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joequiinn · 6 months ago

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The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 11

[chap ten] | [all chapters here] | [chap twelve]

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

Warnings & Notes | fem reader, slooow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

Author's Note | Y'all this chapter got away from me! The plot just kept going and going and going, and I kept thinking up more ideas, so hopefully this doesn't feel too longwinded! Can't wait to see what everyone thinks of this one~

WC | 10.9k

Chapter Eleven

Sitting in the passenger seat of the van, you impatiently fussed with your fingernails, checking out the window every 30 seconds for a sign of Eddie, who had disappeared through the back door of a shady liquor store some five minutes ago. It was the night of homecoming - the night of the party - and Eddie insisted he pick up some booze on the way to Rick’s place. According to him, booze or food or drugs of some kind was your ticket into the party - from what you’d heard of this Rick guy, he sounded like a bit of a mooch, but maybe you were just assuming too much.

Leading up to this weekend, you’d been grounded thanks to the argument with your mom and your subsequent disappearance after that. Apparently, your mom had called your uncle Tom in hysterics, panicking about where you could have run off to. Trying to imagine your mother crying or even raising your voice seemed a little far-fetched, so you figured they’d lied about that in order to make you feel guilty for the whole thing. Hell, once you returned home that Thursday afternoon, you were lectured by both your father and uncle Tom about what you did, each of them reprimanding you for the thoughtlessness of what you did.

Honestly, being grounded for a week wasn’t even that bad. In fact, it was almost disappointing that it hadn’t been more satisfying. You were so looking forward to getting in enough trouble to lose TV privileges or maybe even car privileges, but really the punishment felt virtually non-existent. After only one day of your mom driving you to school (something that Eddie, of course, laughed at), she gave up on that and returned your keys, although she was adamant that you were only to drive to and from school or the ice rink.

You probably sounded crazy, but you wished that the punishment had been more severe, more substantial. Your first time being grounded was far from impressive, so you figured you’d have to up the ante at some point. Maybe even this weekend, although getting in trouble again wasn’t your top priority for tonight.

Eddie finally exited the liquor store, so you sat back up in your seat and straightened out your clothes as he approached the van. Admittedly, you’d been growing a little nervous waiting here in the back alley all by yourself, not that you’d tell Eddie that. No, as he climbed into the van with an eager look and a case of beer, you made sure to look bored and unaffected, as if you hadn’t nearly jumped out of your skin thanks to the crazy shouting of a homeless man just a couple minutes ago.

You looked between Eddie and the case of beer, watching as he deposited it on the floor behind his seat. A small knot formed between your brow as you asked with mild disappointment, “Only beer?”

In response, Eddie gave you a coy look before reaching inside his jacket, pulling out a wine cooler that he presented as if it were a sacred scepter. Your face immediately brightened as you accepted it, readjusting in your seat again as Eddie started up the van.

“As if I’d forget.” He teased, turning up the radio before backing out of the alley and onto the road. You popped the bottle cap of your drink, trying not to cringe at the taste as you took a quick sip - after all, a cheap wine cooler was still better than a beer any day of the week.

“Who’s gonna be there?” You asked between sips, your eyes studying Eddie’s face and the drum of his hand on the steering wheel.

You’d spent the last week at the lunch table with Eddie’s nerdy friends, and although they still seemed hesitant around you (except for Dustin, who didn’t seem to hesitate around anyone), they weren’t nearly as awkward and standoffish as before. Yeah, they were all still weird and you still felt like an outside observer of their little world, but they were growing on you, and you hoped that you were growing on them, to.

Eddie glanced at you for a moment with a false look of apology, “Unfortunately, only the freshmen.”

You glowered at his teasing, giving his shoulder a shove as he gleefully laughed, “Shut up.”

You nonetheless smiled as you shook your head, taking another long sip of your drink. Eddie's teasing had only gotten worse over the course of the past week, taking every opportunity he could to poke at you. Evidently, your make-up-turned-sleepover had done wonders, undeniably causing a change to the relationship between you two. It was becoming easier to relax around Eddie, easier to simply exist in each other’s space, easier to become friends. And although you were never the type to be too sincere, Eddie knew you had come to enjoy his company, even if there were days he taunted you too much.

“Beer?” Eddie requested simply, knowing that the case had shifted around while driving so he wouldn’t be able to blindly find it with his hand. You pretended to consider it for a moment, waiting for Eddie to shoot you a look before you acquiesced.

You shuffled in your seat, getting your knees under you while spinning around to reach into the back of the van. The case of beer had slid out of your immediate reach, so you had to stretch for it, half your body leaning into the back so you could get Eddie a drink. As your fingers grazed one of the bottles, you had to pull at your skirt with the opposite hand, feeling the cold breeze from the open window tickling at your exposed thighs. A small huff of annoyance escaped you as you tried to keep your balance, briefly relinquishing the grip on your skirt so you could steady yourself on Eddie’s seat. As you finally grabbed a bottle, you were too preoccupied to notice Eddie’s eyes flick over to your legs or his cheeks reddened as he ripped his gaze away.

You settled back into your seat, opening the bottle for Eddie before handing it to him. As you picked up your own drink again, you returned to your earlier thought, “Will Gareth be there at least?”

Eddie took a large swig of his drink before giving you a cheeky look, “Thinking about cheating on me?”

You had to refrain from hitting his shoulder again, instead opting to roll your eyes with a grin, “I’ll even let you watch, if you like.”

“And they say romance is dead.” You and Eddie grinned humorously at each other before he returned his attention to driving, and you returned your attention to the rhythmic drumming of his fingers.

Following the past week, you’d decided that Gareth was your favorite of the bunch, at least thus far - his expressive face was particularly amusing amidst the chaos of the lunch table, and although he was awkward, he was still nonetheless the easiest to talk to. It’s not that you exactly cared all that much about spending time with the nerds tonight, but rather Gareth could be someone to keep you company should Eddie disappear at any point in the evening.

As you two continued driving through Hawkins, you eventually entered the neighborhood your school was in, causing you to sneer as you saw the sign in the distance. Given the time, you knew that the dance was already in full swing, and for whatever reason that made you even more annoyed, “I almost hope we win, even if it is a joke - just to piss them all off.”

Eddie laughed a little, stealing a glance at your sour expression, “That’d be the first time I won anything. Think we should swing by to say hi?”

Despite your spiteful look, you still couldn’t the way Eddie’s silly suggestion made you smirk, “If by ‘say hi’ you mean ‘slash Duncan’s tires,’ then I’d love to. Asshole still hasn’t gotten what he deserves for his shit.”

As you turned back towards Eddie, you realized he looked… thoughtful? It caused your small grin to slacken - why did he look like he was considering what you said a little too seriously? Your brow rose questioningly as Eddie’s wicked eyes met yours, a dark smile on his lips. God, he was thinking about it.

“Then I guess we’re saying hi.” He said in an almost sing-song voice, pulling into the drive of the school before he missed it.

“Eddie.” Your tone was warning, and you nearly felt like a scolding mother by using his first name. You’d nearly forgotten this past month that Eddie was, in fact, a delinquent, someone who dealt drugs, who apparently “knew a guy” at the liquor store, who had had more than one run in with your uncle. But if you were in need of a reminder that you and Eddie were from very different worlds, well, this was it.

Entering the parking lot full of cars, he leveled you with an honest and serious look, “Tell me you don’t wanna slash his tires, and we’ll go. Promise.”

A little paranoid, you looked around, fearful that someone might spot Eddie’s van here. The sun had already set about half an hour ago, so the dark of night was at least a mild comfort to you, and it didn’t appear as if anyone else was nearby. Though, from experience, you knew that there may be a few straggles that could arrive late or frisky couples leaving early to fuck in the back of their cars. As you gnawed at the inside of your cheek, you met Eddie’s eyes with an unsure look - one of both worry and intrigue - and so he raised his brows, patiently waiting for your decision.

Shit, you really didn’t hate the idea. In fact, the selfish side of you loved it. Duncan, of all people, could more than afford to replace a set of tires, and you’d been desperately trying to think of ways to get back at him since that stupid pep assembly. And sure, you’d driven after a couple of drinks or trespassed onto properties in the middle of the night, so you weren’t exactly a stranger to bad behavior, you were far from a goody two-shoes. But damaging someone’s vehicle was a different story entirely, a different level of rebelliousness, and the thought caused your heart to jump with anxiety, as much as it also amused you.

Taking your lack of response as an answer, Eddie nodded simply, turning his eyes back to the road, “We’ll go.”

Before you could second guess yourself, you reached over and grabbed his forearm, “Wait.” So, Eddie looked at you again, a slight mischievous glint in his eyes, something daring about his expression. You took a deep breath, mustering up your courage as you held his stare; despite the bubble of fear in your chest, you attempted to grin, “Let’s say hi.”

“Atta girl.” The smile that spread across Eddie’s lips was wicked yet endearing, his eyes shining with an excitement that you hadn’t seen before. Your nerves grew even as you felt your neck get warm. Eddie reached over and began digging around in the glove compartment in front of you, brandishing a butterfly knife after a few moments, “Which car?”

The ease with which he revealed the knife and asked the question was almost surprising - again, you were reminded that Eddie wasn’t always just a sweet and funny nerd, he was still a guy with a bit of a record. You began to look across the darkened parking lot, furrowing your brow in search of the familiar, flashy silver of Duncan’s coupe; your heart drummed heavily in your chest even as you tried to shove down your anxieties.

As you searched, Eddie pulled the van into one of the furthest possible spots from the school, haphazardly over the lines so the vehicle was angled for a quick getaway. God, this was stupid - you were practically praying for this to go well, hoping you two weren’t caught.

“He’s parked right near the gym.” You groaned in annoyance. Of course Duncan’s car was there, he probably arrived early to help set up for the dance. You met Eddie’s eyes with trepidation, to which he gave you a reassuring smile.

“You can still chicken out, if you want.” His words were taunting, but you could see the sincerity in his eyes - he wouldn’t judge you for backing out.

Again, you ignored your nerves as you attempted to smirk back at Eddie; if you didn’t focus too hard on what you were about to do, it would be so much easier to just do it. God, you wished you two had had a little more to drink before deciding to do this, “I can’t back out, you’d never let me live it down.”

“Then let’s go get ‘em.” Eddie encouraged while shutting off the engine, climbing out of the van quickly and spinning back around to give you an insistent look. It was now or never, so before you could overthink it, you jumped out of the van and quickly made your way to Eddie’s side. He promptly began a brisk walk towards the gym, so you followed close behind, your adrenaline kicking in the closer you got to Duncan’s car.

Once there, you two crouched, forcing you to fuss with your skirt again - god, this really wasn’t the right outfit for this kind of shit. Eddie pulled the knife from his pocket and flicked it open with a well-practiced flourish, to which you grinned in amusement.

“Show off.” You whispered, although it almost seemed silly to keep your voice low, considering no one was around. Just to rub it in, Eddie began to flip the knife around, the blade moving quick enough that you couldn’t quite see how he was managing it.

“Don’t sound so jealous.” He teased before carefully grabbing the blade, holding the knife out towards you. You grabbed the handle, testing the weight while finding the best grip, “You know how to use that?”

You scoffed, looking around yourself again cautiously, “You know I don’t.”

Eddie smirked before pointing at the nearest tire, shuffling closer to you, “Come on, lemme show you.”

He set a hand on your shoulder, gently moving your body until you were at what must have been the best angle for slashing tires. Now, your back was to Eddie, and he came up close behind you just like he had back at the arcade; your cheeks flushed a little, as somehow this felt even more intimate than that. Because you were both haunched low to the ground, Eddie had to spread his knees to fit around you, practically engulfing you. You could feel his chest almost on your back, his breath brushing your ear, as he set his hand atop yours that was holding the blade. His fingers gripped yours comfortably as he began explaining in a low voice.

“It’ll take more force than you think.” He began to guide your hand, using the tip of the blade to point at different spots on the tire, “It’s not a balloon, okay. You wanna puncture near the rim, not the center - it’s thinner and impossible to fix. Don’t get too close, and be quick about it.”

As if reconsidering his own instructions, Eddie brought his hand down from your shoulder to rest on your hip, shuffling the both of you back a few extra inches. Your body jolted, hairs raising at the touch, which caused you to furrow your brow and pull yourself together - the hell was that about?

“You ready?” Eddie asked while quickly looking around one more time to make sure no one could see you two. You nodded, and so once he was repositioned, Eddie gripped your hand a little tighter and rapidly slashed the tire in one clean stroke. Although you were startled by the impact, the tire didn’t make nearly as much noise as you had anticipated - he was right, this was nothing like a balloon.

An eager, wicked smile graced your lips as you turned your head to look at Eddie, and this time - unlike the arcade - you did, in fact, bump foreheads. But both of you were far too excited to care, quickly laughing it off before Eddie pulled you towards the next tire. He removed his hands from you once he had you in position, clearly setting you free to do the damage yourself.

“Don’t slash all four - three means no insurance, he’ll have to pay outta pocket.”

You nervously look between Eddie and the tire, unsure if you could do this on your own. But, god, you were eager to do more damage, your excitement and adrenaline continuing to grow; there was something so incredibly therapeutic and freeing about exacting your revenge on Duncan this way.

So, you firmly set your jaw, which was challenging considering the desperate temptation to keep grinning like a Cheshire cat. Taking a couple of deep breaths, you aimed the blade in the same way that Eddie had, not allowing yourself too much time to think as you slashed quickly.

To your surprise, you managed to cut the tire quite effectively, hearing the air spew out in the same way that it had on the first go. You turned to smile eagerly at Eddie again, who looked far too proud of you. After a moment, he waved his hand to hurry you onto the final tire, which you promptly approached, repeating the same motion one final time.

You nearly laughed with how giddy you were, but before you could even begin to celebrate your victory, Eddie pulled you up to your feet, forcing you to run back to the van hand-in-hand. Neither of you said a word to each other until you were safely in your seats, Eddie quickly zipping out of the parking lot as you shared a near maniacal laugh. The sound of each other’s excitement was far too encouraging, causing the laughter to progressively get more and more wild until you finally had to take a breath and calm down.

“Jesus, how are you better at slashing tires than you are at a round of Donkey Kong?” You smiled from ear to ear as Eddie laughed again, enjoying just how exhilarated he sounded. So, he was thinking about the arcade, too?

You continued to laugh rather than give him a response, unable to contain your glee at the crazy thing that you’d just done. With your energy spiked, you quickly chugged down the remainder of your drink before caving in and grabbing a beer for yourself.

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Once you were on the road winding around Lovers’ Lake, you couldn't help but laugh, shooting Eddie a suggestive grin, “What, trying to get frisky or something? What are we doing here?”

He shot you a look from the corner of his eye while finishing off his second beer, tossing the empty bottle thoughtlessly to the floor, “This is where Rick lives.”

“No shit?” You blew air between your lips, clearly not believing that a 20-something drug dealer could afford a house in this neighborhood.

“No, I’m just lying, we’re actually at Lovers’ Lake for a big old orgy.” Eddie teased with a scheming look, although a wide smile broke out across his lips a moment later. Refusing to be out done, you put on a faux look of consideration, finishing your own drink as well.

“Oh, now that’s much better than a school dance.” The two of you grinned conspiratorially as Eddie finally pulled into a driveway crowded with cars.

As you looked up to study the house through the windshield, Eddie grabbed the opened case of beer and stepped out of the van, coming around to your side and opening the door. You accepted his outstretched hand, allowing him to lead you through the cluster of cars and up to the front door. Before you were even on the front porch, the smell of weed hit you as if there was a joint in your own hand, the loud music vibrating the windows of the house.

Eddie let you both in without knocking, the haze of smoke even heavier than you anticipated as you were greeted by a chorus of “hellos.” You tried your best to hold in a cough as smoke got in your eyes, Eddie’s fingers gripping yours a touch tighter as he tugged you past unfamiliar faces and towards the kitchen. As you let yourself be pulled along, you spotted Eddie’s bandmates clustered together on one of the couches, talking animatedly about something as if the party wasn’t happening around them.

In the kitchen, Eddie set the case of beer alongside a variety of other alcohol, continuing to pull you behind him as he looked over all the options available. He picked one up and held it out to you, raising his brow as if to ask if it was something you’d drink. You accepted it with a faint grin, not at all concerned with what the beverage actually was.

“Trying to get me drunk, Munson?” You teased, your eyes drifting towards a group of people that just entered the kitchen. Unconsciously, you must have made a face, because Eddie pulled you a step closer to him with a reassuring laugh.

“Just making sure you have fun tonight.” He grabbed another beer for himself before ducking his head close to yours, “And I wanna see if you get violent like you did at the bar.”

“Hey, that was self defense!” You stole your hand back so you could crack open your can, leaning back against the counter as you took a swig, “Unless someone here starts acting up, I won’t be hitting anyone.”

Eddie smirked, “Well, with this bunch…”

You gave him a warning glare, “If anyone touches me, I swear to god--”

With a chuckle, Eddie set a soothing hand on your shoulder, “Calm down, princess, you’ve got nothing to worry about tonight.”

You narrowed your eyes, “You better be telling the truth.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” His deep brown eyes were serious, his stare practically burning into you. There was something about it that made you nervous the longer you stared back, so you took a quick drink to pull yourself together.

“Just to everyone else, right?” You smirked a little, hoping that you played off your nerves well enough. God, you didn’t know what was with you tonight. Eddie mirrored your expression, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes; he looked you up and down for a brief moment.

“Just everyone else.” He repeated before grabbing your hand again and dragging you back towards the crowded living room. It was almost instant the way his energy changed into something even more high energy once you two were surrounded by more people, and as you approached his friends, you looked around at everyone else, trying to get a better sense of the crowd here.

Aside from your group, all the other partygoers looked to be in their 20s, hell, maybe even 30s, and it felt odd to be amidst so many strangers rather than peers. After you met eyes with one guy, he looked at your legs in a lewd way that you didn’t appreciate, so you glowered back with a threatening glare, pressing closer to Eddie. Another couple people greeted Eddie with recognition, but he didn’t bother introducing them to you - he knew you well enough by now to recognize that you weren’t quite ready to socialize. Considering how weak your first two drinks were, you needed at least one or two more before you were even interested in meeting any new people.

Spotting you and Eddie, the boys attempted to make some room on the couch, but you waved it off dismissively, preferring to stand for the time being. Thoughtlessly, you tucked yourself into Eddie’s side a little, feeling him glance curiously at you in response.

With their fearless leader now present, the group began an excited discussion about Dungeons and Dragons, but the subject was lost on you within less than a minute. You resigned yourself to drinking and people watching, tuning out the conversation as your eyes traveled around the room. In one cluster of people a blunt was being passed around; off in the corner, a couple was haphazardly making out; back in the kitchen, the group of boys from earlier were snorting something that definitely wasn’t flour.

This was just like all the other parties you’d been to through the years, the only difference being that you weren’t familiar with this crowd in the slightest. No, you were used to parties where you knew most of the faces, parties in fancy mansions or summer homes, parties where you were still top of the food chain. Here, you meant nothing to most of these people, and they meant nothing to you, which provided its own odd sense of comfort. Although you were still tense thanks to this new environment, you allowed your shoulders to relax a little.

“What do you mean the Thing is a remake?” Eddie asked next to you, causing you to quickly whip around and join the conversation. You gave him a stunned look, crossing your arms judgmentally but carefully so as not to spill your drink.

“Everyone knows that.” You respond as if offended that he wasn’t aware, drawing the group’s attention to you in surprise.

“I didn’t.” Jeff admitted, to which you made a stunned face. The group had a few new additions to it since you last paid attention, and practically everyone appeared to be surprised by what you said. You rolled your eyes with a sigh.

“I mean, it may as well be an original considering how kitschy the old movie is.” You started, taking a large sip of your drink, “I bet none of you knew it was a book, either.”

As they all shook their heads, you made an exasperated motion with your hands, turning to Eddie for his reaction. But you were surprised to see the amusement on his face, which made you quickly realize that he brought up a horror movie on purpose. You smacked his chest while fighting back a grin, causing him to laugh.

“You set me up!”

“They didn’t believe you were a horror fan!” He defended himself, pointing at the group to shift the blame. They all looked perhaps a little nervous, as if you might turn your attitude on them, “Ask her about Michael Myers, she’s got lots of opinions about him.”

You tried to insist that they don’t get you going on the subject, as if your love of horror was some dirty little secret to be kept. But the intrigued looks on their faces gave you brief pause; once Gareth asked you a question about the rest of John Carpenter’s work, you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your mouth shut.

So, the horror debate began, everyone chiming in on the quality of Season of the Witch or the scares in the Fog. The night went on much this way, everyone talking and drinking, arguing and laughing. Eventually, someone had brought the group a joint, and at that point you were already drunk, so you definitely smoked far more than you should have.

A little later in the evening, Rick announced that he had a bonfire going outside, and so you were dragged out by Eddie, who apparently couldn’t resist a good fire. Some of the partygoers took to jumping in the lake, with or without swimsuits, and Eddie couldn’t help but laugh at the disgusted look you gave some of the nude swimmers.

“I’m gonna puke.” You joked, although Eddie momentarily believed you, trying to pull you to your feet so he could help you to the bathroom or behind a bush. This sent you into a fit of laughter, teasing him about being such a good boyfriend; were you getting drunk enough that you were becoming unclear, or had Eddie become drunk enough that he couldn’t pick up on your sarcasm?

As the night wore on, partygoers began to slowly disperse, some heading out while others chose to return to the house. The water must have been feeling colder, because everyone had stopped going in after a while. Eddie had attentively gotten the both of you drink after drink, doing so at a steady enough pace that you didn’t realize how drunk you were until it was too late; and once you were drunk, you could never say no to getting even drunker.

At some point, Jeff let you both know he was taking the other guys home, which led to you grabbing Eddie’s wrist so you could check the time, realizing that somehow it was already well past midnight. When Eddie asked if you were ready to go, too, your quick and aggressive “no” amused him far more than it normally would have. Clearly, you were both drunk.

You couldn’t remember when you had dragged Eddie to his feet and insisted he walk with you, but evidently you had, because he laughed again when you accused him of it instead.

“We could probably use a walk, I need to sober up.” Eddie added after explaining that this late night trek was your idea, “Gotta get us home somehow.”

You two followed a path along the lake, stumbling and tripping into each other thanks to the dark and your drunken strides. You were tempted to grab Eddie to keep yourself steady, but you refrained from doing so.

“I don’t wanna go home.” You slurred with a childish tone, hearing a slight laugh from Eddie, “Not like they want me there, anyway.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Eddie turn to give you a look, “That can’t be true.”

Now, you shot him a look, although it was dark enough that you couldn’t quite make out his features. You shook your head, “You haven’t met my parents.”

“So?” You saw him shrug then stumble over a branch a moment later, “If they really didn’t want you there, you’d know. Speaking from experience.”

You gasped smally in realization - god, you were such a bitch, complaining about your parents when you didn’t even know Eddie’s own situation. Maybe he was lucky you were drunk right now, because the instant guilt you felt wasn’t common for you.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry.” You reached out for his hand and gave it a small squeeze, “You must think I’m the worst.”

He hummed a little before tugging you into his side, comfortably resting his arm over your shoulder despite the fact that no one was around to see you together.

“I didn’t think you were capable of apologizing.” You could hear the grin in his voice, “You’re allowed to complain about your parents, I don’t mind. It's been so long since I’ve seen mine that they never cross my mind.”

You sighed deeply, still feeling guilty. Tentatively, you snaked your arm around Eddie’s middle so that it wouldn’t be awkwardly hanging between you two, “Still, I shouldn’t bitch about mine when yours aren’t around.”

You felt Eddie shrug, “I’ve got Wayne, I don’t need them.”

A small smile graced your lips, and so you looked back up at Eddie again, actually able to make out his features now that you were close enough. He, too, had an easy, drunken smile on his lips, and for whatever reason you couldn’t help but stare, enjoying how he looked in the moonlight. You took in the slight bounce of his curls, the way his lashes shined in the pale light, the way his smile flattered his lips. You had to force yourself to look away, and briefly two thoughts were competing in your mind: Eddie was good looking, in his own way, and there was no reason for you to find his looks appealing.

As your gaze trailed across the rippling lake, you thoughtlessly, drunkenly blurted out, “I think my dad’s having an affair.”

Eddie whipped his head to level you with a surprised look - was he taken aback by the statement itself or the all too casual way in which you said it? You glanced up at him again, briefly shrugging as if what you said was perfectly normal. When Eddie raised his brows - a silent request that you elaborate - you jutted your lower lip in brief consideration.

“Let’s turn around, I want another drink.” You dipped out from under Eddie’s arm, spinning around to head back in the direction of Rick’s house. Eddie followed suit.

“You trying to distract me or yourself?” He questioned, sticking his hands in his pockets. You shot him a slight glare, tripping over a rock in the process. Before you could go crashing down to the ground like an idiot, Eddie helped steady you, wrapping his arm around you again in hopes that it would keep you from falling on your face. Your cheeks were already warm thanks to the alcohol, but now they were burning with embarrassment as you glowered at the path in front of you.

The walk back to the house was silent, Eddie sitting you down by the slowly dying bonfire before he ran inside. Only a small group still lingered by the burning embers, so engrossed in whatever they were doing that they didn’t spare you a second glance. You stared into the flames thoughtlessly until Eddie returned, offering you a bottle that you happily accepted.

“So,” Eddie sat next to you on the small bench, bumping your knee with his, “You think your dad’s cheating?”

You rolled your eyes as you took a large swig; your smile was unamused as you met his gaze, shaking your head, “We’re not gonna talk about it, Eddie.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, mulling something over with those glossy, drunken eyes for a few moments, “I like that you’re using my name now.”

You made a bit of a face before realizing he was right - you had been using his first name nearly all night, weirdly enough, “Huh… I didn’t notice.”

He grinned, looking you up and down fondly, “Guess that means you like me, doesn’t it?”

You smiled humorously, “Well, yeah, we already talked about that, like, a week ago.”

Eddie studied your face for just a moment, “So… we’re friends?”

Your expression brightened as you leaned your shoulder against his, “Yeah, we also established that.”

You took another drink, absentmindedly fussing with a loose thread on Eddie’s frayed jeans while your eyes studied the fire again. On the other side of the circle, the group of strangers rose to their feet and returned to the house, still seeming entirely unaware of you or Eddie. You watched them go, hearing the brief sound of music drifting towards you as they opened the back door; your gaze drifted to Eddie’s hands, watching as he fidgeted with one of his rings. You realized that his foot was bouncing a little, and you paused the hand that had been toying with the fabric of his pants. You furrowed your brow - was he nervous about something?

Wordlessly, you put your drink in Eddie’s hand, prompting him to look at you again, “I have to drive us, remember?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, “Didn’t Rick say anyone who needed to stay the night can? I don’t wanna be drunker than you tonight.”

“Too late.” Eddie teased, but nonetheless took a quick sip, “You’re a lightweight, princess, you’ll always be drunker than me.”

You grinned, “Whatever, so long as you’re drunk, too, right?”

“If I drink, will you talk to me about your dad?” You groaned at his insistence, taking the bottle back from him.

“Why do you care so much about that?”

Eddie shrugged, “You don’t talk a lot about personal stuff; you threw that out there and then tried to act like it wasn’t anything. Call it curiosity.”

You leaned towards Eddie a little, “Talking about personal stuff leads to pity or guilt or… something. I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me, most of all you.”

Eddie nodded in understanding, turning his face towards the flames. Again, you caught yourself studying him, the shine of his eyes, the shape of his nose; the way the firelight danced on his face was damn flattering.

“A question for a question, then, does that seem fair?” He looked back towards you, recalling your first ‘date’ with one another.

An eager grin crossed your face, “Answer the question or take a shot?”

Eddie, too, smiled at the suggestion, even as he shook his head at your insistence to keep drinking, “Fine, but I’m limiting your shots, otherwise you won’t answer a damn thing.”

He stood before also pulling you to your feet, guiding the both of you up to the back porch. Once you were seated, Eddie ran back inside again, and you watched through the window as he grabbed a new bottle of booze and maneuvered around other party guests in search of a shot glass. He returned a minute later, sitting close to you.

“You first.” Eddie offered while carefully trying to pour the first shot. Nonetheless, he still managed to spill a few small drops on your knee, which you brushed away with the side of your hand, too drunk to care about how sticky your skin felt.

You hummed in consideration, “Seeing as you’re so curious about my parents, where are yours?”

Eddie narrowed his eyes at you, “I’m only answering if you promise to actually explain yourself when I ask my question.”

“That’s not how this game works.”

“You’re avoidant, it wouldn’t be fair if I poured my heart out for nothing.” He taunted with a challenging look in his eyes.

“Fine.” You sighed, to which he grinned largely.

“Thank you, is that so hard?” You glared smally, but Eddie was unphased as he playfully nudged you, “I don’t want you to pity me, either, okay? I’ve worked through this shit already. Mom died when I was… I dunno, three? Four? It’s been long enough that I don’t remember her at all. Dad ran off a couple years after that and left me with Wayne.”

You stared at each other for a few long moments, your eyes soft as you tried to imagine little Eddie dealing with that shit at such a young age. His brows went up as if to remind you not to feel sorry for him, so you nodded; he assessed you for a second longer.

“So, why do you think your dad’s cheating?”

“‘Why’ as in what's his reason or ‘why’ as in what’s my proof?”

Eddie sighed deeply, trying his very best not to smile at you, “Both, you smart ass.”

You couldn’t help but grin cheekily at his reaction, taking a moment to consider your answer. As you did, you once again found your hand on Eddie’s leg, fussing with the rip at the knee.

“He’s never around. Always says he’s working late or meeting a business partner or spending the weekend with friends. Doesn’t even spend time with my mom anymore. Honestly, I don’t think they ever had a good relationship - I think he just liked mom ‘cause she was pretty… And the lipstick I saw on his collar was a shade my mom would never wear…”

Eddie nodded in acceptance of the response, grateful that you actually gave him an honest, straight answer. Despite the fact that the two of you were supposed to be taking shots, you still took a large drink from the bottle in your hand. You didn’t want to linger on your family, so you moved on quickly.

“You ever had a real girlfriend before?”

“Only fake ones.” His quick response made you roll your eyes as you nudged him with your elbow. You then comfortably rested your head on Eddie’s shoulder, keeping your face turned up to watch his, causing him to laugh nervously, “No, um… there was one - hell, two - chicks that were almost something, but no.”

“That’s surprising.” Eddie’s brow shot up curiously, so you shrugged simply, “I just figured weird girls would be into you.”

It was clear on his face that Eddie wasn’t sure whether or not to take that as a compliment, “Only weird girls?”

You gaped at him for a moment as you tried to find the proper explanation, as much as drunk you just wanted to blurt out whatever came to mind first, “I just mean… you’re nice, you’re attentive, you’re attractive. You seem like the kinda guy who would make any normal girl… happy.”

Eddie’s expression stayed twisted in confusion, trying to make sense of what you were - and weren’t - saying, his cheeks tinged with pink, “And what do you consider a normal girl? Not a… popular chick? Or a princess like you?”

His question was pointed, flustering you, so you quickly sat back up and shrugged with something of a defensive face; you did not want to get into a drunken debate with him right now, “I don’t know, Eddie. Just… a girl.”

Eddie stared at you a moment longer, but soon shook his head and attempted to move away from the subject, his eyes conveying something that you couldn’t make sense of right now, “Do you miss any of your exes?”

You immediately laughed, unable to contain your amusement at the question, all too happy to forget the brief moment of awkwardness between you two. Eddie couldn’t help but grin along with you, “Hell no. They never even lasted long enough for me to think I loved them, how could I miss them?”

“You never loved any of them?” Eddie seemed surprised, so you shook your head, “Were there any you… almost loved?”

“Hmm, you’ll have to wait, it’s my turn to ask the question.” You responded cheekily. You barely considered what you wanted to ask next before grinning, “So, no girlfriends, but you’ve had sex, right?”

Eddie’s expression faltered a little, much to your surprise. For a moment, you stared at each other, Eddie in consideration and you in anticipation. You couldn’t help your surprise when he opted to down the shot just a moment later - you hadn’t thought that there’d possibly be a question that Eddie wouldn’t answer, you saw him almost as an open book in many ways.

Did that mean he hadn’t had sex? Or is it just something he didn’t want to discuss with you? Maybe the story was embarrassing or painful? Suddenly, you were all too curious about why Eddie wouldn’t answer, but you had to refrain from pushing the subject, else you two might get into a spat.

And so, your game continued, the two of you answering questions and taking shots, getting into the occasional debate about a stupid inquiry or a thoughtless comment. You eventually abandoned the game aspect and simply returned to talking, absorbed in conversation and finally slowing down your drinking. You stopped keeping track of just how much you both had a while ago, your blurry vision and slurring voice more than enough to convince you that you were drunk off your ass.

It had gotten so late that you both realized at some point the music had stopped playing inside, that the lights had been mostly turned off, that drunken conversation was no longer occurring from anywhere around you. You tried looking at Eddie’s wrist watch again, but it was pretty much impossible for you to actually see the time - needless to say, that was your cue that you two needed to call it a night.

So, you stood, balancing yourself with your hands on Eddie’s shoulders as your head spun, which made you giggle a little. Eddie waited to rise to his feet until you looked steady, slowly standing and keeping his hands on you to ensure neither of you went toppling to the ground. You continued to laugh as you stared at each other for a few long moments until Eddie finally began to guide you into the house.

Once inside, you whispered that you needed to use the restroom, so Eddie led you there, trying to look around the house and find a place for you to sleep as he waited. When you exited the bathroom, he wasn’t there to help you stumble your way through the mostly dark house, so with a pout you looked around yourself, poking your head into the other doors around you to see if there were any free beds to crash in.

“Eddie,” You drunkenly whined, walking back down the hall in his direction. He held a finger to his lips, instructing you to be quiet and not wake the others. Once you reached him, you delicately grabbed his arm and leaned in to whisper, “All the beds are taken.”

Eddie sighed to himself while looking around at all the partygoers sleeping in various spots of the living room. He didn’t know how late (or early) it was, but he could tell you were growing exhausted, the booze and weed finally catching up to you. He was tired as all hell, too, but unfortunately you two were beaten to all the comfy places to rest, too caught up in conversation to realize that the party had ended a while ago.

Eddie met your tired eyes thoughtfully, taking you in. In his own drunken state, he was nearly distracted by your pretty features; he’d always known you were pretty, it was damn obvious, but usually he was able to keep it from distracting him. As you two stood close together, illuminated by only the kitchen light streaming into the room, his stomach flipped at the arch of your brow, the curve of your nose, the pout of your lips. Eddie had to shake away the distraction of you and focus.

He put his hand on top of yours - the one that still held his arm - as he whispered, “Come on, I can make room in the van.”

Eddie began to lead you from the house, scooping up an extra couple pillows and blankets that were scattered about the living room as you trekked through it. You let yourself be pulled along without question, helping Eddie with the pillows before you tip-toed out the door.

The air was brisk by the lake, causing you to inhale sharply at the unexpected temperature - god, the van was going to be freezing, wasn’t it?

As Eddie threw open the back doors and began shifting things around the bed of the van, you watched him absentmindedly, drunkenly humming some nonsensical tune to yourself. You couldn’t see the way Eddie grinned at the sound. Of course, he already knew you were a lightweight, but considering how well you paced yourself tonight, he hadn’t noticed just how drunk you’d gotten. All the niceties and relaxing of your shoulders should’ve been a dead giveaway, but he was too caught up in those moments to think about it.

Once he finally made the back of the van as cozy as he possibly could, Eddie spun around and presented it to you as if it were a god damn chariot. You giggled smally.

“All yours, princess.” He stepped aside to let you climb in, so you sat and began to remove your shoes.

An inquisitive look furrowed your brows, “You’re staying with me, right?” Eddie shrugged simply, and momentarily your tone grew a little stronger, “I am not sleeping in this van alone.”

“What, you scared?” You narrowed your eyes at Eddie before he looked past you and at the cramped bed of the vehicle, “You know it’s gonna be a tight fit.”

An abrupt laugh escaped your mouth, and as Eddie looked at you in surprise, you raised your brow suggestively before returning your attention to your shoes. Sure, he’d heard you make sexual jokes often enough before, so he shouldn’t be surprised; maybe it was how you laughed, or maybe he was just too drunk. Either way, he felt the back of his neck grow warm.

You set your shoes aside before looking back up at Eddie, pulling your stiff jacket off your shoulders. You looked as if you’d already forgotten the silly little exchange you just had.

“Come on, Eddie, I can see you’re tired.” You got up on your knees and shuffled across the back of the van, setting your belongings in the front seat. You spun back around to face Eddie, sitting cross-legged despite the fact that you were wearing a skirt; you figured it was much too dark for Eddie to see anything anyway.

With a sigh, Eddie tugged off his own vest and jacket, ignoring the way you sat before him - he was pretty wiped now that you mentioned it. So, you’d sleep next to each other? You two had already done that before. You were both drunk and cold and tired, after all, so what could possibly go wrong?

Eddie crawled into the van and shut the doors behind him, leaving the two of you in near darkness. He shuffled towards the front of the van as well, bumping into your shoulder in the process and making you giggle. He felt a quick surge of warmth at the sound, but quickly tried to shake off the feeling.

Eddied added his things to the front seat, his shoes and jacket joining yours before he began fussing with the blankets, attempting not to bump you again. As you both tried to settle in and get comfortable, it became clear the van was going to be a little cramped considering that you two were trying to fit between junk and old equipment that was pushed as far to the side as they’d go. You kept brushing elbows or knocking knees, which kept making you drunkenly giggle, until finally you were both settled into some semblance of a comfortable position.

“Eddie…” You whispered, rolling on your side to face him; he had his back to you as if to maintain some propriety, much like your sleepover last week. He sighed before shuffling around once again to face you, nearly taken aback but just how close you actually were. Was there actually that little space or were you closer than you needed to be?

“Yes?” He whispered back, although he realized there was no need for either of you to be so quiet. The corner of his mouth pulled up in amusement.

Your eyes had adjusted well enough to the lack of light in the van, and so you simply stared at Eddie for a few moments, taking in what features you could see. Light from the moon reflected on his hair and vaguely illuminated his eyes, shadows accentuating the planes of his face. You smiled fondly at him. Once again, your drunken mind was realizing Eddie’s good looks while also trying to resist them. He was far more good looking than people, including you, gave him credit for.

You giggled to yourself, feeling warmth in your cheeks, which caused Eddie to give you one of his rascally grins that you were just thinking about. If only he knew you were laughing because of his lovely face.

“Did you need something?” He urged, still waiting for you to actually speak.

“It’s quiet.” You answered simply, causing him to now laugh, shaking his head a little.

“Yeah, because we’re trying to sleep.” He teased, rolling onto his back with a content sigh. You huff to yourself, pushing back the blankets you’d just settled into; Eddie rolled his eyes at how antsy you were all of a sudden Was this yet another drunken habit he’d have to keep track of?

“Can I turn on the radio?” You began to shuffle up towards the front, but Eddie reached out for you blindly, managing to grab your leg; lucky for both of you, it was dark enough that he couldn’t see up your skirt despite this angle.

“No, you’ll kill the battery.”

You huffed, turning your attention back to Eddie, “Cassette player?”

Eddie sighed, “Up front.”

He released your leg, and you crawled into the front of the van, found the player, and crawled back next to him. You set the cassette player on the floor between the front seats and hit play, not at all concerned about what was in the deck; so long as there was something playing, you’d be satisfied.

Eddie smiled as the music started - Dio, the Last in Line. One of his favorite albums, hence why it practically lived in this cassette player. He’d left it on the B-side from the last time he’d played it, and admittedly he was happy to see that you were content to listen to it.

You once again fussed with the blankets and pillows, settling in even closer beside Eddie, who hoped you’d finally relax. It took you a minute, but once you finally seemed to be mellowed out, Eddie closed his eyes, speaking softly, “Night.”

But instead of responding, you propped yourself up on your elbow again thanks to your sporadically firing thoughts, going back to studying his face. Eddie looked at you with a furrowed brow, wondering what the hell was going through your head and where all this energy came from. He had yet to see you act like this, so hyperactive and restless.

With your free hand, you reached towards Eddie impulsively, making him nervous as you ever so lightly brushed your fingertips through the ends of his hair. His eyes widened, nearly shrinking from your touch as you hummed to yourself as if in confirmation of something.

“Are you… okay?” He asked, grabbing your wrist delicately, which caused you to curl your fingers just a little.

“I wanted to know if your hair was soft.” You answer as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, continuing to fuss with the end of his curls, “I think the shampoo you’re using is too harsh.”

Eddie made a puzzled face, not prepared for that comment. Hell, he wasn’t prepared for any of what’s happened in the past couple minutes. You continued to play with his hair absentmindedly, rocking your head lightly to the music, and Eddie hated to admit that he enjoyed it. He knew that you weren’t aware of what you were doing, you’d proven yourself to be far too drunk for that, but he liked to think that you were enjoying this as well.

“What makes you say that?” Eddie asked gently, realizing he was leaning into your touch just a little. The faintest of laughs escaped you, and you tilted down a little closer to him.

“Your hair seems heavy.” You state simply - obviously that made sense to you, but Eddie still didn’t quite understand. Momentarily, he didn’t worry about you leaning closer because he was trying to understand what you meant by that.

“Heavy?”

“Yeah,” Your voice was bright as you leaned over him, assessing his hair with your hand, “Your product weighs it down.”

Eddie chuckled a little, loosening his grip on your wrist and lightly drawing his finger down your forearm. A content sigh escaped your lips, the feathery touch of his calloused hand sending a shiver up your spine. Your sound made Eddie realize what he was doing, and so he quickly stopped, feeling far too warm - why the hell did he do that? He suddenly grasped that his touch was far too intimate and personal, and although that didn’t seem to bother you right now, it certainly made him pause; he was not quite drunk enough to excuse that.

“Let’s worry about my hair tomorrow.” Eddie instructed while removing his hand from your arm; he needed to relax, he was getting far too worked up by your close proximity and your hooded eyes. He figured you didn’t mean to be so close and personal and touchy with him right now, you were simply drunk.

Despite Eddie’s words, you stayed put, continuing to fuss with his hair and study his face with drunken, unabashed fondness. You looked between his eyes, and only then did you realize just how close you were to him.

As the second track on the cassette started, you considered the look on Eddie’s face - there was something hesitant there, something taken aback. You were very much in his space, but that wasn’t a problem, right?

Well, no, but it was weird for you. Not that you were terribly concerned - you were far too crossfaded to think clearly right now. One second, the small, sober part of your brain wondered what the hell you were doing, but the next second your drunkenness won out and you didn’t give a damn. Right now, you didn’t have a care in the world, all your focus trained solely on Eddie.

You found yourself attempting to hum along to the song that you didn’t recognize - you’d have to ask Eddie what this was later, if you could actually remember it. And your humming caused him to give you that charming smile that you had slowly become fond of. It was different from the playful grins, the mocking smirks, or the laughing smiles you saw regularly - this smile was more intimate, more personal, reserved just for you.

You were so caught up in that sweet smile that you didn’t realize at first that you were leaning in closer. Eddie didn’t seem to notice it either, as if he were hypnotized by the intensity of your gaze, by the softness of your touch and the closeness of your body. The only hint that Eddie was aware of what you were doing was the ever so subtle sigh that left his parted lips, which finally drew your attention away from his eyes.

His lips looked so damn plush, so damn inviting. Have you ever noticed that before? At this moment, it seemed impossible to ignore, so how had you been so unaware of it?

Eddie looked so damn… kissable.

And with all sober thoughts pushed to the wayside, you decided you needed to find out if that theory was true.

You closed the small gap between you two, pressing your lips to Eddie’s with an experimental softness, a tentative longing. A low, surprised moan rumbled in Eddie’s chest as you felt his body go rigid beneath yours; for a brief moment, the kiss was nearly nonexistent, as if Eddie was hesitant to reciprocate. But within nearly the same breath, his fingers traced delicately along your arm again, causing you to shiver as you let out a sound of satisfaction.

Feeling Eddie relax against you, you curled your fingers tighter in his hair, kissing him more firmly and confidently. You lowered your body to rest comfortably in his side, your now free hand cupping the back of his neck as you hooked an ankle over his. Eddie’s lips were soft yet musky, firm yet unfledged; his light stubble tickled your upper lip, a subtle smoky smell clinging to his skin.

Realizing that you were practically holding your breath, you forced yourself to pull away from the kiss, breathing deeply against Eddie’s lips. There was barely any space between you two, breath mingling, chests heaving, lips brushing. You were nearly tempted to pull back further just so you could meet his deep brown eyes, but you didn’t dare move for fear that it would break whatever spell you were under.

You thoughtlessly licked your swollen lower lip, causing the tip of your tongue to graze along Eddie’s lips as well. A surprised groan leapt out of him, your body suddenly feeling taut and flushed in response; god, you wanted him to make that sound again.

You dug your fingers into the back of Eddie’s neck and pulled him back towards you, your lips feverish and fierce as they pressed against his. This time, he reciprocated with aching curiosity, his gentle hands desperate as one cradled the back of your head and the other gripped the small of your back; as you pressed yourself flush against Eddie and rolled your hips, it caused the both of you to moan into the kiss.

Your hands cupped Eddie’s jaw excitedly, holding him close as you moved to straddle his waist. Another needy, amorous sound rose in his throat as you rolled your hips again, settling comfortably on top of him as you began to eagerly explore from his neck to his chest to his waist. You twisted his shirt in your fists as if you were afraid he’d pull back, kissing with even more sloppy feverishness.

Your heart pounded frantically in your chest, your body jolting under Eddie’s more tentative touch. The feel of his fingertips was oh-so light as he traced your arms, your spine, your exposed thigh. In response, you hungrily prodded at his lips with your tongue, excited by the low sound in his throat as he opened his mouth to you. You kissed Eddie fiercely as your hands returned to firmly gripping his jaw, keeping him there as if he were the air you breathed.

Continuing to rut slowly against him, a satisfied smile dared to interrupt your kiss as you felt Eddie growing hard beneath your hot center. Teasingly, you pulled your lips away from Eddie’s, his own chasing after yours in a way that made you grin with lustful satisfaction. You pressed your forehead to his, breathing heavily as your nose brushed against his. You slowly, gently dragged your lips across Eddie’s, over his hot cheek and up to his ear; his whole body shuddered beneath you as your breath tickled his skin.

“You’re good at this.” You drunkenly teased, voice low and breathy; you were certain you felt Eddie jolt again as he tried to catch his own breath. You turned to study him, awaiting some smart remark that never came; the look on Eddie’s face suggested he was too far gone to have any quips for you. You smiled again, brushing your lips against his cheek; you were tempted to keep taunting him, but became all too engrossed in watching him to even try.

Eddie’s parted lips were swollen, his breathing heavy as he stared up at the ceiling with a nearly stunned expression, trying to collect himself. His eyes bounced around as if in search of something, his hand unconsciously tracing invisible lines on your arm. You dragged your gaze down his throat - his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously - then to his chest, watching it deeply rise and fall. The smile hadn’t left your face, you realized as you brought your lustful gaze back up to his gentle face.

Eddie’s cheeks were bright red as he finally met your eyes, looking so soft and unsure and questioning as he drank you in. Your grin widened fondly as you simply stared at one another, which encouraged Eddie to smile himself, albeit with some hesitation. Feeling the rapid beating of his heart against you, you slid a hand to rest on his chest, tearing your gaze away from his to watch your fingers brush delicate circles in his shirt.

Drunkenly, you were torn between wanting to relax against Eddie and wanting to go back in for another kiss; hell, you could probably make out with him all night if he’d let you. But even with intoxication clouding your head, you could see in his expression that he could only handle so much of you, that he might burst if you kept teasing him and feeling him and kissing him.

Again, the sober part of you briefly reared her head, desperately trying to make sense of the fact that you just kissed Eddie as if your life depended on it. Thinking about how wild that was, you couldn’t help but giggle, which drew his intense eyes back to yours. You raised a brow as you studied his features yet again, a happy look on your face.

“Our secret?” The words came out of your mouth without you being fully aware of them. Through your drunken haze, you could see the way his expression furrowed at the question, the way his eyes seemed to panic as if he were finally crashing back down to earth.

“‘Our secret?’” He repeated in a confused, gruff tone. You nodded simply, resting your head down beside his, feeling the tickle of his hair on your cheeks. You didn’t catch the way he had to collect himself, how he swallowed hard in disappointment before replying gently, “Yeah, okay…”

If you were sober, you would have seen the upset in his expression, heard the doubt in words. Of course, if you were sober this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. But because you were drunk - both from alcohol and from that kiss - you entirely missed the way Eddie’s energy deflated like a balloon.

Instead, you smiled wide like a drunken fool, sinking into the blankets and pillows beside Eddie with a sense of satisfaction. You kept one hand resting comfortably on his chest, your face nearly in the crook of his neck; you realized how exhausted you were now, the feeling having escaped you while you were absorbed in the sensation of Eddie’s lips against yours.

As a tired fog slowly began to encompass you, Eddie gently set his hand on top of yours, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your skin. You closed your eyes with a comfortable sigh, letting Eddie’s steady breathing help lull you to sleep.

Just as you were on the brink of consciousness, you felt Eddie’s lips brush against your forehead, his voice low as he gently muttered something that you couldn’t quite make out.

addt. Author's Note | So uuuuuh surprise? 👀In case y'all missed it or were unsure, the song referenced in this chap is Mystery by Dio, which is one of my fav songs by the band and one I've associated with these two idiots for a while! Now, let's all scream and shout about this chapter together, because I'm SO eager to see what y'all think~

@3rd-conchord @a-queen-blr @adelalaaa @adversary713 @avalon-wolf

@cosmicdanielle @costellation-hunter @daisy-munson @daisyridleyss @damon-loves-pie

@damp4eddie @delilaaahhh @eddiernunson @em0220 @frogtape

@fromasgardandback @fckyeahlames @graciehams @kthomps914 @littlexdeaths

@lotrefcp @love-anonymous-writer @marrowfrog00 @maskofmirrors @mewchiili

@miaajaade @miss-celestial-being @mmmunson @moonisu @munsonssweets

@no-bueno-writer @nxrdamp @rach5ive @rcailleachcola @sav12321

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @sokkasimp101 @steeldaisies @stormgrl19

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #em #dos and donts

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aurumalatus · 2 months ago

Text

YOU ARE THE ONLY THING

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ (THAT'S EVER MADE SENSE TO ME)

wc. 5k chapter warnings. angst, cursing chapter summary. the memory of you haunts kinich wherever he goes, a perpetual existence in his life. but when he sees you again by chance, he takes the opportunity to try to right his wrongs. author's note. the first chapter of many...this is gonna be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, a lot of stupid mistakes and forgiveness and moving on and all that good stuff. pls lmk what y'all think! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

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MAYBE WE DON'T TALK ENOUGH. [1]

The graduation ceremony had been lovely, Kinich is sure.

If he had actually been paying attention to any of it, he might’ve even had fun. The field had been decorated with an array of balloons and flowers reflecting your school colors. Countless tears are shed and hugs are exchanged—he knows this might just be the last time he sees some of these people for the rest of his life. In a way, it’s a tribute to the childhood he’s spent here.

He scoffs, kicking at the dirt. To hell with that.

Because while everyone else had been grinning widely, proudly cheered on by their families, all he could do was stare at the empty seats in the stand. Unfulfilled promises swirl madly in his mind; the congratulations that people offer him in passing just slip in one ear and out the other.

So when you approach him, one hand outstretched as you shyly ask him to talk alone, all he can do is follow, blankly staring at the back of your head.

“Kinich, I have something to tell you.”

Kinich feels the remnants of you when he runs, sweat sticking to his skin and cold, biting air filling his lungs in a single breath.

Mid-stride, he zips his windbreaker to his neck, watching his breath dissipate like ice. The wind feels so much more piercing when he runs—it stings at his skin and his teeth. Fallen leaves crunch underfoot, a blanket of color over the edges of the field. Autumn always makes him feel melancholic—change always makes him feel melancholic.

Each step pounds heavy in the grass, picking up speed. His teammates know that he likes to run alone, just him and his contemplation—though Aether claims that it makes him a crazy person—and these are the rare times that he can just think.

Running comes naturally to him. Thinking does too, but not like this.

Most days, he tries to stay busy enough to avoid the thoughts. When he’s busy, there isn’t time to reflect on the past, there isn’t time to regret. Being team captain and taking as many credit overloads as he does means that he can stay ahead of the impending waves of guilt.

But when he runs, and it’s just him and the sound of his footsteps, memories of you start to creep in.

They say grief comes in waves, and he believes that must be true—you’ve always been a tide, ebbing and flowing into his life. That much was a constant, even when you weren’t.

(Or, even when you ceased to be.)

He can go about a few weeks without thinking about you, as far as he’s tried. And he means really thinking about you, not just a brief thought relating to you, or your life, or your memory—he’s not sure he could last even ten minutes that way. Over the years, you’ve become so tightly intertwined with his being that he’s not sure he could ever untangle that connection fully.

His laptop password had been your birthday for years after you left. He still makes his tea the way you taught him, with lemon and just a spoonful of honey. Your shared playlists still haven’t left his Spotify library.

He sighs. Three years is a long time.

It’s long enough for most normal, well-adjusted people to grow out of their past relationship, or at least not be wondering about them for a majority of the day. And that’s if he can even call what the two of you had a relationship—it had been something, and it was his fault that it wasn’t anything more.

Sometimes, he just wonders where you are and what you’re doing.

It’s a sick sort of thing to ponder, especially knowing what he did to you, but he can’t help it—often, he sees you in everything.

He wishes that wasn’t the case.

A part of him wishes he could strike you from the history of his existence. Another part of him wishes he could see you again, just once.

“Sorry for calling you out here! I just thought if I didn’t tell you now, I might never tell you…”

“Kinich!”

He flinches halfway through his step, the echo of your voice fading somewhere in the back of his mind. When he skitters to a stop, he realizes it’s his coach yelling his name, one hand cupped at his mouth and the other frantically waving his clipboard. He gauges the distance between them—lost in his thoughts, he had run about 200 feet straight past the other man.

Flushing in embarrassment, Kinich jogs back to meet him.

“Sorry about that,” he pants. “Was just thinking about one of my exams.”

There’s a pause, like Coach Wayna is deciding whether to ask questions or let it go—Kinich isn’t usually one to lose track of himself, after all. Still, the man seems to land on the latter.

“Well, nice hustle,” he praises, rewarding him with a strong clap on the shoulder. “Get some water and wash up.”

He slaps a towel into Kinich’s outstretched hand—he accepts gratefully, slinging it over his neck and scrubbing the sweat off his face.

He glances up at the graying sky. The clouds are coalescing into mismatched swirls—maybe it’ll rain tonight, he thinks vaguely. It doesn’t usually stop them from practicing anyway. He can recall a number of times that he has walked home drenched in mud.

“Already? It’s early, isn’t it?”

At this time of year, practices don’t usually end until the sun kisses the horizon, dipping and dimming. Kinich usually walks back to his apartment with his roommates at dusk, Aether’s whining carrying them home.

Coach Wayna is busy watching the other guys run, scribbling something down on his clipboard.

“We’re letting out early today,” he shrugs.

Licking over his lips, Kinich tastes the salt pooling at his cupid’s bow, lungs heaving.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, raising a brow.

Looking out over the field, he watches the rest of his teammates finish their sprints. Aether is messing around again, trying to leapfrog over Xiao’s back, much to the latter’s irritation. Gaming seems to find the sight amusing, based on the way he whoops and cheers.

Kinich sighs, shaking his head—Aether is lucky that he’s as talented as he is.

Coach Wayna laughs, a guffawing sound that resounds deep in his chest and across the field. He’s a good-natured guy, really, if not a bit more patient than Kinich himself can manage.

“The occasion is that you guys are college students,” he explains, “and sometimes, I’m willing to let you enjoy your lives a little bit.”

A half-scowl crawls over Kinich’s lips. Coach Wayna is always on them about enjoying their lives outside the sport, just like everyone else in Kinich’s life. His friends have always been determined to get him out of his bedroom and get him participating in something that isn’t his clubs. It’s irritating sometimes, to say the least.

Kinich’s tongue runs dry, so he pads over to the cooler, throwing the top open and pulling a water bottle out to shake off the excess condensation. It’s nice and cool, a welcome sensation even when the air is colder than usual—internally, his skin thrums with heat.

He gets about halfway through the bottle by the time his teammates make it over, in various states of exhaustion. Aether is first to react, letting out a loud groan and flopping to the ground dramatically.

“Coach, are you trying to kill me?” he whines, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Xiao approaches Kinich directly, taking a water bottle from his outstretched hand.

“It’s your fault that you’re so tired,” Xiao deadpans, taking a swig and settling down in the grass. “Because you were late, the rest of us had to run extra.”

As kind as Coach Wayna is, he doesn’t let things like tardiness slide too often—Kinich’s legs burn as a firm reminder of that. Everything they do, they do as a team, which includes punishment.

“Blame Lumine,” Aether grumbles. “She forgot her keys, so I had to drop her off at work.”

Aether’s sister, as kind as she is, does tend to be a bit forgetful. But Aether is also irresponsible as hell sometimes, so there’s a 50% chance that he merely overslept. Xiao seems to silently agree, based on the way his brows knit together.

Coach Wayna has a short meeting with them to end practice, and Kinich half-listens—he’s still caught up on earlier. It’s only when Aether flicks him in the back of the head that he returns to earth.

“Hey, airhead, we’re going to Third Round Knockout,” he says, an order, not an invitation. Kinich scowls.

“You mean you’re going,” he corrects, packing up his duffel bag. “I’m going home so I can take an ice bath and forget this ever happened.”

He can count a number of other things that are infinitely more important than taking a single step in that greasy place, too. He has a few exams coming up to study for, a lab report to do, and a few logistics issues to resolve with his financial aid and scholarship. So really, he has no business going out at all.

But the thought grows more and more appealing the more his stomach rumbles. Aether seems to notice too, because he grins cheekily, slinging an arm over his friend’s shoulder.

“Just follow the sweet, sweet siren song of burgers and fries, and let it guide you home.”

Xiao sighs from where he sits on the bench, shaking his head—sharing an apartment with Aether and Kinich means he’ll likely get roped into this too. Aether goes around making his pitch to all their teammates, but most decline on the basis of being too busy or having things to do. Kinich thinks they’re just too exhausted to deal with Aether’s antics.

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” Gaming whines, checking his phone. “I have an exam tomorrow and if I don’t study and sleep, I’m gonna fail for sure.”

Aether wags a finger in his face, grinning. “You don’t have to study, C’s get degrees!”

Kinich wonders if he should step in, knowing how easily influenced Gaming can be when it comes to Aether’s lax personality. He doesn’t have time to get the words out, however, because Xiao strides past with a critical side-eye.

“Yes, and Aether’s get dropped from their university…”

“I don’t—hey!”

“Let’s just go,” Kinich sighs, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. Aether pouts, but follows his teammates off the field.

“Fine, but Xiao’s treating!”

Third Round Knockout is exactly the type of place Kinich imagines college students to like.

It sounds strange when he words it like that, considering he is a college student himself, but he means a different type of college student—the type that finds cheap, greasy pizza and boisterous laughter enticing. Or perhaps anyone who finds the showy, race car-themed decor attractive (just how much money did they spend on checkered flags?), or thinks that spending your Friday night listening to pop music from low-quality speakers is a good time.

He doesn’t mean it in a really bad way, of course. He’s friends with college students like that (like Aether), and that’s the only reason he finds himself stepping past the threshold. Still, after a long day of practice, he can’t deny that sitting down for some food sounds pretty good right about now, even if that food comes cheap and deep-fried.

“God, I’m fucking starving,” Aether moans, collapsing into one of the booths in exhaustion. He flips one of the plastic-lined menus over, scanning over the food options. “I seriously think if I have to wait another second to eat, I’ll die.”

Xiao slides into the booth next to him, brows furrowed as he types away at something on his phone. “Seems like you’re always somehow on the verge of dying.”

Though his stomach grumbles, Kinich doesn’t bother looking at the menu—the food here is as standard as it gets, burgers and fries that drip with grease and milkshakes that are basically entirely comprised of sugar. But he reasons that he probably deserves this after the day that he’s had.

Everything had been nothing short of exhausting. He had conditioning in the morning, followed by three exams back to back, then headed to practice right after. Needless to say, his brain is running on the fumes of the black coffee he downed in between his second and third lecture.

“You good, man?” Aether asks, poking at Kinich’s hand. “You’ve been looking like a zombie all day.”

Kinich figures that a zombie is probably an apt description for how he looks right now, in his ragged hoodie and old sweats. He hadn’t been planning on a night out, after all, but he’s not one to care for fashion even on a good day.

He merely mumbles back an “I’m fine,” thoroughly disinterested in discussing what he’s endured in the last twenty-four hours. He presumes that that’s just the life of a university student like him. The athletic scholarship is good, and he does enjoy playing with his teammates, so he’ll rest and recover and do it all again tomorrow, just like he always does.

Xiao and Aether start bickering over something on the menu, so Kinich takes that opportunity to zone out.

He blinks tiredly, gaze wandering—the bright, multicolored decor is almost too much for his weary eyes. People are drinking and grinding to the music on the dance floor across the room, the bass of the music so loud that he can feel it vibrating under his feet.

Sighing, he pinches at the bridge of his nose, trying to avoid a migraine.

He shouldn’t have come today. His mental to-do list only grows longer, and staying home would’ve been a far more efficient use of his time. Perhaps a part of him had felt guilty for how busy he’s been in the past few weeks—it’s actually been quite a while since he sat down with his friends like this.

“Alright, Kinich, you lose!”

The sound of his name pulls him from the depths of his mind to find Aether and Xiao staring at him expectantly.

“What?”

Aether nods to the counter, crowded with a swathe of people. “You have to go order. You were last to nose goes.”

Nose goes? Kinich’s face scrunches in disbelief. Sometimes, he feels more like a kindergarten teacher than a soccer team captain.

“Are you four years old?”

Aether tilts his head, a challenge. “Are you rejecting the sanctity of nose goes?”

Maybe he doesn’t feel so guilty for being busy after all.

Desperate, Kinich looks to Xiao for support, but the other man shrugs, as if to say I can’t deal with him either. Arguing with Aether is a guaranteed headache, so Kinich merely groans, begrudgingly rising from his seat.

“Whatever. Just tell me what you want, then.”

He sighs as he shoves through the crowd, passing through sweaty limbs and sticky floors. No one seems to pay him any mind, and he takes a few accidental elbows to the ribs. God, he wants to throw up.

The actual line for the counter isn’t too long, luckily. There’s only one or two people in front of him.

He checks over Aether and Xiao’s orders in their groupchat. Aether’s order is a list about a mile long, while Xiao simply wants a single combo meal. Typical.

He thinks on his own order a bit, and he’s midway through creating a mental list about the pros and cons of getting french fries versus onion rings when he looks up again to gauge the wait time. His breath hitches as he realizes two things:

He’s next in line.

He knows the people at the counter.

One of them is Childe, donned in a white t-shirt and a dark leather jacket.

Kinich knows who Childe is just like everyone else—with how much his name gets thrown around on this campus, he’d have to be an idiot not to. Being the star quarterback of the football team, he’s as close to a celebrity as one can get around here. Plus, they have some mutual friends, but Kinich doesn’t really consider Childe a friend, per say. They’re acquaintances at best.

But Kinich doesn’t really care about Childe—he doesn’t know him well, never has, probably never will, and he’s not one to worry about people outside of his concern. No, it’s not Childe that draws his attention at all; in fact, he’s in the way of it.

It’s the fact that Childe is talking to you.

Kinich sucks in a breath.

He blinks once, thinking it may just be his exhaustion playing tricks on him, but you’re still standing there, smiling up at the other man.

Though he’d known that you applied to this school, he never found out where you actually ended up going—you’d blocked him on everything post-graduation, after all. It seems like some sort of sick sign from the universe that you would be here right now.

You’re wearing the Third Round Knockout uniform, he notes dully—so you work here. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re smiling and laughing with Childe, looking entirely too happy with his company. Kinich has talked to the ginger before, and he’s not that funny.

Childe turns at that moment, seemingly finished ordering his food, before he lights up in recognition.

“Ah, Kinich, what’s up?” he greets, patting him on the shoulder. “Hey, nice game the other day! You’re fast as hell.”

If he were anywhere else but here, Kinich might’ve actually appreciated Childe’s compliment. But right now, he can’t even remember what game he’s referring to; instead, he offers a dry, tight-lipped smile.

“Thanks.”

He peeks around Childe’s arm—you haven’t noticed him yet, too busy counting bills and stuffing them into the register. You’re halfway through a yawn when you call out to him.

“I can help the next person, please!”

Childe shoots him a grin, waving as he steps past him to leave, and suddenly Kinich feels overwhelmingly vulnerable. It feels endless, the drag of your gaze as it turns up to him, falling to his face. Pure shock paints your features.

Something unearths in his chest, kicking up with dust that stings at the corners of his eyes.

They bloom there, a wealth of feelings that wrap like thorn-lined vines around his heartbeat. Regret speaks the loudest—it screams from where it sits, panging with familiarity at the sight of your face.

“K—Kinich,” you greet once you recover from your initial shock, a rasp. There’s an audible lump in your throat, voice reedy and thin.

You look even more beautiful than he remembers. That’s all he can think as his brain force feeds him a series of memories—images of hazy sunsets and half-empty spray paint cans and secrets shared between chapped lips. His entire youth is nearly synonymous with your name.

His eyes draw to your neck, the bareness of it; it makes his heart ache.

You toy with the silver chain swinging at your throat, shyly staring down at your feet.

Almost in slow motion, your hand slinks up to your collarbone, reaching for something that isn’t there. It has Kinich’s eyes fluttering shut for a moment, almost painfully.

“Hi,” he starts, sound barely crawling from his throat. “It’s been a long time.”

He waits, but he doesn’t know what for. A change, in expression, in tone, in something, a sign that you remember what the two of you were, or perhaps what you could’ve been. But you’re still blankly staring at him like he’s a stranger.

“Can I help you?”

Kinich forgets about the food entirely. He just can’t get over how different you look, sound, and are. It’s a stupid realization—obviously you would’ve changed in the last three years. But somehow, he feels like he’s been the only one rooted in place all this time.

“Sir?” you repeat pointedly. “Can I help you?”

He utters your name once, soft, then inches forward, an instinct. “Listen, I’m sorry—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you interrupt smoothly, devoid of warmth. You back away, defenses up; you’d expected this from him, clearly. “I don’t really want or need it.”

And it hurts to hear that, that you don’t really want or need something from him. Because that always used to be the case, used to be your normal—clinging to each other, wanting and needing and having each other. And though he doesn’t like to live in the past, this is one thing that Kinich is unwilling to let go of.

“Can I…still try?” he starts, hesitant. “To apologize?”

The music still pulses in his veins, in his hands, in his chest—it echoes in his ears as he awaits your reply.

Deep down, he knows he shouldn’t do this. He’d lost any right to pursue you years ago. And he’s certainly not the type to make emotionally-charged confessions in public, but he sees you and he wonders if you still remember his favorite color.

It’s messing with his head.

“Why would you?” Your tone is biting, words sharp as they’re flung off your tongue. “No offense, but we haven’t known each other for years. I don’t see a point.”

And though you’re right, the thought pains him—there had been a time when he was the only one who knew every part of you, and you of him. But you’ve changed so much, you both have, and the evidence is standing before him.

Your eyes fill with frost. His mouth grows dry with regret.

“I know, but at that time, I—”

“You avoided me for months, Kinich,” you cut in quietly, thumbing at the edges of your sleeves. He knows that habit—you always do it when you’re nervous. “Forgive me for thinking that meant you wanted nothing to do with me.”

The bitterness leaks into your voice. You’re trying to be indifferent, but the resentment still feels raw.

And he deserves that, deserves this, he knows; he’s made a lot of mistakes when it comes to you. He more than anyone knows how much he fucked up, and if he could take it back, he would do so in a heartbeat. But he can’t, and your dull eyes and bare neck are evidence of that.

“You’re right,” he breathes, then swallows, gathering himself. “I’m sorry.”

You clear your throat, looking for something else to busy yourself with—anything to avoid eye contact.

“You don’t have to be.”

Despite your words, the misery is written across your face, like you’re reliving every single moment of that day. And, of course, you have no way of knowing, but he wonders if you realize how often he relives it too.

“Now that we’ve graduated, I just thought you should know…”

Kinich feels completely out of his element, pinned in place.

He wonders what he even wants out of this whole interaction. Your anger? Your hatred? Would it have made him feel better than your disinterest? His fist clenches.

Say something. Don’t let it repeat itself.

It’s always been his vice—he doesn’t think he’s a stupid person, but he does think he’s a quiet one. And sometimes, that comes back to bite him in the worst moments. When he thinks back on the moments he’s shared with you, he can recall so many times that he could’ve said something. And maybe it wouldn’t have saved you both, but what if it would’ve?

You’re sighing in resignation, looking over his shoulder to call the next person when he speaks, hasty.

“If you ever want to talk about what happened, we can. I can.”

It reeks of desperation, and he has half a mind to be embarrassed, but the feeling doesn’t surface. Instead, he catches a flicker of budding hope in your eyes, a wink of familiarity that has his heart slamming against his ribcage.

Your lips form the shape of his name, and Kinich finds his breath.

“I like you, Kinich. A lot. For a while now. And, if you’ll have me, I’d like us to be together.”

“What’s going on here?”

Too focused on your expression, Kinich fails to notice the older man sneaking up behind you, a stern frown on his face and arms crossed. You cringe at the intrusion, already struck with a sense of foreboding.

You whip around, hands drawn meekly to your chest.

“Sir,” you squeak out, a nervous giggle escaping your throat, “I was just—”

“We’ve already talked about this,” your manager hisses, a contrastingly serene smile on his face. “This would be your third strike.”

Despair creeps onto your face, and Kinich finds himself drawn forward, hand outstretched.

“Wait, sir, please. It was my fault. She was just—”

Your boss fixes Kinich with a sour glare, looking him up and down—his lip curls into disapproval when he sees the tattoo on his arm.

“Don’t make excuses for your friend.”

Everyone around stares at the commotion—when Kinich glances back, Xiao and Aether are watching, wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way.”

“You’ve had enough chances,” your manager starts, deceptively saccharine-sounding.

He looks between the two of you, spiteful. Kinich’s heart drops like a stone.

“You’re officially fired.”

“Wow, you fucked up bad.”

The next day, Aether’s unhelpful commentary is nearly drowned out in the general noise of the quad.

Fluffy clouds half-obscure the sun above, leaving a permeating warmth and a relaxing breeze. There’s an extensive crowd of students spread out across the grass, studying and laughing and chatting. It would be a beautiful, enjoyable day, if not for Kinich’s overwhelming guilt and the irritating sound of Aether scarfing down his lunch.

And while the blond’s remarks are unhelpful, they aren’t necessarily wrong. Recounting the whole event just makes him more aware of how idiotic he had been. Kinich rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration—he just can’t stop making mistakes when it comes to you.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he admits, absentmindedly pulling at the blanket beneath him. “I just wanted to talk to her.”

After the incident, your manager had disappeared with you into the back, likely to work out the details of your termination. You threw him a last glance over your shoulder, eyes pouring with regret—whether it was regret that you had been interrupted, or regret that you had interacted at all, he isn’t sure.

“Oh, you talked to her alright,” Aether chirps, mouth full. Kinich’s face twists in disgust. “Talked her right out of financial stability.”

Lumine jerks an elbow into her brother’s ribs, ignoring his pained yelp.

“What he means to say,” she starts, shooting her twin a poisonous glare, “is that you made a mistake, and you know it now. All you can do is apologize, or leave her alone if you think that would be best.”

Kinich thinks on that for a moment. Apologizing seems reasonable, but the laundry list of things he should apologize to you for seems to grow longer by the day. He’s not even sure you would hear him out for that long at this point.

Last night had given him a glimpse of hope, but your manager had ruined anything he had built up in that moment.

And really, he should leave you alone. The guilt building and knotting in his chest is enough, enough that he knows that getting involved with you further would only lead to more heartbreak for both of you. He’s just not sure if he’s capable of letting you go again.

“I mean, no offense, but weren’t you the one who rejected her back then? And then, like…ghosted her?” Aether asks.

Lumine facepalms, thoroughly exhausted by trying to reel in her twin’s complete lack of decorum. It seems to be her full-time job at this point.

“It’s okay,” Kinich sighs, waving her off. “He’s right. I did.”

He’d been going through a lot back then, not that it had been a valid excuse. He’d been far too immature to be honest with you like you deserved.

With a groan, Kinich shuts his laptop to fully focus on the topic at hand—he hasn’t been studying for a few minutes now anyway.

Lumine and Aether stare at him like they’re awaiting clarification. He shrugs, deflated.

“I was young and stupid. There’s no good explanation for it.”

“I don’t know if was is the right term,” Aether adds thoughtfully. “I mean, you did just get her fired, and that’s because—”

“—Aether.”

Lumine hisses through gritted teeth, and her twin chuckles, suddenly nervous.

“That’s because I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot and I’m going to stop talking now.”

Aether dives back into his chicken fried rice like a kicked puppy, pouting. Lumine glances over at Kinich, gauging the conflict written over his features. She sighs, smoothing her hair over her shoulder.

“Well, the choice is yours.”

If it were just up to him, he would chase after you and apologize endlessly. But he knows that his aren’t the only feelings in play here—if anything, yours matter more. So, he decides to leave it to fate.

He fishes into his bag with one hand, producing his wallet and shaking out a few coins. He holds one out for his friends to see.

“Heads, I apologize. Tails, I leave her alone.”

He swallows hard.

“Forever.”

He’s not sure if he truly means that quite yet, but he tells himself that he does. Steeling his resolve, he tosses the coin in the air. Aether and Lumine’s eyes grow wide as they follow its path, spinning and twisting before landing neatly on the ground.

“Kinich, do you think we’ll still know each other in five years? Ten years?”

“Of course we will.”

Kinich leans forward, peering down at the fallen Mora.

There’s a tinge of relief in his sigh.

Heads.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kinich x reader #genshin impact #kinich #genshin fanfic #kinich x you #genshin impact imagines #adeptus ink

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dalamjisung · 16 days ago

Text

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 8: It's a natural progression

genre: will ever write something not angsty?

word count: 6793

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you and spencer finally give into the tension that's been growing between you, but what happens now?

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

I decided to give you all a pause from Abigail because we're now turning into an Abigail Hater Club HAHAH

This is the third time you’re saying this, but you’ll keep saying it until Spencer hears you. “I am not relocating.”

“Y/N, if she found out where you are, we need you to be somewhere else,” Spencer groans, but you have no mercy on him; not this time. Not after everything.

His hair is pointing everywhere, surely from the way your stubbornness is making him tug at it like he needs the sting on his scalped to remind him to focus. It’s been almost thirty minutes of you two arguing, and this isn’t exactly the conversation you wanted to have when you first woke up that morning. In fact, you could have lived your entire life without having this conversation and you would probably have been a very, very happy woman. Alas, things never really seem to go your way even when they are going right. And right now, you are far, far away from things going right.

“I am not going to relocate!” You say again, exasperation getting to you the more he insists. Now, your hands are flying around you and it’s like you two have switched places for a second– while he seems tense and immobile, you are gesticulating like crazy, trying to make a point with your entire body; you are not leaving. “I’m done relocating! I’m done being am active case that doesn’t move on! I’m done being thrown around like a doll! Maybe that’s her end game, Spence– have you thought of that?! That she gets some sort of… of… sadistic satisfaction from seeing me squirm away every single time!” You cry out, brows furrowed in frustration. Nothing is making sense to you, and your anger only grows. Why is he so okay with sending you away like it means nothing to you? Why is he not using that big, beautiful brain of his to find other solutions than just rid of you? “I can’t keep running! I can’t keep stopping my life anymore, Spence, I can’t! I–“

An odd sense of coldness comes down on you, like a wave crashing against the walls of your stomach, spreading through your veins, cooling down your stressed out brain. It takes you a little while, but you finally understand. You understand his hesitation, his silence, and you understand it as an answer. “I’ll go home,” You mumble, looking down at your hands. They laid lifeless on your lap, almost like they are now tired from all the talking through them. “Yeah, I– I think that’s the best idea. It’ll be relocating, right? I’ll g back home. You must be tired of me here, anyways, and–“

“Don’t.”

The ice in his voice startles you enough to have you scoffing. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t make this about something that it isn’t,” His voice is in that whisper-scream pitch that you’ve heard him using with other people. Never you, though. Spencer never got this aggravated with you before, not even when you kept leaving your tea bags inside your empty mugs until they were dry. This, the way he is talking right now, is beyond annoyance. This is anger. Spence is angry at you and that doesn’t make you feel any better. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“The give up already,” You whisper back, slowly getting up from where you’re sitting. “Because I’m not going anywhere that is not my own apartment across the street.”

The package is still sitting on his counter, and you hate that you can feel it burning deep in your soul. At first, he didn’t want you looking at it, trying to keep you away, but you don’t like when you Spencer keeps secrets and you just push away his hand that is reaching for you. This sounds a bit insane, now that you think back to it, but when you first see the book cover, so familiar you can quote some of its content, you laugh. It’s a daring move, but an effective one– Kill Me If You Can, by James Patterson and Marshall Karp, is all about the chase. And all about the run. “That fucking bitch,” You whisper to yourself, grabbing the book and opening it to the cover page, where her inscription would obviously be– Dear Y/N, Check-mate. What now? XOXO Cat.

You’ve never hurt a book before, but you have half a mind to rip that one to shreds with your bare hands.

“No, no, no, you are relocating and that’s the end of it.”

To Spencer, you are the sweetest of the sweets– sugar pours out of your lips and he had the pleasure to taste it. No way he will risk losing that now, not before he can have a chance to douse himself in them. But every time you cuss, every time you frown, he swears that sugar gets the slightest hint of bitterness, and every time he blushes because of it, every time he lets out a sharp exhale with his eyes fixated on you, he can’t help but wonder how well that bitterness would mix in with your sugar.

Right now, though, you are about to get downright rotten.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Spencer Reid?” His full name sounds wrong when you feel this pissed off. “You’re not my dad!”

“No, I’m not your dad, I’m your boyfriend, and I’m trying to keep you safe!” This time he screams; he truly, really screams, neck veins popping out and face reddening with the strength of his words. Spencer revels yet another side of himself to you. “I’ve lost enough, okay?! I’ve lost enough… First Maeve, then Gideon, and, a-and, and now you– I can’t lose you! You can’t die, you can’t die on me, and it’s like you keep trying to! You refuse to cooperate, you-you are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, and you’ll drive me insane! So please, don’t… don’t let me lose you…”

The way his voice dies out should’ve been enough to get you to quiet down, but tensions are high and now you feel like you’ve just been hit with a brick to the face.

“You’re my what?!”

This is news to you, though it doesn’t seem to be news to him. You’ve been dreaming of hearing that word slipping from his mouth, you won’t lie, but not like this. Not in a fight, and your first fight at that.

Spencer seems shocked at your surprise, and you two go quiet for the first time in what feels like hours.

“Am… Am I not?” You are still in awe of how Spencer can go from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds. A second ago, he looked like he was about to rip his hair out of his head and now he was back tohis normal bright, wide eyes and fidgeting hands. Whiplash isn’t enough to describe how you’re feeling, staring at him with your mouth hanging open, willing for words to come out but failing every single time. “Oh god, I’m not. I’m sorry, I just assumed that after last night we–“

“Wait, stop, stop, stop!” You shriek, hands going up to cover your face. “I need a second to think!”

“No, you don’t, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, just forget everything I said, I just–“

“I might not have an eidetic memory, but I don’t think I can ever forget what you just said,” You breathe out, hands shaking as you pushed your hair back and away from your face. “Spence… you thought we were dating?”

This has him paralysed. “That’s what you want to talk about? Right now? After everything I said?”

“I want to talk about everything,” You do, you really do; but you need to get this out of your chest right now. You need to start clean. “But we need to talk about this first… because I need to know how to act when we get to the rest of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Spence, we kissed,” You whisper, hands sliding down your face with a frustrated groan. “And I thought that maybe… I don’t know, I thought we were going somewhere good, you know? Somewhere at all! But then we got to the room and you just pushed me away!”

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to do anything you didn’t want to!” Spencer defending himself like this feels like you’re living in an alternate reality. To be honest, even if you had had the chance to talk to him like you initially intended to, you weren’t really sure what you’d do after. It wasn’t a situation in which you could predict an outcome, not when it comes to Spencer– he is too good in hiding form the world. Too good in hiding from you. “Y/N, I swear, that’s all! I wanted more, I always want more when it comes to you but I don’t want to get greedy and scare you off.”

“What about the next morning?” If you don’t sit down, you think your legs will buckle under you. So you sink onto the couch, head on your hands trying to keep you from looking at him with hopeful eyes. Spencer doesn’t want to pressure you and you don’t want to pressure him– and just like that you two fall in a cursed, never-ending dance. In a game where both are in defence, no one wins. One of you has to either take a risk or go home crying. And you’re oh so tired of going home crying… “The next morning you didn’t kiss me or, or, or talked to me! I woke up and you weren’t even in bed!”

“I wanted to make you breakfast in bed,” This is getting more and more ridiculous by the second. Had you really jumped the gun here? “But when I got out of the shower, you were already freaking out about Abigail!”

“What– But what about after?!”

“After we talked about Abigail, I got a call from work and you were almost pushing me out of the door yourself!” This time around, you don’t ask anymore questions, not when you can see how exasperated Spencer is getting. “You said–”

“Now is not the time to quote me,” You say as softly as you can. Though sometimes it can sting, having your words thrown back at you, you can’t help but smile every time he does it. The secret is in knowing Spencer isn’t trying to hurt you, but simply attempting to logically solve whatever issue he has to face. What he doesn’t seem to understand though, is that sometimes, the issues of the heart, aren’t logical to begin with.

“I’m just trying to… I don’t know what I’m trying to do, but this is all a bit misunderstanding,” He shuffles closer to you with that look in his eyes that you’ve seen before in the mirror, your own familiar desperation glaring back at you with that lost, confused glint of what will happen next? “Please, I don’t… I don’t have much experience but I– I don’t want to lose you. Y/N, please… help me.”

“Spence, what do you mean?”

“Help me,” He whispers again, worry sketched on his face like it belongs there. His breathing is shallow, and you notice the way his hands wrangle each other in his lap. If anything, he’s trying, and failing, to hide from you for the the first time. As gently as possible, you reach up with a small smile playing on your lips, and you press your thumb to the lines between his brows, soothing them in a back and forth motion. “Help me, I don’t know what to do.”

The way he chuckles in that coy way he does whenever he feels like he’s out of his league is what pushes you forward, the carefulness of your actions clashing with the eagerness in your kiss. You’ve been waiting for this all day, and everything inside you melts when you feel his hands reaching up hold you close, cradling your face as if you’re the most precious thing he has ever touched. There is a slight shake to them when his lips move over yours and you can’t help but smile, laying your smaller hands over his– I got you, you want to tell him. I’ll help you.

“Y/N…” His words hit you with a puff of air, lips brushing against each other every time he speaks. If Spencer pulls back an inch, you follow; if you try to put some distance, he follows. The wall between you two that had been shaken before was now completely shattered, bulldozed by his hands sliding down your neck, your sides, tugging on your waist until you’re as close as you can possibly be. Until you’re on his lap, surrounded his arms, overtaken by him and him only. “Don’t go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” You promise, laying your head on his shoulder like you’ve done many other times before. “I’m not relocating.”

“Y/N–”

“Who’s Maeve?”

His body tenses underneath you horribly, and you hate that it’s all because of you. “I–“

“You don’t have to tell me now if you don’t want to,” You say, pushing his hair away from his panicked eyes. “I just want you to know I heard you. I heard you talking about Maeve and Gideon and me, and I think if we want to start… whatever this is… we need to lay our cards down,” It’s a risky move, if anything. Not only are you asking him about his past, you will also allow him to ask about yours, and that is only fair.

“But what is this?” He asks, eyes sharp on yours while you play with his hair to try and distract yourself from the reality of it all. “What are we?”

“I mean, you said you were my boyfriend, right?” You don’t want to be the one to make a decision this big, but then again, it shouldn’t be all him.

“Then what are you?” He mumbled, eyes threatening to shut the more your fingers run through his hair. “Are you my girl?”

A move you don’t really expect from Spencer, but that is welcome nonetheless. The way you two look at each other, like teenagers all giggly about confessing, is equal parts pathetic and hilarious. But it’s the way you two chose to go about it and that is all that matters. Until you remember that this is reality, and you’re not a teenager anymore– there are higher stakes at play here that have to be addressed. There is heartbreak in the end. Pain. Hurt. Fear. That’s what you had before, waiting for you in the end of a very dark tunnel, and you’re scared that’s what will be waiting for you this time around, too. Not because of Spencer, but because of you.

“Joshua McMannon,” You mumble, slowly climbing out of his lap and sitting on the other side of the couch. Like a barrier, you bring your legs up, hugging your knees close to your chest in an action that Spencer will surely read right– separation, space. It happens whenever you talk about Josh, the wave of shame and embarrassment that paralyses you inside-out. The self-loathing. “He was uh, a big shot new player in the stock market, worked for some big firm I forgot the name. We met in a bar, I think. I know this sounds crazy but I blank on a lot of memories that include him, it’s– it’s hard to think back.”

“Y/N–“

“No Spence, I can’t ask about you your past without telling you about mine, that’s not how it works,” You say with such a tone of finality that he doesn’t even try to fight you on it. “So please, just… listen to me. The entire thing, because it makes me look dumb and foolish, I know it does, but I want to be honest with you, I don’t want this coming back later to haunt us, okay? So just… don’t judge me to harshly. Please.”

His silence is enough to encourage you to keep on going.

“You know a bit about it and there isn’t much more to tell, to be very honest,” There are some undertones of anxiety in your voice, and you know he hears it. You know he wants to move, pull you back to him, comfort you, anything. But he respects the shield you’ve put up and he listens, just like you asked. “He was one of those guys that love the chase, you know? Likes showing off, too, so I was always uh, well dressed and all that jazz. Josh hates when I– no. Sorry. Josh hated when I looked sloppy. He worked hard to play hard, according to him, so he wanted to show things off. Expensive restaurants every day, expensive clubs every night… expensive girlfriend all around.”

“No,” Spencer quickly blurts out one of the many words he’s surely holding in. “No, Y/N, you’re not something to show off, you’re not a thing!”

“You’re sweet,” You chuckle. “But I was a thing to Josh. Something he owned, remember? And I fell for it, Spence. I was so, so stupid and desperate that I said nothing, I just went along and played into his fantasy until I couldn’t anymore. So I started talking back. Saying ‘no.’ You know what happens next, I guess. You know his type. I didn’t.”

Gulping, you look down at your hands embarrassedly. Spencer would’ve clocked Josh on the dot. He would’ve known who he was and what he’d do in a second. You, on the other hand, hadn’t been so smart. Probably still aren’t. Probably never will be. It’s hard, not putting yourself down when you’re telling the smartest man you know about such idiotic mistakes.

“Y/N, don’t even think about it,” Spencer hisses and all restraint is gone. He is sliding down the couch to sit close to you, and his hands sneak under your knee and give a gentle tug. He’s trying to respect your need for your own space, but he needs to make sure you’re listening to him. “You’re not dumb. You are not stupid. You are a kind woman with a heart too big for assholes like him, and I won’t have you thinking this was your fault. Sweetheart, this is all his fault. You had nothing to do with that, you… you were just in love.”

“I wasn’t, though,” You whisper, shaking your head slowly. “I really liked him. Like, a lot. But I didn’t love him.”

“It doesn’t matter, sweet girl,” He gently put your legs over his, hands holding onto your calves like it’s his lifeline. “There is no scenario in which this is your fault. None. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” You’re not lying– you hear him, you truly do. But believing him is a whole other thing, and you’re not sure if you’re there yet. “I’ve been hearing you, Spence. Every time you explain something new or you tell me some more fun facts, I hear you. It’s just that this time around it’s a little bit harder to process, that’s all.”

“This is a fact like all the other facts I’ve told you,” With one more pull, you get closer and closer to his body until you can feel the press of those perfect lips against your forehead. “It’s irrefutable– none of this is your fault, angel. None of it.”

Nodding, you relax onto his hold, head resting on his shoulder when you deliver the final blow. “Him hitting me wasn’t my fault, I know that much. I ran after that. It sounds a bit drastic, but I had never been in the position before and Josh is someone with a lot of influence back in New York. I would have never survived in there and I would’ve been scared all the time.”

“He touched you?” The way he says it, voice sharp like a knife, makes you look up at him with squinted eyes. “Where?”

“What does it matter?”

“Where did he hurt you?”

Chuckling, you grab his hand and lean your cheek onto it. “Right here,” You whisper, turning a little to drop a kiss on his palm.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Everything about him screams comfort, from how his thumb gently caresses your face to the way his lips pull downwards in disscontempt. You know that by now, he’s making a mental note to run Josh’ name through Garcia, but that is something you will deal with later. Despite their good intentions, that is not a door you want to open any time soon. “I–“

“You will do nothing about it, Spencer Reid,” You say with as a teasing warning. You don’t know that, but Spencer wonders how can you smile while telling him about such terrible memories; how could you withstand pain so well without telling anyone about it before. “Whatever happened happened and it’s done. I just wanted to be honest and give you the full picture before… we make decisions.”

“And what do you think this will accomplish, huh? That it will change my mind? Make me regret it?”

“I don’t know Spence,” You groan. “I’m just… trying to be honest.”

“And I appreciate that, Y/N,” This time, he kisses you on the lips, but it’s too fast and too light to satisfy the yearning inside of you. “But nothing will make me change my mind. Much less that asshole. I want you. I’ve wanted you since I met you, I–”

His pause lingers in the air with a something heavy over it. This time, you shuffle on his lap to try and get a better look of his face, legs holding you up on each side of him. It’s such an intimate position to be in, you straddling him with his hands dragging from your waist to your thighs then back up again; your hands playing with the little curls by the nape of his neck; his lips, opening and closing and opening again in what feels like failed attempt after failed attempt to tell you something.

“I– I think I’ve wanted you since Maeve died.”

There is a lot to unpack in this sentence, but you keep your expression clean of any reaction. He doesn’t need you gasping and fawning over him… he just needs you to listen.

“And I know it sounds messed up and weird, but like, the metaphorical you, you know? The you you are but disembodied and– and now I’m not making any sense, but I mean it.”

“I know you meant it,” You whisper, nails gently scrapping his scalp. “It’s okay, you can not make sense, I’ll figure it out. I’m good with puzzles.”

“You are terrible with puzzles, angel,” He chuckles and your shoulders relax a little. “I’ve seen you trying to put together that Pride and Prejudice poster puzzle… I think you’re just good with me.”

“Hm, I think so to,” You smile. “Why don’t we start from the beginning then? Tell me your story.”

Nodding, Spencer tugged you a bit closer and you like it– this tugging habit of his, the need to have you pressed against him winning against his need to keep the germs at bay. In a very simplistic way, it makes you feel special.

“Maeve… I loved Maeve,” He admits, eyes looking into yours with an insecurity that is misplaced– though you are not above feeling the poke of jealousy down deep in your gut, you are mature enough to know when you are being an absolute idiot, and you smile at him. “I love Maeve, but I am no longer in love with Maeve. I mean, she’s dead, so…” Spencer clears his throat for a second, and when he’s ready– only when he’s ready– he continues.

There is real pain in his voice as he tells you the entire thing, and there is real pain in your voice as you call him name oh so carefully. The tears in his eyes are few, but they are there, and you thumb them away as gently as you can. In your hands is the shell of the man you know, his words slowing down as his brain surely relieves memories he wishes to delete.

“Spencer,” You call, his eyes shut so tight you think he might just hurt himself if he continues like this. “Spence, I’m so sorry that happened.”

“It was my fault,” He whispered as if he is in a confessionary. “Diane Turner. That was the name of the girl that killed her. We were trying to negotiate with her and… and I failed.”

“Spencer, no,” Oh how the tables have turned. “The girl was going to kill Maeve no matter what, and I’m sorry that it came to this. I’m sorry–“ You can’t even say it, confused with your anger and how it makes your hands shake.

She blindfolded him.

She read his letters, his fears, and she made them real.

That is enough to have you wishing you had shot her yourself.

“Sweetheart,” He chuckles sadly, bigger hands coming to encage yours in a futile attempt to extinguish your anger. Bringing your knuckles to his lips, he kisses each and every single one of them, and for a moment you think he knows– he knows you’d be someone you’re not, for him. Someone who hurts other people. And you think he’d hate himself if that ever happened. “It was a long time ago…”

“But it wasn’t your fault…” You move until you embrace him, body covering his like a blanket willing to keep him from the cruel, cruel world around you two. “No matter how long ago it was.”

“I guess that’s just something we both have to learn,” His voice is muffled by your sweater, and you pull back a little. When he offers you his pinky finger, you don’t need any explanation, wrapping yours around it with a giggle. “Something we’ll help each other learn.”

“It’s a deal,” You whisper, leaning forward and dropping a slow kiss to his lips. “Sealed with a kiss.”

“Does this mean that now you’re actually my girlfriend?” He asks after a while and you laugh, loud enough to burst the bubble you two created.

“If you want me to be, yes.”

“I want you to be, in case you haven’t noticed by now,” God, you love when he jokes, the casual tone of his voice making you both relax. “But I also want to be your boyfriend.”

“Hm, you want an awful lot, don’t you?” Pushing his hair back, you smile impossibly wide. “Good think I want a lot, too.” The way he kisses you makes you believe that you truly are the only girl in the world, even if just his world. “Now you have to tell all the guys that hit on you that you are taken.”

“Spence, what guys?!” You snort, eyes wide when you try to move and sit next to him. He is quick to catch you, though, and place you back on his lap.

“Just because you don’t notice people flirting with you doesn’t mean they don’t!”

“Okay, wait a second, I notice–“

“I’ve been flirting with you for months!” He says in that way that makes his voice go a tone higher, his smile so wide and bright that you can’t help but laugh.

“Maybe you’re bad at flirting?”

“Even Garcia noticed,” Spencer points out and you groan, knowing that if you admit defeat he will forever gloat. “But that’s okay. We got there in the end.”

“We did… which is why I’m not relocating.”

“Y/N, this is for your safety.”

“I’m safer closer to you,” You whisper. “Spence, I won’t be safe with god knows how many strangers surrounding me in a location I have no clue how to navigate. Here, I have you and I’m in a familiar place– I know the closest subway, bus stations, taxi points. I know the owner of the cafe down the street, I know your neighbours, hell, I even have Abigail! Isolating me is not safe. Please.”

For a moment, you wait. You’re unsure if you got through to him, his eyes looking at you so intently that it’s a little embarrassing. Everyone knows his brain works differently– it works faster, better, more precisely. Whenever Spence zones out like this, it’s not because of lack of attention, but simply because he’s thinking… and what a wonderful thing it is to see him think; to see those theories taking form in his beautiful head, to see those honey coloured eyes working out probabilities that you’d never even get close to understand. He’s a special one, and you love that about him. Because you love him.

And as much as everything between you two is new, this feeling is quite old.

This growing warmth in your chest, expanding like rivers of gold adoration through your veins.

It’s not surprising that you love Spencer.

It’s only natural, considering how much he loves you.

How you know it?

“Yeah, okay. I’d feel more comfortable with you here with me, anyways.”

Well, it’s obvious.

“And you’re right, you know?” He continues, speeding through his words as if he’s trying to convince you and him both. “You know this area well. Cat has managed to get through us easily, and I don’t know what I’d do if she found you and I was the one to send you all alone to strange place where you can’t ask for help…”

“That won’t happen,” You promise, shaking your head at the terrifying thought. “So does that mean I’ll stay here or go home?”

The reason you enjoy asking Spencer obvious questions is because sometimes, times like this, you get to see his personality shinning like a beacon in a dark night. His sassiness is so refreshing that you can’t help but giggle every time he lets it out. “Don’t be ridiculous,” He mumbled, rolling his eyes like the little know-it-all he is. “You’re obviously staying here. You’re my girlfriend, you’ll stay where I can protect you. Which is also something we have to talk about.”

“Nooo,” You are so tired of talking about things at this point. “Can’t we talk about it tomorrow? Please, I just want to spend one nice evening with my boyfriend without discussing the fact that his psychopathic stalker wants to kill me.”

“Y/N, that is not funny!” He gasps when you chuckle. “Sweetheart, I just want you safe. I think it would be important for us to have a plan if someone ever breaks into my apartment, for example. You should know where my gun is and–“

“Woah, woah, woah, no way!” You shriek, climbing off of his lap and standing right in front of him. The though of having to use a gun makes you nauseous. “I don’t want to know where your gun is, and I don’t want to even think about the possibility of having to actually point it at someone!”

“Okay,” Spencer says softly, getting up too and coming to hug you. Despite people thinking that Spencer is not quite adept to human touch, he has gotten quite good at comforting you, knowing exactly how to hold you and how to talk you down of your rising panic. “That’s okay, it’s okay. We’ll talk about it another day, we don’t have to overwhelm you right now, it’s alright, my angel.”

For a moment, the two of you just… stand there, swaying from side to side while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. “Can we just be normal for a night and watch a movie?” You finally ask, looking up at his smile because right now, that’s the only thing that matters to you– him.

“Yeah, let’s watch a movie.”

For a few hours, life is perfect.

For a few hours, you get to kiss him like you’ve been meaning to. Touch him like you’ve been meaning to. You get to run your hands through his unruly hair, pushing it back and feeling its softness slip between your fingers like the finest silk that ever was. He touches you, too, albeit a bit more reservedly. His fingers find the sliver of skin on your hip, thumb caressing back and forth, sending shivers up and down your spine. His lips brushed against your cheeks, your neck, your collarbones.

For a few hours, you laugh and smile and chat. You memorise more fun facts to put on your little notebook later, now secure on the left bedside table, right next to where you lay every night. He tells you how the movie doesn’t make logical sense and how they have physics all wrong. He points at the screen and his voice gets higher and higher with his passion for correcting fiction and you can’t help but shut him up with a languid kiss.

For a few hours, you two are just a couple. This is just a date. And this are just good.

But the higher you climb, the better it gets, the harder you’ll fall. This might just be what Cat wants– you, in perpetual anxiety, always looking over your shoulder, always scared of losing the little you were able to build in your new life. From what Spence and his team have told you about her, Cat’s main skills are all mental; manipulation, gaslighting, coercing. Is this how you’re going to end? Terrified with ever step you take, antsy at your boyfriend’s house while watching a movie, giving up on your bookshop so that strangers don’t have such an easy access to your life?

For a few hours, you didn’t have to worry about that.

For a few hours only… because once the second movie is done, you two are forced to pull apart thanks to the incessant knocking on Spencer’s door. “If this is Abigail again,” Spencer warns as he gets up, lips all swollen from kissing and making out. “I will arrest her.”

“On what grounds, agent?” You hug a pillow close to you, completely ignorant to your current messy hair and blushed face.

“Cockblocking,” It’s so rare to hear such a word coming from someone like Spence that you can’t help but burst out laughing. “JJ?”

The name has your smile slipping a little. Why is JJ here? Did something happen? The moment Spencer opens the door, she’s marching inside, her beautiful blonde hair floating in the air as if she is some sort of magical being. “Spence, what the fuck?!” She cried out, completely oblivious to your presence in the couch. “Why are you not picking up your phone? I’ve been calling– Hotch mentioned something about you not taking Y/N to a secondary location, are you insane?! You can’t take care of her all by yourself, she’ll–“

You clear your throat as loud as you can, smiling sadly at her when she turns around with a shocked expression. “Hi, JJ.”

“Y/N, I’m– I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were here…”

“She is,” Spencer suddenly sounds quiet, eyes cast down as if he’s a child who’s been caught red-handed doing something wrong. But then he raises his head, chin high and chest puffing out a little. “And she’ll stay here with me. Y/N doesn’t want to be moved to a secondary location, and considering we don’t know who Cat’s secondary is, I wouldn’t say it’s wise for us to do so. She’ll be alone in an unknown place. I… I would prefer if she’s here. With me. And officer Kaper.”

JJ’s eyes go wide and you can understand her surprise to hear her usually shy and quiet co-worker being so adamant. Hell, even you are a little bit surprised. “What you prefer?! Spence, this is not about what you prefer! This is about– oh my god, you two were making out.”

Her observation is so dry that you almost choke on air. “What?!” His voice is a dead give away. Or maybe it’s the way you wince, looking away from her, that gives you two away. “JJ, this is none–“

“You are having an interpersonal relationship with a victim under our protection in an active case,” It’s the way she describes you as a victim, as if that’s the only thing you are to her, that makes you exhale harshly. “Yes, Spencer, this is my business.”

“Uhm, technically–“

“Y/N, I’m sorry, but not now,” She speaks to you like a mother, and from what Spence has told you about her, you know that she has two wonderful boys. Two kids for her to mother. You, however, are not one of them.

Slowly rising up from the couch, your voice is shaky when you speak, but your proud of yourself regardless– confrontation is not your best suit, some might say it’s your worst suit, but there is no escape this time around. Not if you want to stay with Spencer. “I’m sorry, JJ, but yes, now. I’m the one this is all happening to. I’m not a passive participant in all of this and I do get to make choices, even if those choices are against your recommendation. I chose to stay here. Not Spence.”

“Why here? Why not–“

“I know the area!” You basically squeak, frowning deeply at her. The JJ you know is sweet and soft-spoken. This JJ is… well, not that. This JJ is someone who gets the job done. This JJ sees you as a job. And that hurts. “Cat knows you guys, she has shown us again and again that she is one step ahead– look at what happened to Officer Kaper. He has a family! His wife and kids were there and– fuck, JJ, if something happens here, I know where to go! I know where to run to, I know the back alleys, I know the people… I can’t handle you guys taking me away from everything I know again. I can’t, I’m sorry, I just can’t, I–“

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re not going anywhere,” In a second, Spencer is by your side, arms pulling you into his chest. “You’re stay here, sweetheart.”

“Spence–“

“JJ, do you think I’m stupid?” The question shocks the words out of both of you. “I calculated the odds, okay? I know the risks. I know the pros and cons. But do you know what else I know? I know that when we thought Maeve was safe, her stalker was in her apartment. We put her under protective custody, and Diane still got to her. She could’ve been with me, I could’ve saved her!”

JJ doesn’t speak, and neither do you. You are frozen in place. Spencer had told you about Maeve just hours ago, described the entire thing, told you all the details of what happened back then… but he never touched on the now. On how he feels now. On how he remembers the whole thing now. On how it still affected him now. You can feel the anxiety on the way his breath shudders. The anger in his words, the regret, the fucking guilt As gently as you can, you circle his waist and squeeze. There is a part of you that hates doing this in front of someone else, giving them a part of this reality in which only you and Spencer exist; but he need to know you’re still here. Next to him, where he can keep you safe. “Maeve wasn’t your fault, Spencer,” JJ whispers, and you see in her a glimpse of the woman you’ve met before. “It wasn’t your fault…”

“But this is!” He shouts back, stopping himself from lurching forward thanks to your body glued to his. Instead, he cradles your head closer, shuts his eyes tights, and let out the most pitiful exhale you’ve ever heard. “This is my fault… Y/N wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for me.”

“Spence–“ You can’t even deny it. Logically, it is his fault this is happening– Cat is after you simply because she’s after him. That is undeniable, and you lose yourself in the endless search of what to tell him, how to comfort him. This is your Spence. Your boyfriend. And you don’t want this type of phantasmagoric guilt hovering over his head over the course of your relationship. This is how things end before they begin.

“I won’t let her take Y/N away from me,” When he looks at JJ again, you gasp. His eyes shine with a determination you’ve never seen before, jaw tense and hands holding you to him like he means in. This time around, you know he means is. “Not now, not ever.”

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

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trippinsorrows · 6 months ago

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with me + part twelve

authors note: you guys are seriously the nicest and most supportive. the comments always make me stupidly smile and laugh cause not a single one of ya'll is gonna let bdj die off. 😭 also, i know a couple of people have commented and asked about the backstory with joe and jadah, and i promise it'll be explored deeper. there's a subplot i'm working towards unveiling here, and it's nearing the reveal part, but we're not there yet! i promise, though, it's gonna be touched on!!!

i also had to chop this chapter in half, because it's honestly so much stuff, so the next update shouldn't take as long cause it's almost done.

the next two are gonna be so fun. maybe some shit will go down too. we shall see.

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: fluff, language, some angst, suggestive themes

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

words: 8k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @yolobloggers @southerngirl41 @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns

“So let me get this straight, in the time that I’ve been gone, you and Joe told Callie he’s her dad, you found out Amir and Mariah been fucking behind your back, and you had a semi mental breakdown after running into your father and, plot twist, long lost sister.” She counts each off with a finger, then asking. “Did I miss anything?”

Nodding, you take a scoop of your ice cream before adding, “Joe told me he loves me.”

In true Alexis fashion, she randomly arrived in town the night before, completely unaware of all that transpired in her absence. So, you take this time while Callie sleeps to catch her up.

“Did I miss anything that I didn’t already know?” You give her a look, and she rolls her eyes, also eating some of her Rocky Road. “Come on, Y/N. Ray Charles could see that man is in love with you. You’re the one being stupid by not reciprocating.” Before you can push back against her, even if she isn’t entirely wrong, she switches topics. “Now when are we gonna go beat Lieriah’s ass? I told you it was something about that girl. She’s a snake.”

Typically the one to defend your friends, it’s hard to find it in you to come to Mariah’s aid. Nevermind the fact that she knows the shitty things Amir has done to you over the years, it’s the fact that she’s supposed to be your best friend but is messing around with same ain't shit ex? You would never do something like that to her, but maybe your loyalty to her has always been stronger than hers to you.

“I’m not worried about him or her. They’re not worth it.” That’s partially true, but the sting of betrayal is slow to pass and even slower to heal. You’ve always had mid to low expectations for Amir, but Mariah? That’s a crushing blow. “I have more important things to figure out.”

She studies you, leaning back against the headboard. “Your sister.”

“Bianca,” you correct. It’s too uncomfortable referring to her as such, even if that’s exactly what she is.

In the weeks since the big fireworks show—both metaphorically and figuratively—you’ve tried to slowly return to your sense of normalcy. Focusing on Callie—who is an entirely different issue in and of itself that you really need to talk to your mom about—being more on top of things at work, and navigating your relationship with Joe.

He hasn’t been back to visit since Christmas, but you figured as such. Wrestlemania season has arrived, and you know better than anyone how crazy that time is, especially with him main eventing.

But the one thing you haven’t really allowed yourself to think too much about is Bianca. You’d sent her a vague apology text a few days after your mad dash and explained that you were dealing with some things and just needed time to sort through them. That you’d reach back out when you were ready.

That still hasn’t happened, and it’s entirely intentional.

“I remember you mentioned that you always wanted siblings?”

“Yeah, cause we have so much to bond over,” you mutter, bitterly.

“Well, you actually do have a lot in common. She’s a teacher, like you. She has a daughter, like you—”

“You know what we don’t have in common?” You interrupt, feeling the agitation growing again. It’s not directed toward Alexis, just the situation in general. “A father who loves us.”

You were done referring to that man as your father. A father shows up. Like Joe. That son of a bitch isn’t even in the same universe as Joe.

Her expression softens. You didn’t tell her everything, just enough for her to get the gist that he’s a piece of shit. And you definitely did not tell her about the time you went to see him. You’ve never told anyone that story. Joe is now the only one who knows, and you’d like to keep it that way. It’s just….it’s just too painful. “I had no idea that was the situation there…..I’m really sorry, girl.”

“It is what it is. I don’t need him.” And you’re not too sure if you need Bianca either. “I’m just trying to figure out if I should power through this for Callie’s sake. You should have seen how she and Taylor clicked. I would hate to take that away from her.”

“I get that,” she acknowledges. “You have to make the decision that’s best for the long run, not necessarily how you’re feeling right now.” That’s very easy to say and nearly impossible to do. “Even if you just allow the girls to interact while you keep some distance with Bianca.”

You’re partially intrigued, spooning some more cookie dough. “How would that work?”

“They don’t live here, right?” You nod. “Maybe the girls can talk on Facetime or even play some game on their tablets. That won’t cause you to interact much with mom outside of coordinating virtual playdates, and Callie still gets to spend time with her cousin, or, not cousin."

You sit on her words, not expecting to be as open to the idea as you are. It’s a pretty genius compromise. “You really do give some great advice sometimes, you know that?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she smiles mischievously, and you just shake your head. “Now, who’s gonna knock this bitch Mariah over the head with a steel chair? Me or you? Or should we hit her with a bus, Regina George style?”

“Alexis!”

________

You clearly don’t love yourself because you decided to do both yours and Callie’s washday on the same damn day. A Sunday, at that. Meaning, you have no choice but to get it done because you have work the next day.

And Alexis being in town would be even more of a benefit than it already is if she actually knew how to do hair. Natural hair. She can lay any wig down better than Tae, but caring for coils and curls is another story. It’s why you declined her offer, and she lays knocked out in your bed, while Callie is fast asleep in hers.

Thankfully, you have an insanely generous and sweet man who’s offered to talk to you while you power through this debacle, noodle arms, sleep deprivation, and all.

“Oh, before I forget again.” You grab the bottle of leave-in to apply more to the next section of hair. Shingling may give you the most definition, but it also gives you the most discomfort. “Can you be here May 8th?” A smile falls on your face. “Our baby is graduating preschool, and I know she’d want you there. I do too.”

“Shit, they have preschool graduations?” He seems genuinely taken back before answering. “But, of course I’ll be there.”

“I know. I used to think they were stupid, but now it’s my kid, so it’s the best thing ever. Her cap and gown should come some time in March, so I’m gonna have one of my old teammates who’s a photographer take professional photos of her.” It’s literally just preschool, but that’s still something she’s accomplished, and you want to commend the occasion the best you can. It’s been years since you’ve had professional photos of her taken anyway. Not since she was first born. “And yes, I’ll get extra for you.”

“How much—”

“Anyways, let me show you the tattoo.” Joe has already done so much, the least you can do is cover the photo costs. Even though you know him well enough to know he’ll find some way to contribute. Thankfully, the side of your hair that still needs to be shingled is clipped at the top of your head, so all you have to do is turn around and push down the thin strap of your shirt to reveal your latest ink. “He did an amazing job.”

“Shit, he did.” Joe’s agreement and approval somehow makes you even more satisfied with the outcome. Your Christmas gift to yourself was finally getting that Moana tattoo Callie has wanted to see on you since you told her you were getting one damn near a year ago. It’s on the back of your left shoulder, a black manta ray, some blue ocean-like coloring with one of your favorite lyrics from the movie: I will carry you here in my heart. You remind me, that come what may, I know the way.

It’s one of Callie’s favorite songs but also feels like an ode to your grandma as well.

He then asks, “do you want more?”

Readjusting your shirt and turning back around, you answer, “of course. More Disney but also….” This discussion triggers something for you, something that seems a little out there, but also maybe not. “I saw this tattoo on Pinterest that I want to get for Callie.” You grab your phone. “Let me send it to you.” It’s saved in your favorites folder and thus an easy send. Placing the phone back on the counter, you wait for him to receive and see it.

“I like it.” It’s a baby’s footprint with the name written in cursive and date of birth in print right underneath it. You’ve always wanted Callie’s name on you but couldn’t settle on a design until you came across that one. Something about it just resonates with you.

Licking your lips, you suggest, “why don’t you get it with me?” Couples getting matching tattoos isn’t something you’re entirely against, you just don’t agree with it for people who are only dating and not married, if marriage is the goal. You remember when Amir once suggested you do so, and you literally laughed in his face. You’d soon rather get branded with a tramp stamp than have that man’s name permanently burned into your skin.

But, matching tattoos for the child you created together with the man you love. That is something you could get behind.

And apparently so can he.

“Let’s do it.”

“Really?” You’re not sure why, but the ease of his agreement shocks you. It’s not too far-fetched when you think about it. He loves his daughter, and you’ve always known Joe to only get tattoos that have meaning. He could give you a detailed explanation for every piece of ink on his body.

“Yeah.” There’s almost a sense of excitement in his voice, like he’s eager to have her name on him, to share this with you. “Same location?” At that, you make a face. He laughs. “Inner bicep does hurt, I’m not even gon’ lie to you.”

Yeah, you’ve definitely heard as such, and considering his entire right side is tatted, he’d know. “I don’t know. I have to think about it. I might need to squeeze your hand the whole time, or I’ll end up punching the tattooist.”

He laughs, “you can squeeze my hand.” Joe then asks, “when do you want to get em’ done?” You start to think about it logistically, as well as financially. Tattoos aren’t cheap. “Do you want to go to the Super Bowl?”

His question surprises you because it’s such a change in topics but also….what? “Yup. And Hawaii and Puerto Rico. And then maybe if we have time, stop by Alice in Wonderland.”

He’s too good at matching your sass, retorting, “I can make the first two happen easily. The last one may be a stretch.” Rolling your eyes, you grab for the gel. “I’m serious though. My tattoo artist is based out of Vegas. The game is in Vegas this year. It’ll let me see Callie too, cause I’m having a hard time finding a gap to visit.” As he continues to speak without laughing or chuckling, you realize he’s dead serious. “I’ve been meaning to ask you to go anyway but kept forgetting.”

You need extra clarification. “Like this year's Usher concert where there’s apparently a game too?”

He rolls his eyes, providing the guest list. “It’s me and the twins, their family, some other fam…..we have a whole section, cause you know it's a bunch of us.” It’s still hard to sit on the fact that this man really just invited you to the fucking Super Bowl like it’s dinner at Golden Coral. His eyes soften. “I wanna see her. I wanna see you.”

Joe’s closing statement, so true and vulnerable, is what breaks you from your temporary state of shock. You get the sense he misses ya’ll just as much as you miss him. “Of course, we’ll go. I’m sorry, I just—I wasn’t expecting that.” And it’s true, you weren’t. “How will we get fl—”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of everything. I just need you to show up at the airport.”

That seems to be such a recurring theme with this man. He does everything he can to make things as easy for you as possible. It’s tremendously appreciated and doesn’t go without notice.

“This is the first time she’ll be meeting the twins,” you realize aloud. Hell, his family at all.

Joe nods, chuckling. “Yeah, they’ve been on my ass about that anyway. They want to meet her.”

Pinning down the section you just finished, you take down the next. A little over halfway done now. “Whoever you want her to meet is fine with me, Joe. I don’t even really have a say in that. She has every right to meet your family just as much as she’s had to meet mine.”

And it’s true. Unless it could present some harm to Callie, you don’t really feel like you have the right to object to things like that. You have zero desire to interfere with Joe and Callie anymore than you already have.

“I know. I just wanted to tell her the truth before introducing her to anyone else. Less lies.” Makes sense. Thinking about Callie meeting more family brings a small smile to your face. It’s what she deserves. Family members who actually want to be in her life.

The conversation brings something else to the forefront of your mind, partially due to Joe’s confession to you on Christmas but also a question you’ve wanted to ask him for much longer than you’d like to admit.

“So….” This shouldn’t be as nerve wracking as it is. “There’s something I want to ask you, but I don’t…..I don’t want to overstep.” If he were to tell you that he’d rather you not, that’d be fine with you, one less stressful thing on your plate. But, of course, he’s silent, meaning he’s not going to object. So….you decide to bite the bullet and go for it. “What happened between you and your wife?”

You’re certain he wasn’t expecting that to be what you asked, but to your surprise, he answers. “We were young and got married for the wrong reason. I was 22. She was 21.”

Unsure but taking a big risk regardless, you ask in a small voice. “What was the reason?”

His answer isn’t what you’re expecting either. “She was pregnant.”

It takes a second for you to process what he’s saying. Your stomach is suddenly in knots, chest feeling tight. There’s no way he’s kept something like that from you. No way in hell. “Wait, does Callie have—”

“No.”

And just like that, you know. He doesn’t need to explain. It’s painfully obvious, especially as he looks away from the camera. You have a feeling you've unlocked a painful memory he’d most likely kept tucked away.

“I’m sorry.” It feels so stupid and unhelpful to say. What does that do for him? It doesn’t take away that experience, that loss that you can’t even begin to imagine. But, it’s all you can offer. “Just—forget I asked, let’s change the subject.” Do you have more questions? Of course. Like, why was there such a gap between their loss and the divorce? But, this is understandably a difficult and sensitive subject, and the last thing you want to do is trigger him more than you already have.

You know better than anyone how awful that can be.

He agrees with the subject change, going along with the transition of topics, clearly grateful for your understanding. But, in the back of your mind, you can’t help but think about the fact that this man lost his firs child before he could even meet the them, and the child he had who did survive was kept a secret from him for nearly five years.

There’s a sudden sickness and disgust you feel. And it’s not towards anyone but yourself.

Joe had every goddamn right to be furious with you about your subterfuge.

He still does. ________

“Mama, something is up with Callie.”

You’re thankful Alexis agreed to keep Callie preoccupied in the living room while you have this conversation with your mom, because Callie had another incident just this morning, slamming her door when you told her she needed to pick up her toys.

She’s never done that.

But she has done other things in the past two weeks or so, rolling her eyes or pouting her mouth at you when you say something she doesn’t want to hear, beyond typical tantrums.

Your mom stops her stirring at the pot to turn around and look at you. “What do you mean? Is she sick?”

“No,” you answer and then realize you’re not entirely sure how to explain it. She’s not being bad, per se. Just….difficult. “She’s just been…..off.”

Genuinely intrigued, and partially concerned, you watch your mom turn the fire on low as she joins you at the kitchen table. “Tell me.”

Shaking your head, you explain. “I thought it was just me, that I was just being overprotective and hyper-vigilant, but when I picked her up from preschool yesterday, her teacher pulled me to the side and asked me if she’s been having sleep problems. I told her no and asked why, and she told me Callie has been irritable. With staff and other kids.”

“Callie?” Your mom seems just as taken back as you were hearing these words. “That doesn’t even sound like her.”

“I know, and that’s what I said at first, but then I thought about it, and she’s been crabby with me too. It’s not horrible, but it’s unlike her.”

A small part of you wonders if it has something to do with you running off on her on Christmas. It would make sense. She was doing absolutely fine before then, but it’s the timing that throws that theory off. You’ve noticed this change only in the past two weeks, well after Christmas day passed, so why the delay?

“What does Joe think it is?”

“I haven’t told him.” It’s not that you don’t want to. You’d just like to have a better grasp of what it is before doing so. Have more actual information to provide him.

“He hasn’t seen the behavior for himself?”

You shake your head. “She’s fine with him. Matter of fact, after his calls, she’s like a completely different child.” It’s watching your mom’s face settle into a look of realization that makes you ask, “what? What is it?”

“Honey” she starts with a soft chuckle. “She’s missing her daddy.”

Her answer catches you by surprise, painting your face with confusion. You’ve had a lot of theories, but that definitely wasn’t one of them. “What?”

Reaching across the table, she places her hand over yours. “Think about it. How would she react if you were gone as much as he is? She’d be a mess, cause you’re her mama, and she has a strong attachment to you. Look how easily she attached and connected with Joe. It’s always been there. Except she knows the truth now, so her attachment is even stronger.” You heed to her explanation, wise and sensible. You hadn’t even thought of it that way. “And isn’t this the longest he’s been gone without her seeing him? She’s acting out because she misses him and probably doesn’t know how to verbalize it, so it shows in her behavior.”

As relieved as you are to have an explanation that makes sense, it’s an explanation that makes you incredibly sad for your sweet child. You know how hard it is for Joe to get away right now, you understand it. It never crossed you that she wouldn’t.

Devastated, you ask, “what do I do?”

“Talk to her. Try to help her understand. It may not make a huge difference, but it’s something.”

You nod, so so grateful for her, for all that she does for you, for Callie. For all that she’s done. Reaching across the table, you hug her tightly. “thank you, mama.” As much as it devastated you to not have that man in your life, your mom made sure to go above and beyond to make sure you knew you were loved. She played both roles beautifully, and you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to make her understand what that meant to you.

You still haven’t really sat her down and explained everything that happened Christmas night, nor has she asked, but you know it’s because she’s trying to respect your space. It’s appreciated, but you also know you’re gonna have to eventually tell her.

Just not now.

Right now, you’ve gotta take care of your baby.

________

Even the energy in Callie’s playroom feels off.

You’re so used to walking in and finding her with that million dollar smile that makes your entire day better. Instead, you walk in and she doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. She just continues to color.

“Hey, baby….” Disappointed, but refusing to show as such, you welcome yourself in and approach her table. “Is it okay if I color with you?”

She still doesn’t say anything, just nods, and you do your best not to hide your sadness. You hate seeing her this down, it’s so unfamiliar, and you’ll do just about anything to fix it.

Sitting down in the uncomfortable seat, you take a couple of her pages and pull out a crayon. “I have an idea.” At that, she looks up, slightly intrigued. “Why don’t we draw how we’ve been feeling lately? I draw me, and you draw you.”

You scold yourself for not selling it to her better, for not telling her it’s something you sometimes do with your students. Some level of innocent peer pressure. However, she surprises you by agreeing with a simple “okay.”

It takes a second for you to register that it was really that simple. Step one is done. Now for step two.

Grabbing some crayons, you don’t really concern yourself with skin tone, just getting something out on paper. The two of you color in silence, and you start to offer to put on her favorite playlist but decide against it.

You want her to really think about what you’re asking.

It’s when you see that she’s placed down her crayon and is just staring at her picture that you ask, “you done?” She shakes her head, but her eyes are on the table in front of her. “Is it okay if mommy sees it? I’ll show you mine too.”

Handing you the page, you expect an influx of emotions, but actually seeing her literal representation of how she feels is simply heartbreaking.

She’s drawn herself, frowning, surrounded by broken hearts and a blue tear leaking from her eye. Callie did what you asked. You just wish it didn’t have you feeling so helpless.

“This means you’ve been feeling sad, huh?” You hate how your voice gives away your emotions. This is about her, not you, but it’s so difficult for you to not be impacted. No mother wants to see her child hurting, and Callie currently is. It kills you. “Callie….” Moving up from your chair, you move across to kneel in front of her, taking her hands in yours. “Have you been sad because you miss your dad?”

All you need to hear is one sniffle, and instantly, you’re reaching for her, holding and comforting her.

“It’s okay,” you soothe, kissing the top of her head. “It’s okay, baby.” She cries into your chest, and you have to hold back your own tears.

“Why doesn't he come back?” She asks in between tears, wiping her eyes. “He’s been gone a really long time.” It’s only then you realize that she’s not entirely exaggerating. Joe was last here for Christmas. It’s now the end of January. For a child like Callie, that must feel like an eternity.

“He would if he could, Callie. I promise you he would. Daddy just…he gets really busy with his job this time of the year, and he can’t leave or he’ll get in trouble.” It’s so difficult to explain this to her. WrestleMania season is inarguably chaotic and stupidly busy. Even back in the day, Joe’s trips to see you were most far and few in between during this time of year. And that was before he even had a title. You can’t even imagine how busy he must be as the literal fucking face of the company.

Enough to keep him from being able to come see you and Callie.

You’ve just gotten so used to the dynamics of him being away for periods at a time that it never occurred to you Callie hasn’t had the same experience. That at the end of the day she’s still a little kid who just wants to be with her dad.

It’s then that a thought crosses your mind.

“What if…..what if we went to see daddy?” For the first time since you stepped into the room, her eyes actually light up and you notice her tears lessening. “Instead of him coming to us, we go see him?”

“Really?” There’s the faintest smile on her face, and you know then that you’re going to make this happen. You don’t know how or in what way, but it will be a reality. No matter what it takes.

“Yeah,” you answer, brushing away some of her tears. “You can go see him at his show. He’d love that.” Not as much as she clearly loves the idea alone. “Now, we’d only be able to stay a day or maybe two but—”

“Please,” she interrupts, and you get the sense that she fears you’re going to find a way to say that you couldn’t or shouldn’t go. “I’ll be a good girl. I promise.”

“Baby, you’re already the best girl.” You push back some of her hair, resting your hand against her cheek. “Mama’s gonna make it happen, okay? I promise.”

If you have to sell one of your kidneys, then you’ll just be less one organ, because you’re getting your baby to that damn show. Matter of fact, you don’t say anything to her, but you’re wondering if you can make it to this week’s upcoming show. It’s only Sunday, and that gives you a couple of days to make arrangements and secure tickets. It’s doable, but you don’t want to get her hopes up, so just in case, you say nothing.

And yes, in the back of your mind, you know she’ll see Joe in a couple of weeks for the game, but that’s too long. Your child is hurting. You need to do something now. She can’t wait that long.

“Thank you, mommy!” She wraps her little arms around you, and just like that, you see the spark and joy that fills your days with light and laughter. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby.” Kissing her temple, you release her, realizing something else. “Now we can't tell your daddy because we’re gonna surprise him, okay? Can you do that for me?”

She nods, happily, unaware of the real reason. You know that you can’t tell Joe about this. Well, not now at least. This is not something to be discussed over the phone or even video chat. And if you tell him you want to take her to see him as soon as possible, he’ll know something is up.

So, you have to move in silence.

Coloring with Callie commences for a little longer as you value and cherish your time with her, but as soon as she’s down for her nap and before you wake Alexis from hers to tell her the news, you need to do something. It’s in that time bonding with her you realized how you’re going to make this happen.

You’re suddenly immensely grateful for that random conversation you’d had with Joe a while back regarding the fact that he and the twins have had the same phone number since they were in high school.

Pulling out your phone, you scroll through your contacts until you land on the one you need. You type, backspace, and type some more, only sending out the text once you’re fully pleased with it.

You: Hey, Jon. This is Y/N. Can you call me when you get a chance? Preferably sooner rather than later. I need your help with something. And please don’t tell Joe. It’s a surprise.

________

God clearly wants you to bring Callie to see Joe.

There’s just too many things that have lined up perfectly for that not to be the case. The discussion with your principal went well, though that wasn’t entirely surprising. You’ve always had a cordial relationship and know she respected your grandma. The whole school system in your town did. That was just her level of impact. But that respect has slid down to work in your favor as your principal told you to take as much time as you need.

“You’ll always have a job here.”

While not a huge concern, it’s reassuring and not entirely unsurprising. Again, your grandma’s impact definitely granted you a level of nepotism. You were slightly surprised when she actually encouraged you to take more time off, pointing out how in the almost nine years you’ve worked there, she could count on one hand how much PTO or vacation time you’ve used. And, it’s true. It was really only when Callie was sick and your mom couldn't help or you wanted to stay home and nurse her back to health that you called out. For the most part, you had damn near perfect attendance.

But, that’s certainly about to change, and you’re thankful you have a job that’s flexible enough to accommodate the change.

And then there’s the actual getting there. You should have known when Alexis was asking questions about when you and Callie were leaving that she was up to something. You naively chalked it up to her planning her flight out, as there was no way you expected her to wait around for ya’ll to get back. Instead, she was busy buying not just her ticket to come with ya’ll but yours and Callie’s as well.

You instantly felt bad when she forwarded you the itinerary information. You couldn’t see the cost, but you weren’t stupid either. Getting flights out with such short notice had to be expensive as all outdoors. You were just going to put the bill on your credit card and work to pay it off. And, of course, when you offered to pay her back, she nearly cussed you out. As if such an offer was insulting.

“What good is a trust fund if you can’t spend it on your college roomie and pretend godchild?”

So, while you still felt slightly uncomfortable, you were able to push it to the backburner for the sake of Callie. This is all for her, and you don’t care what it takes to make it happen. Even if it means sucking up your pride.

And deep down, you know if Alexis didn’t do what she did, Joe would somehow find a way to compensate you. The same way his ass somehow got his card on file at the hospital and covered all of Callie’s medical bills without ever even asking you if you needed help.

You still haven’t talked to him about that, not really having or finding the right time, but it also feels a bit bitchy and ungrateful to be upset with the man for covering his daughter’s medical expenses.

Then there’s the actual show itself. One thing you were initially concerned about was if Joe has a match lined up for this upcoming week’s show. You two have only had a couple of discussions about it but still enough for you to learn that he’s extremely hesitant to expose Callie to his wrestling persona.

“I don’t want her seeing me like that, thinking that’s who I am.”

And you understand him fully. Roman may be a fascinating character, but he’s equally narcissistic and ruthless as he is intriguing. The complete opposite of Joe and who he is.

Still, you’ve worked to help him understand that talking to Callie, explaining to her that he’s playing a “character” could help her understand better. You both are in agreement that she’s too young to watch actual matches, especially his as they tend to get brutal, but she can see certain promos. And she does. You let her watch a couple where the dialogue is safe enough to go over her head. And truth be told, she’s so focused on watching Joe that she's not really paying attention to what’s being said anyway.

Needless to say, you were massively relieved to hear from Jon that Joe doesn't have a match lined up and his promo is reportedly tame and safe enough for Callie’s eyes and ears. He didn’t give specifics, but from one parent to another parent, you trust his judgment.

And the most important thing of all is the fact that Callie has done a complete 180. She’s no longer as irritable, just the usual attitude when she’s sleepy or hungry. Just like her mama. And there’s that spark of joy in her eyes. She’s even started packing what she wants to bring with her. She knows you’ll only be there for one night, but even that can’t seem to dim her joy.

It makes your heart swell.

All of this brings you to your conclusion that you’re doing exactly what you should be doing.

“Ahhh, and here it is.” The old woman’s voice breaks you from your inner dialogue as she walks toward the counter, returning from the back. “Sorry about that sweetheart.”

“No worries, Mrs. Ella.” Your eyes light when you see the item in her hand, even if it’s covered by a cloth bag. The fact that it’s ready is more than enough to make you smile. “Thank you so much for agreeing to this.”

She waves off your concern, offering a warm smile. “Your grandma was one of my best friends. As far as I’m concerned, anything you need is a done deal.”

That warms your heart. Mrs. Ella has been the town seamstress for longer than you’ve been alive but doesn’t look a day over 50. She’s not lying either. Your grandma always cited her as one of her “life” sisters.

“Why don’t we take a look to make sure it’s alright?” She offers, removing the item from the garment bag. She takes the hoodie and turns it over so you can see the back.

In awe, you acknowledge, “it’s perfect.”

Among the many things Joe has gifted Callie, WWE apparel hasn’t really been included in that list. You’ve chalked it up to his hesitation about familiarizing her with his Roman persona. However, you know that girl loves her daddy and will support him in all the things, so you took it upon yourself to pick her up a few items over the holidays. One of those things being a black hoodie with Roman’s picture on the front with him wearing one of his head of the table shirts. Wanting to make it special and personal, you had the idea of customizing it. Thus, asking Mrs. Ella to add to the back, Acknowledge my daddy!, and she did a fabulous job. It looks like that was the original design.

Pulling out your wallet, you ask, “how much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house.”

Your eyes snap to her. “Mrs. Ella, no, this was a rush—”

“Don’t argue with your elders, child,” she scolds, and you smile warmly. “Just show me a picture of her wearing it, and we’ll be even.”

Moved by her generosity, you offer your gratitude again. “Thank you, Mrs. Ella. Seriously. Thank you.”

Hand over yours, she just nods and then ushers you out the door, “well, you better get a move on child.”

With a small laugh and one more thank you, you leave out with the hoodie, excited to show Callie and even more, to see Joe’s reaction when he sees her wearing it.

“Y/N?”

Fuck. You’d know that voice anywhere, have known it since you were five years old.

That doesn’t mean you have to heed to it.

You keep walking.

A stupid decision, because the footsteps behind you become louder and faster as she asks, exasperated, “would you just talk to me?”

You spin around, suddenly pissed at her repeated question. “Why? Why should I talk to you?”

You’ve dodged and ignored her texts the same way she did yours, so what’s the issue now? Being on the receiving end must be one hell of an unpleasant experience for her. Not that you give two shits. Mariah is the last thing on your plate right now.

Mariah seems taken back, and that just pisses you off more. How can she not see her wrong in this situation? “You’re my best friend, Y/N. We’ve been friends since we were in kindergarten. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Did it mean something to you when you were fucking Amir?”

Something you can’t identify flashes in her eyes followed by apparent hurt. “Are you serious right now? You’d really believe him over me.” It’s hard to tell how sincere her watery eyes are or if they’re performative. You’ve never known her to be fake, but then again, maybe you’ve never really known her at all. “That’s fucked up.”

Finding some level of compassion and understanding for the woman you called your best friend for almost your entire life, you try to offer her the benefit of the doubt. “Okay, let’s say you’re not fucking him. At the very least, you’ve been telling him my business while ignoring my texts and calls. Like, what the fuck, Mo?”

She shakes her head. “He came to me, worried about you—”

“He came to you nosy and upset because I cut it off with him, and you fell into his trap.” How she can possibly fall for Amir’s bullshit is beyond you. She knows how he is. Hell, she’s been right beside you, up until recent weeks/months, dealing with his bullshit. So, her excuse is just that—an excuse. “And even if he was, as my best friend, you should know that’s still girl code violation.”

It feels almost silly citing that, but the morals behind it still ring true. You would never talk to Caleb about things going on in her life when you know they’re not on good terms. And you damn sure would never fuck him.

“Girl code?That’s funny coming from you, because you didn’t seem to to care about girl code when you were fucking another woman’s husband and had a whole ass baby for him.”

Her words stop you dead in your tracks. Any facial expression you may have been showing is dropped and neutral. Even your voice is softer, less accusatory. “Excuse me?”

For her to say that to you, knowing how sensitive a subject that is truly takes you by surprise. Truly.

It doesn’t stop there though. “I mean, forreal, Y/N. You’re up in my face about Amir, but aren’t you still fucking Joe? Shit, how many niggas do you need?” It’s hard to believe the words coming out her mouth, so angry and hostile. But, even her volume rising has you stumped. It’s like she wants to draw an audience. “It’s not enough to be one man’s whore, but you still gotta have another on the side?”

Truly baffled, all you can ask is, “where is this coming from?”

She sucks her teeth, just as irritated, if not more by your question. “It’s always been this shit with you. You do whatever the fuck you want and don’t care who you hurt or betray in the process!”

And now you’re just straight up confused, because what have you ever done to her? Cause that’s what it sounds like she’s implying. Like you’ve done her wrong. Like you’ve been doing her wrong. “What are you even talking about?”

“You got Joe. You got Amir. Shit, when is enough enough for you?” She scoffs, and it’s hard for you to even look at her let alone listen to all the hurtful things she’s spewing. “Like damn, find a new hobby. Focus on raising your kid—”

And that…..that is the moment that you’re no longer confused, or hurt, or saddened to hear your best friend say such awful things. You’re pissed. Cause one thing no one can convince you you’re not, is a good mother. You’ve dedicated your entire life and being to taking care of Callie, making sure she’s straight. That’s always been your priority, and for her to suggest otherwise….those are really fighting words.

You step toward her, finding all of the will in the world not to shatter her jaw. “You and I have so much history. It is the only reason I’m not whooping your ass right now, but know this, Mariah. This was your freebie. Fuck with me again, speak on my child again, and I’ll bash your fucking head into the nearest wall.” It’s not a threat. It’s a promise. “Stay away from me, bitch.”

You don’t give her time to respond or even yourself the chance to lay her out, you instead rush to your car, locking the door and speeding out of the parking lot.

Your knuckles are nearly white with how tightly you’re gripping the steering wheel.

It’s been a while since you’ve been this hot. Years maybe. Amir would piss you off, sure, but never to the extent of your emotions in this moment. It truly took all resolve and imagining Callie’s disappointed face at not being able to see her dad because you got yourself locked up for aggravated assault to keep you from beating Mariah’s ass. She knows better than anyone that you don’t play about your daughter, so for her to include Callie in her mud slinging is not only repugnant but hurtful.

She’s supposed to be Callie’s godmother.

But beyond that, you’re having a hard time reconciling with the rest of the things she was saying. It didn’t feel like something that’s been building up over the past few months. No, this was different. Much…..deeper.

Regardless, you don’t have time to deal with this shit. You need to put your focus on preparing to bring your little girl to see her dad.

Mariah can fuck off.

She’s always been all bark and no bite anyway.

________

“Mommy.”

Callie doesn’t even have to say anything else for you to know a request is to follow.

“What's up, sis?”

She climbs on top of where you lay on the sofa, you and Alexis watching some random dating show she swears up and down is the best thing since Love is Blind. So far, you’re entirely unimpressed. Granted, reality shows of any kind have never been your cup of tea in the first place.

Your YouTube history is mostly crime documentaries and Bloodline videos.

She climbs on top of you, throwing her arms up and shouting, “dance party!”

Of all her typical requests, that’s one you haven’t heard in a while.

You’ve always raised Callie with music, even back when you were pregnant, you would take your Beats and place them on your belly. It’s seemingly worked because this child loves music, so much so that you two would have random “dance party’s” where you’d blast music and dance around, no care in the world, just the two of you.

You haven’t had one in a while, but seeing Callie so happy, a stark contrast from how she’s been is more than enough to get you up and on your feet. You look over at Alexis. “Come on, Lex, it’s dance party time.”

She feigns a gasp, looking at Callie for approval. “Do I get to come to this party?”

Callie giggles and jumps on the sofa. “Of course! Everyone can come to dance party!”

What’s also ironically funny is the fact that you and Alexis used to have dance parties all the time in your dorm, just often with much more explicit Travis Porter, Speaker Knockerz, type music and a lot of ass shaking.

“Well tonight, it’s just the three of us,” you laugh, grabbing your phone and opening your Spotify to figure out what will be your kickoff song. It’s when your eyes land on that one though, you know you’ve found it.

Connecting your phone to your Bluetooth, you confirm the connection and hit play.

We're a thousand miles from comfort, we have traveled land and sea

But as long as you are with me, there's no place I'd rather be

“My favorite white girl song ever!” Alexis shouts, starting to dance with Callie who’s just as excited about your selection. Together, the three of you dance and sing when the iconic chorus hits.

If you gave me a chance I would take it

It's a shot in the dark but I'll make it

Know with all of your heart, you can't shake me

When I am with you, there's no place I'd rather be

At some point, Alexis grabs your phone, recording and capturing the laughter and joy you experience dancing and being silly with your very, very best friend. Callie’s laughter could revive any soul, and it’s so genuine. Even more, you know a large chunk of it is her excitement to see her dad in a couple of days.

And that makes it all the more special.

Eventually needing a break and time to catch your breath, you laugh as the song ends and the next one starts. Lex and Callie immediately go at it for round two, spinning around and dancing to Dance the Night.

You take a second to check your phone, seeing that you have a Snapchat from Joe. Frowning, you open the message confused as to why he’s using that and not just text. He only has the damn app because you made him get it. He’s not very big on social media outside of occasional Instagram posts.

Swiping it open, you see why he was messaging you on there.

Because your wonderful best friend sent him the video she recorded of the three of you dancing.

Joe: How do I save this?

Joe: Fuck it. It’s too confusing. Just send it to me.

Laughing, you chew on your bottom lip and type out a reply.

You: You’re such an old man. 😩

You: But yes, I’ll send it, even if I didn’t know Alexis was recording to send it to you...

You: Callie loves “dance parties” lol

Joe: I love her laugh. She looks so happy…

You: I know. ❤️ She loves music. Def my kid.

You: Skillet is next on the queue, btw. 🙃

Joe: Don’t know what that is, but if I had to take a guess, it’s some rock shit.

You: You know me so well. 😊

Joe: Of course, baby.

Leaving his thread, you realize that if she sent it to Joe, she probably posted it to your private story as well, which is fine. You only have people on there you know and trust to keep the contents within that space.

But, it’s in checking the views that you see Mariah not only watched but screen recorded your story. It’s strange, normally you wouldn’t think twice about it. She’s always screenshotted and screen recorded stuff you posted, and you did the same with Micah.

But now…..

Now, it feels wrong to share these moments with her. She’s lost that privilege.

Moving to your contacts, you ignore her old Snapchat name she never uses anymore and instead just block her primary one from seeing your stories, and that includes close friends. And interestingly enough, when you check your texts, you see one from her muted thread that momentarily causes you to pause.

Mariah: Kinda stupid to ice out the one person who knows everything about you.

But the pause comes and goes, Mariah always says shit, and that’s where it stops, the saying. She’s always been the mouse of you two, and that shit ain’t changed.

Closing up the app, you switch back to Spotify and focus on what’s before you and not behind you.

You have all the people you need in your life.

Mariah can fuck off.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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straylightdream · 1 year ago

Text

what am I missing? ~ 3racha

act five: “was I even an option?”

feat: bang chan x f.reader, seo changbin x f.reader, han jisung x f.reader

↳ in your mid to late twenties you’re left wondering if you missed your sexual awakening. With a the help of friends you start to really find yourself.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: for the story as a whole angst, a little fluff, body image issues, and self doubt, cussing all smut warnings listed below for what is in this story.

series masterlist

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐚𝐧: these will be shorter Drabble style chapters. 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰. Please fill out this form.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: the mc calls herself a slut. for the story as a whole, oral (fem & male receiving), piv, unprotected sex, groping, threesome, use or traffic light system, choking, and spanking, more warning to come.

Life has been crazy with work and with- well that night you shared with Changbin. You haven’t been able to see him or either of the other boys. Jisung has been texting you a lot and even asked you to get dinner this weekend just the two of you.

You were surprised when Chan asked you to grab dinner on a random Wednesday night after work. Instead of going out he brought take out over. Like he normally does when you hang out just the two of you. Sitting on your couch eating noodles you both watched some random movie you decided to watch on Netflix. You could tell right away Chan had something on his mind. You decided not to push him to say anything that if he wanted to talk about it he would bring it up. He’s always been easier to read when he seems like he has a lot on his mind.

“I need to tell you something.” He speaks up.

“What’s up Chan?” You set your empty plate down on the coffee table.

“I accidentally let it slip to the boys about your bad date.” You look over at him and can tell he feels bad he told them.

“That explains why Changbin came over and why Jisung is texting me way more than normal.” You can’t help but find the situation a little funny.

“I’m really sorry.”

If the boys know about your bad day and your “little problem” you're assuming they know about what happened with Changbin. “It’s fine Chan. I’m assuming you figured out I slept with Bin.”

“Yeah I figured it out but I promise he wasn’t bragging or anything like that. Jisung figured it out on his own and, then Jisung pointed it out when we were getting a drink.”

A little laugh passes your lips. Of course Jisung figured it out. He’s always had a knack for reading people. You vividly remember getting drunk one time when you had a crush on Changbin, and Jisung told you he knew you like him. You knew nothing would happen between you and Changbin because he was going through a break up. But Jisung informing you he knew you had a crush on your friend was like a bucket of ice water being poured on you.

“It’s fine you guys know. I know we don’t exactly talk about our sex lives with each other. But being with Changbin really made me feel more confident in myself. I can’t help but wonder what it’s like to explore other sides of myself in bed.”

He stares at you for a long moment almost like he’s studying you. He looks away and you can tell he’s thinking about something he wants to say. “You don’t have to answer this but I want to ask you something,” he’s suddenly nervous, having a hard time looking you straight in the eyes now.

“Whatever it is, go on and ask.” The way he was acting was making you slightly nervous yourself.

“Are you going to sleep with Jisung?”

When Jisung asked you out over text you couldn’t help but feel that maybe he did want to sleep with you? But you haven't figured out if that was okay after sleeping with Changbin. Before anything would happen you would let Jisung know about you Changbin. “I mean I might make myself sound like a slut, but honestly I would like to. I’ve gone most of my life barely having a sex life and when I did have it wasn’t really fun or exciting. It would be nice to explore things with him or Changbin. Jisung talks about his sex life all the time and it sounds like he’s into more interesting things so I can’t lie, I'm intrigued.”

Without even thinking Chan opens his mouth, “what about me?”

There is a moment of silence that feels deafening. The tension in the room suddenly felt thick. You never thought Chan was ever fully interested in you. Sure he flirts here and there but he’s never made it sound like he saw you as someone he was attracted to or acted like he was sexually attracted to you. Jisung always pokes fun at him saying he’s in love with you, but you never thought he actually was. Of course you’re attracted to him, and embarrassingly he’s been the center of a few of your sex dreams unintentionally.

“What about you?”

“Was I never an option?”

Chan was honestly your first pick in your mind when he brought up the idea of a friend helping you out, but he never made a move. You just assumed he didn’t see you that way.

“I didn’t think you wanted to be an option,” you pick at the sleeves of your sweater feeling suddenly more nervous.

He sets his food down on the table and moves closer to you. You hold still holding your breath without realizing you are. He pushes hair behind your ear giving him a clear view of your face. “I shouldn’t have told the boys about your date.”

“Why?” You whisper.

“Because I shouldn’t have let Changbin come over.” He leans in closer to you.

“Chan what is happening?” Your lips are close as your noses brush.

“I’m not going to ask you to stop exploring your sex life, but I want to be an option.”

Chan realized after Jisung made it clear he was going to pursue you that if he wanted a chance to prove to you he wanted you, he would take any opportunity he got. When he asked you to have dinner his intentions weren’t to sleep with you. He honestly just wanted to talk, but he realized he couldn’t make another mistake and he wanted to know what it’s like to make you fall apart. Chan liked you as way more than a friend. He knew if this was all he was able to have he wanted to have something with you.

“You were always an option. If you want to sleep together we can,” you say with your lips still close.

Without saying another word he takes your face in both hands and presses his lips to yours for a heated first kiss.

Regarding taglist:

If you aren’t interacting with my writing outside of liking the new post I’m gonna have to remove your name from the taglist. You will also be removed if I try to tag you and your blog is listed as "invisible". If you've changed your URL and didn't let me know I will also be removing your name. I’m sorry for the inconvenience but my interactions outside or likes feels like it’s nonexistent right now. All of my taglist are still open though. If you request to be added to one via this form, I kindly ask for interactions in the form and feedback and reblogs. To be quite honest, those really encourage my writing.

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todorokis-girl · 8 months ago

Text

I Never Knew You Were Alive - Soulmate AU (I)

Touya Todoroki x f!Reader

This has been on my mind for so so long, and it's been forever since I wrote anything, So I apologize if it's sub par

Chapter I: So it starts Chapter II: A late arrival Chapter III: belive of be doomed Chapter IV: What are we doing? Chapter V: Last minute encounter Chapter VI: Deciding to fall in love with you

Masterlist

Next chapter

__________________________________________________________

"You chose them over me!" Deep turquoise eye bore so deeply into mine, the pressure on my chest, in my heart, seemed to increase.

"I didn't chose anyone over you Touya", anger, misplaced anger, seeped out of my word "I didn't even know you were alive!" A sob escaped me, which made the current situation so much more real. it had been years.. years of pain, thinking he was dead. How dare he? How dare he imply I chose anything in this situation, I chose the option that would have kept me closer to him. When he was dead.

"We have marks with each others names, we feel what the other feels", he took exasperated steps towards me getting closer and more menacing as he got closer, the feeling of safety slowly washing off me, would he hurt me? would he kill me? "You're gonna look at me in the eye, and tell me, you didn't know I was alive?"

The question was one that burned inside me, ever since I found out he was alive, and it killed me knowing that he wasn't only alive, but with the villains, it drove me crazy and I could barely sleep. I wondered during the years why occasionally I would feel things that were simply not my own; but how was I to know? He was dead, it was a fact, he died in his fire!, so young, faking your own death that young wasn't realistic to think about. I didn't... other than sudden anger, sadness and occasional pleasure, the feelings didn't range far or even often.

"I didn't! I really didn't know, had I know ANY of this, I would hace been on your side no questions asked," I pulled my legs closer to me, the fight we had engaged in didn't fair well on my body. The burns from his fire were negligible, the burn from my own ice, though, if not treated soon could start causing decay "You think I wanted to sit by and let him do any of those things to Shouto? That it brought me pleasure in any way to say your mother hospitalized? Natsuo and Fujumi so neglected?" The tears finally started pouring out, this was emotionally too much, hopelessness and guilt was bubbling up and started to eat me inside "I don't care anymore, just, kill me if you have to"

The Todoroki's took me in, not because of me but because of him, for him. They swore he would have wanted me to be a part of their family, all the other soulmates of their kids were just as welcomed. Enji took it upon himself to look for all their kids soulmates, as soon as posible. We all knew how.... intense, Enji Tododroki could be, but we stayed for our soulmates. They weren't a perfect family, or even a good one; but I wanted Touya with me so badly, and his family was all that was left; his grave, his shrine, I needed him and I couldn't have him. Now what? It seems I never had anything of his at all.

"I'm not going to kill you" he said while slowly crouching down ro my eye level, the fire in his hand slowly being put out; the look in his eyes wasn't the thing giving his emotions away but the bond we had, I understood the resignation and the conflict happening in his heart "but, we are in a bit of a bad situation right now, doll" I swallowed thickly and rested the back of my head in what was left of the concrete wall behind me.

"I'm not leaving the kids to be killed" I said after a moment of silence, having had to steel my mind and build my resolve; making sure I understood what I was potentially giving up.

"I'm not going to leave the league" he replied after a deep breath, and I could hear the same resolve in his voice.

and, there in lies our problem.

I straightened up my head to look at him again, his hands reaching to the ice around me, I assumed to melt it "don't... it hurts"

He looked up at me and stopped, taking a quick Look over me. "You have to do something about the ice, or you'll be short an arm and maybe a leg"

The cold was starting to set, over my body, and as usual it started to build in my extremities, I could barely feel my nose and my fingers anymore.

I ignored him, the current situation not leaving my mind at all, my injuries could wait "What do we do?"

"What we've been doing", he hesitantly reached to touch my cheek, providing much needed warmth, his thumb lightly brushing my nose "I'm dead, sweetheart" He proceded to hold my hands for a while, and I wished the warmth building up in my body could stay forever.

he immediately stepped away from me the moment we could hear running, signaling that there were heros were here "Your helps here," he said something to himself and slowly he was swallowed by some black goo "Don't die on me, I gotta see you at the end of this, however that goes"

_____________________________________________________________

One years before

I casually walk into endeavors hero agency, waving at the receptionist at the entrance of the building, taking notice of how I was being watched by people outside the glass of the building, being the one member of the agency to not hold a fire quirk, I was special, but not really; it provided a little bit of hope to the heroes in training that wanted to be hired and didn't have a fiery quirk, even if me being here was nothing less of nepotism, but I owed Endeavor a lot and I couldn't refuse.

Once I made it to the elevator I made it all the way to my desk in autopilot, not taking much notice of the things going on around me.

"Blue Bird!" I looked up and spotted the blond hair before anything else.

"Hawks" I roll my eyes at him and placed my coffee on my desk, avoiding the recognizable load of paperwork. What was he doing here anyway? I knew about the whole forced partnership with Hawks and Endeavor, but he was rarely at the agency.

The idea of him constantly calling me blue bird was getting old, my lack of a surviving soulmate didn't really made me deserving of the name. Enji Tododroki had done everything for me he possibly could, starting with proving me with a connection to my lost soulmate their family dynamic fucking sucked, ass, but I felt part of the family; and it was the one connection I could have with Touya, since he clearly wouldn't be around. Ever.

Fuyumi and Shouto had also had their soulmates brought into the fold, as soon as Enji could find them. We hadn't been able to find Natuo's yet, but he assured the process was ongoing, until they were found.

I was found shortly after Touya died, I never even got to see him alive. I hated the feeling, especially because sometimes I felt the delusion that maybe he was out there, but I didn't ever allow myself the thought, or it would kill me.

I look up at the winged hero carefully studying his stance, a mischievous bright smile on his face, as usual "Anything I can help with? Endeavor is out on patrol, I don't know when he'll back but I can tell you where he is if you'd like?" I went to sit down on my desk to look for the information I had just offered, before I could grab the chair to sit down I was stopped by a bright red feather in my line of sight.

"I didn't come looking for Endeavor, I can go to his secretary for that, or easily look for him myself" He walks closer to my desk looking it over carefully "I heard you were starting at UA soon, for a new 'alternative strategy' class?" I looked at him, with a confused look, what could he possibly want with me or UA, if he was scouting a student he could simply... call them? The sudden serious look he showed was making me uneasy.

"Yeah, I am. What about it?"

"You can't do that"

"Excuse me?" The finality of his statement, made the uneasiness grow even stronger, tension creeping up my shoulders, the situation. starting to make my soulmate mark itch.

It wasn't common the #2 Hero came over to you and said you couldn't take a job offer. UA seriously needed to teach alternative methods of taking down a villain that didn't just rely on their quirks. I as the person who suggested it in the first place, besides, Endeavor had said nothing of the sort. why would I listen to him?

"I don't think it's safe" He finally responded, after seeming to return from deep though

"Thank you so much for the concern Hawks, really, but I can handle myself" I finally looked away from him and proceeded to start on my paperwork. I just need to finish this and I can start the lesson plans " I already know it's not safe, for the kids, it's the whole reason why I took the job" The tension wasn't leaving, and the fact he stayed didn't help either, I could feel his eyes on my arm, where "Todoroki Touya" was permanently burned into my skin.

"I don't think it's safe" I continued to read over the documents, writing where I needed. The tension bubbling up every milisecond that he didn't drop the subject.

"Endeavor would've said something if he thought there would be an issue" I replied nonchalantly, feeling the pressure starting to bubble over.

Wasn't that this morning? hough to myself as I tried to remember when the specific event cited in the document happened.

"I still don't think it's safe" I sight and stare at him, not replying

...Bubble

"This whole thin is too dangerous, and the kids know enough to protect them" I could feel my brow tense my eyes not moving from his feature, the way he was looking me adding irritation

...Bubble...

"The league is everywhere, and their plans aren't pretty, I can't protect you if you're in the fire already" I attempted to take a deep breath, to calm myself down, feeling heat in my cheek slowly creeping up my arm, forgetting to remind myself to cool myself down in these situations.

Bubble... bubble...

"you're my best friend, and besides my soulmate, I don't really have many people I love" he said, almost pleading.

Bubble... Bubble...

POP!

I felt a strong heat settle on my face, the tension that bubbling up turning into anger, as I slammed the fancy black pen on my desk, reminding me seconds before, to cool down "For fucks sake, Keigo, what the HELL is this really about" The sound of glass hitting the floor and scattering filling the sudden silence between us, I closed my eyes tightly, in exasperation. Control your quirk, idiot. Before I opened my eyes I could feel the freezing cold coming from my desk sight and looked over the icy surface of my desk At least I didn't melt it.

"I'm not trying to undermine you, I know you're a very capable hero"

Hawks and I had became very unlikely friends as soon as we started hero work. I had studied at UA, after getting in from Endeavor's recommendation, hawks and I became really good friends after taking the hero licensing exam, teaming up every once in a while, and being on a coffee outing when he though he had found his soulmate

"Hawks, honestly, you can tell me my death is assured, and I am still doing it. I didn't get my hero license to hide when it's dangerous" I placed my hand on my desk relaxing as much as I could to melt the ice without hurting the structure of my desk "besides, I need something to keep me alive, I'm 22 and I already have half of me ripped away, please, just, let me do this? I would want to see a group of kids hopeful for their futures"

His smile didn't return, which meant he wasn't done, or something was still on his mind; maybe he was debating on saying it or not "The league has a weird focus on Endeavor, and I'm worried about you birdie"

I narrowed my eyes, anger or frustration, I don't know what I was feeling, but what was he trying to imply here "I can take care of myself"

"The protection at UA is for the students, not the teachers, who protects you?"

"Drop it Keigo, enough" I wiped the condensation in my desk, finally resolving the problem I caused, I only had to give it a couple minutes to dry "I'm not refusing the job at UA" I looked over his arm, carefully, protectively hiding his soulmate name. I didn't know her name, but I know her quirk, Levitation, just because he was kind enough to tell me about it in one of our outings a couple years ago.

"I want to finish my paperwork, so I can finish my lesson plans for next week, feel like allowing me to work, bird brain?" I allowed myself He stood up away from my desk and sight in resignation, his smile slowly returning.

"I'll drop in every once in a while," he turns around to leave and offers me a thumbs up "I'm sure it'll get the kids excited, and I'll ge to check up on you"

I smile and wave him off. Setting on a serious look when I saw him stepping out of the office.

I took a bite at the end of my pen, the feeling of Keigo hiding something from me settling deep within my soul, after finally looking at the interaction. My best friend, the second best hero in the country, sneaky, cunning, careful planner as he is, hiding something from me, and being worried that the league of villains could try something against me... that doesn't give me a bad feeling.... not at all.

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badaseyebags · 3 months ago

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private lessons ⋆｡°✩ chapter 4 ⟢

warnings: poor writing as i had a lot going on and low-key forgot i was even working on anything, new character makes an appearance, tiny bit of angst

word count: around 1,8k

authors note: y’all i’m not dead yet unfortunately, anyways here’s to all the baddies that are still reading 🫶🏻 you have a special spot in my heart (right next to bada’s eyebags) - 🍞

little shoutout to @luvleyk for motivating me to write again 🫶🏻

your feet swung around as you slowly sipped on your iced coffee, lips lightly wrapped around a glass straw. you thanked bada for the sweet treat, while bada thanked herself for deciding to take you here. what she deemed as a “nice gesture” was a way of preventing herself from straight up pouncing on you. you weren’t the only one who’s had sleepless nights after your “private lessons” with her. she’s reminded of it every time she walks past her dining table, sits down to eat or drinks her coffee. she keeps reminding herself to not let this go too far, not to fall in too deep, before it’s too late. she has a reputation to keep. she knows she can’t go all in, just yet. and being in a public setting saved her from doing so.

if she wasn’t your teacher could this be considered a date? you thought to yourself looking up at her, stealing glances at her and seeing her give you a soft smile in exchange. you look down immediately, shaking off the thought as it made you realise the situation. why do you always forget the actual reason she meets up with you? freaking tutoring. she’s your goddamn teacher, get a grip you crazy woman.

“oh my, is the coffee that good?” she chuckles, catching you off guard with her hand resting on her chin as she admires you, making you snap back to reality and realise you’ve been sucking on air for a while as you’ve already finished your coffee without noticing. you mentally face palm, closing your eyes in embarrassment, letting the straw go in a swift motion. “umm yeah! it was! i think they maybe might be putting… something illegal in it-“ you tried covering up your act of distraction once again.

“aww, even better than the one i made for you? that’s such a pity. i made it with love.” she fake pouts, pretending to act hurt by your words. “no! what? definitely not! doesn’t even stand a chance! yours was soooo much better, i just didn’t get the chance to fully drink it because i-“ here you go mumbling again, being too honest because you’re nervous. thankfully you stopped yourself before you could embarrass yourself even further, but fate of course made other plans for you.

“poor thing, couldn’t finish her coffee because her lips were too busy tasting mine. is that it?” she chuckles enjoying the way your eyes widen slightly, back to sipping on the straw with nonexistent coffee, the ice making your overheated brain freeze. oh how she loved teasing you, the way your body and face respond to her without you having to say a single word. she wouldn’t admit how weak she was for it, for you. “i’m just messing with you sweetie, we both know that was my fault.” she assures you, hand smoothing over yours gently. as she enjoyed your company, she almost didn’t notice the strange figure standing across the table, looking at the both of you from a sight distance. what the hell is he doing here? she shoots him a warning glare, not going unnoticed by your admiring eyes, filling them with worry.

“huh?” you turn your head in curiosity, trying to follow her gaze, but she grabbed a hold of your chin before you could do so. you could only look up at her, confusion painting your features. “shh.. don’t you worry about that, sweetie. it’s someone not important. you don’t have to wrap your mind around it.” your eyebrow furrowed in more confusion, causing her to coo at you. “i don’t want you to stress your poor little brain. it’s just someone from the past. but you’re my present, okay? that’s what matters.” she leans in closer, whispering to you reassuringly. oh.. is it her ex? you were so curious what she looks like, why they broke up, and why she doesn’t want you to see her in the first place. is it because you’re her student? is it because she’s just playing around with you? you’d surely hope not..

many questions flood your mind as you hear footsteps approaching you, seeing her face twist in pure irritation. “stay still for me, princess.” she mumbles under her breath as her thumbs make their way against your lip, the rest of her hand cupping your face as she presses her lips against them, the barrier between your lips both electrifying and slightly confusing. oh how you wish to feel her lips against yours, to have them stained bright red instead of her thumbs that shielded them..

she strokes your lip gently as you obey, closing your eyes monumentally. you hear a rough voice scoffing mumbling out a few curse words. huh..? a man? it’s a man? her ex is a man?!! your eyes open, searching for hers in approval as she nods at you, her lip stroking your bottom lip as she slowly pulls away. “good girl, did so well for me without asking..” she offers you a relieved smile as the figure walks from her sight, a soft sigh leaving her lips. “mrs. lee who was-“ you try asking her what this was all about, but she shushes you with a simple word. “nono, you don’t get to ask any questions right now. as i said.. don’t wrap your pretty head about it, hm? such a pretty girl shouldn’t worry about things like these.” you chew on your bottom lip, nodding at her despite feeling slightly hurt by her actions. why didn’t she just kiss you for real then.. is it because you’re in public? did she not want to? or did she just use you to make her ex jealous? so many questions flooded your mind but she was quick to calm you down, grabbing your hand and gently guiding you up, taking you back to her car. you sigh thinking you ruined the mood and she’s going to take you home. she opens the door for you, and sits down next to you, not putting on a seatbelt on either of you, puzzling your mind.

“now tell me what’s on your mind honey, what’s making you sad?” she turns her body to you, giving you all her attention. oh, she took you here for your comfort and privacy, what a woman. you chew on your bottom lip, looking at her red painted lips and back at her eyes. “why.. did you pretend to kiss me?” you stutter out, trying not to sound weak. your question caught her off guard, her eyebrows raising in panic. “i’m sorry sweetie, i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, i should have warned you.”

you shake your head fast, tears threatening to fall any second. “that’s not that i mean..” you look down, trying to keep yours emotions in check. why were you getting so hurt over such a thing? it’s not like you’re a couple or anything. “what did you mean, sweetie? come on, use your words.” she lifts your head with her finger on your chin, eyes meeting yours. how can she fluster you in such a situation?

“why didn’t you kiss me for real? were you ashamed.. or something?” you manage to get out as tears cloud your vision, feeling pathetic for having such feelings. she gasps not expecting your reason to be this, she was afraid you didn’t like the fact she tried to kiss you, yet the truth was far from that. “oh you silly little thing.. you thought i didn’t want to kiss you? the only reason i took you there was to restrain myself from kissing you again” she frowns seeing yours tears. “baby.. i would never want to make you cry..” she speaks out gently, her thumb stroking your cheek, rubbing at the tears staining them. “at least not in this way…” you look up at her with teary eyes, lost and about to question her words, but she crashes her lips against yours, making you gasp. more tears slide down your cheeks as you finally feel her lips on yours after what felt like ages of agony and torture of not tasting them. the faint aftertaste of bitterness from the coffee coating your palate becoming sweetly addicting to you. she strokes your cheek, hand gripping your jaw as she deepens the kiss, leaving you gasping for air as she swallows it all up. the windows of her car becoming foggy with every passing second of her lips devouring you. she pulls away, her eyes slightly watery at the sight of your tears drying up on your cheeks as she pulls you into her lap, her uneven breathing matching yours like a melody.

“never… say that again…“ she breathes out, the grip on your jaw becoming stronger as she pulls your head in closer against her lips again, coating them in tender kisses. “how could i not want to kiss you? do you even know how hard is it for me not to push you up against my table and kiss you ever time you walk into the classroom? claim you as mine? let everyone know you only belong to me?” you gasp looking up at her, her red lipstick smeared across both of your lips as you shake your head at her question.

“exactly sweetheart, you have no idea about so many things.. and they aren’t for little girls like you to worry about. be a good girl and leave them to mommy.” she breathes against your lips, hand gripping your waist making you feel like putty in her hands, being able to only nod at her command. you swear you feel yourself getting dizzy, the earlier feelings of sadness long gone and replaced by extreme waves of warmth spreading through out your whole body. she gives you one last passionate kiss, this one more gentle than the previous ones as she pulls away, resting her head on top of your head, twirling at your hair as you try to calm your breathing.

“you fit so nicely in my lap, you know that?” you blush at her remark, hands wrapped around her neck as you look up at her with glossy eyes, fingers reaching out to rub at the corners of her smudged lips, wiping away at the messed up lipstick the same way she did when you first kissed. “then don’t let me leave it..” you whisper, feeling one of her hands grip your waist harder as she looks at you in awe. as if she was in a trance. whatever spell you put on her was working, you’ve officially broken her and made her melt. all hopes and plans she had beforehand were no longer a choice, thrown out the window along with any rational thinking as she crashed her lips against yours once more, hand cradling your head, unable to hold back her desire anymore.

#bada lee #bada lee x reader #swf2 x reader #bada lee fluff #bada lee smut #bada lee imagine #team bebe x reader #bada lee swf2 #bada lee angst #bada lee scenario

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miss-vanta-likes-to-write · 7 days ago

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He Canceled Hot Girl Summer 🔥

18+mdni series master list

The night before Aries season…|

You paced back and forth in the hospital room, trying to walk through the discomfort of early labor. Your mom and dad had traveled to see you and be with you during the birth of your son. Your dad, being the man that he was, couldn't stand seeing his baby girl in pain and went to harass the nurses to do something about it (despite your mom saying it was all in God's hands).

You sit down on the bed and groan in frustration. You start crazy laughing. It was only five hours in, and Omari was taking his sweet time. “He's such a drama queen.” You huff, “Of course, his little ass is doing things on his terms, like I'm not sitting here hungry for more than ice.”

Your mom just laughs and shakes her head, “It's the only time he's ever gonna be able to tell you to wait, and you gotta.”

“But if I let him call the shots now, he'll expect to keep calling the shots.” You grumble and rub your back.

“Sweetie?”

“Yeah mom?” You look at her, and your breath hitches at another contraction.

“How are you feeling? I know the last few months you and Ricky haven't been the best.” She says.

She's not really asking how you are right now physically, she's got four kids, she knows. You roll your eyes and look up at the ceiling in thought, “Dad is just being Dad, I don't even care for real.”

“You know he just didn't want this for you, neither of us did.”

“Yeah, but my baby is almost here, and Dad, I suppose, is deciding to pay my rent for the year instead of apologizing to me for what he said.” Your voice wavers slightly at the memory of what was supposed to be the happiest moment of your pregnancy. Telling your parents they were going to be grandparents.

“He's here now, and he wants to make it up to you. Ya know he never stopped, during that six month stretch, never did he stopped asking about you and the baby.” She moves to sit next to you and holds your hand. “Pray on it and forgive him.”

Your eyes close, and you chuckle sadly, “Prayer doesn't fix other people's shitty actions.”

Your mom opens her mouth and closes it multiple times. She's trying to say something, anything profound to smooth over an already tense relationship. Rehabilitate, like most mothers do when their family has been smashed on the rocks.

You hope that Omari doesn't ever have to pray for the strength to forgive you. You'd rather eat hot nails than ever guilt trip him for your actions. You think briefly that having your father here instead of his father may be his villain origin story. So maybe it's already in motion. Who knows?

Another contraction takes hold of you, and you pray for a healthy baby that will never need to be told to pray.

Chapter 4: The thing about video calls…is that you can hang up. 📱

It's been two weeks of Johnny inserting himself into Omari's life and, by extension, your life, too. On days that you don't work from home, he's at your apartment and helping you by getting Omari ready. You can always hear him speaking that strange language to him, and when you asked Johnny what it was, he told you with a sly smile.

“Gaelic chuilein.” He then went back to softly speaking to Omari as if you're not even there.

And you thought Aaliyah spoiled Omari? (Despite her telling you to send him to glory in the beginning, she comes over, and when she does, her first greeting is “Where's Big Mari? Aunty has a gift for him.” And then she produces another pair of baby Jordans that he will grow out of.) Johnny goes absolutely wild with daddy duties. The man doesn't even like the idea of his mini me being even slightly uncomfortable or upset. He bought a towel warmer just so Omari wouldn't have to leave a warm bath and use a cold towel. He didn't like that Omari's nursery had street facing windows (and the only reason his nursery faced the street is because you and him would people watch on Sunday morning) and while he fussed and complained, he got privacy film so his baby and his woman could see out but people couldn't see in.

He applied that film to all of the windows.

And then he bought you a ring camera doorbell for his peace of mind.

You've heard him on the phone with his mom or one of his three sisters. All of them sounded cheerful about Omari, asking to see his chubby little face and cooing about his features and how he looks like some man named Johnathan (who you correctly assume is his father). His mother, a sweet woman with bright blue eyes and a warm smile, speaks to you each and every time she's on the phone. She'd asked about your diet, admonished you about not eating enough, and then promptly began scolding Johnny about the importance of making sure you ate enough. She explained that a breastfeeding mother needed to eat hearty and healthy and that she was sending him a list of foods for him to get and cook. The whole time, Johnny sat there nodding his head, cheeks flushed pink, and a little bit embarrassed.

You give him credit though, you thought he'd give you bland British Food, but he was making family recipes, and they were surprisingly good.

That's when he asked if he should know your parents. Which led to you calling them up on Skype one Saturday afternoon and your mom answering with a smile.

“Sweetie!” She smiles, “And how are you doing? Are you still having trouble with your depression?” She's asking before you can even shake your head no and switch the subject. “And did you speak with your therapist and psych about getting on new meds?”

Johnny is in the kitchen, Omari strapped to his chest (once again, that baby doesn't sit on his own ass…ever) and he's looking at you with concern. His blue eyes are unreadable, but you spy the clench in his jaw as he quietly listens along. He's warming up a bottle on the stove since Omari is more demanding for being fed more often, and your nipples are too sore to handle his little gummy gnawing. It's clear from the looks he keeps giving you that a conversation will be had.

“Nah, mom. I haven't seen them in the past three weeks since work picked up and stuff.” You lean back on the sofa and situate the laptop on the coffee table.

Your mom frowns and opens her mouth, but then she stops when she hears Omari start crying offscreen. “Where's the baby? Is Autumn with you? Tell that boy that he needs to call more.”

“No, Autumn isn't here…” You take a deep breath, “Omari's father John is here.”

She stares for a moment, “now don't you going pullin' my leg.”

“No really, he is. It's a long and interesting story, but we, and really I mean Aaliyah, found him by accident, and he wants in.” You try to sum it all up neatly, and the way you purse your lips, clearly say you won't be explaining much more.

“Ricky!” Your mom gets up and calls for your father, “Richard Knights!” She's walking offscreen, and you can hear the familiar squeak of the screen door and the distant sound of the lawnmower.

Johnny comes over and sits down. He's got Omari eating. He's a bit tense, and you understand him, meeting Davina over FaceTime was stressful. The woman wasn't the same as happy and go-lucky as Johnny or his other two sisters Fiona and Blair. You chalk it up to her being the eldest daughter as she acts similarly to Aaliyah.

“How does mah hair look?” His free hand messes with the front of his hair. The bottle is leaning against his chest.

“Johnny, you're holding your son, and you are about to meet my father and mother, and you wanna worry about hair?” You smack his hand away and fix it right for him. He leans into your touch and smiles at you. That smile makes your stomach flip, and he knows that it does because the smile becomes a bit devilish.

“Chuilein,” He whispers, his eyes are half lidded, “You smell nice.”

“I smell like milk.” You playfully push him away.

“You smell like a mother, and I'm trying to hold myself back from making Irish twins with you.”

“John really?” You shriek. At this time, both of your parent's are sitting down, and you're praying they didn't hear him. (The angry look on your father's face says otherwise.)

“What did you call me in here for Portia?” Your father says.

“She saying that this is Omari's father.” Portia smiles, “Hi darling, I'm Portia, and this is my husband Richard, but we call him Ricky.”

“You can call me Colonel.” Your father flat out denies Johnny of any familiarity. You can only groan and roll your eyes heavenward.

“Daddy, please don't be difficult.” The sigh you let out can be no less dramatic if you try.

“Nice to meet you, sir, Sergeant John MacTavish.” Johnny sits up straighter, and you are reminded that he is indeed an army soldier. He fell into the roll so easily.

“Hn.” Ricky grunts and nods his head once, “a sergeant? Can't say I'm displeased. Better than what I initially thought only by a margin.” His arms are folded across his chest. He watches from beneath his heavy brows, and his eyes squint just slightly. “Can you say what branch, or are there a bunch of NDAs involved?”

“Daddy would you-”

“A bunch of NDAs, but I do serve in S.A.S. sir.” He answers coolly. Omari starts to whine and cry slightly, and Johnny is immediately tuning into what he wants. He whispers softly to him and asks if he's tired of eating and wants to burp. Your mom is smiling and looks moved. Your father not so much.

“Hm.” Ricky nods his head again, “At least my daughter got pregnant by a decent man. Can't wait to see and learn if you're respectable and responsible.”

“Ricky, be nice.” Portia frowns, “He's here now, and it's a prayer answered that she won't be on her own and Omari will have his father.”

“He's black ops. I know their kind.” He doesn't budge, and he looks down at your mom with a knowing look.

“Anyway-” Portia rolls her eyes, “John, are you planning to come to the States for Omari's baptism?” She smiles at him, “Unless you and my daughter have decided to not get him baptized.”

“ah'm actually a Catholic ma'am.” He sits Omari up after burping him so he can see the screen.

“There's Mimi's little fat man!” Portia squealed, “and you're Catholic? I'm not all that familiar with the Catholic faith, but I suppose a baptism is a baptism for you all, too? Does it matter the denomination?”

“Mom, I still haven't decided if I want to get Omari baptized.” You try gently reminding her. You've all had this conversation multiple times, and you really don't wanna go all the way back home for a baptism.

“You know your GiGi already started picking out fabric for his suit.” Portia sighs.

“She's sewing it? Good lord.” Ricky huffs, “That sewing machine is gonna catch on fire. It's so old.”

“Point is, Sweetie, that we gotta schedule the baptism soon. Don't want that baby coming up on six months without it.” She says.

“We aren' doin’ a baptism.” Johnny says before you even open your mouth, he's still smiling down at Omari and tickling his little toes.

“Huh?” You and your mother speak at the same time.

“Yea, me an’ mah chuilein are more focused on get'n tha family thing right.” He looks up. His eyes are bright, but his smile is more like a tight grimace. Then, without prompting, he leans over and kisses you on the cheek. “‘Sides” He continues, “wouldnae be right to baptize him if his his mum an’ da are livin’ in sin aye?”

“Wait, he's living with you?” Your Dad growls.

You quickly go right into damage control, “No he ain't. It's an expression.”

“Aaww” your mother is crying now, “he's a God-fearing man, I was so worried she'd end up with a heathen.”

“Portia please…” Ricky sighs, “not every man who has religion is God-fearing…” he's trying to console her cries and praises of ‘Won't he do it.”

Johnny is watching the two of them with a raised brow and a crooked grin. He looks at you and nudges your side. “The're quite tha characters.” He whispers to you. He's leaning close to you, the warmth of his breath on the shell of your ear. “An’ donnae think we aren' gonna talk ‘bout yur depression an’ mental health.”

You meet his serious gaze, and those blue eyes aren't as playful and sweet. Instead, they are worried and his lips in a firm line. The moment is tense, and you feel sorta like you're in trouble, but that can't be right. It can't be right because you're a grown woman and who the fuck is he? So before you can even stop yourself the words come out of your mouth.

“John,” you say, the corner of your lip raised a bit, “last time I checked, I'm grown.”

He doesn't say anything, and his grimace only tightens. He won't be backing down on this one. His best mates all have abysmal mental health, and while he's semi adjusted, he too suffers, and he knows it's no joke. Your mom breaks the tension with a wail, and you just now realize the woman has started speaking in tongues.

“Mom, what?” You say watching the woman cry and sob. Some of the words are ‘Thank you Jesus.’

Your father is rubbing her back, “we will talk later, Baby girl…seems your mom has decided to work herself into a frenzy.” He looks at Johnny and hums. “Give him my number, I'd like to chat with him one on one.” And before you can rebuff anything, the screen goes blank.

“Does she do that often?” Johnny asks, clearly confused.

“She's probably in the middle of a spiritual psychosis episode.” You say with a sigh, “also please don't call my father Colonel. He's retired. And on a second note, when you inevitably meet my eldest brother Junior, don't call him anything but Junior.”

“Yur family sounds fun.” He laughed.

“They are…but we all love each other. Also, did you mean what you said about the baptism thing?” You ask.

“Aye, ah did.” He looks back at Omari, who at this point has decided to chew on his shirt and doze. “Alla tha stuff can be handle’ later. Mah own mum an’ sisters ‘ave been hintin’ at a catholic baptism an’ already itchin’ about first communion.”

You watch as he rocks and soothes the baby to sleep. He's really different from what you remembered. He didn't seem like the party boy that drank shots off of you and had dipped his tongue into your navel while you laid on the bar top. He didn't seem like the good fuck that spit in your mouth and made you call him daddy (and boy was that a self fulfilling prophecy). Johnny didn't even seem like some army dude, though he was somewhat paranoid about the windows and the front door and balcony door, even though your place was on the second floor. Right now, he painted the pretty picture as a guy who just wanted to take care of his son, affectionately whispering to him in his mother tongue the tune of some lullaby.

Your phone is out, and you've already snapped a photo.

“Don't post it to your insta.” He says just as you opened the app.

“Why not?” You ask.

“Because…” there is hesitation in him as he looks at you, “yur da mentioned he knows mah type.”

You scoff, “He knows the military, I guess.”

“He specifically ask'd ‘f ah was an NDA soldier or a regular one.”

“Okay and? So you can't talk about your work? How's that a big deal?”

“Chuilein…we gotta talk ‘bout mah job, an’ safety, ‘an we gotta talk ‘bout how I wan’ tae keep ya both safe an’ move ya both somewhere safe.” He is tense now and watching your face for every bit of reaction. Slowly, you understand what he's referring to. Your own father was that type of secretive, never spoke about work unless it was just your mom. It only became worse after he made Colonel. It really didn't relax until he retired, and everyone changed their last names to Knights.

You groan and place your head into your hands. Not only did you fuck a army boy, you fucked a spec ops army boy.

“You have gots to be fucking with me.” You whine.

Because, of course, your baby daddy is a shady war criminal, NDA soldier.

A/N: Plot in this story? Say it ain't so. Lol, IDK how the plot showed up, but it's still comedy and a hint of drama. There won't be any kidnappings or his job coming back to physically harm the reader and Omari. Thank you all for following.

Tag list: @evergreenlake @royalty-cashinout @leahnicole1219 @gxuxhdjdu @daft-queen

#black!reader #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #call of duty fanfic #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x you #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x y/n #johnny mactavish x black!reader

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cjlouwho · 9 days ago

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Twelve Christmases

Summary: Tommy has hated Christmas for as long as he could remember. This is why.

Chapter specific tags: drunk parent, abusive behavior

Chapter one: 1989

(read below or on ao3)

Tommy was five years old when his dad taught him that nothing good lasts forever.

For months, he'd been begging for a Gameboy. That's what all the other kids in his class were getting for Christmas, and he wanted- no, he needed- one too!

“I'm sure not everyone will get a Gameboy, Tommy,” his mom, Vicky, said to him as they walked hand in hand from the bus stop to their home.

“Yes, Mama, they- they really will! They all told me that Santa is, um, he's gonna get it for them.”

She smiled down at him. “Every single kid in your class?”

“Mhm, mhm. Every. Single. One.”

“Well, I guess we need to go see Santa then, don't we? Make sure we get your order in before it's too late.”

Tommy gasped. “It might be too late?” he asked with a whine.

She gave his hand a squeeze. “Don't worry, Kiddo. He's got two weeks yet. Still plenty of time.”

“You abo- abo- absolutely sure, Mama?”

“Absotively, Posilutely sure.”

Tommy threw his head back with a laugh. “Mama, you so silly.”

“No, you're silly.”

“No you!”

“Noooo, you!”

As they neared the house, Vicky's smile faded ever so slightly when she saw the Chevette in the driveway.

“You okay, Mama?” Tommy asked. Even at his young age, he could tell when something was bothering his mom. Could feel it in the way her hand held his.

Her smile returned as she took in a deep breath and looked back down at him. “I'm fine, Baby. How's about you and I go to the mall tomorrow after school? You can tell Santa about the Gameboy that everybody in your class is getting, and maybe we'll get some ice cream too.”

Tommy's eyes widened. “Really?!”

“Really. You go run on ahead, okay? I'll catch up.”

“Okie Dokie, Mama! Love you!”

“Love you too, Tommy.”

*****

Christmas morning was perfect. That's all Tommy could say over and over again, the p popping each time he repeated the word.

“It's just perfect, Mama! Santa remembereded, I mean remembered. It's perfect! Mama, can you believe it? It's perfect!”

“I'm so happy for you, Tommy!” Vicky answered, smiling brightly at him from her spot on the couch.

“I will, I will show Dad when- when he gets home. Maybe dad will play too! You think, Mama?”

She shrugged, her smile tightening. “You'll have to ask, Baby.”

“I think he'll play.” He held the box to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh, I'm so excited!”

Vicky laughed. “Well, why don't you bring it to me and let me open it so you can actually play it?”

“Okay, Mama, but please, please, please be careful.”

“I will. I promise.”

*****

It was nearly eight o'clock at night before Michael walked in the door.

“Dad!” Tommy exclaimed before he even had a chance to shut the door.

Michael stumbled into the living room. “What'd I say 'bout yellin'?” he stammered.

“Sorry,” Tommy grimaced, tiptoeing dramatically toward his father. “I wanna show you what I got for- for Christmas.”

“Ohhhh, yeah,” Michael smiled, looking up at Vicky as she exited the kitchen. She watched them both closely, her lips pursed. “Uh-oh,” he faux-whispered, laughing as he spoke. “I think Mommy is mad at Daddy.”

Tommy looked between the two of them, but the words didn't quite register. He was too excited about his new toy.

“Dad, can- can I show you?”

“Hell yeah, lemme see!” He practically grabbed the Gameboy from Tommy's hands, blinking his eyes to try and focus on the screen. “Damn, tech- techno'gy getting crazy innit?”

Tommy looked confused. “What? Dad, I need ta- to show you what I do with it.”

“I can figure it out.”

As he walked toward the couch he stumbled over his own feet. The Gameboy dropped from his hand and bounced off the coffee table, then fell to the ground with a thunk, breaking into pieces.

“Michael!” Vicky yelled.

“Oh no!” Tommy whined.

“Well hell I didn' know it'd be such cheap crap!” Michael exclaimed. Clumsily, he picked the pieces up off the ground.

Tommy's felt a pang in his heart that he didn't quite understand. His whole body hurt. His mind was racing. “Santa. Santa brought me that, Dad.”

Michael groaned. “You're too old to be believin' in that crap, Tom. Santa's not real-”

“Michael!”

“Oh please, Vic, he's fine!” He knelt down in front of Tommy, holding the broken Gameboy in front of his face. “Your mom bought this for you. Got it from her tips at the restaurant that we coulda used for bills.”

Tommy held his breath as his dad spoke. He smelled so bad, it made Tommy's stomach sick. His lip trembled, but he didn't dare let a tear fall.

“Santa...” He glanced at his mom, then back to his dad. “Santa's not real?”

“No. Not Santa, not the Easter Bunny, tooth fairy, none of that crap.”

Tommy's tongue ran over his first loose tooth. He couldn't wait to lose it, stick it under his pillow and see what the tooth fairy left him.

It didn't seem to matter much now.

“That's enough, Michael!” Vicky hissed, not daring to step closer to him.

He rolled his eyes, holding out the Gameboy and dropping it into Tommy's hand. “I'm goin' back out. Don' expect me home tonight.”

Neither of them said anything until after Michael had left.

“Tommy-”

“I'm sleepy, Mama,” he said quietly, walking over to her and handing her the Gameboy. He didn't dare look up from the ground. “I'm gonna get ready for bed.”

*****

He'd been in bed for about five minutes before Vicky came into the room. He was curled up under his monster truck comforter, staring out his window through the crack in his shades. He was doing everything he could not to think about his Gameboy.

“I'm so sorry, Tommy,” Vicky said, lying beside him and gathering him up in her arms. He laid his head against her chest, wrapping his little arms around her. “I'll save up and get you another one, okay? I promise.”

Tommy wanted to cry. He wanted to hold his broken Gameboy to his chest and cry and yell and scream. But he couldn't do that. He couldn't do that because Dad said crying was for girls. And Mama was already so sad that he didn't want to make it worse. “S'okay, Mama. I can play with- with Sonny's at school. He will share good with me.”

Vicky kissed the top of Tommy's head, wiping away a tear as it fell down her cheek. “I love you, Baby Boy.”

Tommy snuggled in closer, closing his eyes as he listened to the sound of his mom's heartbeat. “Merry Christmas, Mama.”

“Merry Christmas, Tommy.”

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #911 #911 abc #12 days of tommy #day 1

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tidal-graves · 11 days ago

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I ship Elucien because Lucien is the better option for her

These are the rather disjointed points I have on why Lucien is the best guy for Elain, based on him respecting her, being incredibly compatible with her, and having deeper subtext that he and Elain will heal together-- all using canon to support my points.

Firstly, I find it interesting that the main point E/riels use is that you hate Elain if you don’t ship their couple, but for me it is almost always the opposite. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a post on why Azriel is good for Elain, but they always talk about how she’s his sunshine, that she will heal his self esteem issues, that she’ll be his soft damsel in distress to his brooding violence. Their biggest argument (and from what I’ve seen, their only argument) for why Azriel is good for Elain is: “It’s Elain’s choice, and she chose Azriel.” There are, however, very deep holes in this logic for me. The biggest problem with this is that while Elain is clearly struggling with not having agency at the Night Court, Azriel is a part of that. Azriel advocates against Elain’s desire to help with the trove because it’s “too dark of her.” Then, in the bonus chapter although Rhys is obviously the one pushing them apart not only does Azriel barely push back, his arguments are:

Fate chose the wrong person

Lucien doesn’t deserve her

He could easily kill Lucien anyway

None of these points revolve around Elain’s right to choose. He does not say, “who cares about her mate, she chose me.” Elain and Azriel being mates would ALSO be fate deciding her life for her, and from everything we know about her she would detest the Blood Duel (and as far as we know about Lucien, he would never enact it). And on top of this, Azriel obeys the order and has not spoken to her since. So I don’t understand how people can fantasize about Elain finally snapping at the IC after finding all of this out and not realize that anger is also going to be directed at Azriel for not advocating for her. Meanwhile, Lucien (who also didn’t choose to be bonded with her) is ironically the only one respecting her autonomy. Also her not accepting the bond or not breaking it is her making a choice; she doesn’t have to choose Azriel for her choice to mean something. And, of course, you can’t forget this book series literally started with Feyre being positive that the Spring Court was her home and Tamlin was her mate, so I don’t think it’s crazy to assume that Elain will also come to a similar conclusion (which she kind of already has after rejecting Azriel in the bc). Afterall, wouldn’t it be fitting for the book that closes out the Archeron sisters’ love lives to do a full circle: Feyre thinks she loves Tamlin, but he betrays her so she leaves the Spring Court for the Night Court; Elain thinks she belongs at the Night Court, but they betray her so she finds a home at the Spring Court.

Elain is NOT sunshine/light. She is constantly seeking out sunshine. Both Azriel and Elain need light. There have been no implications that Elain needs shadows or that Azriel needs flowers. In this metaphor Azriel’s light is Gwyn and Elain’s sunshine is Lucien. I get this seems like a strange point to rely on metaphors but it’s a bit silly to dismiss it with how ingrained it is in not only Azriel and Elain’s characters but most of sjm’s couples and how they interact (Nessian= death and war walk hand and hand, Feyrand= night and the stars that shine within).

Elain’s problem is the bond NOT Lucien. This is incredibly important because it would be incredibly lame for a love triangle in a romance novel to end with “I choose him, not because he’s better or anything I just didn’t have to be tied to him.” In real life, a woman choosing to not engage with a guy is completely okay and her choice, but this is a book and it would be a very unsatisfying narrative conclusion for her to not at least get to know Lucien. It would also be unsatisfying for Elain to have already come to terms with her trauma off page. Sjm did not include a scene in FaS in which Elain is alluding to looking to be human again only for her book to open with “yeah, anyway, life is great now.” I mention this because Lucien is the representation of her Fae life, of being tied to fate, so she will have to deal with him face to face to deal with her trauma. Sjm also did not have Elucien being on incredibly good -- dare I say, a bit flirty-- terms at the end of WaR only to do a complete 180 in the next book for seemingly no reason and NOT eventually address why it changed. So that is already two important conversations that they need to have for Elain’s healing journey.

Finally, Lucien and Elain are incredibly compatible (yes, even after the Cauldron). While E/riel is secretive, quiet, and cunning, you could pretty much argue so is Elucien. Lucien is a fox, of course he knows how to trick and withhold to his benefit (Feyre and Rhys note this in WaR), of course that also comes with being cunning, and he certainly knows how to be sneaky, as shown when he and Feyre snuck out of camp and led the Bogg to the twins in WaR. Obviously he’s not going to be a spy, but I wonder if Elain will be or if these traits will simply be a part of her courtier role (which she is clearly more tied to than being a spy). But none of that is enough to base an entire relationship on. Good thing we know that Elain and Lucien a ton other things in common: both share trauma in being torn away from their homes and lovers, both love to help wherever they can, have an aversion to violence but will enact it to protect the people they love, are snarky and humorous, loves the outdoors and maybe travelling, are drawn to domestic activities, live to be mediators and make connections, are incredibly caring and compassionate, care about their appearances but don’t mind getting their hands dirty, and have powers centered around insight.

This is sort of revising one of my past posts that I had written more emotionally than I would have liked to. I could honestly write more on why I personally ship Elucien and lean towards them being endgame, how there’s more foreshadowing to their relationship, and their powers might be tied (and not in a random ass “Elain can suddenly travel through shadows” way), but I know I already wrote too much and most people already aren’t going to read this entire thing so I’ll leave it there.

#acotar #elain archeron #pro elucien #pro elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro elain #not pro tamlin i hate that man #character analysis #elain acotar

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allyriadayne · 1 year ago

Note

could you talk more about the daynes post robert's rebellion?

SURE

first of, this is mostly my hcs, speculations and a mix of things i must have read back when there was the height of asoiaf meta in 2013 because there is almost nothing about the daynes post robert's rebellion. so bear with me.

just to set the scene, the members of house dayne left after the mess of the rebellion were the unnamed older brother of ashara and arthur, the lord and father of edric; allyria the youngest sister that i headcanon to be much younger than her older siblings seeing as she is betrothed to beric dondarrion who is was in his twenties per agot so i don't think the marriage would've occurred if allyria was in her middle thirties or forties if she was closer to ashara and arthur; edric, twelve years old, beric's loyal squire; and gerold aka darkstar head of high hermitage, also in his twenties? around arianne's age.

under the cut because i'm crazy

i don't know if the books are ever going to make clear what happened at the toj-starfall zone but we can be sure only that ned went from one to the other with lyanna's bones and supposedly baby jon to return dawn to the daynes. ashara had a baby of father unknown and shortly after ned was there she took her own life, body never found. i go back and forward in thinking if ashara's brother lord dayne was there with her when ned went or if he was one of the dornish commanders defending the targs. in any case, his presence was completely zero during this time so i think he was too injured for a time or too sickly in general to do something to reestablish the dayne name in dorne after arthur being an important part in elia's disgrace and indirectly, her murder.

because yeah after arthur and ashara's death and going by the books there is zero mention of them, even in the chapters set in dorne or others about dornish characters make no mention of them. and it's strange considering that when you read awoiaf and f&b, the daynes are The knights of dorne. queen nymeria marries a dayne, sends a starfall king to the wall, meria martell commands a dayne to burn oldtown, arguably one of the most powerful cities of the time, out of all the sons of daeron ii and myriah martell, maekar marries a dayne, the only dornish lady. it could be nothing OR something but i think it does mean something. we see there's no daynes in oberyn's party in kl or speculation in general about the new sword of the morning beyond remembering dear old arthur. they've fallen completely into obscurity. the house was reduced to a young girl and its child lord.

edric's dad dies before agot (he doesn't seem to afflicted by his death when he meets arya if he were less than a year dead, inheriting the lordship at such a young age would've been dramatic to him), i would say just after becoming a page to beric dondarrion at 7 yo and i headcanon the marriage between beric and allyria was brokered at this time too. this was part of a fic i was writing like 500 years ago but i think lord dayne must have known he would not live too long, not to see edric grow so he must have looked for someone to prepare and take care of allyria and edric after he died. betrothing allyria to a marcher lord is......strange. if a dornish person would have to be married to someone it would go like this 1) not from the reach 2) not from the marches in that order, there is too much bad blood. the daynes have a longstanding tradition of killing oakhearts so marrying allyria to the heir of blackhaven and giving him his only heir, lord dayne entrusted a complete stranger with the future of his house.

beric would've been in charge of teaching young edric just about everything. he would be living in the stormlands for almost half his live, learning from a his maester and how to govern a stormlands' castle. meanwhile, allyria in a few years probably around agot time would be ready to marry beric when she reached her majority. she would've been the defacto ruler of starfall in edric's name when lord dayne dies, i think the idea was to swap when edric gained his spurs: he would return to starfall after a successful run as a tourney knight, probably gaining some recognition from whatever beric was tasked with at the capital (rip king) and then accompany allyria to be married to his knight master. andddd fin.

the thing is. allyria being so young during the rebellion, lord dayne absence for whatever reason and then dying, let the younger members with no connections in the wider dorne political context. it is said young children go to the water gardens and it's fun yeah but it's def a starting point for politics for many lords. it's close to the martells and it's an opportunity to make friends with future rulers, /everyone/ is going. the daynes didn't have this. allyria was probably very young when the rebellion happened (i think no older than 5) and for obvious reasons she was not sent to the water gardens; as for ned, i think lord dayne could not secure an invitation, this or he died too early to even try. if allyria had gone, she would've been for sure one of arianne's companions, she has both the breeding and the standing, but NOT and it's crucial, the reputation. see what arianne has to say in affc about gerold's standing:

"He is highborn enough to make a worthy consort, she thought. Father would question my good sense, but our children would be as beautiful as dragonlords."

it's must be passé to associate with the daynes at this point. think of the conningtons losing all standing when joncon lost the battle and was exiled.

in any case, allyria, more than edric, grew in obscurity. as of the books she's betrothed to a marcher lord nobody knows if he's alive or dead, has a missing nephew and it's in charge of one of the most ancient first men houses of westeros. sad! at least ned is having more fun. which leads me to darkstar. i see his thirst to prove himself, his notoriety as a cruel knight as another way to separate himself from what the main branch has fallen into. he is in his twenties so he was probably affected by the same dark cloud as the others.

"If I led a quarter of a million men to death, would they call me Gerold the Great? I shall remain Darkstar, I think. At least it is mine own."

he wants to have what arthur had, but not be the sword of the morning, he wants something that it's his own, as he says. he may want the sword and the fame like arthur, but not to be associated with another's bad luck so to speak. it's very telling that he's called one of "the most dangerous man in dorne" and what is the sword of the morning if not this? he's a dark mirror of the daynes pre rebellion, just like allyria would've been a renown beauty just like ashara is she wasn't cloistered. something something gerold and allyria as mirrors of what could've happened to ashara and arthur if they hadn't the protection of the monarchy.

i once read gerold is meant to have young ned's plot after germ scrapped the five year time skip and i think this is half true. i do think there is something to be done about dawn the sword and i think gerold is going to steal it and do something with it, something ned can't do because he's /still/ in the riverlands. i don't know what but i think it ties nicely with the theme of deconstructing the noble knight archetype. arthur is only great because he knew how to kill.

writing this i had a breakdown about the parallels between arthur and gerold

to finish this rambling i want to say my hopes for house dayne in what is left of asoiaf is 1) ned alive 2) gerold steals dawn 3) and like. something. honestly i will take anything at this point about allyria. DOES SHE EVEN KNOW? my poor girl and 4) if germ wants to clear the toj situation then it's fine.

thanks for asking and to anyone reaching this point lol. this is mostly general but if you want to talk about anything specific just message me! k thx muah!

#ask #Anonymous #allyria dayne #gerold dayne #edric dayne #ashara dayne #arthur dayne #house dayne #fallen and reborn #valyrianscrolls #let's give darkstar dawn i want to see something funny #all this to say 'which could mean nothing'#[keeps opening more gdox about gerold and allyria meeting]#just had to post this it's been HOURS

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orchidshow · 2 months ago

Text

Credit | @grungenglam for the divider its sososososo pretty aa pls check out his work!

A/N | the chapter title is purely for clicks this term makes me cringe so hard i can only use it ironically. also my led lights fell off my walls halfway through this so it was written in the dark so woopsies if i misspell

Frat boy! Hasan x Trad goth! reader

TW | dr*g use (w**d and talk of r**fies), alcohol use

Chapter one: Goth Mommy

The house was fucking disgusting.

From the outside, she stood there nervously with her friend Amy, debating about how much shit she would be given by her if she had bitten the bullet and just gone home. On the field in front of the house, they both saw a pledge vomit before passing out face first in said vomit. She takes in a breath of the chilled autumn air before plunging into the house, holding Amy's hand tightly.

It reeked of cheap beer, but the type you pay a guy extra at the gas station to buy you when you're underage and can't not afford the upsell. The bass pumped through the stained carpet, which caused her to halt at her feet every couple of steps due to its stickiness. An arid stench of weed filled the room as she clung to the drywall in the living room.

" C'mon! Didn't your therapist say you should try new things?" Amy remarked while handing her a red Solo cup. It was almost too cliché to bear.

"I think she meant going swimming or something—not gambling on my chances of getting roofied by a guy in a snapback." She retorted sarcastically, placing the mysterious beverage onto the table beside her.

"Anyways, this was fun, but I kind of want to go home." She states before looking up and noticing Amy is being held up against a wall in the kitchen, deeply engrossed in a makeout session with a guy who looked like he had been born with a football helmet on. A small part of her ached to go back outside and enjoy refuge from the insanity, but she could already imagine the sadness and passive aggressiveness she'd receive the next day from Amy lamenting about how she'should've at least tried'.

While debating her options, that's when she noticed him. She had definitely seen him at other parties, often telling a crazy story while being shitfaced or jumping off balconies into pools. He was obnoxious, craving to be the centre of everyone's attention—and he was, and he knew it. However, tonight he exhibits a new talent—Keg stands. She watches his shirt fall due to gravity as he chugs down beer from the metal jug. For a second, she considers him cute, his happy trail exposed for everyone to see while droplets of beer rush down his body. She had never felt more jealous of cheap beer until now.

His eyes catch hers as he ends the stand; he watches her from across the room with a half-smirk. Fearing he will make his way over, she immediately runs over to the kitchen in an attempt to 'find Amy'. While in the kitchen, she opens the fridge. Scanning it for any drinks that have a sealed lid and looked fit for human consumption, which was pointless as it led to her chewing on a cup of ice instead.

"Goth mommy vibes. I can get with that." The guy says to her with a cocky smile. "I'm Hasan, what's your n-" Hasan can't finish his introduction as a fistful of ice is thrown at him by her as she storms off in an attempt to go find Amy and get out of this nightmare. She finds herself upstairs, standing outside a door with a questionably stained sock hung against the door.

Upset and a little embarrassed, she retreats to the patio of the frat, waiting for Amy to be done with her hookup so she can leave.

"Are you waiting for your friend?" She hears behind her, not bothering to turn around as she already knows who it is. She lets out a soft but annoyed "mhm."

"I can drive you where you need to go if you want," he suggests shyly. She turns around, squinting at him, almost as if he were stupid.

"I just saw you do a kegstand like thirty minutes ago; what makes you think I'd get in a car with you?" she hisses out.

"Do you have any other way of getting home?" He retorts annoyingly.

"...No," she sighs out, taking his hand as he leads her to his car.

The car is surprisingly clean; other than the sweat of the gym clothes, it's almost nice. On the way home, they share a blunt between them, even though he claims ‘he does not partake’.

“By the way." He starts flicking between her and the road. “I’m sorry about the whole ‘Goth Mommy’ thing; I thought it was funny; I do actually think the way you dress is sick though,” he rambles, avoiding eye contact after the compliment.

“Really?” She squeezes out through a sharp intake. She's answered by his nod. She grabs the aux cord from the front of the car, plugging it into her phone before playing music.

“You don't mind, right? I hate silence,” she asks while looking into his deep brown eyes.

He smiles. His pupils dilated. “No, no, I like it. Keep playing your music!” He enthuses excitedly, weed obviously settling into his system.

They reach the parking lot of her apartment. Neither talks about her leaving. Time passes quickly as they talk to each other about their majors, his life back in Turkey, and her music.

“Is Ankara pretty?” She questions, mind-hazed, as she maintains eye contact with Hasan; he giggles before shaking his head.

“Fuck no. It's just buildings on top of buildings,” he describes before his hand moves to the top of her knee. “I can tell you what’s pretty though.” He mumbles, fingers tracing the delicate black lacing of her tights.

Not understanding if it was the weed or the night or how irresistible he was in this moment, she leans in, kissing him gently. His hand skirts to her waist before squeezing it gently. Impulsively, she moves back, shocked at what she had done. She muttered something about Indica before slamming the car door in front of Hasan's’ face, essentially sprinting into the apartment building in sheer embarrassment.

end of chapter one tehe :)

#hasan x reader #hasan #hasanabi #hasanabi x you #hasanabi x reader #hasan piker #hasan piker x you #hasan piker x reader

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dragonwitch77 · 4 months ago

Text

Tiny

Chapter 8: Bi-Weekly

When Bittergiggle was unexpectedly thrust into the world of parenthood, he had expected something to happen.

Something. Anything. Whatever was to come next after the kid was dumped into his life.

Turns out, nothing really changed much.

A whole week had gone by, and nothing really stood out much.

Sure, the kid was there but… that was basically it. She stayed curled up on his chest in the sling, hardly making a sound and barely doing much besides looking around.

Kids were supposed to do more than this, right? Not just do partially nothing and stare at everything? Weren’t they supposed to be running around, screaming their heads off, or making some sort of mess?

Well, at least she wasn’t driving him crazy. Unlike his other two occupants.

The two clones, who named themselves Houdini and Allen Poe and were insistent that they were totally unique and not very original names as they claimed, were always constantly bickering with each other now that they didn’t pretend to be dead around him anymore. Every little thing set them off against each other, and Bittergiggle was losing his patience with them every passing day to the point where he couldn’t stand being in the same room with them anymore.

“At least you’re not driving me crazy yet.” He told the kid as he sat outside listening to the pair argue in his hideout.

If this was all parenting was, then Bittergiggle was sure he had nothing to worry about!

Until he remembered the bi-weekly expedition was fast approaching.

In all honesty, the jester had nearly forgotten them. He had spent a good month down on the lower floor, so he hadn’t really been pestered by the humans. None of them went down there ever since Syringeon had almost torn someone to shreds after they interrupted an important experiment of his.

Bittergiggle didn’t like these expeditions.

The humans who came to check up on them were mean and very rude. Some of them always gave him stares or told him to shut up when he tried to break the ice with a joke. And the jester couldn’t do much about it since they were always heavily armed.

But he could deal with rude humans. What he couldn’t deal with was having them find the kid.

Out of all the times for Syringeon’s warning to come full circle at him.

Bittergiggle groaned, swapping his more exaggerated clothes for simple ones. The humans always bagged on him for not wearing his ‘official clothing’, and he was rightly in no mood right now to hear them complain or have an argument with them.

It didn’t matter as much as keeping the kid a secret. Keeping her out of their radar would be the best, and he had no clue as to explain why there was a mini jester in his care

But that meant keeping the humans focused on him and only on him.

Without the kid.

That should be easy. He could leave her right here in his hideout! And he already had two convenient babysitters to watch her.

“You want us to do WHAT?!” Houdini screamed.

“Babysit? Us?”

“Uh, yeah.” Bittergiggle shrugged, adjusting the sleeves for what felt like the hundredth time. God, he hated wearing this thing. Why did the humans make him this? It was AWFUL. It was so bland and boring. GOD, he felt sick just wearing it! “I can’t exactly take the kid with me.”

“Why not? She’s your kid!”

“And we aren’t exactly babysitter material.” Poe added.

“Well, you two are the best I’ve got.” Once the jester had to admit the outfit was as good as it was going to get, he turned his focus on the clones. “And I can’t really have the humans find out about her. It would cause too many questions and it might tip them off on you two as well.”

“And what’s so bad about that?”

“It’s bad because if they found out I’ve been making clones of myself without their knowledge or approval, then they might think, ‘Hey! Free testing material!’ And use the both of you as new testing dummies for their experiments that’ll make Syringeon’s operations seem pleasant.”

The clones flinched at that. They knew about the experiments, and Syringeon’s unhealthy habit of cutting his own creations to pieces when they got on his limited trigger-haired patience.

With a sigh, Bittergiggle looked down at the kid. She sat quietly in the sling, having fallen asleep a few moments from all the walking around. She looked content, and Bittergiggle almost felt bad for leaving her behind. But he knew it was for the best. He couldn’t take her with him, and he had to make some appearance to the expedition team to keep them off his tail.

Besides, he wouldn’t be gone for too long.

He’d likely just pull a few gymnastic tricks or try and tell a joke or two before the humans were satisfied that he wasn’t up to anything and leave him be.

Plus, he had to make sure they didn’t bother Kittysaurus. She could only stand humans for as long as she could without him, and Bittergiggle was sure that the last expedition had put her on edge.

Now that I think about it, they might question me why I wasn’t around from the last bi-weekly expedition. That might hold me back longer than expected.

Bittergiggle’s frown deepened, shaking his head as he took off the sling and put it around Houdini. He debated putting the kid in a box, but quickly thought better of it when he thought it’d be something Syringeon would do to his own kids. And he was trying to AVOID acting like the crazy quack doc to Scylla.

“I should be back soon. Maybe an hour or so.” He informed the clone as he turned to leave. “And besides, what’s there for you to worry about? She hardly does anything but stare and sleep most of the time, so there’s no real big deal to freak out over watching her for a little while without me.”

The door to the hideout closed, cutting off whatever Houdini was going to say.

Confident that things would go hopefully smoothly, Bittergiggle made his way to the Employee Exercise Sector to check on Kittysaurus before the expedition team arrived.

🧪

Bittergiggle was back.

It was unfortunate.

Toadster was almost beginning to suspect the worst when he spotted the jester making his way to the Employee Exercise Sector.

The sheriff wanted to lock the idiot up for life when he saw him casually walking by, and interrogate him on his whereabouts he had disappeared to for over a month.

It irked him that Bittergiggle seemed to have no care on how worried he was when the jester disappeared–NOT that he had been worried. Only mildly concerned. Because the jester was once a good friend. And still a part of the Kingdom. Somewhat.

ANYWAY.

The idea of putting Bittergiggle in prison was an appealing idea, but Toadster knew it wasn’t going to work. He still didn’t have the proper holding cell for the jester, and he wanted to be sure that Bittergiggle couldn’t ever escape to reach the queen. But he also had to make sure the holding cell would allow Bittergiggle to receive visitors.

He knew Bittergiggle hated being alone.

It drove the jester insane.

A memory from the past popped into his mind, shuddering before shoving it down. He couldn’t be lenient with criminals, no matter what kind of past relationship he had with them.

Though he did keep in mind that Bittergiggle was a special case he had to tread lightly with. One wrong move, and everything would come crumbling down.

Everything they worked so hard to build.

All of it at risk if the jester was allowed to roam free.

Yet, Toadster refrained himself from running after the jester and drop-kicking him into the closest cell. He wouldn’t be able to. Not with the bi-weekly expedition coming soon.

The humans were always picky about him locking up criminals, even though those types of scum needed locking away forever. Still, they would question and demand him to release Bittergiggle if they saw the jester locked up in a cell, and Toadster didn’t want all his hard work to go to waste.

Besides, it appeared Bittergiggle was trying to stay on the humans’ good side.

He was wearing his old uniform. And Toadster knew how much Bittergiggle hated that outfit.

The jester always ranted about how awful his old uniform was, going on and on with how he was going to burn the thing to ashes or rip it to shreds and turn it into a toy for his cat to play with. If the humans didn’t threaten him to keep it in one piece and in good condition, he was sure Bittergiggle would have done it already a long time ago.

But that begs the question of why he’s trying to stay on their good side. Bittergiggle doesn’t have any reason to appeal to them.

Toadster wondered if there was more going on than he expected, but shoved it aside. Protecting the queen was his first duty. Bittergiggle was, and always would be just a second thought to him.

No matter how much it nagged at him that something was up.

🧪

Five hours.

The humans from the expedition team had questioned him for five hours.

Apparently, the humans weren’t quite as oblivious as Bittergiggle had suspected. They noticed his absence from the last expedition, and were quite curious to know where exactly he was.

He couldn’t tell them the exact details of where he was. The humans didn’t want anyone from the failed rebellion to have any contact with the surgeon. They knew the four armed Mutant was the brains, and they didn’t want another rebellion in the making.

So he just spun a small tale, lying about how he got stuck somewhere for a long time. Long enough for the expedition team to come and go before finally managing to get out. They didn’t believe him at first, and he honestly wished they were daff enough to accept his words and move along instead of questioning him for so long.

Goooooooooood, that was so boooooooOOOOORRRRRRRrrrrring!

Bittergiggle was glad the expedition team only came by every two weeks. He wasn’t sure how he might handle it if they came by more than once or twice a month. If they came by more than that, he was sure he was going to kill someone.

Not that he would. Bittergiggle didn’t want to dirty his hands, and it would be way too much effort getting rid of the body.

He could always have Kittysaurus eat it, but there was the problem of getting the body to her area and not getting spotted by any of the cameras.

And there was the problem with this thing the humans had that was called blood. All humans had this weird red liquid in their bodies that was apparently important to them if it wasn’t kept inside, and it made quite a huge mess if it somehow got out. So there was the problem of cleaning if they ever popped like a water balloon.

Still, it would be too much hassle and would draw too much attention if he did commit murder, so Bittergiggle decided to let them live… for now.

In the end, once his patience ran out, Bittergiggle tried his new set of jokes on the humans, cringing them to leave before their brains fried from hearing all his bad jokes. Soon all left without giving him so much as a compliment for his hard work, and he was left with his growling kitty.

All but one.

The one human who Bittergiggle was sure was the worst out of every human in the facility. The very human who belittled and mocked Bittergiggle at any chance they got ever since they met.

He didn’t understand why the human took every chance at making his life miserable. He couldn’t recall ever doing anything to them, and if he did, they probably deserved it.

Letting out a small snort, he descended down the stairs to his little hideout, planning to just relax for the rest of the day.

But as soon as his foot reached the final step, something felt… off.

The jester paused, blinking in confusion. He glanced back up the stairs, wondering if he had been followed. He shouldn’t have been. The humans all left and he took all the paths Toadster wasn’t familiar with so the sheriff wouldn’t be able to follow him.

Bittergiggle pondered, wondering what felt off. He shrugged, figuring it was just a feeling. Making his way towards the door, he wondered if he should finally go through with his promise to BURN this wretched thing he was forced to wear but stopped right in front of the door.

From the other side, he could hear a noise. A strange familiar noise he heard once or twice. And he only heard that noise coming from–

A seize of panic washed over the jester, and before he knew what he was doing, Bittergiggle had already forced the door to open and bolted inside. He only paused for just a moment to see what laid before him and nearly toppled over at what he saw. “WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?!”

What laid before him was a sea of chaos.

Tables were toppled, papers were sticking here or there, books and art supplies were thrown about, the wall was coated with what Bittergiggle hoped was only glitter glue and one of the tanks had lost its coverage and exposed the clone inside.

In the middle of the mess, Houdini and Allen Poe jumped in surprise, looking up at him in fear and alarm, but also with some relief. The third and tiniest occupant in the room was being held by Houdini.

Crying and screaming her head off.

Upside down.

“Why are you holding her like that?!” Bittergiggle screamed, rushing over and snatching the small jester from the half-finished clone. He didn’t know much about childcare, but he was pretty certain that kids WEREN’T supposed to be held upside down.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Houdini held up his hands in surrender, cowering as Bittergiggle shot him a glare while holding Scylla against his chest. “I thought it would get her to stop screaming!”

“By holding her upside down?!”

“I was trying to hold her in the air and pretend she was an airplane!” Houdini protested. “You know, playing around and make her laugh or something! But all she’s been doing since she woke up is scream!”

“We didn’t know what to do!” Allen chimed in. “You said all she does is stare at stuff, but when she opened her eyes, she started screaming! We tried everything to get her to stop!”

“Magic tricks!”

“Poetry!”

“Arts and crafts!”

“Books you brought back!”

“Silly faces!”

“Nothing worked! She just keeps screaming and screaming!”

Bittergiggle surpassed a growl, pinching his face. Well, he knew parenting wasn’t going to be completely easy. He knew Syringeon had to deal with his own kids every day by the hour.

Looking down at Scylla, the tiny jester sniffled, blinking her teary eyes up at him. Bittergiggle had a feeling as he looked at those big eyes of hers that his quiet easy times with the kid were coming to an end.

And real parenting was just beginning.

#bittergiggle #story #garten of banban #gobb #tiny #gobb fanfic #sheriff toadster #experiment jesters

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