#used sticky noted and page tags

[myfriendscallmeweird]

[every-eye-evermore]

THREE MY LOVE

id: page 26 of system collapse, covered in pink sticky notes with ink drawings of three. It’s drawn in an environmental suit with buzzed hair, a round face, almond eyes, short nose, and a scar across its nose.

The drawings show it awkwardly sitting with Karime and the colonists, looking into the distance with a distressed look, and holding a cup of Hot Drink, very unsure of what to do with it.

There’s also a closeup of its face trying so hard to look like a polite human person. Text around it reads “doing a very very good job” and “SO human!”

The second picture is the same drawing as the close-up, but rendered in a digital art program. Three has warm medium brown skin, brown hair, and a blue line in their hair, curving to follow their skull. The background is pink with pink hearts

/end id

[heytheredelulu]

Little Bookworm 18+

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Content Warnings: unprotected sex (p-in-v), rough sex, dirty talk, size kink, dubcon kink (as long as Bucky can keep a straight face), tummy bulge, language, a good ole coochie slap (once), cum play, a little fluff, some aftercare

Your boyfriend can’t think of anything more adorable than watching you read. One night while you’re in the shower he picks up the book you left on the nightstand: “Haunting Adeline by H.D. Carlton” and thumbs through it, very quickly realizing just what kind of books his sweet little bookworm is really into.

Inspired by my IRL husband’s reaction to my smutty reads.

Note: I don’t own any characters or works referenced in this oneshot and shout out to H.D. Carlton for creating Zade Meadows and giving us the house of mirrors chapter that’s been living rent free in both me and @lilacka’s head for over a year.

Bucky absolutely loved to watch you read.

The subtle way your expressions changed as your eyes would glide across the pages made his heart swell with admiration.

He found himself entranced with your concentration, your eyebrows knitting together in thought, your lips quirking up into a smile and even the soft laughter that would sometimes escape you as you delved deep into the world you held in your hands.

He was always more than happy to accompany you to the bookstore, leaning against the shelves and observing you as you thumbed through new titles, stacking your choices in his strong arms before darting down the next aisle to browse further.

He looked forward to the evenings where he could lay his head comfortably in your lap, his arm draped across your thighs as you worked your fingers lazily through his hair while you read quietly above him.

Tonight he lay in bed with his hands folded behind his head, listening to the gentle sound of the shower from the bathroom as you bathed when his gaze fell on your most recent read on the nightstand. The cover was dark with a skull and roses, something about a ‘Haunting��� and an absurd amount of sticky notes jutted out from the pages. His curiosity overtook him and he sat up, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. He thumbed through it carefully before letting it fall open to one of the tagged pages, his eyes scanning the text and widening slightly at the content.

He flipped to another tab, quickly reading through the passage, his breath quickening as he took in the words.

“If I catch you, I fuck you.”

Jesus Christ.

The bathroom door creaked open and he slowly lifted his gaze up to you.

Your damp body wrapped in a towel with your wet hair against your neck and shoulders did absolutely nothing to combat the heat that was already rising within him at what he’d just read.

Your eyes connect for a beat before you glance down to notice the book in his hand, opened to one of your tagged pages.

It was hard to discern if the flush across your cheeks was remnant of the heat of the shower or from the slight embarrassment of feeling caught by your boyfriend discovering the absolute filth you’d been reading.

He raises a brow at you, lifting the book and tapping on the open passage.

“If I catch you, I fuck you?” He asks, tilting his head curiously. “Really?”

You huff and roll your eyes, stepping forward and reaching to snatch the book from his hands but he’s quicker, snapping it shut and holding it just out of your reach.

“No, no. We’re gonna talk about this, doll.” He says, his lips curling into a smirk. “This is what you’ve been reading?”

You shift from foot to foot.

“Sometimes.” You reply with a weak shrug.

He turns the book over in his hands again and idly runs his palm back and forth against all the flags poking out from between the pages. “And do you.. like this stuff?” He asks, not looking up. “Does it turn you on?”

You swallow hard and nod despite the fact he’s not looking at you.

“Sometimes.” You repeat quietly.

“Huh.”

He purses his lips and nods thoughtfully, standing up and tossing the book onto the bed. “I guess you oughta run then.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hair line.

Did he just?

Is he going to?

“W-what?” You stutter out, taking a small step back as he closes in on you.

He tsks and reaches out, brushing your wet hair back off your shoulder with two fingers. “You heard me, baby.”

You open your mouth to reply but the words are lost the moment he seizes the edge of your towel in his large hand.

Your eyes connect for a brief moment before he yanks the towel free of your body and discards it on the ground, leaving you exposed, confused and incredibly aroused.

His hand settles on your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple and sending a rush of desire straight to your core. He dips his head to nuzzle his forehead against your temple, his tongue flicking against your earlobe.

“You should probably run now.” He warns in a whisper, taking a step back to give you space for a head start.

You stare wide eyed in disbelief, your head barely able to wrap around what was happening.

“Five.” He says in a threatening tone, bringing his hand down to palm his growing erection under his sweatpants.

You’re frozen to the spot.

There’s no fucking way he’s about to do this.

“Four.”

Okay, maybe he is.

You take off at a run, reaching the bedroom door and flinging it open with him hot on your tail.

Your bare feet pound against the hardwood floor and you rush down the hall towards the staircase, making it only two steps down before his strong arm catches you around the waist and picks you up effortlessly.

You wiggle against his hold, kicking your feet and thrashing.

“You’re not very fast, you know.” He teases, tightening his grip on you, his cock straining against his sweatpants and pressing into your backside.

He carries you back into the bedroom, his arm locked around you in a vice grip and tosses you onto the bed as if you were weightless. He tugs his sweatpants down and kicks them off, his cock bobbing with every step as he stalks towards you.

He braces his palms on the bed, preparing to climb up and pin you but you scramble backwards off the bed and take off again. He pauses, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Wait, what-?” he straightens up and turns, watching as you sprint across the room and he frowns, realizing you weren’t going to let him catch you that easily.

“Damnit.” He grumbles, launching himself up over the bed.

He chases you with heavy footsteps towards the bathroom and you rush to shut the door but his hand catches it and forces it open, leaving you completely cornered with nowhere else to turn. “Shit.” You breathe out, looking around for a possible way out. He laughs, a cute and genuine laugh that is just so Bucky, completely betraying the role he was attempting to play.

You cross your arms over your bare breasts and frown. “I’m sorry.” He says, shaking his head. “I- just.. why did you run into the bathroom?” He asks, gesturing around the small room with amusement. “I don’t know!” You huff, your lips pressing into a pout. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you definitely weren’t.” He agrees, swinging his foot back to kick the door shut behind him. “Guess you’re trapped, huh?”

You nod, letting your arms fall away from your breasts. “I guess I am.” You breathe out, your body thrumming with a mix of excitement and desire as your eyes trail down his toned body to land on his fully erect cock. He’s on you in an instant, grabbing your wrist and tossing you to the ground.

You fall hard on your hands and knees onto the plush bath mat, barely able to steady yourself on all fours before he’s on your back, arm hooked around your waist and sinking his cock into your wet, throbbing cunt. You arch back into him, fingers digging into the bath mat and a choked gasp catches in your throat as he pulls you flush to his pelvis, burying himself to the hilt. He snakes his free hand up your abdomen towards your chest, a trail of goosebumps following in his wake, dipping his forehead down to rest against the back of your shoulder. He palms your breast roughly, rolling your peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Bucky..” You whisper, your head falling back.

His forearm tightens around your waist and he releases your nipple with a gentle tug, sliding his hand up to curl around your throat. You moan and wiggle your hips, desperate for him to move, but he holds you still, lifting you up with him as he leans back on his heels.

“I’ll never get tired of this.” He whispers, unhooking his arm from your waist and resting his large hand over the slight bulge in your abdomen. “That’s my cock.” He murmurs, squeezing your throat gently before grasping your jaw and tilting your chin down to look at how he’s stretching you. You whimper and he moves your hand to press down on the bulge of his cock in your belly. “And this is my pussy.” He growls, delivering a slap to your aching clit before he draws his hips back and begins to thrust himself up into you at a steady pace.

A string of soft curses falls from your lips and your head drops back against the crook of his neck, your hand leaving your abdomen and reaching backwards to fist in his hair. “I didn’t realize you were such a freak, baby.” He whispers, his hand tightening around your throat. “I shoulda thumbed through one of your little books sooner.”

His free hand kneads at the flesh of your thigh and he groans, his balls slapping against your ass as he fucks up into you. “I- I-“ You stutter, unable to think straight as your head grows dizzy with pleasure. “Oh no, am I fuckin’ my baby stupid?” He asks with a grin, bringing two fingers to tease at your bottom lip. You open on instinct and he slips them into your mouth, letting out a shaky breath as you suck and swirl your tongue around the digits.

“Fuck.” He hisses, pressing his slick fingers to your clit. You gasp, your fingers curling around his wrist as he strokes your sensitive bud, pulling you closer towards your impending orgasm.

“You gonna come, little bird?” He whispers, trying to reference your book and quickening his fingers against your clit. “It’s ‘little mouse’.” You correct, your lips quirking up into a smirk at his admirable attempt. “Whatever.” He hisses, pinching your clit between his fingers and sending a jolt of white-hot pleasure through your body. You choke out a strangled cry as you come, your legs trembling and back arching against him as your cunt clenches around his cock.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He grunts, shoving you forward to the floor and falling to his knees. You scramble forward, his cock slipping from your dripping hole as you try to steady yourself in the dizzying wake of your orgasm.

“Oh no, no you don’t.” He growls, grabbing your ankle and dragging you back towards him. You lose your balance and fall flat, your breasts smashed against the cold tile as he presses his weight down on you, running his cock back and forth along your folds before thrusting back into you. “T-too much!” You whine, squirming underneath him.

“Tell me to stop.” He grunts, knowing damn well you never would. He hooks his forearm under your waist again and angles your hips upward, taking you deeper than you even thought possible.

Choked sobs of euphoria escape your throat as your cheek rests against the floor, dragging back and forth across the tile from the force at which he’s fucking into you. Your limp body shakes uncontrollably as your pussy spasms and waves of ecstacy crash over you faster than you can count them. Your orgasms explode through you like a string of firecrackers as you curse and mumble incoherently.

He pulls out abruptly, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your back, moving to straddle your chest while he frantically fucks his fist. He comes with a shout, gasping as he paints your face with ropes of hot, sticky cum. “Fuck.” He pants, looking down at you in admiration as he brushes his thumb along your cheek, gathering up his seed.

He pinches your flushed, sticky cheeks together with his free hand. “Open.” He says softly, slipping his thumb into your mouth when you do. You suckle his thumb, greedily cleaning it with a swirl of your tongue, looking up at him through half lidded eyes. He sighs contentedly before moving off you and rising to stand, reaching into the shower to turn on the water.

“And I had just showered.” You mumble as you take the hand he offers you and pull yourself up on wobbly knees. “Don’t you dare bitch about the water bill when it comes.” You tease.

He chuckles softly and pulls you into him, holding you against his chest with one strong arm while the other reaches out to test the temperature of the water. “I won’t.” He says, stepping in first and gently helping you in after him. He wraps his arms lovingly around you and rests his chin atop your head as the warm water cascades over you both.

“Let’s clean you up, doll. It’s late and we have plans in the morning.” He says quietly, his eyes slipping closed as his hand runs idly up and down your back. You lean back and look up at him with your brows furrowed in confusion. “We don’t have plans tomorrow.”

His eyes flutter open and he grins. “The hell we don’t.” He replies, reaching for the shampoo bottle and squeezing the contents into the palm of his hand. You open your mouth to protest when he doesn’t answer your question but he simply twirls a finger, gesturing for you to turn around.

You sigh, turning your back to him and he begins to lather the shampoo in your hair, gently massaging your scalp with his fingers. “So what’re these plans?” You ask quietly after a long moment of silently enjoying his hands tenderly working through your locks. He leans forward, his broad, wet chest pressing against your back and brings his mouth to hover beside your ear.

His breath sends a shiver down your spine as he lets out a low, breathy laugh and whispers, “I’m taking you to buy more books.”

[anakinstwinklebunny]

PAIRING: nerd!christian!anakin x reader

𝓕𝓛𝓤𝓕𝓕 ❦

Church’s small youth center was eerily quiet, except for the soft sound of Anakin adjusting the plates of brownies on the table. His brows furrowed in concentration, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he double-checked the arrangement. Chips, drinks, napkins—all perfectly placed in neat rows like he’d rehearsed. His Bible sat open nearby, bursting with colorful sticky notes and underlined verses. Today was super special for him. He was the one who would preach this Friday. He had everything ready - earlier he asked too many people, watched too many videos, prayed so much for today's day, just so he wouldn't mess anything. He wanted it to be great, to be reflective of what God put in his heart

He glanced at the clock, fingertips nervously tapping on the table. It was already ten minutes past the start time, and no one had shown up. The brownies he’d baked with his mom the night before—her recipe, with extra chocolate chips—sat untouched. He tried so hard so everything would be acceptable, would be remarkable. His heart sank a little as he fidgeted with the corner of a sticky note, biting his lower lip.

When the door finally creaked open, his head snapped up, hope lighting up his face. But instead of the youth group, it was just you.

“Hey, Ani,” you said, out of breath, clutching your bag. “Sorry I’m late, there was traffic, and—” You stopped mid-apology, taking in the empty room, the neatly laid-out snacks, and Anakin, sitting there awkwardly with a shy smile, like a hurt puppy.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, waving a hand. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll just, um… pack everything up. Guess tonight wasn’t meant to be.” His voice was soft, but there was a flicker of disappointment in his tone. He stood up and started gathering the plates, but you stepped forward, stopping him with a gentle touch to his wrist.

“Wait,” you said, smiling. “Why would I go home when my boyfriend made all this? You worked so hard, Ani. We can still have Bible study—just the two of us.”

His cheeks flushed pink, and he glanced at the floor, adjusting his glasses. “I mean… you don’t have to. I-I know this probably isn’t how you wanted to spend your night—”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek, soft and sweet, lingering just long enough to make him freeze in place. “I want to stay,” you said firmly, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.

The blush on his face deepened, and his lips twitched into the tiniest, most bashful smile. “Really?” voice barely reaching above the whisper

“Really,” you replied, grabbing a brownie and biting into it. You moaned at the sugary treat dissolve in your mouth “And these are amazing, by the way.”

Anakin’s shoulders relaxed, and he let out a small laugh. He took from you your jacket, pulled a chair for you like a gentleman before sitting by your side, your jacket perfectly put over the arms of the chair “Well, I guess I could, um… start with tonight’s passage? I was gonna talk about Proverbs 3:5-6…” He opened his Bible, thumbing through the pages with a little too much eagerness.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17-deactivated2025 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop

[2ndkaiser]

RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS WITH PRE-CRASH CURLY ★

Contains: SFW, fluff, general dating headcanons

Warnings: None (?)

⟡ ݁₊ . Notes: I’m still trying to get used to writing, home this is your cup of tea. Side note, this is assuming both of you are on earth and sharing a house. Not proofread.

What dating Curly would be like..

Human heater. Winters aren’t a problem for you anymore, but this means summers are unbearable for him, you’ll most likely find him standing in front of the AC on hot days.

We all know he’s often away because of his job, so he scatters sticky notes with unfunny dad jokes or just caring messages on them around the house.

Despite how fluorescent the little pages are, you rarely find them from how well he hides them — behind the coffee machine, inside the fridge, bathroom ceiling. . .list goes on

He just wants to remind you that he still thinks about you even from a few planets away.

Really, really beefy. He’s not a complete ball of muscle rolling around though, he’s in between being jacked and having a few pudgy parts like his tummy.

But that just makes him a good cuddler. His body isn’t rock hard and he isn’t going to poke you with his bones, plus, he’s all nice and warm so he often encourages you to lay on his chest or cuddle up to him.

Massive guy. Not an unrealistic type of big, but he’s still big. I headcanon him to stand a little taller than 6’2, so 189cm roughly. He knows he’s tall which is why he would purposely place things he knows you’ll need on the highest shelf, just so you can ask him for help. He’ll effortlessly take it off the shelf for you with a smug grin.

He loves when you rely on him. Acts of service typa guy.

Learnt how to crochet so he could make you gifts. Will definitely grow old to be a sweet grandpa that crochets by the fireplace when his grandchildren visit.

A total family guy. Has a colossal family tree and he still loves every single person. He’s the type of uncle that sneaks his nieces and nephews to get ice cream when they weren’t supposed to have any. Brings you along to Thanksgiving and Christmas with his family every year.

Every January he goes on a family vacation to Japan for some skiing, and with you in the picture, he gets you to tag along as well. During these trips, it’s guaranteed you’ll fall head first and slide down the snowy hill which as your significant other, Curly has to save you every single time. (He ends up crashing down with you too.)

Eat up Curly fry lovers. Tried my best with this one but it kinda lacks creativity. Pity me please…

Requests are opened

[pleasuretrade]

alright i said i wasn't gonna write this and i'm not actually going to but here is almost 3k words of PI Gale and Muscle for Hire Bucky, pretty much entirely ripped from The Nice Guys (2016). this will never be a real fic bc im too lazy to invent a mystery. u dont need to have seen the nice guys

rating: mature (no porn sorry) pairing: gale cleven x john egan but they don't actually get together bc it's not a full fic. just use ur imagination tags: 70s au, private investigator gale, muscle for hire john, violence, guns, john doing violence on gale but they're cool about it, curt is there

“Thanks, Mr. Egan,” she was saying, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, blown out of place in her convertible, obviously a rental, “you’re really giving me peace of mind.”

”Call me Bucky.” He flipped through the money in the envelope. Ten bucks short. Jeez. Was he really gonna mention it? What was ten bucks? He should be above that. He was doing this work to feel like a useful member of society. To feel good about himself for once. But he had to make a living right? If he did everything cheaper than cheap he’d be broke. “You’re short.”

”What?”

”Short. On cash. Ten bucks.”

”Oh,” she said, searching the floorboard with shaking hands. She retrieved her little yellow purse, procured a tenner. “Sorry. Here.”

”Thank you.” John tucked the bill into the envelope, and the envelope into the inside chest pocket of his sheepskin. He pulled out his notepad and pen, flicking his old notes over the little spiral. “Can you describe the guy for me again?”

”Uh, yeah. Six foot maybe? Blond. Thin, but not scrawny. Prettyboy type.”

 John’s pen scribbled across the page. “And you said you got his address?”

 She rummaged through her purse again, snatching out a crumpled sticky note. “Here. Thanks again,” she hesitated, smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “Bucky.”

“My pleasure, Christine.” John beamed at her from behind his aviators.

-

 He’d knocked about ten times. Rang the bell twice. “Gale Cleven?” he called, finally hearing a rustle from behind the door.

”Who is it?” came the muffled reply.

”Messenger service. Looking for a Gale Cleven.”

 The door opened; blond hair, six foot, prettyboy. Bucky swung a right hook into his nose. The guy, Gale, stumbled backward, planting his ass onto a little bench he had in the hallway there.

”What the fuck—“ he spat, angry but dumbfounded. Blood was already pouring from his nose, his hand held up like he didn’t know whether to grab his face or defend himself, and he was looking up with a confusion that looked too handsome on him.

”We’re gonna have a little chat.” John grabbed his arm, and finally the guy started fighting back. He wasn’t small, and he was fit, John would give him that, but John had him outmuscled by profession and outsized by nature. It took just a little leverage to flip him and toss him across the floor, into the living room. The guy rolled and landed on his side, and then recovered gracefully onto his ass. He pressed his back against the wall. John took three long strides, quickstep, and planted his bootheel firmly on his new friend’s balls and the ball of his foot against his dick. Those slacks were too tight, he could tell right where everything was. It was a little obscene.

”Alright,” Gale froze, holding his hands up in surrender. “Calm down. We can chat.”

 John slipped his brass knuckles out of his pocket, fit them across his fist in a little show for Gale. “Stop looking for Christine.”

 Gale raised his eyebrows, but he smiled. John didn’t like that smile. Or, well, he liked it, but it wasn’t really conducive to getting his job done. It was a charming smile, lined with blood that still seeped down his cupid’s bow. Dangerous. Gale Cleven, huh? “Fine.”

”Fine?”

”Fine.”

”What do you mean fine? Just like that? Aren’t you a PI? Aren’t you looking for her? You’re just gonna give up like that, no questions asked?” Something didn’t match up here. Guy with tight slacks, fancy house, and a dangerous smile, and he was just gonna agree to stop looking for his target? John didn’t buy it. He shifted his foot, just to remind Gale where it was.

”I’m not looking for Christine.”

”You’ve been asking the whole city about her.”

“Then maybe I already know where she is.”

 Alright, now John was getting annoyed. “I’m not sure you’re getting my message—“ John presses his foot down and suddenly his ankle twists and he topples to the ground before he knows what’s happening. Little shit’s hands were fast. Maybe John wasn’t the only one here who knew how to fight dirty.

 Gale was up and bolting to a nearby kitchen counter, reaching into a breadbox that John just knew had a gun inside, and now that he was up to speed, now that he knew what he was dealing with, he didn't skip a beat. He was on him in a second, knocking the little revolver out of his hand with a perfectly aimed brass-knuckled punch to the wrist. Gale grunted as the gun went clattering across the floor. He immediately went to dive for it but John didn’t let him, grabbed him by the belt and shirt and tossed him against a cabinet. He went down heavy.

”Wily, ain’tcha?” John said, surprised that he was breathless. He hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. “Now I really don’t think you’re getting my message, Gale.”

 Gale flipped onto his back, staring up at John, and boy if that wasn’t a sight. Too handsome for his own good, sure, yeah, but now that John knew he could almost hold his own? Now that John was intrigued? Oh, he was just his type.

”I got your message,” Gale claimed, hands up again like it would work a second time, “I got it.”

”See I really don’t believe you. You’re obviously not scared of me, even though you should be, and you’re obviously hiding something, otherwise you wouldn’t look so damn smug. And you really think—“

 Gale twisted quick across the floor, kicking off and going for that god damn gun again, and John dove down with a knee to his back. This guy was an absolute menace. “Alright, okay, I give,” Gale said, breathing hard under John’s knee. The blond hair at the base of his neck looked soft. John wanted to bury his hand in it. Instead, he wrenched one of Gale’s arm behind his back.

”I just don’t trust you, Gale. You haven’t given me a lot to work with, y’know?” John pressed his arm at just the right angle to make Gale really tense up. Now he was getting what John was saying.

”No, no, I get it, I’ll drop Christine, alright? She was a lead on a case looking for someone else, and I’ll drop it, I’ll find another way.”

”You know, you remind me of a guy I used to know named Buck. Spitting image. Only he was a lot smarter than you, right? He woulda taken my message the first time.“ Gale was much easier on the eyes than Buck, but no one had to know that. “Now make sure you tell your doctor, you’ve got a spiral fracture of your radius—’

”Nonono,” Gale said, still a little too calm for John’s taste. But that could be fixed.

“Deep breath,” John instructed.

 Gale kicked out beneath him. “No. No!”

 John leaned into his hold, twisting and pushing hard and fast.  Familiar resistance, and then give. Gale screamed, convulsing under John’s knee, lifting his hips in an instinct to crawl away. Much better.

 John stood, marched across the room and grabbed the gun, dropped the bullets out of the cylinder. Gale was panting on the ground, arm still behind him and twisted just a little wrong, back arched in pain. “Fuck,” he grunted.

”Alright, you have a good day, Buck!” John sang, waving a hand behind him as he left in case Gale could see him. What a guy. Fun job. John would have done it for ten bucks off, honestly.

 Outside, crossing the sidewalk to get back in his car, John was waylaid by a shorter man, eyeing him up and down. “You a friend of Gale’s?” the man asked. He must have seen John leave Gale’s house. Wouldn’t do to have him suspicious enough to check John’s license plate as he left.

”Yeah, yeah. Colleagues more than friends, really,” John lied, getting into his car but leaving his door open. He put on his most winning smile. The man smiled back.

”Alright. Name’s Curt, I’m Gale’s roommate.” Curt held out his hand and John took it.

”Nice to meet ya, Curt, real nice.”

”Nice to meet you too, uh…” Curt was waiting for his name. John wasn’t going to give it.

”Have a nice day now, Curt!” John chirped, shutting his door and putting the car in drive.

-

 John eked his way through the door between partygoers waiting in line. “Ay, Bucky!” the bouncer greeted, patting him on the back.

”Hey, Jim, how’s it goin’?” John asked, turning to walk backward a few steps.

”Gonna be a busy night, might wanna have your earplugs ready.”

”Always do!”

 John bounded across the club, through the door in the back and up the stairs. There was a guy up there, looking around like he was lost. Probably already drunk and confused before the show even started. He had on a smart red suit, too nice for this place.

”Club’s downstairs, sir, up here’s a private residence.”

”Oh, man, you got like an apartment or something up here?” red suit asked. Jesus. Take a hint, pal.

 John walked to his door, unlocking it. “Yeah, or something. Really, you’re not supposed to be up h—“

 Red suit guy grabbed the back of John’s head and smashed it into his door. The bolt, unlocked as it was, ripped through the doorframe. The guy tossed John inside and he landed hard on the floor, suddenly and vividly empathizing with Gale. Red Suit wasn’t taller than him, but he was a hell of a lot thicker. He grabbed John by the hair and got right in his face, ”Where is Christine?”

 John tried to shake his head, ended up just wincing. “I don’t know a Christine, sorry.”

”Come on, you cocksucker, don’t play dumb with me.” Red Suit bounced his head off the ground and sent the world tilting and whooshing around John for a minute there.

”If you don’t want me dumb, concussing me ain’t gonna help.”

 Red Suit shook him by the hair and John finally grabbed his arm, considering his options. “Tell me where the fuck Christine is.”

”Look, I’d love to help, but you’ll have to tell me who Christine is.”

”Fuck you.” Red Suit pulled up and John followed only to keep his scalp intact. He threw John against the arm of the couch. It winded him, knocked his breath right out of him, but it was a tactically bad choice for Red Suit. John had a double barrel shotgun under that couch.

”Okay, alright,” he gasped, “let’s just reason with each other here.” John slipped onto the ground, crouching and putting on a show of catching his breath. He coughed for good measure, too. “You’re looking for Christine, and I,” John curled in on himself, looking discretely under the couch to make sure the gun was still there, “I don’t know who you’re fucking talking about.” John reached under the couch and in one smooth motion had pulled the gun out and rolled onto his back. He trained the shotgun up at the guy, who produced a tiny handgun from his pocket. John laughed. “Ohh, buddy, it’s not even a contest.”

 John fired the first shell as a warning shot several feet to the left, lightning quick, no time to think to aim and taking out his TV and the radio on top of it. Well. Fuck. Sacrifices had to be made sometimes. Red Suit grimaced, but started backing up to the door, gun still trained on John. John let him. He knew he’d see him again, but that was a problem for another day. He waited until he heard steps going back down the stairs.

“Fuckin’ jagoff!” John yelled after him.

 Now who the fuck was that and who was he working for? And who the hell was this Christine girl, really? And why did one deal with her sic some goon on him? And how the hell did John keep that goon from coming back with his friends? He slid the shotgun back under his couch. Looked at his poor TV and radio. “Fuckin’ jagoff,” he repeated under his breath.

-

 The gym was busy on a Friday night. John made his way through the hallway, past the vending machines and lockerroom doors and into the boxing gym. The place was crawling with people, mostly men jacked to the tits and sweating like pigs. John smiled to himself. This was probably what his heaven would look like. Including the blond currently watching his friend Curt in the ring.

 Curt shuffled back and forth, sparring some guy without really trying. Warming up, probably. Gale sat in a metal folding chair outside the ring, looking up. Tight slacks, tight t-shirt, arm in a cast and held against his chest. He watched Curt, sometimes giving him a note, but mostly just watching.

 John walked up and stood beside his chair, watching too for a few seconds. Curt’s nose looked like it had probably been broken before. John wondered how Gale’s was faring after the other day. A sweet little vivid memory of wide eyes and a bloody nose looking up at him prompted John to finally look down at the top of Gale’s head. Gale looked up, and at the same moment Curt noticed.

”Ay! You’re that fuck that beat up Gale!” Curt yelled, pointing at him with an entire boxing glove.

”Sucker punched,” Gale corrected, shooting him a glance. He looked back up at John. He had a sweet little black eye, courtesy of John himself. “You got a lot of guts coming here,” he said. Quiet. Calm. Deep. Almost vacant. A different person than John had met just three days earlier. He looked back at Curt. “‘S alright, Curt, keep goin’.”

 Curt obviously didn’t want to, but reluctantly listened, turning back to his opponent but glancing over constantly.

”So what, you come to break my other arm?” Gale asked, watching Curt and his partner slide across the ring.

”Nah, maybe I just like ya, Buck,” John said, watching Curt too.

 Gale tsked.

-

 They sat in a plush booth seat at the diner, Curt and Gale on one side and John on the other.

“So you really beat people up for money?” Curt asked, leaning forward with much interest.

”Yup.”

”Could you beat up this guy I know? Name’s Lawrence, he’s a real—“

”Curt,” Gale cut him off.

 John smiled, holding his hands out in placating innocence. Gale glanced at his hands. Raised his doctored arm onto the table to rest it there. John almost felt bad about it by now. “Got a favor to ask, Buck.”

“My names Gale,” Gale said.

“I know what your name is. My name’s Bucky, by the way.”

 Curt made a squawk of confusion. Gale squinted at him. Raised his good arm to cradle his face momentarily. “You call me Buck, and your name is Bucky.”

”Alright, well, not legally, but that’s what I’m called. If you don’t like Bucky, you’re free to call me ‘sir.’” John grinned at him, and the corners of Gale’s mouth honest to god twitched.

”Okay, Bucky. What do you want?” Gale drawled, sipping from a glass of coke.

“I want you to help me find Christine.”

“You want me to help you find the girl you made me stop looking for?”

“Sure. Is that a problem?”

“You broke my goddamn arm.”

“Yeah, and I’m real sorry about that, alright? But look, Buck, I got some money, I can pay. I’ll hire you like an honest to god client.”

“It’s gonna cost you a pretty penny, Bucky.”

 Curt looked back and forth between them like watching a tennis match.

 John had anticipated as much, and he pulled out an envelope with five hundred big ones in it, handed it over. “That enough?”

 Gale eyed him. Took the envelope. Counted it. Eyed him again. Nearly smiled. “So why’re you suddenly interested in finding her again? She owe you money for jumping me or something?”

 John laughed. “Nah. See, someone else is after her, and now they’re after me because they think I’ve got some kind of connection with her, when I don’t. All I know about her is her name, what she looks like, and that a few days ago she was riding around in a rented convertible. Now, I know it’s not you lookin’ for her, ‘cause I made sure of that, but I think whoever it is is gonna be a big thorn in my side until I get it sorted out.”

 Despite the prickle John had drawn out of him, mentioning that he’d made sure and all, Gale looked interested. Amused, really. “Hired muscle, asking me for help finding his own client.”

“Well, she’s just the beginning, now isn’t she? I got a feeling this goes deep, Gale,” John winked, “real deep.” So he was flirting. Sue him.

 Gale’s face cracked into a smile. It reminded him of the one he’d seen when they’d met, all bloody nosed and charming. Gale was excited. That made John excited, too. Gale hid it by looking down at his coke though, like he was bashful all of the sudden. Cute. “Alright, Bucky. It’s a deal.” He tucked the envelope into his pocket, took a drink of his coke, held out his hand. Bucky took it. Gale shook.“‘Cause I already know where she is.”

 Son of a gun.

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

sorry this will never turn into a whole fic but please feel free to whisk it away and make it your very own fic if u want. i honestly just wanted to write john breaking gale's arm like in the nice guys bc i have nice guys brainrot forever and am mentally <3 disturbed

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

“If You Don’t Look Good, We Don’t Look Good” - Dean x Reader

Rating Explicit

Dean x Reader

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Humor, Shameless Smut (I got carried away), Cameo Appearance by Soft!Dom Dean, Unprotected Sex

Word Count: 4200

You and Sam had decided on a code to use in the most grievous, world-shattering of situations.

Full Dean Meltdown

Neither one of you have had to use it – until you get a text from Sam. A case has gone all kinds of awful for Dean. You are not ready for the version of Dean you have to face in the aftermath.

Notes: This is total self-indulgence because I miss This Dean.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Hair Pulling" square.

Image created in Canva (links for photos used - found on Google: Jensen Ackles, Liverpool Comic Con, 2023; Jensen Ackles Photo Shoot

66

You stare, mid-muffin chew, at Sam’s text.

“Fuck me.” A few stray crumbs and a rogue blueberry land on a page of lore you should probably be more careful with. But you can’t be bothered with MOL reference handling procedures at the moment.

This is Red Alert. Defcon 5. Designated Survivor Mode Activated.

You and Sam had decided on a code to use in the most grievous, world-shattering of situations.

Full Dean Meltdown

“Fuck.” There’s no point in continuing to curse to yourself. “Fuck.” But you can’t help it. Neither one of you has ever had to use it before. You’d come close a few times.

The book is forgotten, pushed to the side on the table surface. Your fingers glide over the phone’s keyboard.

Is he alright?!? What happened? Please, tell me this is a joke?

I wouldn’t joke about this. Sam’s words bubble up, line by line. Well, I made the mistake of joking right after it happened. It’s gotten progressively worse the entire drive back. He hasn’t said a single word since we got in the car. IDK what’s gonna happen.

“Fuck.”

Should I evacuate? How much time do I have?

Just pulled into the garage.

Shit, Sam! Do you not understand how a code word for disaster preparedness works? One needs enough time to actually prepare for the disaster!

You wait. More bubbles. Then nothing. Maybe Sam didn’t make it out alive. Maybe you should make a run for it through the war room and up the stairs. Save yourself.

I received some communication. He’s headed straight for the showers. Meet you in the lab.

“A what?”

“Musca.” Sam sighs. “Ever seen ‘The Fly’?”

“On cable years ago, filtered through my fingers.”

Sam continues. “They secrete this sticky goo to build a nest.” His mouth crinkles. “Dean landed in it.”

“The nest?” you ask.

“The goo. A puddle of the stuff. Monster fluids freak him out.”

You shiver in disgust at the thought. “Fuck creature feature fluids. 100% in agreement.”

“So, we tracked the musca to its hideout in an abandoned factory. We split up when we got inside…”

“Why do you always split up?” you ask, following it with a frustrated groan.

Sam purses his lips and then proceeds. “When I found him, he was basically glued to this massive conveyor belt holding the goo like it was a kiddie pool. I had to cut him out of most of his clothes to free him.”

The thought of a half-naked Dean has you shiver for other reasons. “Poor guy,” you add in an effort to express sympathy over your dirty thoughts.

Sam chuckles.

You straighten with worry Sam has figured out your crush on his brother. Ready to dispute any yearnings, you add a grumbly edge to your voice and the question. “What was funny about any of that?”

Sam fists long strands on the right side of his scalp high in the air. “Even his hair got stuck to the belt. I had to hack half of it off.” He fingers his bangs back into effortless waves. “Once we killed it, Dean mumbled, ‘Vidal Sassoon you ain’t, fucker.’”

You shrug, confused. “Well, I mean, I get the trauma from the nasty gnat excretions. But that doesn’t explain why you had to warn of a possible Dean disaster.”  

Sam’s gaze tears from yours to stare at the floor by his boots.

“Sam?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I might have said something like, ‘We can’t all be masterful hunters with glorious locks.’”

You frown. “Sam…”

Sam raises a hand in defense. “Hey, maybe now he’ll finally shut up about my hair being a liability. I mean, hello, I’ve still got mine.”

The temptation to knock on Dean’s bedroom door is great. But you refrain, hiding away in yours instead. He’ll be better in the morning, you decide. Especially if you fry up some bacon.

A light rap of knuckles against mahogany distracts you from the latest show binge on your laptop. You pause the action. “Yeah?”

“Got a minute?” Even with the question, Dean’s tone sounds like a command.

You gulp. “Sure.” Rotating in the seat, your hand grips the top of the backrest. You’ll try to hold the line against the Dean Winchester Offensive.

The door swings slowly on its hinges. Dean slinks into your space. It’s the opposite of his usual bluster and humorous bellows that lead to inevitable laughter on your end. His slippers shuffle along the tile. He’s wearing roomy sweats and a dark t-shirt that hugs his torso. A folded towel is wedged into the crook of his arm. 

Your brain locks onto two things that appear off about Dean. The first thing totally out of place on the masterpiece before you is the baseball cap.

In the next second, you remember why he’s wearing it. It’s not because he’s undercover as a delivery driver or Fish and Wildlife Game Warden.

Dean does not want you to see his hair in its current state.

The second thing makes your pulse quicken. His beard is… gone. You can’t remember the last time you saw him even close to clean-shaven. You forgot what that sharp jawline used to do to your insides.

“Hey.” You don your best don’t-let-on-to-anything smile.

Dean scrutinizes you as if you are a witness in his rapid-fire way and then huffs. “Son of a bitch told you, didn’t he?”

You decide not to remind Dean he and Sam share the same mother. “He did. I’m sorry. You okay?”

The door clicks shut. “I’ll live. Sam might not see the light of day, though.”

You ignore the murder threat, instead focusing on a new scent in the air. You sniff, nostrils flaring with the deep inhale. Dean smells like he’s working on an amazing beach tan.

He nods at your reaction. “Coconut Oil. I had to use all that was in the kitchen for…” He circles his lower body with a finger and eventually points to the baseball cap.

“Did it do the trick?”

“Better than I hoped. I even got all that nasty shit out of my hair.” His weight shifts from one foot to the other. “But I need a favor.”

“At your disposal.” Still seated, you somersault your hand as if addressing royalty.

That at least cracks a tiny smile into his serious veneer. “I had to take a razor to my hair and cut it pretty short. Can you clean me up in the back?”

You clutch your chest and gasp in the most dramatic fashion you can muster. “You trust me to touch your hair?” 

“I trust you with my life, wiseass.” Dean smirks. “Can the sass and help a guy out, would ya?”

A warmth blossoms in your heart at Dean’s words. The heat spreads to your skin. You wave a hand at the towel and clear your throat. “Those the accouterments?”

Dean quirks a brow and grins. “Croutons?”

“And you call me the wiseass.” You sigh.

He shrugs with a nod in agreement. He drops the towel on the desk and lifts one of the corners to reveal the electric razor inside.

“Okay. Here’s as good a place as any, I suppose.” You rise from your seat, close the laptop, and move it to your dresser.

“You sure? We can go to the bathroom.” He thumbs at the door.

You wave a hand at the chair you vacated, now standing behind it. “Here’s good.”

Dean sits. The wooden chair creaks.

“Towel.”

Dean grabs the razor before passing the towel. You flap the fabric, channel your inner toreador, and let it billow over Dean’s frame like a sail. When it settles, you wrap and tuck it into the back of the collar.

Moments like this are pure indulgence. Getting within close proximity of Dean years ago left your brain unable to process the simplest tasks. Breathing. Blinking. Talking. Eventually, you got a handle on your senses. Now, you could treat yourself to the experience of him on occasion in a myriad of ways. No one had to be the wiser that the mundane helped create many fantasies.

“Razor.”

Dean chuckles, presenting you with the razor over his shoulder. “It’s not surgery.”

“Hey, appreciate the seriousness with which I’m embracing this endeavor.” You step to his left. “Dean?”

He lifts his head to peer up from under the brim of his cap. “Yeah?” His blinks emphasize the question.

All that does is force you to focus on his pretty lashes and the eye color he’s daring you to try and describe in your head. The cheekbones and the manicured five o’clock shadow aren’t helping matters either. You swallow and remember what’s supposed to happen next. “Can’t do much with that hat on your head.”

“Oh. Right.” He sighs. “Just, no laughing, alright?”

You place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze softly in confirmation. “No laughing. Promise.”

Dean exhales. You suck in your lips and hold your breath. He closes his eyes and peels the cap off.

You stare dumbfounded.

“Say whatever you gotta say,” Dean mumbles with scrunched features and shut lids.

Your vision clouds. Heart races. “It’s…”

“Awful,” he interrupts.

“Perfect,” you whisper.

Eyes open at the word. His gaze shoots up to meet yours. “Huh?”

Gone are the 90s dreamboat bangs he’s been growing out and tending to since 2020. In their place are a couple of directionless inches that need gel after the scrubbing, clipping, and hat matting. The Musca goo must have done most of its damage around the sides and back. In those areas, he’s shaved it short and close, done his best to fashion a fade that you imagine was muscle memory for him even after all these years. You eye the spot at the base of his skull that needs to be cleaned and tapered.  

You’re blinking, fighting back tears, utterly speechless.

Dean stares, total confusion lining his face. “Are you crying? Why the hell are you crying?” He taps the top of his head. “Shit… is it that fucking of a fiasco?”

“No.” You cover your mouth at the possibility a nervous laugh might spill out, which will only irritate him further. Moments pass as you struggle to steady your breath.

“Well, what the hell is it then?”

Dropping the hand covering your mouth, you beam down at him. “It’s you.” You could care less about what you were supposed to do with the razor in your hand. Instead, you perch your ass against the desk so you can lean back and take him in.

Dean’s eyes widen. You’ve seen that look of concern many times. “Yeeaaah. It’s me. Who else would it be? Do I need to get Sam?”

Your head shakes in amazement at the vision. “I haven’t seen this Dean since… damn, since before the pandemic. Since you and Sam made that bet, remember?”

“Gonna have to be a little more specific. Sam and I make lots of bets.”

“The one about you being unable to resist the temptation to take a razor to your hair during lockdown. I don’t even remember what the stakes were.”

Dean contemplates. “Hm. I haven’t got a clue. That was like, what, four years ago.” His lids shade the dark green of his irises. “This Dean?”

You nod. Your breath hitches at the swell of emotions rising. “The guy I first met.”

Dean shifts in the chair and leans forward. Every furrow and crinkle on his face melts away. His eyes appear to double in size as he waits for you to continue.

“My hero.” The whisper is a physical manifestation of how vulnerable and exposed you feel at Dean’s silent interrogation method. You press on. “The one that risked his life to save me… forever ago.”

He lifts one side of his mouth in a lopsided grin. “Sam was there, too, you know.”

You laugh. Cheeks warm at the adorably smug reaction. “Yes, you’re right. He was.”

Dean shakes his head. “Sam’s had the exact same haircut for years. I don’t see you crying every time you lay eyes on him. He’s a walking reminder of the guy you first met.”

“But he’s not you.” In your haste to provide an explanation, you realize you’ve said too much.

Dean’s mouth opens a fraction. His brows downturn. He’s working it out in his head in real-time.

You’re terrified.

A new smile forms. You think you spot a blush on his cheeks. “What else do you remember about this Dean?”

You shrug and tear your gaze from his. You don’t want your words to betray you again.

“Hm.” Dean rambles off a laundry list. “A lot of brooding back then, wasn’t there? I was a really good brooder. Hard to figure out? Distant, too, right? Definitely knew what was best for everybody. Stubborn jackass.”

You remain silent.

“Okay, still a stubborn jackass.”

You giggle. He joins in with a chuckle. Your anxiety eases and you find courage to look at him again.

“We’ve all changed in different ways, I guess. You, for example.” Dean gestures in your direction.

You stiffen. This could go many ways. You aren’t ready for any of them.

“You don’t take any of my shit, for one.” He raises a finger. “You're confident. You speak your mind. You have a life outside of these bunker walls.” Four fingers are on display for a while. He smiles and elongates his thumb. “But you still make this your home.”

“Every second of the life I’m able to live is because of you guys. I owe you everything. I’m lucky you let me make this my home.” You reason.

Dean’s smile drops. The open palm clenches into a fist and rests on his thigh. “You don’t owe us anything.”

“You and Sam did all that for me without batting an eye. You didn’t expect anything in return. You and Sam gave me so much more than I could ever repay. You gave me a second chance. You gave me a home.” You shrug and smile. “You became my home.”

He studies the floor and smirks, stating more to himself, “Not the only long-standing bet I’ve lost to Sam today.” Dean inhales and sits tall, focusing back on you. He nods, slow and calculated. “So, perfect, huh?” 

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get a big head.”

“A little late for that.” He grins and reclines back. “Would you go so far as to say this Dean” – he sweeps his hands in front of his figure in a dramatic gesture – “is irresistible?”

You exhale. “I don’t know if I’d say irresistible.”

He licks his lips. “Whew. Well, that’s good. I mean, otherwise, you’d have the same problem I have.”

You drop the razor on the desk and cross your hands over your chest. “What problem would that be?”

A heated gaze, beginning at your socked feet, rakes over you with his answer. “How much I find every fucking thing about you irresistible. You could shave your head and wear a potato sack, and I’d still have to keep my feelings in check.” You're practically on fire by the time his eyes lock with yours. “Every goddamn second of every day I’m around you.”

“This would be one of those times I don’t take any of your shit,” you scoff and squint back.

It’s his turn to clutch his hand to his chest. “You think I’m lying?”

“I think you’re having a little too much fun at the expense of my soul-baring.”

“Wanna bet?” 

Dean’s voiced that question countless times. Tonight, though, certainty laces his words.

He seems to take your silence as the only needed response. “Kiss me.”

“Wh-hat?”

“If you think you can resist, kiss me, and it’s a one-and-done.” His brows lift. “But if you can’t… Well, I might not leave this room anytime soon.”

“That doesn’t sound like a wager. More like a dare.” You straighten your stance. “Besides, you’re assuming…”

He grumbles out an interruption, “Sounds like somebody’s stalling.”

Your mouth snaps shut.

“Maybe we both take the armor off for a night. Take a chance on something that could be awesome.” Dean posits. His hands rub the cloth atop his thighs. “I can make it awesome.” The tone is low and promising. “If it helps, I’m this Dean tonight. We can worry about that Dean tomorrow.” He smiles, reaches a hand out to you, and nods in encouragement.

He’s struggling to play it cool, keep his emotions in check. You’ve seen this Dean before. He’s inhaling and exhaling fast through his nose. His jaw clenches and it cracks your resolve even further.

You drop your shield and let this Dean win you over. 

You melt, wrapping your fingers over his. This Dean’s touch electrifies every cell and awakens every dormant hope you had put to rest. He tugs you into his space. His lead forces the parting of your legs in order for his thigh to slot between. You hover. Your chin drops to your chest while his chin tips up high to hold your gaze. His body heat pulses off him like a vibrational energy. “Kiss me.” It’s the sweetest and softest request you’ve ever heard this Dean utter.

Your fingers trace along the freshly shaved hair over his right ear. It’s slippery and smooth in one direction, scritch-scratchy in the other. You can study every battle scar on this handsome canvas. No bangs of curtains or overgrown beard can hide them from you now. 

His lips part and release a deep sigh. Your fingers slip down his neck. Warm hands rest on the curve of your hips.

“I won’t be able to resist you,” you whisper.

“Good,” he hums. He’s guiding you with a firm grip to straddle his thigh. Then, there’s an encouraging push with a large palm and splayed fingers against the middle of your back. The sweet smell of coconut hits. Your gaze zones onto that bowed top lip. The way the plump bottom one parts from it to grant entrance.

Dean huffs an impatient groan you are all too familiar with. “You don’t kiss me in the next five seconds, I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?” you tease.

“More like a warning.” His voice is gruff and deep.

You hold back a moan at the sound, then dip down and do as you’re told.

Everything about the kiss is eager and rushed. Together you’re a tangle of limbs and fever pitch need. You’re pressed tight and right to his body - all muscle-tense and trigger-ready. His lips respond in kind to your every brush, swipe, and nudge for more and more.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” he murmurs through the kiss.

You gasp in satisfaction at the intention. 

His lips skim to your jaw, under your ear, then down your neck. “I gotta know that’s what you want.”

“Yes, Dean.”

Another hum thrums against your skin. You shiver as fingers creep under the hem of your t-shirt. His nose nuzzles along the frayed v-neck collar. He cups your breasts under the fabric. A thumb and finger twists one of your nipples even more erect. Teeth scraping and tongue lapping over the other fabric-covered nipple draw a strained moan out of your throat.

Soon the shirt is tugged hastily over your head for removal. Then you feel his mouth and hands all over your breasts again, unencumbered.

You’re a panting, heaving mess riding his thigh like you’re on an X-rated carousel. You arch your chest into his face. He’s slurping and sucking your nerve endings into the stratosphere. He pops a tit out of his mouth long enough to order, “Yeah, come for me so I can fuck that nice wet pussy.”

Dean staring at you, commanding you to come for him, is the tipping point you need to orgasm hard and fast.

“Yeah.” He grabs a fistful of your hair and clamps his mouth to yours. “Gonna feel so good around my cock.” He steals every gasp of air you expel with his inhales.

You’re tingling all over. He peels you off his thigh to sandwich his standing body to yours. He towers over you. He’s stiff and erect in his sweats, pressed into your lower tummy. His hands sweep up and down the channel of your spine.

“This Dean’s got a lot to make up for.” His tongue licks at your lips. “But I gotta be inside you right now.”

You nod. “You got five seconds to get me naked and on that bed.”

Never let it be said that Dean Winchester is not up for a challenge.

The chair behind him is now careening towards the bedroom door on all four legs. You scream-giggle as he lifts you into the air while he twirls, then tosses you onto the mattress, bouncing at the impact.

The sound of the chair crashing and toppling into a corner does nothing to distract you from watching Dean tunnel out of his t-shirt, kick off his slippers, and hopscotch out of his pants and boxers. His hard, thick cock springs to attention.

Fuck. You want every inch of that deep inside you.

He hooks his fingers onto the hem of your pants and manages to pull your socks off along with them. Kneeing onto the bed, he croons, “Been wanting you for so long, baby.”

Your head falls back into the cushion of the mattress, woozy from Dean’s actions and confession. “Probably been wanting you longer.”

Your panties are off and tossed over his shoulder next. “You don’t gotta wait anymore.” He grips under your knees and drags you to him. He slides over the wet heat of your folds and hisses, “Wanna fuck you without a condom.”

You whimper, “Just fuck me already.”

He smiles, grabs his cock – that must be fitted with a pussy homing device – and pistons into your entrance without any further mother fucking ado.

You gasp at the searing heat and sharp pain of him stretching you open. But he doesn’t stop fucking you. He’s minding how your facial features accept the brunt of each thrust and the agonizing slow release of his cock. Over and over. His descent is just as slow as he fucks. But eventually, your legs clamp around his waist and he wraps you in an embrace. Chests plastered together, moaning into each other’s mouths.

Your fingers inch into what remains of his bangs. You pull at the hair and Dean groans out, “Yeah.”

It’s lovely and languid for however long you both have the patience. The feel of him everywhere and inside is something you don’t ever want to end. But there’s a second orgasm building. The thought of Dean spilling into you has your walls clench in impatience around his cock.

“Fuck,” he grunts, face tucked along your neck. You lift your head up to enjoy the view of his undulating back and curvy ass clenching and raising as his fucking gains momentum. You pull at his hair again. “Fuuuck.”

He stills, turns to stone, and you feel his cock pulse and warmth spill inside. Moments later, a hand wedges between your bodies to thumb your clit and trigger your second orgasm.

You cry out his name.

“I got you, baby,” Dean whispers into your ear. And he does. Not letting go and practically swaddling you with his body. The sexiest weighted blanket on the planet.

You smile and stroke – instead of pulling – at his hair. “Who’s got me exactly? This Dean or That Dean?”

He sighs, sounding winded. “You get all the versions. Whether you like it or not.”

“I’d like that very much.”

He leans back to stare at you. “Yeah?” He’s red and flushed and the happiest you’ve ever seen him. “Even if I grow my hair out again?”

You nod. “Yeah. More for me to pull.”

Dean groans and flops to his back beside you, chuckling.

You listen to the rhythm of your collective breathing slow down and regulate. His fingers brush along the flesh of your thigh. “Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Earlier, you said something about losing two bets to Sam today. What was the other one?”

“Asshole told me you had a thing for me years ago. Let’s hold off on telling him he was right, or I’m doing his laundry for an entire year.”

“I don’t think we have to tell him anything, Dean. I’m pretty sure he heard everything.”

“Hm. You’re right.” He’s up on an elbow, staring down at you. “Maybe text him that code thing? That might get him out of the bunker for a while.”

You blink. “Code?”

“Don’t play coy now.” Dean shakes his head. “But what’s the ‘66’ mean?”

You bite your lip.

He waits.

“It was Sam’s idea.”

He waits.

“The 66 Seals.” 

Dean cringes.

You shrug. “Too soon?”

“And he says I have a twisted sense of humor.” Dean yawns. He finds the edge of the comforter you both are lying atop and tosses it over your naked bodies. “So, will you still clean me up in the back? Maybe wait until morning, though?”

“Absolutely.” You snuggle into his chest, secure that Dean will wake up next to you in the morning. “If you don’t look good, we don’t look good.”

It takes a beat before Dean responds with a teasing smack to the back of your head, followed by a kiss on your forehead. “Wiseass.”

[riddles-n-games]

Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart

Pairing: Avery and Jameson Summary: Avery has finally gotten downtime to actually settle for the holidays. It's her first Christmas at Hawthorne House and with a new boyfriend. Jameson and her are still figuring things out; can they help each other through the muddle of the last few weeks? Length: Moderate Story Type: One Shot

Tag List: @hathorneheiress, @whatsamongus, @xoxo-lenah, @charsoamerican, @thecircularlibrary, @elif-in-wonderland, @jamcarven, @silly-little-gooses, @mafiasliege, @lyrakanefanatic, @nothankyou3333, @inmyheaddd, @downrightbooks, @no1bookgirl, @elysianwayy77, @ariscats, @never-enough-novels, @goldi-1-graysons-version, @apollospoems, @x-liv25-jamieswife, @anintellectualintellectual, @aaal-iz-well

A/N: Hey guys, Merry Christmas! It was about time we actually had some holiday set fics and what better way than to dedicate it to the couple that started it all? I was inspired by one passage in Secret Santa from Games Untold and so we go back in time to where it all started for Averyjameson, at the most wonderful time of the year. Enjoy! Warning, it's looooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnng.

  “I keep thinking about last Christmas. You were still recovering from the coma.”

    Last Christmas, we hadn’t played Secret Santa.

    Last Christmas, we’d been together, but I hadn’t been his and he hadn’t been mine the way we were now.

ONE YEAR AGO

    It seemed to be his wish and purpose to mask this expression with a smile; but the latter played him false, and flickered over his visage so derisively, that the spectator could see his blackness all the better for it. Ever and anon, too, there came a glare of red light out of his eyes; as if the old man’s soul were on fire, and kept on smouldering duskily within his breast, until, by some casual puff of…

    My throat was starting to feel dry so I carefully reached over for the water bottle. Xander’s Holly Jolly Hot Chocolate Marshmallow Surprise was already halfway gone and I wanted to savor it for as long as I could. There were also only four marshmallows left, to my dismay. In addition, while my plate of sweets was still relatively full, it was already devoid of my favorites, chocolate cupcakes, even though Libby had added extras for that very reason. They never stood a chance and now without them, the plate looked agonizingly empty.

    I unscrewed the cap and brought the bottle to my lips, never taking my eyes off the page.

    … passion, it was blown into a momentary flame. This he repressed as speedily as possible, and strove to look as if nothing of the kind had happened.

    Once hydrated, I put it back down and grabbed a cookie, stuffing it in my mouth before I grabbed another sticky note, taping it on the little desktop attached to the recliner. It was convenient compared to my usual tactic which was using a textbook as a hard surface to write on when I didn’t want to sit hunched at my desk. Grayson would have argued there was no difference where I sat as both resulted in bad posture. 

    I finished off the page and kept the book splayed open as I jotted down my newest annotations for the chapter. When done, I put the sticky note in the free margin and slid the book toward me, flipping to the next page.

    For some time, I continued on with no annotations since there wasn’t anything of note. 

    Or was there, as it rather seemed, a circle of ominous shadow moving along with his deformity, whichever way he turned himself? And whither was he now going? Would he not suddenly sink into the earth, leaving a barren and blasted spot, where, in due course of time, would be seen deadly nightshade, dogwood, hen-bane, and whatever else of vegetable wicke-

    A gasp escaped me as the book toppled off the desktop from my lax grip but luckily my arm reflex was fast enough to grab it before it fell to the floor. But, of course, that still came with a price.

    “Damn it.” I lost my spot on the page. I quickly leafed through familiar territory until I got to the newer stuff I just covered. Thankfully, I realized that I had stopped just a page or two after the start of a new chapter. When I found it, I searched for keywords from what I remembered reading then leaned back in the chair to get comfortable. Before I continued reading, my eyes drifted to the fire in the hearth to the garland decorating the mantle and the antique clock sitting atop it. 9:15, the clock read. It was getting late. 

    I sighed. The day had been long; Alisa occupied me with more papers relating to my emancipation alongside briefings for the Hawthorne Foundation and upcoming events. However, even with all the paperwork, I somehow managed to help Libby bake cupcakes and other holiday desserts, got roped into Xander’s Christmas experiments, and also had some shooting practice with Nash. After it all, I escaped into the circular library to one of the adjoining rooms for some relaxing and to get on with my English reading. 

    In part, I knew that all of this was to keep me distracted from my traumatic ordeals from the past few weeks. While I was pushing for it because I didn’t want to be wallowing in those memories and all the questions that came with them, I was still tired. I needed this. 

    My gaze drifted to the rest of the room, to really take it in for the first time in hours. There was a Christmas tree in the corner, bookshelves lining the walls, a large desk in the back, and another sitting area. It was cozy and with all the Christmas decor, it felt like a Christmas card came to life. Mom would have love- No. Don’t think about it. It’s just gonna hurt you. I blinked back the sudden onset of tears and took steady breaths to keep from crying. But it was too late; my imagination was conjuring up projections of my mom sitting in the opposite chair, making her move on a chessboard, teasing me about doing homework when I could have been taking an epic nap. 

    I shook my head and swiped at my eyes as I leaned over to grab another cookie. I munched on it slowly and turned back to the book. 

    … wickedness the climate could produce, all flourishing with hideous luxuriance? Or would he spread bat’s wings and flee away, looking so much the uglier, the higher he rose towards heaven? “Be it sin or no,” said Hester Prynne bitterly, as she still gazed after him, “I hate the man!” She upbraided herself for the sentiment, but could not overcome or lessen it. Attempting to do so, she thought of those long-past days, in a distant land, when he used to emerge at eventide from the seclusion of his study, and sit down in the fire-light of their home, and in the light of her nuptial smile. He needed to bask himself in that smile, he said, in order that the chill of so many lonely hours among his books might be taken off the scholar’s heart. Such scenes had once appeared not otherwise than happy, but now, as viewed through the dismal medium of her subsequent life, they classed themselves among her ugliest rememb-

    “Avery?” I heard my name being called and I jolted. 

    The question was followed up by a tentative knock on the door. “Heiress?” Jameson.

    “Come in,” I called out.

    The door knob turned and a resounding click later, a dark-haired Hawthorne was standing in the doorway smiling softly at me. He stood there for a beat, awkwardly shuffling his feet and scratching his side as if waiting for a signal or something. Odd. I beckoned with my head for him to come in. It took him another second before he actually made a move. 

    I closed my book and turned to properly face him, flashing him a bright smile in greeting. “Hey, barely saw you today. What have you been up to?” 

    Jameson didn’t reply but clearly what I said put a little more spring in his step. As he got closer, a familiar glint appeared, the kind he got when he was thinking up something clever and his usual smirk came back. When he was finally close enough, he spoke, taking on a poetic tone.

    ‘‘Twas a few nights before Christmas, when all through the House, not a creature was stirring, not even the heiress on her couch.”

    “Not a couch but go on.” He grinned, undeterred.

    “But every so often she’d look to the clock and run a hand through her hair, anxious to know if her devastatingly handsome boyfriend would soon be there.” I rolled my eyes but didn’t miss the way he punctuated the word boyfriend. It sent a shiver down my spine. 

    “She was snug as a bug by the hearth with a book that needed to be read, while thoughts of his potential mischief that day dashed through her head. With an exasperated sigh and a hot chocolate sip, she continued to read all the while thinking how she was going to give him lip, when all of a sudden he burst through the door with his usual swagger, looking rather dapper,” he winked when I snorted at the sheer arrogance, “and sat in the chair beside her to ask her what was the matter.”

    With that end of verse, he plopped into the opposite chair all the while looking terribly pleased with himself. Note to self: learn how to curb this man’s ego. While I admired it at times, if we were going to be in a relationship, I was gonna have to bring his smugness down a few notches. I eyed him carefully.

    “Jameson Winchester Hawthorne.”

    “Avery Kylie Grambs.” The bastard dared to give me that shit-eating grin of his.

    “What did you do?” And more importantly, what are you hiding? 

    “Nothing.” I arched an eyebrow. He chuckled and shook his head. “Can’t believe even for a second that for once I might not have been up to trouble?” My eyes narrowed at him suspiciously.

    “Prior instances dictate otherwise.” And Oren was just outside for back up reconnaissance. His expression morphed into a guilty smile that looked anything but remorseful. I pursed my lips and sighed loudly. “What am I going to do with you?”

    “I don’t know. Hopefully run away with me on a grand adventure.” 

    “Mm. Sounds delightful. But unfortunately, as you yourself said, I have a book to read.” 

    “What is it?” I held the book up. “Scarlet Letter? You really can’t resist Hawthornes, eh?”

    “Not my fault the school curriculum is also obsessed with you,” I grumbled.     

    Jameson chuckled again before growing quiet. Just like that, the playfulness died down and we settled into silence. Both of us turned to look at the hearth. The pleasant crackle of the flames coming from the fireplace and steady ticking beat of the clock were the only ambient noise in the room.

    None of us said anything for a little while but it felt like its own eternity, like a tension was building but not an uncomfortable one. I peaked at Jameson from the corner of my eye, noticing that his smile had faded and looked rather solemn. His eyes glowed an inviting emerald in the firelight. He looked deep in thought, about what, I didn’t know. Suddenly, I picked up on movement coming from his end and it was getting closer to me. Looking down, I realized it was his hand reaching out to my right one that was lax on the armrest.

    Though I saw it coming, I still startled a bit when I felt his fingers brushing against mine. “Sorry.” 

    He didn’t say anything, just continued to do what he was doing and gently took my hand in his. I let him. Looking up, I saw that Jameson had scooted over to the edge of his seat, his eyes trained on our hands as he gently rubbed circles into my skin. I watched him and felt like I couldn’t breathe, terrified to break the spell of this moment, whatever this was. 

    “How are you?” His soft voice broke through my mesmerized daze and realizing he was now looking at me, that rare sincerity in his expression made me feel shy under his gaze. My heartbeat seemed to slow, making each cycle feel like the tension would burst any second and the rush of blood flowing was loud in my ears.

    “I’m okay,” I finally said. He didn’t seem satisfied but didn’t push. Jameson then brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles but it made me wonder. What are you doing? Why are you?

    This wasn’t the first time where he dropped the pretense and turned tender. In the last few weeks, there have been many times where, when we were alone, he’d randomly become gentle and considerate, throwing me for a loop. It was certainly unusual.

    And surprisingly, even though it was happening often, it caught me off guard every time, more so than anything going on these days. We’d been together like usual but my brain still hadn’t really given the thought we were in a relationship until he did something like that. I hadn’t really processed our new status in general with all that’s been going on but I clung to our normalcy like a lifeline. 

    “She told him there was nothing to worry about, but he could see hovering over her head was a gray cloud of doubt.” He looked at me with arched brows. “He was there for whatever she had to say, even if it took an entire day.”

    I smiled and squeezed his hand. “Really, I’m okay. I’m just tired and I don’t want to think about the last few weeks at all. Actually, I was planning on asking Alisa if she could find me a good therapist in the New Year.”

    “That’s good,” he said encouragingly.

    I sighed before continuing, “Thank you for being here for me. I know it’s not your usual style but…” 

    “Maybe, but, I told you that if you chose me, this would mean something. You mean something to me, Avery. I just didn’t know this-us-would happen so soon. That was definitely something I wasn’t counting on.”

    A smirk played on my lips. “Oh, but you were expecting us to get together at some point?”

    Jameson smiled sheepishly. “Only if you could resist my charm for so long.” I guffawed as he rolled his eyes.

    “No, but um, you’re right. I didn’t expect this either. If you had asked further down the line, I don’t think I would have said no then either. But what happened, happened; we can’t change that,” I paused and took a breath, “And honestly, I wouldn’t want to. As cliche as it sounds, we do have our future ahead of us and we get to make decisions together now.”

    “Wow, just wow. That was so motivational. Would you mind skipping a grade so you can be valedictorian for my class next June?”

    “I mean, I could but I don’t think Xander would like that very much.”

    “And why does my little brother take precedence over your boyfriend?” There it was again but I didn’t focus on the way the word made my heart skip a beat.

    “Because he’s already gotten attached to my hip and betrayal would break his precious little heart. Oh, and, he’s promised to stash away 10% of Mrs. Laughlin’s blueberry scones if I swore allegiance to his robots.”

    “Fair enough. That’s Xan for ya,” Jameson said fondly.

    “Yeah. And what about you, Clement Moore? How much of that did you have rehearsed?”

    He smiled shyly and looked down. “Just the first bit. I can make up stuff pretty quickly. The old man used to read to me when I was younger and I liked rhyming words so when I couldn’t sleep I would try to make up as many rhymes as I could until I did. I also used to sleepwalk.” My eyebrows shot up. “Yup. I know.”

    “I can imagine that. Sounds like a very Jameson thing. I-”

    “Um, Heiress, sorry to cut you off but I have to ask you something.” I blinked, taken aback. “Be honest with me, does it bother you when I refer to myself as your boyfriend? I saw the way your eyes widened.”

    “I mean, aren’t you?” A nervous laugh came out as I wasn’t sure what to say.

    “Technically, yes. But I’m not forcing you to call me that or anything. To me, what’s important is what you’re comfortable with.” My heart swelled. This boy.

    “I actually hadn’t given it much thought. With all that’s been happening, whenever our, um, this flits through my head, I would freak out and my mind just didn’t know how to address it. Not that I don’t want to think about us but it’s like a visceral reaction which I hate.” Fearing I said too much I shut my mouth and with bated breath, waited for his reaction. I expected disappointment but was relieved to find no judgment. No, I was met with understanding instead. He squeezed my hand this time and I exhaled slowly.

    Moments like these made me forget he was just Jameson and reminded me that he was now… something more. We became “official” with a coin toss and a kiss then continued doing what we always did. Everybody knew we were together, we didn’t make that a secret, done deal. There just wasn’t a label. And yet, I still felt it in every way that mattered. 

    Except, I wasn’t sure how to express that to him as he was wary about his brother despite Grayson backing off. However, we had to figure other things out between us first. I may be ready to be bold but being bold and wanting to be bold were two different things.

    Part of that was becoming his type of reliable with loyalty being highest priority. I couldn’t change what Emily did, that I knew, but I could help him move past that. Jameson had been doing that for me so much recently and I couldn’t be more grateful. It was hard to believe but the boy who’d played at indifference was also the one who came with his heart on his sleeve, offering to dive headfirst if I chose him. 

    This was the same boy now holding my hand, checking on me because he was worried. What a difference two months made. I knew immediately behind the facade, there was a compassionate young man with a good heart, he just didn’t believe it. I hoped I could change that. 

     With that in mind, I turned back to him. “To dispel any misconception right now; I know what I was saying yes to. I did think about that. A lot. Being with you, being together has been such an important part of my day and it keeps me sane. And-” My voice cracked suddenly, surprising me. “And…”

    “Heiress?” My eyes landed on his concerned face, darting over each feature and taking in the details until I was swept into the memory of the day with the postcards. 

    The hidden letters. The words of longing. Toby. Sarah who was actually Hannah. The same forward as backward. Hannah, oh Hannah. My mother being described through someone else’s eyes. Their love story. Me wanting to be left alone. Jameson being the first to address that. Jameson ushering everyone out. Jameson leaving. Jameson giving up on a clue. Jameson putting aside the mystery. Jameson. Jameson. Jameson.

    A sob escaped me. My hand flew over my mouth in reflex. I didn’t understand why but another one followed and another. Jameson was in front of me in a flash. His arms wrapped around me as my vision blurred with tears. The last thing I did register was my nose pressing against something hard but covered by a soft material and my eyes fluttered shut, letting the tears fall.

    I didn’t know how much time passed but the tears felt never ending, my cheeks were sticky and the sobs coming out were shallow gasps. Images of my mom danced through my mind, especially those from the last Christmas with her. That morning she’d been wearing a robe over her pjs with a steaming mug of coffee in her hand, hair loose for once, all excited as she slid a wrapped present over the counter toward me. It had been a book I wanted, special edition, which I scolded her for but Mom had laughed it off, bringing me into a hug and wishing me a Merry Christmas. But most memorable had been her luminous smile, so joyous and bright that it made our home feel that much warmer. I inhaled sharply as my eyes snapped open.

    “Mom. Mom. Why’d you have to go?” I whispered, breathless. 

    “She was sick, Heiress. But I bet she fought every day to be with you.” 

    “Mom, I want my Mom! I need her. And Toby, Toby… H-He left me and I needed him. He left me. I needed him. I told him not to go but he said he couldn’t stay. I-” I hiccuped a sob and felt another onslaught coming.

    “I know. I’m sure he wanted to but your safety means to him more. It does to me too.” And just like that a fresh damn of tears broke through and I was dry heaving with the unrelenting heavy sobs that came wave after wave after wave. But through it all, Jameson never let me go.

    When I finally came to, I realized I quite literally used Jameson’s shoulder to cry on and the soft material had been his green cashmere sweater that was now soaked. As I swiped at my crusted eyes, I said, “Sorry about your sweater.” 

    He smiled and shrugged. “I don’t mind. It clearly served a good purpose.” That got him a weak laugh from me. Jameson slowly brought up a hand and wiped at a stray tear before leaning down to kiss my forehead. I watched him warily as he pulled away and frowned when I saw him pull out a handkerchief from his pocket. He used it to gently wipe at the tear tracks on my cheeks.

    Once he finished I brought it up. “Since when do you have a need for handkerchiefs, Mr. Darcy?”

    He chuckled. “Since I had to start offering to wipe away the tears of young ladies who have been most unconsolable by any other actions. Don’t worry, I don’t make a habit of stealing my brother’s brooding English gentleman aesthetic too often.” I couldn’t help but laugh too.

    “Are you feeling better now?” 

    I nodded. “Yeah. Just didn’t think I had that in me.”

    Jameson looked thoughtful for a moment before bringing his hand up again and caressing my cheek. I leaned into it. “You know, far be it from me to tell you what you do or don’t need, but I think you’ve needed to do that for a while. As you said, so much has happened in the last few weeks which your brain hasn’t had time to process and instead it just kept pushing it all aside until this moment.”

    “I guess. I just… I miss my mom. I’ve been getting better at acknowledging the fact that she’s, you know… gone after these two years but now all that we’ve found out, it just brought back that feeling so much stronger. And it feels like I’m back at square one.” He nodded solemnly. 

    “Yup, that seems to be the power of grief. There are days when I feel like the old man is still around and like he’s just about to pop out from any corner. Then I remember he’s not and I lose it. I go into the passages and just walk until I get out and go to the next one until I inevitably end up on the roof.” 

    I sighed. “I think she would have liked this place. As weird as everything is about you Hawthornes, this seems like her kind of place.”

    He huffed amusedly. “Hypocritical much?”

    “Potato potahto.” Cue eye rolling. “And I think she would have liked you too.” Jameson looked at me curiously. “Yeah, she would have loved your spontaneity. You two would get along. I think you’d enjoy playing our games and I can see her coming up with more. Although, you’d probably make me go crazy and wonder what I unleashed on the world.” 

    “At least I know I’d be on your mom’s good side.” I snorted. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

    “Maybe. But then she’d drop not so subtle hints and I would give in eventually because I know she’s right. Don’t think for a second I wouldn’t make you work for it.”

    “I don’t doubt it.” 

    “Good. But most of all, I think she’d love your compassion.” 

    There was silence and then a sharp inhale. “Heiress…”

    “You are good. You have a good heart, Jameson Hawthorne.” I didn’t leave room for arguing and narrowed my eyes at him for good measure. Whether he liked it or not, I had told the truth and I was going to make him believe it. “Say what you want but I’m going to repeat it until you believe it. I’ll do what I have to, no matter how long it takes.”

    As I finished my grand declaration, he had the audacity to smirk. “Anything?” 

    “Anything within reason,” I amended with a scowl. He chuckled and then rose up.

    “While I’m sure you will and I will more than likely accept defeat one day, there is something you could do for me.”

    “And what would that be?” I asked suspiciously.

    “Well, with it being the holidays and since it’s our first Christmas together, would you mind joining me under the mistletoe, Miss Grambs?” I blinked as I watched him take out a sprig of mistletoe from his sleeve. 

    He went to the fireplace and somehow tied it to the garland. I got up from my recliner and walked towards him. As soon as I got within range, one of his arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me into him as my hands instinctively went on his chest. Jameson then brought his free hand up and brushed hair out of my face before cupping my cheek. I gazed at his face all the while and admired the way he looked in the soft glow of the fire. 

    “May I?” I nodded. Slowly, he leaned down and tentatively connected his lips to mine. I closed my eyes and got lost in it, entertaining the fantasy of the mistletoe kiss. I cupped the back of his neck and brought my hand into his hair. His hold at my waist tightened ever so slight. It was slow and gentle and perfect. Too perfect. But even so, just for a moment, I let myself believe we were perfect.

    When we parted, I opened my eyes and looked at him, expecting him to be looking back but his eyes were shut. “Jameson?” 

    “Hmm?”

    “You ok?” 

    “Yeah. Just taking it in Heiress.” When he opened his eyes, he wore a soft smile that made me feel shy again. He kissed the side of my head. “Thank you for that.”

    “Oh. You’re welcome,” I said bashfully. 

    He hummed a reply before speaking up again, “So, what did you think? Does it fulfill your expectation of a mistletoe kiss?”

    I shrugged. “I’ve never really cared about that tradition let alone thought about what it’d be like.”

    “Fair enough. But I do hope I set a standard for you now.” My eyebrows raised in bemusement. “Hey, you’ve got to let me have something to brag about.” I rolled my eyes. 

    “What I would like to know is where you got that sprig in the first place.”

    “All in due time, all in due time. Patience is an arduous virtue one must learn but conquer nonetheless.”

    “Stop philosophizing about something you don’t even have the skill set for.”

    “Well, miss, less questions, more kissing. Simple as that.” 

    “Practice what you preach then, Hawthorne. All I’m hearing is wor-” He shut me up with another kiss and then broke away just as quickly but hovered only a breath away from mine, teasing me before I put a hand to his collar and tugged sharply for him to get on with it. I felt him smile against my mouth and I stood on tiptoe, returning it in kind. We shared a few more kisses, a few playful ones and some just short pecks.

     The next time we pulled apart, we were both breathing hard. As Jameson recovered, he ran his fingers through my hair and smiled thoughtfully at me. “What?”

     He shook his head. “I was just thinking, despite all the shit that happened this year, turns out it was still a good one. You’re here with me even though I didn’t think that after…” I nodded in understanding.

    “Yeah, I get that.” What started out as a terrible year in the trenches with Libby and Drake turned into one of the biggest blessings even with its drawbacks. I had Jameson now and that was all that mattered. As I turned back to him, he pulled me into a warm hug. For a moment we stood like that, just enjoying the comfort it brought before he loosened his hold and broke the silence.

“With a mistletoe sprig and a firelit kiss, the couple started to reminisce, thinking about all that was and all that could be, knowing now they’ve truly become a we, there was room for new merriness and bliss while hoping it would be a very good first Christmas.”

    “Whoa there, Sir Moore. What happened to the rest of the poem?” 

    “Eh, we already got to the good part. Plus, it takes a lot longer when you’re the one trying to make up the rhymes to fit in with the preexisting structure.” 

    “I thought you said you could make stuff up on the spot.” I giggled until he muffled the laugh by pressing his lips to mine again. “Mmmh.” He smirked when he pulled away. 

    “Be my guest, Heiress. Let's see what you got.”

    I grinned at the challenge. “Once he had finished his part and she admired for a time in his art, her thoughts turned forward, past the New Year’s grandness and wondered how they would fill up their blank canvas.”

    His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Impressive. Not bad, not bad. But definitely beginner’s luck.”

    “It’s alright not always being up to my speed, Hawthorne.” 

    “Fine, I shall concede just this once.” I smiled triumphantly. “Merry Christmas, Heiress.”    “Merry Christmas, Jamie.” His resulting smile had never been more beautiful or joyous than in that moment. When he leaned in to kiss me again, I really did wonder about the year to come and what it would bring. Let it be a good one, please.

   “Merry Christmas, Heiress.”

   “Merry Christmas, Jamie.” His resulting smile had never been more beautiful or joyous than in that moment. When he leaned in to kiss me again, I really did wonder about the year to come and what it would bring. Let it be a good one, please.

A/N: See you in the next one! Hopefully will get a few more out before the true end of holidays. Merry Christmas once more and Happy New Year to everyone!!!!!!

[theextendedbriechyne]

You've Got Nothing To Lose

So, productivity. Yeah. Let’s talk about it.

If you’re anything like me, you’ve probably had that moment—you know, when your to-do list is longer than your lifespan, your tabs are multiplying like rabbits, and your brain is just ✨ refusing ✨ to cooperate. Being a full-time student and a creator means my life is basically a constant balancing act, and let me tell you… I was dropping so many balls.

I tried every planner, every system, every method that productivity YouTube threw at me, and nothing really stuck. Bullet journaling? Loved the idea, hated the effort. Google Calendar? Cute, but I forgot to check it. Sticky notes? Everywhere. Chaos. Absolute chaos.

Then I found Notion, and listen—I was skeptical. It looked overwhelming, like an empty void of endless possibilities (and not in the fun way). But once I actually took the time to figure it out? Oh, it was over for me.

Now, my entire life lives in Notion. It’s where I plan my assignments, track my creative projects, and pretend I have my life together. And because I love making things both cute and efficient, I’ve spent way too much time tweaking my setup to be as ✨ functional but aesthetic ✨ as possible.

This post is just a little peek into the things that helped me get my Notion workspace together. Nothing too deep, just some surface-level tips. I’ll get more in-depth later, but for now—here’s what made the biggest difference for me:

🌿 How I Revamped My Notion Setup: 📌 Made It Pretty – Because if I’m going to stare at it every day, it has to be cute. Matching colors, simple layouts, and an aesthetic cover image make it 10x more enjoyable to use.

📌 Created a “Homebase” – Everything I need in one place. No more digging through five different pages for my assignments, projects, and notes. My dashboard is literally my lifesaver.

📌 Kept It Simple – Look, I love a good Notion setup, but if it’s too complicated, I just won’t use it. I stick to a system that works for me: clean, minimal, and easy to navigate.

📌 Automated Whatever I Could – Linked databases? Buttons? Widgets? Yes, please. Anything that saves me even a little time is a win.

✨ Want to try it for yourself? I actually put together a Notion template based on my setup, so if you’re looking for something that’s aesthetic and functional, I got you. It’s perfect for students, creators, or anyone who wants to get their life together in a ✨ cute ✨ way.

🔗 Check it out here! → 15 LANE STUDIO

I’m still tweaking and improving my setup all the time, so I’ll definitely share more in the future! But for now—what’s your biggest struggle with productivity? Let’s talk in the tags ⬇️ or drop your Notion questions in the replies! 💭💖

[yunwangja]

the prophecy | verse 10: i caught lightning in a bottle

masterlist | next verse

a/n: goes back and forth with written content

when tobio arrives at your door, you could see the curiosity in his eyes. he probably thought he needed help with something in your apartment, but the notebook you handed him said otherwise. you watched as his eyebrows knitted together in confusion when he asked, "what is this?"

with a small smile, you gestured for him to take it. "take it," you urged softly. he accepted the notebook, flipping it open to reveal pages filled with notes and sticky tabs. you saw the surprise in his eyes as they widened, "you did all of this?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief as he looked up at you.

"yup! i asked tsukki and shoyo to help me get your pointers and material. i made you notes, and not only that," you pointed to your couch where your laptop was set up, "i'll be tutoring you as well!"

tobio's surprise only seemed to deepen. "how did you know i had a test? we all just talked about this today."

"you mentioned it to me before, remember? while we were moving the groceries back to the apartment the other day." the astonishment on his face was almost comical. "you actually remembered it?"

"of course!" you replied, moving over to the couch and patting the seat beside you. "come on. i even ordered food so we can munch while studying."

tobio was caught off guard by your thoughtfulness. he felt a warm, shy delight bubbling up inside him. it wasn’t often that someone went out of their way to help him like this. usually, he was the one focused on his own goals, with others either tagging along or watching from the sidelines.

but here you were, not only remembering a small detail he’d mentioned in passing but also taking action to support him. it was a mix of gratitude and embarrassment; he wasn’t used to being the center of such considerate attention. as he joined you on the couch, he couldn't help but feel a growing admiration for you, appreciating your kindness more than words could express.

as the minutes ticked by, you settled into a comfortable rhythm of studying together. your voice, patient and clear, guided him through the intricacies of urban studies. he found himself relaxing, the initial tension of the study session melting away.

in the middle of guiding him through the topics, you noticed a small mistake in one of the notes. "wait, let me edit this part so you can understand it better," you said, reaching for the notebook.

tobio watched you intently as you revised the note, his eyes drawn to the way your nose scrunched up in concentration and how your lips pursed slightly. there was something captivating about your focus and dedication.

you flipped through the pages, occasionally pushing your hair back behind your ear. the room was filled with the soft sounds of your pen scratching against paper and the occasional rustle of pages. tobio couldn't help but feel mesmerized by your actions. he watched as you tapped the pen against your lip, deep in thought, before jotting down a clearer explanation.

tobio found himself thinking about how you had put so much effort into something just for him. the realization hit him harder than he expected. it wasn't just the notes themselves, but the passion and care you put into making sure everything was clear and understandable. it was evident in every meticulous detail, and it made his heart swell with gratitude.

when you finally turned to him, holding the notebook out with a satisfied smile, you said, "there."

tobio, caught off guard, quickly cleared his throat, trying to act as if he hadn’t been staring. "thanks," he said, his voice steady despite the warmth in his cheeks. "this is really helpful." he took the notebook from you, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment, and he hoped you didn’t notice the slight tremble.

after a while of intense studying, you both decided to take a break. as tobio poured coffee into his cup, his phone lit up on the table, revealing his volleyball-inspired lockscreen. you couldn't help but comment, "i like your phone wallpaper."

tobio glanced at his phone and smiled faintly. "thanks," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "it's from a match we won last season."

that was all it took for him to start talking about his love for volleyball. as he poured the coffee, he began to explain different plays, the strategies his team used, and memorable moments from past games. "you see, the quick attack is my favorite. it’s when the setter sets the ball really low, and the spiker jumps and hits it right away. it’s almost impossible to block if done right," he explained, his eyes lighting up.

"and then there’s the libero. they don’t attack but focus on defense. it’s amazing how they can read the opponents’ moves and position themselves perfectly to receive the ball," tobio continued, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke. "oh, and the feeling of a perfectly executed block. it’s like you’re stopping the entire team in their tracks."

you listened attentively, even though some of the terms and concepts were unfamiliar to you. the way tobio's eyes lit up and his enthusiasm poured out was infectious. you found yourself smiling unconsciously, absorbed by his passion.

when tobio finally realized how much he’d been talking, he stopped abruptly. "i'm sorry - i have the tendency to bombard people with unnecessary information about volleyball."

you shook your head, your smile widening. "what do you mean? it sounds fun actually. i don't know a lot about the sport, but i bet it's wonderful." your genuine interest seemed to surprise him. "i wish i could be as athletic as you even," you added, a hint of admiration in your voice.

tobio blushed at your words, the tips of his ears turning red. "you're already amazing though," he mumbled under his breath as he looked down at his cup, not making you hear him.

the moment felt warm and comfortable, a nice break from the studying. you both shared a quiet laugh, the room filled with an easygoing atmosphere. it was in these small, unplanned moments that you realized just how much you enjoyed each other's company. as you continued your break, sipping coffee and chatting about your respective interests, the bond between you grew stronger, making the upcoming study session feel less like a chore and more like time well spent together.

notes

for further context: tsukki, shoyo, and tobio are classmates in a subj called urban studies and they had a big test coming up

im not very well-versed with volleyball, i needed help with composing tobio yapping abt it so irdk if its very like… idk idk what im saying

idk whats the passing grade with yall usually bc some say its like 75% but like lets say its 50% in this case aurkay lol

next verse

taglist: @fiannee @debussy42 @samvagejkflxhrt @diorzs @kagtobis @lovingvi @tea-drinking-nerd @iamfontenlos @jaynawayna @divinityghoul

[pixiel]

Tumblr Post Width & More (OTD+ Userstyle)!!

Finally out of Alpha and available to the public! This Usersyle REQUIRES the use of Old Tumblr Dashboard (Userstyle) and must be manually edited to work!

You need to have Stylus installed. So if you don't have it:

Install the Stylus Firefox Addon or the Chrome Extension (You can install Chrome Extensions on Edge as well)

Once it's installed into Firefox/Chrome/Edge you can proceed with adding this style or any other.

Make sure Old Tumblr Dashboard (Userstyle) is installed and on!

To add the style, follow the instructions:

Go to this link: https://userstyles.world/style/15745/tumblr-post-width-more-otd-userstyle

Click on "install".

Style will open a tag with it and in the left side you'll have a button that says "install style", click there. (Step-by-step copied from the lovely dorothyoz39 who wrote this in a reply!)

Be sure to check for updates regularly and if you'd like, consider supporting me on Ko-Fi https://ko-fi.com/pixiel !

To update click the Manage button on Stylus and click the check for update button below then click again to install!

!!!BEWARE!!! updating will reset your settings so be sure to note them down before updating!!!

New Update: 29/06/24, 18:46PM BST V8.4

Make sure you're on at least version 12.5 of OTD v8.0: This userstyle is finally available publically and out of Alpha testing! It may still have a few bugs or issues.

THE CREATOR OF THIS USERSTYLE SUPPORTS THEIR TRANS SISTERS. WE'RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER!

Check the readmore for the instructions on how to manually edit the userstyle, the changelog, & known issues!

----- .:How to customise the Userstyle:.

Each setting is now controlled by using the configure menu for your convenience! To access the config click the stylus icon and then click the cogwheel next to "Tumblr Post Width & ..."

Make sure to read the instruction carefully before editing the config!

I highly recommend clicking the 'on change' button to see the changes to the dashboard in real time, without the need to save to view changes!

Example:

This is the setting for the Global Content feed positioning, right now it is set to 0%, the default position - Which looks like this;

If you change the number to a higher positive number by moving the slider to the right, it will move the content of the page to the right! Like so;

likewise, if I move the slider to the left I can move the contents of the page more to the left. Like so;

If you want to change it only a little at a time you can use the up and down arrows to change the number by 1 each time!

If you make a mistake and want to revert to the default setting, click the X that appears next to the slider or menu and it will revert it back to normal!

If you want to revert ALL settings back to default press the Reset button and all numbers will return to their default and make the dash look like its unedited version!

Below where it says /*EXPERIMENTAL Features - May have issues*/ is a lot of, well, experimental features! This includes the Communities pages, Labs Patio, Icon hider, as well as the Masonry Search view! These features currently work but may have a few bugs or be broken by Tumblr updates.

Make sure not to touch any of the code under where it says; /*Dont Touch below code*/

And I hope this helps you understand how to customise OTD+!

-----

Known issues:

The settings page looks weird, this is to make it so the textbox actually scales with the width changes without looking Awful.

Search bar moves out of place sometimes when using No Sticky Header! Working on finding a way to fix this.

[spoontriestowriteandfails]

a real man » stucky

╰┈➤ "i guess no one ever taught you how to be a real man."

tags : stucky (steve rogers x bucky barnes), established relationship, worried steve, unaware bucky, fluff, bad writing, very short oneshot (under 1k words)

a/n : no capitalisation because capital letters are yucky !! hopefully i will use apostrophes and commas, but no promises. set in a weird sort of limbo that has the vibe of an early avengers film (either avengers 1 or age of ultron), but not quite because bucky is there.

the first avenger had been scribbling and tearing out pages practically all day, writing and drawing in his unusually messy cursive handwriting.

he spent most of the morning tying to write; to keep himself busy whilst waiting for another mission. then, when he got bored of writing, he would start trying to sketch random things around avengers tower. then the drawing wouldn't turn out the way he had wanted it to and he's go back to writing.

simply, steve was mentally draining himself with a pen and paper.

bucky had been out doing god knows what all day - probably just driving around on his motorcycle or training with sam in the gym - but wherever he was, steve hadn't seen him. not even in his attempt to draw something from every room in the tower.

it was like his boyfriend was avoiding him. whether it was on purpose or not, he was unsure. but there was no way he hadn't seen him since they reluctantly rolled out of bed together this morning.

it was about 6pm when steve started getting worried. due to the season, it was already pitch back outside and bucky still wasn't back.

he knew he had no reason to be worried, that bucky could easily look after himself no matter what time of day it was, but that didn't stop him from tapping his foot anxiously and waiting by the door.

he'd spent most of his time asking the other's in the tower if they had seen him, even going as far as to ask tony if he could check the entry and exit logs of the building. but the winter soldier had seemingly disappeared.

steve's writings in his book was now just worried and messy splotches of black ink, occasionally accompanied with a doodle or scribble in the margin.

it was 10pm when bucky got in. steve had long since gone to bed, but left a note on the door saying that he'd put leftovers in the fridge for him.

the brunette was completely fine, having just been exploring the parts of the city that he had never been to before. he just hadn't expected to get so carried away.

he pulled the sticky note off of the door, heating the leftovers in the microwave and taking them up to bed with him.

steve on the other hand, was still wide awake. sketching and drafting, trying to think of anything that wasn't the danger bucky could've gotten himself into.

he was so tuned in with what he was doing, he didn't realise the other man had entered the room until the bed dipped beside him and he smelt the smallest waft of heated chinese food.

the oh-so-beloved book was discarded onto the duvet the moment he recognised the presence next to him, the blonde's head falling onto bucky's shoulder and his arms wrapping around his midsection.

"you alright, doll? haven't been gone that long, have i?" bucky was the first to speak, resting the plastic takeaway box on his knees so that he could still eat his rice whilst wrapping his other arm over steve's shoulders.

"you were basically gone forever," the taller man grumbled tiredly, struggling to keep his eyes open "i ran out of things to draw."

bucky chuckled, setting his fork down to pick up steve's book and flick through the pages. most of them had been torn out, leaving remnants of jagged paper still glued to the spine.

the paper that was still in there was covered in nonsensical scribbles of words and pictures, the brunette's smile faltering as he observed his lover's slow descent into worry.

"are you okay, baby? talk to me, hun. what's up?" he asked, his metal palm gliding over the shoulder of his own steve's shirt.

"just worried, s'all." was the quiet response of the male, slowly hiding his fae into his lover's shoulder.

bucky didn't push it, but set his food down on the bedside table next to him, rather in favor of wrapping his arm around his boyfriend and guiding him to lay down.

his fingers curled into the other's hair, scratching and petting at his hair until he felt his partner's breathing start to slow as he fell asleep.

bucky pressed kisses into steve's hair for as long as he could before he felt his own eyes start to flutter closed as well, content in letting himself rest.

[fakehelper]

✦ Okay, I give in. Let's upload our gifs on the beta editor to prepare for a gif pack page. Resources are available at the bottom, so lets get started !!

So first things first, you can only upload 30 gifs at a time. Now for me, I will always upload as I gif, around every 20 gifs, then upload to the page (this also ensures I don't skip any or have doubles) and keep gifing. That used to mean that I don't have to wait for tumblr to load 300 gifs and die from impatience. For the rest of y'all that means you're going to have to batch upload. I know, I'm sorry.

Note: With the help of @nataliealynlind we discovered that the daily limit is 250 gifs! So if you have more than that, prepare to upload your gifs over the course of a couple days or use a second blog. (imo this is another great reason to upload as you gif! that way you don't have to get stuck at 250!)

So after you upload your gifs (in this case I only did 10)*, you're going to go to the gear at the top of your post and click it. Then scroll all the way to the bottom where it says Text Editor. This looks familiar, right?

*Note: If you don't save it as a draft first, your gifs will be in .gif format, not .gifv. This means you can skip removing this tag later on, but I'm not sure if gifs that are uploaded but never saved/drafted will later disappear at some point. To be safe, I would save it as a draft. I just forgot at this part tbh

Well the good news is, you only have to change this once! The bad news is, we don't do Markdown then HTML anymore bc Markdown doesn't strip any of the code anymore 🙃 So just change it to HTML

Now it should look like this! Fun!

Okay, now we're going to copy that text and take it on over to our new best friend, the HTML Cleaner! So you're going to want to paste it on the right side of the screen. Your gifs should appear on the left side. If both sides have text, that's how you know you pasted it on the left.

So in order to get ride of all this extra code, it's going to take a couple extra steps. First, you're going to check these boxes on the left hand side.

Now, on the right hand side, you're going to enter these under Find and Replace (copy/paste section below!!). I know you're like, uh what? Where the hell did you get those numbers? Well, I got them from our gif post code!

For easy copy pasting:

Find: <figure> Replace: (leave blank)

Find: </figure> Replace: (leave blank)

So after you add the specific widths for your gifs, you're also going to want to add the following:

Find: .gifv Replace: .gif

Find: alt="" Replace: (leave blank)

Find: /> < Replace: /><

NOTE: If your gifs are usually the same size, I would recommend saving these snippits above on your computer's sticky notes or a draft to copy/paste for future uploads! While I do appreciate the viewer traffic, I'm sure coming to this tutorial every time is gonna get old real fast.

After all that, click Clean HTML

And now, your code should look like this! If there's still a space between your image links, just click Clean HTML again and it should get rid of it!

Now your code is nice and clean to put into your gif pages! Not quite sure how to do that? Read the Setting Up Your Sidepage section in this older tutorial!!

Resources

HTML Cleaner

My Gif Pack Page Codes

Recommended Gif Pack Page Codes (tag)

Previous Tutorial (How to upload to a Standard Sidepage)

Barebones Code (for previous tutorial)

[dvchvnde]

You let the thoughts pass by as you reach for his old bible amongst the stack of books he left for you. You pick it up gingerly, the cover tattered and worn. The spine is broken, snapped beyond repair. You're not much of a believer in pristine book collecting, but the state of it leaves you feeling an odd assortment of pity and intrigue. 

The scent of him is thicker on the cover. Robust. You hold it to your nose and inhale. It smells ashy, of old cigarettes and charcoal. Pine. It makes you feel a little dizzy. The potency of it is strong, gluing to the fibrils of your lungs where it soaks, stains them with the sticky tar of his masculine smell. 

The cover is made of old leather. You peel it back, and run your fingers along the inscription inside. To our boy, it reads, the scratch of ink pressing hard into the soft give of the hide. May he always find the answers he seeks. 

This seems to be a hope he'd taken to heart. Blue lines bleed through the thin pages. Underlines, highlights. Sections smeared with oil and ink, blurring the words together as he thumbed across them over and over again. The margins are filled with his own notes. Doodles. Insights. He fills space with ink. Musing over his own questions, and underlining the answer he finds.  

It almost feels intrusive. Voyeuristic. Had he not left it amongst the pile, you might have closed the book and put it away for the sake of his own privacy. But it draws you in. Ensnares you. His questions grow broader, the subject evolving. The answers he finds in the pages become less and less frequent. 

It feels—

Lonely. 

His despondency shows vividly when he covers the words in art. An entire page bears the face of a woman. The likeness is shaded around the eyes, in the arch of their nose. It must be his mother, perhaps. Maybe a sister. You turn the page, marveling at the artistry line in dark charcoal. A rifle. A bird. A skull. Cigars, scotch. Dog tags. A cross. Bible passages with toiling lines circled around them. Notes. Little insights stenciled into the margins. 

Another page speaks about head trauma. Brain injury. Bullet fragments. Low caliber. tbi is circled in blue with lines branching out from the side of the curve. impaired thinking. memory issues. personality changes, depression. 

remarkable the cognitive recovery is stenciled in between the passages over and over again, as if he was reinforcing this notion to himself. 

It's jarring. Uncomfortable. 

The next several pages are even moreso. It screams its loneliness into the thin paper and you read each divot until you can't anymore. Until the words run together, and stop making sense. It's all nonsensical. Scribbles, doodles, and numbers that mean nothing to you at all. Unnerved, you go to put it away—

Something catches your eye. 

It's a photograph. 

A younger version of Johnny, maybe. Shaded in black and white. He's barefaced, too. Beard shaved down to a thin dusting of stubble, an odd sight compared to the thick tangle of hair you're so used to seeing on him. His hair, too.

A mohawk. The shorn sides cropped as close to the skin as he could get. The top coiffed and styled for the photo. His asymmetrical hairstyle makes sense now. You trail your finger down the slope of his jaw.

You deep an indent underneath. Ink pressed tight to the thin page, bubbling up from below. You tuck the photo of him, all cocksure and rough around the edges, back into the seam before turning the page.

And it doesn't make sense. Not at first. A series of small sketches cover the page, littered across it like small pondstones leading to the bottom. Nahanni, you know. Recognise the magesty of this gorgeous park. You follow the trail, thinking distantly of your old art teacher in school and the magnetism of the gaze, and—

The bottom is a black circle. Needlepoints cutting through the curves. Sitting in the centre is woman. She sits in the valley watching a moose graze at the bottom of knoll, and in her hand sits an apple—

"What'd ye got there?"

[shybunnie20]

Bearded Eddie: @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

★Invitation ★My Masterlist

Summary: After nine years of living separate lives and carrying the weight of unresolved emotions, destiny intervenes when you and Eddie unexpectedly cross paths at your high school reunion.

Author's Note: I've been working on this since February and I'm so proud of how it turned out.

1994 AU with no Upside Down. No use of Y/N. Established past relationship. Reader & Eddie are roughly 28 yrs old. POVs are first told separately, refer to the time stamps! Reader is depicted as introverted but it's a minor detail.

Word count: 11.4k

Warnings: MDNI 18+! Substance consumption, mentions of sex, contains profanity.

You’re not sure why you came here tonight, it’s not like high school was particularly memorable for you. Be that as it may, you’ve been feeling homesick lately and you needed an excuse to be in Hawkins. What better way to satiate a craving for nostalgia than to attend the class of 1984’s ten-year reunion?

As you stride through the double doors and enter the gymnasium, you’re taken aback by how dated it looks. Even though the light fixtures and basketball hoops have been replaced, it looks just as it had when you were here last. Judging by the meticulously buffed floor, it’s evident that the basketball team continues to receive the majority of funding.

The glossy court is dotted with circular folding tables that are draped with forest-green plastic runners. Each table has a bundle of balloons that are secured by gold foil weights. The decorations are fairly tacky but you expected nothing less. On the far end of the gym, the makeshift dance floor in front of the DJ booth lacks participation.

At the welcome table, you use the provided Sharpie to sign a sticky name tag. You blow on the wet ink to expedite the drying time because the last thing that you need is a jet-black stain on your favorite top. It feels silly to be wearing a name tag at a reunion but the harsh reality is that the majority of your graduating class doesn’t know your name; very few bothered to learn it in the first place.

While scanning the sparse crowd, your eyes land on a petite woman who is waving you over. You catch up with Mary, your junior-year lab partner. She introduces you to her husband but you swiftly lose interest in the interaction because they’re droning on about how difficult it’s been to get their son into a good preschool.

You hadn’t anticipated feeling this drained from a single conversation. You politely excuse yourself from the mind-numbing chat and scour the room for an available seat. The one that you choose has three people seated on the opposite side and they eye you while you pull out a chair. They look vaguely familiar so you flash them a polite grin. They resume their discussion without further acknowledgment of your company.

In front of you lies a pamphlet with “Go Tigers!” printed across the front in large block letters. Thumbing through the pages, you glance at the various pictures of high-achieving students who have since created prosperous careers for themselves. You look closely at the photos and then search for the individuals in the room, seeking to compare their old appearances to their present ones. It occurs to you how much beauty and fashion trends have changed in the past decade.

Most of the women here have abandoned their Aqua Net and mousse-finished perms. There are multiple pixie cuts, but what stands out the most are the emulations of the choppy and layered “Rachel haircut” from that new show Friends that your pals force you to watch with them.

You push air through your nose when you get a load of the self-appointed queen bee of your class. She’s wearing a gown that is unquestionably inspired by Princess Diana’s revenge dress. She looks ridiculous compared to the sea of casual attire surrounding her. It doesn’t surprise you though, she came from money and she likely married rich too. If anything, it would be out of character for her to be wearing jeans.

The booklet’s various snapshots make you wonder who achieved their goals or started families. Who peaked in high school and hasn't found any purpose in life? Who’s been arrested or fired from their jobs? As you reach the last page, you’re caught off guard by a large hand being placed on your shoulder. It makes you jump in your seat but when you turn to see who it is, the tension is alleviated from your body.

Scott Daley beams at you with his remarkably pearly whites. The five years of braces paid off and he’s obviously gotten professional whitening done. “Is that who I think it is?” He withdraws his hand from your shoulder and takes a half step back.

You’re enlivened as you get to your feet. “No way!” The hug is brief but not awkward. “How have you been?”

His blonde feathered brows arch gleefully at your reaction. “Not too bad,” Scott motions to the seat beside yours. “May I?”

“Yeah, of course!” After returning to your seat, you take notice of his gel-slicked waves and the ironed Polo shirt that clings to his broad shoulders.

Scott angles himself to face you and shamelessly checks you out. “You look phenomenal, truly.”

Warmth spreads across your body because you’re not used to men being so forward with you. Although, this isn’t a stranger. Scott moved into your neighborhood when you were eleven. Your mothers became close friends so naturally you wound up being the best of friends. You didn’t sit next to anyone else on the school bus or at lunch; you were practically attached at the hip.

Scott wasn’t always this handsome. When you met him, he was nerdy and excelled academically. He may have been scrawny but his competitiveness made up for his shortcomings. He was motivated by receiving awards like trophies and plaques. Scott Daley had his eye on the prize, which was attaining a perfect report card and being elected as class president. He had an insatiable hunger for success and that was something you found fascinating.

After you became freshman at Hawkins High, you grew apart. You didn’t have any classes together due to Scott being in advanced courses. As one would expect, you fell into different social groups. Rather, he joined the tennis team and buddied up with the jocks while you faded into the background and kept a low profile. There weren't any hard feelings because you naturally grew apart.

You listen attentively while Scott fills you in on his experiences. He graduated summa cum laude from the University of Notre Dame. This isn’t shocking in the slightest, it’s a very prestigious school and he certainly has the brains to thrive in such a setting. He mentions having invested in a starter company that took off and now he gives entrepreneurial seminars around Indiana. Scott also mentions that he’s divorced with no kids.

It’s a relief to hear that the relationship with his high school sweetheart didn’t work out because you’re in the same boat, minus getting married and divorced. You’re glad that you’re not the only one here who’s companionless. It’s embarrassing to attend get-togethers like these as a single person but you’re feeling less insecure now that you know Scott has already had a failed marriage by the age of 28.

When he begins to gab about the parasailing classes he’s been taking, you gradually zone out. You don’t mean to but you can’t listen to the rambling any longer. Even though you’re visibly on another planet, Scott obliviously continues with how great his life has been. You immediately regret glancing away.

Your lungs are packed to the brim with fine sand and your throat fills like the stem of an hourglass. You didn’t anticipate seeing him.

Eddie looks older, even from a distance. The deeply set lines under his eyes make him look tired but the dark scruff brings an enticing liveliness to his fair complexion. His boyish charm is long gone but he’s a sight for sore eyes nonetheless. Eddie’s charcoal dress shirt is undone four buttons from the neck, revealing the band tee he’s wearing underneath it. An eyebrow and nose piercing is a tricky look to pull off but it suits him. The array of black tattoos that adorn his veiny forearms is on display from his lazily rolled-up sleeves.

His left arm is slung around the shoulders of a dark-haired woman while he converses with two other people. When Eddie flashes his signature smile, your heart is carved from its rightful place in your chest. You’ve tried so hard to forget how much you missed being the reason he beams; back then, he only smiled like that for you. Up until now, you were fully convinced that you’d gotten over him. Yet, being merely fifteen feet away from Eddie causes bitterness to unearth. The resentment was buried but it never decomposed.

The woman can’t possibly be his wife because you vividly recall that Eddie didn’t subscribe to the concept of marriage. It’s not that he thought there was anything wrong with it per se. In the midst of one of his innumerable non-conformist rants, Eddie expressed that neither a ring nor ceremony is necessary to prove your devotion to someone. He made a good point because signing a certificate doesn’t lower the chances of a devastating breakup. Scott can certainly speak to that.

It wasn’t a big deal to you and if anything, you were indifferent toward his take on the topic. You agreed that vowing fidelity doesn’t have to be lavish and elaborate. But there was a small part of you that imagined a special day where you get to feel like a princess. The desire wasn’t all-consuming and by no means something that you strived for. Even so, it stung to know that wasn’t what your future with Eddie was going to look like. All in all, he wasn’t the marriage type and you accepted that.

A pair of binoculars would be awfully useful to check this lady’s finger for a ring, just to be sure. You’re struggling to put a name to the face. Her hair color is modern but her crunchy roller-curled bangs are a blast from the past. That’s the detail that yields the recollection of her identity.

Karie West. You had classes together but you never saw her and Eddie exchange so much as a glance. She was at the bottom of the upper-crust crowd because her family has run the local hardware store for generations. Not exactly brag-worthy but it made her somebody. Eddie and Karie are an odd pairing but maybe his preferences changed. To be fair, she’s pretty and you don’t recall having an issue with her back in the day. She wasn’t anything to write home about but she was nice enough. The real question is, did he raise his standards or did she lower hers?

Is Eddie sweet to her like he was to you? Do they talk about the future like you and Eddie did? He used to insist that you’d join Corroded Coffin on the road when they inevitably made it big. Over the years, you kept an eye on the tabloids at the supermarket to see if his band made their way onto the front covers.

Initially, you arranged to start your lives together after graduation but the plan was squashed. You walked the stage to get your diploma but Eddie didn’t. You stayed in Hawkins for another year and worked odd jobs while you waited for him to finish school. You sacrificed your personal goals to support him but Eddie didn’t graduate in 1985 either.

When it came down to it, you couldn’t bear to continue setting your aspirations aside when Eddie showed no initiative to pursue his diploma. In due course, a letter came in the mail informing you that you’d been awarded a full-ride scholarship to the university of your dreams. 

You and Eddie talked about a community college that was three towns over but that wasn’t what you wanted. You knew you wouldn’t reach your full potential if you went that route. There were a lot of things that you wanted for your future and Eddie was one of them. At the time, you assumed that he would be ecstatic to hear the news regarding the incredible opportunity you’d been presented with.

It was a toasty summer evening. and like most days, you were lounging around and basking in the adoration you had for one another. His heavy-lidded mocha eyes studied your face while you snorted at his jokes. On your twin-size bed, Eddie was laying on his back with you nestled comfortably under his arm. He was sharing the ideas that he had for his next tattoo. You drew the concepts he described onto the velvety skin of his forearm with your fingertip. Eddie’s eyes fluttered closed as your featherlight touch painted your interpretations in his mind. At some point, you excused yourself to use the bathroom. Upon your return over a minute later, your heart stopped when you saw the cream-colored paper in his grip. “Are you shitting me?” he boomed with a piercing glare. “You’re fucking leaving?” “Hold on, let me explain-” You stepped forward to capture his free hand but he yanked it away before contact could be made. “I don’t see anything that needs explaining.” Eddie’s eyes had never looked more ablaze. “This school is hundreds of miles away. What happened to our plan?” His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched as he boomed. “God, all you ever do is think about yourself. What about me, you’re just gonna leave me here?” Your red-rimmed eyes conveyed the harm done by the biting tone of his voice. “Why would you say something like that?” The blood in your veins began to boil and your face became feverish. “You don’t need to get so upset. We’re gonna make it work, we’ll talk on the phone every day and you’ll come to visit me during the holidays.” Eddie scoffed and crossed his arms with no regard for the letter being crumpled under his bicep. “You’ve convinced yourself it’ll be that easy, huh? You’ve lost your mind if you think being this far apart will be a piece of cake.” “I need to take this scholarship,” your eyes welled and your voice began to break. The defensiveness withered away with each word that you spoke. “This is a huge opportunity for me.” “I had no clue that you wanted to get outta here so damn bad.” Eddie’s voice dropped to a growl. “You weren’t even gonna tell me, were you?” You bunched the bottom of your shirt into your fist and squeezed so hard that your knuckle cracked. “I was going to but I was afraid of you reacting like this.” Eddie’s frown deepened. “Y’know what? I’ll make this easy for you then.” He crushed the letter into a ball and dropped it at your feet. “Since you’re doing what’s best for you, I’m gonna do what’s best for us.” Eddie stepped around you and stopped in the doorway. “We’re through. So uh- good luck with everything.”

In 103 seconds, the years you’d spent together were thrown to the wayside. You couldn’t wrap your head around how easily he threw in the towel at the mere proposal of attempting long distance. Apparently, you weren’t worth the trouble.

From thereon out, every waking moment was nothing short of hollow. For a week following the event, you stayed near the phone; but when it rang, it wasn’t him. You half-expected Eddie to show up with a teddy bear or a bouquet but he didn’t. Despite not being the one who ended things, the guilt picked at you like a vulture until your bones were clean. You didn’t mean for him to feel like you were putting your career before him.

Leaving the house was a rare occurrence given that you rarely got out of bed. Taking care of yourself wasn’t a priority. You were either eating too much or too little and the same went for your sleep pattern. Everything was in excess or deficit with no in-between. There were so many tear-soaked tissues on the floor around your bed that it looked like a gathering of white doves surrounding your place of blubbering. It was ironic, really. Doves are often seen as a symbol of tranquility and you felt anything but at peace.

Before then, you thought it was cliché when heartbreak was described as losing a part of yourself but you finally understood. Beneath the layers of blankets, you were splayed out as though your mattress was a sidewalk and you’d just plunged from the top floor of a skyscraper. Miraculously, you were alive but the impact left you broken in every way possible.

There were a few times that you picked up the receiver but you stopped yourself before dialing his number. Consequently, no contact was made for the two months leading up to your departure. In the fall of 1986, you left Hawkins and didn’t look back.

Being each other's first love, you and Eddie shared an irreplaceable bond. He was your reference point when it came to matters of the heart. In a world full of options and roads to take, you could’ve been anything but you wanted to be his again.

It took a while but you got back in the saddle. The mediocre dates outnumbered the satisfactory ones. You had a handful of boyfriends but none of the relationships got serious enough for you to meet their folks. You struggled to fully invest yourself even when they were the perfect gentleman who cared about you. They were nice but they weren’t Eddie.

You knew that you’d be okay someday. It took two years for the ball and chain to rust through entirely. While the ache may resurface from time to time, it has dwindled to a dull throbbing. Whenever the pain begins to swell, you remind yourself of how much you’ve achieved on your own. Hell, brushing off the hurt has gotten you this far.

Seeing Eddie canoodle Karie is driving you to question if you ever healed at all. Perhaps you merely fooled yourself into believing that you moved on. By the looks of it, Eddie is fulfilled being with her. You’re curious about what he remembers. Does he know your birthday or the color of your eyes? Has he forgotten the nickname that he called you so frequently that it made your real name sound unfitting?

With a subtle shake of your head, you concentrate on Scott, determined to divert your thoughts away from Eddie. As Scott continues his story of riding Vespas in Italy, you nod and grin, doing your best to feign interest and play it off as though you have been fully engaged this whole time. It’s difficult to fight the urge to sneak another glance at Eddie.

Despite your best efforts, your eyes betray you. They dart back in his direction. His curls, once a beloved characteristic, look soft and shiny. The chocolate coils cascade around his features like the delicate branches of a willow tree. Your mind conjures images of him carefully tending to them with care.

Eddie looks down at Karie and says something to her. In response, she kisses the hand of his that’s dangling off of her shoulder. Eddie and Karie's interaction, their seemingly effortless interaction, twists your guts like a saturated towel being wrung out until it’s bone dry. You wish she’d rip the look of contentment off of his face.

The overwhelming urge to avoid any potential encounter with Eddie intensifies. You don’t know what you’d say to him. As the pain of seeing Eddie persists, you use Scott as a lifeline to anchor yourself in the present. His animated gestures and stories offer an escape from the thoughts that threaten to consume you. He's going on about how your moms are still good friends and they started a book club together. As Scott mentions their current choice of reading material—a steamy romance novel—you can't help but feel a flicker of amusement at the wiggle of his eyebrows.

After your laughter dies down, Scott continues to ramble. His incessant words enter one ear and exit the other without leaving a trace. He’s like a chattering teeth toy that’s been wound up too tightly. You're acutely aware of Eddie’s proximity and it’s like an invisible weight on your chest. The mere thought of him conjures emotions you've been desperately trying to keep at bay. It's a delicate balance between acknowledging his existence and avoiding the sorrow that accompanies it.

The intro of "Heat of the Moment" fills the air, sending a jolt through your body. The song paints the picture of a time when it was your anthem, the soundtrack to your relationship with Eddie. But now it feels like a cruel twist of fate to hear it playing. As the thumping beat reverberates through the speakers and the lyrics echo around the room, it becomes harder to maintain your composure. You can’t remember the last time you heard it but it surely hadn’t hurt this much. In great need of space to collect yourself, you place your hand on top of Scott’s. The touch halts his self-absorbed rambling.  “Would you excuse me for a moment?”

Sensing your distress, he looks at you with concern and his self-centered demeanor fades. “Sure thing,” Scott nods before sparking up a conversation with the trio seated across from him.

You weave around clusters of people until you find yourself in a less populated area. The sound of chatter and laughter recede into the background as you approach a short table adorned with generic-looking tiger decorations that are undoubtedly meant for children’s parties. The three-tier stand has been picked over but there are a few remaining cupcakes that have H’s messily piped in orange frosting on top. Across the backside of the table is a tri-fold presentation board with photos taken by the yearbook staff stapled to it. Yet again, you look at the faces of people who didn’t give your existence much thought. While you look closely at the images, you don’t realize that you’re humming along to the song.

The two asshats conversing with Karie are as uninterested in Eddie as he is in them. Rather than actively engaging in the dialogue, he adopts a passive approach by making occasional sounds that mimic agreement. He’s trying to make this experience as painless as possible.

He’s in attendance against his will but he’d rather be here than to have Karie on his case about her feeling humiliated for attending by her lonesome. Unlike her, Eddie doesn't place a great deal of importance on his reputation or what others think of him. It's one aspect of his character that remains unchanged.

Eddie observes the lively scene unfolding before him. He watches as people mingle and sip generic brand punch from disposable cups. His line of sight sweeps the seating arrangements and he does a double take. It feels like an arrow spears his chest and his heart is the bullseye. “Apple,” He breathes out with his mouth narrowly agape. Apple of my eye.

As Eddie looks you over, he takes note of how your appearance looks effortful and your jewelry pairs perfectly with your outfit. The subtle differences that time has brought make him yearn to acquaint himself with them. The dark circles below your eyes defy the light layer of makeup that’s been applied to conceal them. Your hair, styled in a way that accentuates your features, beckons his fingers to play with it.

He marvels at you, his eyes tracing the contours of your form. Eddie knew that you wouldn’t look the same if he saw you again but your mature beauty is throwing him for a loop nevertheless.

You’re talking to someone. He looks familiar but Eddie isn’t sure who he is. Sam? Brett? Who the hell cares, what’s for certain is that this dude is a hunk. His shirt is immaculate, devoid of any wrinkles. His facial hair is precisely trimmed to create a sharp edge along his jaw. Eddie's hand instinctively glides over his scruff and he regrets not touching it up while getting ready.

Judging by the way you’re engaging with him, it’s plain to see that this guy is your boyfriend or maybe even your husband. But since when are you into the athletic type? Obviously, the man is mindful of the food he eats and has a consistent workout routine.

Eddie looks down at his bicep, which rests behind Karie's head, and a wave of insecurity washes over him. He convinces himself that he is not toned enough to meet your preferences. You used to love the slight pudge of his belly but you probably wouldn’t find his physique attractive anymore. Ever the hypocrite, Eddie grits his teeth when your hand grasps the man’s forearm. Your laugh cuts through the noise and sends a pang through Eddie’s core.

He feels selfish for wanting the meathead to kick you to the curb and leave you so heartbroken that you come crawling back to him. Eddie could save the day and treat you well like he always intended. Is this guy keeping you comfortable and ensuring that your needs are met? Does he spoil you with gifts and shower you with affection?

He hates that he hasn’t seen or made you smile like that in so long. He tried to forget how much he missed the little things. He can’t remember the way your perfume smelled but he reminisces about the way it used to fill him with light. It was invigorating to smell, touch, and taste you. You had a way of flooding Eddie’s senses that was borderline addicting. You were oxygen to him and you breathed him back to life when he felt deflated. Throughout the years, Eddie had been holding his breath as he navigated life without you. Finally, seeing you as beautiful as ever, he feels like he can breathe again.

He wonders how you’ve changed. Above all, he hopes that your infectious laugh, with its distinctive snort that he adored, hasn’t gone away. He’s itching to walk over but Eddie finds himself restrained by Karie. He feels a sense of restlessness from how badly he wants to engage with you.

Karie looks up at him and asks a question but he doesn’t comprehend what she says. Eddie clears his throat, “Yeah, that’s true.” He throws in a light chuckle and that sells it. She kisses the top of his hand and he feigns a grin at her affectionate gesture. The sensation of her lips pursed against his hand makes his skin crawl more than it usually does. Eddie imagines that they’re your lips instead. He knows that her gesture is for show. She’s not remotely this lovey-dovey behind closed doors. Karie is portraying the image of a stable relationship for people who could give a shit about her love life.

Eddie believes that you left Hawkins because you didn’t have faith in his third try at graduating. You left because he wasn’t good enough of a reason to stay. The argument you had flipped on the defense mechanism switch in his brain. It was a means of self-preservation and he protected himself in the only way he knew how. While this impulsive act may have prevented you from initiating the breakup somewhere along the line, it didn't diminish the pain of losing you.

When he got back to his trailer shortly after the fight, Eddie tore his bedroom apart to frantically collect any item that had anything to do with you. Within the jumbled mess of hair accessories and mismatching socks were the tangible reminders of your shared attachment—a skull ring you had given him on his previous birthday, folded notes, and Polaroids that were once lovingly taped to his mirror.

Eddie couldn’t bring himself to throw any of it away because it all meant so much to him. He simply couldn't bear to have any reminders of you lingering around. The keepsakes were dumped into a wilted shoebox and stuffed in the far back corner of the hallway closet. By stashing it away, Eddie was shielding himself from the sharp sting of abandonment that he feared would accompany their presence. He hoped that by removing the mementos, he could somehow free himself from the emotional burden that they carried.

Eddie may not have fit the mold of a traditional Prince Charming, but he regarded you as his princess in the imperfect fairytale that you lived in. Truthfully, he was flawed and so was the relationship. Some arguments started over trivial matters such as Eddie chewing with his mouth open after you asked him to stop countless times. There were instances that you reminded him politely but sometimes you were less than patient.

That’s one of your flaws that drove Eddie up the wall. It seemed that no matter what he did, there was a sense of dissatisfaction or criticism. Be that as it may, he accepted that it was part of the exchange. You hated shit that he did and he felt the same way toward your bad habits. No romance is without its trials and tribulations. The various points of conflict proved that love is not smooth sailing at all times. It requires effort, compromise, and understanding from both parties.

Occasionally, you would go to sleep mad at each other. When that was the case, Eddie insisted on saying “I love you” and exchanging a goodnight kiss. It didn’t matter if it was brief, on the cheek, or over the phone. He made certain that you never went to bed without a manifestation of his devotion. These acts of reassurance served as a testament to Eddie's refusal to let negative emotions overshadow the deep affection he held for you. Eddie ensured that you didn't spend the night in your respective bedrooms drowning in tears or overthinking every word that had been said in the heat of the moment. The first and only time he broke that commitment was the day he discovered the acceptance letter.

Despite not handling the situation well, Eddie wasn’t usually immature. He always listened intently when you spoke to him. He nodded and maintained eye contact to make certain that you knew he heard and supported you. One thing Eddie had to learn how to do was to stop giving unsolicited advice. It was a habit that stemmed from his discomfort with unresolved problems. It was challenging for him to refrain from trying to find solutions when handling a situation that seemed potentially fixable. However, Eddie gained awareness of his shortcoming when he realized that you stopped confiding in him about the girls who teased you in PE.

It was a love of such great intensity that many adults struggle to comprehend, let alone handle it if they are fortunate enough to find it.

After the season transitioned from crisp to bitter, Eddie went looking for a new way to keep himself warm. You were the only partner he’d had and he would’ve been content rolling around with you for the rest of his days. But you gave up on him, so he did whatever he had to in order to keep the loneliness away. To the best of his ability, Eddie avoided the memory of you by sidetracking himself with pretty faces. Engulfed in a string of one-night stands, he found himself desperately chasing the elusive feeling he experienced with you.

No rebound was going to help Eddie get over you. He realized that if he was going to live without you, he’d be miserable at best. Engaging in casual encounters did little to alleviate the emptiness within him. Instead, it merely provided a temporary surge of dopamine. This fleeting pleasure offered a brief distraction until he moved on to the next woman and endured yet another night without you.

Your lips left a watermark that couldn’t be washed away with time. Your touch was delicate as if you were scared he would shatter in your palms; but it wasn’t your touch that could break him, it was the loss of it. Eddie has been nothing short of broken since. You hold the key to the vulnerable part of his being. Behind a heart-shaped padlock lies his compassionate, goofy, and gentle side. A side that has remained locked away since you left.

Fortunately, Eddie earned his diploma on his third try after shedding blood, sweat, and tears. Regardless of his initial determination to leave Hawkins following graduation, Eddie didn’t take the leap. He realized that if he left, you would have no way of finding him. Despite the painful way things ended between you, he made a sacrifice, forfeiting the opportunity for a brighter future in the hopes that you might reappear in his life someday.

Sleeping around became tiresome so he reluctantly agreed to go on a blind date with Karie. It would be a stretch to say that he actively chose to continue seeing her. Following their dinner together, Karie became an unabating presence in his life, akin to a persistent house fly buzzing in his ear. She frequently called him, making her pursuit of him abundantly clear. Eddie found himself lacking the motivation to address and shut down her behavior, indifferent to the situation that unfolded.

At first, he was confused by her persistence because what would someone like her want to do with someone like him? She had run through all of the eligible bachelors in Hawkins, only to drive them away with her insufferable behavior, leaving Eddie as her last option. They’ve been on and off for so long that it’s merely routine at this point. He has no desire to try his luck dating other women. No matter how unhappy she makes him, it’s better than being alone. With Karie, the good times are okay at best. She has a tendency to instigate senseless arguments, seemingly for the sheer thrill of drama.

On top of that, the sex isn’t mind-blowing by any means, which hardly makes it worth it. For Eddie, it’s emotionless and strictly physical relief. He couldn’t get invested if he tried because of how controlling she is, inside and outside of the bedroom. When they’re in the car together he doesn’t get to tune the radio to the station that he likes. She dictates his plans and makes sure every moment of his free time is spent with her.

Eddie chose mistreatment over being lonely and longing for the girl he pushed away. Karie is a welcome distraction, albeit a toxic one, from what he really wants. Even if he could only be your pen pal or someone you get coffee with while you visit on occasion, he’d take the chance in a heartbeat. He’s bruised from years worth of kicking himself for letting you go.

Part of Eddie knew that you were unlikely to return to Hawkins, but he couldn't help but hold onto a glimmer of hope. Each year, he would check the phone book and search for any sign of you. It was wishful thinking but he couldn’t let go. On occasion, Eddie asked around town in the hopes of gathering any tidbits concerning your whereabouts or how you were doing. His inquiries yielded no substantial leads or insights that could provide a glimpse into your life.

Eddie wonders how much time passed before you moved on. He can't help but hope that you touched yourself to the thought of him, that you cried into your pillow pretending it was his chest instead. He hopes that hearing your song kept the memories from eroding.

The absence of your light cast a shadow over Eddie's days, leaving him immersed in a perpetual state of darkness. He found himself trapped in a world of thunder and gray skies, where the vibrant colors of life had faded to muted shades. At night, as he lay in bed, Eddie's thoughts would inevitably drift back to the way it felt to hold you in his arms.

It shouldn’t have been goodbye, it certainly didn’t have to be. The discovery of the letter hit Eddie like a punch to the gut. It was a farewell, one that would unfold gradually. He was confronted with the painful truth that people inevitably walk out of his life. It was an inevitable pattern, one he had encountered time and again. Friends had drifted away, relationships had crumbled, and now it seemed you that you too, were going to outgrow him.

As the years went by, Eddie thanked himself for holding onto the shoebox of keepsakes; it was all that he had left to cherish. You were god knows where doing god knows what. The only place Eddie could find you was in his dreams and in that box. The selfishness didn’t falter as the regret heightened. He crossed his fingers for your plans to go up in flames, for you to flunk your classes so that you would have no choice but to move back home. If by chance you did return, he intended to do everything in his power to show you how sorry he was.

Eddie zoned out while a cyclone of feelings tore up his ability to stay present with Karie under his arm. He’s been so caught up in his head that he’s practically vibrating. As if the universe has decided to spare him, “Heat Of The Moment” begins to blare from the speakers. Eddie’s eyes snap to your table but you’re nowhere to be seen. His panicked eyes scan the floor for the pair of legs that never failed to make him drool.

As if luck is on his side tonight, Karie’s voice cuts through the noise. “I need to use the ladies' room.”

“I’ll be here.” Eddie shrugs and watches Karie walk toward the restrooms. He spots you hurrying past a group of people. In this charged atmosphere, surrounded by the whispers of what could have been, Eddie has to make a decision. Is he going to take the leap and risk further heartache or let the moment slip away, forever wondering what might have been? Apparently, Eddie’s feet have a mind of their own because he’s going after you at a moment’s notice.

His scuffed sneakers squeak against the polished floor as he weaves with determination coursing through his veins. Eddie mutters, “Excuse me,” when he bumps into someone but he doesn’t stop moving until he finds you checking out the snack table display. As he steps closer, he gets déjà vu from being drawn to you the same way he was the first time he noticed you.

On a gloomy Friday in September during sophomore year, Eddie was in U.S. history when he was hit with inspiration. Ideas for a campaign flickered in his mind and he needed to capture them before they slipped away. While he scribbled, Eddie momentarily tuned out the ongoing presentation that was being delivered by his classmate. He was fully immersed in the realm of his imagination as he jotted down strategies and visual concepts.

Not long after his pencil hit the paper, Eddie felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Mr. Gatlin standing beside him with disapproval stamped on his face. Eddie tried to explain that he was taking notes for his own project, hoping to avoid any consequences. Mr. Gatlin was unconvinced and wrote him a detention slip.

In the designated classroom for the disciplinary measure were three other students who, like him, were slouched at their desks. Eddie kept himself busy by filling out the form that he needed to submit to start a new club. The blank space on the paper seemed to mock him, taunting his inability to come up with a clever club name. As Eddie's thoughts swirled around, he was abruptly brought back to reality by the sound of your voice softly greeting the teacher. With a lifted gaze, Eddie watched how you interacted with her, offering a respectful salutation instead of presenting a dismissive attitude like the average disgruntled student would.

His eyes traced the contours of your profile while you settled into a desk near the door. He couldn’t recall seeing you around, you seemed detached from any particular social clique. Eddie could tell that you didn't dress to conform or uphold a particular image. There was a refreshing authenticity about you. It was clear to him that you weren't shy. Rather, you preferred to avoid unnecessary attention.

It was as if a dormant part of him had suddenly awakened and the self-consciousness gnawed at him. His hair, which he had been growing out, was at an awkward length as it fell just above his earlobes. He frowned at his reflection in the nearby window, noticing the acne that bespeckled his complexion. He examined his shirt for any visible signs of wear and tear. The insecurities crept in, making him question whether his appearance was enough to catch your eye.

Eddie spent the entire hour utterly captivated by how cute you were. As the teacher announced dismissal and you gathered your belongings, his heart sank. He had the chance to make a move but his nerves got the best of him and he was rooted to his seat. The desire to go after you to introduce himself tugged at him. Eddie was stuck on all the reasons why he shouldn't. What if you didn't want to be approached? What if you had somewhere to be or you weren't interested in getting to know someone new? He berated himself for letting his insecurities hold him back.

That following Monday, Eddie was tardy to fifth-period study hall and when he lifted his eyes from his shuffling feet, his heart leaped in his chest. There you were in the far back corner of the classroom. As it turns out, you’d been in his class the entire semester. The teacher asked Eddie to take a seat. He swore under his breath and smoothed down his frizzy hair while he sauntered over to the available desk beside yours.

Eddie settled and a creak resonated through the otherwise silent classroom. You remained in your own world, engrossed in the act of doodling. He respected the reminder from the teacher to maintain silence, understanding that this was not the opportune time to introduce himself.

He stole glances at your notebook, intrigued by the abstract shapes and lines that decorated the page. They held a certain allure, a reflection of the intricacies of your mind. It was as though he was stepping into your dimension, one where vulnerability and creativity intertwined. Eddie felt a connection with you. He understood that sometimes, amidst the pressures and expectations of daily life, it was important to allow yourself to breathe and simply be. At the end of class, Eddie once again watched you gather your things and leave. Instead of being hard on himself for letting you go once more, he became eager.

The next morning, Eddie got out of bed early to spend more time on his appearance. He aimed to look and smell his best because he was finally going to put himself out there. Bouncing through his day with a spring in his step, Eddie made his way to the classroom. As he settled in the desk next to you, he intentionally made more noise than necessary. He rummaged through his backpack and shuffled the contents but you didn’t pay him any mind.

As Eddie tore a sheet of paper from his notebook, the sound echoed through the classroom, drawing disapproving glances from your classmates. With his slightly chewed-up number two pencil, Eddie wrote a message on the first line. He held his breath as he slid the sheet onto your Trapper Keeper. For a few heart-pounding seconds, everything else seemed to fade into the background. He had yet to exhale, watching as you picked up the note and read Eddie’s messy penmanship.

The furrow in your brow softened. In that instant, the ice that surrounded you began to melt. The brief moment of eye contact felt electrically charged. He swam in the hue of your irises as he looked past your initially withdrawn disposition. When your toothy smile took shape, it tugged on his heart. To him, you were more than just a pretty girl; you welcomed him with open arms, free of repulsion or fear.

The minutes ticked away while the paper was passed between you like a messenger. It was a blank canvas transformed into a heavily graffitied wall. High school had been nothing short of cruel to him so far, so he needed a friend. When the bell rang, Eddie folded the paper and tucked it away into his backpack where it would be safe. From thereon out, a mute dance evolved between the two of you on a daily basis. The restrictions of the no-talking rule seemed inconsequential as you found other ways to communicate, transcending the need for talking.

In times of solitude and introspection, Eddie has sought solace in those pages. Like a worn-out book, he knows them by heart, having reread them countless times. Whenever he opens that shoebox and unfolds those precious notes, he’s transported back to the time when his life was in technicolor. They became more than ink on a page. Each word, each scribble, carried the significance of your history.

It’s quieter by the snack table. The closer Eddie gets to you, the wetter his shirt feels. His palms begin to tremble as the adrenaline in his system kicks up. The sensation feels eerily similar to the pre-show jitters he used to get back in the day when he and his bandmates would take the stage at The Hideout. Eddie takes another step and now he can hear that you're quietly singing along to the song. He can’t stop himself from singing with you.

As his familiar voice reaches your ears, a mix of emotions well up within you, causing a lump to form in your throat. With a quick intake of breath, you turn around and put on a mask of surprise as if you hadn't been staring at him with his girlfriend. “Eddie!”

“Hey, you.” He purrs, casually holding his arms open. He wishes he’d taken a second to rehearse what he was going to open with but there’s no going back now.

At first, you’re rigid when he goes in for a hug. But once his hands find your waist, you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck. Eddie's embrace tightens, lifting you slightly off the ground. Being lifted onto your tippy toes ignites a playful giggle and you bury your face in his silky curls. His chuckle rattles against your chest, the sound creating a soothing vibration that rolls deep within you. You nuzzle up to him as you melt. Being wrapped in each other's arms feels like a balm for the wounds of the past.

Eddie is a little too high to be on his best behavior. Your natural scent evokes a sense of nostalgia and comfort. The fragrance of your perfume adds a layer to the intoxicating mix, its fresh and mature notes entice him. Your bodies feel different pressed together but just like puzzle pieces, they only fit with their corresponding piece. Being chest to chest, your hearts dare to relink.

He guides your feet back to the floor and loosens his grip, splaying his palms flat on the small of your back. When your eyes meet, you feel like you’re anywhere but in the musty gym. You don’t miss the way his gaze flickers down to your lips and you can’t help but do the same.

“Edward,” Karie says loudly, her voice laced with possessiveness as if she’s his mother.

Promptly pulled out of his lustful trance, Eddie releases you and steps back. A rough clearing of his throat breaks the stillness. He turns to face Karie and consciously composes himself by donning an innocent expression, aiming to hide the intensity of what just transpired. “Yeah, babe?” The pet name tastes sour as it rolls off of his tongue.

Karie loops her left arm around his right one and tugs him close. “Who’s this?” She doesn’t blink once while she looks you over from head to toe.

You nearly scoff because you refuse to believe that she doesn’t remember you. The audacity to pretend that she doesn’t know you were his girlfriend for four years. You can see right through her poised and cordial exterior. She’s intimidated because she knows how much you meant to him, and you’re not wrong about that. One day, Karie was being nosey and snooped around Eddie’s trailer while he was outside tinkering under the hood of her car. The desire to uncover any hidden secrets of his past compelled her to dig deeper, disregarding any boundaries of privacy. She came across the stash underneath his bed, nearly camouflaged by dirty clothes and junk food wrappers. The shoebox, once a privately kept capsule of young love, laid open before Karie. She knew exactly what she’d found.

Before Eddie can give a proper introduction, you outstretch your hand to her and do it yourself to see how long she’ll play dumb. You refuse to let Karie's facade deceive you, remaining steadfast in that she’s well aware of the impact you’ve had on his life.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck and stares down at the floor while Karie repeats your name as if it tastes familiar but she can’t quite place it. She’s drawing out her performance but Eddie hasn’t picked up on it in the slightest. He isn’t any good at detecting subtlety. When you were together, he had to be told how you were feeling because he’s “not a mind reader.” Poor thing, he truly thinks that Karie has no idea who you are.

Her burgundy-painted lips curl inauthentically, revealing her somewhat crooked teeth. “Oh! We had algebra together, right?”

You let out a sound that resembles amusement, though the irritability with her bitchiness is evident. “No. American Literature, actually.”

She considers arguing that you’re the one who’s misremembering but Eddie pipes up before she has the chance. “Would either of you ladies like some punch?”

Karie says “No,” without taking her eyes off of you.

From the heat of her stare, the moisture in your mouth has evaporated. You meet Eddie’s gaze and grin warmly. “Sure, I could go for some.”

He leans in and winks, “Want me to spike it?”

You giggle and nod in reply. Eddie shoots you with finger guns and then walks away to the nearby table that houses the beverages. In his absence, it becomes apparent how much he was buffering the tension. It skyrockets and Karie’s glare is unwavering. Regardless of how uncomfortable she’s making you, you offer her pleasantness to glower at. “Well, it looks like you’ve been taking care of yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She snarls while folding her arms across her chest.

Thankfully, Eddie returns with the two cups of fruit punch and he hands them both to you. You hold them steadily as Eddie pulls a small flask from his sneaker. With practiced precision, Eddie adds a dash of the mystery liquor to one of the cups, while the other receives a more generous pour of two shots' worth. Oblivious to Karie's scoff and eye roll, Eddie remains focused on his task, unaware of the disapproval emanating from her.

Eddie takes the stronger cup and taps the lip of it against your own. “Cheers,” He grins before chugging the entirety of the concoction.

You take a small sip and watch as the flushed sunset crawls across Eddie’s neck. As you go to take another sip, Eddie gently lifts the bottom of your cup to encourage you to swig instead. Your eyebrows lift in surprise but you do what he wishes while he smiles goofily at you.

Now that you’ve swallowed enough to really taste it, you can tell that his palette has evolved. The bitter scald sends a shiver down your spine and you squeeze your eyes closed. A cough bubbles from your throat, bringing the earthy pine flavor back up with it. Eddie pats your back through your coughing fit as if it’ll help but he knows it won’t. It’s simply an excuse to touch you.

“Thanks,” You clear your throat. “That’s some strong stuff, pretty different from your Blue Ribbon days.” Back then, Eddie swore that Pabst’s Blue Ribbon Beer was the nectar of the gods and he vowed to drink it to his grave. Eyeballing the remainder of the tainted punch in your cup, you try to think about anything other than how awful the aftertaste is.

 “Y’know, that’s forty-five dollar gin you’re choking on.” 

Your eyes widen slightly. “Woah, big spender over here.” Without thinking, you poke at his belly, sharing a laugh while the liquor warms both of you at your cores.

Unbeknownst to Eddie, Karie is seething beneath her carefully curated surface. She taps her foot and looks around the room with her arms still crossed. Though she has been listening to your conversation, Karie has chosen not to participate. She perceives herself as being above Eddie's antics. But there's an underlying fear that lingers; she recognizes the depth of the bond that you have with him and she‘s threatened by it.

You’re getting a rise out of her by entertaining his spontaneity and it’s rather satisfying. The steam blowing out of her ears is just below Eddie’s emotional awareness radar. When your eyes meet hers, a nonverbal conversation ensues.

What the fuck is your problem, lady?

I don’t like you and he’s mine, so don’t even think about it.

Meanwhile, Eddie is bobbing his head to the music while the combination of substances takes him up into the clouds. Your focus is brought back to him when he resumes the conversation. “What about you? What’ve you been wetting your whistle with?” He continues to ignore Karie and neglects to include her. “Are you more of a chardonnay or champagne girl?” Eddie’s brows scrunch together. “Wait, what’s the difference?”

You giggle at his genuine puzzlement and it makes his breath quake. There’s something about the way you beam so dazzlingly while he’s making a fool of himself. Except, he saw you smile similarly at your boyfriend. Eddie can feel his temper ignite at the thought alone but that’s not the only source of heat. He’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the pull of your radiance. Yet, he’s aware of the potential burn and consequences that may arise from getting too close.

Karie is tired of watching the spotlight be on you. She nudges Eddie and he grudgingly acknowledges her. “I’m going to go catch up with the Reynen twins.” At last, Karie has given up on doing her best to intimidate you.

“Tell them I say ‘hi,’ I guess.” Eddie’s mouth forms a straight line and he shoves his hands into his front pockets. When he looks back at you, joy returns to his face. Partially due to the buzz overtaking his nerves and because the wicked witch is gone. A silence hangs in the air while he thinks, God, she looks fucking incredible, but he forgets to say anything.

Your eyes land on the familiar necklace peeking out from beneath Eddie's dress shirt. The guitar pick dangles there, a symbol of his lifelong enthusiasm for music. “I’m glad to see you still play.”

Eddie sucks his teeth and flips the guitar pick between his fingers. “Uh- yeah, not so much anymore.”

“What, why not? You used to play every day.”

“I know.” Eddie murmurs, "Just been busy, y'know?" He’s making a feeble attempt to cloak the depth of his emotions. The timeline he recalls was the turning point when his love for playing began to wane.

Not only did Eddie lose his first love but you were his muse as well. After the split, music didn’t feel or sound the same. Sure, he listened to his favorite albums but to this day, playing feels meaningless. He tries picking up his Warlock on occasion but he never gets past strumming a chord before he gets too heavy-hearted and puts it back in its case.

Losing you immediately caused a rift between him and the other members of Corroded Coffin. Their disbandment was swift due to the altered dynamic. There was no passion and he had completely given up. As cold as it was for his bandmates to reciprocate his hostility, he did nothing to preserve his tight-knit friendships with them. Eddie had already lost the most important thing in the world to him and losing his buddies wasn’t going to hurt more than that.

“That’s a shame, you were so talented.” You shift your weight between the balls of your feet with a blend of shock and disappointment on your face. Feeling that this is probably the moment you should walk away, you muster the courage to give parting words. "It's been fun catching up, but I should get going." Your voice carries a tinge of sadness.

“Wait! I was thinking, uh- do you wanna go to The Hideout?” He licks his lips. “Like old times?” Eddie’s chocolate saucers search your eyes while twists the ring below his middle knuckle. “I’d love to hear about what you’ve been up to.” Eddie is terrified that you’re about to slip through his fingers because this is his chance; this is what he’s been waiting for.

You bite the inside of your cheek at his pleading expression. “Are you sure? What’ll the missus think of that?”

Eddie dismisses your concern by blowing a raspberry with his tingling lips. “Pfft, I’m a grown-ass man. I can do whatever I want.”

“I don’t know,” Your mouth goes dry again at the thought of revisiting the watering hole that holds innumerable memories. It becomes impossibly difficult to deny him as his eyes reflect the light.

“C’mon, let me buy you a drink,” He pouts.

You close your eyes and mull it over for a moment. The sound of Eddie anxiously tapping his knuckles together is enough to convince you. “Okay, fine.”

”That’s what I'm talking about!” he pumps his fists but then he pauses. “What about your beau?” Eddie motions to Scott who is still conversing at the table that you were previously sitting at. Buff blondie seems to have forgotten about your return.

You look between Scott and Eddie. “I’m here by myself.”

As much as he tries, Eddie fails to fight the cheek-aching smile that forms. His heart is thrumming so hard that he wouldn’t be able to stop it from bursting through his ribs if it went flying. “My mistake.” Eddie pulls his car keys from his back pocket and spins them around his index finger. “Wanna ride with me?”

Your mouth opens but instead of words, a squeak of agreement is all that comes out. You turn to walk toward the exit and without missing a beat, Eddie instinctively moves to your side, matching your stride as you make your way toward the exit. His smile is so deeply engraved on his face that he’s going to need to ice his cheeks later.

On your way out of The Hideout, Eddie holds the heavy metal door open for you. The clouds had opened up while you were inside and they’ve left the air dense with the scent of fresh rain. It mingles with the aroma of tobacco smoke drifting from the bar's door. In the street, puddles form small mirrors that reflect the pearlescent moon above.

You delved into conversation with ease and traded stories of the lives you’ve led since your last encounter. Tales of success and misfortune spilled forth, weaving your individual journeys into a tapestry of shared experiences. The interaction was a dance of subtlety, an unspoken agreement to move at a pace dictated by each other’s ever-growing willingness to explore. A brush of fingertips here, a gentle touch on the arm there—small gestures laden with hope.

Cars roll through flooded potholes and splash the curb with a wave of pavement fragments. The mist hanging in the air makes the streetlamps and neon signs glow. Eddie leans against the dampened brick and you echo his position, standing shoulder to shoulder. You frown when Eddie pulls a stray cigarette out of his breast pocket and balances it between his lips. “I kinda hoped you’d have quit.”

“I did for the most part.” He mumbles. As Eddie lights his cigarette, a wisp of smoke swirls lazily from the tip, blending with the haze of the earlier downpour. After taking a long drag and smoothly releasing, he looks at you. “I really only smoke when I’ve got a lot on my mind.” On the come down from his weed high, he’s combining nicotine and alcohol to combat the intense feelings of attraction stirring within him. It’s occurring to him that this night is coming to an end.

Eddie looks like he’s battling to stay in the present while actively seeping away. For a moment, you listen to the water drizzling off of the tattered awning and hitting the ground. Music escapes through the door as patrons go in and out of the bar. “So… Karie West, huh? How long have you two-”

“Don’t do that.” Eddie bites off the end of your sentence.

You turn to face him fully. “Don’t do what?”

Eddie huffs and flicks his cigarette. “Don’t bring her up. She’s the last thing I wanna talk about.”

“Okay,” You sigh barely above a whisper and glance away. The sting in your chest shoots to your fingertips at his sharp tone, not unlike the one he used that fateful day.

Eddie takes a shorter drag but holds it this time. He allows it to char the inside of his lungs before exhaling the plume of smoke. The events of the evening are rippling through his mind, the conversations and laughter seamlessly melding with the good memories he’s held onto. “I was gonna propose to you.” He states very matter-of-factly as if that isn’t a huge bomb to drop on you. 

“Nu-uh.” You blink rapidly in utter disbelief.

“Yeah huh. I carried the ring box on me for like three weeks.” At this point, he can’t tell what’s what. Either his emotions are so strong that he can’t feel his toes or the booze, nicotine, and traces of weed are causing him to short-circuit. “But then I found out about-” Eddie stops himself, unwilling to relive it out loud. He flicks his cigarette and brings it back to his mouth.

“Wow,” There’s that stabbing sensation in your chest that you know all to well. Tears flood your vision because what could’ve been seems better than the life you wound up living without him. Due to the way you’re dodging his eye contact, he fails to see how glassy your eyes have become. You sniffle, your nose reacting to the drop in temperature and your emotions running high. The weight of disappointment settles heavily as you grapple with his statement. “Did you give it to her instead?”

Eddie tosses his cigarette to the pavement and stomps it out. “Fuck no,” His laughter is accompanied by a shake of his head as he entertains the absurdity of the notion. The very idea of such a fate makes his stomach churn; the mere thought could induce physical sickness. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Then why are you with her?” You wish you hadn’t blurted it out, but if he’s so miserable then why does he stick around? Considering what you went through, you know damn well that Eddie isn’t afraid to leave when something no longer serves him.

He adjusts his back against the wall which causes the change in his wallet to jingle. “It’s complicated.”

Your persistence to know the truth causes the tears to spill over your waterline and drag streaks of mascara down your face. “Do you love her? Is that why?” 

Looking into your eyes right now brings him right back to that day and he’s watching you shatter all over again. “Absolutely not.” The insecurity in your tone is obvious enough that Eddie picks up on it. He loses his train of thought in knowing that there must be a reason behind you asking that particular question. Eddie looks down before meeting your gaze again.

“D-Did you love me?” You nibble your bottom lip and watch the way his expression softens. At the time, it felt like he did but with all of the overthinking you’ve done, your view of the past has been distorted.

He can’t tell if he’s breathing right now, you look so beautiful with the streetlight reflections turning your tears into gems. “Did I love you?” Eddie chokes out, “Of course I did. I never stopped.”

Your lips part a sliver as your brain begs for more oxygen to cope. To soothe yourself, you begin picking at your cuticles but you can hardly feel the pinch.

“You were everything to me.” As Eddie steps closer, his scent overtakes you. His hand trembles as he swipes at your dampened cheeks. “I couldn't stop thinking about you,” he whispers, “Every day, every night, you were constantly on my mind.”

You’re frozen in place, fidgeting ceased as you stare back. You gulp at the way his hair flies behind him in the brisk twilight gust. Eddie takes your hands and the heat of his warms your own. A sense of intimacy flows through you, interlacing the past and present. “I thought about you too.” You look down at your joined hands, watching his fingers rekindle their connection with yours after so many years apart. 

You trace the lines of his palms with your fingertips. It's as if your hands remember each other, relearning the contours and textures that were once so familiar. Eddie's eyes remain fixed on you, his gaze dripping with tenderness and longing. He guides your hands to rest on his collarbones and you can feel the strength of his body through his shirt. He gently caresses your ribs and slides his hands down to your waist. You respond eagerly by stepping closer and your navels touch.

His bated breaths mirror yours, both of you caught up in how it’s as if the universe has conspired to bring you back together. Eddie can’t bear the distance much longer. He rests his forehead against yours and it creates a bridge between your souls. You share the air, recycling each other’s breaths. The hovering of his lips causes your heart to pound against your ribs. But as his lips draw closer, you find yourself compelled to stop him. “Wait.”

Eddie pulls back ever so slightly to provide space for your voice to be heard. He can tell exactly what you’re thinking. “I don’t want her, I want you.”

You look away, feeling conflicted. Eddie guides your chin back to his and he strokes your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. Meanwhile, his other hand applies comforting pressure to your hip. He studies your face while you lean into his touch. “I need you, Apple. I don’t wanna lose you again.”

His mind begins to race when he’s met with nothing in response, fearing that exposing his heart to you isn’t enough. After his words have soaked in, Eddie notices the shift in your expression, and relief rids him of the fear of being rejected.

“You won’t,” You hum and breathe as deeply as you can.

Both of your eyes fall closed and your lips brush with hesitance. It’s you who caves first; your lips interlock, pillowy soft, and sweet with a boozy burn. The kiss breaks. Both of your chests heave and your eyes remain closed. The briefness has you weak in the knees but your hold on his shoulder has tightened to keep you upright. Eddie tugs you impossibly closer and kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to. He has to make this count.

A groan rumbles in the back of his throat and his nose presses into the plush of your cheek as he deepens the kiss. It’s both a declaration and an apology, conveying everything that should’ve been said a long time ago. Your movements are slow, intentional, and the definition of pure bliss. There’s no rush or urgency, just the desire to savor each other. Your hands find their way to the nape of his neck and your fingers gently entangle themselves where they belong. The nine-year gap between the last kiss and this one evaporates.

When you pull away to catch your breaths, aching smiles overtake your features. On the day of the fight, you saw nothing but indignation in his eyes. And now, all that you see is the promise of forever.

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

★Ko-fi ♡

tags: @tlclick73 @nj01

[perregrinstudiessometimes]

Annotating Fiction Books

Here is a Link to my annotating non-fiction post

Step one for annotating is always knowing your purpose. 

For example Someone who is annotating fiction for use in their literature class and someone who is annotating their favorite novel are going to annotate in very different ways.

Your purpose can be as simple as highlighting/tagging quotes that you like or as complex as showcasing evidence for a paper you are writing about the book. Most of my suggestions will be for those annotating for pleasure rather than for class work.

The second step is gathering your supplies.

For physical books this can be highlighters, pens, sticky notes, page flags, index cards, the book/Text For digital books this will include your device of choice (might do an in-depth post of digital texts later)

Depending on how in depth you want to be with your annotating you may wish to create a key, this can be remembered in your head, or written down in the book (or on a sticky note, index card, or reading log). Your key should be based around your purpose (as determined in step 1)

And honestly that’s all there is to it.

Here are some ideas of things to track while reading and things that I do for annotating bellow.

Using highlighters or tags to color code for different types of info (quotes, plot points, bits of the story you want to remember , funny bits, etc.)

Matching tab/highlighter colors to the books cover

Writing comments around the text (in margins, sticky notes, index cards, reading journal)

Keep track of quotes that inspire you. For me this means highlighting well written lines.

Copying quotes and Writing in a reading log to avoid damaging (borrowed) books (you can also use sticky notes if you like the feeling of writing in books. They also make clear sticky notes so u can highlight or write on top of text without hurting your books)

Using highlighters and an index card (or your reading journal) to keep a timeline, track lore, or explore the universe

Use symbols and shorthand to make annotating quicker

And remember you decide what is and isn’t appropriate for your books. You decide what is too much or too little annotating (but also keep future you in mind. don’t make future you distracted by all the annotations on your next reread, if you get distracted by these types of things, I find that if I over annotate it takes me out of the story on future rereads)