#no offense if you’re madly in love with him

[pankowcrumbs]

You wanna kiss me X Eddie Munson

MasterList

Stranger Things and Cast Masterlist

If there was a record for the worst day to come home early, I’d just shattered it.

I’d planned to curl up with my book and a bag of crisps, maybe watch a bit of Doctor Who while the house was empty. But the universe clearly had other plans.

As soon as I pushed open the front door of the Harrington household, I was greeted by noise. Loud, obnoxious, cackling laughter that echoed down the hall like a thunderclap. I followed the sound, already regretting my decision to come home.

Sure enough, there they were. The Motley Crew. Robin sprawled out on the floor with a bowl of popcorn on her chest like some sort of offering to the gods. Nancy perched primly on the arm of the sofa, giggling into her hand. And my lovely twin brother, Steve, looking far too pleased with himself, clearly enjoying the chaos.

And then, in the middle of it all, feet up on our coffee table, rings glinting in the dim light, sat Eddie bloody Munson.

Ugh.

He caught sight of me first, tossing his head dramatically like I’d just walked in and ruined his one-man show. “Ohhh look who it is,” he announced, voice dripping with mockery. “The Lady of the Manor returns!”

“Oh, brilliant,” I muttered, brushing past him toward the kitchen. “Didn’t realise we were hosting the village idiot today.”

Robin snorted from the floor. Steve just sighed.

“Oi, play nice,” Steve warned, but I could already hear the grin in his voice. He lived for this. Loved watching me and Eddie wind each other up like kids in the playground. I’d never understand it.

“Just saying,” Eddie called after me, “you should be thanking me. I bring vibes to this house. Energy. Spice.”

“You bring a migraine,” I shot back, yanking open the fridge. Nothing exciting. Milk, a half-eaten yoghurt, and something that might’ve once been lasagne. Great.

“Do I live rent-free in your head, sweetheart?” he called, still far too smug for someone wearing a Hellfire tee with a suspicious-looking mustard stain on the hem.

I poked my head round the corner. “You wish. I don’t make time in my day for trolls.”

He gasped, hand over his heart like I’d personally wounded him. “A troll? This face? Rude. Uncalled for. Deeply offensive.”

“You are offensive,” I said, walking back in with a can of Coke, trying not to notice the way he watched me with that annoyingly amused look in his eyes. Like he’d already decided how this conversation would go, and it would end with me wanting to scream.

Steve groaned. “Can you two not start, please? Just sit down, shut up, and be nice humans.”

“That’s a big ask,” Robin mumbled from the floor.

“Oh, c’mon Stevie,” Eddie said, tossing a piece of popcorn at his head. “You can’t tell me this isn’t the highlight of your day. Watching little miss sunshine try not to fall madly in love with me.”

I nearly choked on my drink. “What?”

“Sorry,” Nancy said, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “But that was kind of hilarious.”

Eddie looked far too pleased with himself, the absolute menace. “You should see the way she looks at me when she thinks no one’s watching.”

“I look at you like I’m trying to set you on fire with my eyes,” I snapped.

“Exactly.” He winked. WINKED. “Hot.”

“You are insufferable.”

“You are obsessed with me.”

“Alright, that’s it” I lunged for him, fully prepared to yank the smugness right off his face, but he leapt off the couch and danced out of my reach, laughing like a maniac.

“What is your damage, Munson?”

“Oh, I dunno,” he said, hands up in surrender, but that bloody smirk never left his face. “Maybe I just love winding you up. You’re like a little wind-up toy. So easy to push. So cute when you're angry.”

I nearly screamed. “I’m going to kill you.”

“You’re going to kiss me.”

And that was the moment everything froze.

The room went quiet. Even Steve stopped mid-sip of his drink. Robin blinked slowly like she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

I stared at Eddie, cheeks suddenly burning. “What did you just say?”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator who knew the exact effect he had. My brain screamed at me to move, say something clever, anything. But all I could do was stand there as he got closer.

And closer.

Until we were barely inches apart. I could feel the heat of him, the smell of leather and smoke and something warm and oddly comforting.

His voice dropped, low and taunting. “Ohhh… you wanna kiss me so bad, don’t you?”

My mouth opened and nothing came out.

He grinned wider, clearly revelling in the chaos he’d just unleashed. My face felt like it was on fire, and the worst part? I had no retort. No comeback. Just my rapidly melting dignity and the sound of Robin’s very audible gasp behind me.

“Speechless?” Eddie teased. “That’s a first.”

I opened my mouth again, determined to salvage my pride, but all that came out was a sound that could only be described as a squeak.

And that bastard he stepped back.

Like he’d just won the world’s most annoying game.

“Caught red-handed,” he said smugly, turning away like this was just another day at the office.

Robin clapped once. “Okay, that was… iconic. I’m sorry, Y/N, but it was.”

Steve shook his head. “Eddie, mate, you’re gonna end up with a black eye.”

“Worth it,” he said, plopping back onto the sofa and stretching like a cat in a sunbeam. “So worth it.”

Nancy leaned in close to me, whispering, “You alright?”

“No,” I hissed. “I’m humiliated.”

“Ah,” she said, trying not to laugh. “But you’re also a little bit into it, aren’t you?”

I scowled at her. But my silence betrayed me.

Because, deep down, I couldn’t deny it. The rush, the heat, the way he’d looked at me like he knew. Like he’d been waiting for that moment for weeks. Maybe he had.

Maybe I had, too.

“God help me,” I muttered.

Across the room, Eddie met my eyes. Raised his brows. And winked.

I spent the next ten minutes pretending I hadn’t just been verbally undressed by Eddie Munson in front of all my closest mates. Which, in case you’re wondering, is not easy to do when your face is still bright red and said verbal undresser is lounging about with a stupid little smirk on his stupid beautiful face.

I stood by the bookshelf, flipping through a random novel I’d already read twice, trying to look casual and unaffected, which was impossible because Robin kept snickering every time she looked at me.

“You good?” Steve whispered as he walked past with a fresh drink.

“Peachy,” I muttered.

He tilted his head. “You look like you’re about to combust.”

I rolled my eyes. “Can we not?”

But, of course, Steve could. And would. Because he was my twin and delighted in my suffering. “You do know he only winds you up because you’re the only one who bites back, right?”

“I don’t bite back, I...” I caught Eddie watching me from the sofa, his arm thrown across the backrest like he owned the place. When our eyes met, he raised one brow, lips twitching. Again.

“I loathe him,” I finished lamely.

“Uh huh,” Steve said, and walked away like that settled the matter.

Eventually, Nancy and Robin started talking about some book they were both reading something tragic and romantic and Steve got up to answer the phone when it rang in the kitchen, leaving me and Eddie more or less alone in the living room. Well, as alone as you can be with other people in the next room, distracted and not paying attention.

I debated leaving the room, but that would’ve meant admitting defeat, and I’d rather walk barefoot through Mordor.

So I sat on the arm of the sofa opposite him, arms crossed, eyes pointedly on the fireplace.

“You’re awful quiet,” Eddie said after a beat.

“Enjoying the silence.”

He grinned, shifting to face me more directly. “You sure? Thought you’d still be coming up with a witty comeback or something. You were always quick on the draw.”

“I was caught off guard,” I snapped, glaring at him.

His eyes twinkled with mischief. “You liked it.”

“I didn’t!”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You blushed, sweetheart. You don’t blush. I’ve never seen you speechless before. It was adorable.”

I turned away, biting my lip so hard it almost hurt. My skin still tingled from how close he’d gotten earlier. The heat of it lingered like a fingerprint on glass.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said, and this time his voice was quieter. Less smug.

I looked at him then. He wasn’t grinning now. Just watching me, brows slightly drawn, fingers fiddling with a ring on his thumb.

“It’s just… you’re fun to rile up,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to actually upset you.”

I blinked. “Is that… sincerity I hear?”

He gave a sheepish little laugh. “Don’t tell anyone. Ruin my rep.”

I couldn’t help it I smiled. Just a little.

“I’m not really mad,” I said eventually. “You’re just… the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

He beamed. “That’s high praise.”

“And you’re cocky.”

“Charming,” he corrected.

“Smug.”

“Confident.”

I rolled my eyes, but it was lighter now. The tension had shifted. Less volatile, more… playful. Like we were on the edge of something neither of us wanted to admit.

I looked at him properly for the first time all evening. His hair was a little wild, as usual, one curl falling into his eyes. There was a tiny scar on his chin I’d never noticed before. And his eyes brown, warm, so very alive they weren’t mocking now. Just… soft.

“Why do you even bother?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Why go out of your way to tease me?”

He hesitated. Then shrugged, glancing down at his hands. “Because you see through my bullshit. Most people let me perform. You don’t. It’s… annoying,” he said with a grin, “but kind of refreshing.”

That shut me up.

“I like getting a rise out of you,” he added. “Not because I want to make you feel small or anything. Just… because when you look at me like you want to strangle me, it’s better than when you ignore me.”

I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was actually saying what I thought he was saying.

“I don’t ignore you.”

“You try to.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. He wasn’t wrong.

“I don’t mean to,” I admitted. “It’s just… you’re a bit much sometimes.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

There was a silence between us, not uncomfortable, but thick with unspoken things.

Then he said, quieter now, “You really don’t hate me, do you?”

I looked at him. Really looked at him. His knees bounced nervously, one ringed finger tapping against the side of his thigh. He wasn’t cocky now. He was uncertain. Vulnerable, in a way I hadn’t seen before.

“No,” I said softly. “I don’t.”

And I didn’t. Maybe I never had.

Eddie smiled small this time, real and nodded once, as if that meant more to him than he wanted to admit.

Robin called from the kitchen about something to do with ice cream, and the spell broke.

But for a moment, just a moment, we sat in the quiet. No insults. No witty comebacks. Just me and Eddie Munson, and the unspoken thing hanging between us like smoke in the air.

And I swear just before he got up to help them in the kitchen he looked at me like he knew.

Like we both did.

Later that evening the bowling alley smelled faintly of stale popcorn and that strange waxy scent of rental shoes. It was loud neon lights flickering above us, classic rock blaring through crackling speakers but honestly, it wasn’t the worst way to spend a Friday night.

Robin had roped us all into it. Said we needed a proper night out before “the inevitable soul-crushing weight of adulthood” came crashing down on us. Classic Robin.

Nancy and Steve were already competing like it was a televised championship, Robin was dancing to the music more than she was bowling, and Eddie well.

Eddie had spent the past twenty minutes doing increasingly ridiculous trick shots, including one where he spun around dramatically before launching the ball straight into the gutter.

“You’re hopeless,” I said, sipping my drink from a plastic cup and watching him theatrically mourn the death of his bowling career.

He collapsed onto the seat beside me. “Admit it you’d miss me if I weren’t here to make this night less tragically normal.”

I gave him a long, unimpressed look. “I think I’d survive.”

He gasped. “Cruel.”

We grinned at each other, and the moment hung again like it had in the living room, but lighter this time. Easier.

“You’re up,” I told him, nodding at the scoreboard. “Let’s see if you can break double digits.”

“Oh, now that sounds like a challenge.” He stood, cracking his knuckles like he was about to enter a wrestling ring. “Prepare to witness history.”

“You said that last round,” I called after him. “And the ball nearly hit the snack bar.”

He glanced back, winked, and lined up his shot.

To be fair, he didn’t completely whiff it this time. He knocked down four pins, which was practically a miracle for him. He turned back with arms raised like he’d just won the lottery.

I gave him a mocking round of applause.

“Alright then, let’s see what you’ve got, princess,” he said, handing me the ball.

“Oh, you don’t want to challenge me,” I said, standing and stretching my arms in the most obnoxious show-off-y way possible. “I’ve got hidden talents.”

“I’m quaking,” he deadpanned.

I stepped up to the lane, took a breath, and with a smooth, calculated throw knocked down every single pin.

The strike echoed loud, a satisfying crack followed by a chorus of groans from the others.

Eddie’s jaw actually dropped.

I turned back slowly, eyebrows raised. “What’s the matter, Munson? Cat got your tongue?”

He stared at me, momentarily speechless.

I savored it.

“Oh no,” Robin called from the seating area. “He’s malfunctioning. Someone reboot him!”

I leaned in slightly, smiling sweetly. “You alright there, Eddie?”

He blinked, visibly trying to recover. “That was… lucky.”

“Three times in a row?” I held up the scoreboard as proof. “Face it. I’m better than you.”

“You’re evil,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked so thrown off, I almost felt bad.

Almost.

“Now you know how it feels,” I said, smirking. “Tables have turned, haven’t they?”

He pointed at me, like he was trying to form a comeback and couldn’t find the words.

“Speechless?” I teased. “At this rate, I might start to think you actually like me.”

His mouth opened. Then closed.

Then he blushed.

Not much just a faint pink along his cheekbones but I saw it. And I won.

I turned, smug as hell, and flounced back to my seat like a victorious queen. Robin held her hand up for a high-five. “Absolute annihilation.”

Eddie sat beside me again, still trying to gather his pride. He was quiet for a full thirty seconds. Then, in a completely casual voice, he said:

“So, uh. Hypothetically speaking. If someone wanted to, like, maybe… go somewhere with you. That wasn’t here. And maybe there was food. And possibly feelings involved”

I turned to look at him, brows raised.

He pressed on. “would that be, like… a thing you’d be into?”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

I laughed.

“What?” he said, slightly defensive. “That made sense.”

“No, it didn’t,” I said, still laughing. “Just ask me out properly, you idiot.”

He flushed deeper now, grinning despite himself. “Okay, fine.”

He cleared his throat, dramatically, placing one hand over his heart.

“Y/N Harrington, would you do me the immense honour of accompanying me on a date? Preferably one where I can attempt to redeem my tragic reputation?”

I smiled.

“Yeah,” I said. “I would.”

He blinked. “Wait seriously?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I teased.

“I’m just I mean cool.” He sat back, pretending to be casual, but the grin on his face was blinding.

“I hope you know I’m going to destroy you at mini golf too,” I added.

He groaned. “You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

And just like that, the teasing started all over again but this time, it felt different.

This time, it felt like something beginning.

I was halfway down the stairs, one earring in and clutching my boots, when Steve’s voice cut through the Living Room TV on, legs sprawled, snack bowl balanced on his chest like a raccoon hoarding treasure.

“Oi,” he said, frowning up at me like I’d just walked into the room wearing a chicken suit. “Why do you look like that?”

I blinked. “Like what?”

He gestured vaguely in my direction, squinting. “Like that. Like you’ve got some weird disease on your face.”

“Excuse me?”

“All that makeup and shit.” He sat up straighter now, bowl teetering. “Is it contagious?”

I groaned and stepped into the hall mirror, touching under my eyes just to check. “You’re unbelievable. God forbid you just say, ‘Wow, Y/N, you look really nice tonight.’”

“That’d be weirder,” he muttered. “You’re my twin. Complimenting you feels like incest.”

I rolled my eyes. “You are so dramatic. I barely put anything on.”

“You’ve got… sparkles on your eyelids.”

“They’re shimmer,” I said, like it was obvious. “Besides, you used to steal my moisturiser before dates.”

He waved me off like that had never happened. (It absolutely had.)

“Anyway,” he said, folding his arms now like some kind of dad. “You’re dodging the question. Where are you going? And why do you look like you're about to be interviewed on the red carpet?”

I slipped my boots on, casually avoiding eye contact. “Out.”

“Out where?”

I made a face. “On a date.”

His reaction was instant.

He straightened so fast the snack bowl hit the floor. “A DATE?! With who?!”

I winced. “Could you not shout?”

“I’m your brother. twin, actually. I’m genetically obligated to shout when my sister leaves the house looking suspiciously fit.”

“You make it sound like a crime.”

“Depends who the guy is.”

I hesitated.

His eyes narrowed.

“Don’t say it,” I said, finger pointed in warning. “Don’t be weird about it.”

“I’m never not weird about it,” he said. “Who is it?”

I grabbed my coat.

“Y/N.”

I stalled.

He stood, hands on hips now.

“Y/N.”

I groaned. “Alright! It’s Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

Silence.

Then

“You’re dating Eddie Munson?”

“I didn’t say I was dating him. I said I was going on a date with him.”

Steve’s nose wrinkled like I’d told him I was going to lick a bus window. “Eddie our friend....The one who used to convince freshmen he could curse them with his guitar?”

“Yes, that Eddie.”

He ran a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ. Of all the people.”

“Don’t start.”

“No, no, I’m not judging. I’m just… digesting.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Do you even like him? I thought you two hated each other. Last week you called him a goblin with too many rings.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t hate the goblin as much as I thought.”

He squinted at me.

I squinted back.

Finally, Steve sighed, leaning on the back of the couch like the weight of the world had just hit him.

“I knew there was something between you two. You’ve been bickering like it’s foreplay.”

I choked. “Oh my god”

“Don’t even deny it. The way you two argue? It’s suspiciously flirty. Like enemies in a soap opera who end up shagging in episode three.”

“Can you not?”

He smirked, annoying older brother mode fully activated. “So what, he called you pretty and you forgot how much you wanted to punch him?”

I glared. “He did not call me pretty.”

Steve just grinned like he’d caught me red-handed. “So you’re saying he will?”

“I’m leaving.”

“You gonna kiss him?”

“Steve!”

“Just saying, if he hurts you, I’m putting spiders in his van.”

“I’ll let him know,” I said flatly, pulling on my coat.

He stepped forward, gentler now. “Just be careful, yeah? I know Eddie’s a bit of an idiot, but I also know he’s got a good heart under all that metal and eyeliner.”

I blinked. “Was that… sincere?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Don’t get used to it.”

I smiled at him as I reached the door. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Still grossed out though,” he muttered. “You and Eddie. Ugh.” he fake gagged.

I gave him the finger and shut the door behind me, heart thudding in my chest.

The night was just getting started.

The mini golf place was decked out like a knockoff medieval fairground plastic dragons, crumbling stone towers, and a pirate ship for absolutely no reason. It was kitschy, ridiculous, and very on-brand for Eddie Munson.

He was already there when I arrived, leaned against the dragon statue like it was his throne, spinning a bright neon pink golf ball in his hand.

When he spotted me, he grinned like the cat who’d swallowed the canary and set the house on fire.

“Well, well, Harrington,” he said, pushing off the statue with a theatrical bow. “You’ve arrived to lose with grace, I hope.”

I crossed my arms raising my eyebrow.

He held out his arms. “Is this not the most romantic venue in all of Hawkins? Look at that knight statue over there he's literally proposing to a squirrel.”

“Are you planning on proposing tonight, Munson?”

He blinked. “I mean, if you sink the windmill shot in one try, I might have to.”

I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re here anyway. What does that say about you?”

“That I’m a glutton for punishment.”

“Or that you secretly love it when I annoy you.”

We bickered through the first six holes like it was our full-time job. Every time I missed a shot by an inch, Eddie would gasp dramatically and hold his heart like I'd stabbed him. When he managed a hole-in-one purely by dumb luck he pranced around the hole like he’d just won Wimbledon.

“You’re literally unbearable,” I muttered, watching him twirl his club like a cane.

He grinned, eyes bright. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m grimacing.”

“You’re blushing.”

“That’s the neon lights.”

He stepped closer then, a little smug, a little daring. “You’re imagining kissing me, aren’t you?”

I narrowed my eyes. “If I were, it’d only be to shut you up.”

“Hot.”

God, he was exhausting. And stupid. And kind of adorably stupid. Which was the problem.

We reached the pirate-themed hole complete with cannonball obstacles and a parrot animatronic that kept screeching “Walk the plank!” every thirty seconds and paused to take a breath (and eat the terrible vending machine chocolate he'd insisted on buying for us).

As we sat on the rickety bench nearby, the chaos melted for a moment. Eddie’s fingers brushed mine when he handed over my half of the chocolate bar, and instead of some dumb joke, he looked at me quietly.

“This is nice,” he said, voice softer than I expected.

I glanced at him. “You surprised?”

“Kinda.” He shrugged. “You know, I thought maybe you’d get sick of me halfway through and run off screaming into the Hawkins night.”

I tilted my head. “I did consider it.”

He chuckled, then looked down at his hands. “I didn’t think you’d actually say yes, you know.”

I blinked. “What, to the date?”

“Yeah. I mean… you’re you. Smart, sharp, terrifying when you want to be. And I’m just… well, me.”

I frowned, suddenly wanting to shake him. “Eddie.”

He glanced at me.

“You’re not just anything.”

He looked at me like I’d slapped him but in a good way. Like no one had ever just said that to him straight.

I reached over, took the stupid golf pencil from behind his ear, and tapped it against his forehead. “Don’t get all emotional on me now. I’m still gonna beat your ass on the pirate hole.”

“Doubtful,” he smirked, confidence reloading like a shotgun. “But you’re welcome to try.”

I went first and somehow nailed the trick shot between the cannons. I raised both arms like I’d won the lottery.

“Boom!” I crowed. “Take that, Munson.”

He stared at the ball as it dropped neatly into the hole, then back at me. His jaw dropped.

“You...you hustled me.”

“Maybe I just got good while you were too busy showboating.”

He pointed at me accusingly. “You let me think I had the upper hand.”

I grinned. “Sweetheart, you never did.”

He looked stunned for a second. Flustered, even. Like I’d just out-Eddied Eddie.

I started to walk away to the next hole, smirking, but he grabbed my hand not rough, just enough to pause me and pulled me back.

“Wait.”

I turned. “What?”

He looked… nervous. Then steeled himself like he was about to leap into battle.

“Would you maybe wanna… do this again? Like… something else? Not just mini golf. Like… more dates. With me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to date you, Munson?”

He looked like he’d been caught shoplifting in a nun’s handbag. “I mean, yeah? If that’s not completely bonkers.”

I laughed actually laughed, half from disbelief, half from pure affection.

“Jesus, Eddie,” I said, “just ask me out, you idiot.”

He huffed a breath, stepped forward, and gave me a shy, crooked grin.

“Y/N Harrington, would you like to keep dating the annoying, overly dramatic metalhead who can’t mini golf to save his life but might just be absolutely into you?”

I grinned. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

We were nearing the last hole some ridiculous castle setup with a drawbridge and LED torches and I was still riding the high of absolutely crushing him on the pirate ship hole. Eddie, for once, wasn’t talking. Just watching me. Too quiet.

I turned to him, suspicious. “Alright, what’s your deal? You look like you’re about to propose or faint. Possibly both.”

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking to my mouth for the briefest second before quickly darting away. “I’m not… I mean. I was gonna…” He stepped closer, barely a breath away. The smirk was gone. Just those dark eyes, all mischief swapped for nerves.

I arched a brow. “Gonna…?”

He opened his mouth like he might say something, like he might finally kiss me and then he chickened out.

Literally froze.

I watched his jaw tighten slightly. The muscles in his face doing that dumb, adorable twitchy thing they always did when he didn’t know what to say. And he never didn’t know what to say.

I let the moment hang there, then sighed loudly, dramatically and tilted my head.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I muttered, before grabbing his shirt and pulling him down into a kiss.

He made a surprised little noise at first, like he couldn’t believe I’d actually done it. And then he melted into it, fingers curling lightly around my waist like he didn’t want to push his luck.

When we finally pulled apart, he blinked down at me, dazed.

I smirked. “You really gonna leave me hanging like that, Munson?”

He blinked again, then grinned shy and crooked, somehow smug and stunned at the same time. “I was building tension.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling cowardice these days?”

“You wound me, Harrington.”

“Only your ego.”

He shook his head with a soft laugh and bumped my shoulder with his. “Remind me to let you take the lead more often.”

I nudged him back, my smile tugging at the corners of my mouth whether I liked it or not. “Remind me to not wait around for you to grow a pair.”

“Deal.”

And with that, we moved on to the last hole, fingers brushing together until they weren’t just brushing anymore.

[starsinthesky5]

Do Joe and Songbird have any pet peeves about the other person or just little thing that they do that get on each others nerves?

Obviously we know they’re obsessed with each other, but everyone gets a little irritated when you spend so much time together, especially living together. I think even their bickering would be cute. Like an old married couple already.

a/n: this is adorable

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

ohhh they definitely do. like they’re madly in love, fully obsessed, but they’re also in each other’s space 24/7—sharing bathrooms, kitchen routines, sleep schedules. so of course there are little things that drive them nuts, but it’s the kind of irritation that’s endearing—never serious, always laced with affection. their bickering sounds like background music, soft and familiar, like two people who couldn’t imagine life without each other.

she’s got a little running list in her notes app called “joe burrow crimes (affectionate)” because for all his golden retriever charm and quiet softness, the man is not without his little habits that drive her up a wall. but like…lovingly. with a kiss and an eye roll.

he leaves his socks everywhere. seriously. bedroom floor, couch cushions, sometimes even under the kitchen table. she’s convinced they multiply like what the hell, how does he have so many pairs? “are you shedding?” she teases while tossing them into the laundry basket with mock offense.

he doesn’t fully close cabinets. just leaves them cracked open. she’s like, “what is this, a horror movie? close the door, burrow,”.

he steals her skincare. but only the expensive stuff. and when she calls him out, he acts like he has no idea what she’s talking about while using her eye cream right in front of her.

he has a specific sigh when she’s running late. not mean or impatient—just this soft, put-upon exhale that says “i love you, but we were supposed to leave twenty minutes ago,”. she always catches it and goes, “don’t sigh at me, quarterback,” which makes him grin.

his alarms. he sets four. and he snoozes all of them. she’ll be blissfully asleep and then—brr-brr-brr—cue him fumbling blindly for his phone, muttering, “just five more minutes,”.

“you said that ten minutes ago,”.

“no i didn’t,”.

“i have time stamps, sir,”.

and somehow, somehow, she’s always the one fully awake, groggy and grumpy, while he’s dozing off again with his face in her shoulder.

joe’s got a short list of pet peeves about her, and they’re all wrapped in that boyish, lovesick frustration—the kind where he’s pretending to be annoyed but his eyes are literally heart-shaped the whole time. like he’ll mutter something under his breath, but then immediately pull her into his lap or kiss the top of her head like he can’t stay fake-mad even if he tried.

she’s a chronic light-leaver-on-er. like they’ll get into bed and he’ll have to do a whole lap around the house turning things off. “i swear, you’re afraid of the dark and just won’t admit it,”.

she talks to herself constantly. like full-on commentary—narrating her skincare routine, whispering lyrics while she scrolls, talking herself through what to eat like it’s a high-stakes debate. he’ll walk into the room and be like, “are you on the phone?” and she’ll go, “no, just chatting with my brain.” drives him insane in the cutest way. he'll say, “baby, who are you even talking to?”. and she'll say, “myself. i’m a delight,”.

she hoards mugs. he once opened the dishwasher and counted seven of her mugs, all half-drunk, scattered from different days. “you’re running a cafe in secret, aren’t you?”.

she never finishes TV shows. they’ll be five episodes in and then she just…moves on. “we are not starting another series until we finish the last one,” he’ll say, and she’ll smile like, “sure,” before playing the pilot of something completely new.

she never puts her phone on the charger. and it’s always when they’re about to go out or need directions. “my phone’s on 2%!” she’ll gasp. joe just closes his eyes and breathes real slow, already plugging it in for her. “it’s like you want to live on the edge,”.

but the thing is? every pet peeve ends with a kiss on the cheek or a smirk across the room. they tease each other, roll their eyes, poke and prod—but it’s never cruel. they’re those people who bicker while folding laundry or doing the dishes, all while staying so ridiculously in sync. it’s old-married-couple energy, for sure—half flirt, half roast, all love.

[eccentricwritingbaby]

arm candy

lando norris x reader

summary - enemies to lovers as the two embark on a pr relationship. reader is heavily based on cristina yang and olivia pope - intelligent and knows her worth. lando treats her as just a piece of ass on his arm. the two need to keep up appearances, yet always have time to find a fight. 

masterlist

-

“i’m sorry,” you can’t help but laugh into the conference room, “you want me to what?” your father just sighs across from you in his seat, already knowing his head strong daughter would make a fuss over this. 

“y/n…” he starts, but you shoot him a look to stop, quickly. 

“i’m sorry, are you my pimp or my father?” you ask with a mocking behavior. 

“stop, y/n,” he grits out, “stop it,”

“fine,” you shrug, rolling your eyes. 

the room was filled with five people. your father, you, adam norris, lando norris, and some mean little woman who came in meaning business and barking orders. you respected her. 

your dad and lando’s dad had been business associates for a long time, never close friends, but acquaintances nonetheless. you had never met lando before, but had definitely heard about his escapades. 

“listen,” the woman starts again, “lando needs someone normal and successful on his arm, not anymore models or influencers that last only a day and alter his image, his image needs to be clean, squeaky clean,”

“oh my god,” you laugh out in disbelief, “i can’t believe i went to an ivy university just to be someone’s high end hooker-”

“Y/N!” you dad stands from his chair, “that’s enough out of you,”

“dad, this is ridiculous-”

“no its not, it’s business,” he stands firmly on his ground, “it’s four months of fake fucking dating just suck it up and do it,”

“fine,” you mumble out, “but only for you,”

your dad takes his seat again, grumbling out a few apologies to lando and his father along with the woman. they all just nod their head as she moves along with certain details. you finally look up from where you were fiddling with your fingers, making eye contact with your new ‘boyfriend’. he sends you a quiet look of reassurance, most likely that he didn’t want to be there either. you both give each other a smile, and your mind hopes that this might be okay. 

-

“so,” lando starts, attempting to break the tension on your first fake date.

“so,” you laugh, “how are you?”

“i think we can skip the pleasantries, y/n,” he chuckles, “we’ve technically been dating for four months?”

“oh right,” you continue to play along, “met you one week ago, but we’re madly in love,”

lando chuckles into his drink before the waiter comes over to get you started. once ordered, lando glances up at you, and you can’t help but find the small twinkle in his eye adorable. and then he speaks.

“you look like someone who i would go out with, without your personality, though”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you question in offense.

“i mean usually my type is-”

“girls with half a brain?” you attempt to finish for him, but he just sharpens his gaze in your direction, eyebrows furrowing at your accusation.

“no,” he denies, “just girls who are a bit quieter,”

“so, pushovers?”

“not exactly,”

“you just want a little hot minion to control?”

“no,” he tries again, attempting to find the right words, “someone who isn’t rude,”

“oh you think i’m rude?”

“did you hear yourself in the meeting? talking to your dad like that? acting like the smartest person in the room-”

“i was the smartest person in that room,” you bite back to him, “and i’m sorry i didn’t enjoy the action of being pimped out, it’s offensive to my degrees and accomplishments-”

“you aren’t being pimped out, it’s a favor-”

“oh,” you scoff, “a favor?”

“yes, a favor, you probably aren’t used to hearing that word because you’re so self-centered,” he pushes.

“and here’s two words you do probably hear often, fuck off,”

“the rest of this dinner will be in silence,” lando directs to you, the waiter now coming over with your food. 

“finally, something we can agree on,”

-

you and lando had now been fake dating for two months. you came and went from his races, he was here and there at events in your honor, you both were successfully fulfilling your duties. the public was eating it up, excited that lando was in his ‘boyfriend era’. you both in reality were still finding each other difficult. lando found you to be pretentious and rude, you found lando to be a spoiled dick. but that was all pushed aside when it came to being in public. 

you heard the knuckles wrap on your door, and you attempt to brush the tears from your eyes swiftly. shit. you had lost track of time while on the phone with your mom, well, arguing with your mom. you forgot that lando was meeting you at your apartment soon to take a pre scheduled outing. getting up after hearing the knock once more, you make your way to open the door. 

“hey,” he grunts out, before he looks at your reddened eyes, “what’s wrong?” his tone softens with the question. 

“nothing,” you brush off, “let me just redo my makeup and i’ll be ready to go,”

“wait, y/n,” lando stops you from leaving the room, “talk to me, what’s going on?”

“you don’t want to hear about this, lan,” he catches himself smiling at the nickname that slipped off your tongue. 

“i have a heart, y’know,” he jokes quietly to you, bringing his hand up to give you a slight poke in the ribs. 

“no, really?” you ask sarcastically.

“yes, now talk to me,” he laughs to you, still trying to break you out of your shell. 

“it’s just the divorce,” you shake your head, “my parents have made me their middle man since they’ve been separated, and now i have to be my sibling's therapist too,” you choke up, trying to swallow back your tears. 

“i’m sorry, y/n,” lando moves forward, beginning to wrap his arms around you. 

“i’ve just gotta be there for everyone,” you sigh, “it’s been like that since i was a kid, i’ll be fine,”

“well,” lando starts, “i can be there for you,”

“like hell,” you laugh off, starting your trek to the bathroom.

“i’m serious,” lando pushes, “i know we’re at each other's throats, but if you need anything, you can talk to me,”

“thanks,” you squeak out, “you’re not so bad, norris,”

“why thank you, y/l/n. you’re not so bad yourself,”

-

it was race day, and you were actually excited. you and lando had a breakthrough the night he caught you crying. you both finally broke down the wall that divided and protected your hearts. you were feeling better about spending the next few months with him, it was going to be a relief to actually enjoy it. 

“are you ready, y/n?” lando calls out from the other room. 

“yeah!” you shout back, sliding your left foot into your final shoe. lando steps out of the room, dripped head to toe in papaya, bag slung lightly over his shoulder. 

“you look great,” he lets go of the compliment and you find yourself blushing, choosing to stare down at your feet instead of making eye contact. lando holds his hand you and you grasp it eagerly, readying yourselves for the show about to be put on. or was it a show?

once at the track, your hands finally separate as he heads to the garage and you move towards where his father was standing. 

“hey, mr. norris,” you greet with a smile at the older gentleman.

“please, y/n. how many times do i have to tell you to call me adam?” he chuckles with you. 

“i’m sorry, it’s just too unnatural for me,”

“well please, try,” you continue with your laughs, “mr. norris is my father,”

“alright,” you giggle, cringing a bit before squeaking out, “adam,”

“there we go!” you both joke around a bit more before a certain curly-haired mclaren driver is jogging over to you both.

“hey, dad,” he greets adam with a quick pat to his shoulder, “can i steal her for a second?” adam nods, giving you both some space as lando starts dragging you over to a quieter area.

“what’s up, lan?” you ask him, a bit of concern in your voice since you were unsure of what was going on. 

“i need to talk to you,” he sighs out, eyes holding an emotion you couldn’t put a finger on.

“what’s going on? are you okay?”

“yeah, yeah,” he shakes off, now grabbing your hands in his, “i just- i just-”

“LANDO!” his engineer calls from the garage behind him, “WE NEED YOU IN THE CAR!”

“TWO SECONDS!” he yells back over his shoulder, now turning back to face you, “listen, i really like you,”

“oh,” your eyes widen in surprise but lando just keeps rambling. 

“and not in this fake, bullshit way. i want to really take you out even if you drive me crazy sometimes,”

“lando-” you try to cut him off, but he just keeps going. 

“i can’t handle your rejection before i race so, if you’re by the gate after i finish, i’ll take it as you feel the same way,” taking a deep breath after his confession, lando leans in, kissing you roughly before pulling away and running back to the garage. you stand there for a moment, trying to process what had happened before a smile breaks out across your face. 

lando came in fourth. you cheered and cried, jumped up and down with his family and friends, and then you took off. you started your sprint to the gate, ready to meet him and finally bask in your own happiness. ready to choose yourself for once. 

you rush towards the wall just as lando is climbing out of his car. his head whips around to the barrier, searching for your face. once spotted, he breaks out in a similar sprint as you did, rushing towards you for a hug. you breathe in the moment, you and lando holding each other, for real this time, finally. 

-

you both were a giggly mess as you made your way back to the hotel room. 

“you’re coming out tonight, right?” he asks, arms not leaving your waist since you had left the paddock. 

“yeah, i’m coming,” you reply, brushing your hands up and down his arms that were wrapped around your middle. 

“okay, good,” his forehead meets yours, relishing in the feeling of you being in his arms, in private, “so my room or yours tonight?” he asks in a joking tone, referring to the two bedroom suite you were in. 

“mine,” you laugh quietly, “it smells better,” you poke him in the stomach a bit and he just chuckles with you. 

“you don’t like the smell of my race gear, love?” 

“no thank you, sir,”

“alright, well go get ready, and we’ll head out in about an hour?” lando shoo’s you to your room, patting your bum as you turn around, causing you to blush as you exit. 

later, at the club, you’re seated in the vip area with some of the drivers and a few friends. lando’s arm has been wrapped around your shoulder or waist all night, the tension between you two turning slowly from annoyance to lust. kisses stolen when they can be, waist being squeezed, and overall eye contact has made you a puddle in lando’s hands. you were falling for him, deeply. and you could tell he was too. until. he spoke. 

“that’s a nice lady you’ve got on your arm there, lando,” one of the guys in the section shouts to your boyfriend. 

“thanks, mate,” he shouts back, pulling you closer into his side. the man approaches the both of you, beginning to chat to lando about his race earlier. your mind quietly drifts out of the conversation, before you’re pulled back in as the man, now learning his name to be jack, introduces you to his girlfriend. the both of them were very fitting for each other, eyes wide open with nothing going on behind them. 

you strike up a conversation with the woman in front you about her shoes, before glance over and finding your boyfriend eyeing her up and down with ease. he catches your eyes and looks away, his arm pulling you in even closer than before. you just scoff in his direction and begin to get up from your seating. lando lets out a quick apology to the couple in front of you before chasing after you out of the vip section.

“y/n! wait! where are you going?” he shouts over the music and into your ear.

“i’m leaving,” you grunt out, continuing pushing past people in your pursuit for the exit. 

“why?”

“oh please,” you let out a laugh, finally reaching your destination and swiftly leaving the building. now in a quieter atmosphere, lando drops his voice and grabs you, forcing you to look at him, “i saw you looking, lando,”

“what? at the girl with jack?”

“yeah, i saw you checking her out,” your face hardens, morphing into the one you sported the first two months of getting to know lando. the one you had on when you didn’t like him, scaring the man in front of you as he watches, “i thought you were different, but i guess then again, people never change-”

“stop, y/n,” lando sternly speaks, “i am different, i like you. not her,”

“funny way of showing it,” you laugh, “i mean the both of them couldn’t even handle an intelligent conversation if they tried,”

“it always comes back to this with you doesn’t it?” he asks, now pushing you towards his car and retrieving his keys. 

“what does that mean?”

“you always have to be the smartest, huh?”

“that’s not what that is,” you shake him off, the both of you now entering his car before you continue, “it’s just embarrassing that you would prefer beauty over brains,”

“i don’t do that,” he whips his head around to face you, “i just appreciate attractive women, are you saying smart women can’t also be attractive?”

“don’t twist my words,” you shoot back, “just drive the damn car,”

-

“i cannot stand you when you’re like this,” lando grunts out as you arrive back into your hotel room. 

“like what?” you push back, moving to place your hands on your hips in defiance, ready for the fight about to unfold. 

“a-an arrogant, selfish, cocky-” he starts to stutter out his list, but you promptly cut him off. 

“it sounds like you’re describing yourself there,”

“no, that’s all you,”

“oh really?” you taunt, your eyes boring into his with fire, “says the guy who has only one race win under his belt but acts like he’s big shit-”

“SHUT UP!” he screams out at you, but you only push him further. 

“you want to call me arrogant, baby, we both are. it’s the only fucking thing we have in common,” you mockingly laugh in his direction, his head now fuming.

“you’re so-”

“right? correct? because i am. we both are arrogant and confident however the hell you want to spin it, who the fuck says that’s a bad thing?” you ask him as his eyes start to soften, “and i am not arrogant. i’m good at what i do, that is a simple fact,” you huff, catching your breath after your anger begins to cool. 

“you are right,” he sighs, “i guess we’re so alike that we didn’t even notice,”

“i am not like you,” you shake your head.

“and why would that be such a bad thing? you met me at the gate, remember?”

“because i am not some womanizer who just uses girls, not taking one glance at anything but their tits,” you snap at him. 

“i didn’t use you, and you know i think you’re beautiful, y/n,” lando attempts to calm the situation, but it only riles you up further.

“oh fuck that,” you spit out, lando taking a step back from you in surprise at your reaction, “fuck beautiful, if you want to compliment me,” you sneer in his direction, bringing up a finger to point in his face, “compliment my brain,” with your final say, you turn quickly on your heel in order to walk out the door. 

“y/n!” lando shouts, “stop,” he jogs over to you, grabbing your arm and moving your body to face him, “listen, i’m sorry,” he sighs, his free hand not wrapped around your arm running down his face, “i know you’re pretty good at what you do,”

“pretty good?” you scoff, “i’m great,”

“i’m trying to apologize here,”

“then apologize, correctly,” you emphasize, sharpening your gaze at him, “and don’t be sorry, be better,”

“that’s what i’m trying to say,” lando pleads, “i’m trying to tell you that i will be better,” 

“don’t tell me, show me,” you push, “i’m not your little play thing, lando. i’m not one of your little side hoes with no brain and just eyes for your money,” he scoffs at your vulgar words, but let’s you continue, “i have my own money and my own brain. i am not a body and face to just show up on your arm, you want me like you say you want me?” you rhetorically ask him, inching your face closer to his, “you have to earn me,”

“i will earn you, y/n. i want to earn you,”

“acting like this won’t get you there. i deserve better,”

“i will be better,” now with your faces inches apart, trading breath from each other’s mouths, you and lando finally quiet your everlasting argument, “let me show you, please,”

“i don’t know you, i don’t know if you’ll just say this and then go back to being a dick when you get bored,” you release your insecurities to him, his eyes softening at your vulnerability - something you rarely let out. 

“do you know who anyone really is?” he asks you, voice now quiet and gentle as his hand that was gripping your arm now begins to softly stroke it, “that’s the beauty of life, y/n,”

“getting hurt?”

“no,” he shakes his head with a laugh, “the unknown,”

“i don’t like not knowing,” you sigh, your soft side now coming out fully.

“i know,” he breathes out, “you’ve always had your entire life planned for you, y/n. it’s time you just relax, and have the ability to be surprised,”

“but what if i do get hurt?”

“with me around?” he chuckles, moving a centimeter away from your face, “that won’t happen,” he gives your forehead a light peck, “and if it does,” now a peck on your nose, “i’ll be around to help you,” and finally your lips. you give a hum of appreciation to his lips, basking in the warmth they gave you. finally separating in order to catch your breath, your foreheads rest together, eyes never leaving the others, “you don’t have to be alone anymore, y/n. you don’t have to do it all by yourself,”

“thank you,” you sigh, tears beginning to form in your waterline, “for everything,”

“no, thank you,” he replies back quickly, “for bringing me back down to earth,”

“i’ll always be around to humble you,” you giggle in his arms as he laughs with you.

“and i, you,”

-

a/n - this is not proofread so i'm so sorry if its a rambling mess, i just had the idea and wanted to write it up before i lost it

[inexplicifics]

A modern AU Witcher ficlet for @domaystic prompt 3, local flea market, also on AO3:

Guxart grins and changes course slightly, dodging past a stall laden with slightly disturbing dolls and around a small child in a Pikachu onesie and arriving at the front of the hand-carved duck decoy booth at the same time as his target.

His target glowers magnificently at him. “You again.”

“Me again,” Guxart says, lounging against the booth’s counter with what he knows is an offensively cheerful smile. “These are really well made! Look at the detail!”

“I know,” his target growls. Guxart smirks and flutters his eyelashes. His target huffs and looks torn between rage and amusement.

The unfortunate duck-decoy seller glances back and forth between them warily. Guxart picks up the nicest of the ducks and turns it over delicately, examining the really quite well done feathers and the delightful detail of painted feet on the bottom. Really it’s criminally underpriced, too.

And it’s exactly the sort of thing his target quite likes, given what Guxart has observed over the past few months.

Perfect.

“I’ll take it,” he says to the seller, who looks cautiously pleased.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Guxart’s target sighs. “What is your problem?”

Guxart hands the seller a bill, waves off the change, and tucks the duck decoy under his arm before he turns to grin at his target. “My problem? I’ve got a lovely carved duck, that doesn’t seem like a problem.”

His target looks like he’s about to start emitting steam from his ears. He’s gone delightfully red, and his lovely salt-and-pepper beard is bristling, and if he could shoot sparks from his eyes, Guxart would be a pillar of fire by now.

“Why,” his target grits out, “have you been sniping anything I show interest in out from in front of me?”

“Oh, that!” Guxart says, and gives his target a really good sultry look. “Well, if I ever do get you to come home with me, I’ll want you to feel comfortable there, won’t I?”

His target’s jaw drops. Guxart waits, lounging against the stall’s counter, ready to dodge if he needs to. He doesn’t think he will need to, but it’s always good to be prepared.

“That,” his target says at last, “is the stupidest fucking form of flirting I have ever encountered. There are easier ways to get a man’s attention!”

Guxart shrugs eloquently. “It worked, didn’t it? I certainly have your attention now.”

“You are insane,” his target marvels.

“Insane with unslaked desire,” Guxart agrees, with his best coy smile and head tilt.

His target makes a garbled noise of incredulous rage.

And then, to Guxart’s astonishment and pure delight, he snarls, “You’re buying lunch,” and turns to stalk away towards the food trucks.

It takes Guxart several seconds to get his wits together enough to follow. His target glances expectantly over his shoulder, and Guxart scrambles to catch up, grinning madly.

And to think his brothers said it wouldn’t work!

[freshsandwichdinosaur]

Shy for you only

The rain had been falling for hours, steady and soothing, tapping against the windows in a quiet rhythm. The whole house smelled like cinnamon and sugar, warmth curling into the air as Y/N worked in the kitchen, rolling out the dough with soft, steady movements.

She was focused—until she felt it.

That familiar heat.

That *look*.

She didn’t have to turn around to know Jude was watching her. She could *feel* it, the weight of his gaze like a warm touch on her skin.

“Why are you staring?” she asked without looking up.

Jude didn’t even try to deny it. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, hoodie slouching lazily off one shoulder, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His curls were still damp, dark and unruly, and his brown eyes were fixed on *her*—like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.

“Can’t help it,” he said simply, voice warm and lazy, like he wasn’t in a rush to speak.

Her fingers tightened around the rolling pin, a familiar warmth spreading through her cheeks. She exhaled, shifting the ingredients on the counter so that her back was now facing him.

Silence.

Then—

“Why’d you move?” Jude’s tone was laced with quiet amusement.

She focused on smoothing the cinnamon mixture over the dough. “Because you’re staring.”

Jude let out a soft chuckle, and before she could react, she felt him move.

A slow, deliberate approach.

Then—warmth.

His arms slipped around her waist from behind, the heat of his chest pressing into her back, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder.

Her breath hitched.

Jude hummed, lips brushing against the curve of her neck. “So? I’m your husband.” His voice was low, teasing. “And you *still* get nervous when I look at you?”

Her fingers curled slightly, nails lightly digging into the counter.

“Jude.” She tried to sound unaffected, but it came out softer than she wanted.

“What?” He tightened his hold on her, swaying them slightly, his fingers tracing slow circles against her stomach. “You’re acting all shy, like I haven’t seen you a million times before.”

She swallowed hard. *Why was he like this?*

“I’m just—” She exhaled sharply. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That *thing*.”

Jude grinned against her shoulder, pressing a slow, lazy kiss there. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, love.”

She bit her lip, turning her head slightly. “You know exactly what I mean.”

His lips twitched. “You mean being madly in love with my wife? Worshipping the ground she walks on?” He tilted his head, pressing another lingering kiss to her jaw. “Spoiling her every chance I get?”

She let out a quiet laugh, her stomach twisting at how *easy* it was for him. How effortlessly he made her feel like she was the center of his universe.

“Jude.”

“Mmm?”

“Let me finish the cinnamon buns.”

He huffed dramatically, arms still locked around her. “You always put your little pastries before me.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “You’re so needy.”

Jude gasped, feigning offense. “Excuse me? *Me?* Needy?”

She turned her head slightly, raising a brow. “You *literally* refuse to let go of me right now.”

He grinned. “Maybe I just like having you close.”

Her heart squeezed.

Before she could respond, his hand came up, fingers slipping under her chin, gently tilting her face toward him. His eyes softened, dark lashes brushing against his cheekbones as he studied her.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

She hesitated, her pulse stuttering at the way he was *looking* at her.

Jude sighed, nudging his nose against hers. “C’mon, baby.” His voice dipped, warm and coaxing. “Just look at me.”

Slowly, she turned her head, finally meeting his gaze.

Jude smiled, his thumb tracing light circles against her cheek. “There she is.”

Her stomach twisted.

“I don’t get it,” he said softly.

She blinked. “Get what?”

“How you still get so shy around me.” His fingers curled around her wrist, thumb brushing over her pulse point. “Even after all this time.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”

Jude hummed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s cute.”

She let out a breathy laugh. “You’re annoying.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, hands sliding down to rest on her hips. “And yet, you married me.”

“Worst mistake of my life.”

Jude gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “You *wound* me, love.”

She rolled her eyes, turning back to the cinnamon buns. “Go sit down, Jude. Let me finish these.”

But he didn’t move.

Instead, he nuzzled into her shoulder, his voice dropping to something softer, something *real*.

“You know I love you, right?”

She stilled.

Then—slowly, she nodded. “I know.”

Jude smiled, pressing another lazy kiss to her skin. “Good. Just making sure.”

She felt warmth bloom in her chest at his words, but instead of melting into him like she usually did, she just hummed softly and turned back to the cinnamon buns, carefully rolling the dough.

Jude didn’t like that.

He leaned forward, resting his chin on her shoulder again, his lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he blinked up at her.

“Don’t you love me too?” he murmured, voice all soft and sweet, like he wasn’t the most annoying man alive.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying *so hard* not to laugh at how utterly adorable he looked. His big brown eyes were wide and expectant, his lips slightly parted in the smallest pout.

“You’re so dramatic,” she muttered, not looking at him.

Jude let out a small, exaggerated gasp. “*Dramatic?* Baby, I just confessed my undying love, and you’re out here ignoring me for some dough?”

She shook her head, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing.

Jude sighed dramatically, like she had just broken his heart. “Wow,” he muttered. “This is *cold*.”

She still didn’t look at him.

Jude huffed, wrapping his arms around her waist again, swaying them slightly.

“Babe,” he whined.

Nothing.

Jude groaned, leaning even closer, lips grazing her ear.

“Y/N.”

She exhaled, finally tilting her head slightly to look at him. “What?”

He blinked at her again, his lashes dark and thick against his skin. “Say it.”

She raised a brow. “Say what?”

Jude pouted. “That you love me.”

Her lips twitched.

“You already know I do.”

Jude shook his head stubbornly. “I *need* to hear it.”

She sighed, pretending to be put out, even though her heart was practically doing somersaults in her chest.

Then, quietly—

“I love you.”

Jude grinned, his dimples appearing, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Just making sure.”

[bombuni]

contains: soft jongho

“No.”

“No what?”

Jongho knows his firm words have not penetrated your emotional wall one bit. Realistically he could never deny you of anything, the use of the word ‘no’ with you completely foreign to him. But this time he just wants the future benefit of being able to say ‘I told you so.’

You hold the raggedy looking kitten in your arms as it eats out of the spoon Jongho holds out in front of it. Its mouth moves a mile a minute. He thinks it’s frighteningly tiny, quite ugly and smelly too. But you’re holding it like it’s a darling, million-dollar jewel with pure love in your eyes and he can’t help but be smitten with everything that is about you, you, you.

You wave it’s black paw towards Jongho, the smile on your face glowing, “Say hello, daddy,”

Jongho wants to grimace and deny you, but a laugh breaks loose out of him, “I am no one’s daddy,”

You raise a brow at that, and he already knows you’re going to say something stupid, so he shuts you up with a kiss to your forehead and takes the black furball out of your hands. It looks comedically small against Jongho’s larger frame, but he holds it like a gentle flower and you’re sure the kitten’s alright.

“We will keep him for one night,” your squeal of joy makes Jongho smile, “But, we’re not naming him, ok? And he’s going away in the morning time,” He doesn’t look up at you once while he’s talking and you’re sure your bribery to keep the kitten is working, despite what he may say.

“But look at him, honey,” you pout up at him, “So sad. So alone in the little cardboard box I found him in, you should’ve seen it,”

Jongho scrunches his nose, a scrutinizing look pointed at you, “You probably kidnapped him,”

You feign offense, “Did not! Someone totally abandoned him,”

He hums, too focused on the sound of the now sleeping kitten’s purrs. You lean your head on his shoulder, arms winding around his waist. He wants to laugh at how you’re seriously looking at the kitten like you’ve been waiting 9 months for it, but he’s suffocating on his adoration for you. He forgets that your sensitivity and gentleness is something that’s reserved for him. He forgets what a rare, beautiful sight you are. He forgets how big his love for you is, but good thing you’re here to remind him.

He speaks softly, “We should name him Bear.”

bom note: sorry i’m madly in love with jongho. as if it’s my fault. reqs are open :>

[affableramen]

pantalone x stubbornly poor reader according to this beautiful request

angst with an open ending; romance elements; pathetic old man

dear anon, i hope you like the final result of this beautiful project. hopefully you won’t be angry at me for i altered the idea to my preference.

Pantalone is circling you around with long steps, but despite him wearing heels, his pacing also remains quiet. 

“I take it you did not expect me in your tiny shabby apartment today.”

“No, not at all, sir.”

You can call him ‘sir’ as much as you would like, but the both of you know how much of disgust you harboured to this insignificant rich man, who did everything in order to seem a perfect socialist, but only you knew how fake he truly was. But keeping the faces up you wouldn’t permit yourself simply looking at him in an offensive way, it would be improper. And it would be perilous too, considering the fact this man is right now in your home.

“Tell me, aren’t you tired of being used? Being helpless?” He stops right there, though his voice keeps on raising a tickling sensation against your neck. “Your destitution does no good to you, it’s sickening and makes you look ill. What I offer you…”

Pantalone turns to face you, his eyes half-lidded as he pronounces that:

“I offer you help. Escape your misery with just one simple action.”

“What action?” You ask him bluntly, sensing unevenness.

“One kiss shall it cost.”

“A kiss… to cure my financial issues? I highly doubt that.”

Pantalone leaned slightly closer, his eyes looking up and down your face—going all way from your eyes to you neck, that is covered with a thin, cheaply-looking teal scarf.

“You don’t believe me?” You close your eyes; his breath is found light against your ear.

He finds purchase in your hand.

“So destitute, yet so stubborn.” He takes your hand, and you let him, unwillingly though. He knows it, he sees the bewilderment in your eyes. You don’t know what to do, how to act and what to say. But Pantalone only brings your hand to his lips and kisses the top of it, his dry lips are unbelievably soft on your skin. There’s a light smile tugged on his lips, almost unnoticeable; though you see it, at such proximity how could you not?

“One. Single. Kiss.” His tone becomes quieter with each passing moment. “Just one.”

His eyes are hooded and he looks at you completely relaxed, yet at the same time his aura is uneven, unsteady and disturbing. He sucks on your hand, pressing his lips everywhere he reaches access to on your hand, before he raises his head and speaks with a particularly raspy voice:

“I can’t any longer bear seeing you drown in your tears, caused by financial struggles. All it will cost to get you out of your misery is one shallow kiss.”

Perplexed still, you do not understand the meaning of his decision. 

“Why just one? Pantalone, I don’t understand.”

“Because you are not even close to be fond of me, yet I have been madly in love with you for some time. I would not take the guilt of forcing you into something you’d do so unwillingly.”

“…you are?”

His eyes are deep and dark on you, but the concept of love does not frame within the banker, at least in your opinion.

“Nothing else shall I ask for, except a single kiss. Nothing else, my dear.”

You look down—he doesn’t understand the consequences at all. He must have been too rational of a man.

“You see, if I kiss you with this mood, it will only be a fake kiss. And the both of us will regret it.”

A frown takes over his expression, the usual icy glare returns to his eyes. 

“Believe me, Y/N, I won’t ever regret a kiss with you.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer a kiss from someone who is equally affected by you? What’s the point of kissing someone you don’t love?”

“That is not the question I can answer. Y/N, please, you’re making all of this sound more pathetic than it already is. I’m aware you don’t hold a single ounce of affection towards me, but let me settle your debts, all I ask back is a mere kiss. Doesn’t it make a good trade for you?”

“It makes a hideous trade.”

Yet you take a step closer to him. Pantalone studies your actions carefully, he does not miss a single chance to admire your pristine, unruined beauty. You place your hands onto his cheeks not exactly earnestly, more like this is but a torture to you. Pantalone responds to you, pushing himself slightly forward, his lips parted and his eyes shut. Only now you can notice how long his eyelashes are, and how his skin is imperfect despite all charming rich gentleman claims.

You force yourself to crash onto his lips, and he accepts it willingly, taking your lips first greedily back, and then shifting it more to the softer side. No matter how fake you call it, it makes his being glow of happiness and excitement. It is still a kiss from you, on top of everything else. His arm snakes aroung your waist, the other hand finding purchase in your hair. He doesn’t let a single moment go to waste and keeps kissing you deeply and passionately, you swear to feel his taste on your tongue.

You pull away the first with a confused and pensive look on your face. Pantalone’s expression is read like a book, you don’t need to be an experienced sort of lady to understand what that kiss meant for him and what effect it had on him. On your part, you don’t know anymore whether the kiss was fake or wielded true feelings.

Abruptly, Pantalone adjusts his glasses, pushing them onto his nose firmly and exhales quietly. His breath seems shaky, but his inner world is shattered.

“Money is yours. I shall not postpone my departure any longer. I’ve already abused the generosity of your home.”

He turns away from you and escapes the apartment. Your bank account is found filled with money, but you don’t give it much of your attention right now. With a trembling hand, you touch your lips. A blush spreads over your cheeks.

“It wasn’t so bad.”

Later at night, Pantalone overthinks the happened while smoking a pipe in his garden.

“This was the worst, but the most pleasant kiss in my life. I shall not forget it ever.”

[waiting-for-a-sunny-day]

1. “You think you’re the only one who can find a date?” Geto paused his inspection of himself to meet Gojo's gaze in the mirror. “Ah, no, sorry. You don't go on dates. You have to know the other person's name for it to count as a date.”

Behind the near black of his sunglasses, Gojo’s eyes widened with exaggerated offense.

“You can’t slut shame anymore, Suguru. It’s 2010,” Gojo teased, as he flopped back on Geto’s bed.

“I’m not slut shaming you. I’m saying you’re not in a position to act like me going on a first date is a scandal."

Gojo tipped his head backwards and leveled Geto with an over-dramatic eye roll. 

He does that to make people notice how pretty his eyes are. 

“It’s not a scandal. It’s…”

Whatever Gojo thought it was was a mystery, because he was uncharacteristically lost for words. 

Despite what Gojo might accuse him of, Geto was not a sex negative person or a prude. 

He was just madly in love with his best-friend-slash-roommate, and every time Satoru stumbled home with his clothes rumpled and his hair fingered through, Geto felt like burning Tokyo to the ground.

It was all the unhinged, unrealistic pining that led Geto to make this plan in the first place.

The Plan: Geto was going to get over his straight, no-strings-sex-only, relationship-phobic best friend.

Step One of The Plan: Find literally anyone else in the entire world that he could think about kissing without wanting to die.

- - - - Read more cut - - - -

A month earlier, he’d gone so far as to get a guy’s phone number. He’d popped into a café after a particularly foul curse he’d absorbed – hoping to wash the taste out of his mouth with tea and a pastry – and the barista had such a stark white shock of messy hair that Geto had done a doubletake to make sure Gojo wasn’t fucking around in a coffee shop on some bizarre mission objective.

The barista had been, admittedly, extremely attractive. His hair was bleached, but it suited him, and he had pleasing, well-proportioned features. Working on pure adrenaline and determination, Geto had asked him for his number. The guy had turned beet red but managed to stutter out his info to Geto.

Almost as soon as Geto left the café, though, the little nits and snags started to pop up in his mind.

Obviously, the eyes were all wrong. The shyness wasn’t right. The smile. His voice. He wasn’t tall enough, and his hands didn’t have that same graceful strength.

It was a laundry list of how fake-Satoru was emphatically not Satoru.

Geto wasn’t even all the way down the block before he deleted the barista’s info from his phone.

Now Geto was on attempt number two: a first date with a man who in absolutely no way resembled Satoru Gojo.

His non-Gojo-ness was exactly what prompted Geto to ask the man at the train station for his number. Shota was short, burly, square-faced, and serious. Geto had only clocked the man’s interest by the overly long looks he’d shot him.

At least I'm good at reading people…

“Hey, you should bring her back here,” Gojo said – pulling Geto’s attention back to the present. “We can watch that new horror movie. Human Earthworm.”

…unlike my oblivious best friend.

“Are you seriously asking to be the third wheel on my date?”

Gojo’s face was upside down - his head practically hanging off the end of Geto’s bed. The odd angle must have been what made Gojo’s smile look off.

“You worried she’ll be more interested in your hot roommate?”

Geto shot him an unamused look.

“I don’t know why anyone agrees to sleep with you,” Geto lied. “Your head’s so big, it seems like a crush risk.”

“They can tell I’m killer in bed,” Gojo smirked. “The risk is worth the reward.”

Geto turned away and pulled at the shirt he was wearing. He didn’t totally love it, but he also didn’t care as much as he should about impressing Shota.

It wasn’t as if Geto was about to fall in love with this train station stranger, but if he at least went through the motions, maybe his brain would get with the program and start considering non-Satoru people as potential romantic interests.

“But, seriously, Suguru,” Gojo said as he folded his hands under his head – making the hem of his shirt ride up. “What’s up with this date? I thought you weren’t into that sort of thing.”

Geto’s eyes drew immediately to the sliver of skin above the waistband of Gojo’s slim-fit black joggers. 

The peek of skin couldn’t have been more than an inch wide, but Geto could see twin ridges of definition. The visual set Geto’s mind racing, thinking about the rest of Gojo’s skin.

Damn him for having a nice body.

“I’m trying to make myself get into it,” Geto said, wholly distracted by seeing Gojo’s abs and trying to not let his body get worked up, as if he were still a horny highschooler.

“Ohhh,” Gojo replied, his tone brightening. “I get it.”

Geto’s stomach flopped over as Satoru sprang up.

Did I just out myself?

“What do you get?”

“Nothing,” Geto said with a toothy grin that implied otherwise. “But - just so you know - I like you the way you are, Suguru.”

The idiot part of Geto’s heart – i.e., the whole of it – thumped hopefully.

“If you don’t want to date anyone, don’t date anyone,” Gojo added, cheerily. “I won’t let anyone talk shit about my best friend. I mean, who cares if you’re a virgin?”

Geto’s idiot heart plopped down into his stomach.

Gojo thought he was a crotchety prude who’d rather spend his whole life celibate than have any fun, and he still definitely had Geto squarely in the friend zone.

Obviously you’re in the friendzone, you idiot. He’s straight.

(Complete fic on AO3)

[tr0p1cal]

(not) on the same page

five - so annoying 🖍️ 1.2k+

➤ you never expected leaving your journal at your favorite cafe would lead to sharing your deepest thoughts with an unknown person. And you really never expected that person to be your life long enemy who you happen to be madly in love with and didn’t hate in the slightest, on contrary to what you made people believe.

general warnings: sexual themes and language, cussing, mentions and consumption of alcohol, offensive jokes and language

chapter warnings: none

series master

master | prev | next

Everything was normal. You and your friends went to the underground, watching Jay sing and play his guitar while strangers danced and enjoyed themselves. You had a few drinks, hoping to relax a little and have some fun with your best friends. Everything was great… until he showed up.

-

“This is the last time I’m agreeing to this shit,” Rain, Jeongin’s best friend, groaned as they walked down the stairs into the loud, crowded bar.

Jeongin smiled at them. “That’s what you said the last three times,” he said teasingly, knowing they would somehow end up going with them next time too.

They rolled their eyes at his teasing. “Maybe so, but I mean it this time,” they said with a huff, crossing their arms and looking away.

Jeongin smiled at them and shook his head with a soft chuckle, already feeling the effects of alcohol in his system from their pregaming. He looked around the bar, seeing the regulars and also a few new faces. His eyes landed on a group of people playing pool and he paused, staring at his life long pain in the ass. “Ugh,” he groaned. “How do we always manage to be here at the same time,” he said to himself, unable to help the irritation that flooded him.

“Something wrong?” His roommate, Seungmin, came up next to him, having noticed he stopped walking with them. He followed his line of sight to see the person causing his mood change. “Oh..” he said, exaggerating the word. “I can’t tell if you actually hate each other or if there’s just a lot of sexual tension there,” he joked, earning him a fist to the side of his arm.

“Ew dude no. You’re gross for even implying that,” Jeongin scoffed, turning to follow Rain and Minho.

Jeongin tried his best to clear his mind and enjoy himself even with you and your loud laughter seeming to be the only thing he could hear or think about. He couldn’t shake the annoyance he felt just being in the same room as you.

Ever since you were only kids, you and Jeongin had always butted heads. He never fully understood why you disliked him so much, but eventually, with enough rude words and actions from you, he couldn’t help but grow his distaste.

“Dude stop just staring at Cat and either confront them or ignore them,” Rain pleaded. They had all grown up together to some extent, so Rain knew all about their.. history. They always said it looked like they liked each other and just didn’t know how to handle that as they grew up, so decided to fight instead of facing the reality of their feelings for one another.

Jeongin sighed and took the last sip of his drink as he listened to Rain. “I’m not staring,” he said, crossing his arms. “They’re just annoying.”

From across the loud, chaotic bar, Jeongin suddenly heard you and your friends burst into a fit of laughter over something that probably wasn’t even that funny (Chan slipped on an ice cube that had fallen on the ground and almost fell straight on his ass, but his coworker helped steady him before he fell). Jeongin groaned and leaned back in his seat. “And fucking loud too.”

“Everyone is loud. It’s a bar,” Minho pointed out as he sat comfortably next to Rain and drank a sip of his drink. “The fact that you pick out their voice over everything else in here is kinda telling.”

Jeongin scoffed and glanced back over to where you were sitting at the bar, chatting happily with Clover and Jake.

“Okay, okay enough teasing. Let’s leave him alone for now.” Rain sat up, clapping their hands. “Let’s go play a round of pool or something,” they suggested, standing up and holding out their hands to Jeongin to help him up.

He sighed and took their hand, pushing himself up with the other. “I’m gonna get another drink first, but that sounds fun.” With that, he headed off towards the bar. It was more crowded than usual and there wasn’t any free space to slip into. He glanced around, seeing a spot free up. He quickened his pace, slipping in and waiting to grab the attention of one of the bartenders. He hadn’t even realized who he stood next to, practically pressed up against.

“Oh! Look who it is,” you said with a playful smirk, turning to face him. You leaned onto your hand as you rested your elbow on the bar. “Everyone’s favorite baby.”

He moved back a bit, raising a brow. “Ah I’m surprised to see nothing broken or messed up with you sitting here. As everyone’s favorite catastrophe, you have a reputation to uphold.”

You let out a dry laugh, rolling your eyes. “Well, don’t you have a thirst trap to go post or something?” She sassed, tilting her head.

The banter went on for a few more minutes as Jeongin ordered and waited for his drink. You turned around to grab your drink and as you turned back, your elbow bumped a drink that was sitting on the bar top next to you, knocking it off and spilling it all down the front of his white shirt.

“Oh fuck,” you said, frantically trying to catch it, but it was already too late. You and Jeongin both grabbed the glass before it fell to the ground. It felt like a spark of electricity as your hand grabbed his on the glass.

Jeongin looked between his shirt, your hands, and you for a moment before placing the glass down and looking around for napkins.

“Damn, I didn’t know you wanted to get my clothes off that bad,” he teased as he grabbed a napkin.

You scrunched your nose in feigned disgust. “That’s disgusting. Why would you even put that thought in my innocent head?” You pretend to gag, sitting up to grab another napkin for him.

Jeongin rubbed down his shirt, smearing the liquid instead of sopping it up. You shook your head and grabbed his wrist, standing up and gently pulling him towards the bathroom. “Geez, you really are such a baby. I’ll help you clean it properly since it’s my fault anyway.”

He raised a brow, but followed nonetheless. He never knew what to think about you. One second you’re a total bitch to him and the next you’re sweet and caring. You were the biggest question mark in his life and he couldn’t say he never wanted to have the opportunity to actually understand you.

“You’re so annoying, you know that?” His voice came out gentler than he or you expected. He genuinely just wanted to understand why you acted like he was your sworn enemy even though you seemed to care for him in some way at least.

You let out a soft chuckle as you wet a paper towel and dabbed at the stain. “I get that a lot actually, so I’m well aware,” you half joked, trying to play it cool. Your mind was going a mile a minute and you could feel heat tinting your cheeks from the close proximity.

“Can I ask a question?” Jeongin leaned back against the sink as he watched your focused expression as you worked on cleaning his shirt.

Your eyes flickered up, catching him as he stared. “Only if it’s not stupid,” you said sarcastically, looking back down to hide your growing blush.

“Why do you act like you hate me even though you don’t?”

a/n: hehehe we’re back babyyyyyyyy

i’m sorry for the cut off but also I’m not really🤡

taglist🏷️

@thisrandombitch @dailyyhyvne @aalexyuuuhm @instabull @alice-went-away @estella-novella @velvetmoonlght @vegetablesarefuntables @jabmastersupriseee @jazziwritesthings @hyeon-yi @gnabnahcbby

[t22unoda]

He's Too Different

After much deliberation, here is chapter 2! A big shout out to @ireadfanfictionstuff for becoming my beta reader and helping me get this out to you! Hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 2

Oscar’s brain short-circuited when he looked up from his cup and locked eyes with the man he’d been admiring from afar. His mouth went dry, his heart hammered in his chest, and a familiar wave of anxiety crawled up his spine. It hit him suddenly: he hadn’t answered Lando yet. Clearing his throat, he forced himself to speak.

“Uh, yeah... you’re Lando, right?” he stammered.

Lando fumbled for the right word. “I see my reputation... pre... per... proc…” He scrunched his nose in frustration.

A smile tugged at the corner of Oscar’s mouth. He leaned back slightly, watching Lando’s struggle with amusement.

“Precedes,” Oscar offered, chuckling as he took a sip of his drink. The mix of alcohol and room temperature made him wince, but it was a welcome distraction from his nerves.

“Yeah, that,” Lando said, his grin widening.

The sight of Lando’s smile up close made Oscar’s heart skip a beat, leaving him weak in the knees—a flutter of butterflies in his stomach.

“I don’t usually see you at things like this. What’s the occasion?” Lando asked, curiosity glinting in his eyes.

“Practically dragged here by force, mate.” Oscar gestured toward Logan and Alex, who were standing with their group nearby.

“They brought you here just to abandon you?” Lando teased, taking a large gulp from his cup.

“It’s bound to happen,” Oscar shrugged. “I’m not exactly the best company at events like this.”

“I’d say you’re pretty decent company,” Lando replied warmly. “10/10 conversation so far.”

“I think you’re the first person to say that,” Oscar said, waving his hands dramatically. “Like, ever.”

Lando’s laugh bubbled up, loud and infectious, and Oscar felt something tighten in his chest—though he couldn’t tell if it was nerves or something else entirely.

“Mate, if I knew you were this entertaining, I would’ve come and found you sooner,” Lando said, struggling to catch his breath.

“Well, like you said, this isn’t exactly my scene” Oscar replied with a shrug. “You’d find me in the library before you’d find me at one of these parties willingly.”

“That’s right,” Lando grinned. “You’re an engineering student, right?”

“Right, motorsport to be specific,” Oscar nodded. “Severely regretting my decision at the moment.”

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“I will not be taking advice from a photography major, thank you very much,” Oscar said dryly, finishing the last of his drink for liquid courage.

Lando placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “Oh, we’re pulling the major card now? You wound me, Osc.”

“Osc?” Oscar raised an eyebrow, surprised by the nickname.

“Yeah, Osc,” Lando replied matter-of-factly. “It’s your new nickname.”

Oscar laughed. “We’ve barely had our first conversation today and you’re already on nickname terms?”

Lando shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. “Yeah, unless you don’t like it. I’ll stop if you don’t like it.” The words came out too quickly, and for a brief second, a flicker of worry crossed his features as he fiddled with his cup.

Oscar studied him for a moment, then smiled. “It’s fine, Lando. It suits you.”

Lando’s face softened, and his smile grew a little wider. “Good,” he said, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “How did you know my major, by the way? Don’t tell me you’re a stalker, Osc.”

Oscar held up his hands in defense, shaking his head with a straight face. “Not a stalker, mate. You just happen to share classes with my best friend Logan. Y’know, blonde, American, dating Alex?”

“Yes, yes, I know Logan. Alex is madly in love with him and doesn’t shut up about him when they’re not together. As one of his best friends, it can get pretty annoying,” Lando sighed dramatically. “But you must know all about that since his boyfriend is your best friend.”

“Believe me, I know more than I’d like to know,” Oscar replied dryly.

“So how exactly is it that we have the same friends but haven’t had an actual conversation before?” Lando asked, raising an eyebrow.

Oscar shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Well, I wouldn’t say the same friends. I don’t think Carlos—”

As if on cue, Carlos’s voice rang out from across the room. “Lando!” he called, his tone carrying that usual charm. “Hey, Cabrón, come take shots with me!”

But then Carlos’s eyes fell on Oscar, and his smile instantly faltered. The warmth evaporated, replaced with a thinly veiled tension as he shot Oscar a glare. Oscar, already feeling a little on edge, shifted uncomfortably. He tried to return a polite smile, but it felt more like an awkward gesture in the face of Carlos’s barely concealed animosity.

Lando didn’t seem to notice Carlos’s change in demeanor as he shouted back, “I’ll be over in a minute!” before turning his attention back to Oscar. “Well, looks like the party’s calling after me again. Care to join?”

“No thanks, mate,” Oscar replied, offering a polite smile. “I think I’ve had my fill for the night. I still gotta get Logan and Alex home.”

“Oh. Alright,” Lando answered, a small frown tugging at his lips, his tone holding just the slightest hint of disappointment. “Next time then?”

“Next time,” Oscar nodded, offering a polite smile. He watched as Lando gave him one last smile before making his way through the crowd toward Carlos at the makeshift bar.

Oscar’s gaze flickered back to Carlos, who was still glaring daggers at him from across the room. He quickly looked away, deciding it was best to go find Logan and Alex instead.

As he pushed through the sea of bodies, a familiar pair of arms suddenly wrapped around him, followed by an unmistakably drunk voice. “Oscar! My son, how are you?” Charles slurred, his words a bit too loud for the setting.

Oscar chuckled to himself, shaking his head as another familiar voice followed soon after. “Charles, let go of Oscar,” Max said, clearly exasperated.

“Hello, Charles. Max,” Oscar greeted, amused, as Max tried to coax Charles into letting go of him.

“Non, j'ai le droit de serrer mon enfant dans mes bras, ("No, I have the right to hug my child.")” Charles protested, tightening his grip on Oscar.

“I’m sorry about him,” Max sighed, clearly resigned. “He’s had too much to drink, as you can see.” With a bit more effort, Max finally pried a now whining Charles off of Oscar.

“You guys need a ride home?” Oscar offered, shoving his hand into the pocket of his hoodie. “I’m already taking Alex and Logan home. Don’t mind one more stop, and it’d be nice to have someone other than myself sober in the car.”

“You are a saint, Oscar. I’ll owe you one,” Max sighed, adjusting Charles so he could hold him up by the shoulders. Oscar tossed Max his car keys, telling him where the car was parked, before turning back to his mission of finding Logan and Alex. 

He soon found the two of them, giggling and whispering to each other on the couch. Oscar sighed, realizing that getting them to the car was going to be a mission in itself. After some bargaining and promises of food, he finally managed to get both of them off the couch and to the front door. Just as he thought they were in the clear, he heard his name being called.

He turned carefully, making sure not to drop the drunken Logan, who was using him for balance.

Lando stood there, a drink in hand, with a teasing smile. “Leaving without saying goodbye?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry, Lando,” Oscar replied, shaking his head. “As you can see, I’ve got my hands full at the moment.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink. “Looks like I’m interrupting something important.” He glanced at Logan and Alex, both barely staying upright.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Oscar muttered, trying to readjust his grip on Logan, who was swaying slightly. “But, hey, I’ll survive. I’m used to being the designated driver.”

Lando chuckled. “I could offer to help, but I think I’d just make things worse at this point.” He took another drink, eyeing Oscar’s precarious situation. “Besides, I don’t know if anyone would trust me to carry those two without dropping them.”

Oscar smirked. “You’ve got a point. Maybe next time, huh?”

Lando’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Oh, next time, definitely.”

Oscar said his final goodbyes to Lando before practically dragging both Logan and Alex to the car, tossing them into the backseat where Charles was more than happy to have company. He slid into the front next to Max, the two of them immediately launching into a discussion about the recently finished finals and griping about the teachers they couldn’t stand. Meanwhile, the three in the backseat giggled like schoolgirls, sharing inside jokes Oscar couldn’t quite follow.

Max and Charles were the first stop. Oscar made sure they got to the lobby door safely, watching as Max helped a still-dizzy Charles out of the car. Once he saw they were inside, he drove off, heading to the apartment complex where he and Logan lived. He figured it would be easier if Alex just stayed with them for the night—no point in making another stop when everyone was already half-passed out.

Once they arrived home, Oscar managed to drag Logan and Alex up to their apartment. After much effort, he finally got them settled in Logan’s room, leaving two glasses of water and aspirin on the bedside dresser for their inevitable hangovers.

He quickly changed into something more comfortable, plugged in his phone, and collapsed onto his bed with a heavy sigh. His mind wandered back to his earlier conversation with Lando—how his laugh had sent a flutter of butterflies through his chest, how his smile had been so damn pretty, how he could get lost in those blue-green, marbled eyes forever. A small smile tugged at his lips as the warmth of the memory lingered.

Eventually, exhaustion won out, and he drifted off to sleep, the thoughts of Lando still soft and comforting in his mind.

[marlynnofmany]

Hands-Free

“Are you going to want help installing all these?” I asked, opening another case of engine rings. I had no idea which part of the spaceship’s guts these actually went into; they were about three feet across, an inch thick, and made of some plasticky red stuff that was above my pay grade to define. All I knew was there was a lot of them, and we only had one engineer.

“No thanks,” grumbled Mimi, the octopus-looking guy with the voice like a gravel road. “This is a tentacles-only kind of operation.”

“Really? What’s the difference?” I was curious now. “Do you have to use specific tools, or reach into tight crevices?”

“Crevices,” he said, checking the label on the box. “These have to fit snug, and they go somewhere you people with fingers can never manage to reach.” He gave one ring a judicious whack against the floor, then tossed it back into the box.

I huffed in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m very flexible for my species.”

“Sure you are,” he chuckled. “Not your fault you’re held back by all those bones. And you only have two arms! I don’t know how you get by.” He started looping tentacles around the rings in a different box, gathering an impressive number of them.

“Just fine, thank you,” I told him. “Two arms is plenty.”

“Yeah? Carrying just a couple things at once? Must be a simple life.”

I took the hint, digging into the box for more rings. “Who says I can only carry two at once? Look how many I can fit over my nice long arms.”

“Yes, yes, good job. Put ‘em over there.”

“And I can hook them over my shoulders,” I continued as I deposited my armload where Mimi had pointed. “Heck, these are big enough that I could just stand inside a stack of them, and hold them all from the bottom. Oh! And—”

“Here, these too.”

“And,” I repeated, “I can even carry one without my arms or shoulders.”

“Yes, I know you have tiny fingers on your feet,” Mimi said, unimpressed.

“No, not like that!” I set down the other stack. “I’ll pick it up with my hands, then only touch it with my torso! Think I can do it?”

He struck a pose lounging on the floor with one tentacle against his head, looking dramatically bored. “Wow me,” he grated.

I hadn’t used a hula hoop since I was a kid, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. With all the flair of a carnival magician, I grabbed a ring and lifted it over my head, braced it against one hip, then spun it and did my absolute best to keep it from falling.

I managed about three seconds, which I consider a major success.

Finally it hit the floor. “Ta-da!” I said, hands in the air.

Mimi got up and deadpanned, “Wow.”

“Ah, you’re no fun.”

“I’m sure that is immensely practical on a day-to-day basis,” Mimi said. “A fine consolation for being unable to reach around three-bend corners.”

“Oh sure,” I said, stepping out of the ring and picking it up again. “You can do that, but can you make this love you?”

I gave the ring an underhanded throw towards the hallway, with a twist to make it spin madly. It bounced twice, still spinning, then rolled back to my waiting arms.

A voice from the hallway shouted, “What was that?” Paint stuck her lizardy snout around the corner, and was utterly flabbergasted when I did it again. “How did you do that? Can you teach me?”

“See, she’s fun,” I said to Mimi. “Sure thing, Paint!”

“Well sure; she’s got fingers too.” Mimi waved a tentacle and went back to sorting the boxes while I showed Paint how to use vital engine components for childhood tricks.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

[celandeline]

Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC (19)

It’s well past midnight when the party is over, and even later than that when I retreat upstairs, following after a drunk Venetia to make sure she doesn’t fall on the steps. My feet hurt from my borrowed heels, and the thin straps of the blue cocktail dress Venetia gave me are beginning to cut into the skin of my shoulders. 

“You’re sure you don’t need help getting out of your dress?” I ask as Venetia opens the door of her room. 

“You just want to see me naked.” She teases, leaning so that her nose almost brushes mine. 

“And what if I do?” I tease back. 

Venetia giggles. “Goodnight Evie.”

“Night V.” I return, heading into my own room. 

This time, when I see Farleigh sprawled over my bed, I’m not as surprised. He grins, tilting his head. “Do you need any help getting out of your dress?” He drawls. 

I shrug out of the straps, wincing as the elastic scrapes across my tender shoulders. “No, but if you wanted to rub the red marks out of my shoulders, I wouldn’t say no.”

He rolls his eyes, but sits up, gesturing for me to sit on the floor in front of him between his knees. The straps of the dress dangling from my shoulders, I sit down, tipping my head back against the edge of the bed so that I can look up at him while he kneads at my shoulders. 

“So.” I ask. 

“So.” He replies, eyes flicking between where his hands work against the indents left from the straps and my eyes. 

“What brings you to my bedroom?” I ask, grinning. “Besides the obvious things.”

“The obvious things being..?” He asks, the look in his eyes telling me that he knows exactly what I’m implying. He’ll never say it though, not unless I make him. 

“That you’re madly in love with me.” I say.

He laughs, just a little breathy thing, and rolls his eyes again, but notably doesn’t deny it, only - “That seems a bit dramatic.” He says. “But - if you must know, Oliver said some… things.”

“I see.” I say. “You’ve come to complain.”

He digs his fingers into a particularly sore part of my shoulders, and I sigh, melting further against the bed. “I’ll leave, if you want.” His tone is teasing, and his eyes twinkle.

“No, no.” I say. The thought of him taking his hands away from my shoulders seems like the worst thing in the world right now. “Keep going. Tell me about Oliver.”

He continues his massaging. “When you and Felix and V got up to get drinks, I asked him, fuck, chuck or marry - Richard III, Henry VII, or Henry XIII?”

“Fuck Richard III, marry Henry XIII, chuck Henry VII.”

Farleigh hums. “Interesting. I also said fuck Richard III, but I would have switched the other two. Not the point - he, first, outright says that I could just fuck him instead, which, what the hell does that mean? And then, second, tries to talk to me about how he understands what it's like to come from an unstable home and how humiliating it must be for me to have to ask James and Elspeth for everything, which is such bullshit coming from him. I swear, he gets off on having to ask Felix for help.”

“Mm.” I say. From what I know about Farleigh - from what Venetia has told me and what I can piece together from the way the rest of the family talks about him when he’s not around - it’s something of a sore spot, how his mother is running on fumes and how he has to beg for James and Elspeth’s kindness. From what I know about Oliver, he’s been riding on Felix’s coattails since they became friends, and happily. I’ve seen it myself, the adoring way that he looks at Felix, and how he devours even the smallest kindnesses with such vigor it’s almost disturbing. It’s a little offensive, that Oliver would pretend to understand how Farleigh feels when he so clearly doesn’t mind having to beg at all. 

“He knows that I don’t like him. I don’t hate him, obviously, but I don’t-” He pauses. “He just gets under my skin. I mean, he would lick the dirt out from between Felix’s toes if he asked him to, and he would smile about it. It’s pathetic, but it’s exactly the sort of shit that makes these people go wild, and I can’t-” He stops, and lets his hands slide from my shoulders. “Sorry.”

I turn in my spot on the floor so that I can look at him. “Sorry for what?”

He waves a hand through the air, dismissive. “It’s stupid, really. Felix’ll get tired of Oliver by the end of the summer and that’ll be that.”

“Sure.” I say, standing up from the floor. “But it seemed like, and you can correct me if I’m wrong here, you were going to say that you can’t grovel like Oliver does. And I don’t think that’s stupid to be mad about. You shouldn’t have to grovel, I mean, these people are your family.”

Farleigh sighs, turning his head to look out the window, out over the pitch blackness of the grounds. “Yeah.”

“Sucks.” I say, sitting on the bed beside him. 

He turns to look at me as I do, his eyes searching mine. I let him, and after a moment he groans, and flops back onto my mattress. I follow him back with a grin, propping myself up on my side so that I can look down at him. For a minute, we just look at each other, before he breaks the silence. 

“You’re a pretty good singer.” He says. 

“So are you.” I return easily, my free hand moving to brush through his curls, playing with the coarse strands, pulling at the little ringlets. 

His eyes flutter shut as my fingernails scratch against his scalp. I take the opportunity to let my eyes wander over his face. I could stare at him for hours and be content the whole time. If I were a painter, he would be my favorite subject. A modern reimagining of Apollo. 

“You’re just looking at me.” He says, eyes still closed. 

Even though he can’t see my face, I smile. “I’m always looking at you.” I say, dropping my voice in the same way that he did that night on the roof. 

He opens his eyes to meet mine. He almost looks helpless, looking up at me with wide eyes while I play with his hair. 

I lean down, slowly, stopping when the barest hint of our lips brush together. I can feel his sharp intake of breath against my cheek, and before he can say anything, I ask, “Will you unzip my dress?”

He swallows. “Sure.”

Backing away, I slip off the bed, and turn so that my back is toward him. I feel him stand up behind me, and I pull my hair over my shoulder, exposing the zipper. His slender fingers tug at the zip until the dress falls open. I don’t bother holding it up, letting it fall to the floor and leaving me in my underwear. 

I turn back around. There’s a needy look in his eye, and for a moment, I’m tempted, but there’s still a good month of the summer left. Better to stretch it out, I think. “I’m going to go to bed.”

“Okay. Yeah.” He says, sliding past me to head towards the door. Once he reaches it, he lingers, one hand on the doorknob. “Thanks for letting me vent.”

“‘Course.” I say, following him over to the door. “I always like talking to you.”

Farleigh laughs, disbelieving. “Sure.”

“No, really.” I say, winding a hand into his shirt. Gently, I pull him down until we are face to face. I watch his eyes search mine, still just as helpless and needy as before. I let my gaze drop to his lips so he knows what’s coming. 

I tilt my head to close the gap between us, and he meets me halfway, our lips meeting in a warm embrace. Using the hand I have wound into his shirt, I pull him flush to me, and his hands settle on the small of my back. His hands are warm, and he kisses like he’s hungry for it, like he’s been waiting. And I know he has. 

Just when things are getting really hot and heavy, and his hands have started to wander, I pull back, gently sinking my teeth into his bottom lip. 

He groans, low and whiny in the back of his throat. “Fuck.”

I slide out of his hold, and step back into my room. “Goodnight Farleigh.”

He grins, and opens the door. “‘Night Eves.”

I watch him slip out into the hall, and wait until the door’s fully shut behind him to giggle, and flop back down on my bed. 

< previous part | next part >

[motownfiction]

popsicle

Emma tries not to read into it when Paul comes back from Orlando, and she’s the first person he wants to see back at home.

She scurries out the door to meet him at his apartment. She’d get out of there faster if her mother wasn’t walking up to the door with that disapproving look in her eye.

“Where are you going so fast?” Lucy asks.

“Out,” Emma says.

“You never go out.”

“I go out. I meet up with Daisy.”

“Daisy’s not in the city.”

“Why are you keeping tabs on my best friend?”

“I love her. We text.”

Emma rolls her eyes. She tries to get past Lucy, but even in her fifties, Lucy hasn’t lost a bit of her speed (mental or physical).

“You’re really not getting this, are you?” Lucy asks.

“I guess not.”

“Emma!”

“Mom!”

“I want to know where you’re going!”

“Why? I’m twenty-six. I don’t even live here. I’m just hanging out because my apartment is boring, and you have better food.”

“Because I’m an old woman! I don’t have fun. I don’t hear gossip that anyone wants to hear. Forgive me if I’m curious about the comings and goings of my youngest daughter’s life.”

“Way more goings than comings. I’ll tell you that.”

“Ah, then you’re doing it wrong.”

“Who says it’s me?”

Lucy stifles a laugh. There’d be no doubt in anyone’s mind that Emma is her daughter. She has the very same blessings (and the very same curses).

Emma sighs.

“If you really must know,” she says, “Paul’s back from his conference in Florida, and he invited me over.”

Lucy makes exactly the face that Emma was trying to avoid. A mixture of disappointment and confusion. Great.

“Don’t give me that,” Emma says.

“Why not?” Lucy asks. “You’re the one rushing to see a boy.”

“A man.”

“Emma. He has a Lego Bat Signal mounted on his bedroom wall. He’s a boy.”

“Well, I think it’s charming. And besides, what does it matter if I’m excited to see him? You got married to a boy when you were sixteen.”

“That was different. I was pregnant, and I was madly in love with your father. You’re not madly in love with this Paul guy.”

Emma looks down at her shoes.

“Emma,” Lucy says. “You’re not in love with him.”

“Sure.”

The conversation tapers off after that. There’s not much you can say when your mother insists you don’t feel the way you know you do. Emma mutters an awkward goodbye and makes her way to the apartment she knows pretty well.

When she knocks on the door, Paul doesn’t answer. It’s Mack (short for Malcolm, which is usually how he introduces himself). Paul’s roommate, going into his third year of a Ph.D. in English. He’s a postmodern scholar who has, on more than one occasion, joked that Ignatius J. Reilly is his best friend. No offense to Paul, of course, whom he’s known since middle school. No offense to him at all.

He stands in the doorway with a bright orange popsicle in his hand, grinning even with his eyes behind Buddy Holly frames. Urban Outfitters fell out of fashion a long time ago, but nobody ever told Mack. He’s taller than Paul, a bit over six feet, and his thick, dark hair makes him closer to classically handsome. At least, that’s how Paul describes him when he’s feeling insecure (which is way more often than he’d be willing to admit on a normal day).

“Hey, Riff,” Mack says.

“I hate when you call me that,” Emma says.

“Hey, don’t blame me. Blame your parents for middle naming you Jett.”

“So, why do you call me Riff when there are so many other things you could call me?”

“Like what?”

“You could call me Ice. Numbers. Tony. Hell, you could call me Joan. That’s how the Jett in my name is spelled, anyway. Two T’s.”

“Nah. I like Riff. There’s something real Russ Tamblyn-y about your dad.”

“Whom you met once.”

“Yeah, and he was Russ Tamblyn-y. Next.”

“Just let me in, Mack.”

Without taking his eyes off her, Mack yells to Paul at the back of the apartment.

“Paul!”

“Yeah?”

Emma’s heart jumps when she hears Paul’s voice in person. How long has it been? Two weeks? Three? She hates it when he’s not around, but now, he’s right here! Her face flushes.

“I think your friend Riff is a vampire.”

“What makes you say that?”

His voice gets closer, and then, he’s at the door. He’s at the door! Emma swallows hard to keep from giggling like a little girl. He’s wearing a navy t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Typical look for the summer. Very plain. She likes it when he’s plain. Makes him feel … feel.

“Well, she asked me to invite her in,” Mack says. “I can only assume that means she needs permission, and I can only assume she wants to suck our blood.”

Emma rolls her eyes. Thankfully, Paul is chuckling.

“Come on,” he says. “Even if she’s a vampire, I want to see her. Emma, come in.”

When she walks through the door, she’s not sure how she should greet Paul. She wants to kiss him, throw her arms around his neck, tell him how much she’s missed him lately. But she can’t do any of that. Not in front of Mack, and not ever, at all. She opts for an awkward wave from across the room, almost like they’ve never met.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s really good to see you.”

She hopes she’s not blushing too much.

A few seconds later, Mack walks by with a red popsicle, just for Emma. She flips her stare between the popsicle and Mack for a few seconds before he explains.

“Thought this might give you the visual of sucking blood,” he says. “Although, maybe you’d like to suck the blood out of something else.”

Emma takes a long, long drag on the red popsicle. Cherry. Perfect.

She slips it out of her mouth and narrows her gaze.

“This’ll do,” she says. “For now.”

Mack laughs and wanders out of the living room, muttering something under his breath about being outsmarted. Emma turns back to Paul, grinning from ear to ear, damn near glittering like he does whenever he laughs.

“So, that was weird,” she says.

But judging by the panicked look on Paul’s sweet face, maybe it wasn’t weird after all. Maybe it was exactly what he had been expecting.

Maybe.

[ironstrangle]

Kissing Sam Wilson #14 - Multiverse (SamBucky, 650 words)

@samsseptember prompt - magic | multiverse

“So, the wizard said that there are an infinite number of universes.” This all clearly bothered Sam by itself. Bucky had a feeling that the details of those alternate universes were ‌more disturbing to his boyfriend than the simple fact they existed. Sam was really mulling this over, his eyes narrowed. “I accepted that and just moved on. This, however, is too much.”

The “this” that was bothering him too much? Well, America Chavez, who had visited many universes, explained it to them with a shrug. 

“I’ve met you two in a couple of other universes,” she said, nodding wisely. “I think…three of them, at least. Each of those three, you were crazy in love with each other. In fact, you were probably the most sickeningly in love in the one where you were the bad guys.” 

“We were the bad guys?” Bucky had asked, curious. He hadn’t known at the time that she was freaking Sam out. “Like villains?” 

“Yeah, real dicks, no offense,” America said in that dry, teenage humor Bucky had never really grasped. “But they were so madly in love with each other that it was sickening. Even Captain America looked like he wanted to vomit after they declared their love for each other.” 

Sam couldn’t get over that there were other universes and in every one where America had known a version of them, they were a couple. It just seemed too unreal, too detached from reality, even though, of course, reality was very different now than it was a decade ago. 

After the teenager had left, Bucky narrowed his eyes, concerned. 

“You okay, Sam?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What’s bothering you?”

Sam didn’t speak immediately. He wrung his hands a little. Bucky didn’t understand what had him looking so stressed out. Finally, he managed to start, at least.

“She said that she’s been to dozens of universes,” Sam pointed out. “She’s known us in at least three of them and we’ve been in love in those universes.” 

“Yeah?”

“When she mentioned the villain one, it kind of made me feel weird,” Sam admitted, looking down at his still moving hands. “I mean, I have dreamt of being a villain with you before. We were running from…you guessed it, Steve. I remember giving some really wacky speech about how much I loved you.”

“Well, she said that dreams were windows into other universes,” Bucky said, shrugging. “I guess that means it really is real.” 

“Doesn’t it freak you out? In every single universe she’s known us, we’ve been a couple. Even one where we were bad guys. We lived in such a different world and yet we were still in love. Doesn’t that mean that we have no choice? That some greater power, it always meant us to get here and had no … no say in the matter.” 

Oh. This was an existential question. Big brain stuff.

“I don’t know about that,” Bucky said, rolling it around in his head in the same way Sam rolled his fingers. “I mean, you could take it as some sign that we have no choice, I guess. You could also take it as a sort of soulmate thing. We always find each other because that was what we were meant to do, you know?” 

“You’re right…”

“Think of it instead as us always choosing each other,” Bucky said, hoping that was comforting. “I would choose you, Sam Wilson, in any universe.”

“Even one where I’m a bad guy?”

“Especially that one,” Bucky teased. “Gosh, we should have asked her to describe the costume. I want that picture in my head.”

Sam’s cheeks flushed a little and Bucky felt that the existential crisis was semi-averted. “It was…er purple spandex…”

“Seriously?”

Sam kissed him, probably in an attempt to distract him from that image. Yes, he’d love this man no matter the universe. 

[bookwormscififan]

Hybrids and Humans, Chapter 8

Reminiscence and Reunion

Read on AO3!

Previous Chapter

A/N: Phantom is very lost in his memories.

--

“Hey,” Mare’s quiet voice pulled Phantom out of his memories, warm hand grasping his wrist as he looked into his eyes. “Library’s going to close soon. Let’s get something for dinner and head home, yeah?”

Glancing around their area, Phantom saw that it was late, sunset casting a faint orange glow around the books and tables. With a heavy sigh, he nodded, letting Mare help him to stand and following him out of the library.

--

“You’re missing the sunset,” Jackie chuckled as Phantom continued to kiss his neck, weakly pushing the human away. “I thought that was why you wanted to come out here.”

“I can see a sunset any day,” he whispered, moving to nose at the hairs at the base of Jackie’s ears, smirking at the full-body shiver that earned him. “What I can’t see is how the setting sun makes your skin glow. The way the sunset looks ethereal reflected in your eyes.”

“Shut up,” Jackie’s blush was bright, and he turned his face away from Phantom as he picked at his tail. “Watch the sunset. I want to see it, I want to watch the sky slowly go dark as the night sets in.”

“God, I’ve fallen in love with a poet,” Phantom joked, holding Jackie close as the hybrid spluttered.

--

“Phan.” Mare tapped Phantom’s shoulder as they walked down the street, concerned that his brother was still in his head about something. “What do you want for dinner? I’ll pay.” He offered Phantom a smile, brows furrowing when the twin didn’t return it.

“I’m not really that hungry,” Phantom mumbled, hands in his pockets as he kicked a pebble down the road. “You get whatever, and I’ll eat it once we’re home.” He kept his head down when Mare stopped, hoping the musician wouldn’t ask the question he was dreading.

“What’s going on?” There it was. “You basically ghosted me at the library today, and now you’re turning down dinner? I know you, Phan, and I can tell you’re stuck in your head thinking about something. Get out and tell me what it is. Let me help you.”

“You can’t help. Not unless you have a time machine or something to erase my memories.” Ignoring Mare’s confused sound, Phantom continued to walk down the street, staring at his shoes as he moved, noting the dust on the toes covering the scuff marks.

Mare hesitated a moment, trying to parse out Phantom’s words, then hurried to catch up with him, giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder before walking beside him back to their house.

--

“I can’t believe you convinced me to come out into town,” Jackie muttered, hugging Phantom’s arm close as he tugged on the beanie on his head. “You could have gotten the groceries yourself.”

“Nope,” Phantom wore a smile as he walked down the street, pressing a kiss to the side of Jackie’s head, just below where his ears stopped. “Besides, I needed your strength to help me carry the bags back.”

Jackie squeaked at the kiss, face turning a bright red despite knowing his raccoon parts were hidden. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered, hiding his face in Phantom’s shoulder. “I really should have stayed at home.”

“Are you denying me the opportunity to show off the man I’m madly in love with?” Phantom feigned offense, façade breaking to laughter. “Come on, the sooner we get the groceries the sooner we can get back home and cuddle.”

--

Phantom sniffled as Mare unlocked their front door, shuffling his feet on the doorstep before following his brother inside, ready to just head upstairs and lose himself in his memories in the privacy of his own room. So distracted was he, that he bumped into Mare standing still just inside the doorway, causing him to look up to find what Mare had seen.

Standing inside the living room were two figures, obviously come in from the back door that Mare had kept unlocked to allow Mad inside. One figure was clearly Mad, orange tail and fingerless gloves the telltale signs, but the other��

Torn clothes a clear sign of escaping from somewhere, the simple canvas shoes covering his feet looked worn beyond use, and his greasy, unkept hair almost obscured the pair of ears atop his head. The tail was the undeniable tell: brown and black striped, ending in a well-kept point that Phantom knew like the back of his hand. After years of searching and hoping and yearning, standing in his own house once again was…

“Jackie…” Phantom’s words got stuck in his throat, hands shaking as he raised them to his chest. He didn’t see the shocked and confused faces turned toward him; his focus was only on Jackie. “You… you’re not dead…”

“He almost was dead,” Mad’s voice was muffled, sounding like he was underwater as Phantom continued to stare at Jackie, feeling his head going light before suddenly he was falling backward, and then everything went black.

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

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch @dungeon-dragons-dragons @rattyboyisemo

[rxspit]

me waiting for the ethan landry hype to die down so i can safely peruse the scream tags again