna stay. Tell them that you’re gonna stay as my papa and that world peace is done and you don’t wanna go because you gotta finish your job here.”

“I want to stay, Anya. Please believe me when I say I want nothing more than to stay here and watch you grow up. I want to spend the rest of my life making you hot chocolate and taking you on outings. I want to be your father for the rest of my life.”

“Then stay.”

She makes it sound so simple.

“Papa,” she says with more force. “At least promise me that you’ll do whatever you can to. Promise me that you’re gonna go to your boss people and ask them if you can be my papa.”

Loid places his calloused, blood-stained hands over her trembling fist. She lets go hesitantly. He pulls her close to his chest into a tight embrace. Her whole body is shaking with emotions.

“I can’t promise that they will say yes, but I can promise to try, Anya.”

a sketch i found and wanted to share

[ggukivrse]

falling for you | myg

summary. you and yoongi have been best friends since childhood, and you pride yourselves in knowing everything about each other. well… everything except the quiet, growing warmth neither of you dare to name

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre: childhood friends to lovers, idiots to lovers (they’re both so oblivious omfg), fluff, angst

word count: 5.5k

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, kissing, lmk if i missed anything!

note: it’s my birthday :> i mentioned this in my wip update, but i’m posting this cuz i feel bad that i’m not able to get the jk fic out in time and wanted to give you guys at least something. i wrote this ages ago and only briefly edited it, so it’s probably not amazing loll. likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are really appreciated!! enjoy reading my angels <3

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

The sun is way too hot for a Saturday. It’s one of those summer days where everything feels too bright and too loud — ice cream truck music echoing down the street, kids screaming over who’s “it” in tag, and the cicadas loud in the trees.

You sit on the curb in front of your house, legs stretched out so far that your toes are practically cooking on the asphalt. Your thighs are sticking to the concrete, and the back of your shirt is damp with sweat. You’re a little bit miserable, but not really. Because Yoongi’s next to you.

He’s got his usual half-annoyed, half-bored face on, like he can’t believe he let you talk him into running around the neighbourhood all morning.

His knees are scraped — both of them. One of them is still bleeding a little, but he doesn’t seem to care. You care more than he does. You tried to wipe it earlier with your sleeve, and he just grunted like an old man and told you to stop fussing.

Now, he’s eating a blue raspberry popsicle like it betrayed him. Slow bites. Little scowl.

You glance over at him and then back at your own red one. You’ve already got sticky syrup running down your wrist because you keep forgetting to lick the sides.

Yoongi nudges you with his shoulder. “You’re making a mess.”

“So?” You lick your wrist dramatically. “I’m still eating it.”

“That’s gross.”

“You’re gross.”

He doesn’t argue. Just takes another angry chomp out of his popsicle and kicks a pebble with the tip of his shoe.

There’s a comfortable silence for a bit. Not quiet — nothing’s ever quiet in your neighbourhood — but the kind of silence that feels like its own little bubble. Like you and Yoongi have your own world, just the two of you, sitting on the curb with sticky fingers and banged-up legs.

You glance over at him again. He’s squinting into the sun, his dark hair sticking to his forehead, a little piece of popsicle juice on his chin.

You say it without thinking.

“I’m gonna marry you when I grow up.”

Yoongi freezes.

You blink. You weren’t really planning to say that out loud. It just slipped out of your mouth. But now it’s out there, just floating between you like a bubble that’s either going to pop or land.

He turns to look at you slowly, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking.

You’re not. You shrug like it’s no big deal. “I mean, you’re my best friend. You’re funny. Sometimes. And you always give me your pickle slices when we eat burgers. That’s boyfriend stuff.”

He snorts. It’s a weird, sudden little laugh, like he can’t stop it in time. “You’re so weird.”

“You’re weird too.”

“Yeah, but you’re weirder,” he says, but he’s smiling now, and there’s a faint pink blooming on his ears that you don’t notice at the time. You just smile back like you’ve won something.

“So you’re saying yes?” you press.

“I didn’t say that,” he grumbles, and looks away quickly. “You’re gonna forget, anyway. You’ll probably marry some tall idiot who plays guitar or something.”

You kick at his foot. “Nope. It’s you.”

He sighs like he’s got the weight of the world on his tiny shoulders. Then he turns to you and says, “Fine. But only if you stop stealing the last popsicle.”

You hold up your half-melted red one. “Deal.”

And he bumps your shoulder again — lighter this time — and finishes the rest of his popsicle in one bite like a monster.

You don’t know it yet, but this is the moment that will live in the back of his head forever, long after the popsicles are gone.

You just know the sun’s still too hot, the ground is still too hard, and Yoongi’s still here. Right next to you. Where he always is.

You’re laughing again.

It’s loud — too loud for the classroom, and definitely too loud for whatever dumb joke just came out of Hoseok’s mouth. It's probably not even that funny, but you’re leaning over your desk, face buried in your folded arms, shaking with laughter like it’s the greatest thing you’ve ever heard.

You’re wearing that white top again — the one with the fraying sleeves that you play with when you’re thinking. Your hair’s a little messy from gym. There’s a tiny smudge of ink on your cheekbone.

And Yoongi is staring at you.

He doesn’t mean to. His eyes just find you like they always do. Like it’s a reflex.

You throw your head back and laugh harder, and something happens in his chest. Not a big, dramatic boom or anything. It’s smaller than that. Quieter. A weird little flutter, like his ribs just skipped.

He blinks. Looks down at his notebook. It’s blank.

Focus. Come on.

The teacher’s still talking about sentence structure, and Hoseok’s still trying to make you laugh again, and you’re still glowing in that obnoxious, infuriating way that makes it impossible to think.

Yoongi grips his pencil tighter.

You’re just his best friend.

You’ve always been his best friend.

Since the popsicle days and scraped knees and pinky promises made without thinking. Since birthday parties with too much sugar and movie marathons where you fell asleep on his shoulder and drooled on his hoodie.

You’re his person. That’s it.

Right?

He sneaks another glance at you.

You’re trying to stifle your giggles now, hand covering your mouth, shoulders trembling. And Hoseok looks at you like he’s proud of himself, like he wants to make you laugh again. Yoongi wants to tell him to shut up. Wants to drag you out of this classroom, down the hall, outside, anywhere.

Away from everyone else.

Just so he can have you to himself for a little while. Just so he doesn’t have to share.

He swallows.

What the hell.

This isn’t... this isn’t how it's supposed to feel. He’s supposed to roll his eyes when you get like this, not sit here with his heart doing gymnastics over your smile. He’s supposed to find you annoying when you poke him in the ribs during class or call him "Grumpy Yoongi." But instead, he finds himself hoping you’ll do it again.

He looks down at his notebook again. Still blank.

Great.

He tries to tell himself it’s just a phase. A random glitch in the system. You’re still just you. Still loud and stubborn and kind of a disaster. Still his best friend. That hasn’t changed.

He glances at you again — now you’re doodling little stars on the corner of your worksheet, tongue poking out in concentration — and something in him quietly, undeniably shifts.

He turns back to his paper, presses the pencil down too hard, and curses under his breath.

Because he knows.

Even if he doesn’t want to know yet.

Middle school parties are always weird.

Too many kids crammed into someone’s basement, bad pop music echoing off the walls, the lights dimmed just enough to feel scandalous. Someone's older sibling is “supervising” from upstairs but mostly just stealing snacks and pretending they don’t hear anything.

You’re sitting on the floor with a half-melted cupcake in your lap and Yoongi next to you, shoulder grazing yours every few minutes.

There are about ten of you in the circle. Everyone’s either trying to act too cool or trying too hard. You’re somewhere in between — buzzed on sugar and nerves, pretending you don’t feel weird sitting this close to your best friend.

Truth or Dare starts like it always does: harmless. Embarrassing questions. Dares to do a cartwheel or chug a Capri Sun in under ten seconds. You're mostly laughing, swatting at people’s arms when they try to rope you in.

Until Ari — a classmate of yours — grins at you like she’s plotting something.

“Your turn,” she says, eyes flicking to Yoongi. “Truth or dare?”

You toy with the edge of your sleeve. “Dare.”

Her grin widens.

“I dare you to kiss Yoongi.”

There’s a chorus of gasps and dramatic “ooooh”s. The kid next to him starts laughing. Someone else claps like this is the best thing they’ve seen all night.

Your face burns instantly.

You glance at Yoongi. He’s frozen. Stiff. His hands still on his knees, his mouth slightly open like he was mid-breath when the dare landed.

You laugh it off. “Wow. Okay. Real original.”

“Come on,” Ari says, nudging you. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, it’s just a dare,” someone adds. “It’s not like you guys haven’t known each other since diapers.”

That doesn’t help. If anything, it makes your stomach twist harder.

You look at Yoongi again. He meets your eyes this time.

And something… flickers.

His expression isn’t teasing. He’s not rolling his eyes or laughing with everyone else. He looks nervous. Careful.

He clears his throat. “Only if you’re okay with it.”

You try to sound casual. “It’s fine. Let’s just get it over with.”

But you can’t stop your heart from racing.

You both shift toward each other, awkwardly, slowly, like two magnets confused about which way they're supposed to go. He’s so close now you can see the way his lashes touch his cheeks, the tiny mole just above his lip, the uncertain way he tilts his head.

Someone counts down, loud and obnoxious. “Three! Two! One!”

You kiss him.

It’s not long. It’s not deep. It’s just a press of lips — barely there, barely breathing.

But it’s soft.

Way softer than you expect.

Yoongi doesn’t move. Doesn’t push forward. Doesn’t pull back. He’s just… there. Warm. Still. His lips are chapped but gentle, and his breath stutters against yours for a half-second before you both pull away like the floor’s about to collapse.

The room explodes. Cheering. Laughing. Someone yells, “They’re in love!”

You grab the cupcake from your lap and toss it at them.

Yoongi stares at the floor. He scratches the back of his neck and mutters something you don’t catch. His ears are red.

You force out a laugh. “You guys are ridiculous.”

But your voice cracks on the end.

He doesn’t meet your eyes for the rest of the game. You pretend not to notice, but you do. You notice everything — how quiet he gets, how he taps his fingers against his knee, how he shifts away from you just a little when someone else sits down on his other side.

And you tell yourself it was nothing.

Just a stupid dare.

Just a game.

----

You’re lying on your stomach on Yoongi’s bed, chin propped on your hands, staring at your phone like it’s a live grenade. The text is typed out already. It’s stupidly short. Two sentences. Fourteen words. You’ve reread it twenty-seven times.

Yoongi’s next to you, sitting cross-legged with his back against the wall. He’s flipping through the songs on your playlist like it’s the most boring job on earth. His thumb pauses on a song you like and skips it.

You glare at him. “Hey. I like that one.”

“Yeah, and I’ve heard it a million times. Get a new personality.”

You kick at his leg. He dodges without looking.

The light in his room is warm, and the windows are cracked open just enough to let in that late-afternoon breeze. You’re both still in your school uniforms, slightly wrinkled from the day. His tie’s loose. Your shoes are off. It feels normal. Comfortable.

But it doesn’t feel easy anymore.

Your phone screen dims. You tap it back on and sigh, loud and dramatic.

“I think I’m gonna send it.”

Yoongi doesn’t look up. “Send what?”

You roll onto your side so you can face him, and your heart kicks like it’s trying to climb out of your chest. “The text. To— uh— Taehyung.”

Now he looks at you. Blankly. Like you just said something in a different language. “Taehyung?”

“Yeah. From science.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes shifts. Slight. Quick. Like a flicker of static.

“You like Taehyung?” he says flatly.

You nod, even though your stomach doesn’t. “I think so. He’s funny. And he smells nice.”

Yoongi snorts. “You’re so shallow.”

“I never said I wasn’t,” you shoot back, but it’s softer than it should be. You’re trying to keep it light. Playful. Like this doesn’t feel wrong already.

There’s a pause.

Then he shrugs and holds out his hand. “Let me see the text.”

You hand it over without meeting his eyes.

He reads it silently. It’s short, awkward, obviously written by someone pretending not to care too much.

hey, i was wondering if you maybe wanna hang out sometime? no pressure lol

He raises an eyebrow. “You used lol. That’s tragic.”

“I panicked!”

“You sound like a robot. A sad, nervous robot.”

You grab a pillow and smack him with it. “Then fix it, genius!”

He laughs — really laughs — and wrestles the pillow away from you like it’s a life-or-death situation. His fingers brush yours in the process.

You still.

It’s barely a touch. Just a moment. But your body reacts like it always does now; your stomach flips; your face burns. And then the guilt rushes in.

You asked him to help you text another guy.

He doesn’t notice. Or pretends not to. He’s busy editing your message, adding a line about how you liked Taehyung’s project on sustainable energy (you did not). Then he adds a smiley face. The old-school kind, with a colon and a parenthesis.

“There. Now you sound like a dork, but at least a sincere one.”

You take the phone back and read it.

hey, i liked your science project btw. wanna hang out sometime? :)

Your thumb hovers over the send button.

You glance at Yoongi.

He’s staring at the ceiling now, one leg bouncing absentmindedly. He looks bored. Normal. Like this doesn’t matter.

You hit send.

It feels like swallowing a rock.

----

You don’t see him at first.

You’re on the couch, curled into Taehyung like you belong there — knees tucked between his, hand lazily draped over his arm, head thrown back in that kind of laugh you don’t fake. The kind that starts in your chest and takes over your whole body.

Taehyung’s saying something low in your ear, his voice too soft for anyone else to catch. You lean in, partially to hear him better, partially to get closer to him.

Yoongi walks into it like a punch.

He hadn’t planned anything dramatic. He’s holding a plastic bag with snacks — some random things he knows you like — intending to drop by like always. Just show up, sit too close, talk about nothing until the day disappears.

But you’re already laughing. And it’s not at something he said.

He stops halfway into the room.

You still haven’t noticed him.

Taehyung sees first. He looks up and gives a casual, almost smug nod. “Yo, what’s up?”

You turn your head fast, like you’re caught doing something wrong. But your smile doesn't fade. “Hey! You didn’t text me you were coming.”

“I did,” Yoongi says. “Like ten minutes ago.”

You blink. “Oh. Sorry.”

You shift slightly, pulling your legs back, not completely — but just enough that you can pat the spot beside you like nothing’s weird. “Come sit.��

He does. He sits. Of course he does.

He drops the bag on the table and slides into the open space next to you, but it feels exactly like what it is — too late.

The three of you make some awkward, half-hearted small talk. Taehyung says something dumb about your chemistry class and you laugh again — less wild this time, but still bright.

Yoongi forces a smile. It stretches across his face too tight. “Didn’t know this was a thing now.”

“What?” you ask, but your voice has that careful edge to it. You know what he means.

He shrugs, cool and neutral. “You and Taehyung.”

Taehyung answers for you. “It’s not, like, official-official. Yet.”

You laugh under your breath, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, not looking at Yoongi when you say, “We’re just seeing where it goes.”

Right.

Cool.

Yoongi leans back against the couch and nods like that makes perfect sense. Like it doesn’t feel like someone just hit the mute button on the world around him.

You look happy. And not in a fake, putting-on-a-show kind of way. You’re relaxed. Glowing, even. And Taehyung? He’s just there. Confident. Comfortable. Sitting way too close.

Yoongi swallows it all.

The way your fingers had been resting on Taehyung’s arm like it was nothing. The way you pulled your legs back but didn’t move farther away. The way his name sounds too easy coming out of your mouth.

He laughs dryly at something Taehyung says — he doesn’t even hear what it is.

And he stays. Of course he stays.

Because he’s your best friend.

That’s what he is. That’s what he’s always been.

And if it hurts, if it feels like the room is spinning just slightly off-axis — well.

You don’t need to know that part.

----

You don’t cry right away.

At first, you just laugh. Too loud. Too sharp. The kind of laugh that feels like it has nowhere else to go.

You sit on the edge of your bed, phone still in your hand, screen black now. The last text from Taehyung stares back at you in your head, branded there like it wants to stay.

“I just don’t think this is working anymore.”

No call. No warning. Just a half-hearted paragraph and a stupid, passive “sorry.”

You set your phone down on your nightstand. It slides a little and stops.

You stare at the wall across from you. It’s the one with the old polaroids and dumb notes and a drawing Yoongi made of you in sixth grade that looks like a potato with hair. You don’t blink. You barely breathe.

The first tear slides out before you even notice it. Just leaks out. Quiet. Like your body knew before your brain caught up.

And then you’re crying.

Not pretty, dramatic crying — the ugly, silent kind where your chest hurts more than your heart and you can’t quite breathe right. Your hands shake. You press your face into the pillow to muffle the sound, and it doesn’t help. You feel like you’re sinking through the bed.

It wasn’t even a long relationship. A few months. A few kisses. Some hand-holding and shared playlists and awkward texts. But Taehyung made you feel seen. Liked. Wanted.

And now you feel... disposable.

There’s a knock on your door. Light.

Hesitant.

You don’t answer.

It creaks open anyway. You know the sound of his footsteps before he even speaks.

Yoongi.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands in the doorway, taking you in — all curled up and messy and miserable. Then he crosses the room, slowly, like he doesn’t want to startle you.

“Your mom said you weren’t feeling good,” he says softly.

You turn your head, just enough to look at him. Your eyes are puffy. You’re not even trying to hide it.

His brows draw together instantly. “What happened?”

You open your mouth, and it takes two tries before anything comes out.

“Taehyung dumped me,” you mumble.

It sounds small. Childish. Not even worth the weight in your throat. But the look on Yoongi’s face shifts — his whole posture softens, and before you can stop him, he’s sitting beside you.

He doesn’t ask for permission, just reaches out and pulls you into his arms.

You fall into him without hesitation.

It’s warm there — his hoodie smells like detergent and the faintest trace of cinnamon gum. His chin rests on top of your head. His hands stay still on your back, not moving, not rushing you.

And you just let yourself cry.

Not because of Taehyung, not entirely. Not even because of the rejection. It’s all of it. The hurt, the disappointment, the slow-burning truth that you were hoping for something more than what he gave.

Yoongi holds you like he’s done this before in a dream. Like he knows exactly how to steady you without needing words. Like he feels what you feel.

But he’s quiet. Too quiet.

There’s something in the way his fingers curl into your top, in the way he presses his mouth into your hair and doesn’t move for a long time, like he’s clinging to something he’s not allowed to want.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

Eventually, your breathing slows. You wipe your nose on your sleeve and shift in his arms, suddenly aware of how close he is. How good he smells. How warm he feels. And how badly you wish this was something else.

“Thanks,” you murmur, voice hoarse.

He just nods. “Yeah. Always.”

And you don’t talk about it again.

Not the breakup.

Not the way you cried into his chest.

Not the way his shirt smelled like you for two days after.

----

You’re still his favourite person.

That hasn’t changed.

What has changed is everything else.

He still walks you home when it’s late. Still sends you memes at 2 AM. Still saves the red gummy bears for you and pretends it’s not a thing. But it’s not like it used to be — not the same easy closeness, not the same comfort.

You date people now.

Sometimes you talk about them like they’re no big deal. Other times, your eyes light up in a way that makes something twist deep in his stomach.

He listens. He nods. He laughs when he’s supposed to. But underneath all of it, something grows. Slow and impossible and heavy.

Love is a quiet thing, he’s learned. Sometimes it lives in the silences. Sometimes in the way you pass him a drink before he even asks. Sometimes in the fact that you always take the seat next to him, even when there’s room on the other side.

It’s been building in him for years.

And tonight, it almost spills.

You’re both on his bed, legs stretched out, backs against the wall. It’s late — later than you said you’d stay — but neither of you mention it. A movie plays on his laptop, mostly ignored. Some old favorite you’ve both seen a dozen times.

You’re in a hoodie that doesn’t belong to you — his, probably — and your hair’s a mess and your socks don’t match and you look like home.

He can’t remember what the movie’s about. He hasn’t looked at the screen in a while.

You say something, soft and tired, and laugh at your own joke. Your head drops lightly against his shoulder, and he freezes.

You don’t move.

And he doesn’t either.

You just stay like that — your cheek resting against him, your breath slowing, your body slowly going still. You’re warm. He can feel the shape of you through his top, the weight of your trust in the way you lean into him like it’s nothing.

It’s not nothing.

Not to him.

He looks down at you. Your lashes flutter slightly. Your lips are parted. You smell like your shampoo and something sweeter underneath. And he wants to say it.

He almost does.

The words rise in his throat like a wave, a whisper, a fragile truth he’s carried for too long

But he doesn’t say it.

Because you’re tired. Because the timing’s wrong. Because he’s afraid you’ll look at him with surprise , or worse — pity.

So he sits there, still and aching, while the credits roll and your breathing deepens.

You fall asleep on his shoulder.

And Yoongi memorises everything — how your head fits perfectly into the curve of his neck. How your fingers twitch in your sleep. How you murmur something he can’t quite catch and then go quiet again.

He thinks, If this is all I ever get… maybe it’s enough.

But he knows it’s not.

Not really.

You’re drunk.

Not sloppy or reckless, just that warm, loose kind of drunk where the room spins slightly and everything feels a little softer. Someone's phone is plugged into the speakers, playing something moody and bass-heavy. The lights are low. People you barely know are dancing in the kitchen.

You’re on the couch, legs curled up, red solo cup half-empty in your hand. And Yoongi is beside you, same as always.

Except nothing feels the same anymore.

He’s wearing black jeans and a simple, grey t-shirt, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. His knee brushes yours every time he shifts. You’ve stopped pretending not to notice.

He says something dry — some sarcastic comment about the guy doing shots off a frisbee — and you laugh too loud. You’re tipsy. You’re floating. But your heart’s not light. It’s buzzing. Loud and tense and full of every little thing you’ve been holding back.

You look at him.

Really look at him.

The way his mouth curves slightly when he talks. The way he never quite meets your eyes when you’re this close. The way he smells like laundry and something distinctly him — faint mint, skin-warm cotton, late-night comfort.

And it hits you all at once.

You want to kiss him.

Not because someone dared you. Not because you're drunk and stupid. Not even because you can’t stop thinking about that first time years ago. But because you mean it. Because you’ve been meaning it for a long time.

You lean in before you can talk yourself out of it.

Soft. Slow. Hesitant.

Your hand brushes his cheek. His eyes widen — just barely — and then your mouth is on his.

And he doesn’t move.

Not at first.

For a second, he kisses you back. Long enough to make your whole body hum.

But then he pulls away.

Not roughly or dramatically. Just enough. Enough to break your heart a little.

“Hey,” he says, voice too gentle. “You’re drunk.”

You blink, confused. Hurt blooming fast behind your ribs.

“So?”

His jaw tenses. He looks away. “I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and wish you hadn’t.”

Your chest goes tight. “You think I didn’t mean it?”

He doesn’t answer.

And that tells you everything.

You pull back slowly. You don’t say another word.

The rest of the night blurs. Someone turns the music up. You make some excuse about needing air. He drives you home without being asked, hands tense on the wheel the whole time. The silence is too loud between you.

You lean your head against the passenger window, pretending to be asleep before he can try to explain.

You don’t want to hear it.

Because you meant it.

And you thought, for a second, maybe he did too.

It’s been weird for weeks.

Not explosive. Just off.

A slow shift. A stretching silence.

You're still around. Still close enough to touch, to laugh at his jokes, to send dumb videos to in the middle of the night. But there’s something behind your smile now. Something guarded. Distant. And he knows it’s his fault.

You kissed him.

And he pulled away.

Not because he didn’t want it — fuck, he wanted it — but because you were drunk, and he was scared, and it felt too real too fast. So he froze. You backed off. And neither of you brought it up again.

But you’ve both been pulling back ever since.

He doesn’t know how to fix it.

You’re in his room now, sitting on the edge of his bed, tapping your foot, eyes on your phone but not really reading. Yoongi’s at his desk pretending to study. The silence has weight. It presses on the back of his neck.

You exhale through your nose. Not loud, but sharp. Tired.

“Do you even want me around anymore?”

The question hits him like a slap.

He turns slowly in his chair. “What?”

You glance at him. “You act like you don’t care anymore. Like I’m just— I don’t know— there.”

He sits back. His jaw tightens. “I’ve just had a lot going on.”

“Yeah?” you say. “Cool. Same.”

Something in your voice snaps.

He straightens up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You stand now, phone forgotten on the bed. Your arms are crossed. “It means I’m tired of pretending everything’s fine when it’s obviously not.”

He doesn’t answer.

“You don’t talk to me like you used to. You barely look at me.”

“I look at you all the time,” he mutters.

You laugh once, the sound sharp and bitter. “Right. When you’re not busy avoiding me.”

He hates this. He hates how defensive he feels, how all the words he wants to say get trapped behind the ones he thinks are safer.

You step closer. Not too close. Just enough for him to feel it. “If you didn’t want me to kiss you, you could’ve just said so. You didn’t have to make it this awkward.”

His throat tightens. “You were drunk.”

“And you made it clear it was a mistake.”

He flinches.

“I get it now,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek. “It was a stupid moment. One I shouldn’t have started.”

His heart is pounding.

You look away like you’re ashamed, like you regret all of it. And maybe you do. Maybe he should’ve let you believe he didn’t feel anything, because that would be easier than this — than hearing you call it a mistake like it meant nothing.

He wants to stop you. Wants to grab your hand, say your name, rewind time.

But he just says, “Yeah. Maybe it was.”

Your mouth opens a little, but you don’t say anything. Just blink, like you’re trying not to show how much that hurt.

Then you grab your phone. “I should go.”

He doesn’t stop you.

You close the door behind you a little too gently, like slamming it would give away too much.

And Yoongi just sits there, staring at the space you left behind, hating every second of the silence that follows.

Because the kiss wasn’t a mistake.

But letting you believe it was? Might be the biggest one he’s ever made.

You haven’t talked since the fight.

No texts. No “are you home?” No memes.

No Yoongi.

It’s only been a few days, but it feels like weeks — like something’s gone missing in the background of your life. Like you keep reaching for something that isn’t there anymore.

You’ve reread the last texts between you two more times than you’ll admit. The tension. The things you said. The thing you didn’t say.

It’s past midnight when your phone buzzes.

Yoongi [12.36 AM]: Are your parents home?

You stare at the screen, heart suddenly in your throat. You don’t know what propels you to reply, but you do.

You [12.37 AM]: no

Less than ten minutes later, you hear the sound of pounding rain outside.

And then — knocking. Hard, fast, urgent.

You open the front door.

Yoongi is standing there, soaked to the bone. Hair plastered to his forehead, hoodie clinging to him, chest rising and falling like he ran here.

You step aside without saying a word, and he walks in like he’s scared you’ll change your mind if he hesitates.

Water drips onto the floor. He’s breathing heavy. His eyes are locked on yours.

And then he starts talking.

“I didn’t mean what I said. That it was a mistake. I didn’t mean any of it. I was scared. I didn’t want to screw up what we have and I—fuck, I already did, didn’t I?”

You don’t move. You just stare. Let him unravel.

“The kiss wasn’t a mistake,” he says, voice breaking just slightly. “Nothing with you has ever been a mistake.”

You open your mouth to say something, but he doesn’t let you.

“I’ve been trying to stay away because I thought maybe you were better off not knowing. But I can’t do it anymore. Not talking to you is— it's fucking unbearable.”

His eyes meet yours.

And then he closes the space between you in two steps.

He kisses you.

For real this time.

Not soft or scared or careful.

It’s soaked and breathless and honest — his hands cradling your face like he’s been waiting years for this exact moment and couldn’t risk wasting another second.

You melt into it. Everything inside you aches with how much you missed him.

He pulls back, eyes searching yours, his thumb still brushing your cheek.

“I love you.”

You blink once.

Then you grin, so wide it almost hurts.

“Took you long enough, asshole.”

He laughs. Breathless. Relieved.

And then you kiss him again.

Not because of a dare.

Not because you're drunk.

Not because you're trying to get over him.

But because you finally don’t have to pretend anymore.

taglist | click here to join: @thegreatdepressionme @golden-loona @kissyfacekoo @cookysstuff @whoa-jo

[unholyfudgebiscuits]

Protective Stiles

Give me unhinged Stiles. All human, full confidence, protective as fuck Stiles.

I want Stiles' name to be broadcasted on Nemeton weekly as the pack guardian. Not Emissary, not Protector Druid, just full, no holds barred— willing to die, happy to kill, will gut you like a fish if you touch my beta's and or alphas—Stiles.

Isaac and Stiles are bullshitting one day when Isaac says his "I spent my childhood locked in a freezer. How would I know how to be helpful?" And Stiles rolls his eyes.

"You can't use that every time Isaac." It's unfortunate that Aiden is walking passed them at that moment and he glares at the beta.

"It's where you belonged mutt." The twin hisses and Stiles is out of his seat so fast Scott doesn't have time to grab him. Cause sure, Stiles can't beat up Aiden but the werewolf can't heal his vision back if he's missing a goddamn eyeball. And it takes both Scott and Boyd to pull Stiles away before he stabs him in the face with a newly fashioned, mountain ash pencil.

Some new supernatural cat girl has been stalking Allison for weeks. Stiles at first tries to reason with her, tells her she's under Alpha McCalls protection and though she's a hunter Allison will leave her alone as long as she behaves. But Cat Girl won't have any of it and when she threatens to scalp Allison's 'pretty little head' Stiles runs her over with the jeep.

A werewolf with knowledge of the Hale pack comes back to town one day and is relentlessly harassing Derek. He blames him for the fire and Stiles happens to be out at the preserve when he hears the asshole talking about Kate. "Admit it Hale, you're glad they died! Selling your family out for one hard rut. Or did she make you the bitch?"

Neither notice Stiles and his metal bat wrapped in barbed wire and dipped in wolfsbane until he's on the guy. Derek watches in awestruck horror as Stiles beats the crap out of him. Human Stiles covered in blood and panting as he stands over the unconscious omega. He spits on the guy before turning to Derek and the alpha is both utterly terrified and completely turned on when narrowed and angry eyes turn to him with concern and gentleness.

"Please don't listen to him Der. None of it was your fault."

Alpha Ito makes it her mission to warn any new supernatural travelers that Beacon Hills is protected by two packs and one human. "You may speak freely with Alpha Hale or Alpha McCall if there is a problem but I implore you, do not insult the fox."

[artbyblastweave]

Growing up I used to talk shop with my father about superheroes. He grew up in the 60s, and he watched the DCAU justice league cartoon with us when we were growing up. And one thing he mentioned stuck out to him was that in the 60s, basically everyone in the League was, in their solo books, The Hero. There was no speciation in personality because in the context of each individual solo book the speciation was between The Hero and whatever the personalities were amongst their supporting cast. His experience was that each of the headliners were just running HeroPersonality.exe, Flash was Green Lantern was Superman- and the consequence of putting all of them in an ensemble was, in his words, like having Six Supermen. He credited this with his shift towards Marvel, where he felt like there was more of a draw to seeing two different headliners teaming up with each other- it's not just going to be two Supermen in the room with each other, Spidey has a meaningfully different outlook from the Fantastic Four and so on. This was truthy, filtered through his perceptions of his own childhood, and now you're getting it third hand through my perceptions of my childhood- but, you know. I've read silver age stuff. This doesn't seem wrong.

Anyway, what this led into was his assessment of the DCAU justice league roster, where he said that it felt to him like they were doing the work to make sure that you couldn't just use these people interchangeably in each other's beats, giving them specific personality quirks that didn't map to anything he recalled reading their books growing up (pos). Which led into his assessment of the Flash, and how he could see the exact chain of logic that produced DCAU Flash's personality. Because if you need to create seven distinct personalities, probably you need one who's the dedicated comic relief. And if you need to solve the classic problem of preventing a guy with super speed from just immediately solving every single problem, the path of least resistance is to give that story-breaking power to a guy who is, if not God's Perfect Idiot, at least God's Perfect Selectively-Attentive Class Clown. In a vacuum the prospect of tripping a speedster is eye-roll-inducing. But it's at least emotionally plausible when someone manages to trip DCAU Wally West.

[riverbends]

Hear me out pope with twins

Especially twin girls best girl dad

OH MY. GOD. ohmygod don’t even get me started. i am hearing you loud and clear. jesus i always forget he was a twin himself so yes you’re so right, he would have twins.

you have never seen that man more conversationally active than when he’s with his girls (this is so evident in the way he interacted with lena, it was like she was the only person he actually enjoyed talking to sometimes lmfaooo). the day they’re born, he just can’t stop looking back and forth between them. like if he lingers too long on one of them, the other will disappear. he’s also just sort of in awe at how your face has merged with his and DOUBLED before his eyes (this man is so self-loathing, he really just hopes they will take after you in every way possible because he can’t imagine passing down any of his baggage to these poor girls)

as they get older, he’s always reminding them how important it is to stick together. that, no matter what, they are each other’s priority. he might sound like a broken record sometimes, especially when he’s trying to mediate their fights, but you know it’s a product of the rough childhood he had with julia. the void between them when she left; how she still haunts him now.

one of them has recurring nightmares and she’s developed the habit of slipping into your bedroom to curl into the warmth of her father’s chest for safety. the first time it happened, she reached up to poke at his arm and rouse him from his sleep (he’s a pretty light sleeper so he was already awake when she opened the door). he didn’t ask her why she was trying to climb onto the bed, just swiftly pulled her up with one arm, murmuring “come on”. shortly after, your other girl crawled into the space between you and pope, nestling against your back. it’s been a frequent practice for months and you both agree the girls need to sleep in their respective beds.

pope starts carrying your nightmare twin back to her bed and reading her bedtime stories in an attempt to soften her dreams before she returns to sleep. he eventually falls asleep too, holding her in his arms. wakes up with a stiff back. never ever complains.

after a while, you guys can’t be bothered taking the girls back to their room so, most nights, the four of you are packed in the king-sized bed. you’ll both figure it out later. he doesn’t ask the kid what her nightmares are about until daytime. his own way of keeping the monsters away from bedtime. tells her to remember she’s got nothing to worry about as long as he’s here.

so. like. basically if he had two lena’s. idk why i got so carried away with this

[dcdreamblog]

Love the blog, just wondering what your take is on the 'Superman has a secret identity' theory that makes headlines every so often when the tabloids run out of other stories? Usually with their fave celeb as the culprit. I usually find that part in bad taste. Everyone has a right to privacy, what if a supervillain actually believes that hogwash, etc. Although as for the latest one it was great that Mr. Wane ran with it and wore blue for a week to raise money for disaster relief. If nothing else his now-viral remarks to Luthor about how 'if he was superman, your buildings would have been redesigned via accidental super fight collateral damage a decade ago, my god man hire a better architect' made for satisfying watching for LexCorp's many critics.

Luthor's the most outspoken disbeliever of that theory, maintaining that the most powerful 'man' in the world, with his own known private hideout in the Arctic, would have no reason to run around pretending to be a normal human. Bruce Wayne might be kind of a dim bulb, but he had a point when he told whatever poor sod from the Daily Planet was covering the Metropolis Spring Gala that Superman seems too personable (at least from interviews and eyewitness accounts) to be anything other than 'just some guy.'

So on the spectrum between the two billionaires what's your take? Does the Man of Steel walk amongst us? If he does, who would he even be when he's not wearing the cape?

Without even having to THINK about it very hard I would come down on Wayne's side in this particular debate just because I don't trust Lex Luthor as far as I could throw him and I have a MUCH higher opinion of Bruce Wayne as, I can imagine, does anyone with some combination of a heart, soul or a brain. As far as the hypothesis goes, it's pretty much confirmed by the Man of Steel himself. He's given multiple interviews where he has shared the outline of his origins and while most people focus on the fact that he's the last son of the lost planet Krypton what he does also say in those interviews is that he was discovered by a human couple and raised as their own in the manner of a normal human child. Now of course he has never shared ANY particular details about his 'foster parents' because any stray detail could be traced back to them but that pretty much seals the deal doesn't it? If he was raised by humans, one would imagine that he went to school, had dreams, wanted a job and a house and a social life and all those things that human beings get used to having and wanting. Anytime we don't see him directly in action we have to imagine it's because he's out there...doing whatever it is he does during the day! That being said I don't think I can, nor will I, speculate as to who or what he might be in that life behind the scenes. It's none of my business, it is none of the WORLD'S business and nothing good could ever come from finding out. What I will say is that I do not believe for a SECOND the most tired and well trodden theory on the subject.

(Bruce Wayne meeting with Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent) Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent is NOT Superman, people come on! It just doesn't add up to the facts. Clark Kent had a totally average childhood, more or less. He was born in the small hamlet of Smallville, Kansas to Jonathan and Martha Kent which is disproving enough in and of itself. Superman has stated he was obviously a foster child. Clark Kent is, by all records, his parents' biological child. There are records of his attendance of school, vaccination records, his journalism diploma, the whole nine yards. There are two main reasons this story remains so popular. In Superman's orbit he is the one who most resembles Superman...in that he is a dark haired white guy with blue eyes and a strong chin. Analysis on his posture and his gait have shown that he doesn't move or articulate like Superman as you would know if you have ever watched the man on television, read or listened to his writing or just been aware of him as a public figure in Metropolis for YEARS. I still get the Planet here in New York just because him and his wife are some of the best journalists I've ever read. And in that is the other reason, his wife, the world renowned Lois Lane who in the early years of Superman's career had a public infatuation and casual romance with the Man of Steel. Many people got very attached to this public love affair and have never quite forgiven Lane for her public "break up" with Superman in the aftermath of her engagement to Clark Kent. This is just real people shipping for all its nonsense, Kent doesn't have to be Superman for Lane to have married him. Lane and Kent have been partners in crime for basically Kent's entire career and maybe Lane just decided she loved Kent more strongly, or that Superman was unattainable, or any one of ten billion other reasons that don't have shit to do with me or anyone else. Kent and Lane's marriage has also put the inevitable final coffin in the theory with the birth of their son Jonathan who by all accounts is exactly as human as his father. Ignoring all the times and in all the ways that Superman and Kent have been filmed or photographed in the same place because Superman and Kent have been close friends for a very long time because Superman is publically very close with a large group of the Daily Planet's staff ever since his first appearance in Metropolis. Bottom line, yes, I believe that Superman spends his 'nights' as a normal human somewhere on this big blue marble. But his only distinguishing features are that he's a white man with dark hair and strong shoulders. He could hide that with a big enough coat.

[hiiiandbyeee]

Hello girlie could you pls write a headcannon abt the blue lock guys (isagi,sae,Kaiser,rin bachira) where they have to pick you up from a party and you are really drunk and petty. Could you pls write it kinda funny & suggestive or actually just how you like🩷. Thank u so much🩷

Helloo ◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍ there was a earthquake in my country so I couldn't write but I'm gonna try to make it I hope y'all gonna enjoy (⁠^⁠^⁠)

When they pick you up from a party

İsagi yoichi:

When ısagi found out you were at a party he came running and he saw you drunk "NO WAY" his face was like "😦" he held ur arm and tried to stand u up but you felt so dizzy so you couldn't stand up and whine like "noo" ısagi panicked MORE I mean really really panicked he held ur hand and bend down next to you to his knees he spoke softly and said "let's just go home okay?" You nod but ur gaze was blurry ısagi tried to make you stand again and it ended up being you two fell down and when you wake up in his house at his bed next to him He just whined like he was really tired.

"Oh hi you finally awake"

İtoshi sae:

when he found out you were in a party he were just like "huh?" But didn't panicked or did he? he saw you your eyes were look like red he approached you and said "hey" You turned your head and looked at him "ahh sae" ur head was spinning too bad you felt like u were about to fell down sae just held the tip of ur skirt u said "saw" again and again he be like "ugh uh hu? What?" At that moment u felt like you were on something spinning like crazy that you felt down so bad and then sae looked down "what are you doing on floor" and you don't remember what happened but when you wake up you saw sae get ready for go to training you said "what happened?" Sae said "bad things? How can I reply that? You literally fainted on me"

"Don't go to parties without telling me again"

Michael kaiser:

When he found out you were in a party he was like "that's a joke" but then he understand it wasn't he felt weird he wasn't know why he saw you all drunk he be like "tch seriously?" He wasn't love alcoholic things (childhood traumas) so he felt a little bad but approached you and hold ur arm and pulled you towards him he spoke but not in a aggressive way "what are you-" You interrupted him "micha you came? Really? Or am I in heaven" kaiser looked at you and let out a"pff" "what heaven? Do I look like a angel" you reply it quickly " no nope nah you look like a death angel that no one wants to see You started laughing and kaiser? He be like "huh? huh!? HUH!? wh- what the?!" And you spoke again "but you're still cute and he soften in the moment and without waiting dragged you out of party while holding ur arm

"ah pff how silly of you"

Itoshi rin:

When rin found out you were in a party he still tried to act nonchalant but his heart stopped for two second he saw you in party whining and he be like "what is she? Wait huh?" He approached immediately he understand you were drunk by smell he bend down to your level and spoke "are you drunk?" You looked at him like recognize him now "ahh rin ?? Aww" rin raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing in here?" You responded "can't you see? Are you blind?" Rin annoyed while still trying to act nonchalant "no no but we're going now" you whined like child who couldn't get her favorite toy but rin still hold ur arm and pulled you up No matter how much you whined, he dragged you home from the party.

"don't do that again dummy"

Meguru bachira:

When bachira found out you were a party he be like "whaaat? Yn and party?!" He ran like his life depends on it when he found you in party sitting on the floor he let out a big"YNN" you You raised your head You were looking so innocent like a kitten. Bachira immediately bend down next to you and be like "awww my babyyyy" you looked at him didn't know what was saying ur brain was not braining You tilted your head and said "what?" Bachira said "we're going to go home oki my sweetest crumble cookie?" He always had these weird nicknames He tried to get you up but you couldn't and kept falling so Bachira carried you home on his back. When you woke up in the morning and asked what happened he said

"I don't remember"

Authors note💖

Helloo soryy if it was bad If you want me to write something else, please request it my request are open and there's still Earthquakes while I'm making this so this is terrifying but bye byeee love ya

[theseinfernalangels]

A Drop of a Jacket — Sawyer Henrick

Synopsis: You’ve always been underestimated due to your quiet nature. Luckily, some people are able to see past that.

Includes: Poorly-written fighting, fictionalized fighting styles, Violet and Rhiannon being your wingwomen. Takes place during Fourth Wing.

A/N: This is the first part of Kora and Sawyer’s story. Sorry for not posting this in order, but inspiration strikes at the most random of times 😅

A crack of bone followed by a scream has you wincing from where you stand with your squadmates along the edges of the sparring gym. From the way the screaming boy’s arm is dangling, you can confidently assume that it’s broken — and that he’s also about to vomit. You squeeze your eyes shut and face Rhiannon, who’s also grimacing.

“You starting to regret not going to the Healers Quadrant yet?” She asks under her breath. You shake your head, swallowing the bile that rises in your throat. “Because honestly, Callahan, I think you’re getting to that point.”

“Hell no,” you hiss, although a small part of you agrees. “If Violet is staying, then so am I. I’m more worried for her than anything else.”

“Gods, so am I,” she whispers. “Especially with that Barlowe kid. I don’t like the way he looks at her.”

“I’m right here,” Violet grumbles, elbowing the both of you sharply. “I’ll be fine, and so will you. I’ve never seen you fight, Rhi, but this one can down someone in two minutes flat,” she adds smugly.

You shake your head vehemently. “No,” you argue. “I just know where certain nerves are. That’s called textbook-reading, Sorrengail.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, sounds pretty smart to me. At least your prior training will get you somewhere in here.”

Rhi pokes at Violet’s arm gently. “I didn’t mean it in a rude way,” she says apologetically. “You’re a badass, Vi. I just have a bad feeling about how the others are looking at you.”

You nod and then flinch a little at your professor’s loud voice. “Callahan and Lawner! On the mat!”

You inhale, long and deep, and nod. Rhi nudges you with a whispered, “You’ve got this!” while Violet grins. You steel yourself and stride forward, searching for your opponent. It’s not hard to spot him, since Gavin Lawner is clearly at least a foot taller than you — and wider, too. Your face falls a little. Well, shit. Was this your professor’s way of trying to see if you lived up to your parents’ reputation? If so, you were totally fucked.

Lawner halts where he stands, his face contorting into a mocking sneer.

“Really?” He asks to no one in particular. “Are you sure we’ve got the right person?”

Huh?

The professor, Emetterio, raises a gray eyebrow. “Yes, Cadet Lawner, I’m quite sure.”

He eyes you up in a way that feels both taunting and gross. You swipe your tongue over the scarred flesh inside your cheek in annoyance, your temper rising a bit as you resist the squeamish feeling that hits you.

“I think I’ve already won,” he shrugs. “Your reputation precedes you, you know. You’re a fucking weakling, Callahan. You barely talk as it is, and you tremble at the idea of killing, right?”

Your squads go silent as your eyes widen at the insult, before they fold into a narrowed glare. You can hear your mother’s voice already in your mind: 

“Really, Cadet Callahan? Are you going to let a man talk to you like that because of your size? Get up there and drag his head through the mud; protect our legacy and do notdisappoint me.”

Your lip curls a little as you unbutton your uniform jacket and fling it to the ground harshly. Whispers behind you drive you forward, your knees dipping into a starting position. 

I did not come all this way to be mocked, you remind yourself as you glare up at Lawner’s smug form. I did not train for my entire childhood to lose to a slow, rude, smug, small-dicked asshole who thinks I can’t fight. I did not cross the damn Parapet to be bested by a guy who’s never even met me. Not today, not ever.

“Take his ass down, Callahan!” Rhi yells from the sidelines. “Spit him out!”

Lawner snorts. “You’re going to wish you could spit me out, weak bitch.”

You take a deep, calming breath and analyze his form as Emetterio drones off the rules for the match. Lawner is crouched, too, so you probably have a good shot of getting to his backside if you go over or under. Then, you can get to his weak spots. You barely have time to register the professor’s commencing yell before the man is lunging forward, probably trying to get the jump on you. 

Fine. Okay. You’ll let his ego take this.

You allow yourself to go limp, rolling with Lawner as he grabs at your arms. Your hand jabs deep into his neck, scratching the skin as you dart to the side that he stupidly keeps unguarded. He catches you with a dull thud to the shoulder, your muscles complaining as you fall into a backwards roll.

 You haul yourself to your feet; to give him some credit, he did manage to wind you a little — but you know that you probably have years of fighting experience on him. 

Dodging another well-thrown swing at your legs, you launch yourself over his shoulder and focus on his upper back. Quickly, you inspect his back profile and compare it to that of one of the textbooks Violet’s dad lent you when you were a child; it’s a bit wider than the diagram you remember, but speed is the thing that will win you your honor here. Pivoting, you jab two fingers at the base of his neck, in the middle of his shoulder blades, and then throw your elbow with more force than you think necessary into the small of his back. With a yell of pain and panic, Lawner crumples unceremoniously, much to your grim delight.

“What the fuck did you do?” He shrieks, unmoving on the ground while his hands twitch. “This bitch broke my spine!”

“No, I didn’t,” you huff, stepping over him and shoving him onto his stomach with your foot. Your heel digs into his armored shoulder. “I temporarily paralyzed you. Your spine is fine.”

You lean forward, murmuring lowly in his ear. “To be frank, I don’t care what you think of me. You’re just another irrelevant man who has no meaning to me. But before you call me or anyone else here weak again, just remember that you’re the one squirming on the ground like a useless worm. I’d yield if I were you; you won’t be moving for a while.”

He bares his teeth, glaring pure ice in your direction. “You won’t survive in this place. You’ll be killed before you even reach Presentation.”

You shrug. “Fine. Be that way. I can wait.”

The two of you wait and and stare at each other. Murmurs around the room have Lawner’s face turning red — from either embarrassment or anger — before his eyes drop and he mutters, “Fine. I yield.”

Professor Emetterio scribbles something down on the little clipboard he’s holding. “Impressive, Callahan.” He smiles at you. “I had a feeling we’d see that heritage kick in.”

You stand, cracking your knuckles anxiously. “Not heritage. I just have something to prove.”

You make your way back to your squad; a boy you only slightly recognize — Ridoc, you think his name is — nudges you with his elbow and grins before gesturing and yelling to the rest of the area, “That’s Second Squad for you! All bite.”

You flush and look down as Rhiannon and Violet speed over to you, clapping you on the back and whooping. You fix your eyes on the ground, not used to so much attention and praise from…Well, anyone. You free yourself from your squadmates’ grasps and watch with a tiny smile as two other cadets haul Gavin Lawner from the mat, probably to the infirmary. With the next two names being called, you figure you’re safe to tuck yourself in the back to give yourself the time to calm yourself from the adrenaline rush.

A minute or two goes by when the sound of someone’s throat being cleared behind you has you swiveling around to meet the eyes of another squadmate — a strawberry blonde boy with a face full of freckles, who gestures to you with something in his hands: Your hastily-discarded flight jacket, now folded into a perfectly meticulous square that would impress even your father.

“You dropped this,” he says quietly. “That was awesome, Callahan. Way to show Lawner that size doesn’t equal strength.”

You’re suddenly overtaken by shyness, any bravado gained by your victory being smothered by your usual social anxiety. Your eyes flit around awkwardly before settling into his mirrored, nervous stare, taking your jacket from him carefully.

“Thank you…” You start before realizing with a jolt that you can’t remember his name. Dammit, Callahan!

“Sawyer,” he says quickly, shooting you a cute little smile. “Sawyer Henrick.”

You nod, a little self-conscious as you introduce yourself. You slide your jacket over your shoulders, appreciating its warmth and how it feels like a shield from the rest of the room. Sawyer probably had grabbed it as soon as you dropped it. He had to have if he wanted to fold it so perfectly — unless he’s some sort of folding god.

You shiver, the angry adrenaline still streaming through you as you take a few steps back to give yourself some space.  follows but still allows you your breathing room. Sawyer’s eyes track you for a second. He’s still, as if he’s mentally weighing his options, before he follows you.

“I’ve never seen anyone fight like that,” he comments, sticking his hands back in his pockets. “Can I ask what you did back there?”

The attempt at a conversation surprises you. Sans a select few, a lot of your other peers had given up on talking to you due to your naturally anxious demeanor and too-soft voice. Sawyer, it seemed, didn’t mind — a detail that made your heart skip a beat.

Realizing you’re sitting in silence, you jolt a little and rush to explain. “Of course,” you concede hastily. “Most people fight with a couple of blows to the head or by breaking bones. I don’t like hurting people much, though. Never have. So, my dad and I developed this fighting style based off old Morainian combat skills that he calls Silver Claw, which — trust me — sounds way cooler than it actually is.”

A laugh bubbles in Sawyer’s chest, one that makes your fingers start fiddling with the buttons on your jacket absentmindedly. “Silver Claw, huh? I don’t know — it looked pretty damn cool from this angle.”

“Eh.” You shrug. “The idea is to hit certain nerves and disable certain body parts. Those first two blows were to set myself up for the one to the small of his back.”

“Which hit him in the spine, rendering his legs unusable,” he guesses, nodding when you confirm your intentions. “That’s really smart, actually.” A playful smile splays on his (admittedly, very pretty) lips. “I might have to ask you to teach me sometime.”

Your lips press together, your mind racing at the thought of teaching this boy your specially-developed combat. Noticing your hesitance, he averts his eyes and quickly adds, “Only if you want. I’d never pressure you into something like that.”

You blink and then flinch as you realize that it looks like you’ve shot him down. Waving your hands quickly, you exclaim, “No! No, no, I’d totally help you out if you wanted. I-I’m not one of those people who’s overprotective of skills. I can show you now, if you want.”

Sawyer hums and takes another few steps backwards, inclining his head in a clear invitation to come to him.

Ignoring the urge to shy away, you don your best badass rider persona and stride forward until you stand a few inches away from him, gesturing to different parts of your body as you speak. The temple and neck, you tell him, are killing blows. You point to a spot on your wrists, and when he squints, you figure out that — shit, you need to actually show him what you mean.

You flex your fingers for a moment before taking his hand cautiously, stretching it out so that his forearm is extended before you. You tap a spot on the corner of his wrist. “If you jab this part,” you explain, “it’ll make the feeling in their hands go out. It’s the most efficient way to disarm someone, but it’s also difficult when they’re moving too much.”

You look up at him to see if he’s following along, only to be met with pink cheeks that serve to make his freckles stand out even more. It’s cute, you think. Really cute, actually. Drawing your hand away (reluctantly), you add, “Same goes for ankles, and the small of your back. If you can hit those spots, you’ll have the upper hand immediately.”

Sawyer nods and scratches the back of his neck. “How do you remember all of that? It sounds like textbook information — not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.”

“Because it is,” you admit. “I used to read medical handbooks by the dozen and picked up on the nervous system through there.”

Another thud on the mat signals the end of another match, and you come to stand next to him — albeit about a foot away, because if you stand directly next to him again, you just might have a heart attack.

“So it’s true, then?” He asks. “You wanted to be in the Healers Quadrant?”

You tilt your hand in a so-so motion. “I mean, I’d have liked to, since that’s where my strengths lie. But my parents spent years training me and preparing me for this, so I don’t want that to all go to waste.”

���They’d think you’re ungrateful,” he deduces, “and I guess that’s scary as hell when your parents are…Well, your parents.”

You shoot him a tight-lipped smile. Looks like he has the same kind of parents as you, or something akin to that. “It is,” you agree. “I think my mom is scarier when she’s disappointed in me more than she is on the battlefield — and that’s saying something.”

A light touch to your shoulder has you looking back to him watching you with a surprising seriousness in his fern-colored eyes.

“I get that,” he says quietly. “But if your mother is disappointed in you for being talented like that, then she must not be the genius everyone thinks her to be.”

Your jaw almost drops from how off-guard you’re caught. Not even your father would say that about your mother, a four-star Major. Sawyer, though, has this look of soft determination that sets his features in a way that makes him look older, maybe more experienced. 

“I, for one,” he continues, “not that my opinion matters, think you’re a genius, Callahan. I can’t imagine anyone else here going to those lengths to have that much knowledge. That’s…fucking extraordinary.” His face flushes again, but his eyes stay fixed on you.

That’s fucking extraordinary.

His words bounce back and forth in your mind like a restless bee trapped in a jar. He may as well have just said that you’re fucking extraordinary. No one has ever looked at you this way, like you’re something to behold and not something to pity — not since Violet’s father died, anyway. But Sawyer…He looks at you like you just discovered the cure to sage fever.

He looks at you like you’re worth something.

Embarrassment creeps up your neck; you slightly dip your head in modesty. “I guess,” you concede, not wanting to seem full of yourself. “It’s just a niche, really.”

He snorts. “Well, it’s a niche that’ll keep you alive until graduation.”

That’s all you can hope for in a place like this.

The two of you remain there for the rest of the period, making quiet commentary and eventually, Ridoc comes bounding over in desperate need of a conversation. His loud and cocky demeanor would usually make you cringe away, but balanced out by Sawyer’s patience and low timbre, you find it a little more bearable. After a while, though, you feel your social battery start to drain, and you bid the two farewell, hurrying over to Rhiannon and Violet, who’s poised to spar with a terrifying-looking Second-Year in the match after this one.

“So,” Rhi drawls, slinging an arm around you. “Did my eyes deceive me, or did I just watch you willingly talk to a cute boy for more than five minutes?”

“Shhh!” You hiss and elbow her in the ribs. “Don’t say that so fucking loud!”

Violet raises her eyebrows. “In all my years of knowing you,” she adds, “I’ve never seen you pick up a conversation like that.” Her smile suddenly turns smug. “You like him.”

“Violet.” Your gaze turns pleading. “Don’t say anything. Please, to the gods above, stop.”

Her pretty hazel eyes soften for a moment as she touches your shoulder. “Hey,” she soothes. “I won’t. I’m just excited for you! You haven’t outright talked to a guy you find interesting in a long time.”

Ever since…Ugh. You both grimace.

“I won’t say anything either,” Rhiannon agrees, tapping you on the shoulder. “But here’s what I will do, because you desperately need something good in your life right now.”

Tightening her grip on your upper arms, she calls loud enough that the guys can hear hear. “Ridoc! Squad study session in the commons later? I might fail the physics quiz if we don’t pull some shit together.”

The duo looks over at where you all stand, and you sneak another glance at Sawyer — only to find that he’s already watching you. Your eyes meet, and in less than a second, you both are looking away with embarrassed little smiles. This doesn’t get past Ridoc, who nudges Sawyer and then grins. “Sounds good to us. Six?”

“Six,” Rhiannon agrees. “And don’t keep us waiting, or we’ll just bar you out.”

“Gods, Rhi, please,” Ridoc groans, clasping his hands together in a fake-begging motion. “We need the practice, and those two—“ He points to you and Violet — “are fucking geniuses. Tell her, Sawyer.”

His eyes meet yours again, but this time, they don’t drop. “Oh, yeah,” he agrees quietly. “Geniuses, indeed.”

Taglist: @wonderstruckbyyou, @jessicalee22likestowrite, @freezerbride18, @ineednewdaggers

Want to be a part of my taglist? Leave a reply to be added!

[maxdibert]

The problem with Lily's character is that we can't have it both ways. Either she's the most special girl ever, good at everything and beloved by everyone, or she's part of a vulnerable group who suffers discrimination in the magic world.

Even if she supposed to be seen as an "exception", or "one of the good muggleborns", we have to see it more clearly. But the way it is, she hardly had any struggles, especially if we compare it to what Severus went through. Because everything we see about Severus makes Lily's pain seem trivial in comparison. I'm sorry, I know it sounds bad, but there's no other way to say it.

JKR would have to do a much better job in writing if she wanted to convince me that Lily is the most vulnerable between the two. Either by making Lily's struggles more visible (so she's not seen as such a perfect character), or by making Severus more powerful in other ways. And to do that, the author would have to change everything about their dynamic.

What really falls apart for me is the whole SWM situation. Like, when I first read that scene in book five, I couldn’t bring myself to empathise with her. But then in book seven, when we learn what happened afterwards—and also everything that was going on in Severus’s background—I just thought, she’s a bloody idiot.

I mean, how do you grow up with someone, know they come from a horrible place, that they can’t even afford their own clothes, that their home life is a disaster, and that they’ve been harassed and physically assaulted for years by your future husband (!!!) and his mates—and still decide you’re not going to forgive him for one stupid slur? Sure, it was a bad word, no one’s denying that, but really?

And yeah, I was a teenager when I read that, and I’ve always had a very codependent relationship with my childhood friends—we still live near each other even after moving out, because we’re kind of dysfunctional if we don’t see each other. But still. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. Like okay, he called you a Mudblood—meanwhile he was being stripped publicly, humiliated—and you’re upset?

You’re the one who the richest, most popular guy in your house is chasing after. All the professors still fawn over you twenty years later. You’re mummy and daddy’s golden girl. So… where’s the struggle, Lily? You’re constantly described as beautiful, popular, well-liked. Seriously, what did she go through?

She doesn’t even give an example of being bullied herself—when she tries, she talks about Mary Macdonald, which kind of tells me that she never actually experienced it firsthand. So what’s her big tragedy? That she didn’t know how to use contraception and didn’t think to go to a Muggle clinic for the morning-after pill, and ended up dying because she and James were two reckless kids who had a baby in the middle of a war? Like, I’m sorry but… come on.

Meanwhile, Severus spent seven years being mistreated at school, constantly humiliated and brutalised by rich, untouchable boys. He was a half-blood (and let’s not forget, people like Bellatrix also saw half-bloods as filth), dirt poor, with a heartbreaking home life—and she’s the one I’m meant to feel sorry for? Yeah… no. That didn’t sit right with me when I was fifteen, and it sure as hell doesn’t now.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

A/N: Yes, just like Steve, I missed having my first girlfriend.

The stars shone overhead as Steve parked his truck by the quarry, the full moon on display without a cloud in sight. It was still weird to be driving a truck after driving the BMW for so long, but Steve was actually glad to be rid of it. It was the last thing that his parents had ever bought for him, and he was pretty proud that he bought the truck with his own money just like he did with his apartment. Said apartment was currently being used by his new roommate. A newly resurrected Eddie was having another date night with Chrissy, which usually meant extracurricular activities. Steve hadn't been sure what to do with the rest of his time, thankful that Jonathan had called when he did to ask if he could give him and Nancy a ride to the quarry. Which was weird now that he thought about it. They both had cars, didn't they?He watched them climb out of the truck and into the bed after spreading out a blanket. Steve opened the window.

"Do you guys want me to leave you alone? I could go for a walk?" Steve asked.

"Why would we want that?" Nancy asked in confusion.

"Because this is a date," Steve said.

"Exactly, this is a date," Nancy said.

"We want you here here," Jonathan said softly.

"Are you sure?" He asked. "I don't want to be a third wheel."

"Why wouldn't we want you here? Why would we ask you out and then tell you to leave?" Nancy asked. "Did Jonathan not make it clear that this was a date for all three of us?"

"No, he did not!" Steve exclaimed with wide eyes. "You want me? Both of you?!"

"Steve, we had sex with you!" Jonathan exclaimed. "Of course, we want you and for more than just your body!"

"I thought - you said that you wanted to keep warm because the power had gone out, and it was snowing - "

"It was a line!" Nancy yelled, trying not to laugh.

"I kind of thought the last couple of times that we hung out were dates," Jonathan said.

"Me too! I mean, we kissed you after every single one of them!" Nancy exclaimed.

"I thought you were being friendly!" Steve yelled.

"Okay, Steve, what's going on? I know you're not this stupid. You're quicker than that," Jonathan said softly.

Steve ran his hand through his hair and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked at them.

"I don't know - I guess I just didn't want to get my hopes up. You two are all that I've been thinking about since that night, and it just seemed too good that you both wanted me," Steve said. "We were getting along so great. . .I just didn't want to make assumptions and mess everything up."

"We love you, Steve, and we want to be with you," Nancy said softly. "Probably should have been clearer about that, but you know our communication skills need work."

"I love you, too," Steve beamed.

Jonathan cupped his face and kissed him through the window. Steve sighed against his lips, remembering the way that Jonathan had kissed him that night. Flashes of memories flooded his mind: hands touching, skin against skin, more kissing, and the moans. . .Jonathan and Nancy had curled up against him afterward. Jonathan was kissing him softly now, just like he did back in December. Jonathan pulled back, smirking at Steve. He knew what he was thinking about. That night had been great and one of the last nights he had spent in his childhood home. It had been a great way to say goodbye to it.

"Get your ass back here, Harrington," Jonathan's voice grounded him to the present.

Steve laughed and got out before hopping quickly into the bed. Nancy giggled and pulled him in for a kiss. It was a deep and rather harsh kiss, as though Nancy was pouring every feeling she had into it. She pulled away, wiping her lipstick off his mouth with her thumb.

"Well, we got food, too," Nancy said. "We brought your favorites."

She pushed the picnic basket out into the open and started pulling out the food. She pulled out a battery-operated lantern and flipped it on.

"We forgot the chocolate covered strawberries, but I think we found something better for desert, anyway," Jonathan said and squeezed Steve’s thigh.

"If I wasn't so hungry, I'd say we skip to deserts," Steve said and kissed Jonathan sweetly on the mouth.

"I'm starving," Nancy agreed.

Nancy passed out the food and made space so Steve could settle in between them. Jonathan moved the piece of chicken around on his plate.

"You and Robin still planning on becoming paramedics?" Jonathan asked.

"That's the plan," Steve said.

"I figured you would have moved in with Robin," Nancy said. "We were surprised when you invited Eddie to move in."

"Well, I'm still going to. . .it's just Eddie needed a place to stay because Wayne wanted to move in with his. . .uh, significant other," Steve said.

"Uncle Wayne told us about Scott," Nancy said, smiling.

"Oh, yeah, I wasn't sure if that was public knowledge. . ." Steve said and then snickered.

"What?" Nancy asked.

"Just remembering the look on Eddie's face when he came back and found out that Wayne had become everyone's uncle," Steve said. "He pouted so hard."

"He was my uncle first!" Nancy giggled with a fake shriek as she tried to mimic Eddie's voice.

"I love him," Jonathan grinned. "I'm glad they're a part of our group."

"Yeah, Chrissy and Vickie, too," Nancy smiled. "They saved my ass and Robin, too. I'm going to miss them when I do go to Emerson."

"So, you decided to go?" Steve asked.

"Yes, even after they rejected me. . .I did want to make them work for it when they sent me another acceptance letter," Nancy sighed. "But it's been my dream to go to Emerson."

"I guess finding out that you weren't actually working with a serial killer but actually saving the town made them change their minds?" Steve asked.

"Some of them there are still hesitant and believe that Eddie is a killer, according to my sources. Of course, none of them has seen him cry because he accidentally stepped on a kitten's foot," Nancy said.

"Yeah, we got a cat out of that. Not that I'm complaining. Although, he seems to like me more than Eddie. I think he still remembers what Eddie did," Steve said and they laughed.

"Hm, all the more reason to go to Emerson. Make those fuckers sweat," Nancy said. "I want to prove them wrong, but also, like I said, Emerson is my dream, and nothing is going to stop me from going."

Jonathan shifted in his spot beside him. Steve looked at him and found him frowning into his food.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked.

"It's nothing," Jonathan said.

"He gets like that when I bring up Emerson. I think he feels guilty for lying to me about not applying there, which is crazy because it's not something that I wanted for you in the first place. You've been wanting to go to NYU since you were six years old, Jonathan," Nancy said, rolling her eyes. "Stop using me as excuse to run away from that."

"I'm not! Do you ever think that maybe dreams change?" Jonathan asked.

"I'd believe that if I didn't know you. You never want to admit when you want something for yourself. It always has to align with someone else. I know Argyle told me that you applied to Lenora because it would be close to your family," Nancy said.

"What's wrong with wanting to being close to my family?!" Jonathan asked.

"Nothing, if that's really the reason and not because you're scared of putting yourself out there," Nancy said. "You've used them as an excuse before when we had that internship. We weren't being paid, Jonathan! I know the reason you wanted to stay is because you liked the job, but you didn't want to admit to being selfish."

"I'm going to have to side with Nancy on this one. Not because I'm scared of her or anything but because she's right," Steve said.

"This is supposed to be a fun relaxing date," Jonathan pouted.

"Okay, but now we feel like this is something we talk about. It's okay to want things, Jonathan," Steve said.

"Steve’s right. You've spent a lot of time looking after your family and putting them first. . .making sacrifices for them. You've always been afraid to admit when you wanted something, and I think it's because you've watched your dad put himself first time and time again. It's okay to be selfish sometimes," Nancy said.

"You've got to find the right balance, but you know, I think that's what a lot of people do. Try to find that perfect middle between being selfish and between selfless," Steve said thoughtfully, and Jonathan smiled at him. "What? I'm more than just a pretty face."

"I know," Jonathan said softly and paused. "I just - "

"Have we still not convinced you?" Nancy asked.

"It's just every time we get separated, something fucked up happens," Jonathan sighed. "And I know eventually that the three of us are going to have to do our own thing, but I just can't shake this feeling. . ."

"We know. We feel that way, too, but we can't let that stop us from living our lives," Nancy said softly.

Steve grabbed their plates and put them aside. He grabbed Jonathan and maneuvered them so he was in the middle.

"Tell us what you want, Jonathan," Steve said, holding his hand in his, stroking it with his thumb.

"Not what your family or friends want. . .not what we want," Nancy whispered. "What do you want? What have you always wanted?"

Steve could tell that Jonathan was about to break, his cheeks were flushed red, and if Steve pressed his hand to his chest, he could probably feel his heart beating rapidly.

"I feel like I'm being pressured here," Jonathan muttered, but Steve could see the smile at the corner of his lips.

Steve ducked his head down, tucking his head into Jonathan's neck, his nose brushing against his skin.

"Say it," he whispered.

"Steve," Jonathan whined. "It's not fair."

Steve ran his hand up his arm and then moved to his stomach, caressing it. Jonathan jerked, his stomach reacting to his touch as though it had tickled him. Steve sent a mischievous grin to Nancy, and she smirked. Steve dug his fingers into the spot, and Jonathan let out a startled shriek.

"Come on, you know you want to. Just admit it," Steve said as he continued to tickle him.

"N - n-no!" Jonathan laughed and tried pushing Steve’s hands away.

Nancy dug her fingers in on his other side, and Jonathan let out another shriek. Jonathan was now laughing so hard that his dimples were showing and his face was turning red as he tried to wiggle out of their grasp.

"Jonathan, just say it, and we'll stop," Nancy said. "We're doing this for your own good."

"Okay! Okay!" Jonathan wheezed, and they stopped. "I want - I still want to go to NYU."

Nancy and Steve pulled their hands away, quickly kissing his cheek. Steve made sure to kiss his dimple.

"See? Now, was that so hard?" Steve asked.

"It doesn't matter," Jonathan sighed. "Even if I do apply, they might not accept me."

"That's kind of the risk in doing anything you want," Steve shrugged. "You might not get it."

"You still should try, though," Nancy said. "One day, you might wake up and regret not trying at all."

"I never really tried before either, not really," Steve said. "Everything I did was for my dad. I mean, sure, I did end up liking basketball and swimming, but those were things my dad liked. For the longest time, I thought I had to do all that in order to get his attention, but he was an unhappy man, and nothing I did would have made him happy. That thought is what made me step out on my own. You and Nancy sort of gave me the courage to do that."

"You did that yourself," Jonathan blushed.

"Yeah, I did, but you two inspired me," he smiled. "Look, Jonathan, you've got a great family now. With Will and El. Joyce has Hopper. They're going to be okay when you go off to NYU. The important thing about Joyce is that she's the kind of mother who wants whatever makes you happy, and if you aren't happy, then she isn't."

"I know," he said softly.

"You've got another year to apply," Nancy said. "And I think it'd be the perfect time to start practicing doing things that you want to."

"And you and Steve?" Jonathan asked.

"Well, I'm hoping that I'm one of the things that you want to do," Steve smirked and Nancy giggled.

"It's okay for us to have different dreams as long as we happen to share one," Nancy said. "We don't have to do everything together, but as long as we find our way back towards each other, I think we'll be happy. That's the most important thing in any relationship, right?"

"So, I become this famous photographer, Nancy, a famous reporter, and Steve a paramedic?" Jonathan asked.

"Well, for now. I'm still figuring that shit out. Kind or slow in that department," Steve said.

"Everyone figures things out at their own pace," Nancy said. "We don't have it all figure it out. . .you know, taking a year off doing nothing sounds nice."

"I guess we're nothing, Jonathan," Steve grinned and Nancy laughed, slapping his chest.

Nancy dove at him, tickling his sides. Steve laughed when Jonathan started doing the same. During the scuffle, Steve somehow ended up in the middle. This time, Nancy was on his other side. Steve collapsed onto the bed of the truck while Nancy shoved their trash into a plastic bag. She curled up against Steve while Jonathan did the same. Steve looked thoughtfully up at the stars, his heart singing.

"I guess since we're being honest with each other, there's something I should tell you," Steve said.

Nancy gasped and sat up. Jonathan did the same, looking at her curiously.

"Which one of us did it? Or was it both of us?" Nancy asked.

"What are you talking about?" Steve asked with wide eyes.

"Because of the bat bites. . .were we able. . .I mean, are you telling us that you're pregnant?" Nancy asked, seriously.

Steve stared at her, and she stared back at him. Jonathan was looking back and forth between them, panicking.

"What?!" Jonathan exclaimed, his voice higher than before, and then Nancy burst into giggles.

"No, Nancy, you didn't me pregnant," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "That joke is so old. It has great grandchildren."

"Oh, thank God," Jonathan said in relief. "Not that I haven't thought about it, it's just too soon."

"No, I just wanted to tell you that before we slept together. . .I slept with someone else. I wasn't sure where I stood with either of you, and everyone hadn't come back from the dead yet, so Eddie was upset about Chrissy. . .it just sort of happened," Steve said.

"You slept with Eddie?" Nancy asked.

"You're living with a guy who you slept with?" Jonathan asked.

Steve shifted slightly as he looked at them. He hadn't really thought that this might have been a problem until now.

"Like I said, I said I wasn't sure where I stood with you. Eddie has Chrissy now, and I have the two of you. I don't want anyone else. I swear," Steve said.

"I suppose we did wait a little long to act on our feelings," Nancy sighed. "And it would be hypocritical of us considering how Jonathan and I got together."

"I mean, can't Robin move in?" Jonathan muttered. "I mean, I like the guy. . ."

"Oh, baby, are you jealous? You're the only guy I want to be with," Steve said. "I love you. Eddie's just my best friend. You have nothing to worry about."

Jonathan buried his face into his neck while Nancy laid down again. She laid across his chest, running her hands over his stomach. Steve had a problem. He really did because now he was imagining them putting a baby there. Nancy giggled like she knew what he was thinking. Jonathan popped up suddenly.

"How did you not know that last Saturday wasn't a date? My hand was down your pants!" Jonathan exclaimed.

"I thought you were just helping out a friend," Steve said.

"And have other guy friends helped you out in the past?" Jonathan scowled.

"Yeah!" Steve exclaimed. "I mean, it was just one guy, really. . .we were two lonely guys who didn't have girlfriends or boyfriends yet. . .at that point, I wasn't even sure I was interested in girls. And it was just one friend I did that with, we did it a lot. We were really close. He used to take me out a lot, buy me things, and he got really excited when he had me meet his parents. . .it sucked when he had to move, but yeah, we were just two friends helping each other out."

"Steve. . .he was your boyfriend," Nancy said in amusement.

"No. . . I mean, I would have known if he was my boyfriend," Steve frowned, and then he thought about it. "Oh, Goddamnit, I did it again! I missed having my first boyfriend!"

Jonathan and Nancy laughed. Jonathan let the laughter fall from his lips and he pouted.

"I can't believe that I'm not your first boyfriend," he said.

"Yeah, but you're going to be my last," Steve said, kissing his forehead and pausing. "Not that I'm going to kill you or anything - "

"I know what you meant," Jonathan laughed.

"You're both my last," Steve sighed.

"I think this was supposed to happen. . .ever since that night in Jonathan's house, with the demogorgon. . ." Nancy sighed happily. "I'm glad I didn't have to choose between you two."

"So are we," Jonathan said softly.

Nancy and Jonathan snuggled deeper into Steve’s arms. The three of them looked at the stars as they continued to talk softly about what the future may hold for them. Jonathan was right about one thing. Nothing was set in stone, and everything could change in an instant. Living in the moment, Steve thought, was just as important as looking head. One thing he hoped would stay the same was a future with Nancy and Jonathan. His eyes fluttered closed, and he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

3 AM

Steve quietly walked through the doorway of his apartment, shushing Jonathan and Nancy as they giggled. He wasn't sure why he was telling them to be quiet. When Chrissy was over, Eddie slept like a log. They followed him to his room and watched him change into pajama shorts before tossing them something to sleep in. Before they could crawl into bed with Steve, Eddie came bursting in, holding a frying pan while Chrissy held a pot.

"YOU CANNOT PASS - oh, it's just you. And what time of night do you call this, Steven?!" Eddie asked.

"Well, most people call it three in the morning," Steve said, scoffing.

"Hm, that kind of attitude won't get you a spot in the TARDIS," Eddie said, pointing the pan at him.

"Paramedic, Eddie," Chrissy laughed. "He's studying to become a paramedic, not a time lord."

"Semantics," Eddie said, waving the pan around. "By the way, I KNEW something was going on with the three of them."

"You knew nothing," Chrissy laughed.

"I didn't even know that something was going on with his," Steve said. "Rather, I didn't want to get my hopes up. . .by the way, I was completely honest with them tonight, and I wasn't sure if Chrissy knows that - ,"

"You fucked my boyfriend?" Chrissy asked with a grin. "Oh, yeah, he told me. You thought I was dead, so it's fine. It's not happening again, though."

"Oh, yeah, no, definitely not," Steve said, smiling.

"So, raise your hand if you haven't slept with Steve Harrington?" Eddie cackled and then blinked when no one raised their hand. "Chrissy?"

"I told you I knew him," Chrissy shrugged. "You didn't ask me how."

"The shorts don't lie," Steve said and turned around. "I made them myself."

On the back of his shorts, in pink shiny letters, was the word: SLUT.

"Oh my god!" Eddie said, wheezing.

"I'm Nancy and Jonathan's slut though now, and only their slut," Steve said, cocking his hip in their direction.

Jonathan buried his head into Nancy's shoulder, laughing while she giggled.

"You're an idiot, Steve Harrington," Nancy said.

"And you're both beautiful," Steve said, smirking.

"Well, I guess since you're not balrogs, I'll let you guys get some sleep," Eddie said, wiggling his eyebrows. "I demand a pair of shorts for myself but in red! Gotta let Chrissy know I'm her slut, too!"

"That message has already been spread, Eddie," Chrissy giggled.

Chrissy was in the middle of dragging Eddie out when he gripped the doorframe and looked meaningfully at Steve.

"You happy, big boy?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, I am," Steve grinned, biting his lip.

"Me too," Eddie said, smiling softly at him.

Steve crawled into bed with Nancy and Jonathan. He never thought it would have worked out like this. Hoped? Yes. He had made time to discover himself after he and Nancy broke up. He found that he could be happy without her, that he could make meaningful relationships that weren't romantic, as well as relationships that were somewhere in between, and he found this family along the way. He didn't need Nancy or Jonathan to be happy, but his heart longed for them. . .he wanted them like this. He was glad that the break up happened because it led him to Dustin, to Robin, then to Eddie as well as Vickie, and it even led him back to being friends with Chrissy again. Bad shit happened, but there were good things that came of it, too. Steve pictured himself as a young boy, looking out the window and hoping that his parents would come home, dreaming of a large family of his own.

"You are home," he whispered to himself and fell asleep with a smile on his face. "And you have a family. . ."