#skate crunch

[prettyboykatsuki]

do you think mha fell off? i keep hearing people complain about the animation , i‘d love to hear your thoughts ab it

*deep breath*

yes and no.

i think the manga is a good enough story that people will keep up with it until it sees its end.

and i think for the most part, season 6 isn't awful. the important parts of the show have been animated alright and i think the war arc has had the right tone for the majority. im not a fan of how the studio has consistently changed bakugous lines to make him seem more aggresive.

but the thing is that season 4 and 5 of bnha were just. so egregiously bad. bones is so notorious for cutting out so many important scenes post s3. they cut out SO many scenes for overhauls arc and even more in season 5. the pacing was fucking awful for s5 like downright horrendous. the focus being on the stupid fights between 1a and 1b and not the later arc building up to s6? fucking ridiculous

you guys know me. im a diehard for this fucking series. i spend my waking days tossing and turning over it. the characters and the world. i love it.

but of all the anime released this year, it has been the series i least looked forward to. im not keen on catching up because i think it just cuts so many corners. i think they've rushed it after s3 because it started gaining immense popularity and under the time crunch - im sure its been hard on animators to include everything.

so of course im not blaming them but like. from the bottom of my heart i do not look forward to the anime much if at all for these reasons. i will watch it of course, and im sure ill like it bc bkg is in it. and i love seeing my beloved blorbos and blorbitas

but personally im not a fan of how bones as animated it at all and i dont know if its at a point where it can be easily improved upon either.

i havent seen much of s6 yet but its one of the most important seasons of the show easily. so im hoping they can redeem themselves. but honestly, my hopes are not high

[sturnioloszn]

ICE BOUND (1) - M.S

summary; you accompany your father to his coaching session when your eyes land on his star player and captain, matt sturniolo.

warnings; smut, oral (blowjob), throat-fucking, praising, begging, dirty talk, pet names (just pretty girl lmao), think that's it?

a/n; it was a veryy close poll, but ice hockey matt won by the slightest. also, my next post will be about a taglist, and if you want to be part of it, more info will be there!

P2, P3

★ ° . *　　°　.　°☆ 　. * ● ¸. 　　　★ 　° :. ★　 * •

It was mid-december, and thick snow covered the ground. The icy winds still managed to bring me goosebumps even when I was wrapped in a large jacket, gloves, a beanie, and a scarf. The snow beneath my worn down shoes crunched with each step I took, and small snow flakes landed on the exposed areas of my face.

"Thanks for coming, y/n," my dad speaks from next to me, breaking me out of my thoughts. We were currently walking through the parking lot to reach the entrance of the local ice rink. I offered to watch one of my dad's practice sessions. Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday, he was down to this rink training his team of players, readying them for the tournament that was quickly arriving.

"Of course," I say, flashing a small smile. We finally enter the building, a surge of hot air hitting us. I instantly start taking my layers off, discarding them in one of the lockers. I was now much more comfortable in my baggy jumper and jeans.

I made my way to the rink, claiming my spot on one of the back row benches. Not many people came to the practice sessions, usually a parent or some friends, but that was it.

After a few moments, I saw a group of boys alongside my dad walk out of the locker room and onto the ice. My dad forced them to do three laps around the rink to warm up and then the practice actually began.

I watched them intensely, swinging their sticks and making the puck fly from one end of the rink to the other. I knew the basic rules due to the fact that my dad was literally an ice hockey coach, and I grew up around the sport.

After half an hour or so of this, I noticed one of the guys had a 'C' on his jumper. C? Captain? I never knew my dad allocated a captain already. Usually, he likes to mention random stuff like that, but I don't remember him ever talking about this.

Brown strands of hair peaked out through his helmet, and he proudly wore the number 4 and the surname 'Sturniolo' on his back. I don't even recall seeing him on the team at all. I guess the last game I came to see was about a year ago. Still though, kid managed to place captain in less than a year. He must be an ice hockey prodigy or some shit.

My focus remains on him the rest of the time. He glided smoothly on the ice, and his passes were clean. It was clear to see why he was captain. He must have felt me burning holes into the back of his head, and his eyes met mine. I instantly move to look at my shoes. Shit. That's embarrassing.

After almost two hours of practice, they begin to wrap up, and they all head towards the locker room. The last off the ice was the one and only prodigy himself. I walk down the benches as he skates off the ice and takes off his helmet, giving me a clearer view of his face. I go sit next to him on the bench as he's undoing his skates.

"That was a good game," I initiated the conversation, looking down at his red hands fiddling with the laces.

"Thanks, you watch often?" He asks, turning his head to look at me.

"Um, not really, but I know a thing or two," I say, giving a sly smile. He chuckles before looking back to his skates.

"Yeah? Who y'here for?" He asks again, probably referring to one of his teammates. He must think I'm either one of their girlfriends or one of their sisters. Well, I'm neither.

"Your coach," I reply. My answer makes his head snap to look at me; there's a look of shock played on his face. "I'm his daughter," I clarify, smiling once again.

"Oh. I was worried for a second," he breathes out. I tilt my head to look at him.

"Why would you be worried?" I question. He finally pulls his skates off his feet and replaces them with a beat-up pair of air force 1s. Sitting so close to him gives me the opportunity to really look at his face. He has a strong jawline, with defined cheekbones and a beautiful side profile. His hair was a similar shade to mine, and it was parted down the middle. But his most shocking feature was his icy blue eyes; from far away, they looked brown, but up close, they were a beautiful light, frost blue.

"Because a pretty girl like you can do much better than a man like him," he admits, turning to place his attention fully on me. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, and I'm sure it doesn't go unnoticed by him.

"That's still my dad, watch your mouth," I say, swallowing down my butterflies. He raises his eyebrows and puts his hand up surrendering.

"You know I meant age, you can do better, age wise," he explains.

"Alright then, how old are you?" I ask boldly.

I can tell my question caught him off guard, but nevertheless, he answers, "I'm 19, you?". I tell him I'm the same age, and he just nods. I don't like his silence. It felt wrong. Hearing his voice felt... right? I quickly think of something else to ask to keep the conversation going.

"So... you haven't been here long, have you?". I'm pulling at straws, but it doesn't matter. He explains that he recently moved to Boston with his family and that he needed to find a new team to join so that he could keep up ice skating, so here he was.

I then asked him about being captain and how the hell he managed to claim that title so quickly. He said something about leadership and blah blah blah. To be completely honest, I wasn't listening; I was too busy drowning in his eyes to hear anything that was coming out of his pretty lips. His lips. They were the perfect shade of pink, and they looked so soft and plump. Fuck. He looked so kissable.

I took another look at his face, a dusty pink had settled onto his cheeks, and the beads of sweat that were previously on his forehead had dried down. Every now and again, he'd also rake his hand into his scruffy hair, trying to adjust it, and every time he did do that, I'd nearly melt. He looks edible.

"Are y'even listening?" He asks, narrowing his eyes. I'm slapped back into reality when I realised that I was, in fact, not listening.

"Um..totally...?" I reply. I didn't even convince myself, let alone him.

"What're you thinkin' about?" He asks. He doesn't even care that I wasn't listening. He cares more about what was occupying my mind instead of being pissed about what was coming out of his mouth.

That's a rare trait that many hockey players do not have. Self-awareness. That the world doesn't spin around them. But little did he know that it did spin around him because even though I wasn't paying attention to him speaking, I was only focused on him.

"..nothing," I answer, moving my eyes to the floor, unable to keep eye contact with him.

"Right... well, it was fun talking, but I gotta shower," he says, standing from the bench and looking down at me. No. I didn't want him to leave, but at the same time, the thought of hot water streaming down his soapy body was doing things to me. I feel my underwear dampen at the thought, I push my legs together, and his eyes skip down to my thighs.

He smirks before speaking again, "you know where to find me if you need," and with that, he made his way to the showers.

I went to find my dad, who was wrapping himself back up in his coat, to fight the weather. I tell him that I might actually go for a skate and that I'll make my way home soon. But in reality, I was going to go hunt down his best player.

I waved my dad goodbye and checked around the rest of the building for the rest of the team, but it seemed that they had already left. This is perfect.

I pushed the door to the showers open, and there's a running one. I slowly approach it until I'm standing behind the curtain. Holy shit. The only thing between me and his naked body was a sheet of fabric. What would happen if-

"Were you planning to just stand there quietly, or were you going to say something?" He speaks. My face instantly blushes, how the fuck did he know I'm standing here?

The water abruptly stops, and a few seconds later, the curtain is drawn back. To my disappointment, there was a white, fluffy towel wrapped around his waist. However, a pretty noticeable outline was pressed into the towel.

He spots me quite obviously staring at his groin. "Something you want?" He asks, grabbing another smaller towel and rubbing it onto his hair, drying it slightly.

At this point, my pussy is throbbing. Every word that comes out of his mouth adds another layer of wetness to my panties.

I nodded at his question before lowering myself to my knees. Now, this he didn't anticipate. I cringe at the feeling of the wet patches on my jean-covered knees.

A smirk grows on his lips, "you wouldn't be able to handle it,". Pfft, I'm yet to meet a man whose dick is bigger than their ego.

"Try me," I challenge. He gives me the nod of approval, and I tug the towel off his hips, letting it fall to the ground.

Well. I guess I've met the man whose dick is bigger than his ego now. Let's just say he has a very, very big ego.

I'm taken by surprise when his cock slings free and hits his stomach. I look up at him, and there's hints of desperation plotted on his face.

"How bad do you want me to suck it?" I speak sultry, placing my hands on his thighs, not giving him the relief he craves.

"So fucking bad," he admits, allowing his right hand to move to the back of my head, inching my face towards his tip. I then grab the base of his dick, pumping it painfully slow, watching beads of pre-cum build on his tip.

I stick my tongue out ever so slightly and go to lick up the salty beads that have accumulated. While I'm there, I place a few soft kisses on his swollen tip. By now, his head is thrown back, and his hand is tangled in my hair.

"Shit," he breathed out. I looked back up at him, and his eyes were shut and eyebrows furrowed. He looked so beautiful. I bring my mouth closer and barely take him in my mouth, sucking lightly.

I then ease more and more of himself into my mouth until my nose is almost pressed up against his pubic bone. I low groan escapes his lip. I then pull him out completely, and he shudders at the loss of contact.

"Please, just make me feel good," he pleads. God, could this man get any sexier?? I instantly comply and take him into my mouth, hollowing out my cheeks. I move my head back and forth, engulfing his cock. He fills my mouth perfectly.

I then bring the hand that's not resting on his thigh to his balls. I slightly toy and message them, and the sound that left his lips was heavenly. I take him out of my mouth again and move lower to suck on his balls. He's lost all sense of composure at this stage.

"I n-need to cum... please, please, please," he moans while I move back to his cock. This time, I wrap my lips around him and take a hand to stroke him simultaneously. He bucks his hips forward, forcing me to take most of his length down my throat. It's not long until I feel his legs becoming weak and his moans grow in volume.

He places both his hands on either side of my head, "keep still and let me fuck your perfect throat," he grunts out, and I let him do just that. His tip hit the back of my throat over and over, making me gag on his cock, but this just encouraged him to keep going.

"F-fuck, you're doi-fuckkkk, doing so so g-good for me," he stutters. I can tell he's on the edge of euphoria and I moan around his cock to help him reach satisfaction. I feel his warm, bitter cum shoot down my throat. His hips are slowing down, and he lets go of the side of my head. I swallow his cum completely, sticking my tongue out to show him.

"You're amazing," he huffs out, helping me up from my knees.

"I know, I am pretty great," I grin. I then look down and notice the uncomfortable wet patches on my knees. He notices my discomfort and offers his spare pair of sweatpants, and I don't decline.

Once we're both dry and changed, he offers me a ride home, acknowledging the fact that everyone had already left a very long time ago. The ride home is enjoyable and not awkward at all, which was unexpected. I then realise that we did all of that but I don't even know his name, and I never told him mine.

"What's your name?" I ask, turning to look at him. He was focused on the road.

"Matt. What's your name, pretty girl?" He asks. I blush at the nickname, before responding.

"Y/n, but I prefer pretty girl," I smile. He turns his head to look at me with the same smile played on his lips.

★ ° . *　　°　.　°☆ 　. * ● ¸. 　　　★ 　° :. ★　 * •

a/n; next post is gonna be regarding a taglist, so make sure to keep updated if you want to be added to that. anywayy, thank you for reading this oneshot, love you all 💙

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

September

He doesn’t talk to the Munsons much. (Doesn’t talk to anyone, really, aside from his mom and Robin and that one older woman who keeps renting and returning Gone With The Wind as an excuse to leave her house.) He keeps his head down and his nose clean, doesn’t care to make friends with the neighbors; just wants to get by.

One day Eddie approaches their door, waving a gas bill that got mixed up in their mail, and Steve greets him pleasantly enough.

“Stab anyone today?”

“Eat glass, Harrington.”

So it goes.

Steve watches the world pass and the weather turn, lets the hours bleed into weeks and squeezes his eyes shut against the flashbacks when they threaten to overwhelm.

Things with his mom are weird.

They don’t really speak, preferring to shrug their way past each other with careful, tight-lipped nods, and his mom takes these pills the doctor gave her that keep her perfectly pleasant and calm. Silent. Physically present but not really here.

And he can’t imagine how it feels to be her: Florence Harrington, ripped from the comforts of the upper crust and left to rot in a tin can seven miles across town. She spends most of her time letting out weary little sighs as she swans from room to room, drifting like a shade on the banks of the River Styx. (He can make that reference now because Robin won’t shut up about mythology. “It’s so gay, Steve. The Greeks were literally so gay.”)

Anyway.

Shit’s weird with the kids, too. He still drives them around — lets them loiter at Family Video when it’s slow; hangs around when they need a ride to the arcade or the movies or the skating rink; and he’s still on the hook for ‘ice cream. for. life,’ so…

It’s just not the same.

Like. Not to be dramatic, but who the fuck is Steve Harrington without the house and the pool and the free-for-all fridge? Just some kid with a car and a bat and a punchable face. And he can barely afford to keep the car now, anyway, so pretty soon they won’t need him for that, either. They’ll learn to drive; they’ll get their own jobs. Maybe Lucas builds enough muscle to take over as the party tank.

Maybe it’s better if he shelfs himself now before they realize he’s become obsolete.

“Oh, my god, you’re being pathetic,” he groans to himself. His voice is muffled where he’s lying face down on the couch. Ridiculous behavior, because everything is fine; Steve is fine. In the grand scheme of things where there are monsters and melted corpses and all kinds of crazy, horrible shit?

Yeah.

He’s being obnoxious. It’s a lovely sunny Saturday afternoon with just the right Autumn breeze going — gentle but cool; long sleeve polo weather; his favorite kind — and he’s sitting inside throwing himself a pity party.

Fucking absurd.

…Five more minutes.

Just five more minutes, then he’s getting off this couch.

He gets to a minute and a half when he hears the crunch of tires against the gravel, the clanging of a little bell from the handlebar of a bike, and then:

“STEVE!!!”

And that’ll be Dustin, trying to bang the door off the hinges and piss off the whole park at the same time. Kid’s nothing if not a multitasker. Steve lets another aggrieved groan loose into the couch cushion.

His mom’s out with the car; the lights are all off. Maybe he can just play dead ‘til Dustin leaves? He loves the kid, he really does, but his left ear is full of static, and he just wants to fucking sleep. Or sulk. Or both.

“STEVEN CHRISTOPHER, I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE.”

Jeeeeesus Christ. “Okay, chill,” Steve grumbles as he hauls himself upright and throws open the front door. His limbs feel like lead; there’s drool on his chin. “Wake the whole goddamn neighborhood, why don’t you?”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, and half the people here work nights.”

“Oh-kayy,” Dustin drags out the word, “but you don’t.”

Ugh. Whatever. He’s not gonna be shamed by a toothless teenager for his depressing loser tendencies. “Did you need something?”

Steve scratches at his belly hair through his shirt, feels a muscle twinge in his shoulder and send a spark of nerve pain skittering up to the base of his skull.

Dustin either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Steve’s body is falling apart where he stands, because he just rolls his eyes and says, “Uh, yeah. I need to know why you’re avoiding everyone? Mom’s tried to invite you to dinner six times now.”

“I was working.”

“All six times?” Dustin glares. Steve feels a little pinned by it, feels guilt seeping through the cracks as he fidgets with his bad ear. This kid’s gonna be the scariest lawyer some day. “She’s worried.”

Goddammit.

Guilt squeezes hard behind his ribs; he knows Dustin uses his mom as a mouthpiece for the feelings he can’t express. “I’m fine,” he sighs, letting his eyes and voice go soft. “Honest.”

Dustin holds firm, gaze fierce and fists clenched. “Bullshit,” he insists.

“Man, don’t—”

“Bull. Shit.”

Suddenly, their impromptu interrogation gets interrupted by a crashing drum fill, a shriek of electric guitar as Munson’s van squeals into the lot. He’s blasting some melodramatic metal shit about wizards or whatever; Steve doesn’t know. He only knows that the skitter of nerve pain he felt is ramping up to a fullblown migraine now because this guy has to listen to his racket at full fucking volume, apparently, and isn’t this all just “fucking great.”

—

part 5

[joequiinn]

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 2

[chap one] | [all chapters here] | [chap three]

summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

a/n: Oooh I'm excited for this chapter! Would love to hear what everyone thinks about Eddie's characterization! And, after editing this chapter about half a dozen times, I feel like I'm still just not quite conveying the motivations of the character well, so let me know if her thoughts/feelings could be more clear!

taglist: @daisyridleyss @munsonssweets @marrowfrog00 @lotrefcp @rach5ive

wc: 4.0k

Chapter Two

Getting away on Sunday afternoon to meet Eddie was easy. You’d celebrated your birthday on Saturday, with your friends dragging you along on plans that they put together weeks in advance before you returned home for a far too formal dinner with your parents. You probably could have - and should have - been more excited considering that you were toasting your legal adulthood, but if anything, it just stirred even more desire for change and rebellion in you. What good was being a legal adult if you were still trapped in high school, if you were still just following the status quo?

You told your parents as you were leaving the house that afternoon that you were going to the ice rink - your dad grunted in acknowledgement, too caught up in his reading to really hear you, and your mom commended you for how dedicated you were to skating. To both responses, you rolled your eyes, leaving without saying goodbye.

You knew exactly which picnic table Eddie referred to in his note, as you weren’t the first person to meet him there for a drug deal, nor would you be the last. It was a well-known spot for students to meet with the metalhead - although it seemed like no one actually talked about it, probably because they themselves didn’t want to admit to any interaction with him, somehow everyone knew exactly where Eddie made his deals.

There were trails running through a lot of the forest that made it easy to find your destination; you left your car on a neighborhood street not far from the school, and trekked your way into the woods. It was still pretty in late September - leaves weren’t falling to the ground quite yet, and the sounds of wildlife could still be heard up in the trees and low on the ground. Not that you were one to appreciate nature much at all. But it was hard not to at least notice it as you walked quietly along the trail, going over exactly how you might propose this crazy idea of yours while trying your best not to trip over rocks or step in mud puddles.

When you arrived at the picnic area, Eddie was nowhere to be found, which was actually a relief to you. It gave you more time to think, to calm down and find the best means of conveying this idea to him. You felt stupid, having this strange and foreign anxiety in your chest, but it couldn’t be helped. Best you could do was relax and put on a cool face whenever the delinquent did finally show up.

You were about to sit at the picnic table, but quickly decided against it once you took a closer look at the rotting wood - it was disgusting and dirty, and you weren’t going to risk ruining one of your favorite skirts or catching some nasty disease. So, instead, you paced, keeping your mind busy as you waited, taking in your surroundings with an air of boredom as the hour hit 4 and you were still here alone. Eddie better show, or you weren’t going to be happy.

Eventually, the sound of footsteps crunching on twigs and brush caused you to look around, not quite sure which direction the sound was coming from at first. But it didn’t take long for you to spot Eddie hiking his way to you, surprised amusement on his face as he approached. He cocked his head, lips tugged back in a grin, as your heart skipped nervously; god, you felt so stupid being edgy like this, it was so unwarranted.

“Well, well…” He drawled, crossing his arms as he walked closer to you, “I’ve seen a lot, but the ice princess wants something from me? Now I really have seen everything.”

The way he said “ice princess” was jarring, almost as if it was both an insult and an inarguable fact. Yes, you’d heard people call you that before, but never with the gusto that Eddie Munson added to it - you briefly wondered if the nickname was more common than you originally thought, and then you wondered who it was that first came up with it. Was it Eddie? No, if anything it was probably someone in your own circle that started that stupid nickname, maybe even Duncan - you didn’t think Eddie cared enough to come up with a nickname for some popular kid who he’d never even spoken to before.

It’s as if his use of the derogatory nickname immediately reminded you that there was no reason to be nervous, because you could feel your usually cool demeanor coming back to you.

“Don’t cream your pants, Munson.” You replied bluntly, crossing your arms as if to mimic Eddie’s posture. His brows went up in surprise - it briefly crossed your mind that he might not have known what your voice sounded like, let alone how you talked. Well, now he knew.

Eddie tilted his head down slightly as if speaking to you conspiratorially, “I wasn’t expecting a chick like you to be so vulgar.”

You rolled your eyes. Okay, maybe this discussion would be more challenging than you had anticipated. Having never actually interacted with Eddie before today, you couldn’t have predicted what your dynamic together would be. From what you could tell after only this one minute of interacting, your personalities were bound to clash, making your impossible plan all the more impossible.

“I guess I’m full of surprises.” You replied plainly, your tone disinterested. Without thinking, you leaned your rear on the picnic table, but quickly jumped away when you remembered how dirty it was, an affronted sound escaping your lips. As you tried to wipe dirt from your ass, Eddie chuckled. To that, you shot him a cold glare.

“Alright, what are you looking for, princess?” Eddie asked while sitting on the filthy bench - that felt intentional, as if he was mocking your disgust at the grime and muck on the table, “Ask and you shall receive.”

You raised a critical brow at his theatrical tone, at the way he said ‘princess,’ at his entire demeanor. Yup, this was going to be impossible. You were certain that your judgmental expression was clear as day, because you could see the cogs turning behind Eddie’s eyes, how he was analyzing you just as much as you were him.

You stared at him with your arms crossed, your hip jutting out to the side as you briefly considered him, considered what you wanted to ask of him. You made a bit of a harsh face as you responded, “That’s a bold claim, considering that you don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

You met Eddie’s dark eyes as if to make a point, his brow furrowing in curious response. His gaze was mocking as he held your stare, “You think anything you ask for will shock me? Snobby rich kids always want the same stuff.”

“‘Snobby?’” You nearly snapped, glaring smally in offense. To that, Eddie pointed his hand at the empty bench across from him, a defiant look on his face.

“Take a seat then.” He challenged, the corner of his mouth curling up. You make another grossed out face, to which he gives a half-hearted shrug, giving him all the confirmation that he needed, “That’s what I thought.”

You scoffed, turning your back while grumbling, “God, I knew this was a stupid idea…”

You started to walk off in annoyance, trying your best not to trip over rocks or sticks in your haste, but only made it a few steps before Eddie called after you, “Wait, wait, come back…”

You spun back around, but remained planted where you stood, raising an eyebrow and crossing your arms as if prompting him to continue, to grovel and earn your trust.

“I’m just joking,” Eddie raised his hands in a lazy surender, his face growing surprisingly sincere after a moment, although that sincerity was also laced with a hint of judgment, “What are you gonna ask for, then?”

He’s patient, watching you as you deliberate what to do. Was it worth it? Did you really need Eddie to make this plan work? Should you call this off while you still had the chance?

No. This plan was stupid as all hell, but you were going to do it. With a determined little stomp of your foot - Eddie smirking in amusement at the mildly childish action - you approached the picnic table, bracing your hands against it as you tried to ignore the feeling of dirt getting under your nails.

“If you laugh at me, I’ll ruin you.” You threatened while meeting his eyes. Again, Eddie grinned, but he otherwise kept his mouth shut, which seemed to be his way of agreeing to your terms, “I don’t need drugs, I need a favor. It’s gonna sound… honestly ridiculous.”

“Okay…” Eddie leaned forward so that your faces were only a foot apart; his expression was one of neutral attentiveness, however, you could see the sparkle of intrigue in his eyes. You don’t pull back from the close proximity he created, studying one another’s faces; it felt strange to be observed by him so closely, as Eddie had a way of scrutinizing you that felt different from those you knew, different from the way people normally looked at you. You tried to find the best way of proposing your dumb idea, but nothing would make your request sound less crazy than it already is.

Finally, you gave up with a sigh and just blurted it out, “I need you to date me.”

Despite your earlier threat, an unexpected bark of a laugh jumped out of Eddie’s mouth. He raised his fist in front of his lips and pretended to cough, as if that would do anything to hide his very clear amusement. Your eyes widened in intense warning. To his credit, Eddie composed himself quickly, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, although you could still see a little twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Can you repeat that for me?” He prompts, fighting off his laughter and confusion.

Again, you roll your eyes - god, you were going to be doing that a lot with this guy, weren’t you? You were already getting tired of it.

“I don’t want to actually date you,” You said as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world, “Just pretend. You know, like one of your dumb games.”

Eddie’s eyes darkened a little at the insult, but instead of retaliating he simply pulled back, putting a bit of distance between you. He looks you up and down in consideration, his mind racing to understand your unexpected request.

“Care to elaborate?” He questioned, his tone mildly critical.

You purse your lips in annoyance as you consider where to start, eyeing Eddie closely - how the hell did you explain to someone that you wanted them to be your fake boyfriend? You sighed, pulling back from the table, starting to walk in a slow circle around it. The motion was vaguely like skating around a rink, so in an odd way it helped you think.

“I hate literally everything about my life,” You paused, half expecting Eddie to mock your pathetic woes, but he remained silent, “It’s my senior year and I’m only now realizing that nothing in my life is up to me, that I don’t have any control over anything - everything is decided by someone else. And I’m fucking tired of it.”

You could see mild surprise on Eddie’s face, and you wondered if it was because of your foul language - it always seemed to surprise people to hear the way you could talk considering how nice and well-behaved you appeared, although you’d always been anything but.

You continued, “I want to do something stupid, something that’ll piss off my parents, that’ll get everyone to stop treating me like some untouchable, perfect princess.” You chose the word deliberately, looking Eddie dead in the eye, “And what stupider than to date Eddie freaking Munson?”

Now, it was Eddie’s turn to look somewhat offended, “Gee, thanks.”

Maybe it wasn’t the most effective tactic to keep insulting the man you were trying to bribe, but you just couldn’t seem to help yourself. You didn’t exactly know how to be nice to anyone. Eddie’s eyes considered you for a moment before something of a mean look flickered across his face.

“This has something to do with that boyfriend of yours, doesn’t it? What, you break up or something?” And then an almost mirthful realization flashed across his eyes, obviously seeing some change in your demeanor that you didn’t intend for him to notice, “Ooh, I get it. He broke up with you, didn’t he? You trying to win him back?”

You brace yourself against the table again as you glare at him, but otherwise you maintain your composure, your tone condescending and mean as you reply, “I do not want him back. He could drive off a bridge for all I care. I want to get under his skin. I want to get under everyone’s skin.”

You could tell that Eddie didn’t get it - he still didn’t understand why you needed his help in this ridiculous plan of yours, and he didn’t understand why you were feeling the way you did. With a sigh, you try to calm down and unclench your tight jaw.

“Look, Munson,” You caved in and stiffly took a seat on the opposite bench as if to bolster your argument, to make him take you a little more seriously, “I know it sounds crazy, but I just know nothing else will work.”

“And how do you know that?” He urged - you couldn’t tell if he thought you were an idiot or if he was actually interested in hearing you out.

You stared at Eddie for a long moment, trying to find the easiest way to make him understand. He stared back, again showing far more patience than you would have expected from him, especially with the likes of you. As you study his face in thought, you finally sigh, shaking your head as you look away with a vague annoyance set on your features.

“I don’t actually know, okay?” You start, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye for a few moments, “What I want is complete and utter… social suicide. To just stop worrying about my reputation or what people think. I’m sick and tired of expectations and status quos and doing what I’m told or what people expect. I want to piss everyone off. I want to piss Duncan off. I just… it feels like I need to change, you know?”

“Nope, I have no idea what you mean.” Eddie says plainly, and as you glare at him, you realize he’s joking once he finally cracks a smile. His eyes are surprisingly kind as he leans forward on his elbows, parroting your words, “When have I ever subscribed to expectations and status quos and doing what I’m told?”

At that rhetorical response, your face relaxed for the first time this entire conversation. Hell, you even felt a mild excitement wash over you as you consider what his words were implying, “So… you’ll do it?”

Eddie makes a face as if he’s still mulling over the idea, still trying to figure out what exactly your motivations were, “I mean, you’re bratty and rude and this plan is kind of stupid, but I might do it.”

“Might?” You ask, trying not to sound too pushy or annoyed by his casual insults. If this was going to happen, you both had to learn to stop prodding at each other like this, learn to stop picking on each other just because you could. That might prove to be the most challenging part of all of this, though.

Eddie smirks, rising back to his feet as he contemplates, “What do I get out of this? And don’t say money - that’ll make me feel like a prostitute.”

As you pulled a face, Eddie grinned at his own comment, obviously finding that idea amusing in some way. And like a teenage mimicry of a business person, you sat up straighter, looking at him plainly as you presented your offer, “No, but I do have one idea. But if you think of something better…?”

Eddie nods in confirmation, urging you to continue.

“Well, my uncle’s a cop--”

At that, Eddie chuckles abruptly while cutting you off, “Oh, trust me, I know exactly who your uncle is.”

Aside from shooting him a small look, you continue as if he hadn’t said anything, focused on getting this plan hatched, “I think I can help you. You can’t get in trouble with them anymore if I’m the one taking the fall.”

Eddie’s brows rose in surprise at your words, his arms crossing as he studied you, “What, you think your pretty little ass can handle a night in lock up?”

“No, genius,” You roll your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time, “If it falls on me, there will be no jail, no arrest, nothing. The minute I tell someone who my uncle is, they won’t even think about putting a hand on me, that would be stupid. I’m effectively untouchable.”

Eddie nods, rubbing his chin, “But doesn’t that go out the window if you commit… What did you call it? ‘Social suicide?’”

You shrug, “Maybe. Maybe not. But I can probably keep them off your ass for the rest of the school year so long as you don’t do something too stupid.”

“You want to date me until graduation?” Eddie makes a dramatic show of placing his hand to his chest as if he’s flattered.

“Jesus…” You mutter to yourself with a sigh, “We’ll see where it goes.”

Eddie, again, nodded while humming in consideration. You sat quietly, waiting for him to add something to the conversation. You could tell that he was drawing it out, though, milking the moment just for the hell of it, to put you on edge. Suddenly, he slaps his hand down firmly on the table, causing you to jump in your seat.

“We have a deal.” His eyes glint as he smirks at you, “We play happy little couple, we destroy your reputation, piss off all your friends, and you keep me out of trouble. What could possibly go wrong?”

It suddenly felt like he jinxed everything by saying that, ruined it before you could even begin, but you ignored that feeling as you gave him a slight smile, actually pleased with how the conversation had gone. Of course, there was still that strange sense of disbelief at the entire situation - it was the most ridiculous thing you’d ever thought of or done, but that also made it kind of exhilarating in its odd way.

Eddie walked around the table, leisurely sliding onto the bench beside you, intentionally leaning over to bump your shoulder playfully. It was unexpected, causing you to make a slight face at him, but that only seemed to amuse him more.

“Look, princess, you gotta start being nicer to me if you want to convince anyone that we’re a couple.” Although his tone was teasing, you knew what Eddie said was true. Even you, known for your bitchiness, couldn’t be too mean to the man that you were supposedly dating, especially if you wanted to get under Duncan’s skin - the nicer you were to Eddie, the more it would annoy Duncan that you were never that nice to him.

“Fine.” You say plainly, looking him in the eye, “If that’s the case, no more ‘princess.’”

Eddie made a teasing face, “Then what do I call you? It would look strange if your boyfriend didn’t have any pet names for you, right?”

You sighed, but he did make a good point - it made you realize that you needed to lay out some ground rules for this whole fake dating thing, something that you hadn’t accounted for during your planning stage.

“When we’re around other people, just call me something nice. I don’t care what it is.”

Eddie’s playful expression was still in place, “Oh, you’ll regret that…”

You rolled your eyes, and yet this time the corner of your mouth pulled up into an amused grin despite yourself, “Just be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you. Can’t be too hard, right? And don’t touch me unless it’s in front of people.”

You looked him up and down critically with that comment. It's not that you were worried about him being gross or anything like that, you just hated people touching you unnecessarily.

“Any other commands, my liege?”

“What, you want me to write this down for you or something?”

Eddie pretended to consider the idea, “If only I knew how to read, princess.”

You made a face, knowing that Eddie kept calling you that dumb nickname quite intentionally, that he kept testing you with deliberate aim. Trying to resist rising to the tempting bait, you continued explaining the dos and don’ts of fake dating. 

“Okay,” You started, raising your pointer finger. Eddie made a show of paying close attention, surely just to mock you, as you raised another finger with each new rule you stated, “One: we have to try to be nice to each other. Two: no unnecessary touching if no one’s around. Three: we have to spend a lot of time together, like, not just at school - we have to go out sometimes, especially to places where people will see us. Four: we have to be extra obnoxious when Duncan’s around. Five: … I’m in charge.”

At the last instruction, Eddie laughed right in your face, “You’re in charge? I thought this was a relationship, not a dictatorship.”

You had a response ready to leave your lips, but you let it go - practice for the inevitable niceties to come, you supposed. Eddie studied you for a moment while half smiling, seemingly aware that you were doing your best to bite your tongue.

“Alright, alright, you’re in charge…” He rose to his feet, which seemed to signal that the conversation was coming to an end, “So, what, starting tomorrow I’m your boyfriend?”

“I mean… Should we build up to it first?” The question sounded ridiculous, you knew it sounded juvenile and naive in its way, but it had to be asked. And yet again, Eddie chuckled.

“Sure, we’ll ‘build up to it.’” His tone was teasing, but not quite so mean as before. Eddie studied the look on your face, trying to learn how to read you considering the amount of time you were surely about to start spending together, “Don’t worry, princess, I’ve got this in the bag. Relinquish some of that control a little, okay?”

He slowly began to walk backwards towards the trail, waiting for you to join him, so you stood to walk alongside him. You almost neurotically began dusting yourself, trying in vain to get the dirt and the mud and the dead leaves off of your skirt, out from under your nails.

You caught up to Eddie easily enough, continuing to pick at your well manicured nails, “I’m serious, Munson, please don’t fuck this up.”

Eddie threw his arm around your shoulder, once again disregarding one of your rules without a single care. He looked down at you with a teasing look on his face, confirming that he did that on purpose, confirming that he was sure to keep doing it on purpose, “Relax. I’ll flirt with you tomorrow, I’ll flirt some more throughout the week, I’ll start hanging around your locker or talking to you at lunch, and then by the end of the week I’ll ask you on a date. Deal?”

You stared into Eddie’s eyes a moment before lifting his arm off your shoulders, stepping just out of reach with a mild sneer on your lips, “Okay, deal.”

His smile is wide as he walks alongside you back to your cars. This was going to be one hell of a time, and he, frankly, was all too curious to see how it would turn out.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Farm: Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @wabi-sabi1090 @lostinwonderland314 @turtle-cant-communicate @fallout-girl219

Companion Piece to:

Pears - It starts when Carmy makes an order he doesn't remember.

Mornings - Carmy sleeps better with you around.

Bubble - You have no idea that you saved Carmy's life.

Crazy, Stupid, Fucked Up World (NSFW) - Carmy tells you he lvoes you for the first time.

Carmy loves spending days at the farm, he loves walking through the fields, his fingertips skating over the fresh produce that you’ve been cultivating. He loves the vibrance in the colours. The depths of the green, the brilliance of the red, the pops of yellow. He loves all of it, each and every fucking thing.

More than anything he adores the flavours. The rich burst of texture on his tongue as he bites into a blueberry he’s picked fresh from the bushel, the crispness of a ripe tomato he’s plucked from the vine, the crunch of lettuce between his teeth as the taste floods his senses.

Being here inspires him, it has from the moment he’d stumbled onto the eight acre property in search of somewhere to get fresh produce at a decent rate. You’d found him, sitting cross legged in the middle of one of your fields, sketching out a new idea when you sat down next to him, thinking he was a member of the homeless community.

“I can make you a bag up if you want.” You’d said softly. “I know how hard it can be to get fresh stuff when you’re sleeping rough.”

He turned his head towards you then, his brows furrowing into a frown.

“I’m not homeless…” He’d said looking down at himself  in a ratty white t-shirt and sneakers that have seen much better days. “Fuck, do I look homeless?”

“You kinda do.” You agree before you take his hand in yours and drop a couple of blueberries onto his palm. He pops one into his mouth and he swears he’s never tasted anything as good as that single piece of fruit. “It’s all organic, free from GMOs…”

“You can taste it.” He says, eating other blueberry and then another.

You give him some of the overstock to take home with him that night. Some strawberries and raspberries, along with the leafy greens you’ve been growing. He stares at the colours, using the small artist’s set Luca gave him before he left New York to capture their essence as he designs dishes around their flavour palette.

The next time you see him, he’s tossed out the white t-shirt and the sneakers. He’s wearing a soft grey sweater and a pair of jeans Mikey left him instead. His hair is freshly washed and he’s used a little of that moisturiser that Sugar’s been trying to shove down his throat for the past couple of months. He feels better than he has in years and he thinks it’s because of the fruit. He’s been stagnant since coming to Chicago, focusing on keeping his head above water. There hasn’t been time to relax, to take joy in the things around him.

“That’s really sad.” You tell him as you sit beside him once again in what becomes his favourite field. “That you lost your joy.”

“I don’t think that I ever had any to begin with.” He tells you as he stares out across the plush greenery. “I don’t think I feel things the way that other people do, everything feels muted, it has for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly.

And he shrugs his shoulders because at this point he doesn’t know any different. It started back in New York under the tuition of David Fields. The constant barrage of abuse he suffered, it fractured something deep inside of him. His self-esteem had  withered away with under every comment until there was nothing left but this trembling mess.

“Do you worry you’ll never get it back?” You ask him, studying the profile of his face.

“I did.” He tells you before he tilts his head to look at you. His vibrant blue eyes capture yours and you don’t think you’ve ever seen a colour as beautiful as that. “But then I came here and it’s like something inside me just woke up. I’m starting to feel things again, so yea that’s what’s happening right now.”

“I’m glad the farm could help you like that.” You say sincerely.

“I’m guessing the farm helps a lot of people like that.” He says, gesturing to some of the folks out harvesting in the field. “I looked you up, read about some of the mental health programs you run. You’ve got a good rep.”

“Do what you can, for who you can, where you can, am I right?” You say and he thinks that’s one hell of a philosophy to live by in your day to day.

He considers that now as he watches you in the field. You’re wearing yellow wellies over black leggings because it’s potato season and you always get a little muddy. You have his baseball cap turned backwards on your head, your hair spilling out underneath.

It’s in that moment he realises just how truly happy he is, how happy he’s been over the past year and he knows that’s because of this place, because of you.

You’re surprised a couple of minutes later when his arms wrap around your waist. He buries his face into the crook of your neck inhaling the scent of earth that clings to your skin as he draws you back into the shelter of his firm chest.

“What’s up Bear?” You ask as he snuggles in close, his lips ghosting over skin.

“Nothing.” He whispers. “I just fucking love you.”

“That’s good baby…” You smile as you tilt your head towards him. “Because I fucking love you too.”

Love Carmy? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[wheeboo]

run to you | lee chan

SYNOPSIS. in which your best friend picks you up in the middle of the night. PAIRING. biker!best friend!lee chan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, hurt/comfort, lil angst, best friends to lovers WARNINGS. cursing, implied that reader lives in a troubled household, lil description of a twisted ankle, kissing WORD COUNT. 2.7k

notes: finally have something written for dino!! i haven't written anything for him in a HOT min that this almost feels out of character for some reason 😭 anyways enjoy <3

Chan doesn't understand why simply the sight of your name lighting up his phone has his heart quickening, head spinning, and adrenaline rushing all in a single moment. But he doesn't give it much thought, his hand instinctively pressing the answer button as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

He brings his phone up to his ear, calling out your name, "Y/N?"

"Hey, um..." Your voice is shaky on the other line, barely above a whisper, laced with something that sounds suspiciously like pain, and it sends a snake of worry up his back. "...can you do me a favour real quick?"

Chan glances at the time on his phone for a brief second, brows furrowing at the late time displayed on the screen. He sits up in bed, already somehow feeling more awake than just a few seconds ago. "Yeah, uh, what's up?"

Silence hangs heavy in the air, heavier than the late-night quiet pressing against Chan's window. He can almost hear your nervous inhale and picture the hesitant frown on your face.

"I left my... well, actually my entire skateboard bag... at your place," You admit quietly, sheepishly. "Could you possibly... drop it off at my door? It's really late, I know, but𑁋"

"Where are you?" Chan asks frantically and seriously that it cuts you off. He hears the way your breath hitches in your throat at the tone of his voice, and it only makes him more apprehensive and his heart hammering against his ribs anxiously. "Are you at the skate park?"

Crap, he knows. He always knows. "Look, I just... needed to clear my head and took a little fall. I'm fine, can you just𑁋"

"Stay put," he commands, leaving no room for argument. "I'm coming to get you."

"What? No, Chan, it's fine𑁋"

He cuts you off, refusing to hear your protests. "Don't move. I'll be there in ten."

He hangs up before you can utter another word, quickly tossing a shirt on and grabbing his keys, helmet (and a second one), and of course, your skateboard bag. As Chan throws the bag over his shoulder, a sharp pang of worry hits him. He knows you're downplaying the fall and everything else going on, but the tremor in your voice paints a different picture in his mind, and he seems to be listening to his heart more than he ever thought he would.

All he could think about is you.

Chan knows not to pry, but it isn't the first time this has happened𑁋where you 'clear your head' in the middle of the night and run away from home for a few hours. But the thought of you alone and hurt gnaws at him more than he cares to admit.

Pushing aside the questions and worries for later, Chan rushes out the door, the roar of his motorcycle echoing through the hushed night. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. As he speeds towards the familiar silhouette of the skate park, a million scenarios play in his mind, each one twisting his gut tighter. He forces them down, focusing only on one𑁋getting to you and making sure you're okay.

The wind whips past Chan's helmet, carrying with it the sting of the cool night air and the echo of your shaky voice. He rounds the last corner, the skate park coming into view, bathed in the dim glow of a streetlamp. He catches a single glance of your figure leaning against wall with your skateboard abandoned not that far away, and his heart jumps into his throat.

He throws the bike into a skid that leaves a dark streak on the pavement, the gravel crunching beneath his tires and the engine sputtering to a halt just beside you. You flinch at the sudden noise, looking up with wide, surprised eyes. Before you can speak, he's already hopping off and jogging towards you.

Something jumps in your stomach when he takes off his helmet, the streetlamp above illuminating the worry etched on his features and windswept, messy hair. Chan kneels before you, the gravel biting into his knees as his gaze takes note of the way you're gingerly clutching down at your ankle.

The concern in his eyes makes your defenses crumble. You open your mouth to explain, but he silences you with a gentle hand on your knee.

"Don't talk," he murmurs, voice surprisingly soft. "Let me see."

He gently pushes your hand away, his touch sending a spark through your already jittery nerves, calloused fingers lightly brushing against away the dirt clinging to your slightly swollen ankle. You wince at the contact, breath hitching at the unexpected touch. It's not painful, but it's strangely electrifying.

"It looks swollen," he states, carefully brushing his thumbs over the affected area. "Can you put any weight on it?"

You hesitantly try to wiggle your toes, wincing when a sharp pain shoots up your leg.

"Fuck, ow," You whisper, biting your lip. You feel the shame and embarrassment burn at your cheeks, making you want to sink into the cool concrete beneath you.

He's always right; you weren't fine. You hadn't been fine for a long time, but admitting it to yourself felt like opening a dam of emotions you weren't sure you could contain the longer you stay here, and you aren't sure if Chan being in front of you was helping with that or not.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Chan asks, voice a low rumble that vibrates through the gravel where he kneels. You can't help but meet his gaze, searching for judgment, but finding only concern and a hint of something deeper you couldn't decipher, or didn't want to acknowledge.

You shrug, hating how weak the gesture feels, pulling back your leg away from him slightly. "It's okay, just a twist."

Chan's jaw clenches, the concern on his face morphing into something else, something you couldn't quite place. "Just a twist? Y/N, it's the middle of the night, you're alone at the skate park, and you can barely stand. It's not okay."

You feel your chest tighten. "I told you I just needed to get some air. You didn't have to come if you didn't want to. I'm fine."

His eyes narrow, and you catch a glimpse of something raw and intense flickering in them.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he asks, coming out a bit harsher than intended. "What if you... what if something bad happened and you couldn't call for help? Do you think I wouldn't want to be the one to find you?"

His words hit you like a physical blow. You flinch, the vulnerability you'd so carefully guarded threatening to spill out. God, you hate that he could see through you, hate that he cares so much, hate that you couldn't hate it no matter how much you tried.

"No," You mumble, swallowing back the heat threatening in your eyes. "I don't think you're stupid. It's just..." Your voice trails off.

"It's just what?" Chan demands, voice tight. "Just another night where you disappear and leave me wondering if you're okay? I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you."

His words suspend heavy in the air, the only sounds coming from the occasional crickets and the rhythmic thump of your heart echoing loudly in your ears. You could only stare at Chan, his intense gaze boring into you, and feel a dam within yourself start to slowly crack.

Chan lets his eyes roam over you, and a twinge of guilt seems to twitch at his lips, his eyes softening noticeably, but barely. He lets out a sigh.

"Come on," he says firmly. "I can't let you stay here alone, not tonight. Let me take you back to my place, okay?" His eyes hold yours for a beat longer than necessary, a silent plea struggling beneath the surface.

He rises from the ground and offers you his hand. The heat radiating from his skin sends a familiar jolt through you. Hesitantly, you place your hand in his, his fingers warm and calloused as they intertwine together clumsily, like you're testing some type of waters. Then he lifts you with surprising ease, the sudden movement sending a fresh wave of pain shooting through your ankle, making you tighten your grip on his hand.

"Sorry," he murmurs, concern flickering in his eyes. "Let me know if it's too much."

You shake your head, unable to find your voice. You're a tangled mess of emotions𑁋relief, embarrassment, and a fluttering nervousness that you can't quite explain. He helps you onto the back of his motorcycle and secures the extra helmet around your head, before stepping away to collect your skateboard from the ground. Then you feel his hand cup over yours, bringing it to secure around his waist, the warmth of his body pressed against yours sending shivers down your spine.

"Hold on tight," he instructs. As the engine rolls to life, you feel the vibration through your body, and you scoot yourself impossibly closer to him, tightening your hold around his abdomen even more.

The ride to his apartment is a blur of streetlights and rushing wind. You cling to him even more, not entirely sure if it's for balance or something more, but it's awfully comforting and... intimate.

You lean your head on his back and breathe in the familiar scent of leather and warmth that seems to calm you more than it should. Shifting your eyes up, you steal a glance at Chan, the moonlight casting long shadows across his determined jaw and windblown hair. You can feel his muscles tense and relax with every shift of the bike, and a strange sense of safety washes over you. You feel a slight tug at your lips at the thought.

As the motorcycle comes to a stop outside Chan's apartment, you linger for a moment, the gentle rumble of the engine fading into the quiet night as he puts it into park. The warmth of his body still lingers onto yours as he takes off his helmet and hops off the bike, before turning around to help with yours.

The brush of your hands against each other sends a jolt through the two of you. Chan quickly pulls away, his hand hovering awkwardly by your helmet, but the heaviness in the air lingers. You look up at him, his gaze flickering between your face, before he fully slips the helmet off your head, hand lingering in the strands of your hair for a moment.

He clears his throat, looking away briefly before meeting your eyes again.

"I, uh... should get you inside," he finally says.

You only give a nod. But as you attempt to step off the bike, the pain in your ankle shoots up your leg, bringing a wince to your face.

"Here," Chan says quickly, kneeling before you again. "Let me help."

He carefully scoops you up in his arms, the familiar scent of leather and warmth enveloping you once more. This time, you don't try to pull away, your heart pounding against his chest as he carries you inside.

He takes you to his kitchen, helping you sit on top of the counter, and you can't help but let out a quiet, soft sigh of relief. As he draws away from you to rummage through the drawers, you glance around his kitchen, noting the small stack of dishes in the sink, the motorcycle magazines scattered across his little eating area, and an empty bowl of cereal𑁋a glimpse into his life you hadn't seen before.

It's silent when it all happens, almost too silent it's suffocating. But as Chan comes back to you with an ice pack and a bottle of pills, you could only watch him. The soft light from the hanging lamp above bathes his face in a warm glow, and you catch the way his gaze lingers on your face a moment too long.

He reaches out, gently placing the ice pack on your swollen ankle. His touch is light, almost tentative, yet the cold feeling makes you flinch, but Chan's hand rests gently on the skin above your ankle, the other cupping at your knee. There's a part of you that wants to pull away from him, from everything happening right now, but you don't. You don't want to. You can't. He's worried, frustrated, and maybe even a little hurt, and you understand why. You've pushed him away again, and he's tired of it.

"I..." You start, a tremor betraying your words. "I didn't mean to worry you."

Chan glances up at you. "But you did," he replies lowly. "You always do. And it scares the hell out of me."

The tension hangs thick in the air as Chan's words sink in.

"I-I'm sorry, I really am," You mutter, swallowing down the lump in your throat. "It's just... things are hard at home, and I don't know how to deal with it. Being away just seems to... clear it all up a little bit, you know?"

"Then why run away when you can run to me?" He's standing right in front of you at this point, one hand still on your knee.

"Why do care you so much?" You counter almost defensively, feeling yourself tense right under his gaze.

"Because the more this happens, the more I realise I don't want to be your friend anymore," he answers simply, then lowers his voice. "I can't be... just your friend anymore when I want to be the person you run to."

The world freezes. Everything freezes, and you could only stare at him with widened eyes and a pure look of shock. Nothing but silence stretches between the two of you, and the hammering in your chest only grows stronger by each passing second.

Chan lowers his gaze to the floor, taking his hand off your knee and running it through his hair. "Fuck, I shouldn't have..." He catches a glimpse of the bottle of pain medication right next to you. "Let me get you some water𑁋"

"No, wait." You grab at his hand, causing him to halt, and he looks back at you. "Don't... go yet, please?"

Chan hesitates, before giving in, finding himself standing right back in front of you, the two of you almost eye-level. Except you shoot a quick look at his lips, then up to his eyes, before letting the hand wrapped around his wrist pull him even closer to you, to the point where he's almost standing between your legs.

His breath hitches from the sudden closeness, but he shouldn't be like this right now. Not when you're hurt and vulnerable. He can't tell you that he wanted you the moment you met two years ago when you rolled past him one day on the way to the same skate park, can't tell you that he would choose you over everything else in a heartbeat.

But all those thoughts are pushed away the moment he feels your lips on his, and his hands come naturally to your waist, as if afraid you might slip away. His lips seemingly mold perfectly with yours, and you can feel the longing in the way his fingers seem to tighten its hold on your shirt.

Your lips part for a brief moment, and there's a long moment that passes before Chan leans in again, capturing your mouth a bit more fervently, a bit more passionately than before, yet nonetheless still sweet and tender. The world outside disappears, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, the soft hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the clock on the wall, and the gentle glow of the kitchen light above.

When you both pull away, there's a breathless pause.

"Are you... are you okay?" he asks cautiously. "I'm sorry, it just..."

"No, I'm... I should say sorry for... everything," You cut him off. "I shouldn't have made you worried or... pushed you away. I'm sorry."

"All I ever want is to make sure you're okay, Y/N." His hand is back at your knee again, finger tracing reassuring shapes, easing the tension out of your body.

You let out a nervous, light-hearted chuckle. "We're not even together yet and I'm already causing you so much trouble."

Chan's expression softens, and he cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Who said I wasn't yours yet?" He leans back in, teasing his lips back against yours. "I can be, if you want me to be."

another note: ending is a lil rushed im sorry oops i wrote this rlly late 😭

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziees @mirxzii @bookyeom

[justasecretflower]

~🪻 sdv men as boyfriends headcanons ~

Incl- Alex, Elliot, Shane, Sam, Sebastian, Harvey, Willy, Gunther, M. Rasmodius (Wizard.)

You look lost, visit my garden?

Alex

- He’s the type that’ll make you become apart of his workout. Lemme explain..

- he kisses you in between every push-up and crunch.

- you sit on his back during pushups

- he sees how many times he can deadlift you. (It doesn’t matter what size you are, yes, he can deadlift you.)

- “babe” “baby” “sugar”

- D1 YAPPER.

- he’ll talk your ear off about his childhood, gridball, his feelings when he first met you.

- he’s GREAT to have conversations with because they keep going on for hours.

- when he cuddles you he like..crushes you. He always ends up snoring loudly, drooling on you, and his whole muscular body right on top of you.

- touchy touchy TOUCHYYY.

- he’s the type to run up to you and spin you around then hug you saying how much he missed you. Even if you’ve only been gone for like 5 minutes

- he doesn’t cry often, thinks it makes him weak, but the one day that you got him crying in your arms, your fingers in his hair and quietly whispering that it was okay, he literally fell in love again x2 harder.

Elliot

-…🙄

-CORNYYYYYY

- you alr saw that coming though.

- writes you poems and puts them under your pillow like a tooth fairy..

- he likes holding you. Makes him feel like he’s a protector.

- romantic home dinner dates with balloons, rose petals galore, candles, fancy table cloth, ect.

- love language is words of affirmation muahaha..

- “my love” “my dearest” “my darling”

- tells you everyday how much he loves you in old Shakespearen English

- slow dances in the living room with you.

Shane

- he’s really insecure and gets jealous easily.

- it’s like. You’re talented, hard working, beautiful, how could you ever like him?

- in his eyes, he was old, washed up, no longer a fit gridball player, alcoholic, suicidal.

- he distances himself from you whenever he has these episodes.

- it’s really bad, he knows, but he doesn’t want you to know how insecure and helpless he is.

- you do find out, and you hold him.

- his safe space, his savior, is you.

- he gets better for you, for himself, and for everyone around him and he constantly tells you how much you’ve saved him.

- “doll”

- he gets a new coat and has your initial on it with a heart (Marnie sewed it)

- DAD BOD.

- movie nights. Not those aesthetic ones. The messy ones.

- the ones where you have dirty plates on the floor, pizza rolls, a bag of candies in between you and popcorn on the couch.

- it’s comfy, and it’s fun either way.

Sam

- he’s so cute.

- “babe” “baby”

- DEFINITION of golden retriever bf

- skateboards over to your house.

- he gets cuteness agression😭.

- he just randomly, aggressively, nuzzles your shoulder, or pecks a thousand kisses all over your face.

- makes songs for you and sings them to you.

- his favorite place to kiss you is your shoulder. Not even sexually he just loves kissing your shoulder.

- teaches you how to skate so that you can skate with him.

- he’d def be that cliche that’s like. Tried to flirt with you by leaning on the doorway but missed the doorway💀 (SAME WITH ALEX)

- He likes skating dates, MESSY cooking dates, and playing just dance with you.

- owns an “I love my girlfriend” t-shirt and wears it all the time. No shame

Sebastian

- kisses the tips of your ears and nose.

- very soft and gentle kisses.

- black cat …muahahhaaha

- he likes to make bracelets with you!

- matching bracelets

- also, matching pjs

- movie nights are the best with him. Matching pjs, snacks, cuddles, the rain pattering in the background.

- he’s a listener, not a talker.

- he said he can listen to you talk for days.

- of course, he mumbled that while flushed but he still said it.

- you’re his comfort person.

- he gets insecure but he doesn’t project it on you, just gets extra clingy.

Harvey

- HARVEY!!!

- he gets flushed easily if you flirt with him.

- he goes on rambles about medical stuff and it just 😩

- takes care of you while you’re sick. Carries you to a bath with salts and bubbles in it, cuts up fruits, feeds you, helps you drink water, dab a cold rag on your forehead.

- he’s super romantic, makes you dinner sometimes and makes it healthy / canon

- kisses your forehead to get you to wake up in the morning.

- breakfast in bed on your anniversary.

- he’s a family man / canon

- give him a picket fence life /srs

- he likes kissing you deeply. Just pouring his whole heart into it.

Willy

- he likes fishing with you, if you don’t know how, he’ll stand behind you and guide you.

- “darlin” “hon” “pretty thing”

- puts your initial on his favorite fishing pool.

- he likes you sitting on his lap, just because he likes to be close to you.

- date nights on the beach, or on his fishing boat watching the stars together.

- OH GOSH THE QUIET MORNINGSSSS

- he gets up “bright and early” so he just holds you, whispers in your ear with a raspy morning voice, gently kissing your shoulder “g’mornin pretty thing”

- really values quality time, even if you’re not talking just sitting near him while he’s fishing.

- definitely thought he was gonna stay single until he died before he met you, like he wasn’t even being pessimistic, just thought that he wouldn’t find anyone in that small town.

Gunther

- I feel like he would’ve messed around when he was younger but never settled down.

- so when he moved to pelican town, he never expected to meet someone that would make him wanna be all lovey dovey and stuff.

- teaches you about history. His head in your lap, hand up to your cheek gently stroking it with the pad of his thumb as he yaps on, with a deep, smooth voice.

- remembers everything about you. Every detail even if you were just mentioning it in passing.

- “hon” “my darling” “love”

- date nights are those little missing persons cases (the fake ones), discussing history under a willow tree, taking small naps intertwined I

- prolly has a kid from a hookup…sorry?!

- not much for physical affection, but he’ll indulge a little, hand holds, cheek kisses, kisses.

- his love language is acts of service 100%.

M. Rasmodius Wizard

- he kinda watches you with his magic..not creepily !!

- stops you from falling all the time.

- “my love” “dearest”

- not touchy, but shows his love for you with actions.

- gifts you flowers, makes you food, cleans your room for you.

- fine..he’ll go to the flower dance for you.

- he’ll just end up dragging you to a secluded area to do the dance tho.

- it’s kinda cute ngl.

Tags

[marsdql]

Winter Melody

Childhood best friend!Heeseung x reader

You were just taking a casual walk, when all of sudden, you spot someone you were the least expecting to see.

Genre: fluff, kissing, aloootttt of fluff, fluff hi, did I say fluff?, little suggestive at the end, oh and also fluff ;3 | wc: 2.2k

The first snow of the season had come early, blanketing the city in a soft, untouched white. You tugged your scarf tighter around your neck, pulling your hands into your coat pockets as the gentle crunch of snow beneath your boots became the only sound in the quiet park. Holiday lights strung across bare branches sparkled with a warm glow, casting a magical light over everything.

This walk was meant to clear your mind, a brief escape before winter exams and family holiday plans took over. You were so lost in thought that you almost didn’t notice the figure standing under a streetlight up ahead, leaning against a tree with hands in his pockets. Something about the way he stood looked familiar.

Then it hit you.

“Heeseung?” you called out, voice breathy from surprise.

He looked up, and a slow, easy smile spread across his face. “Y/n? I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You took a few steps forward, hardly believing your eyes. Heeseung Lee, your childhood friend who’d moved away years ago, was standing right in front of you. He looked older, his face sharper, but his smile held the same warmth you remembered.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, still half-convinced this was some winter dream.

“Visiting for the holidays,” he said, shrugging. “My parents missed the quiet life here. And, I guess I missed it too.”

You both laughed, an unspoken nostalgia in the air. There had been so many moments like this when you were younger, wandering the neighborhood together or building snowmen in your backyards. It felt surreal to see him here again, like you’d stepped back in time.

After a beat of silence, Heeseung spoke. “Hey, how about some hot chocolate? There’s a café just down the street. Let’s catch up.”

You agreed, and soon you were sitting across from each other in a cozy corner of a small café. The two of you fell into easy conversation, sharing stories about high school, family, and all the things you hadn’t told each other since he’d moved away. Heeseung told you about his life in the city—his school, new friends, and everything he’d missed about this place.

Hours slipped by as you talked. The café’s warmth, the comforting hum of soft music, and the flickering candle on the table made everything feel just right. You laughed and reminisced, falling back into that old familiarity, yet something felt different now, too. There was a tension between you, something you couldn’t quite name.

He looked at you, his gaze lingering. “You know, I thought about calling you so many times, but…I didn’t want to be just a voice from the past.”

You looked down, heart racing. “I thought about you too, Heeseung. I guess I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

He chuckled softly. “How could I forget? You were always there for me.”

The days flew by, and meeting Heeseung became part of your routine. You explored the town’s winter markets, tried seasonal treats, and found yourselves wandering through snowy paths and taking in the holiday lights together. Each moment felt like a gift, like you were getting to know each other all over again.

One afternoon, you decided to go ice skating at an outdoor rink. Heeseung laughed as you stumbled onto the ice, gripping the railing tightly. He skated over to you, holding out his hand with a playful smile.

“Need some help?”

You nodded, feeling your face heat up as you took his hand. He guided you around the rink, his laughter filling the air whenever you wobbled. Eventually, you managed to skate without holding on, the both of you gliding side by side, snowflakes catching in his dark hair. You stole a glance at him, heart fluttering. He seemed so at ease, so genuinely happy.

As the sky turned a soft pink with sunset, you both left the rink and wandered back to the park. Heeseung stopped, looking up at the holiday lights hanging from the trees.

“This place really hasn’t changed much,” he said, his voice soft.

“Neither have you,” you replied, feeling a mix of nostalgia and something more. “It’s like you’re the same Heeseung, but…also not. In a good way.”

He looked at you, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged. “I’m glad we met again, Y/N. I didn’t realize how much I missed this.”

He took a small step closer, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him despite the cold. You both lingered there, inches apart, your breath visible in the night air. Just when you thought he might say something more, he smiled softly, stepping back.

“I should get you home. It’s getting late.”

In the days that followed, you both grew closer. Heeseung became a comforting presence in your life, someone who understood you in a way that felt deeper than before. But the feeling growing in your chest, a warmth that stirred every time he looked at you, made you wonder if this friendship had changed.

One night, you couldn’t keep it to yourself any longer. You invited Heeseung to the park and met him near the same streetlight where you’d first run into each other. Snow fell gently around you, blanketing the world in a peaceful quiet.

Heeseung walked up, his breath fogging the air. “You sounded serious on the phone. Is everything okay?”

You nodded, gathering your courage. “I just… I wanted to tell you something.”

He looked at you expectantly, his dark eyes full of warmth.

“These last few weeks have been amazing,” you began, your voice soft. “I didn’t realize how much I missed you. And I thought maybe…” You took a shaky breath. “Maybe this isn’t just friendship for me anymore.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, without a word, Heeseung took a step forward, closing the distance between you. He reached out, his hands gently framing your face, his gaze searching yours.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he whispered.

And before you could respond, his lips met yours. It was a gentle, warm kiss, one that felt like the answer to every question you hadn’t dared to ask. Snowflakes fell around you, the world fading into a quiet, beautiful blur as you melted into his embrace.

When you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile on his face.

“I came back for the holidays, but…I think I might stay a little longer,” he said, his voice full of promise.

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in a long time. “I’d like that.”

As you stood there together, snow drifting around you and holiday lights twinkling in the background, you knew this was only the beginning.

The days after that kiss were a blur of laughter, stolen glances, and small moments that felt bigger than they were. The holidays were in full swing, and with every shared coffee, every walk under the twinkling lights, you found yourself falling deeper into Heeseung’s presence.

One evening, the two of you found yourselves sitting by a window at a café, the soft glow of the lights outside casting shadows over the table. You had just finished a light dinner, but neither of you seemed in a hurry to leave. The snow continued to fall gently outside, the world muffled in white silence.

You took a sip of your hot chocolate, your fingers lingering on the rim of the cup. Your eyes met Heeseung’s across the table, his gaze warm, unwavering. There was something in his eyes, something more than the playful teasing that had marked your earlier conversations.

He smiled, but there was a softness to it now, an intimacy that hung between the two of you, unspoken but understood.

“I’m really glad we found each other again,” Heeseung said, his voice low and steady. “I didn’t realize how much I missed having you in my life until we started talking again.”

You placed your cup down, suddenly feeling the gravity of his words. The world outside seemed to pause as you sat in that moment, your heart racing as you stared back at him. There was a connection here, something undeniable that you didn’t want to ignore anymore.

“I’ve missed you too,” you said, your voice a little softer than you intended.

The silence that followed was comfortable, full of quiet understanding. Heeseung leaned forward slightly, his hand reaching across the table to rest near yours. You didn’t pull away.

The warmth of his hand so close to yours sent a spark of electricity through your chest. The air between you felt charged, and for a moment, it felt as though everything else had disappeared. Your pulse quickened as you instinctively moved your hand closer to his.

Heeseung gently brushed his fingers against yours, the light touch enough to send a flutter through your stomach. He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t want to rush anything,” he said, his lips close to your ear, “but I want to make sure you know how much I care about you.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. His words were everything you’d been hoping for, yet still felt surreal, like something out of a dream.

Slowly, you turned your hand over, offering it to him. Heeseung’s fingers entwined with yours, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way it felt so right.

He moved closer, his face just inches from yours now. His breath was warm against your skin, and his gaze flickered down to your lips. You could feel the tension building, the sweet anticipation that hung in the air.

“You’re everything I’ve been looking for,” he murmured.

Before you could respond, he closed the small gap between you, his lips pressing gently against yours. It was soft at first, tender, almost like he was testing the waters, unsure but hopeful. And when you kissed him back, it was like everything clicked into place. It was a kiss filled with all the unspoken words, the confessions you’d both been holding onto for far too long.

His hand moved to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss just slightly, his lips moving with yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The world outside the café ceased to exist. All that mattered was the closeness, the warmth between you, the way his lips felt against yours, the way your heart fluttered at each touch.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and smiling, Heeseung rested his forehead against yours. The soft, quiet sound of his laughter filled the space between you.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he admitted, his voice a bit breathless, his hands still holding yours.

“I think I have an idea,” you teased, a smile playing on your lips.

“I’m serious,” Heeseung continued, his voice quieter now. “I’ve wanted this for so long, but I didn’t want to rush it. I didn’t want to mess things up with you.”

You shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. “You could never mess things up with me, Heeseung.”

There was a long, peaceful silence between you, the two of you simply holding hands across the table, the warmth of each other’s touch enough to silence the rest of the world.

Heeseung’s thumb traced small, comforting circles on the back of your hand, and his eyes softened as he looked at you.

“Whatever happens,” he said quietly, “I’m glad it’s you.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Me too.”

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like everything was falling into place. The season of change, of rediscovery, had brought you both together—and nothing else seemed more perfect than this moment, with him by your side.

Okkehyyyh ANYWAYYYYSSSS THAYS ALL I rushed this because I was bored in tech class… :$

I’m debating wether to make this a series or not

💌 Reblogs and comments are appreciated! 💌

[fourmoony]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐓: Chapter Three.

After breaking your ankle in the wake of a break up, you're determined to get through your senior year without any interference from James Potter. That is, until his loyalty to loose cannon Sirius Black lands him straight in your lap. Or, rather, your kiddie-skate group.

CW: language, abandonment, falling, mentions of broken bone and reconstructive metal work, cheating.

ITN Masterlist

You –

The ice is smooth, freshly pressed by the Zamboni. You should be nervous. Usually, you’d be nervous. But you’re tired. Exhausted, actually. If Pince knew how much you want to turn boot and skate off the other side of the ice, she’d probably have an aneurism. This is it: your chance to become a National Champion. The gateway to worlds, to the Olympics. And all you can think about is the gaping hole in your chest, the knot your stomach has wound its way into. The sound of James’ truck door slamming an echo in the back of your head.

The crowd is silent, and your programme music starts. Four minutes. You only need to make it four minutes. Four minutes until you can walk away and spend the summer wallowing. Four minutes that hang over you like a heavy weight.

You know this routine like the back of your hand. You’ve practiced it so much you could do it in your sleep. Spins, jumps, twists. Every one of them brings a different memory. James picking you up off of your ass, frustrated and angry, sending you back to try again with encouraging words and an even more encouraging kiss. He’d cheer when you landed and buy you chocolate cake on the way home.

The music is loud and overwhelming. It grates on your skin. Images of James, of your happiest moments, of everything you lost – they spin and jump along with you. Heavy as the rain that soaked you on the twenty-minute walk back to your apartment that night. It hurts too much, burns too hot.

Pince likes to say that careers can end in a split second. You know well that they can. All it takes is a bad jump, a distraction. You’ve seen it happen. Countless young athletes losing their careers over one bad move. One fracture, one broken bone, one chip on the ice. One second and it’s all gone.

One second and you’re on the ice.

One second and the resounding crack of bone slices through the crowd.

One second and the lights have gone up.

One second and your entire life leading up to this moment flashes before your eyes.

One second and the world stops.

One second before the shattered sob leaves your throat and it all goes black.

Your ankle clicks and crunches when you roll it. It’s uncomfortable, but not sore – and as much as you hate to admit it, Pomfrey is right; that’s progress. Your toe touches the ground, your calf burns, your ankle hits a breaking point. With a wince, you straighten it, repeat the motion. The stretch room off the back of the rink is empty this early in the morning. The hockey team doesn’t come in for practice for another two hours, the ice is fresh, and as soon as the feeling comes back to the ball of your ankle, you’re going to make use of the free time.

With a breath, you pull your leg up, run the edge of your nail along the skin of your scar. There’s no feeling against the skin, there. It comes and goes, the numbness. Your doctor’s say it’s a side effect of the surgery, the damage to the nerve endings, the pins, the screws. Your finger trails a pattern up your leg, back down, over the ragged ridges of the marred skin. It’s starting to feel normal, the ways you need to live your life. Stretches every day, physical rehabilitation, being barely able to wear heels, mobility, and flexibility issues. Lily likes to joke that you’re a walking-talking-live version of the Met Office. The change in weather is, admittedly, easier to assume with the metal work in your ankle.

It’s been hard – rehabilitating. It’s been sore and scary, and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight. Remus talks, often, about the limitations that his condition puts on his career. It’s nice, in a twisted sort of way, to have someone who knows your pain. In comparison, your pain is a nick on Remus’ radar. His pain is chronic, his bones brittle and damaged. His career will be short lived – but, you know without a doubt that his time in the NHL will be legendary, regardless.

The feeling comes back slowly, to the slow rhythm of your finger tracing up and down. You stand, after a while, and reach for your skate bag. You don’t bother with shoes, socked feet padding against the rubber flooring all the way down to the team box. To your surprise, the ice is populated when you get to the plastic door into the benched area. Sirius and Remus are skating laps around the ice, passing a puck back and forth. They don’t have their kit on, just joggers and their team sweatshirts. James is in the same attire, socked feet kicked up on the bottle shelf beneath the boards. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, hood over his hair. Stray, dark strands of chocolate brown curling out the sides. He looks tired. Exhausted, even.

His eyes follow Remus and Sirius around the rink, ever the dutiful, attentive captain. You know there’s millions of play ideas running through his head, critiques on players that aren’t even in James’ eyesight. It’s astounding, though you hate to admit it, how good of a leader James is.

“You’re all here early.” You say, setting your skate bag beside James on the metal bench.

Your ex startles, eyes wide behind his glasses when he looks over. It’s odd, to think over the Summer he’s somehow forgotten to remember your schedule. He used to know it off by heart. You skate every Saturday morning before the hockey team starts their practice. Realisation crosses his features, like the ghost of a past life passing through his eyes. “Shit, I’ll pull them off. Sorry.” James apologises, pulling his feet from the shelf and sitting forward like he’s getting ready to call Sirius and Remus in.

“No, it’s fine. I’m cool as long as they are.” You take a seat, unzipping your skate bag.

James nods, swallows. The silence is thick, almost suffocating. There’s no flirty conversation, no teasing, no kind words of encouragement. Things have changed. As much as James promised they wouldn’t – they have. It has a lot to do with how things ended, you suppose. As long as you were together, you’d always thought it’d be your careers, the distance, that split you up. Your ex-boyfriend places his feet on the rubber mats below the bench, bounces his legs. “They’ll stay out of your way, just watch out for stray pucks.”

“Got it. You okay?” You ask as you sit down to tie your skates. “You look exhausted.”

James’ hazel eyes follow Sirius and Remus around the rink. You don’t think they’ve noticed your presence, yet. Content in their own world. “Yeah. All good.”

It’s a lie. You both know it. But you’re not the person James is going to talk to about that, anymore. You don’t have a response for him, so you take your skate guards off and leave him to stew in the box. The air is cold against your face, a pleasant feeling. Sirius and Remus have scratched the ice a little with their skates and sticks, but it’ll be fine. They hear your blades scratching the closer you get, turn to you as you approach.

“Hey, I just want to run my routine a couple times before tomorrow. I’ll try stay out of your way.” You tell them.

Sirius’ eyes flick to James almost protectively, like he’s checking his captain, his best friend, is aware of your presence. Since you and James broke up, you haven’t heard much from Sirius. It’s not that he’s picking sides – though, you wouldn’t blame him for picking James. What they have is unique. They’re bonded. But it hurts a little. Stings, because there was a time where Sirius was one of your best friends. You’d all been close. It feels now, like Lily and Remus are the only ones who make an effort.

“You have practice tonight, your ankle going to be okay?” Remus asks, pushing the puck back and forth absentmindedly.

“How’s your knee?” You deflect.

Remus bites back a grin and scoffs good naturedly, but Sirius’ eyes fly down to Remus’ knee as though he’ll be able to see through layers of clothes and skin, right down to the muscle. He looks almost panicked. Then, he looks back up, icy blues lit with a fire you’ve never been on the receiving end of. “He’s fine.”

“Relax, Sirius. I know he is.” Your eyes burn, a little, “I’ll try stay out of your way.”

Remus mutters something to Sirius – likely chastising him. You’re on the other side of the rink, pretending not to care, so you don’t hear it.

They stay out of your way for the majority of your ice time. Only one stray puck gets in your way, and James calls out in a panic when you almost land on it. Instead, you miss a jump and shout a shaky thanks as you clamber back to your feet on the ice. He stays firmly in the box – making you wonder why he even bothered to come to the ice this morning, at all. Not that it’s any of your business. Remus and Sirius run drills on one half of the ice whilst you weave in and around them. It’s not until you’re on your last run through that your foot goes numb. It’s quick, instant. You land on your ankle, there’s no feeling there, your leg buckles.

You hit the ice with a nasty amount of noise. Skates scraping and clashing, a whoosh of pained air. Your hip hurts, a searing pain that you already know will need to be iced. It takes a minute to gather your surroundings, turning until you’re sitting up. “Jesus,” You mutter, angry. It feels like this will never end – the numbness, the frustration, falling. It’s been months of your ankle going numb mid practice. Months of falling on your ass. “Fuck!”

Remus is at your side in an instant, Sirius close behind him. “Okay, up. Up, C’mon.”

You know you can’t get up, but you refuse to admit why. No one knows. Not even Pomfrey, not even Pince. You can’t run the risk of needing a surgery to fix the nerve endings. Can’t risk having to sit this season out. “Remus, give me a minute.”

“No, the longer you sit there, the less likely you’re going to go again. Up. Now.” Your best friend holds his hand out.

He’s just trying to help. But there’s anger simmering in your chest. Hot and raw and you want to lash out. For the first time, you think you understand why Remus is the way he is. So, you look at him, really, truly look at him and you think he understands. James crouches in front of you, eyes brimming with concern. You hate how much relief the sight of him brings you. Remus turns and drags Sirius off. They go back to their own corner of the ice. Your eyes well with tears.

“What’s goin’ on?” James asks.

His hands rest on the skate covering your bad ankle. You can’t feel them. The thought panics you because what if? What if one day, the feeling never comes back and it’s too late? James notices the fear in your eyes, his finger reaches up to press into your calf and you flinch. A look of understanding passes across his features, brows scrunching and dipping in the middle. “No one knows?”

“No one can know.”

James looks like he disagrees, but he nods. “I’ll bare your weight to get you up. Feet flat or Remus will notice, but weight bare on your good ankle.”

He doesn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t care. It’s not his role, anymore. But you nod, regardless. Even if the idea of him helping you lights a furious rage inside of you because how dare he act like he gives a shit now? You need to get off the ice, though. So you give him both of your hands, left blade flat on the ice as he pulls you up. Your hip screams at you, but you ignore it in favour of James’ socked feet. He’s run out onto the ice without shoes on.

“You’re going to get frost-bite.” You murmur, eyes flicking up to find his already on you.

He looks sad. Nostalgic, maybe. “Worth it.”

Your heart cracks open in your chest as you let James lead you off of the ice, all the while praying he doesn’t go full James and snitch on you to Pince, thinking he’s doing you some sort of favour. You have it under control. You’re dealing with it.

Maybe just not as well as you’d originally thought.

Regulus –

Barty is lying, rather annoyingly, half on Regulus’ legs and half on the bed. But he won’t ask Barty to move. As much as a distraction he’s made himself, Regulus finds he quite enjoys the idea that Barty wants to be this close to him. The sketch book on his lap stares up at him tauntingly. There’s half-finished scribbles of planets and stars; none of which Regulus has the energy to perfect. He does, however, have a strong notion to draw the way Barty’s body is curling around his legs. Regulus isn’t sure how to feel about that, so he ignores it; because if he thinks too much about it, he’ll start to push Barty away.

He’s aware that this isn’t going to last. Just like he’s aware that after his thesis paper is published, he’ll be returning to Grimmauld Place. Taking over Black Industries is probably at the bottom of the list of things Regulus wants to do with his life. But the thing about Barty Crouch is that he’s persuasive. He’s irresistible, as Regulus has come to realise. It’s more than just his regal looking cheek bones and sinful smile, his toned body, and tattoos that make Regulus more inspired to draw than he ever has; if only to one day see one of his drawings on Barty’s pale skin – it’s also his carefree attitude, his rebellious nature, and the big, bold, ‘fuck you’ middle finger he holds up to the world that makes Regulus want to get wrapped up in him and never get free.

He wishes he could keep Barty, but he can’t. So, he won’t draw him. For now, he’ll enjoy his rebellious streak brought about by the sarcastic, smart mouth, piece of shit guy he met in the art supply store in the spring and worry about the calendar counting down his return to Grimmauld place later.

Admitting defeat, Regulus places his sketchbook and pencil on his bedside table. Barty stirs at the movement, head straining to look at Regulus with a devious grin. He threads his fingers through the soft strands of Barty’s inky black hair and smiles softly. It’s obvious his smile isn’t believable, because Barty huffs, pushes himself up until he’s straddling Regulus’ hips. He’s not in the mood for whatever Barty is about to initiate, but Barty seems to notice that because his eyes soften. “What’s on your mind?”

Regulus studies Barty. He really is very beautiful. He’d be easy to draw. The itch is there. But he can’t. So, he won’t. “I was thinking that I can’t focus when you’re lounging over me like a stray cat.” It’s obvious in his voice that it’s a lie. But the good thing about Barty is that he doesn’t push Regulus to talk when he clearly doesn’t want to.

“We both know that you’re the cat, in this relationship, Regulus. You’re all claws and uptight attitude.” The boy on top of Regulus quips, a smile that tells Regulus he’s rather pleased with himself.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not all claws.” Because Regulus knows he’s uptight.

Barty grins. It’s charming and knowing, practically dripping with sin. He reaches for the neckline of his t-shirt; acts like he’s going to pull it upward. “Should we look at my back?”

Regulus holds the hem around Barty’s waist and tugs, scowling. “No, let’s not.”

Barty laughs, collapsing on top of Regulus. He enjoys the weight, presses his fingers into his shoulder blades because he knows he likes rough touches. Gentle touches make him jumpy. He listens to Barty laugh for a while, enjoys the sound of it vibrating against the skin of his neck. He stares at the ceiling and wonders if he should tell Barty that one of the reasons he’s struggling to draw is probably because his estranged brother has cropped his ugly head up.

Barty is good with advice. Mainly because the majority of his advice is to get high and ignore all of your problems. His mother would pitch a fit if she knew all the shit Regulus was getting up to, these days. She calls once a week, always short and curt. It’s more of a call to make sure Regulus is behaving, than to check in on how he’s actually doing. He’s not sure what he’s going to tell her when she asks who his student assistant ended up being. If she knew, she’d likely pull him out of university all together and ban him from leaving the house ever again. Not that he had any choice in who it was.

“Sirius is my student assistant.” He breathes out, the admittance bringing a hollow ache to his chest.

He doesn’t talk much about Sirius. Mainly because it hurts, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that as much as he tried, nothing was ever good enough for his older brother. Not enough to make him stay. And Regulus knows that expecting Sirius to stay was unfair – maybe it’s more to do with the idea that he left him there. Scared, alone. Baring the crown that Sirius found too heavy. Barty lifts his head until his eyes meet Regulus’. Reading, trying to gage how he should treat this. He’s not sure if he wants Barty to get him high and help him say fuck you to his problems, or if he wants him to offer to kick the shit out of Sirius.

“Okay. Go on.” Barty urges, fingers tracing Regulus’ collar bones.

The feeling grounds him as he huffs and closes his eyes. Thinking. Trying to sort through his emotions because, really, he’s not sure how he feels about it.

“He said I’m just like our father. I was a dick to him.”

Barty smiles sadly. “You were surprised to see him.”

“I knew I’d see him, eventually. I mean, I’ve done a good job of avoiding him. But I thought, maybe naively, when I came to Hogwarts that maybe there’d be a chance he’d want to explain. But he didn’t. He just looked at me with pure hatred and stormed off into the stacks.” It sounds childish, the way Regulus’ voice takes on a petulant whine.

But Barty nods, like he understands. He doesn’t. He doesn’t have siblings, but he does have an uncomfortable family situation. So, he’s sympathetic, at least. “Maybe he’s scared to apologise because he thinks you won’t hear him.” Barty offers.

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just an asshole.”

The other boy scoffs amusedly, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You think he’d want me to be a part of his life? If I could forgive him.” Regulus asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

Barty presses his lips to Regulus’. It’s soft, caring. Rare, for them. “I dunno Sirius. I’ve never met him. But I do know that anyone who doesn’t want a part of you in their life is a fucking idiot. And you don’t need another idiot in your life. You already have me.”

He likes that answer, so he kisses Barty until they’re both a mess of tangled limbs and swollen lips. Until it turns out that there’s other ways to forget his problems. And all of them suddenly have a lot to do with Barty Crouch.

James –

He’s pacing. He knows he’s pacing, and he knows that his footsteps are clunking against the wooden floorboards, and that Remus will likely lose his mind if he continues. But James can’t stop. It’s how he thinks, how he processes. Years of thinking on his feet, of having to have a mind as sharp as a tack, having to move whilst processing a hundred different outcomes. The only outcome he can think of right now is you hating him even more than you already do when he inevitably goes to Pince and tells her that your ankle isn’t properly healed.

He did the necessary reading to conclude that prolonged numbness is definitely not a normal side effect of having a reconstructive surgery. A temporary side effect, yes. But it’s been months since your surgery. That’s not a good sign, according to a very reliable source (if you count Reddit as a reliable source; James isn’t sure if he does). And he knows he’s catastrophising. He’s prone to it. But he’s worried. And wouldn’t he rather you hate him that little bit more and eventually be able to get back on the ice next year (after another surgery, Reddit had confirmed) than risk it all now and never skate again? James doesn’t feel qualified to make that decision. He hasn’t been a captain long, and even then, it’s not like he’s in charge of people’s livelihoods. He wouldn’t have taken the job if that was the case.

James knows how much Nationals means for you – it’s the gateway to the World Championships, to the Olympics. He cost you that last year, and he hates himself for it. Is he really willing to do that to you again? He’s not sure. So, he paces. He loses count of how many times he picks up his phone and almost hits the green call button next to your name. He’s not even sure you’d answer, even less sure of what he’d say to you if, by some miracle, you answered. ‘I think you should miss out on Nationals again, this year, have another risky surgery and hope for the best. Okay, bye!’ doesn’t exactly seem like a good plan to him.

Remus is the embodiment of exhaustion when he pushes James’ bedroom door open and leans against the frame like a parent ready to chastise their hyper-active child. James cringes. Remus needs all the rest he can get. Between hospital appointments, hockey, and his classes, he never stops. “Sorry. I’ll try be quieter.” His voice comes out rushed and anxious, an alarm bell sounding off to alert Remus of his worry.

The taller boy tilts his head and studies James. Sometimes, he loves how perceptive Remus can be. It helps offence, and it generally means that he’s a better friend. But now, he shifts awkwardly because for the second time in the space of a year, he’s keeping a secret from his best friend. He hates lying to Remus. But your words play on a loop in his head. No one can know. You’d been so scared. Terrified, even, at the idea of everything you’ve worked for over the summer being ripped away from you. Call James selfish, but he doesn’t particularly want to be the one to do it. Even though he knows he should because it will be better in the long run.

“Or” Remus suggests, “You could stop pacing and tell me what’s going on with Y/N.”

James opens his mouth. Subsequently closes it because he doesn’t know what to say. He won’t betray your trust. He hates lying to Remus. But he knows, ultimately, if he really doesn’t want to talk about it, his best friend won’t push him.

He feels himself shrug, his best attempt at feigning nonchalance. “Don’t know what you mean.”

Remus’ honey eyes read like a book. He knows James is lying, scrutinising him whilst simultaneously trying to figure out why he’s lying for you. As far as Remus knows he’s on bad terms with you. And technically, that’s true. But James would give anything to fix that. He just hasn’t figured out how, yet.

“You know,” Remus pushes off the door frame, ever the one for imparting wisdom in the most dramatic of ways and pushes his hands into his pockets. “If I didn’t know well enough, I’d say you’re trying to decide her future for her. I can tell you right now, that won’t end well. Whatever it is she’s hiding, I’ve been there. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but one she has to do on her own.

“Don’t make her hate you any more than she does now, James. I’m still rooting for you.”

“You know?” James asks, throat dry.

“About the numbness or you cheating on her?” Remus asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he leaves James standing, alone, in the middle of his room with a sinking feeling that he’s let everyone down.

He’s not sure how Remus knows. Maybe you told him even though you’d told James you weren’t going to tell anyone.

An amicable breakup, you’d suggested. It’ll save us both the embarrassment.

He hates himself. Hates himself for all of the things he wishes he’d sat you down and forced you to listen to over the summer. Hates that he didn’t fight for you more. There’s so much you don’t know. So much you don’t want to hear. So much James wishes he’d done differently. Starting with how he wishes he’d run out onto the ice, consequences be damned, the minute he saw you land on your ankle, the minute he heard you sobbing in pain. He wishes he hadn’t walked away, feeling sorry for himself that he’d ripped Nationals from you. That, despite how hard he’d tried, he’d still failed you.

And he hates even more that he even considered doing it for a second time.

James sits on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, and he decides there and then that he’s not going to tell Pince. But he is, even if you fight him every step of the way, going to find a way to fix this for you. You’ll have a chance at Nationals if it’s the last thing James does.

And it starts with a call to Euphemia Potter.

[rosemariiaa]

~ A Frosted Moment ~

pairing- Paige x Azzi

a/n: i’ve gotten so many ice skating reqs i wanted to do a fluffy little ice skating date! this is literally so heart warming though, also thanks to my sweet Ke for encouraging me to post 💌

warning: pure cuteness, fluff

Enjoy!!!

The Minnesota air was crisp as Paige and Azzi stepped out of the car, the snow crunching beneath their boots. Paige’s hometown was a winter wonderland, the streets lined with snow-covered houses and twinkling lights. Drew had already greeted the girls with a warm and very tight hug as Paige would say, and after a quick chat about school and Drew’s basketball , he disappeared into the house with their dad waving goodbye to the girls, leaving Paige and Azzi to finally go to the car and go on their date.

In the quiet of the car ride, Azzi couldn’t help but steal glances at Paige. The way Paige’s hands gripped the steering wheel and the occasional glimmer of excitement in her eyes were endearing. Paige had a way of being completely in the moment, and Azzi admired her for it.

“Every second counts, I don’t wanna talk to you anymore, and / All these little games / You can call me by the name I gave you”

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, filled with the unspoken bond they shared. Azzi’s thoughts wandered as Paige navigated the snowy roads, her admiration for Paige growing with every mile.

“I can’t read you, but if you want, the pleasures all mine”

When they arrived at the rink, Paige fidgeted with her scarf, clearly nervous. Azzi, on the other hand, was practically bouncing with excitement. She led the way, her breath visible in the cold air as she approached the entrance.

Azzi skated effortlessly onto the ice, her movements graceful and confident. Paige hesitated, the skates feeling awkward on her feet. Azzi skated back, her smile playful and encouraging.

“Come on, P, it’s not that hard. Just follow my lead,” Azzi called out, her soft voice warm and inviting. Paige rolled her eyes, trying to hide her nervousness. “Easy for you to say. You’re practically gliding.”

“Can you see me? I’m waiting for the right time”

Azzi’s laughter was soothing as she reached out to help Paige. Their hands touched, and Paige’s heart skipped a beat. The contact was warm, despite the cold around them.

Azzi guided Paige onto the ice, their hands still linked. Paige stumbled, but Azzi was there to catch her, their faces inches apart. The closeness was intoxicating, making Paige’s pulse quicken.

“I don’t wanna be forward, I don’t wanna cut corners / Savor this with everything I have inside of me”

Azzi’s teasing continued as Paige wobbled, trying to find her balance. “Careful, or I might have to catch you again,” Azzi said with a mischievous grin.

Paige laughed, her cheeks flushing with both the cold and her embarrassment. “Oh, ha ha. Very funny.”

Their laughter mingled with the crisp winter air, creating a moment that felt both playful and intimate. As they skated in small circles, their closeness was undeniable.

After a while, they took a break on the benches by the rink, the snow gently falling around them. Paige and Azzi sat close, the silence between them now filled with a comfortable intimacy.

Azzi glanced at Paige, her eyes soft. “You know, I didn’t think I’d miss this kind of stuff. But being here with you—it’s nice.”

Paige looked at Azzi, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, it is. I’ve missed moments like these especially with school and basketball. It feels… just right.”

“Cases under the bed / Spill it open, let it rush to my head”

The snow continued to fall, adding a magical touch to their evening. Paige reached out and gently took Azzi’s hand, holding it in the cold. Azzi’s heart fluttered at the touch, her eyes meeting Paige’s with a mixture of affection and uncertainty.

“I’m glad we did this,” Paige said softly. “It’s… perfect. You’re perfect Az.”

Azzi smiled, her heart swelling with the sincerity of the moment. “Didn’t know you were such the charmer.” Azzi softly giggled teasing Paige. “ But me too. It’s been a while since I felt this… content.” Paige smiled at that admiring Azzi’s deep dimples appear.

As they stood up to leave, Paige paused, her gaze lingering on Azzi. She reached out, gently stopping Azzi from getting into the car.

“Know you’d make fun of me / Know you’d make fun of me”

Paige’s crystal blue eyes met Azzi’s with a serious, yet tender look. “Before we head back, I just… I need to do this.”

Without waiting for a response, Paige leaned in and placed a soft, lingering kiss on Azzi’s lips. Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut as she held Paige’s face, her fingers gently caressing her cheeks. Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi’s waist, pulling her closer, their bodies melding together in a perfect, sweet embrace.

The kiss was gentle, full of the warmth and affection that had built up between them. It was a moment of pure connection, a promise wrapped in the softness of winter.

When they finally parted, both of them were smiling, their breaths mingling in the cold air. Paige rested her forehead against Azzi’s, their closeness a silent affirmation of their feelings.

“Let’s go,” Paige whispered, taking Azzi’s hand as she opened the passenger side of the car for her, the night feeling even more magical after their shared moment.

———-

they are tewwww cute! ok bye!!

[damn-stark]

Chapter 18 A little high, a little low

Chapter 18 of Moonlight

A/N- Cregan would’ve danced with you

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy, hunting, ANGST!!, FLUFF!!, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode & or Chapters- 438-440 (kinda hopping around pages in the book for this chapter)

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*2 YEARS AGO. WINTERFELL*

Deep breath. Steady aim, and shoot!

The arrow shot from your bow whizzes between trees, and skids under hanging greenery that threatens to knock the wooden arrow down, but the speed carries the arrow toward a dark brown stag unaware of the threat hurling his way as it feeds on twigs on the ground.

Yet just as the arrow comes close to piercing the dark eye, the stag moves his head and the arrow instead crashes on a trunk behind it, causing the stag to go stiff and become wary of your looming threat with such an impressive survival instinct that he seems to find you hidden amongst the drooping branches.

His brown eye caught under the beams of sunlight reflects your menacing figure, study the way puffs of your breath are drawn in the chilly air, the way your eye closes before a soft glimmering sunbeam catches the color of your eye, and sends him running off for its life when he realizes you're after him.

“Damn it!” You hiss and quickly throw the bow around you before you run off after the stag in hopes you will win the bigger trophy and beat Lady Arra, and Cregan in your makeshift hunting game.

They do have the advantage of knowing the woods like the back of their hand, but thanks to Cregan bringing you to teach you how to hunt or escape where no one would see you, you do have some knowledge, but not enough compared to their years of experience. The only advantage you have is the fact that you found the stag first and that you have him in your sights.

No matter how tactical the stag is by prancing through the wild woods and avoiding obstacles with his sharp eyes, you are not far behind, and speed is not a problem; you’re fast because of the blood pumping through your veins and unsettling your heart. The snow on the ground does make things harder for your human vulnerability, but you try hard to run over the marked trail the stag is leaving behind while also shoving aside long and drooping branches. You barely miss large rocks the stag has no problem hopping over, but you are never far behind.

Actually, there comes a point where you get near the stag, causing you to be hit with a spark of courage that makes you yank the bow off your body and pull an arrow out of the satchel. When you sloppily align the arrow you slide down on your feet and let the arrow fly toward the stag.

Nevertheless, you miss your target and the stag decides to make a sharp turn.

“Great,” you grumble and return to your given height before you continue your hurried chase. When it comes to making the sharp turn you almost run into a large fallen-over trunk, but luckily your mind manages to work out a quick plan and makes you hop over the large trunk, letting you spot a frozen lake in the distance once your feet hit the ground.

Is that where the stag went? You look at the ground and see tracks directing down toward the frozen lake.

It could use the lake to its advantage, you won’t run over the ice without skates, but you can’t imagine he’d have an easy time either.

Still, you proceed to slow down in your pace and stalk after the stag with sharp eyes, and open ears to be wary of any sound that could lead you toward the stag you now lost sight of. You also slowly pull out another arrow in case you find it resting in one place.

However, in your silence where your footsteps quietly crunch through soft snow, a splash breaks through the air before a sharp cry from the stag follows suit, setting you after it at a much faster pace than the one you used before as if the helpless cry of your trophy broke away any sort of hostility you held for it.

And once you reach the edge of the small hill you see why the stag’s cries sound so broken and desperate, he fell through the ice and is barely managing to keep afloat with the large piece of ice pushing him down to the depths of the icy water.

Now you could shoot an arrow from here to put it out of its misery and let the lake claim the trophy for itself, however, his cries hit your heart and a small twinge spreads to full-on concern for its life.

“Cregan!” You call out, knowing he’ll hear your call in the silence of the forest and come in search of you thinking you're in peril, or you want to gloat. Either or, he won’t hesitate coming after you, nor will Arra hesitate to let your call bring her towards the lake, so with that in mind you slide down the hill and land on the bank.

The stag hears the sound of your feet hitting the earth and his eyes dart your way, but unlike the fear it felt before, now he finds solace in your presence and fills with desperation to be helped. And luckily, it didn’t fall too far into the lake so he’s easy to reach, but you can’t lift the piece of ice off him alone. You have to wait, and while you do you leave your bow and satchel on the ground to lose additional weight that could weigh you down when you walk on the ice.

Meanwhile, the stag keeps crying out whilst never losing sight of you as if calling out to you specifically.

“Just hold on buddy,” you whisper and wait and wait until finally Cregan appears out of the line of the forest.

“What?” He asks between heavy breaths. “You found it!”

You don’t match his enthusiasm and as you get closer to each other he finally sees the dullness in your eyes made by your own desperation.

“We have to help it,” you say and don’t actually surprise him, but his eyebrows still knit together as his eyes dart between the stag and you. “Come on, we can't let it drown.”

“The ice is thin,” he points out and stares at the helpless stag. “That’s why it fell, and we could fall in the same situation.”

You snap your gaze to the stag and when you do you lock eyes and that call for help only heightens, aching your heart that much further.

“But,” you argue and return your gaze to grab his arm and plead softer, knowing he has a hard time resisting you. “It could be quick, we just lift the piece of ice and let it crawl out.”

Cregan’s grey eyes fall on you with a heavy look, making your stomach knot.

“Darling,” he sighs.

“Cregan,” you mock him and press your pleading look that makes him draw out a deep breath. “We’re the reason it fell in the lake because we were after it, and now that his life is in danger why should we let the lake take him?”

Cregan parts his gaze from you and steals a glance at the drowning stag before he lifts his hands to pull off his sheath and then unclip his cloak, making you flash him a tender smile.

“Tread slowly,” he warns you. “And if the ice cracks under our feet we’re turning back and letting the lake swallow it up.”

You nod eagerly and then face the lake, before you can take a step on it though, Arra finally walks out of the forest and joins you.

“Look at that, you found it!” She mirrors Cregan’s initial excitement, and like him when she takes a closer look she’s left confused. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going to help it,” you answer for Cregan and take your first step on the frozen lake. “Stay there, you’re with child, I don’t want to put you and the babe at risk.”

Arra scoffs. “Neither of you should put your lives at risk either. Stags getting caught in a frozen lake happens.”

You ignore her and slowly make your way toward the stag along with Cregan. Arra tries to follow regardless of her previous arguments, but the moment Cregan hears her foot hit the ice he whips his head back and presses strictly.

“Arra, stay there.”

You take a peek back and see her huff before she steps back on the bank of the lake. However, she doesn’t stay quietly. “Why not have your dragon melt the ice?”

You scoff in amusement. “Astraea’s blast is too wide. She will burn us all the moment she tries. If she had been smaller then it would work, but alas, she’s too big now.”

Arra hums and watches you and Cregan reach the stag with a nail in between her teeth.

“Careful,” Cregan warns you as he slowly makes his way across from you to hold the piece of ice from the other side. “Use your legs when you lift the ice.”

You meet his gaze and nod in comprehension before you look at the stag and speak to it like you speak to your dragon. “It’s okay, we’re gonna help you.”

Unlike your dragon, the stag has minimal understanding of your language so he keeps crying out sharply and squirming, splashing cold water over your legs, and making the piece of ice on him hard to grab, but you take a daring step toward the edge of the broken ice and reach out.

“Careful,” Cregan warns you again and this time you snap your gaze to him and shoot him an annoyed look.

“I know.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer before he reaches out and grabs the ice cap. You slowly do the same and want to start lifting, but as the stag feels the cold cap brush over him he jolts, making the ice cap shift down under your grip, and causing the icy edge to cut through your glove and leave your palm exposed to the bitter surface.

Luckily, the edge didn’t cut your palm, but instead of sharp pain, you’re greeted with stinging pain as the cold ice bites at your skin. Not nips, bites. It’s fucking cold.

“Ready,” Cregan announces. “1. 2, 3!”

You both strain your muscles to lift the cap off the stag. It doesn’t manage to move up too far, but the stag finds some relief as some weight is lifted off him, and takes this to his advantage to try and push himself up shakily.

Albeit, since the ice is slippery and his feet are wet he slips in his attempts, making the stinging pain now burn your skin to the point your face twists with pain, and your breaths turn heavy.

“Are you okay?” Cregan asks as he’s quick to notice your breathing pick up.

You lie and nod before pressing your exposed palm harder on the ice to lift the cap just an inch higher, giving the stag more freedom to find a good grip, and finally yank himself out of the water.

Once he throws himself on the ice you let your side of the ice cap go and clench your hand in reaction to the burning pain torturing your palm. Cregan proceeds to drop his side of the cap and immediately focuses on you, whilst your gaze drifts to the stag walking out of the frozen lake. When he finally finds himself on solid ground he finds it himself to turn around and face you. Not Cregan making his way to you as you cradle your wounded hand, the stag looks at you.

His large brown eyes forget the panic he just felt, the fear he had for you just chasing him, and instead a twinkle glimmers in his eye as you alone are reflected in his eye. All while you are completely washed over with awe and relief that he’s standing there so perfectly calm. And before he disappears into the thickness of the forest he almost seems to bow his head.

You like to think that’s what he was doing before he left anyway.

“Let me see,” Cregan pulls you from your stupor, turning your attention away from the spot the stag left empty to find him before you now with his grey eyes worried over the wound that is now visible to him.

“It hurts,” you don’t hide your pain and groan as he brushes his thumb over the wound.

And rather than consoling you, the corner of Cregan’s lips tug to an amused smile before he looks at you and shares a much more charming smile with just his eyes.

“It’s not funny,” you grumble. “It hurts, and it’s red!”

“Come, Arra has bandages to treat your wound, Princess,” he teases and tries to grab your wrist to pull you off the ice with him, but you snatch your arm away and take a large step away from him, making him share a breathless chuckle that gets lost in the bitter wind.

The moment you’re back on stable ground Cregan grabs what he needs and takes you to the tree trunk that you had jumped over earlier ago. At first, you try to take your own torn glove off your hand, but he places his hand over it to stop you and instead pulls the glove off himself, finger by finger; ever so slowly as if trying not to add more pain to your throbbing hand, or as if trying to seduce you. Maybe both.

Either way, he’s careful with your hand, and when it comes to returning your gaze, he’s precise. After feeling your gaze burn into him as you watch every detail of his face rather than the glove he was pulling off, he looks back at you.

Albeit, you don’t hold his gaze, you beat down your skipping heart, and instead watch him dip his finger in some strong-smelling ointment. Not because you feel flustered, well you do feel flustered under his heavy gaze, but that’s not what makes you look away. You look away because your heart is racing madly and your five years are coming to an end soon, you’ll return to King’s Landing where you’ll marry your estranged uncle Aemond, who was once your best friend.

You can’t return home still getting hot when Cregan steals gentle touches, you can’t face Aemond when the mere thought of Cregan makes your heart pound like crazy. You perhaps don’t owe Aemond anything; he stopped returning your letters and made you feel alone for a long time, but you can’t think of another man when you’re with him, so that’s why you try to stop dwelling on these passionate interactions so they’ll sizzle to simple nostalgia when you return to King’s Landing.

Yet…fucking Cregan makes it hard. His silence is deafening, but there’s no need to speak what he feels when you look between your lashes and see his lips pulled to a faint sweet smile. He especially doesn’t need to say anything to make your heart skip a beat when you catch him stealing glances, or letting his gaze linger on the simple way your lashes kiss your skin when you blink.

You try not to give into his yearning, but your heart is hopeless and it moves your mouth before you have the chance to intervene. “What?” You probe and bat your lashes as if fanning the passionate flames, and meet his gaze.

Cregan parts his lips, but a single breath escapes before he focuses on his finger rubbing the ointment on your wound.

“Is it stupid that I was just burnt by ice?” You mutter and watch what he’s doing. “Out of all people, of course, it’s me.” You scoff and the corner of his lips tug a smirk.

“Was it stupid? No,” he assures you and lets his eyes flicker to you before he grabs the cloth bandages. “It happens. We’re in the North where it snows in the summer, ice burns are common, but is it amusing that it happened to you? Yes. Very much.”

You roll your eyes and nudge him away, making him share one of those rare chuckles.

“But I will say,” he continues and sways his body back to his previous spot. “It’s admirable that you chose to save that stag.”

Gods.

“You did not have to risk your life, stuff like that happens. It’s not nature, but you saved him anyway.”

You draw out a deep breath and fight hard with yourself to not look at him, to keep looking at your hand that he starts to wrap.

And you do manage to not give in to your most wanting desire, but your breaths grow heavy at the strain of your refusal, and your face burns hotter than the sun as you feel his eyes taking you in with hot desire and a need to express what his heart is bombarded with every single time he looks at you, and every time he sees you get flustered.

You know he's not one to hold back what he wants to say, you know him well, so as you feel his actions come to a halt, and feel his breath brushing over your cheek shudder, you warn him. “Don’t. Don't say it.”

A smile flickers on his lips as he’s left impressed by your senses, and regardless of what you told him he parts his lips to say something less daring but with the same meaning behind each word.

“Did you know, darling, that you…are like the morning and evening star?”

“That��” you trail off and let yourself look at his charming face that's decorated with a faint but smug smirk. “Is from my book.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugs. “But it applies doesn’t it?”

You can’t help but flash him a giddy smile before you look back at the wound that is getting covered.

“Will it scar?” You swiftly change the subject.

Cregan nods. “Aye, but it will not look terrible. Do not worry.”

You hum and now steal a longing glance at him as he’s looking down.

——

*NOW.*

It's gone. The ice scar that once marked your palm is now replaced by a new scar that's raw and red, and reminding you of the assassins who almost took your life and that of your children.

Instead of thinking of Cregan and the North when looking at the scar now, you’ll forever think of that traumatizing day.

“Who…hm,” you go quiet and shift your hand to play with the sunbeam cast on your scar, making it look more raw than it really is. “Who do you think sent those assassins?”

Aemond shifts his face down against your exposed back and groggily mumbles his response. “Well they entered through the secret tunnel, and Larys left with Aegon the same day those assassins tried killing you. Who else would it be?”

Even Aemond knows your own mother wouldn’t be capable of such a malicious act. You…well…deep down you know she would never be capable of it, but your anger keeps insisting she had something to do with it. But that’s all it is. Anger.

“He’s a traitor,” Aemond grumbles.

You close your hand and drop it back on the thin bed before finding comfort by cradling Aemond’s empty hand and pressing it against your chest.

“It feels weird,” you point out and take a glance at your bland new beige perimeters. “Not waking up to Aerion. I miss him.”

“We will not be gone long,” Aemond tries to assure you. “We’ll return to the Red Keep with Daemon’s head on a spike before he even notices that we’re gone.”

That doesn’t actually heal any longing you feel to be close to your son, but can any words really help?

No. No matter how long or how short you’re gone, nothing will ever help you miss Aerion any less. Especially after someone tried to kill him.

“I do not understand why you brought Ser Jason along though.”

And there it is, he ruined a sweet morning by finally getting his jealous complaint across after itching to talk about it since you left yesterday evening with Ser Jason to join Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne.

“<Did you go to sleep thinking of Ser Jason?>” You tease him in High Valyrian just in case the knight is outside the tent.

Aemond groans and pulls his hand away from your grasp before he peels his face away from your back, making you eagerly flip around to face him. “Is there something you wish to tell me, darling?”

Aemond pouts in annoyance and flips around to give you his back, so you quickly rebuttal by leaning over and looking at the side of his face with a teasing smile. “Do not pout,” you speak to him in a sweet voice as you reach for his chin and tilt his head your way.

Aemond’s eye flutters open and his gaze pierces on you, so you quickly reassure him. “<I just prefer Ser Cane to be watching over Aerion while we’re gone, but you’re not worried about that, are you?>” You mock his pout and press a light feathered kiss on his lips before you pull back, making him slowly turn back around to face you.

You take advantage of his attention, of the fact that no one has disrupted your quiet morning with calls to meetings, or beckoned his attention, and press your hand on his cheek with the gentlest touch to feel the warmth of his face on your palm. You then trail his cheekbone with the soft pad of your thumb before you slowly bring your thumb over to his nose and trail it over that aquiline nose you love so much.

Aemond’s breath shudders, and his gaze stops following your gentle touches as his gaze is now solely drawn to the depths of your soul that he can see through your eyes; whilst his pink lips move with a mind of their own as they mirror the faint smile that decorates your delicate features, as if your bliss was contagious.

“Perhaps,” you fill the silence and drift your thumb back to his cheek. “I do miss sharing our mornings alone,” you say above a whisper because he lay so close that you could practically share each other's breaths that your bodies expose. “When we weren’t needed at early war meetings. Before all this shit unfolded and it was just you and me. And Aerion in my belly.”

Aemond lets out a soft huff and his gaze flickers down to your lips. “You would sleep a lot then,” he brings up, brightening that smile that you held. “Perhaps that’s why it was calm.”

You giggle and his lips spread to a wider smile.

“Do you,” you see between laughs before you sigh and your lips twitch to a frown. “Do you think we’ll go back to those calm mornings?”

Aemond’s smile slowly falls and his gaze remains focused on your lips. You expect him to assure you in some way but his lashes flutter, even the ones over the sapphire, and then when he finally has the courage to meet your waiting gaze he lifts his hand and cups your cheek to press your forehead against his.

He doesn’t share his grim fate Helaena foresaw, he keeps denying it as a scare tactic for what he did to Aegon, so what would be the point of telling you something that won’t happen and only worry you?

That should mean that it should be easy to come up with words to comfort your yearning heart, but still, that fate leaves him unable to form any comforting words he badly wants to share. That’s why he just presses his forehead against yours; that’s his way of showing his comfort in ways his words can’t. And you don’t complain or question him, you lean in to his gentle touch and close your eyes to cherish your moment in the depths of your mind, making that ache tormenting your heart ease just enough for your smile to make a reappearance as you’re easily consumed with bliss and passion.

If only you could have more time to stay consumed by this sweet bliss on the thin and uncomfortable bed with him, but alas your presence is needed now more than ever that you’re in the encampment just days away from reaching Harrenhal. Besides, Aemond is proper, he doesn’t like being late, especially now that you’re surrounded by an army of men.

“If only I could have brought Vanessa,” you interject with hints of complaint as you slip on a silver fitted breastplate over a grey-purple gown. “Aemond,” you huff. “Could you help me?”

Aemond presses his foot in his boot before he walks over to replace your fingers with his on the buckles on the side, and captures your attention. He’s too focused on tightening the buckles to notice you though, but you watch him with a gaze that softens as you see how delicate he is with his movements, how his nostrils fall and rise with each breath, the way his small lashes fall with each blink, and the way he keeps trying to shrug away his hair.

Perhaps it’s the newfound attachment to him after all that happened a couple of days ago, but you can’t stop yourself from stealing longing looks to admire his mere presence; as if keeping your eyes away from him, and him from you for too long will somehow result in either of you being gone.

As to your heart in this newfound attachment? Well, your heart dances to a new beat every time you catch the smallest glimpse of him and he looks at you.

Like now for example, Aemond did not think you were looking, he was too focused to feel your gaze so he looks up and catches your eyes already him, causing your lips to spread to a tender smile, and making him slowly look back at what he’s doing with a timid smile; as if this is the very first time spending time together.

When he’s done with one side he goes to the other and does the same with the exact same amount of carefulness he used to secure the other buckles.

“I would help you with yours, alas,” you click your tongue, and his eye snaps to you.

“I’m not the one carrying children,” he retorts, making you scoff and let out a soft snicker.

“Like that matters,” you counter lightheartedly. “But…we already talked about this,” you breathe out heavily, and he scoffs as he drops his eye back to what he’s doing.

“Yet you will still find a way to comment on it,” he says because he knows you all too well.

“Only because I’m worried, my love,” you rebuttal and look at him with a pointed glare he doesn’t catch. “I…have lost enough. I need you. We need you.”

A small breath escapes his nose and you watch his eyebrows slowly furrow while a small storm of conflict seems to brew behind his eye.

You take that as him comprehending your concern but being too prideful to respond, so you then brush his long hair over his shoulder so it’s not in his way. He passes you a thankful hum in response and you can’t help but smile before you try to ease that furrowed brow with sweet words. “Thank you for helping me.”

He finishes what he’s doing and then looks over at you with a gentle half-smile that makes you lean in and slowly take him in for a lingering kiss.

Nevertheless, a voice then proceeds to cut through the moment, causing you to brush your lips over his as you drift your head to the side to look at the flaps that are meant to be your doors.

“My Prince, Princess, breakfast will be served in ten!”

Without waiting for a response their footsteps recede and the moment no longer returns to what it was since you’re then driven outside your tent not much later. You just finish getting ready and walk out to join Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne for breakfast before it’s time to gather for a much-anticipated war meeting.

These meetings, unlike the council meetings, are far more captivating. These meetings don’t threaten to lull you to sleep like the others do.

Yes; you did long to be a part of those small council meetings, but they still were a damn drag! However, you doubt one thing will change; that being this group of men not taking what you say under consideration.

You’ll have to wait and see if they do or don’t though.

“What come of the search parties for his Grace?” Ser Criston Cole directs at Aemond.

Aemond presses his palms on the top of your chair and leans over. “Nothing yet. We’ve checked the harbors, but no one spotted any suspicious boats leaving the docks. I scouted what I could on top of Vhagar, but I caught nothing.”

Not like he searched thoroughly or pressed critical urgency. And why should he? Aegon seemed to have left by will with Lord Larys. There was no sign of struggle, and Grand Maester Orwyle mentioned Lord Larys frequented Aegon a lot and grew interested in his healing process. Which is why the theory so far is that they left willingly together. As for the reason?

No one knows, and it’s not like Aemond cares all that much. He benefits with Aegon being gone, and the entirety of the RedKeep, and you can let out a sigh of relief without his stench or wandering fingers.

“If this had been a ransom we would have heard of it by now,” Aemond adds and moves away from behind you to start pacing around the table. “We all knew Aegon, he had no taste for ruling or responsibility, this perhaps is one of his whims. He will return when he’s out of coin.”

Ser Criston’s chest raises high before he drops it heavily as if holding back his argument over the fact that Aemond doesn't care as much as he should.

“Princess,” Ser Criston calls you out. “Has…Rhaenyra sent a word? We cannot rule out the fact that she may have snuck in the same way those assassins did both times.”

You clench your jaw and dart your eyes down to the marked map on the wooden table. “No,” you deadpan, and don’t even try to mention that you doubt it was her who took Aegon, ravens would have been sent already if she had, and this war would have turned a lot more bloody.

“What of Sunfyre?” You change the subject away from the sore subject. “If anyone can lead us to Aegon it’s him.”

“Still gravely wounded,” Ser Criston reports. “He has not moved since Aegon went missing.”

You hum and add, “well if he takes flight, have men follow his flight path. It could give us an indication of where his rider might be.”

Ser Criston Cole nods in comprehension without looking at Aemond for confirmation, probably so he wouldn’t hear any protests after Aemond’s lack of care.

“What of the Lannister forces on the western front?” Aemond changes the subject and stops on one side to take a look at the lion markers. “They reached the Red Fork?” He points to the lions.

“Yes,” Ser Gwayne says and slides markers to face the wooden lions. “But as predicted, the Lords of the Trident have gone out to meet them. Now the Western forces may have the advantage of numbers, but,” he sighs. “This the land of the Riverlords. They have the knowledge of their lands to their advantage.”

A nauseous wave hits you as the twins seem to start reacting to your breakfast, so you take a deep breath to try and clear the ache before you get up and stand on your feet instead.

“Hm,” Aemond hums and studies the map for a long time, letting Ser Criston Cole interject.

“We should wait and have Ser Jason come out triumphant before we head to attack Daemon and Harrenhal,” he suggests, making Aemond pick his gaze off the map to glare at him—“He has the numbers with the Riverlords taking arms under him. Whatever is left of the Western force will still give us more strength to challenge them without getting crushed.”

You glance at Aemond, and he looks over at you, but you kind of agree with Ser Criston. You don’t want to give Daemon the advantage, you want his pride crushed, along with his very soul, and you can’t do that if you lose, so you begin to wander around the table yourself and look at the map. Mainly you focus on the marker that represents Daemon.

“No,” Aemond argues. “We still hold the advantage with Astraea and Vhagar. We will move forward, whatever remains of the Western forces can join us in Harrenhal when they have won the fight.”

You glance at the south side of Harrenhal and cross your arms over your chest as you tilt your head to study the markerless spot.

“That would not be wise, nephew,” Ser Gwayne tries to argue against Aemond before Ser Criston can utter what he thinks. “It's best if we wait now so Ser Jason can go as planned and attack at the west to surround them. They would have heard about the battle at the Red Fork and would not suspect them to attack so soon. We can use that.”

“Perhaps,” Aemond retorts and moves down as if following your figure whilst Ser Gwayne begins to walk toward you. “But how much time before they send scouts and find Astraea and Vhagar? We came a day early so we could catch them by surprise, I will not waste it. We will attack as it was planned. At first light.”

A tension grows in the silence that Aemond’s stubborn persistence brought, but neither man in the tent dares to break it knowing how quick Aemond is to anger. And you, well your focus is set on the south side of Harrenhal.

There’s no markers there, or plans to move men towards there to attack on that side, so your attention focuses there and helps your mind brew an idea. An idea Ser Gwayne seems to pick up on.

“What is on your mind, Your Grace?” He probes as he steps closer to you, making you glance at his close proximity and then look over at Aemond since you know how he feels about his uncle, catching his gaze slowly grow ice cold and threatening.

Yet Ser Gwayne doesn’t seem to care or doesn’t have a clue, his eyes stay on you and try to unravel your growing thoughts, only infuriating Aemond even more. To the point, his jaw clenches tightly, and his nose flares as if he’s ready to pounce at the man.

You find it cute for once and tilt your head to the other side to catch his gaze and shoot him a faint taunting smirk before you share your thoughts. “What of the south side of the Harrenhal? I notice there’s no markers, or intention to have men attack from there. It leaves us vulnerable for any party of scouts to sneak through, or for men to surround us from there.”

“Hm,” Ser Gwayne is the first to interject. “Nice catch. Alas, we would have to go around the God’s Eye. That would add a two or one-day ride. More if it’s on foot.”

You drift your focus to Aemond and see his lips curled and his chest puffed out, and you can’t help but smile down at the table. In doing so, catching Ser Criston look between Aemond and Ser Gwayne in annoyance.

“Hm,” you hum and drop your arms back to your side to slowly throw them behind you and clasp your hands together before you start swinging them back and forth against your grey-purple cloak. “Then I will scout the south side on top of Astraea. Just for the afternoon, it’s cloudy and Astraea can easily hide amongst the cloud bank. No one will spot us.”

“That could give us an advantage—”

“No,” Aemond cuts Ser Criston off bluntly. “It’s too much of a risk for you and Astraea alone. Daemon could spot you and he would not hesitate meeting you in the sky. And Astraea is no match against Caraxes.”

You snap your eyes up to him and drop your arms to your sides with a thud.

“That's the point,” you’re quick to sneer through your teeth. “I am not going to be seen. I am just going to report on their numbers from a side they won’t suspect me to be in.”

Aemond shakes his head. “No. You will remain here with me until the day of the attack. I will not put your life at any unnecessary risk.”

Unnecessary risk?

There’s no such thing! You were almost killed in your own chambers! You’re here even if you know you’ll be at risk, being in this tent so close to Harrenhal is already a high risk, so what the hell does he really mean? Does he just want you to stay put until you attack? Do nothing but fiddle your thumbs and think of what your life has turned into?!

He’s supposed to respect your strength, your willingness to fight. He’s supposed to put faith in your wishes to fight, to be on that battlefield, and on Astraea the same way he’s on Vhagar. That’s why you’re here! That’s why you came because you had a purpose, a goal!

“No,” you counter bravely and all too easily get caught in a brewing storm of anger where fact nor logic actually pass through. “I will go scout on top of Astraea. What if I can catch something significant that can help us?”

Aemond presses his hands on the surface of the table and leans forward to snap back in frustration. “I said no. Argue all you want, the answer will remain the same.”

You challenge his gaze with a glare as you nod along in comprehension. When you see that he won’t budge you rip away from your spot and storm away with the intention to disobey him.

Aemond knows you well though, he saw the defiance growing in your eyes like a dark cloud and doesn’t care that the meeting is ongoing, he storms after you calling out your name, but you ignore him and continue striding toward Astraea in your growing storm he only worsens by following you.

And no matter how fast, or what twists and turns you make to try and lose him, he never loses track of you. He actually ends up finding a shortcut to cut you off in your path and finally capture you by your arms in a more secluded part of the forest where no men wander around.

“Let me go Aemond,” you bark and try to pull his hands off you, but he only tightens his old, making it hard for you to challenge his strength. “I will not just stay here and be your accessory in this war!” You’re quick to spat out as you’re blinded by your rageful storm. “You can’t just parade me around to flaunt me like you did when we were with my family! Because I saw you, I saw how you looked at them like I was some trophy to be won, but I am much more than that!” You remark and try to push him away, but he keeps reaffirming his grip so you’re just thrashing against his hold, like winds of a hurricane in a storm.

“I am capable too!” You throw out and push him, but he doesn’t let go, he presses you against a tree to keep you from fighting. “I am strong! I am brave! I can fight too!”

“I know! I know!” He exclaims over your rage, making you look at him with a trembling lip and teary eyes that are quick to release a stream of tears that come from the depths of your chest.

“Then?” Your voice quivers even if you don’t want it to, even if you try to fight the stupid tears. “Why do you want me to stay here when I can go out there and be useful?”

Aemond parts his lips but before he can form a word he catches you start to sob unwantedly, as if your heart had been broken all over again.

“I-I,” you stammer and slip your arms from his grasp to try and wipe away your tears. “I’m sorry. I do not know why I’m crying. Stupid,” you gasp as you weep again.

This time clouds in your mind begin to clear as a realization begins to penetrate through.

Since you learned the truth about your father, since your mother admitted the truth that day in Dragonstone, your sorrow comes and goes. You can go on thinking you can get over it, you can distract yourself with other matters, but then when you least expect it the sorrow, the need to cry out your heartache springs up on you. And other times you managed to calm down, but right now as you face Aemond after he rejected your offer you can’t seem to stop crying and thinking of one thing that leads to so much more agony.

“I know you’re all those things,” Aemond tries to explain to assure you, and so you know he doesn’t think any less of you. “I admire all of it, but my love,” he talks softly and grabs your shoulder to pull your eyes up. “With us being so close to Harrenhal, I can’t have you risking your life for a simple scouting mission. He could spot you and challenge you, and I would not be able to be there to help you.”

You shake your head. “I will not be caught,” you repeat yourself, and those tears don’t stop flowing. “We will not be caught, I swear. I assure you just…let me have a purpose,” you whimper. “I know what my brothers are. You know what they are and they do too, and even if they did not know their father long, even if they didn’t spend a lot of time together, he still loved them. And Daemon loves his children in his own way, and-and my father?” You cry and clutch onto your chest.

“I was not good enough for him to stay,” you reveal what’s tormenting you. “He left, and she lied to move on and have more children while I was gone, so where does that leave me? Why am I even here if he was going to leave to be with someone else? Why fight so hard to keep me alive to have me replaced? Why did they even have me if they didn’t even love me? At least before I knew the truth, my purpose was to prove I was worthy enough to my mother, I wanted to be a good daughter, or simply live,” you explain through tears, missing the pitiful look that takes over his face as your breakdown aches his own heart.

“And now?” You say between a sob. “I don't know why I was even born, I don’t know why I’m even here?!”

You fall to your knees before he can catch you and drop your head in your hands in an attempt to stop yourself from crying, but nothing can stop the stream from flowing, leaving Aemond unaware of what to say to console you.

What can he say to make your pain less? Wanting to be worthy in the eyes of someone to have them love you is something he knows, but your feelings go so much deeper than that, and for a while, he doesn’t know what to say.

At least not until his heart can’t stand seeing you hurt a moment longer. After that, he slowly goes on his knees and gently grabs your wrists to pull your hands away from your face so you have no choice but to look at him.

“You…are worth something to me. To our son,” he starts to mutter words that spring to mind. “You…are the best thing that happened to me. When we were kids you were the most important person to me, I would always look forward to spending time with you, hearing your stories, and sharing what we liked. And now?” He speaks softly. “Now you’re worth so much more. More than the air I breathe.”

You bat your eyes and sniffle as his words fill your weeping heart.

“I love you, Aerion loves you. You…” he trails off and smiles with a tender grace. “You mean something to me, and I’m sorry if I have done things to make you feel otherwise,” he admits and swallows thickly. “But you do. You mean something, and without you life would be a dull affair.”

Your lips twitch to a smile and when he catches that he moves his hands up to cup your face and wipe away your tears.

“I…” he trails off and pulls one hand away from your face to dig in his pocket. “I was going to give you this for your name day, but have it now.”

Your gaze lingers on him for a moment before you can’t help your curiosity and look down at his fisted hand, catching him right in time as he opens it and reveals a silver chain necklace with a small white-wooden siren hanging from it.

“I,” he scoffs timidly. “I started whittling it when you and your family left for Dragonstone, but I was never able to give it to you because you left.”

“You whittled it?” You croak and brush your fingers over the soft wooden siren.

“Having no dragon left me with a lot of time to spare,” he whispers and lets the chain fall so he can grab it between his thumb and pointer finger. “And more when you left.”

A smile trembles on your lips and your eyes scream the thousand I love you’s that you cannot express with words.

“Whenever you feel like you did now just…look at it and know you mean the whole damn world to me,” he whispers shyly with the kindest and most timid smile that he hides by leaning forward and hooking the necklace around you.

“<Thank you,>” you whisper in High Valyrian as you grab his arms before you slide your hands up to grab the sides of his neck. “<I'm sorry for being difficult.>”

Aemond pulls his head back to face you and strokes your chin before pressing his forehead against yours and whispering against your lips. “<I love you.>”

The corner of your lips spread to a sweet smile and you don’t hesitate to return those words with affection oozing in your voice. “<I love you too.>”

He hums and leans in to press a gentle kiss on your lips, making you lead him to a much deeper kiss that’s fueled with a soft burning passion.

When you pull away he breaks the string of saliva that connected you by giving in. “You can go scout.”

You scoff and pull back to question him excitedly “Really?”

He groans and nods stiffly. “But if you see Caraxes out, or if you catch even a whiff of Daemon fly back. Don’t challenge him,” he presses harshly.

You start to grin and nod in comprehension. “I’m just scouting, that's all.”

He nods. “That’s all.”

You press a juicy kiss on his lips before you get up to your feet and rub your face as if that will get rid of your swollen eyes. Aemond stands up after you and grabs your arm before you can think of walking over to meet Astraea.

“Any sign of danger. Leave.” He presses.

You draw out a deep breath that comes out shaky after crying so hard and nod eagerly. “I know. I understand. I’ll be back soon.”

He cups your cheek and holds it for a lingering second before he drops his hand and lets you go. Before you can turn to leave you press a chaste kiss on his cheek and then go and join Astraea in some clearing where she and Vhagar keep each other company.

At first, when Vhagar sees you mounting Astraea she probably thought she was going to leave this wet forest, she seemed almost relieved, but when she didn’t catch her rider trailing behind you she threw herself back on the ground.

“<Sorry girl,>” you direct at Vhagar. “<But we will be leaving soon. Swear.>”

Vhagar lets out a loud huff that blows away the greenery before her, and you can’t help but laugh softly whilst you hook on your restraints.

Once you're secured, you command Astraea to ascend into the grey sky. And it's once you feel the cool breeze brushing over your face, offering you fresh and crisp air to breathe that the cruel aching weight that set over your chest completely blew away. This is why having Astraea, flying on her in the endless sky is something you will always love. You can’t imagine not having her by your side all of your life. Without her, you would not be able to ever find an escape when you’re at your lowest.

Sure you work out your problems on your own, and other people like Aemond also comfort you; they forbid you from getting lost in the dark, but there’s something that Astraea offers that no one else ever can, and that’s being able to find an escape where all that exists is her, you, the sky, the shining sun, and the twinkling stars.

If only you could wander the skies and explore the Riverlands without having to be on task, but alas there’s a duty that you do want to do, so once you approach Harrenhal, you sit up straight and lean the handles down to nudge Astraea down.

When your dragon leaves the cloud bank she hovers just below it in order to find a quick escape if you need it, while also trying to blend in with the thick clouds so you’re not easily spotted. You loosen your restraints, lift your feet off the footrests, and secure them in the footholders to be able to stand up and narrow your gaze like a hunting hawk to spot anything out of the ordinary in the green lands below.

At first, it all seems calm, there’s just a lot of fresh green plains, trees littered everywhere, and streams. It all honestly makes you believe that you’ll be able to return without anything to report, but then as you get closer to the grand dark castle in the distance, you spot lines of marching men leaving the grounds of Harrenhal. And from what you can see they’re all marching towards the direction of Blackwater rush, away from the army you’re with.

Does it mean Daemon is moving all the army toward your mother now? Or just some.

From what you can see before the trees block your sight, the numbers aren’t of high concern, so maybe it’s just some men going to Dragonstone?

You can’t fully circle the castle or you will most likely be caught. You can only scout the south side, so you can’t know for sure, the only thing you can do is count the heads that you do see now. You would try to follow the line, but the woods are too thick, you’d have to fly just above the treeline to see clearly and you can’t do that without being caught by someone keeping a watchful eye.

You’ll have to tell Ser Criston and Aemond to send a discreet scouting party on horse to know what’s really going on. As of now, you squint your gaze as you keep your head tilted down, and in doing so miss something that Astraea doesn’t. Your dragon immediately catches sight of something worthwhile and alerts you with a soft call, but you give her your attention first before you follow her line of sight and catch what she’s alerting you of; Daemon on top of Caraxes.

It’s…Daemon.

He’s on dragonback. He’s a few miles below you, he’s there…

The man who planned with your mother to send your father away. The one who schemed with your father to marry your mother. The man who sent you to Kings Landing for his own benefit is there just below; in shining dark grey armor, unaware of you or your dragon.

He’s there. Daemon.

Daemon is there. You see him, you're piercing your glare at him, and a raging storm of anger brews quickly and dangerously. You want to ignore it, not give it more fuel to ravage, you’re just here to scout not take action after all. Aemond told you not to act if you see Daemon, but he’s there in your eyeline! Alone! A man you hated for six years. Six years! All because you thought he killed your father—but it turned out he didn’t…but! He still schemed with your mother, he still lied too, and all to be her consort.

He’s careless and cruel. He’s given his daughters the cold shoulder, he killed baby Jaehaerys and hurt Helaena in the process. He used you and shoved you in the jaws of the enemy. You can’t just swallow all that anger, and you can’t forget it. You can’t ignore the boiling of your blood, you can’t stop your breath from growing heavier and heavier, and you can’t avoid the storm raging within you, blinding your judgment second by second until there’s not a single thought or instinct that keeps you from directing Astraea to torpedo toward Daemon and Caraxes.

And your dragon is obedient, she shares your anger, and her rage blinds her too, so she tilts down and tucks her wings at her sides to shoot toward Caraxes and Daemon at a quick and dangerous speed.

Neither man nor dragon spots you right away, they don’t hear your dragon as she penetrates through layers of the sky. You have the advantage, thus you grab your bow that you keep hooked on your saddle and pull out a single arrow you have tucked under the side of your seat for easy access.

When you align your arrow your blood thumps violently in your ears; thump, thump, thump. And with each thump, your rage only burns hotter, your jaw clenches, your lips curl to a scowl, and you bend your knees. With each thump, the only word that you see, that you hear is kill, kill, kill.

Shoot. And kill.

There’s no clearer than that thought. You have to, you need to get rid of him. Even if he finally tilts his head up as Astraea's shadow casts over him, you have to do it. You have to kill him.

Caraxes also proceeds to spot you and Astraea and lets out a shrieking roar to warn you away, but Astraea snaps back with a much louder and guttural roar, and you don’t drop your aim. You only pull the string back further and pierce your glare into Daemon, making your intention to him very clear.

Yet he doesn’t move, he doesn’t block his face with his hands protected with his shining armor. He doesn’t open his mouth to command Caraxes to move, his lips part in surprise because you’re going toward him, but he remains still and leaves the unprotected spot between his eyes a clear shot.

Yet as your menacing figure in his eyes reflects back to you, growing larger and larger the closer you get, that screaming need to let your arrow go is slowly diluted. Unlike when you shot that stag two years ago, this time the arrow doesn’t slip from your fingers. It doesn’t break through barriers of air to hit your target, you remain crouched over your saddle and watch Daemon with a trembling lip as one other person penetrates through the raging storm. Her very face disperses what clouded your instincts and your judgment, and it’s the mere thought of your mother that makes you lower your arrow.

And thus with no need to be told what to do, with the simple connection you share, Astraea swoops up hard before she can ram through Caraxes, and you lose sight of Daemon.

“Damn it,” you hiss and return your bow and arrow to where they were before you sit back down on your saddle. “Damn it! Damn it!” You bellow over and over again as you hit your saddle.

Tears cloud your eyes, and that built-up anger slowly seeps out, leaving your body trembling as if coming down from an adrenaline high that you did nothing with but build up.

However, even as tears do well in your eyes, they don't come out. You press your hand over your face and leave yourself in darkness for a moment before you rub your face and take a deep breath to have those tears go back where they came from.

Now there was no way to go back and scout so you head back to camp thinking of what you did not do, not with regret in your mind, but more so why the very thought of her made you not do it.

It runs in circles in your mind.

——

*LATER*

What should you tell Aemond and the others? The truth and send them after Daemon to foil his plans?

Do you stay quiet and let Daemon do whatever it is he’s doing?

Aemond did say not to pursue Daemon, but you did, and Daemon, and or anyone who witnessed what happened won’t keep quiet. Eventually, somehow, word will spread and he will find out, which will only make things bad, or worse.

Hm.

Then again…whatever plans Daemon has, why should you be the one to help him achieve them? You can’t hold in your anger for the sake of him or your mother. And the truth is you don’t think of your brother’s sakes, nor that of your cousins because the anger for your mother and Daemon clouds you. No matter what, everything goes back to them.

Thus you’ll tell Aemond and the others—Actually, it’s surprising that your overbearing husband hasn’t come to meet you the moment Astraea was spotted descending. He must be caught up with Ser Criston, or scheming a malicious plan. Whatever it is you approach the campgrounds alone with only the singing crickets spread around the forest keeping you company. And considering you are close to enemy lines you keep your eyes out for anyone suspicious hiding between the trees while you hum a sweet song.

That is until you hear some bushes rustling moments before a slow clap startles you and sends your hand reaching for a hidden dagger. Yet much to your surprise, the person who comes out from the bushes is Ser Gwayne.

“Ser,” you greet between heavy breaths and pull your hand away from your weapon. “You startled me.”

He raises his hands and a small apologetic smile grows on his face. “Forgive me I did not mean to. I heard you humming and I could not help myself.”

You glance around and do not notice any sign of tents or life besides the plants, the trees, and him all by his lonesome, so you grow insanely curious. “What brings you so far from Camp Ser? Keeping an eye out? Or has your nephew scolded you?”

Ser Gwayne chuckles and shakes his head as he meets you halfway before turning on his heels and walking by your side back to camp. “No, none of the sort. I came to find privacy and I could only find it this far.”

You nod and don’t care to poke around for more. That’s all the information you need.

“How was your scouting? Find anything worthwhile besides dull grey clouds?” He probes.

You can’t help the small amused smile that slips on your face before you summarize what you saw, so you don’t have to repeat yourself. “It was…eventful.”

“How so?” He probes.

You sigh and your lips form to a deep frown. “I caught an army of about sixty-five men marching away, and Prince Daemon on his dragon.”

Ser Gwayne’s eyes slide to you and he slows down in his pace to study you head to toe. You can feel his eyes examining you carefully before he pulls on the right damn thread. “Did you pursue the Prince?”

You fiddle with your rings and leave a short silence, but it’s still too long nevertheless for him not to figure out the truth.

“I was angry. I let my rage control my judgment,” you confess in the silence of the forest. “And do not worry yourself, Ser, I will tell Aemond.”

Ser Gwayne scoffs. “I was not going to run and tell now. If it was a secret then I would have kept it.”

You let your fingers slip from your grasp and slowly drift your gaze to the charming knight to pass him a softened look, and a faint smile before you drag out a deep breath and look ahead. “It is not a secret, but people would have run to Aemond and ran their mouths for some kind of praise or prize, so.” You shrug.

Ser Gwayne nods. “Yes, I know. Unfortunately, people like us cannot trust so easily. You think you have made an honest friend but the moment you turn your back they run off and spill your secrets so the world may know that they were in your presence. As if that would benefit their lives.”

You hum and he steals a glance at you before he continues running his mouth with something else. “Tell me why you felt such rage at the mere presence of Prince Daemon? Not that it’s not deserved, he has a quite distasteful reputation, but he is your stepfather, correct?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust at the mere sound of those last words and quickly rebuttal as if reminding you of such a link offended you. “As if that has anything to do with anything,” you grumble and shake your head. “But if you must know…he,” you pause. You’re about to tell him the reason why you have hated him for six years of your life, but that’s not the truth anymore, is it?

He did not kill your father.

But the rage is still there. You can’t let it go.

“…what is there to like about Prince Daemon?” You avoid spilling out the entire list of why you hate the Rogue Prince. “And do not repeat that ever again. By law, he may be my stepfather, but he is nothing of the sort. He never will be.”

Ser Gwayne nods gently and doesn’t press or interject, he lets the silence grow between you until you can’t help but utter, “he’s cruel. And so was my father.”

That word is like bile in your mouth. Never in your life did you ever imagine you would view your father in a negative light. He was always a memory you cherished, now all those happy memories are tainted with anger and hate, making your words about him vile.

“Fathers are…difficult,” Ser Gwayne adds in a much softer tone than you’re used to hearing. His voice is always usually dripping with this cocky ego. “Is Aemond any good?”

“Aerion is only five months so we have yet to see, but so far…he’s good, attentive, and everything his own father was not,” you share with a growing smile. “As of late he has been distant, but this war effort takes a toll on everyone.”

“Well,” he sighs. “He will have a lifetime to do better, and I’m sure when the twins are born he will rejoice. He seems very fond of you. It’s rare to see.”

The corner of your lips tug a wider smile on your face and when you catch Ser Gwayne notice it you offer him a smaller smile, but one still from the heart.

A silence proceeds to fill between the two of you, but it’s in that silence that you hear loud celebratory commotion, singing, and cheering coming from camp.

“What are they celebrating?” You have to ask, turning Ser Gwaynes' attention away from you to focus on the spot of a campfire that you can now notice.

“From what I was told, it’s the name days of a few soldiers, so it seems they have made a bit of a ruckus and filled the air with terrible singing.”

You chuckle softly and he turns suddenly to look at you with his eyes widening.

“Why do you not share your talent? It will be good for morale support to have you seen amongst your men,” he suggests with growing excitement. “And well, your voice will bring our ears some relief.”

You part your lips to throw out an excuse, but in truth, you cannot think of a quick excuse to use to refuse him, so you gape like a fish out of water.

“That is if you really are the Siren of Driftmark,” he taunts you.

As you approach the campgrounds you see men gathered around a campfire, forgetting what tragedy lies beyond the treeline, and why they’re away from home in the first place. And you can't imagine this commotion must settle right with people like Ser Criston and Aemond, and the men must know that, but they do not seem to care. They’re completely unfazed and lost in the moment.

You want to forget too. And most of all…holding their approval and their praise is important. To you at least.

Aemond won't very much like you being caught in the middle of a group of drunk men, he especially won’t like seeing you so close to Ser Gwayne, but he can throw whatever tantrum he wants. He cannot control you, especially when it comes to something so mindless as laughing, singing, and sharing stories with men who are supposed to fight for him and his family. Besides, it all looks so fun! How can you just watch from a distance and long to join them when they’re in the safety of your camp?

You can tell Aemond and Ser Criston what you saw later, right now you want to be amongst the fun as well!

“Well,” you give in reluctantly. “I am good with a lute.”

A charming grin spreads on Ser Gwayne’s face. “There you go. That’s the spirit!” He exclaims.

You smile giddily and without a second thought you follow him towards the happy and drinking group of men who welcome Ser Gwayne with open arms, but when they see you they slowly all go quiet and murmur amongst themselves whilst they make sure Prince Aemond isn't lurking in the distance ready to attack them for even looking at you.

“Now, now, there’s no need to quiet down,” Ser Gwayne assures them. “The Princess is here to join in the celebrations and sing us a song or two. So everyone please welcome The Siren of Driftmark!”

There’s no timidness holding you back, no hesitation, or thought of Aemond disapproving, you offer them all a charming grin that makes them all start to clap, and slowly untense.

“Now this would be more fun if I could drink,” you interject to break the tension, “but alas I am with child, so you all will have to show me that you’re having fun.” You’re quick to turn on your charm as if you were born to perform in front of many. And as if enchanted by your words alone the once tense men start to ease and grow comfortable, welcoming you instead of just tolerating you.

“Now could I borrow that?” You point to the lute a young man is holding, and without question, he hands it to you. “The rest of you,” you direct at the other men with the other instruments. “You will know this song, so just follow me.”

They nod, and without any concern of judgment, you twirl back to stand in the middle of the gathered group. “This song here is one of my favorites, I learned it from a famous pirate my grandfather knew. You all better dance and sing along!”

A hoot sounds from the crowd, and without further delay you slowly start to strum the strings on the lute before you quietly start the song at first, to lure them all in. When the other men start playing their instruments around you, you pick up the speed on the lute and stop singing just for a moment.

After picking up the beat on the strings you start singing again along to the beat, and with a great joy that makes your once dull eyes glimmer.

The men around you are quickly and deeply charmed with your singing, with your enthusiasm, and your beaming joy that they don’t hesitate to stomp their feet and clap their hands along to the song, forgetting the tension and bursting out with even more excitement than before. All because of you.

And it's because of you that the heightened commotion doesn’t go unnoticed. It has all become much grander because you’re amongst the men, so Ser Criston and Aemond walk out of the tent to silence the men and end their feast. Albeit when Aemond catches you in the middle of the crowd, fueling the men’s excitement with your song he slows down in his raging storm and makes Ser Criston hesitate snuffing out the celebration.

Does that mean he didn’t want to stop you? No. He sees all the men drunk, or drinking around you, and right away he wants to storm over there and yank you away, tell them all to stay away, and threaten them. He wants to put a stop to all the commotion, but…as bothered as he is he does notice your beaming grin, he sees how happy you are and how can he be the one to diminish that?

Sure his stomach is twisting with jealousy because he hates that his uncle is near you, celebrating, and only egging you on, but he doesn't ruin your fun, he actually trusts his uncle more than Ser Jason in the back of the group smiling like some enchanted idiot. Aemond does approach the group but doesn’t join the commotion, not even if his uncle is not leaving your side in the group of men that only grows. Aemond just stands close enough that he has a clear view of you in case someone’s hands wander where they’re not supposed to.

He actually thought you wouldn’t notice him, but you do, you find him there behind the sea of people as if he was the bright moon amongst the dark canvas of the night sky, and nothing in the world proceeds to matter but him and you. It all disappears, leaving only two souls dancing in your plane; his and yours.

Nothing shines brighter than him and you; except maybe that smile in your eyes that only shines for him. It shines so bright in fact that the giant shining star in the sky would be envious. While the smile on your face is backed with so much joy, and your voice is so charming, that you're able to tug the faintest smile on Aemond’s hardened features.

It’s faint, but you see it. You’re the only one he lets see. And you cherish it, your heart actually swoons because he’s outside watching you. You would have liked it better if he would dance with you, but you take what you can get and store his lovely appearance and his faint smile in the chambers of your heart.

And much to your surprise, Aemond continues watching over you. He doesn’t interfere as an older soldier pulls you to dance as the music continues. He watches over you as you completely infatuate the soldiers to your side with your voice and the fact that you’re spending time with them, proving to him why people flock to you, why they remember you; like that man from the Night's Watch.

He likes that about you, he likes that people are not scared of you, that you are so easygoing with them and you have their respect, but at the same time he also doesn’t like it. He wants you to be at the bottom with him.

Nevertheless, as those thoughts swirl in his head he continues watching over you, he would continue watching you until you grew tired and withdrew from the commotion, but from the heart of the crowd, you notice Ser Criston pull him away.

You know that nothing would have pulled Aemond away from his “guard duty” if it wasn’t significant. He would have stayed against the tree until you left the crowd, but he’s pulled away and you can’t help your curiosity. Even if you’re high by all the excitement, you manage to find an escape and follow Aemond to the tent Ser Criston took him to.

However, just as you’re going to follow him in to be a part of the significant conversation, what comes out of Ser Criston’s mouth stops you right behind the entrance, turning you into that spy you once were when you worked for your mother.

“We just received word from Ser Tyland. He and the Triarchy have hit Driftmark, setting fire to the harbor of Spicetown, and ships sent out to counter them.”

Your lips part in surprise. Regardless, if your grandfather plans to have one of his bastards be heir over your own son, Driftmark is still your home, and hearing that pirates and low-life sailors have begun to sack Driftmark is upsetting.

“What about it?” Aemond remarks with sass. “It's what they should do.”

Ser Criston clears his throat and then adds what he really wants to share. “Scouts have spotted a small cog ship sailing from the Eerie, and right directly toward the Triarchy fleet. It’s said that the Cog, the Gay Abandonment, carries Prince Viserys, Prince Aegon, Prince Joffrey, and Lady Rhaena. The sons of Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon.”

Your heart drops to your stomach at the sound of that news. No matter your feelings towards your mother and Daemon, your brothers are not between that. None of them.

“Have Ser Tyland and the fleet doing something worthwhile and capture the cog,” you hear Aemond suggest, making your breath catch. “But do not injure any of them. They will be priceless hostages.”

You back away until you’re completely covered by the shadows of the night and let out a shaky breath as you go over what you just heard, as you begin to realize that you cannot for any reason let Ser Tyland or his fleet of pirates take your brothers and Rhaena. You can’t just hear what you did and willingly let anyone take them captive. No matter your resentment, and no matter the rage that has you giving your back to your mother.

Aegon, Viserys, and Joffrey are still your brothers, and Rhaena is your cousin.

You can’t—

You know what you must do. Aemond won't like it, he would forbid you from going if you asked considering he already didn’t want to let you scout, but he can’t stop you if he doesn’t know you left until you’re gone. Besides, you’ll return, you can’t just sit here and let anyone take your brothers and Rhaena captive, and if you send a letter it might be too late. You have to go yourself.

Thus before Aemond could walk out and catch you, you rush to your shared tent and hurryingly rip off the breastplate you had been wearing to quickly just throw on different armor; one that’s not bulky but lighter, and slimmer in design so it’s a more feminine fit, like the way you saw Queen Rhaenys the Conqueror wear in books.

The gown under the armor is no longer your grey-purple gown. You changed it to a very pale grey that almost blends with the new silver armor, but it stands out since it flows over your legs, covering the shining silver greaves over the bottom half of your legs.

The pauldrons on your shoulders are shaped like dragon scales, much like the one you wore just moments ago, and beneath it lies a fringe of forged silver dragon wings. You stay away from wearing gauntlets and anything on your arms, besides leathered armguards, showing off the beautiful embroidered sleeves of your gown instead. When it comes to your head and face, you leave out the helmet because you never had one made in the first place, instead you opt for a thin chainmail headpiece that connects with an intricate veil of dagger-like chains, and a delicate but protective silver chain mask caging over your mouth.

Albeit none of what you’re wearing can be seen by any pair of eyes just yet. Even if a lot of the men are drunk or tipsy, some aren’t and others will still share what they saw no matter how intoxicated they are, so you throw a dark crimson-colored cloak over your cape, covering the dragon scale bodice that protects your chest and the twins growing inside you, and blends you with the shadows of the night.

Yet before you can rush out of the tent you snatch more arrows from your trunk, and then just before you're going to open the flaps, you spot Blackfyre, the Valyrian steel sword resting against a wooden pillar, and debate taking it, but not for long.

With a faint smirk tugging on your lips, you snatch the Valyrian steel sword, Blackfyre, and sneak out to your dragon Astraea to leave toward the Gullet in the cover of night.

.

.

.

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A/N- Daeron and you would have been the bestest of friends with the lute and singing.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens

[trashmouth-richie]

eddie x fem! reader

master list

summary: Christmas time is here, eddie + you dance around the fact you’re both in love, corroded coffin performs.

w/c: 15k

warnings: NO MINORS —18+ only- mentions of Chad and his awfulness, thoughts of sex

a/n: s/o to my lovely coven for helping me tweak parts of this story, beta reading + letting me insert them through out the story @jo-harrington @blueywrites @newlips @pastel-pillows @loveshotzz @carolmunson @mopeymopeymouse @br0ck-eddie @courtingchaos @fracturedarkness @word-wytch @hellfirehottie420 @chestylarouxx @big-ope-vibes 💋 @agentmarvel @hxllfired ♥️♥️

“Don’t peek!”

“I’m not!”

“I mean it, you’ll ruin it if you peek!”

Large hands cover your already shut tight eyes as you walk forward blindly through the crunch of ice and heavy snow. The soles of your chunky boots leave behind inch deep footprints in the parking lot of Boom’s Auto shop.

“Eddie! oh fu— your hands are freezing!”

A deep husky chuckle hums in your ear, skating across the air and landing warmly on your cheek. A flushed heat accompanying the welcomed tickle of his laugh.

“Just a little further,” Eddie says with a laugh, still walking behind you, big hands blind folding your eyes. Maybe you should have mentioned that you don’t like surprises. The last surprise you had trusted was from your parents. And that resulted in them moving across the country to be closer to Kevin, cutting you out and leaving you behind.

Practically stamping your foot and stopping altogether you let out his name in a small whine.

“So impatient, Tooty,” he whispered like a ghost into your ear, sending a flock of goosebumps down your neck. His calloused hands itched at your soft skin. Your eyelashes tickling his palms. “I promise it’s worth the wait, just a little bit further.”

Sighing with hmmpfed pout, you trudge on, squishing snow beneath your feet.

“Okay, are you ready?” Eddie gleams, hinted delight in his voice like a child showing his parents his cubby at school.

“No,” you tease, eyes still closed, “I think I’ll just turn around and go home.”

Eddie breathes out a groan and tickles his cold fingers into your neck, giggling as you squeal, “see you brought your infamous attitude, sweetheart.”

Gasping for breath from the cold and trying to get away from Eddie’s frigid digits you quip, “ah, you know me, I don’t leave home without it.”

“Brat,” Eddie jokes, moving your shoulders into the perfect position he sees fit. “Alright b—Tooty, open your eyes.”

The sun shines blinding against the frosted white ground, stinging your eyes as you open them from the darkness of your eyelids and Eddie’s sheltered hands. Nestled in the back corner of the parking lot next to a pile of snow sits your car, sitting on 4 brand new tires.

Stunned beyond believe, heart full and ready to burst you are at a loss for words.

“Uh—, sorry it took so long, I fixed it up a little bit more than what was initially wrong with it, replaced the tires—they were pretty bad, fixed the headlights, completely flus— ”

Eddie’s mechanical explanation of what was wrong with your car and how he fixed it goes dead with a grunt and a gasp as you throw yourself into his arms, forgetting his healing ribs you fully wrap your legs around his waist. Ignoring the way the snow on your boots is soaking through his shirt making his back wet, his leather jacket riding up from your sudden jump into his arms. He is completely consumed in this moment. He doesn’t care. The whole world is in his hands, and he doesn’t want the warmth of your body to escape him. Soul on fire and the barricade around his heart completely down, grass growing where they lay now, he is enamored by you. The smell of your hair, how tight you are squeezing him around the back of his neck. Your thighs clutching him. He’s a mess. Melting more than Frosty did on the warmest day of the year.

Welling tears spill from your eyes, you whisper shyly, “thank you,” Floored by your own emotions, you are speechless. Outside of the Wheeler’s, you haven’t had someone care for you on such a personal level before. Eddie made you feel safe, he gave you a sense of calm that filled you with hope, filled you with joy. Not being able to fathom how your life has changed so much since he moved in, the anxiety of everyday life washing away with his smile. His goofiness rinsing the doubt out of the air. The bruise around his eye is fading, color returning back to its original beautiful paled complexion. Emotions running high, you can’t convey with words how grateful you are, instead you pull your head from his shoulder and turn it slightly. Pressing delicate mauve painted lips to his cheek. It’s sweeter than sugar. A dainty quick kiss as sudden as the first drop of rain hitting your cheek in the summer.

Wiggling down his body with one last squeeze around him, he doesn’t register that you are sliding away from him on purpose until he releases his hands on the back of your legs. Thankful for his long hair more than ever today, his ears are tinged red much like his cheeks, one colored with a mauve set of lips he never wanted to wash away. Keeping you with him forever.

Looking into Eddie’s eyes you notice how big they are, a smirk is dancing across his lips. Not wanting to ruin the sentiment, but anxious all the same, you push his chest lightly, a coy smile on your lips, “hungry?”

Oh he was hungry. Starved for you. Your touch, your lips, your smile, the way the sunlight caught your hair. He’s never been so hungry for affection in his entire life, and you were feeding him crumbs. Couldn’t you see he was on his knees begging, pleading for more?

“Always,” he finally sputters out, desperately hoping you didn’t see the tiny hearts floating around his head like a cartoon character in love, “but you’re driving,” he says tossing you your key ring, “time to be my chauffeur, babe.”

It feels weird to be behind the wheel of a car again, considering you haven’t driven in months. The same yellowed tree scent hung from your rearview mirror, no longer full of aroma, fake blue and green Mardi Gras beads jingle together as you bump along the neglected roads of Hawkins. Polaroids of you and Nancy smile back at you from beneath the dash. Various materials of scrunchies litter the gear shift. Loose change fills one of the cup holders.

The sound of a window rolling down and the smell of burnt tobacco has you looking over at Eddie. He looks like he’s in a clown car. Bent bare knees from the holes in his jeans are cramped against the dash. His long arms lighting two cigarettes, a brown filtered end for himself, and a white one for you. He inhales deeply, pushing the smoke out of his lungs and looking out the window, arm bent lazily, palm up to hand you yours. Shamelessly flirting, you carefully place your mouth around the cigarette, your lips grazing his knuckles as you look up at him, with a wink you retreat from him, your lipstick leaving another mark on his skin. Burning into him, inking his skin better than any tattoo he had gotten so far. The bob of his throat is more than noticeable as he gulps deeply. He trails his eyes from your devilish lips to your innocent eyes. Wide enough that Bambi would cry at the sight of them.

Eddie shakes his head with a sigh, choking on smoke as you smile to yourself. You don’t notice the way he readjusts himself in the seat, desperately trying to cross his legs, a heat in his cheeks that he would blame on himself getting a cold if you were to ask.

He’s like a child at a fair, touching every single thing in his line of vision, jokingly grabbing the oh shit handle with every turn you take. Flicking his lighter, moving the visor up and down and to the side, pulling this way and that. Adjusting his seat all the way backwards and then all the way forward when you stop at a stop sign, hand still on the lever, a laugh stuck in his throat as he’s practically folded like an accordion in the front seat.

Blondie’s “Call Me” plays and Eddie grabs the hairbrush he found in the glovebox as a microphone. He’s moving his shoulders in a way that suggests he’s a seductive lounge singer, throwing his hair behind him, then in front of him. His eyes dipped in alluring sex appeal, throwing his head back and showing the expanse of his neck. He laughs a maniacs giggle and so do you. Relishing the time spent with him.

“Thought metalheads didn’t dig Blondie,” you question, inhaling the last of your cigarette and discarding it out of the window.

Eddie chuckles, “Surprisingly enough, one of the regulars at the Hideout plays it on repeat while we’re clearing the stage. Every. Single. Night. Speaking of which, uhh—,” he wasn’t sure how to ask you, not even sure if you wanted to go— but it was worth a shot and what would it hurt— worse thing that could happen would be you saying ‘no’, “ya got plans the day after Christmas?”

Thinking for a while you didn’t want to let it on that you in fact had zero plans. It’s not as if your parents came home to celebrate with a dinner or take you to a movie, fuck they never even bothered to call.

“Merry X -mom dad & kev”

Barely a greeting. Just slanted, chicken scratch handwriting inked onto a blank 99 cent Christmas card. The cheapest of pens was used to write the five words, noted by the scribble at the bottom of the card, when the ink went dry. The card itself was very basic, crimson red with a cartoon Christmas tree on the front. More than likely purchased at a gas station with a carton of Marlboros and a microwaved bean burrito. Cold fingers wrap around the envelope, cotton gloves smoothing over the handwriting as if it were a cherished love letter from your husband lost at sea.

Without fail, the one time a year you heard from them, left you more hollowed than the previous one. And as bummed as you were, when Eddie saw the card in the trash can when he tied up the garbage for the curb, he didn’t hesitate, didn’t pry, didn’t ask. Just tied up the trash and didn’t say anymore about it.

“Hmm.. well the salon is closed so I won’t be working, why what’s up?”

Eddie leans over and turns the knob of the radio down, insinuating how serious he was, “well the band is throwing a gig at the Hideout, kinda like a party for everyone who needs to blow off some steam after the holidays… and I thought maybe you’d wanna go? I haven’t seen you at a Corroded Coffin concert since the 80’s.”

He was right, you hadn’t seen them perform outside of your own garage since high school. Busting his balls a little, your lips curl in a sweet tease, “would I make the fifth or the sixth drunk there?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and makes a face, “I’ll have you know, we actually have to sell tickets now, but you? I'm making you pay double for that mean comment.”

“Oh kiss my ass,” you laugh as he shove him lightly, “I guess I can make an appearance.”

Eddie grins ear to ear, he can’t wait to see you in the crowd smiling up at him. Since he’s moved in, he’s dreamt of the day you finally went to see him play again.

“Well I guess I’ll see you there, maybe even buy you a drink, if you’re lucky.”

He thumbs through your cassettes oooing and awing over your beloved tapes, plucking Stevie Nick’s Bella Donna tape and flipping it over to read the song list on the back.

Head spinning you imagine how sexy Eddie would look on stage. Imagining the sweet aroma of sweat dripping from his hair on his bare chest has you practically drooling, thankful that Eddie is pre occupied with your cassettes, you squeeze your thighs tight.

Eddie begins to hum dumbly along as the end of REO Speedwagon sings about taking it on the run, the mixed tape you’d had since high school plays the next song, Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car”. The beginning guitar melody rings into his ears, a song he hadn’t heard in years.

“You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere. Maybe we make a deal. Maybe together we can get somewhere. Any place is better. Starting from zero, got nothing to lose. Maybe we’ll make something. Me, myself, I got nothing to prove.”

The lyrics hit your soul, Tracy’s gentle voice singing calmly to you, roped tight with Eddie’s deep serenade, must be what the gates of heaven sound like when they’re opening. Like the two people in the song, you were both tortured by your pasts, aching for something real something new. You ached for him. Did he for you?

Looking over at him, the cords of his neck stretched tight, prominent muscles jutting out around a chain necklace he never took off. It’s impossibly thick, veins lining it perfectly, the best candidate for a vampire’s snack. Stopping yourself from wondering what your teeth would feel like against his skin there, you tear your eyes away from him. Would your tongue tickle from the bitter taste of his cologne? Would the slight drag of your teeth beneath his jaw drive him wild, feral like how you’re feeling? Heat blooming along your cheeks and flooding your belly. You can practically feel the silk of his skin on your lips, daydreaming about the noises he would make if you were to flick the tip of your pink tongue along his adam’s apple. Sucking sweetly, softly… you spend the rest of the drive to Benny’s lost and dazed, desperate for any sort of relief. Body, and soul.

-

The aroma of bacon grease hung thick in the air when you walked into Benny’s. The sagging, water stained wall paper and faded formica table tops were a staple for the dingy diner. Anyone not from Hawkins, would turn up their nose and leave, fanning their face like a woman in church in the south in the 30’s at the sight of the disheveled diner that somehow kept passing inspections. Benny kept the kitchen area spotless, but could not be bothered with the decor and upkeep of the simple things such as wallpaper and art that dated back to borderline colonial times.

Eddie licked his lips as he eyed the sticky and tattered menu. His stomach was an endless pit, a never ending gaping hole the size of the Grand Canyon. Two baskets of fries, a patty melt, a stack of pancake and a piece of cheesecake, “it’s for later,” he said with a smile, only to devour it in two forkfuls once it arrived in its “to-go” box.

“Thank you, by the way,” you murmur around a mouthful of peach cobbler, voice growing small. “For my car, and well everything you do— oh shit, what do I owe you guys?”

Eddie swallows hard, throat coated with the velvety cheesecake, “Nothing,” he answers as if it were an insult you even asked.

“C’mon Eddie,” you say rolling your eyes, “what do I owe you?”

He enunciates the word again, making syllables where they are otherwise not needed. Moving his head left and right as he gets closer and closer, moving over the booth’s table like a snake, the ends of his curls dancing over the tabletop, a smug look pressed on his lips as he licks his fork.

Pulling your eyebrows in and folding your arms across your chest, you narrow your eyes at him.

“It’s not gonna work,” Eddie says, leaning over to take the last bite of your peach cobbler, savoring the warm peach and sugar infused treat on his tongue, “your pouting games won’t work on me, no matter how fucking cute you look.”

The scowl set on your face would have impressed Medusa, before his smile broke you. He was good at that, breaking you out of your shell and opening your eyes to show you that life didn’t always have to be taken so seriously. Your smile matches his and he reaches for the bill, sliding out of the booth. Twisting your body to stand from the under stuffed cushion Eddie is standing in front of you, leaning with one hand on the table, bill curled in his grasp, the other on the back of the booth. He looks like he’s going to say something but it’s lost on his tongue. Defeat and uncertainty cloud his eyes, not here, not now. He hangs his head, shaking his curls lightly. Shaking the nervousness from himself. He reached a ringed hand out to you, eyes dripping with want and cheeks pinked in the prettiest blush on his cream colored skin, along with the mauve lipstick he never wiped off, wearing your lips proudly, a prize greater than gold burned into his skin.

Words fail him, he notices how when you’re around just how much you steal the breath from his lungs. Almost as if he is prepubescent, full of acne and a buzzed head all over again. Scared of girls, a gangly freak who people made fun of. A lost sheep. It had been years since anyone has made him feel that way, usually women were throwing panties at him, bras, themselves at times. It wasn’t hard for him to fulfill his temporary needs. One faceless broad at a time. You? You were nothing like that. He respected you, trusted you, wanted you to feel safe with him. Wanted to take you out and show you off as his girl, his Tooty. Would you want that? Would you want to be his?

“Ready?” He asks, voice low and his lips dripping with a teasing smile.

Nodding, he pulls you up to him, your smooth fingers wrapped in his rough calloused hands. His face tilted downward to yours, yours up to him. And all of his questions are answered by the look in your eyes. They’re warm, dreamy, sucking him in like a magnet to your soul, frantically yearning to connect yours with his. And he’s ready to give it all to you.

-

Standing at the faint remnants of color of the checkout counter, a waitress locks eyes with you first. Smiling warmly and making chit chat. Eddie slides the check around you onto the smooth surface, her bubble gum persona fleeting immediately at the sight of him, her brown eyes staring heavily through her bangs at the stained lipstick on his cheek. Giving you and Eddie a quickened glance, she makes a beeline for the back, knocking the stack of rolled silverware over as the door slammed home behind her.

It doesn’t take an expert to put two and two together. She was either an ex girlfriend or simply an ex lover. Either way, at one point in time they meant something to each other— and you weren’t sure how much or how little that something was.

It hits you then just how inexperienced you are. Eddie has probably slept with 100s of women; being the lead singer of a small town band gave him that privilege of doing so. Of course he has, he practically , if not not so practically told you himself. Wheels spin in your mind and you’re embarrassed at the way your nose tingles trying to push down the small inkling of jealousy brewing in your belly. What the hell would he want to do with you if there were so many other women, better looking, and definitely sexier— ready to be his flavor for the night? Being with Eddie was a joke and you were the punch line— why would a guy like him settle down with someone as vanilla as you?

Suspicion creeping it’s ugly face in your mind and making room for all its baggage as a large hand meets your lower back guiding you gently towards the door. He’s talking but it falls deafly around you. Not wanting to know, but finding difficulty in keeping your mind from wandering, you stretch into the unknown of just how many women Eddie has slept with.

The number didn’t matter.

Shouldn’t matter.

But it begged the question looming in your mind for weeks: would you be enough for him? Walking in jaded silence back to the car, the crunch of snow beneath your feet, wind whipping your hair in your face, Eddie’s warm hand on your back, rubbing slow circles as he joins your silence. Desperately looking through the clouds of your mind trying to find where you went.

Eddie might be a lot of things. He may not be that great at math, knowing the ins and outs of fractions to make his sales when he was a dealer for Rick didn’t exactly qualify him as a mathematician, he struggled with making friends when he was younger, learning that being an obnoxious kid didn’t win any gold stars in the popularity department. But he was profoundly excellent at recognizing people’s emotions, any tiny slip, slow shift— he could sense it immediately. So when you shut down, leaving only nods to his never ending questions, he knew you were hurting.

Fumbling with your keys from your pocket they are plucked from your grasp by thick ringed fingers,”Eddie what the h—”

“Just—,” he pauses then, unsure of what to say, how to explain how he feels about you, the words are thick on his tongue but he knows he needs to explain something first, “wait,”

He runs a hand through his hair and points back at the door to Benny’s, “I— I’ve never given a shit about any girl I’ve been with.” The line is not at all how he wanted it to sound, what was meant to be sincere came out as cocky and like he was almost bragging.

“Oh—kay?” you answer even more confused than you were already feeling. “What the hell does that have to do with me?”

He huffs a breath and kicks around snow with the toe of his boot, “I’ve never w— fuck,” he takes a few steps backwards throwing his paled face to the now blackened charcoal sky, muttering to himself. This was not going well. He could feel you slipping from his fingers. What was meant to be a nice night was now being spoiled by his incoherent thoughts, mouth moving faster than his brain could think. He looks back at you, your eyebrows raised, weight shifted with your arms crossed. Whatever message he was trying to convey was spilling a capital ‘F’ of his blood all over the snow, crimson coloring the white ground.

Chewing his tongue, jaw tightening with aggressive anticipation that he’s just fucking everything up—he finally spits it out, his mind cooperating with his mouth and all in one heavy, heated breath he practically screams, “goddamnit, Tooty— I’ve never cared about someone like how I care about you.”

Stunned, you stand stone still, watching him with large eyes.

“You— you’re the— fuck.” He moves quick, wrapping his fingers around your cheeks tilting your head up to him, the breath stolen from your lungs as you watch his eager eyes swirl with browns and blacks, Dr. Pepper fountains of bliss. He hesitates, licking his lips. Looking from your lips to your eyes and back again. Deciding not to do what he so desperately craves. But it’s not the right time. Not here. Not now. Not before he asks. Not before you understand the multitude of his seriousness. Not before you make it known that you want it too. Taking a deep breath he finds the courage to press forward, voice strong and steady, no longer breaking, no longer unsure. Confident. “No other girl— no groupie, no ex girlfriend no past fling— no one means shit to me except you, okay?”

Heart exploding piñata candy allover your body, tootsie rolls flowing through your arteries, cotton candy dancing in your lungs, sugary mars bubblegum filled lollipops peak from your eyes as you fall hopelessly further in love with him. His fingers melt into your cheeks, burning and dissolving your candy coated insides into a liquid fire of a molten river filled with pinked sweet syrup. You want to swim in his chocolate eyes like August Gloop. Never full of him.

Would he taste sweet? Oh how your lips cried a sorrowful song not being able to lick the sweet words that drip from them.

Later that night your stomach flutters thinking of his lips on yours. That small kiss on his cheek meant more to both of you than could be imagined. Solidifying there in the parking lot of Boom’s Autoshop, just how much you meant to each other. A silent agreement. An understanding. The line was crossed. The only question now is: who would jump with both feet first?

-

The dusty overstuffed Christmas tree box slides across the kitchen linoleum with a drag as you shove all your weight into it from the basement steps.

“You’re a stubborn woman y’know that?” Eddie grumbles from the other side of the box, pulling it further into the kitchen, circling back and reaching his hand out to help you up the steps. “I told you I would get all of this up after I got off work.” His work coveralls coated with deep stains of motor oil and grease, snow melting slowly on his boots.

Huffing low and climbing the last step you explain, “yep, and I told you, mister,” a long nail poking him in the chest, “that I didn’t need any help.”

“Yeah yeah, just gonna do everything by yourself your whole life, never asking for help?” Eddie asks, matching your attitude, booping your nose with a dirty greased soaked finger, his toothy grin on full display, “always just a little shit aren’t ya?”

A heavy scoff leaves your mouth, fake shock from your lips as you place a hand to your chest, “me? Think you have me confused with someone else, Mr. Munson.”

Eddie’s face twists with gross turmoil at the name. “Christ, I haven’t been called that since high school in Higgins office,” he turns his nose up and scowls, “please sweetheart, consult a doctor you must be ill.”

Bantering back and forth for a few minutes Eddie agrees on taking a shower before starting to set up the tree. “.. and whatever other girly shit you have planned for us.” He says with a laugh as he shuts the bathroom door and turns the silver knob for the shower head.

It was Friday night and since Nancy had moved out starting her own Christmas traditions with Jonathan, you were left with her same traditions in the same house but with a new someone to make them special with.

Chili was simmering on the stove. Rich and spicy just the way Karen Wheeler had taught you to make it, the counter held her famous cinnamon roll recipe, rising gently on the counter. It was engraved in your mind after watching her make them every Sunday for years, and you had yet to make them for Eddie. The kitchen smelled savory yet sweet, the mixed concoction floating heavenly notes of hunger induced stomach pains to the bathroom as Eddie toweled off, pulling a pair of gray sweatpants low on his hips. His hair hung in wet lengthy ringlets, dripping down his back as he emerged into the dim lit kitchen, a hunger in his belly— but not holding a candle to the fiery burn of want in his stomach at the sight of you.

The flour dusted lightly on your cheek could be mistaken for pixie dust with how magical you looked to him, the sleeves of your baggy red velour knit sweater were bunched around your elbows, bringing a spoon to your plump lips as you made them into a small ‘O’ blowing gently on the contents of meat, tomatoes, peppers and kidney beans cradled in the the silver utensil close to your lips.

Eddie had never been jealous of silverware before but he would give his left nut and his guitar away to be that lucky heated spoon for just one minute. Slotting the metal into your mouth, you hum a sigh of satisfaction as you savor the delectable bite, chewing slowly and licking your lips, Eddie is gripping the counter tighter than an old woman gripping her life alert as she tumbles to the ground. Fuck, he’d break a hip— hell no, he’d break every bone in his body just to have you hum around him, any part of him, his earlobe, his fingers, his cock, he didn’t care. Reaching up and brushing his own cheek like a coy school girl, he still felt the way your lips touched his cheek— and that was weeks ago.

“Think Jonathan still does secret investigative pictures for Murray Bauman if you were looking to snap a few pictures you little perv.”

Head swiveling towards him at your last word, you can’t keep the act up anymore, your cheeks feel like they’re going to burst with how wide you’re smiling, your laugh echoes off his naked chest and hits the cabinets, pinballing around the room, striking him like lightning in a summer storm— bright first and the thunderous boom coming after.

Snorting at your own joke and the way his cheeks heat with shame—caught with his hand in the cookie jar, drool practically falling from his lips as his mouth hangs open. He has never looked better. Your boldness stays long enough to send him a wink, and your stomach flutters when he returns it, rubbing his cheeks to will away the blush implemented on his skin.

“Are we going to eat or are you just going to keep making fun of me?” Eddie presses, a light shade of pink still tinged on his cheeks, his smile bright and cheerful.

Walking closer to him you let your body take control, mind not thinking. Useless in your head as you move with sure steps closer to him. Not wanting to know the repercussions of your actions, yet something about him has made you so sure that what you’re feeling was real. That he felt it too, reassuring you with his body language, his words. He wants this and so do you. Time to dive in. But the ache of rejection, fear of making a mistake, afraid to let yourself be loved when you aren’t worthy of it. Has your stomach in knots. Stopping short of your hands on his chest, the confidence is gone, buried beneath the savory smells of the kitchen and the heated stares between you both.

Uncertainty soaring, you place your hands on your waist, head hung in a cloud of anxiety, “tree first, then we can eat.”

Silently moving through the motions, you unbox the tree monotonously. Eddie’s raging war against himself. Begging the question of what happened to make you turn the flirting dial off. The tree is up, and you’re busy fluffing the branches after a year of being squashed in a box and stuffed into a basement. Overthinking what you said to Eddie, you can’t move past how he makes you feel.

It’s not as if you have had a boyfriend other than Chad, or even had anyone other than him kiss you, touch you, and none of that was enjoyable. Being with him was crippling, suffocating in a way that you weren’t ever sure you’d ever be able to breathe normally again. Living in a state of constant fear for years, waiting for the day he would return. And when he did—Eddie was there to comfort you, hold you while the panic attack riddled your body, collapsing in on itself. Eddie was there to pick up your broken pieces and mend them together with his silliness, his arms wrapped around your body shielding you from demons he couldn’t see. Taking the blame for something that wasn’t his fault. He was impossibly charming, good-looking and even though he could be a pain in the ass— you couldn’t imagine your life without him.

“Fuck, ow ow, shit, Tooty! I’m not a genius or anything, but there is no way this is right!” A quick jolt back to reality has you turning your head sharply to see Eddie tangled in emerald green ropes of colorful christmas lights. Entwined in his hair, around his thick fingers, and arms. Christmas clashing with his tattoos he’s all furrowed brows and huffed breaths. You desperately try to stifle a smile but fail miserably. “It’s not funny! It hurts!”

“Eddie,” you choke out in between laughs, reaching up with delicate fingers, and a laugh buried in your chest you begin to untangle his messy curls from the strings of lights. Adjusting his curls this way and that his brows lax at your pretty face so close to his. There they are again, the lips that kept him up the last few nights. The lips that could be full of vinegary insults, and sweet sultry compliments. The silky skin of them call out to him in his dreams, purring his name.

Feeling the need to explain himself for earlier, “for the record, sweetheart, I was staring at the spoon, n—not at you.”

Smooth. Jesus Christ.

“The spoon huh?” Giggling at his lie, untangling his rings and fingers from the lights, releasing him from the holiday handcuffs, “really? and what was so interesting about it, hmm?”

Eddie grabs your hand as it slips from his hair, leaning close enough that his chest is brushing yours, “I have a grudge against it.”

Confused, you pull your eyebrows inward, “what?”

His lips are licked and he holds your hand palm to palm your fingers between his, hugging his rings in your small grasp. His other hand travels up to your chin, laying lightly against your delicate skin. Small strokes of his thumb outline your top lip, and you suck in a quickened breath. Your knees are weak, and you lean into his touch, pushing yourself closer, skimming your fingers along the charcoal outlines on his chest.

The satiny pillows of your lips against his rough calloused skin send him to heaven on angel’s wings. His eyes are trained on your mouth, thumb lining your Cupid’s bow. He circles downward, studying your lips like a map, following the path of Magellan to the corner of your mouth. Face studied hard he doesn’t see the way your eyes have closed, and barely registers the nails on your hand scratching his chest in delight. If your lips were a test, he’d pass with flying colors. Every line is memorized, the color is painted more beautifully than that asshole on tv painting sceneries of birds and rivers. He’s not even breathing, and you aren’t sure if you’re awake or asleep. His fingers act like melatonin lulling you to sleep with each sweep across your lips. Pulling your bottom lip down, a noise escapes his throat as he watches it pop back up against your teeth with a soft thump.

“The spoon is lucky,” Eddie admits through broken breath. His words flow through you like the smoothest water against a creek bed, rippling and bubbling in your veins pooling in your core and heating your body with lust.

“Eddie,” you hum, sending a vibration through his fingers to his now throbbing cock. The oven beeps and you jump in his hands. Forced back to earth from the ethereal spin of Eddie’s warm fingers massaging your skin. Pulling away from him is harder than erasing a permanent marker, getting year old puke stains out of a carpet, harder than overcoming the worst pain you’ve ever felt. Padding into the kitchen you straighten your sweater, lungs burning with aching want to be filled with Eddie’s essence.

Placing the cinnamon rolls into the center of the warmed oven, you turn to find him behind you, silver Christmas ornament bulbs hanging from his nipple rings. “Think Walt would hire me to dance on stage for Christmas?”

This was routine for you and Eddie, intense moments followed by giggling laughs. An endless circle on repeat. If you weren’t ready to jump he wasn’t going to push you. He’d wait for you, however long it would take for you to be ready to admit that he loved you and you loved him back.

-

The tree was up and lit, beautiful colors of red, blue, yellow and green shone brightly against the dark evergreen. Sitting at the table eating chili and cinnamon rolls, Eddie looks like a kid in a candy shop. Eyes blown wide and sparkling. “Y’know I’ve never done that before.”

“Put Christmas bulbs in your nipple rings?”

After the light fiasco Eddie hung the decorations with care and slotted two silver Christmas bulbs in his nipple rings, shaking his chest around, a twang in his voice, “my stage name is Elejandro but honey you can call me big E.”

“Well that either,” Eddie laughs, wiping a rogue dribble of chili away from his chin, “but no, I’ve never decorated a Christmas tree.”

Swallowing the mouthful of cinnamon roll you mull over his confession, “did I just take your Christmas virginity?”

“Guess so,” he grins, shoveling another spoonful of the hearty chili into his mouth using his cinnamon roll to soak up the tomatoey broth. “Aren’t you lucky?” It was your turn to battle away your thoughts as he licked the back of his spoon then his lips. Oh his wicked tongue would be more than delicious on more than a few places on your body.

“Who’s the perv now, Tooty?” Eddie gleamed, his smile turning upwards in a satanic smile. The heat from your cheeks would fill a cold room with warmth. A wink from his eyes has you both smiling again. Teetering towards uncharted waters but not quiet dipping toes into the waters of giving in, not yet.

-

After cleaning up supper and listening to Eddie thumb through the medicine cabinet for the Tums, you whipped up the sugar cookies and pulled them out of the oven.

They were cooling on a wire rack on the counter. Icing, sprinkles, Christmas themed m&ms and twizzler pull apart licorice were filling the brim of small styrofoam bowls. Hot chocolate was bubbling in mismatched ceramic mugs in the microwave. Awaiting their marshmallow floaties to join the rich chocolate bath.

“Cookies too?” Eddie asks, a shit eating grin on his face as he’s coming back inside from his after supper cigarette, the chill of the frozen air following him on his heels, “baby, you’re spoiling me.”

Baby.

The sentiment falling to the deep pit of your stomach making you clench your thighs tight, a skipped heart beat sending heat through your body. It’s definitely not the first time you’ve heard him say it but the way his eyes sparkle and are half lidded have you liquified into a soupy puddle of goo.

Pushing down the heat building in your body, inhaling deep through your nose, you try to keep it together. It’s getting more and more difficult. The feelings you have for Eddie have been steadily growing fonder since Halloween. That stupid Jesus costume had you thinking the unholiest thoughts for weeks. And now he’s sweeter than ever before. Looking like heaven’s fallen angel, Satan's favorite son. A cherub face with a demonic mind, the perfect disguise. There wasn’t a single square inch of him you hadn’t thought about in ways that would make holy water simmer on your skin. Fuck.

“—Tooty?” fingers snap in your face as you’re pulled from the fiery depths of pure joyful sinful lust filled hell. Eddie as the devil and you sitting at his right hand, his hands.

“Christ, you look possessed,”

Oh how you were.

“S-sorry,” you stammer out, a nervous laugh pushes from your lungs as he smiles at you.

Eddie and you were just two misfits, throwing together a Christmas like it was normal for you both. A normal that you could very easily get accustomed to.

-

“You what?!” Nancy shrieks in the booth next to yours as she rolls another perm rod into her mother’s hair. Her thin eyebrows are hidden beneath her straight bangs a look of disbelief planted on her face, “holy fuck, you’re serious?”

Explaining to Mrs. Nancy Byers and Karen Wheeler about your developing feelings for your roommate, left one of the related women stunned, the other with ecstatic delight.

Karen claps her hands, a fuschia smile on her lips, eyes bright and fighting back tears, “oh sweetie I am so happy for you.”

“Thanks,” you say shyly, fiddling with the combs on your counter, “and yes Nance, I am serious.”

Fingers moving rapidly she rolls the rest of Karen’s hair before saying anything else. “I’m happy for you, too ya know,” Nancy finally admits, “I saw the way he stared at you on Halloween.”

“Saw who stare?!” Robin chirps as the bell above the front door dings, announcing her Kramer-esque arrival, spinning chaos in a denim jacket. She slots her wirey frame in your chair, snowy boots plopped on your counter.

Nancy spins Karen around and motions for her to sit under the dryers. “Seeing Eddie stare at Tooty on Halloween,” she explains to Robin.

Robin nods and flicks through your brushes and hairsprays on the counter. “Oh for sure, he’s in love with her, it's so obvious.”

A bloom in your chest erupts as heat floods your cheeks. Robin’s confirmed words spread open your chest with adoration and love. It’s one thing to think someone might like you, hope they will reciprocate the same feelings, but it’s quite another thing to have multiple other people notice the feelings growing between you and someone you're crazy about.

Robin, Nancy and yourself gossip for the rest of your shift. Robin leaving with fire engine red hair, matching the blood pooling around your heart, beating for Eddie, aching for his touch, his smile, his stupid jokes. All of him. You were ready to take the dive.

-

“Oil change on this thing already?” Eddie laughs as Steve jumps out of the midnight black G-Wagon, tossing the keys in the air to himself.

Steve chuckles and threads his fingers through his hair, “yeah, new job has me traveling most of the time, and whenever I don’t want to fly— they provide me with this bad boy,” a sparkly gold plastic credit card is pulled from his wallet.

He goes into detail about how he has been taking Leighanne with him on his trips and just got back from seeing the Christmas tree lighting at Rockefeller Center in New York, how he’s sure he’s in love with her. “I’m happy for you, man.” Eddie says, “she seemed like she really was into you.”

Steve smiles, a cigarette between his teeth, “how’s the whole situation with Tooty? Make a move yet?”

Eddie lights his own cigarette, mulling over his answer. The short of it was, things were going … steady? They weren’t moving forward but not necessarily moving backwards either. He thought you felt the same way he yearned for you, but what if he made his move and you recoiled? He would die if he made you feel uncomfortable in any sort of way. You were his main goal, his end game, his one in a million, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he screwed it up.

His stomach in knots he feels like he could puke all over the patent leather of Steve’s shoes.

“I think it’s good?” Eddie blurts, confusion in his tone and a nervous hint of dread. “I care about her a lot— and I’ve told her that, I— ” he swallows hard, unsure of his next sentence but needing some advice, “I just don’t know how to show her that she means more to me than just a friend or a roommate or my friends’ sister.”

Steve looks at him confused, “dude,” he asks in all seriousness, “are you a virgin?”

The choked out bellering laugh Eddie emits from his body scares away the birds resting their feet on the telephone line. “Steve, what part of me being in a band and a cocky asshole screams virgin?”

“Well, you’re acting like one! ‘I don’t know what to do!’ Fuck man, stop being so scared and just tell her how you feel!”

Eddie's laugh turns sour, “I’ve never had to do this before, I haven’t been in a relationship in six years, and even then, I never once felt how I do about Tooty. So yeah I am scared because I don’t wanna fuck it up or have her think I’m just some creep like that fuckwad Chad.”

Steve shakes his head, and grabs Eddie by the shoulders, “you’re overthinking this, like a fuck load—she likes you, I know she does because whenever I talk to her she’s always telling me about something you did that day, but if you want some guidance— I’ll help you out.”

The greatest heads of hair in Hawkins, Indiana work for the next half hour, developing a plan for Eddie to make his move before he lost you.

-

Soft, pillowy blankets of pure white snow cover the cramped poverty stricken Forest Hills Trailer Park. Illuminating the impoverished community in a mask of Christmas spirit. White, and pristine. An illusionists dream, one so great that someone might have mistaken the rotting trailers and the broken down vehicles as heaps of snow instead of the decrepitness that would show truth when the masking snow melts and brings forth the ugly harshness of muddy roads and sinking foundations.

Spending Christmas Day with Eddie and meeting his uncle had brought a sweetness to your insides, eating away the sourness that the holidays delivered most years, a steady reminder that you were passed down like a pair of jeans. It had been Eddie’s idea to bring dinner over to his uncle's place and you were more than excited to get another peek at his world. Having talked to Wayne on the phone about what he would like you to make for food, his voice was gruff but serene, calling you ma’am and answering your questions between puffs of his cigarette.

“Darlin’,” Wayne answered after the second time of you asking if he was sure that it didn’t matter what you brought over; he didn’t want you to fuss over him, “we could have Surfer Boys pizza for all I care, but if you do make something— you make damn sure that nephew of mine is helping ya, alright? I ain’t raised no man to sit and watch work bein’ done, no matter what he thinks.”

Giggling with a hand to your mouth, Eddie rolls his eyes, cheeks burning crimson, “Christ Wayne,” he breathes, “pipe down or I’ll take your Christmas present back.”

A hacking cough rumbles from the other end of the phone as the two Munson men bicker back and forth.

Settling on garlic mashed potatoes, swedish meatballs, green bean casserole, dinner rolls, and the second pumpkin pie since Eddie ate the first one with a fork and a container of cool whip on the couch after work yesterday; you and Eddie stand at the door of the sky blue trailer the morning of Christmas Day, arms full with casserole dishes and desserts.

The door opens and the waft of a bachelor-esque aroma hits your nose. Stale cigarettes, and laundry soap combine is a surprisingly comforting smell as Wayne Munson meets you at the door. Icy blue eyes crinkled at the edges take a look at all the food balanced between four arms and immediately grabs the containers from you, cigarette planted between his fingers as he slides the food into his own arms. “Lord,” he huffs, “you been cookin’ all morning?”

Eddie holds the door open with his foot and ushers you in, hot on your heels to get away from the bitter cold. “Hell yeah she has been,” Eddie said proudly, showing you off like a 4H blue ribbon, “she wouldn’t even let me taste test it.”

Shying away from his compliments you place the mashed potatoes on the counter, turning around to get a full look at the tiny trailer.

Mugs of various assortments, sizes, colors and shapes decorate the wall above the door. A row of dusty long forgotten hats, balances over the window above the brown couch. A small tv is set in the corner of the living room, a table that has seen better days is wedged into a tight corner across from the cabinets in the kitchen, two matching chairs and a third aluminum folding chair propped against it, the seat hard cracking plastic, stuffing spilling out. The fridge is small but functional, a brass magnet with a clamp holds a hand written note of dates, some crossed out in red ink, others upcoming left alone, next to a calendar. The home is well loved and portrays everything you expected from a bachelor pad. Simple, tidy, cramped.

Imagining Eddie in high school living here, you wonder if the brown couch held more than just dust and well grooved ass prints. Memories of Eddie’s previous lovers? One night stands? The thoughts make you shiver with jealousy and disgust as you take lids off of containers and place aluminum foil from the meatball tray on the side of the counter. Eddie and Wayne are on your right talking about a leaky shower head, the cost of replacement parts and how much it would cost to get a new one.

“… agh,” Wayne argues, “it won’t take me long to take it all apart and figure it out, ain’t no need to go out and buy a new one.”

“Alright stubborn ass,” Eddie pokes, a toothy grin on his face, “just trying to make it easier on you.”

Wayne and him laugh, greeting each other with a hug. Eddie is a whole head taller than Wayne, their stark differences are completely night and day. Where Eddie is pale, Wayne’s skin is weathered and tan, the piercing blue eyes are ice against his tan complexion, meanwhile Eddie’s eyes are so dark they could be mistaken for black holes in the galaxy.

The Munson men pull away with slaps on the shoulders and jokes about frail bones and old age. When Eddie looks at you next Wayne’s eyes follow, his ruddy ringed hand gesture to you with a palm upwards, presenting you like a celebrity, “Wayne, this is Tooty, Tooty, this is my uncle Wayne.”

Smiling sweetly and stretching your hand forward for Wayne to shake you are enveloped with his warmth through his heavily calloused hands. “Pleasure to meet ya darlin’, Eddie ain’t ever brought a girl home for me to meet before.”

Never brought a girl home.

How could you be the first? Eddie dated Chrissy for an entire year, and you’re sure he’s had more than one girlfriend in the past. Including the waitress at Benny's. Why wouldn’t he have brought any of them to meet Wayne? Clearly his uncle means a lot to him, and you remember how Eddie was with Chrissy, how much he cared about her… why did she never come back to the Munson home?

Eddie interjects your thoughts, his cheeks pinked with embarrassment, “Wayne what the f—.”

“Ah hell, I forgot I bought some paper plates, let me go get ‘em from the truck.” Wayne tuts, walking quickly past you and Eddie, the cool rush of air fills the room and the snap of the screen door has Eddie shaking his head. Murmuring to himself about needing to keep his mouth shut as he busies himself with getting forks and knives from the wonky drawers.

-

Empty plates and full bellies coordinate into a sleepy haze between you all. Wayne’s contagious laugh fills the kitchen as Eddie groans when the small photo album is passed around the table. “Remember this one Ed? Damn you were madder’n a hornet that day when Mrs. Milford asked you to mow her yard.”

“Ya,” Eddie yelled, “that’s cause there is no yard she just made me pick up rocks, and most of it was dog shit from Rocko!”

Wayne’s bellering laugh brings tears to your eyes at Eddie’s misfortunes. A picture of a younger Eddie no older than ten years old, dirt and a scowl on his face, same big doe eyes and a bad haircut.

A smile finally breaks on his face seeing your smirk dance on your lips as you wipe the laughing tears from your eyes.

The three of you spend hours laughing, Eddie and Wayne clean up the table as you put food in Tupperware containers for Wayne, slotting them into the fridge and stacking them neatly.

The Christmas present Eddie had for Wayne was in the back of the van and was heavy. Wayne jumped in to help Eddie carry it in, tutting and making a fuss when you told him you could do it, “no ma’am, you sit down right there, I mean it!”

Once outside, the two Munson’s light up cigarettes, exhaling puffs of smoke into the chilled air, the crunch of snow beneath their boots.

“Sure was nice to meet your girlfriend Ed, I think she’s a keeper,”

Not missing a beat and rolling his eyes Eddie all but screams, “Wayne for fucks sake we are not dating, I told you this! Or did you turn senile since I moved out?”

“Well I just thought that if I’d tease ya enough about it you’d do somethin’ about it ‘stead of gawking at her all night like she’s gonna break.”

Eddie's ears burn, “I have a plan, it’s just not something I wanna ruin— I gotta do it right, she isn’t like anyone else— she— she means more to me than that.”

“I’m proud of ya son, finally grew up,” he claps a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, “you be good to her. Don’t know anyone of your other girly friends, or whatever you call ‘em, who'd dare step foot out in these parts.”

-

Eddie's gift to Wayne had been a bigger tv, one he could watch Gunsmoke on and be able to see it comfortably from the couch instead of squinting. Wayne smiled from ear to ear and kept on smiling when he stood at the door and waved goodbye to you both.

Cheeks sore from laughing, exhausted from the day you yawn behind a mittened palm. Watching the street lights bounce and sway as Eddie drives you both home.

“Can’t be tired already are you?” He asks, smoking a cigarette lazily, smoke billowing from his nostrils and around his curls.

You stretch your back, arching it against the cracked leather of his seats, a yawn slips from your mouth, “Just a little bit,” your voice is small and strained from the stretch, eyelids heavy.

He pleads with slight desperation in his tone, “don’t fall asleep on me yet,” his eyes are soft and tender, blinking slow and gazing into yours, “I still have to give you your present.”

“Present?”

Eddie and you hadn’t talked about getting each other presents even though you had one wrapped neatly in a small box in your bedroom at home.

His face lights up as your eyebrows pull into a quizzical ponder. “It’s nothing big,” Eddie shrugs nonchalantly even though his insides are fiery pools of gummy liquid, tangled knots of rope, “just something kinda silly.”

Heated cheeks and a delicate fluttering in your stomach keep you awake the rest of the way home, the fluttering increases anytime Eddie catches you looking at him, his lips pursed in a smirk.

Inside, you speak few words. Eddie tosses his keys on the table, a jingled clink as it skids and stops amongst the stack of mail. The creaking leather of his jacket is soft as it rubs with the flannel fabric of his shirt as his arms are pulled from it, tossing it on the back of the wooden chair. He sits to unlace his boots. The overhead light dances off of the silver of his chunky rings, highlighting his large veiny hands, working in a fluid movement of untying the laces from the eyelets. Those powerful hands. His talented fingers. Aching for them to be on your skin you are tantalized by them. Eyes never moving from the skin pulled taut on his knuckles, chapped and pink from the chilled air and the refusal to wear gloves.

Your own shoes are off, toes begging for warmth as you walk gingerly to your room and change into pajamas. What gift did Eddie have for you? Would he think your gift was weird? Pushing the negativity from your mind, you change into comfy pajamas.

Eddie was waiting in the living room with your gifts behind his back. His mind racing and heart thumping noisily in his chest. He had run this through his mind more times that he could count, obsessing over the fine minute details for days. He had calculated the perfect way to do this with the help of Steve. Tonight was the first part and tomorrow, after ‘A very Merry Corroded Christmas at the Hideout,’ he was going to ask you on a date, a real one. One that he borrowed fancy cologne from Harrington, cleaned his van out for, one that ended with him telling you how crazy he is about you, how he thinks you hung the moon, any and all cliches surmounting every horribly sad country song that Boom made them listen to at work, he’d sing them if you wanted that from him. He’s never felt more like a sap in all his life, but for you, he’d be everything and more. And if he was lucky— and you were ready—maybe he would steal a kiss.

His daydream is cut short when you shuffle from your room to the living room. Christmas tree lit behind him, makes him look fit to be an angel sitting atop the tree rather than standing in front of it, the same smirk he always wore skirting across his face.

The red flannel he’s wearing is rolled to his elbows, pushed up haphazardly. A silver chain hanging delicately around his neck and disappearing in the opening to his shirt. Heart nearly stopping at the sight of him, you walk the same way towards him that he’s standing, hands behind your back, fingers digging into the foiled Christmas wrapping.

“Okay,” Eddie says nervously licking his lips, “let’s countdown from 3 and we can exchange? Does that work?”

Nodding enthusiastically, your mind is screaming at you— your gift is too much, he’s gonna hate it, he’s gonna think it’s weird that you bought this for him. Stomach churning like butter, you hear Eddie’s low velvet voice counting down. At his voice dipping lower when he gets to one you slip the sweat slicked thin box from behind your back and lean hold it out in front of you.

Your chapstick smile is sweet and adoringly beautiful, Eddie nearly drops your present from behind his back at the sight, fingers clutching to the silky wrapped handles of the gift bag with Santa’s fat white ass climbing up into a chimney on the front. His arm swings forward and holds the bag by its handles on one thick finger, like a bomb ready to explode at any second.

Eyes wide and bright he places the gift bag in your hand and exchanges his present for yours. “Eddie you didn’t have to do this,” you gasp at the sight of the bag, “you already fixed my car and wouldn’t let me pay you.”

“Yeah well,” Eddie starts rubbing the back of his neck, “open it and we’ll decide if I should have or not.”

Placing the bag on the ground and taking the crinkly emerald green and sparkly gold tissue paper out one sheet at a time, Eddie’s eyes never leave your hands as you reach the bottom of the bag and they hesitate. His heart jumps to his throat, stomach falling out of his ass. It’s too much, you hate it. Of course you do, it was a stupid idea to begin with. Why the fuck did he ask Gareth for his help? His original idea would have been better than this, and now look! You’re about ready to rip his goddamn head off like a praying mantis or some shit. SON OF A B—

A shrill laugh erupts from your lungs as Eddie feels a tidal wave of relief wash over him. Tucked into the bag, folded as neatly as Eddie could, you pull out a black t-shirt, safety pins decorate the hem, a homemade ripped neckline. Corroded Coffin's sadistic logo is printed on the front and beneath it reads, ‘Eddie’s babysitter’ in bold white lettering. Fingers tracing the lettering you haven’t stopped laughing yet.

“I—I was deciding between ‘babysitter’ or ‘manager’ but went with th— I just figured you needed something to wear for tomorrow and I thought this would be c— do you hate it?”

“Hate it?!” you squeak between giggles, “Eddie this is the best gift I’ve ever received, I can’t wait to wear it.” You meant that, the thought that went into this, the personalization. The almost possession of being anything of Eddie’s made you weak in the knees.

“Thank fuck,” he breathes, finally able to take a breath and relax, “shit I have something else for you too, but uh.. close your eyes and turn around for me.”

His breath on your neck drives goosebumps and flutters all over your body. The cool feel of a necklace tightens on your neck as Eddie latches it closed, and goes slack once he’s finished. His hands trail down your back and land on your hips to turn you back around. His fingertips digging into your flesh ever so lightly.

The necklace is heavy, something weighing it down but you can’t be sure what it is, it’s not until you glance at his hands that you notice one of his rings is missing, the chunkiest of them all, the pig head is no longer on his middle finger, but around your neck instead.

His fingers skate along your neck as he adjusts it into place, tickling your collar bones with his finger tips, sending shivers across your skin, he keeps this up and you’ll be permanently goose pimpled for the rest of your life. You’d wear them proudly if it meant his hands never left you.

“There,” he announces in finality, his eyes dip to your lips, the necklace and back to your eyes, “aren’t you just the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Core throbbing and pooling with molten hot lava at his complimentary words, his velvet, panty dropper voice. Fuck, he is so pretty it hurts.

“Better open your present before your mouth gets you into trouble,” you whisper, blinking long and slow as you stare back into the depths of his eyes, lost in the muddy galaxy.

He grins, his fingers walk up your neck and cup your chin, bringing you ever so slightly towards him, enough that you can feel his breath on your own lips, his tobacco voice pulling you in and wrapping you tight in a nicotine high that they’d make quit ads for in the upcoming future, “oh princess, I’d pay to be in that kind of trouble.”

and you’re floating, in this moment there is no sound, just two souls shedding the last layer of self doubt, the last inkling of the unknown as your toes dip in the warm pools of the burnt caramels of Eddie’s eyes. His lips are slick and you want to get a taste, want to feel the chapped crack in his bottom lip nestled against your tongue, busting the crack open and savoring his blood in your mouth.

The fervoring tension has never been this strong and you wonder if you’ll be able to pull away or if you’ll push yourself up on your tippy toes and close the inch gap between you, sealing your feelings with a kiss. But it’s Eddie who pulls away, taking a ragged breath and hitting himself lightly in the head with your carefully wrapped present.

He could feel the flames from your lips, the sweet venom of your tongue was sirening out to him, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t do it. He has a plan in place and no matter how hard all puns intended it was for him to pull away from you, he had to. Wanting to follow his plan, making sure his i’s were dotted and his t’s were crossed he’d never studied harder for anything in his life. He’d pass this test for sure, having obsessed and studied the material for months, staying up late most nights to tune out the fine details. He’d get this right.

Your eyes droop as he steps away from you tangled in his web of desire you can’t get unreleased from. His fingers slide along the taped edge of the wrapper and you’re certain you’re going to fold like a chair at the way the veins bulge in his hands. He’s looking at the gift you bought, a silence on his lips as you drool for the way he’s holding it. He’s stammering, suddenly an impediment in his vocal chords as his tongue twists thickly against his teeth.

“No way— No fucking way!” He’s screaming, pulling his hair and jumping around the room in a boyish giddiness.

“M-Metallica! Tooty!! No way, dude no way! These are fake right?!”

They weren’t.

Robin always had a craft for winning stupid shit and when the radio station out of Indianapolis announced they were giving away tickets to see Metallica in February to caller number 18, Robin just so happened to call the radio station requesting to do a shout out for Vicky and ended up winning the tickets. The night she came to you to color her hair, you exchanged the service for the tickets.

Before you can answer he grabs you up in his arms, spinning you around the room, holding you tighter than a safety belt on a rollercoaster. He spins and spins as you both laugh like kids.

“Merry Christmas Eddie,” you whisper in his ear when he stops spinning. He’s holding your waist, and you’re on the tips of your toes, his head buried into your neck.

“Why are you so good to me?” Eddie asks solemnly against your neck, his voice vibrating your skin in a heated pulse.

Not answering for a long time, you bathe in his musky scent, his hair tickling your face in silky curls. His strong arms holding you tight against him, your fingers playing with the opening of his flannel and the ends of his curls, your cheek right against his chest, moving with his breathing.

“Because I want to be,” you finally answer, pulling away and getting lost in his inky warm eyes, “you deserve it.”

He reels you back in, his chin atop your head. Minutes melt together and you aren’t sure how long you stand this way, hip bones fusing together as one with your hearts aligning, your eyes have been closed for a while and you feel cracked lips on your forehead, making you shiver as he whispers, softly into your hairline, “my angel.”

-

The next day is filled with chaos. The guys are in and out of the house at the ass crack of dawn bouncing speakers and other odds and ends you didn’t even know were in the house against each other into the back of Eddie’s van. Wearing Eddie’s necklace proudly close to your heart you make them all sit to eat breakfast burritos. They eat and leave with a flash, but not before Eddie comes back through the door. He grabs your hands, holding them softly in his calloused grip, “See you at the show?”

Smiling widely and trying to will the heat from your cheeks away, you answer, “wouldn’t be a proper babysitter if I wasn’t there to watch now would I?”

“Should have made you the janitor,” Eddie grins and as he sees you still wearing his ring around your neck, he tosses you a wink that could liquify smoke. His tall frame slinks out the door driving like a bat out of hell to go set up at the bar.

-

The jeans you’re wearing are so tight accentuating your ass to explicit levels, the worn docs you’ve had for years are perfectly broke in and comfy on your feet, the shirt Eddie made for you wrapped around your chest perfectly, the letters of bending the ‘C’ and the ‘N’ on either side.

Steve, Leighanne, Robin and Vicky pick you up around 6, Robin with her fire engine hair and fishnet stockings under holy jeans. Vicky in a plaid printed overalls and a beret. Steve and Leighanne are both wearing jet black, her in a sheer sleeved button up shirt and a long black skirt. Steve wore an old band shirt he borrowed from Eddie. Your nerves were frazzled but settled slightly when Leighanne and Robin cat called out the window as you paraded down the front steps.

The drive to the Hideout had you stifling a chunky vomit in your throat. Nervous beyond belief you couldn’t shake it. Eddie had asked you to come, made you your own shirt to wear just for tonight, he clearly wanted to see you, wanted to have you watch his band play. Breathing in and out in exaggerated breaths Steve parks the G Wagon and it’s time to go inside. Here goes nothing.

-

Eddie wasn’t kidding, the bar was busy and posters with the bands silhouette were sticking on every surface in the bar and outside of it. Outside the bar was a girl around your age, short in stature, her brown hair piled high on her head, brooding green eyes piercing your own as she smoked a cigarette, selling tickets.

Eyeing your shirt she rolls her eyes, “you must be Eddie’s special guests,” she spits, eyeing you up and down, a jealous pitch in her voice, “guest of honor my ass,” she mumbles to herself as she lets you in free of charge. The Hideout was exactly how you remembered it to be. Pungent smells of spilt liquor and cheap keg beer fill your nose, the smoky haze filling the bar is a welcomed reminder that this place was a legendary spot in Hawkins.

Eddie and the boys were on stage setting up amps and speakers. His long curls catch the light and showering the room with amber swirls of caramel and chocolate. He’s wearing a cut mid drift shirt that looks like it would fit a toddler, his tattoos and fine definitions of his hips and slight abs are on display. Every vein in his arms are protruding and river lined. He’s the single sexiest man on the planet and your body was running over with want.

“Let’s get a drink, yeah?” Steve motions to the sticky counter of the bar. A dark curly haired woman with enormous boobs and red lipstick wearing a t- shirt reading “daddy’s girl” is behind the bar. She’s familiar to you but only in passing, the more you think the more you recognize her as Max's older brother’s girlfriend. Her long red nails clack on the sticky counter as she waits impatiently for you to make a decision.

Steve orders for him and Leighanne and orders Robin a water with a straw, never living down her behavior on his birthday. Vicky and you both order beers that probably should have been cold but with the daggering stare the bartender drove into your skull you didn’t dare ask.

Pocketing the cash Steve slapped into the counter in her bra, she made her way over to the extremely intoxicated drunk girls there for a bachelorette party.

“You’re so fucking pretty, you’re like my bestfriend,” a girl with wavy brown hair and glasses slurs to her friend, her voice up an octave as they power slam fruity drinks that resemble melted skittles.

“I hope Greg realizes what you’re giving up to be with him,” the girl with pinked red hair shouts above the others her leopard print jumpsuit stretched tight across her heaving chest, fussing over her friend with cropped lavender hair’s appearance, holding her up like they’re re-enacting Weekend at Bernie’s.

The bride-to-be pouts and makes a face, “who said I’m giving up anything? This whole bar is free game and according to Jo’s guide for the night, we still have ‘make out with a mustache’ to cross off.”

Snickering as you pass them, Leighanne linked her arm through your left as you make your way to stage, sipping the lukewarm beer in the barely clean glass, its hop tickling your throat with each travel in your mouth. Corroded Coffin has gone backstage and are waiting to be announced. The bar is flooded with people young and old. Reliving their glory days one sparse balding mullet at a time.

“I had no idea Eddie was in a band,” Leighanne whispered loudly into your ear, “he was in such a bad mood when I met him I didn’t really get to know him.”

The memory of Steve’s birthday still stung but the moments after and the day after that were still singing sweetly in your soul. “He’s come around quite a bit,” you explain.

“Yeah,” she agrees, “Steve told me about the two guys he fought at work, said they were mouthing off about you and he just snapped.”

“Nothing that wasn’t deserved,” “I—uh—I took care of it.” He says in a final explanation.

The bruises on his face, the broken ribs, his cracked and bleeding mouth. That was for you? He fought two guys off because of you?

Mind spinning on its own axis you can’t grasp why he would do that for you. Why he would get himself severely hurt just because some douchebags said some shit about you. It wasn’t worth it. Your eyebrows pull inward and your heart aches even more for Eddie. He was hands down the sweetest man you’ve ever come across. Putting himself in harm’s way just to prove a point. He could have lost his job, could have gotten even more hurt than what he was. It was stupid, reckless and dangerous— but somehow you couldn’t think of anything other than your heart hammering into your chest.

A booming voice fills the speakers and coaxes your attention to the center stage. “Please welcome, all the way from Forest Hills Trailer Park, our own, Corroded Coffin!”

Eddie and the boys trot on stage, Gareth takes his seat behind his drum set, followed by Jeff picking up his bass guitar and Big D picking up his instrument, you notice him winking towards a girl beside you, the blush on her pale cheeks could be seen from another planet.

Eddie is the last out, strutting forward with his runt red warlock guitar slung around his neck and a bullet belt hanging on his slender waist. His smile radiates across his face as he approaches the mic. He looks through the crowd with twinkly eyes and when he catches your stare front and center he winks and bends down, voice low as he speaks only to you— as if no one else is in the room but the pair of you. “Prettiest girl in the world made it all the way from Cherry Lane to come and see me huh?”

“Well since you practically begged,” you quip, heat warming your cheeks as his smile spreads wider.

“Wait for me after?” Eddie asks, eyes dripping deeply into yours, cartoon hearts floating from each blink of his lashes.

His stare could heat a kettle it burned into your soul and cozied up with your heart, softening it to a beautiful graying ash. Nodding and smiling like a fool in love you can’t form words when he shoots you a wink and stands in a swift, fluid motion, grabbing the microphone and shouting, “Hawkins! Are you ready to get this party started?!” The lights beat down on the band as they begin their set for the night.

Thrashing on his guitar, Eddie starts the tinny opening to Metallica’s Wherever I May Roam, followed by Gareth beating into his drums. Having watched them play this song many times in the garage it never ceases to amaze you how deep Eddie’s voice can get in the beginning of the song, his liquid sultry tone curls around your skin and holds you tight. The cords in his neck are profound jutting out in delectable delight. A feast for the wicked. His fingers move deftly along the fretboard as he sings and plays. Hair already slicked with sweat and hanging in a curly wet curtain of onyx down his back and stuck to his face. He’s never looked better. Hardly recognizing anyone around you, you're completely enamored like a moth to a flame by his appearance, his sex appeal on fire, licking up your skin’s gasoline, orange hues in a smoldering fire.

The song finishes and Eddie yells into the mic, “I’m Eddie, and we are Corroded Coffin, if you don’t like metal or the 80’s…”

The crowd chants as Eddie holds the mic out to them, “THEN GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Screams, whoops and hollers are bouncing off every surface of the dingy blackened bar. The beginning bells of For Whom The Bell Tolls chime and the crowd goes wild. When Big D rifts the beginning of Love Bites, Eddie takes a giant swig of Jack Daniels and your tongue aches to lap up the drops coursing down his stomach and finding solace in the waistband of his jeans.

Does he need a chaser? If so, you know the perfect antidote. Hungry like a wolf for him you can feel the soaked panties between your legs, the friction of your jeans give little relief where it’s needed.

The band plays a few more songs, and you are surprised that Eddie’s voice never falters or cracks during the entire nine minutes of Freebird, he nails the guitar solo and his sweltering smooth voice hits your core with each belting ache of the sad song. Steve holds Leighanne from behind and they sway together through the lyrics, he’s whispering into her ear and she’s fighting back tears. Robin and Vicky are slow dancing in a drunken stupor of smoke, completely in their own world.

The drunken girls from the bachelorette party are each making out with men double their age, the bride is getting a piggyback ride from a balding man you recognize to be wait what? Wayne Munson, reliving his glory days and having the time of his life as her white veil is worn around his head, cigarette hung limply from his thin lips. It’s safe to say the entire bar is drunk and having one of the best nights. The bartender has a line of party go-ers to do body shots from her cleavage. It’s hot and humid in the bar but Corroded Coffin doesn’t take any breaks, they keep playing and you can tell exhaustion is evident in Eddie’s face as he sings his heart out.

Eddie’s voice booms as he grabs the mic with a maniacal laugh, he looks down at you and points to you with an outstretched palm, “this next one is for the biggest brat, pain in my ass, absolutely the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever known, we haven’t played this song in years, but I know it’s her favorite.”

Jeff starts thumbing on his bass guitar with Gareth hitting the drums, immediately you know the song. You can’t believe he remembered. It was months ago when you had mentioned it to him, asking shyly if they still played it. Eddie starts singing the first verse,

There’s a place just south of Witches Valley

Where they say the wind won’t blow

And they only speak in whispers of her name

There’s a lady they say that feeds the darkness

It eats right from her hand

With a crying shout, she’ll search you out

And freeze you where you stand

Lady Evil, evil

She’s a magical mystical woman

Lady evil, evil on my mind

She’s the queen of the night

Tears well in your eyes and you can’t help them from falling. Grabbing the necklace he had placed so delicately on you yesterday you rub the tarnished steel between your fingers. It’s not even a sappy song, but the fact he remembered from all those years ago when you were just a bratty sister to his best friend and he was an asshole teenager, made your heart soar. You were in love with him. More than just a little crush, more than just a one night fling, you wanted him as yours— yours and yours alone.

The bar is full of screaming fans, girls with their tops off, throwing their bras at the band, but Eddie’s eyes never leave yours. His soul reaches yours and tells you without words the same thing you are thinking.

The rest of the concert you stand in one spot still staring up at the beautiful man in front of you, utterly intoxicated on him. The valleys of his neck as it vibrates and stretches with his vocal chords, the veiny thick hands as they strum his guitar, his wet hair that would look so delicious wrapped around your fingers. You yearned for him, carnally desired to have those hands wrapped hotly around your skin, between your legs, on your neck. Fuck.

-

The gig ends and the boys slip backstage. “Fuck man! I haven’t seen that many people at one of your gigs ever, where the hell is Gareth?” Big D asks, squeezing a can of spray cheese into his mouth.

“Oh you know him,” Jeff chides, downing a warm beer, “he’s bumping’ uglies with his main, probably locked in the men’s bathroom again.”

They all chuckle and Eddie hurries to grab his stuff, anxious to meet you up front and buy you a drink, maybe take you out for midnight pancakes at Benny’s. Looking as beautiful as ever tonight he had a hard time keeping the gig going, all he wanted to do was jump off stage and kiss you so deeply your bones would sing from his fervor, and now that it was over, he moved into the final phase of his plan, making you his.

“Ash is waiting’ on me, you still riding with us Big D or is Em gettin’ lucky tonight?

Big D wipes his cheese filled lips, “ah I might give her the ol’ pickle tickle, hey man,” he says gesturing to Eddie, “a whole song dedicated to the most gorgeous girl huh?”

Eddie doesn’t miss a beat, “am I wrong? Tooty not pretty enough for you?”

Big D holds his hands up in surrender, “damn dude that’s not what I was getting at— I’m— we are happy for you. Don’t let her get away.”

Eddie smiled sheepishly, “that’s the plan my man,” he says slinging his worn duffel bag over his shoulder, “that’s the plan, gotta go.”

He makes his way down a narrow hallway back to the bar when he’s stopped by the twins. Arms crossed and looks of vengeance on their painted lips.

“Ladies,” Eddie greets, head down and making to pass them, but the stand stone still, blocking his way.

“Daddy,” Cece answers, “that wasn’t very nice the way you treated us the last time we played.” her lips pursed in a pretty pout, a tight faux leather mini skirt exentuating her curves.

Carol purrs as she walks towards him, her hip gripping leather pants and a denim vest adorned with band pins pushes her chest up and nearly to her eyeballs, soft Farrah curls surrounding her face and sway down her back. Her finger curled under his chin, “I think you owe us… a favor.”

“Ooh yes,” Cece agrees, “a big favor,” her hand wraps around the soft length outside his jeans. Lips pressing into his sweaty neck.

“I’m gonna pass,” Eddie says firmly, avoiding Carol’s needy fingers in his hair, “but Gareth might be up for another round, give him about a half hour or so.”

Carol grabs Eddie by his crotch and walks him back into the wall, pinning his shoulders with her arms, her lips tantalizingly close to his neck. “A song dedicated to that bitch roommate of yours?” she seethes, “how pathetic.”

Cece speaks now, her words laced with venom long slicked back pony tail cascading down her back, “bet she can’t fuck like us, word around town is her pussy was trashed by Chad Cunningham.”

Eddie instantly feels a fire in his belly; he's ready to tell them both off, ready to get to you and take you out for a meal. But when he looks up he sees you standing at the end of the hallway, eyes wide and a hand over your mouth. He calls your name but you ignore him, throwing a middle finger over your shoulder and swallowing the lump in your throat as turn on your heel and stomp away, down the hallway and through the loud chattering of drunks in the bar, passed the stage that you finally felt like you were getting somewhere with Eddie, and out the door.

The wind had picked up, blowing snow all around the parking lot. A white wall of opaque blindness, you don't have a jacket but you know the general way on how to get home. Crossing your arms across your chest you put your head down and began to trudge through the parking lot.

Not being able to fathom what you saw, you are pissed that you’re jealous. Pissed that your rockstar roommate, who was known for being a ladies man and a player, pulled one over on you. Made you think he loved you just for him to be sucking face with the twins who were at your house all those months ago. Tears sting and practically freeze to your lashes as you stomp further and further away from the hideout, heart frozen and rigid once again.

With the wind blowing hard you didn’t hear the door being flung open frantically or the loud music being sung by the drunks from the jukebox. Eddie barely catches a glimpse of your black shirt and barrels through the deepening snow to get to you. “Tooty!”

A warm hand wraps around your arm and pulls you around to face him, your eyes are like steel knives into his as he stares into them pleading with you to understand. “You gonna walk the whole way home?”

“What the fuck do you care?” you shout, trying to wiggle your arm away from him, “you must think I’m really fucking stupid huh?”

Eddie is perplexed, face twisted in confusion, “what the hell are y— Jesus Christ it’s freezing out here, let me take you home. We can argue and fight all you want without getting hypothermia.”

“No! I’m not going anywhere with you!” you cry, trying to shove him away but nearly falling in the snow. You didn’t want to be in his presence ever again. He hurt you, he made you feel like you were special, turns out you're just as common as a penny on the sidewalk, not even face up for luck.

“Tooty,” Eddie barks, voice angry, sharp and full of pain, “if I have to drag you by your goddamn hair into the van I will. I have no problem doing that. Let’s. Go.”

Shoulder checking him on your spin back through the parking lot, you stomp through the thick snow and climb into the passenger seat, shivering and pouting.

Eddie is close behind you, hands raw and red from the elements, trembling as he reaches for the knob to blast the heat. He doesn’t say anything as he pulls out of the parking lot, only looks your way to try and read your face, your peripherals catch him more than once— but you won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your tears.

The ride home is full of slippery snow packed roads, at the stop sign before turning onto Cherry, Eddie looks your way, “are you mad at me?”

Are you mad at me? What a stupid fucking question.

“No Eddie I’m over the moon, jumping for joy, mother fucking delighted to see you with not one girl but two— groping you ready to feast on you like a snack.”

Eddie shakes his head, not wanting to argue but seeing no other way through it. “That’s all you saw huh? And where were my hands Tooty? Was I touching them?”

You think hard, unable to to process or give a shit what he was talking about. “I was too distracted to see what you were doing, sorry for leaving so soon and disrupting your rockstar ego in the act— I’m sure you’re into other people watching you fuck.”

Eddie lets out a taunting laugh that is anything but trying to be funny. He’s flabbergasted by how mean you’re being, 100% only seeing what you wanted to.

“You are seriously talking out of your ass right now, ya know that right?” Eddie sneers, pulling into the driveway, he’s hurt and like an animal, he’s lashing out, defending his pride, “Why do you even care if I am, which for the record— I’m not, with someone else? We aren’t dating, you’re not my girlfriend.”

The poisonous words sting worse than the first fight with him ever has. Not giving him a chance to explain, you throw open the door, not slamming it but leaving it wide open and stomp inside. Kicking off your boots you hear two doors slam and Eddie’s boots stomping behind you.

“Fuck!” Eddie shouts, “do you ever finish a conversa—”

“Fuck you! You wanna be some rockstar prick with his dick in anything that walks? Be my guest— but keep me out of it!” Turning to your bedroom, Eddie jumps over the couch to block your path, arms stretched across the door frame.

“We,” Eddie yells again, “are going to talk about this, stop running away from me!”

“No,” you chastise, “we aren’t!”

Eddie hears you but presses on, “why are you mad at me because you think you saw me kissing or touching those other girls?”

“Uhh,” you groan, defeated, “leave me alone.”

“Tell me,” he continues.

“No.” You announce crossing your arms.

“Tooty, Jesus Chr— tell me,” he’s losing his calm, agitated by your bratty attitude and refusal to talk to him.

Fidgeting and stamping your foot you don’t want to give in to him, can’t tell him why you’re so upset. How embarrassing to tell someone you’re jealous.

“Eddie— get the fuck out of my way.”

“Tell me why and I will, be a big girl, use your words,” his venomous teasing only fuels your fire.

“Jesus Christ you incessant fucking gnat! Get out of the way!”

Eddie presses forward, inching towards you, making you draw away from him, “are you jealous, Tooty?”

The word makes your cheeks heat, admission written all over your face as he keeps pressing into you further, your back is at the wall and his arms box you in, face inches from yours. “Did seeing me with someone else make you mad?”

Grumbling his name you try to push away from him but he is persistent. “Tell me I’m not crazy, baby.” His whispered tone seeps through your skin, flooding your panties even more, your heart screaming with each beat, mind inching you impossibly closer to him.

“Tell me you want this just as much as I do,” his hooded eyes, pour into yours, licked lips wet with spit.

Toes in the water, it’s surprisingly warm despite the frigid cold of the weather outside, but he’s been keeping you warm now for months.

Hands on his chest you finger the holes in the neck of his shirt. His cold wet hair tickling your hands as you yank him closer to you, practically bumping noses, “you’re not crazy, but I will be if you don’t kiss me.”

Hesitation long forgotten, the smooth silk of your lips are hugged tight against Eddie’s pinked and chapped ones. Floating higher to the galaxy he swore he would take you to, tank full of gas, dancing you around in his arms on Saturn’s rings, diving head first into Jupiter’s springs.

Blissfully euphoric is the language of your spilled lust infused love.

-

for readmore 🦋

[hatoddity]

1970’s ARTHUR BENNET LETS GOOO (+ void!!)

Ik the 70s had a shit ton of vibrancy but do you think he would drop his emo ass aesthetic for one minute? No.

Also poor void, she can pay taxes & crunch them numbers but she can’t roller skate… :[)

[novlr]

What are some good ways to write about winter?

Winter. is a season of stark contrasts and sensory experiences. It provides the perfect canvas to paint vivid scenes that range from cosy romances to horror-filled stormy nights.

When writing about winter, it’s essential to capture the essence of its chill and the way it can transform the world. Here are some quick tips!

Sights

A blanket of pristine snow covering the landscape

Bare tree branches coated with frost

Delicate snowflakes drifting from the grey sky

Icicles hanging like crystal daggers from rooftops

Colourful clothes stark against the white of snow

Sunlight reflecting off the snow, creating a blinding glare

Animal tracks stamped into the powder

Frozen lakes and puddles

Man-made objects like snowmen and snow angels

Lights shining against dark backdrops

Sounds

Snow muffling and dampening the usual noises

Boots crunching on the frozen ground

People laughing and shouting as they play

Wind howling through barren branches

Ice cracking underfoot or on distant lakes

The silence of a snow-covered world

Shovels scraping against sidewalks

Snowballs hitting their targets with soft thuds

Branches creaking, laden with snow

The rustle of animals keeping warm in burrows

Smells

The fresh, clean scent of snow in the air

Wood smoke curling from chimneys

The earthy aroma of damp wool from coats and gloves

The sharp tang of frost and cold metal

Hot chocolate and marshmallows

Pine needles and the subtle scent of evergreen

Baking spices from holiday treats

The slight ozone smell before a snowstorm

Wet dog from snowball fights with furry friends

Leather and polish from well-worn boots

Activities

Building snow forts and castles

Ice skating on a frozen pond or rink

Snowshoeing through a silent forest

Curling up by the fire with a good book

Skiing and snowboarding down powdery slopes

Brisk walks to enjoy the winter air

Hiking up snowy mountains for panoramic views

Having snowball fights with friends or family

Feeding birds or wildlife braving the cold

Decorating the home with festive lights and ornaments

Character body language

Shivering and huddling for warmth

Rubbing hands together or blowing on them for heat

Shoulders hunched against the biting wind

Slipping and steadying oneself on icy patches

Squinting against the bright snow glare

Snuggling into oversized coats and scarves

Stamping feet to restore circulation

Clapping hands to keep the cold at bay

Arms wrapped around the torso for warmth

Quick, brisk movements to minimise exposure to the cold

Positive descriptions

The serene beauty of a snow-covered meadow at dawn

The invigorating feeling of cold air filling your lungs

The cosiness of a warm blanket on a frosty night

The joy of catching snowflakes on your tongue

The camaraderie of coming together to shovel snow

The nostalgia of winter holidays and traditions

The satisfaction of making the perfect snowball

The wonder of ice patterns on windows

The laughter and excitement of a snow day

The glistening of a frosted evergreen in the sun

Negative descriptions

The biting sting of the wind against exposed skin

The numbness of fingers and toes in the cold

The dreariness of shortened, grey days

The inconvenience of navigating slushy streets

The isolation of a blizzard keeping everyone indoors

The discomfort of wet socks and snow in your boots

The hazard of black ice on sidewalks and roads

The burden of heavy layers and winter gear

The dull ache of a cold that lingers

The gloom that can accompany the lack of sunlight

Helpful adjectives

Biting, chilly, frosty, glacial, icy

Crisp, brisk, sharp, piercing, raw

Fluffy, powdery, crunchy, slick, slippery

Dreary, overcast, bleak, sombre, grey

Cosy, snug, warm, toasty, plush

Twinkling, sparkling, shimmering, glistening

Silent, muffled, still, hushed, quiet

Fresh, clean, invigorating, brisk, bracing

Nostalgic, traditional, joyous, festive, celebratory

Isolating, inconvenient, burdensome, hazardous, gloomy

[estapa-edwards]

can you do something with ryan leonard. like best friend to lover. something with angst maybe because ryan or trader is seeing somebody else. with slight smut maybe. thank youuu!

YOU BELONG WITH ME - R. LEONARD

Ryan leonard x reader

word count: 5.9k

requested? yes

warnings: use of y/n. slight smut

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

It was one of those brisk autumn days when the leaves crunched underfoot and the sky was a clear, piercing blue. The Boston College campus buzzed with activity, students rushing to classes, laughter echoing across the quad. Y/N made her way to Conte Forum, where the Eagles were set to have their afternoon practice. She pulled her jacket tighter against the chill, her mind racing as it always did when she was about to see Ryan Leonard.

Ryan and Y/N had been best friends since freshman year, a bond forged over late-night study sessions, endless coffee runs, and a mutual love for hockey. Ryan, with his boyish grin and effortless charm, was the star forward for the BC Eagles, while Y/N was pursuing a degree in sports medicine, often helping out the team with injuries and recovery.

Their friendship had always been easy, natural, and unforced. They shared everything, from their hopes and dreams to their fears and insecurities. But lately, things had begun to change. Y/N found herself drawn to Ryan in ways that went beyond friendship, her heart fluttering whenever he was near. She tried to push these feelings aside, convincing herself that it was just a phase, a crush that would eventually fade. But the more time she spent with Ryan, the stronger her feelings grew.

There was just one problem. Ryan was seeing someone.

--- --- --- 

Practice was in full swing by the time Y/N arrived. She stood by the boards, watching as Ryan skated across the ice with a grace that never failed to take her breath away. He was completely in his element, the puck seemingly glued to his stick as he weaved in and out of his teammates. The coach barked orders, the sound echoing through the arena, but Ryan was focused, determined.

As practice wrapped up, Ryan skated over to where Y/N was standing. He flashed her a smile that made her heart skip a beat. "Hey, Y/N. What brings you here today?"

Y/N shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Just wanted to see my favorite hockey player in action. Plus, I have some new tape for your ankle. Thought you might need it."

Ryan's eyes lit up. "You're the best, you know that?" He hopped over the boards, landing lightly on his feet. "I could use a break anyway. Want to grab some coffee?"

"Sure," Y/N replied, her heart doing somersaults. "Coffee sounds great."

They made their way to the campus coffee shop, falling into an easy conversation about classes, upcoming games, and everything in between. But there was a tension simmering beneath the surface, an unspoken question that hung in the air.

"So," Ryan said, breaking the silence as they sat down with their drinks. "I wanted to tell you something."

Y/N's stomach twisted. She had a feeling she knew what was coming, but she forced herself to smile. "What's up?"

"It's about Jenna," Ryan began, referring to the girl he had been seeing for the past few months. "Things are starting to get serious between us."

Y/N felt a pang of jealousy but masked it with a nod. "That's great, Ryan. I'm happy for you."

Ryan studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Are you sure? You don't seem that happy."

Y/N forced a laugh. "Of course, I'm happy. Why wouldn't I be?"

Ryan reached across the table, his hand covering hers. "Y/N, you're my best friend. I need you to be honest with me."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of her unspoken feelings pressing down on her. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she squeezed his hand and forced another smile. "I'm fine, really."

--- --- --- 

As the weeks went by, Y/N couldn't help but notice how Jenna seemed to be everywhere she used to be. It started small—little things like seeing Ryan and Jenna studying together at the library, where she and Ryan used to spend countless hours. But it grew more significant, and with each passing day, Y/N felt her presence in Ryan's life being overshadowed by Jenna.

One afternoon, Y/N made her way to Conte Forum, her usual spot to catch Ryan after practice. But instead of finding him alone or with his teammates, she saw Jenna sitting in the stands, waving and smiling as Ryan skated over to her. Y/N's stomach twisted, a familiar pang of jealousy gnawing at her insides. She forced a smile and waved back, but her heart wasn't in it.

"Hey, Y/N!" Ryan called out, his face lighting up when he saw her. "Come join us!"

Y/N walked over, trying to hide the unease that threatened to overwhelm her. "Hey, guys. How was practice?"

"Great, but exhausting," Ryan replied, taking a seat next to Jenna and draping an arm around her shoulders. "Jenna brought me some snacks to refuel."

Y/N's smile wavered. "That's nice of you, Jenna."

Jenna beamed, leaning into Ryan. "I know how hard he works. Just wanted to show my support."

Y/N nodded, feeling like an outsider in a space that used to feel like home. "Well, that's great. I just came to drop off the new tape for your ankle, Ryan."

"You're a lifesaver, Y/N," Ryan said, standing up to give her a quick hug. But as he pulled away, his attention immediately shifted back to Jenna.

"Thanks, Y/N," Jenna said, her smile polite but distant. "We'll see you later, okay?"

Y/N nodded, her throat tight. "Yeah, sure. See you guys later."

--- --- ---

The pattern continued. Y/N found herself increasingly excluded from the moments she had once cherished with Ryan. Jenna was there at every turn—at their favorite coffee shop, at study sessions, even at the casual hangouts with the team. Y/N tried to tell herself that it was natural for Ryan to spend more time with his girlfriend, but the jealousy gnawed at her, a constant reminder of what she was losing.

One evening, as Y/N was heading to the library, she saw Ryan and Jenna sitting in the corner booth that had always been her and Ryan's spot. They were laughing, their heads close together, and Y/N felt a sharp stab of jealousy. She turned to leave, not wanting to intrude, but Ryan spotted her.

"Y/N! Over here!" he called out, waving her over.

Y/N forced a smile and walked over, her heart heavy. "Hey, you two. What's up?"

"We're just studying for the upcoming exams," Ryan said, pulling out a chair for her. "Join us?"

Y/N hesitated, feeling like an intruder. "I don't want to interrupt. You guys look busy."

"Nonsense," Jenna said, her tone cheerful but with an edge that Y/N couldn't ignore. "There's always room for you, Y/N."

Y/N sat down, but the dynamic was different. The easy rapport she shared with Ryan was strained, replaced by Jenna's presence. Y/N tried to focus on her work, but her mind kept wandering, the jealousy festering like an open wound.

As the evening wore on, Y/N felt more and more like a third wheel. Jenna and Ryan had their own inside jokes, their own rhythm that Y/N couldn't penetrate. She watched them, feeling a mix of sadness and anger. She wanted to say something, to reclaim her place in Ryan's life, but fear held her back.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Ryan asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

Y/N forced a smile, her heart aching. "I'm fine. Just tired, I guess."

"You should get some rest," Jenna said, her voice smooth and reassuring. "We'll catch up later."

Y/N nodded, gathering her things. "Yeah, I think I'll do that. See you later."

As she walked away, Y/N felt a tear slip down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, not wanting anyone to see. The jealousy burned inside her, but she didn't know how to confront it, how to tell Ryan that she felt like she was losing him.

She made her way back to her dorm, the weight of her unspoken feelings pressing down on her. She loved Ryan, but she was terrified of ruining their friendship, of pushing him away even further. So, she kept her jealousy hidden, burying it deep inside, and hoped that somehow, things would go back to the way they used to be.

But deep down, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

--- --- ---

Y/N sat on her bed, staring blankly at her open textbook. The words blurred together, her mind unable to focus. The past few weeks had been torture, watching Jenna slip into every corner of Ryan's life, replacing her. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but every time she tried, the words caught in her throat.

A sudden knock on her door jolted her out of her thoughts. She wasn't expecting anyone, but she had a sinking feeling she knew who it was. She opened the door to find Ryan standing there, his face a mix of concern and frustration.

"Ryan? What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice shaky.

"Can I come in?" he asked quietly.

Y/N stepped aside, letting him in. The tension in the room was palpable as they stood there, neither of them knowing how to begin.

"Y/N, what's going on?" Ryan finally asked, his eyes searching hers. "You've been acting so strange lately. Are you okay?"

Y/N forced a smile, trying to mask the turmoil inside her. "I'm fine, Ryan. Just busy with school, that's all."

Ryan shook his head, his frustration evident. "No, it's more than that. You're my best friend. I can tell when something's bothering you. Please, just talk to me."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of her unspoken feelings pressing down on her. She turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "There's nothing to talk about, Ryan."

Ryan stepped closer, his voice soft but insistent. "Y/N, you're shutting me out. I need to know what's wrong. Did I do something to upset you?"

The question pierced her heart, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She wanted to tell him everything, to pour out her heart, but the fear of losing him held her back. Anger and frustration bubbled to the surface, and she couldn't hold back any longer.

"Oh, I'm shutting you out?" Y/N snapped, her voice rising. "Please, Ryan. I haven't even seen you without Jenna in weeks. And I don't want to third wheel."

Ryan's eyes widened in shock. "Y/N, that's not fair. Jenna's my girlfriend. Of course, I spend time with her."

"But what about us?" Y/N shot back, her voice trembling with emotion. "We used to do everything together. Now it feels like I don't exist to you unless she's around."

Ryan ran a hand through his hair, looking conflicted. "Y/N, I didn't mean for it to be like this. Jenna's important to me, but so are you."

Y/N laughed bitterly, wiping away a tear. "It doesn't feel that way. It feels like I'm being replaced, like I don't matter anymore. I miss you, Ryan. I miss us."

Ryan's face softened, and he took a step closer, his voice gentle. "Y/N, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to make you feel this way. You're my best friend, and I care about you so much."

"Do you?" Y/N asked, her voice breaking. "Because it doesn't feel like it. It feels like I'm losing you, like I'm just an afterthought now that Jenna's in the picture."

Ryan reached out, but she pulled away, the pain too raw. "I don't want to lose you, Y/N. You're one of the most important people in my life. I need you to believe that."

"How can I believe that when everything's changed?" Y/N said, her tears falling freely now. "When I'm not the one you turn to anymore?"

Ryan's face crumpled, and he took another step closer, his voice pleading. "Please, Y/N. I don't want to lose you. Tell me what I can do to fix this."

Y/N looked at him, her heart breaking. She wanted to believe him, to trust that things could go back to the way they were, but the fear and jealousy were too strong. "I don't know if you can," she whispered. "I don't know if anything will ever be the same."

Ryan stood there, his eyes filled with sadness and desperation. "Y/N, please. You're my best friend. I can't lose you."

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I need time, Ryan. I need to figure out how to deal with this. I don't know if I can just pretend everything's okay."

Ryan nodded slowly, his expression pained. "I understand. Just... don't shut me out completely. Please."

Y/N nodded, her heart heavy. "I won't. I promise."

As Ryan left, Y/N sank to the floor, her body wracked with sobs. She had finally told him the truth, but it felt like she had shattered something precious. The weight of her unspoken feelings had been lifted, but the fear of losing him remained, a constant, gnawing ache.

--- --- --- 

In the days that followed, Y/N found it increasingly difficult to stick to her promise. Every time she saw Ryan, the pain of their conversation and the rawness of her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. She started avoiding places where she knew he would be, skipping their usual study sessions and avoiding the coffee shop they frequented. She even altered her routes around campus, anything to keep her heart from breaking all over again.

Ryan, for his part, tried to give her space, but his concern for her was evident. He sent her texts, asking how she was and if they could talk, but Y/N couldn't bring herself to respond. Each message felt like a reminder of what she had lost, and she couldn't face the reality of their changed relationship.

One afternoon, Y/N was walking back to her dorm when she saw Ryan and Jenna coming from the opposite direction. Panic surged through her, and she quickly ducked into a nearby building, pressing herself against the wall. She watched as they walked past, Ryan's arm around Jenna's shoulders, both of them laughing about something. The sight was like a punch to the gut, and Y/N had to fight to keep her tears at bay.

She slipped out of the building after they were gone and made her way back to her dorm, her heart heavy with a mixture of jealousy and despair. She knew she was breaking her promise to Ryan, but the thought of seeing him with Jenna was too much to bear. It felt like every time she saw them together, a piece of her heart was being ripped away.

That evening, Y/N was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, when her phone buzzed. It was another text from Ryan.

Ryan: "Y/N, we need to talk. Please."

Y/N stared at the message, her finger hovering over the screen. She wanted to respond, to tell him everything she was feeling, but the fear of losing him completely kept her silent. She turned off her phone and rolled over, tears streaming down her face.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N continued to avoid Ryan at all costs. She threw herself into her studies, hoping to distract herself from the ache in her heart. But no matter how hard she tried, the void left by Ryan's absence was impossible to fill.

One evening, as she was leaving the library, she saw Ryan standing outside, waiting for her. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she considered turning back, but it was too late. He had seen her.

"Y/N, wait," he called, his voice filled with a mix of relief and frustration.

She stopped, her body tense, as he approached. "Ryan, I..."

He held up a hand, cutting her off. "Please, just let me talk."

Y/N nodded, her eyes downcast.

"Why are you avoiding me?" Ryan asked, his voice tinged with hurt. "I thought you said you wouldn't shut me out."

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she needed to say. She looked up at Ryan, her eyes filled with sorrow. "I'm sorry, Ryan," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I can't do this anymore."

Ryan's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Y/N shook her head, tears threatening to spill over. "I mean... I think it's better if we're not friends anymore."

Ryan's expression shifted from confusion to shock. "Y/N, no. You can't mean that."

"I do," Y/N replied, her voice breaking. "It hurts too much, Ryan. Every time I see you with Jenna, it feels like my heart is being torn apart. I can't keep pretending that everything's okay when it's not."

Ryan took a step closer, reaching out to touch her arm, but she flinched away. "Y/N, please. We can work through this. I don't want to lose you."

Y/N's emotions boiled over, her voice rising in desperation. "Please, Ryan, I can't do this!"

"Why are you doing this?" Ryan's voice matched her intensity, a mixture of confusion and frustration.

"Because, Ryan," Y/N yelled back, tears streaming down her face. "Because I love you!"

Ryan froze, his hand dropping to his side as he stared at her in shock. The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of unspoken truth.

Y/N wiped angrily at her tears, her chest heaving with emotion. "I've tried to bury it, to ignore it, but I can't pretend anymore. Every time I see you with Jenna, it tears me apart inside."

Ryan stood there in stunned silence, unable to form a coherent response to Y/N's emotional outpouring. Her words echoed in his mind, each one piercing through the confusion and shock that gripped him.

Y/N wiped angrily at her tears, her voice raw with pain. "I never meant for this to happen. I never planned on falling for you, but damn it, you crept into my thoughts, into my dreams, and now you're embedded in my heart like a relentless thorn. I see the way you smile at her, the way you laugh, and it feels like a thousand knives stabbing me in the chest."

Her voice cracked with emotion, but she pushed on, her words pouring out like a floodgate opened. "Do you have any idea how it feels to want someone so much it hurts? To know that every smile you give to Jenna is a stab in my gut because I wish it were for me? I've tried to ignore it, to bury these feelings deep down, but they keep clawing their way back to the surface."

Ryan's chest tightened with guilt and regret as he listened, absorbing the full weight of Y/N's confession. Her pain was palpable, her vulnerability cutting through him like a knife.

"I can't help but remember how it all started — those late-night conversations that stretched into dawn, the way you looked at me with such understanding and kindness. It felt like we were the only two people in the world, like we shared something special."

Y/N's voice trembled now, her words filled with longing and sorrow. "And now? Now you're with her, and I'm left here grappling with this unbearable ache, this longing that won't let me breathe. I hate that I love you this fiercely, this desperately. It's tearing me apart, but I can't turn it off. Every fiber of my being screams your name."

Ryan's throat tightened, his heart breaking for Y/N and the pain he had inadvertently caused. He struggled to find the right words, to offer some solace or explanation, but his mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Unable to bear the weight of her gaze, Ryan turned away, his footsteps heavy and filled with regret. He couldn't face her right now, couldn't confront the truth of what she had laid bare. Leaving was the only thing he could think to do, a temporary reprieve from the intensity of the moment.

Y/N watched him go, her tears falling unchecked now, a mixture of relief and despair washing over her. She had finally spoken her truth, had bared her soul to him, and now she was left alone with the echoes of her own words.

As Ryan disappeared from view, Y/N sank to the ground, her sobs echoing in the empty space around her. She had known this outcome was a possibility, but the reality of it still cut deep. Love had brought her to this precipice, where the only path forward was through the pain.

--- --- --- 

After Ryan had abruptly left following their emotional confrontation, Y/N found herself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions. She hadn't expected Will and Gabe, Ryan's friends and teammates, to approach her about his absence. They were also her friends, having shared countless moments on and off campus together. Now, they stood before her, concern etched on their faces.

Gabe was the first to speak up, his voice laced with worry. "Hey, Y/N. Have you heard from Ryan? He's been off the grid for a couple of days now, and we're getting a bit worried."

Will nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed. "Yeah, he's missed a few practices too. Is everything okay between you two?"

Y/N hesitated, unsure of how much to disclose. She and Ryan had always been close, and his absence was weighing heavily on her conscience. "We... had a disagreement," she finally admitted, choosing her words carefully. "Things got complicated."

Gabe exchanged a glance with Will, both of them sensing the gravity of the situation. "Do you want to talk about it?" Gabe asked gently, his concern palpable.

Y/N shook her head, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. "I wish I could, but... it's between Ryan and me. I think he just needs some space right now."

Will nodded understandingly, though worry lines remained etched on his face. "If you hear from him, could you let us know? We just want to make sure he's okay."

"Of course," Y/N replied softly. "I'll keep an eye out for him."

The three of them stood there for a moment, the unspoken tension hanging in the air. Y/N appreciated their concern, their loyalty to Ryan evident even in this difficult moment.

"Thanks, Y/N," Gabe said finally, offering a supportive smile. "We're here for you too, okay?"

Y/N nodded gratefully, touched by their gesture. "Thank you, both of you."

As Will and Gabe walked away, Y/N couldn't help but feel the weight of their unspoken questions and concerns. She knew she owed it to Ryan to give him the space he needed, but the ache in her heart reminded her of the fragile bond they had once shared.

Days turned into a week, and still, Ryan remained elusive. Y/N focused on her studies and tried to maintain a sense of normalcy, but her thoughts often drifted back to him. She wondered if he was hurting as much as she was, if he regretted their confrontation, if he even cared anymore.

--- --- --- 

Late one evening, as she sat alone in her dorm room, Y/N's phone buzzed with a text message. It was from Ryan.

Ryan: "Can we talk?"

Her heart skipped a beat as she read the message, uncertainty and hope warring within her. Without hesitation, she typed out her reply.

Y/N: "Yes. Where are you?"

The reply came almost immediately.

Ryan: "Meet me at our spot?"

Y/N's heart raced as she grabbed her jacket and headed out into the cool night air. She didn't know what would come of their meeting, but she knew she couldn't ignore the pull to see him again, to confront the unresolved feelings between them.

As she walked towards their designated meeting spot, Y/N couldn't help but wonder if this would be the moment everything changed, if they could find a way back to each other despite the heartache that had torn them apart.

As Y/N arrived at their spot, a secluded bench overlooking the campus lake, she found Ryan already waiting there, his silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the nearby lamppost. He looked up as she approached, his expression a mix of relief and uncertainty. They sat down side by side, the tension between them palpable.

"Ryan," Y/N began softly, her voice wavering slightly. "What happened? Why did you disappear like that?"

Ryan ran a hand through his hair, his eyes avoiding hers for a moment. "I needed time to think," he admitted quietly. "I... I didn't expect things to escalate the way they did between us."

Y/N nodded, her heart aching with the weight of unspoken words. "I didn't either," she confessed, her gaze fixed on the shimmering water below. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that."

Ryan turned towards her, his hand accidentally brushing against her thigh in the process. Y/N flinched slightly at the touch, a jolt of electricity shooting through her body. Ryan quickly withdrew his hand, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Y/N shook her head, trying to steady her racing heart. "It's okay," she managed to say, though her voice was unsteady.

Silence settled between them once more, broken only by the gentle lapping of the water against the shore. Ryan took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts.

"Y/N, I... I've been a mess these past few days," Ryan began, his voice filled with sincerity. "I didn't know how to face you after everything that happened. But I've realized something."

Y/N turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face for answers. "What is it, Ryan?"

Ryan hesitated for a moment, his fingers fidgeting nervously in his lap. "I can't stop thinking about you," he admitted finally, his voice tinged with desperation. "Even when I try to distract myself with hockey or hanging out with friends, you're always there, in the back of my mind."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words, a glimmer of hope flickering to life within her. "Ryan..."

"No, please," Ryan interrupted, his hand tentatively reaching out again, this time resting gently on her thigh. "Let me finish."

Y/N swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat as she looked into his eyes, searching for sincerity. She nodded silently, urging him to continue.

"You've always been in my mind," Ryan continued, his voice earnest. "I was just confused with my feelings. You mean so much to me, Y/N."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, her heart aching with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. Ryan's touch on her thigh sent a jolt of warmth through her, reminding her of the closeness they had once shared, and the possibility of what could be.

"I know I've hurt you," Ryan whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "And I'm sorry for that. I never wanted to cause you pain."

Y/N took a shaky breath, struggling to contain the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "Ryan, I... I don't know if I can do this," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've been trying to move on, to accept that maybe we're better off as friends."

"No, Y/N, don't do this to me," Ryan pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation. His hand tightened around hers, clinging to the fragile connection between them. "Please, don't shut me out. I can't lose you."

Y/N's heart ached at the anguish in Ryan's voice, the sincerity in his plea cutting through her resolve. She turned to look at him, tears glistening in her eyes as she struggled to find the right words.

"I don't want to shut you out," Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. "But I need to know... do you love me, Ryan?"

Ryan froze, his eyes widening with a mixture of surprise and realization. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Y/N's heart sank as she watched him struggle, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

"Dammit, do you love me?" Y/N pressed, her voice breaking with emotion. She needed to hear the truth, to know where they stood.

Ryan closed his eyes briefly, a myriad of emotions crossing his face. When he finally looked at her again, his gaze was intense and unwavering.

"Yes," Ryan said softly, his voice filled with conviction. "Yes, Y/N, I love you."

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat at his words, a rush of emotions flooding through her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at him, the weight of uncertainty lifting off her shoulders.

"From the moment I saw you, god, Y/N, you make me crazy," Ryan continued, his voice filled with raw honesty. "But I love you crazy. You've poisoned me in a way you will never know."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening at his confession. She reached out, gently placing her hand over his heart, feeling its steady beat beneath her palm.

"Ryan," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I love you too. More than I ever thought possible."

Ryan closed his eyes briefly, savoring the moment, before opening them to meet her gaze once more. "I don't want to lose you," he admitted softly. "I've been a fool, trying to deny what's been right in front of me all along."

Y/N listened intently, her heart racing with anticipation as she waited for him to continue. Ryan took a deep breath, his voice tinged with relief and vulnerability.

"I broke up with Jenna," Ryan confessed, his eyes searching hers for understanding. "She already knew how I felt about you. She told me to confess, to stop pretending like I could be happy with anyone else."

Y/N felt a surge of emotions at his words, a mixture of surprise, relief, and a profound sense of hope. She reached out, taking his hand in hers, a silent gesture of reassurance and support.

"I'm glad you did," Y/N replied softly, her voice filled with warmth.

Ryan nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I couldn't keep denying how I feel," he admitted. "Not when you've always been the one who's been there for me, who understands me like no one else."

Y/N squeezed his hand gently, overwhelmed by the depth of his words and the sincerity in his eyes. "I've always cared about you, Ryan," she murmured. "More than I ever knew how to say."

Ryan leaned closer, his forehead resting against hers as he whispered, "I love you, Y/N. I've loved you for so long."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, her heart overflowing with love and gratitude. "I love you too, Ryan," she whispered back, her voice filled with certainty.

Y/N looked at Ryan, her heart still racing from their emotional conversation under the stars. The weight of their confessions hung in the air, and she felt a surge of courage and longing.

"Ryan," she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you want to come back to my apartment?"

Ryan met her gaze, his eyes reflecting a mixture of tenderness and desire. He took a moment to respond, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "Yes, Y/N," he said, his tone tinged with certainty. "I want to be with you."

A wave of relief washed over Y/N as she reached out to take his hand. "Let's go," she said, a small smile playing on her lips.

Together, they walked hand in hand through the quiet streets, their footsteps echoing in the stillness of the night. The journey back to Y/N's apartment was filled with a comfortable silence, their hearts beating in sync with the promise of new beginnings.

As they approached her door, Y/N turned to Ryan, her eyes searching his for any lingering doubts. Instead, she found only warmth and affection mirrored back at her.

Ryan leaned in closer, brushing his lips against hers in a tender kiss.

--- --- --- 

The air between them crackled with unspoken desire as Y/N and Ryan stood in the dimly lit kitchen of her apartment. The weight of their shared confession hung heavy in the air, igniting a fire that had long smoldered between them.

Y/N leaned against the counter, her heart racing with anticipation. She could feel Ryan's intense gaze on her, his eyes darkened with a hunger that mirrored her own. The tension between them was palpable, a magnetic pull drawing them closer with each passing second.

Ryan closed the distance between them in a single stride, his hand coming to rest on the counter beside her, effectively trapping her against it. His touch sent a shiver down Y/N's spine, awakening a longing she could no longer deny.

"Y/N," Ryan murmured, his voice low and husky, filled with raw desire. "I've wanted this... wanted you... for so long."

Y/N met his gaze, her own eyes smoldering with need. Without a word, she reached up, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. Their lips crashed together in a desperate kiss, a collision of passion and pent-up longing.

Ryan's hands roamed over her body, his touch igniting sparks of electricity wherever it landed. Y/N gasped into his mouth, the sensation sending a rush of heat straight to her core. She arched against him, seeking more of his touch, more of the fire that threatened to consume them both.

Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, as if they were trying to convey all their unspoken desires through the meeting of their lips. Ryan's hands traced the curve of Y/N's waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. He tasted of longing and promises, each kiss a declaration of the passion they had kept hidden for far too long.

Y/N's fingers fumbled with the buttons of Ryan's shirt, urgency driving her movements. She needed to feel his skin against hers, to erase any lingering doubts that this was real. Ryan groaned softly against her lips, his own hands moving with purpose as he lifted her up onto the counter, his body pressing intimately against hers.

Their breaths mingled, hot and ragged, as they explored each other with a fervor born of longing and newfound connection. Ryan's lips trailed down Y/N's neck, leaving a blazing trail of kisses that made her head spin. Every touch, every caress, fueled the flames of their desire until they burned brightly, consuming everything in their path.

In that moment, there were no more words, no more doubts. There was only the raw, unbridled passion that had simmered between them for so long, finally unleashed in a torrent of need and belonging.

And as they lost themselves in each other, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the heat of their bodies and the promise of a love that had waited patiently to be set free.

[slrprki]

SK8TR B0Y

skater keeho x male reader

tags/cw: flirting ofc, suggestive undertone, keeho’s kind of desperate, m/n usage, he/him pronouns, i guess a plot twist??

authors note: this is for sure gonna be a series. i’m doing this with all of the idols i write!! cause i just need skater idols flirting with m/n. THATS IT THATS ALL! enjoy pookies.

the night sky shined its glory while the soft autumn wind blew along a slight cool breeze. m/n zipped up his jacket, tucking his hands into his pockets. he promised his friend that he’d finally take up his offer and go to the skate park with him.

the male walked on the sidewalk, his boots crunching on fallen leaves within each step. where could this park even be? they had many of them around town. it wasn’t helping that his friend wasn’t responding to his texts either. every question sent still shown up as delivered. m/n let out an content sigh as he came up towards another park. his legs practically ached from the journey he’s made on foot.

the park wasn’t as packed as he thought it would be. maybe this is one of the less popular ones. he made his way inside, observing the people around him. no sign of him. oh well, he suppose he could sit down and take a small break. just as he turned around to find somewhere to sit, he heard a noise. someone whistled.. was that towards him? “is it my birthday or what? didn’t think I’d be getting free eye candy tonight.” a voice spoke up, walking towards m/n. he whipped his head around, giving the male a confused stare. “excuse me?” he said, turning his body to the male completely, taking more a defensive stance.

“relax, baby. just couldn’t help but notice a thing like you.” the blue haired man said, shamelessly looking the other up and down. “what’s someone like you doing out here, cutie?” he questioned, licking his teeth and keeping his deep gaze on m/n. “i’m just looking for a friend.. did you need something?” “is your number too much to ask for?” he asked with a wink. m/n’s eyes widened. the man in front of him was attractive and quite tempting. he’s been told many times that he shouldn’t trust skater boys. they’re all known for being hoes, but the way this man looked into his eyes.. no. he can’t just give some dude his number like that. he has to earn it.

“i don’t just do flings. if you really want to get with me, you got to prove yourself.” this only made the male in front of him smirk. “oh so you’re a feisty one, huh? i can easily break down those walls.” he moved closer, starting to observe the others facial features. “i don’t even know your name.” m/n crossed his arms, standing back. “keeho. yoon keeho. you’ll learn it easily. soon enough, you’ll be screaming it.”

the males face flushed. who just says that to a stranger? “well, yoon keeho, i have to go find my friend now..” m/n trailed off, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket. he instantly pulled it out, answering quickly.

“hello?”

“hey! sorry m/n for dodging your texts. i’ve been at the park for a few hours and i don’t see you.” his friend said.

“oh.. i’ve been to 4 different ones. i’m at the one near this school.”

“oh!” m/n suddenly heard laughter.

“what’s so funny?”

“i’m there as well. i’ll come find you!”

m/n was about to say something before phone suddenly hung up. he then groaned. “look, it was nice talking to you.. i guess? my friend’s actually here so i’m going to go.” the male was about to walk off until the sight of his friend came into few. the male skated over, smiling brightly. “hey m/n!” he said, coming to an abrupt stop, giving him a quick side hug. “m/n, i didn’t know you knew keeho.” m/n brought his gaze over to keeho who stood right next to him. “i don’t. i just met him a few minutes ago.” “i see. i’ve been meaning to introduce you to him. he’s my cousin!”

“WHAT?!”