#while trying to come up with a stupid holiday joke for this ask I did briefly think up a play off of 'making spirits bright'

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

Given they're a thing in Thedas, do you think Mori would enjoy wearing "ugly" holiday sweaters? What kind of sweater would she go for? Bright and festive? Ironic? Lewd?

Bonus question: Matching couples sweaters, y/n?

I'm still very deep in the cesspit of my own lack of focus but THIS. THIS I CAN ANSWER EASILY.

Yes, of COURSE Mori is going to wear an ugly holiday sweater. Yes, of COURSE she loves them. Yes, of COURSE it's going to be in those wonderfully garish purple/green Nevarran colors. Yes, of COURSE it's going to say something stupid like, "Got My Holiday Spirits" and have a repeating pattern of skulls and robed figures and skeletons on it. She respects the ancestral dead plenty, but she also thinks a little bit of whimsy about them is good to show to outsiders. Plus, the wisps probably think it's funny!

She WOULD be willing to forgo this for a matching couple sweater, though. Especially if they came from Harding's ma. :>

[julietsf1]

The Idiot I Call Mine - Lando Norris x BestFriend! Reader

summary: best friends are supposed to share laughs, inside jokes, fries and the occasional late-night drive. what they’re not supposed to do is flirt like it’s a competitive sport or make you question every unspoken rule of friendship. at least, unless your name is Lando Norris apparently. (7.1k words)

content: fluff! friends to lovers; flirty dynamic; mutual pining

an: whaaat? a fic about another driver? yes loves. this is me coming forward as a secret Lando fan. I hope you'll enjoy as much as I did writing this :)

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Lando Norris has this annoying habit of always being right. It’s not even about anything important—it’s just little things. Like the time he guessed exactly how long it would take before I caved and ordered dessert, or when he said I’d end up watching a rom-com tonight even though I claimed I wanted “something deep and meaningful.”

“See?” he said smugly, leaning back on the couch as the opening credits of The Holiday  played. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Hardly,” I shot back, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “You just know I have a weak spot for Jude Law. That doesn’t make you psychic.”

“No, but it does make me an excellent best friend.” He winked, plucking the popcorn off his lap and popping it into his mouth like the show-off he was.

I rolled my eyes, pretending I wasn’t fighting a grin. Lando and I had been inseparable for years, the kind of best friends who finished each other’s sentences and shared a borderline unhealthy obsession with late-night McDonald’s runs. But lately, something had been… different.

Not bad, exactly. Just different. Maybe? I wasn’t even sure to be honest. 

“You’re staring again,” Lando said, breaking into my thoughts. He was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest in a way that felt entirely too casual and yet completely deliberate. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, and his smirk was the kind that could make even the most confident person question their sanity.

“I wasn’t staring,” I lied, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it in my mouth for good measure.

“You were absolutely staring,” he teased, leaning closer. “What’s on your mind, hmm? Thinking about how devastatingly handsome I am? It’s okay—you can admit it.”

“You’re such a joke,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed but failing miserably. “Devastatingly handsome? Please. You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Exactly,” he said, flashing a grin. “And yet, here you are, spending your Friday night with me. Interesting choice.”

“I’m here for the popcorn,” I deadpanned, though even I didn’t believe myself. “And because you begged me.”

“I didn’t beg,” he protested. “I suggested��strongly. There’s a difference.”

This was us—lighthearted insults, jokes at each other’s expense, and an ease in our conversations that felt like home. If there was something different lately, I told myself it was just my imagination running wild. 

“Speaking of choices,” I said, leaning back against the couch. “What’s the deal with you and your phone wallpaper?”

“What about it?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Oh, come on, Lando,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You really expect me to believe you just happened to pick a picture of me for your wallpaper?”

“It’s a great photo,” he said with a shrug. “You look happy. And let’s not pretend your wallpaper isn’t me.”

I froze, caught. He was right—my wallpaper was him, but that wasn’t the point.

“That’s different,” I said quickly. “You look stupid in yours. It’s funny.”

“Ah, so I’m your personal clown now?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock offense. “Good to know my humiliation brings you joy.”

“Always,” I said sweetly, tossing another piece of popcorn his way.

The movie played on in the background, but neither of us was really paying attention. We were too busy pushing each other’s buttons, like always.

“Hey,” Lando said after a while, his tone a little softer. “You’re coming to dinner at Mum’s next weekend, right?”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “She’s already planning the menu. Something with pasta, probably. You know how she gets when you’re coming over.”

I smiled despite myself. His family had always treated me like one of their own, and his mum had a knack for making me feel special in ways that were both comforting and overwhelming.

“Well, in that case,” I said, pretending to think it over. “I guess I can clear my schedule.”

“Good,” he said, nudging me with his elbow. “I’d be bored without you there.”

It was moments like this—simple and familiar—that stuck with me longer than they should. The way he said things so casually, as if they didn’t carry any weight, even when they somehow did. 

“You’ve got something on your face,” I said suddenly, trying to distract myself.

“Where?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Right there,” I said, tapping the corner of my mouth.

He smirked, deliberately licking the spot where I’d pointed. “Better?”

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” I said, shoving him away. But I was laughing, and so was he.

“You love it,” he said, and for once, I didn’t argue. Because maybe I did.

As the night went on, the teasing continued, each remark more loaded than the last. By the time the credits rolled, I wasn’t sure if it was the movie or Lando’s lingering glances that had me feeling so off-kilter.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he said, breaking the silence as he stood to clean up the popcorn bowl. “Something on your mind?”

“Just thinking,” I said vaguely, not meeting his gaze.

“About?” he pressed, leaning against the counter with a smirk that said he already knew the answer.

“Nothing important,” I said, grabbing my phone and pretending to scroll.

“Liar,” he said, his voice playful but probing. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know that?”

I glanced up at him, my heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it had been doing lately. He was standing there like he had all the time in the world, his green eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

“Goodnight, Lando,” I said finally, brushing past him on my way to the couch.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he called after me, his voice laced with amusement.

…

“You know, for someone who claims to be an athlete, you spend an alarming amount of time eating,” I said, glancing at Lando over the top of my menu.

“Carbs are fuel,” he replied, flashing me a grin. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand that we could’ve gone somewhere normal instead of whatever this place is,” I said, gesturing to the overly fancy restaurant. The kind of place where the wine glasses sparkled brighter than the chandeliers, and the menu was full of words I couldn’t pronounce.

“You’re so ungrateful,” he teased, leaning back in his chair. “Do you know how hard it was to get a table here? I had to name-drop myself.”

“Wow,” I said dryly. “The struggle.”

“Exactly. And now you’re here, about to enjoy the finest pasta in town, thanks to me. A little gratitude wouldn’t kill you.”

“Gratitude? You dragged me here under false pretenses. You said this was a ‘low-key spot.’”

“It is low-key,” he argued, gesturing around. “For Monte Carlo standards.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto my face. This was just how things were with Lando—effortless, easy, and borderline ridiculous.

“Alright, what are you getting?” Lando asked, lowering his menu.

“Fettuccine Alfredo,” I said without hesitation.

“Of course you are,” he said, smirking. “Predictable.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I shot back. “What are you getting, then? Something groundbreaking? Life-changing? Revolutionary?”

“Tagliatelle al tartufo,” he said with a mockingly posh accent.

“Wow,” I said, feigning awe. “Truffle pasta. You’re really pushing the boundaries, Norris.”

“Don’t be jealous just because I have sophisticated taste,” he replied, the smirk never leaving his face.

“‘Sophisticated’ is one way to put it,” I muttered, pretending to study the menu again. “Another is ‘pretentious.’”

“You’ll be begging for a bite,” he said confidently, setting the menu down.

“Please,” I said, scoffing. “You’ll be stealing mine before the plates even hit the table.”

He leaned forward, his grin widening. “You know me so well.”

The food arrived soon after, and, as predicted, we switched plates halfway through without even discussing it. It was second nature by now, like so many other things about us.

“You know,” Lando said, twirling a forkful of fettuccine, “if this whole racing thing doesn’t work out, I could be a food critic.”

“Sure,” I said, deadpan. “Because people are dying to know what Lando Norris thinks about pasta.”

“They would be,” he said, undeterred. “My palate is unparalleled.”

“Your palate consists of pizza, chicken nuggets, and whatever I’m eating,” I shot back.

“And yet, here we are,” he said, gesturing to the table. “Me, enjoying this culinary masterpiece, and you, enjoying my company. Life is good.”

It was shaping up to be another night of easy conversation and mindless teasing until a voice interrupted us.

“Lando?”

I looked up to see two women standing at the edge of our table. They were both tall, blonde, and effortlessly elegant, the kind of women who looked like they belonged in a magazine spread rather than real life.

“Oh, hey!” Lando said, his face lighting up in recognition.

I glanced at him, watching as his entire demeanor shifted ever so slightly. He straightened up, his grin widening just enough to make my stomach twist.

“We haven’t seen you in forever,” one of the women said, her smile bright and practiced.

“I know,” Lando said, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “It’s been a while.”

“You look great,” one of them said, her smile bright as she leaned in a little too close.

“So do you,” Lando replied, his tone polite but just warm enough to make me suddenly very interested in my water glass. The conversation floated around me, full of laughter and inside jokes I didn’t understand.

“And who’s this?” one of them finally asked, her gaze flicking to me with polite curiosity.

“This is Y/N,” Lando said, gesturing toward me with a casualness that felt too deliberate. “My best friend.”

Best friend. There it was again.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Likewise,” she replied, her tone perfectly pleasant.

They didn’t linger much longer—just enough to leave their mark before excusing themselves with a wave and a promise to “catch up soon.”

“Old friends of yours?” I asked once they were gone, my voice light but with a slight edge.

“Something like that,” Lando said, taking a sip of his water.

“Something like that?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, his smirk returning. “They’re sisters. I, uh… may have had a thing with both of them. At different times, obviously.”

My fork froze midair. “Both of them?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, laughing. “It’s not that weird.”

“It’s incredibly weird,” I said, shaking my head.

“I mean, it didn’t overlap or anything,” he added, as if that somehow made it better. “But yeah… sisters.”

I stared at him, equal parts amused and horrified. “That’s… impressive? I guess?”

“Thank you,” he said, grinning like he’d just been handed an award. “Think I should call them again?”

“Sure,” I forced a laugh, stabbing at my pasta. “And then ask if they have any other sisters you might’ve missed.”

He chuckled, clearly oblivious to the sarcasm in my tone. “Good idea. Always room for a hat trick.”

My stomach churned uncomfortably, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I focused on my plate, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way my mood had shifted.

…

The paddock was its usual chaotic self—teams rushing to prepare for practice sessions, fans peering over barriers for a glimpse of their favorite drivers, and media personnel darting between interviews. I decided to escape the madness for a bit, heading toward the staff catering building for a much-needed coffee.

The line was mercifully short, but as I joined it, I noticed someone already waiting near the front. Tall, dark-haired, and wearing a Ferrari polo with his name—Marco—stitched neatly on the chest. He turned slightly, catching my eye and offering a polite smile.

“Busy morning?” he asked, his tone warm and conversational.

“Something like that,” I replied with a small smile. “You?”

“Always,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But coffee makes it manageable, no?”

I nodded. “A universal truth.”

Marco stepped aside to let me order, a gesture so casual it almost went unnoticed. As I gave my order to the barista, I felt him glance at me again—not invasive, just curious.

“So, not Ferrari,” he said after I stepped back to wait for my coffee.

“Is it that obvious?” I joked.

“A little,” he admitted, his grin widening. “You’re far too relaxed to be one of us.”

“Should I be offended or flattered?” I asked, tilting my head playfully.

“Flattered,” he said easily. “Relaxed is a good thing.”

We fell into an easy rhythm as we waited. Marco was effortlessly charming, asking questions without prying and tossing in a few self-deprecating remarks about Ferrari’s chaos.

“You’re here with a team?” he asked eventually.

“A friend,” I said vaguely.

“Lucky friend,” he said, his tone light but genuine.

I laughed softly. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

Marco opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation.

“There you are.”

I turned to see Lando approaching, his expression relaxed but his eyes sharper than usual.

“Hey,” I said, surprised. “I thought you were doing media.”

“Finished early,” he said, stepping closer. His gaze flicked briefly to Marco, who stood quietly by my side. “And I figured I’d find you here.”

“Good instincts,” I said lightly, though something about his sudden appearance felt… deliberate.

Marco offered his hand to Lando, ever polite. “Marco. Ferrari engineering.”

“Lando,” he replied, shaking his hand. “McLaren driving.”

Marco chuckled. “I know who you are. Good to meet you.”

“You too,” Lando said, his tone friendly but with an edge I couldn’t quite place.

The barista called my name, and I turned to grab my coffee, giving them a moment to exchange polite words. By the time I returned, Marco was stepping away with his own drink.

“Enjoy the rest of your day,” he said, offering me a small wave before disappearing into the crowd.

Lando watched him go before turning back to me. “Who was that?”

“Marco,” I said simply.

“And what was Marco talking to you about?” he asked, his tone too casual to be entirely innocent.

I raised an eyebrow. “Coffee, mostly. Why?”

“No reason,” he said quickly, taking a sip of my drink.

I studied him for a moment, noting the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird,” he said defensively.

“You’re definitely acting weird.”

Lando sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely baffled.

“He was flirting,” Lando said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I blinked. “He was being nice.”

“Nice,” Lando repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. “Sure. That’s one way to put it.”

“Lando, he’s just a guy who works for Ferrari,” I said, shaking my head.

“Exactly,” he said, as if that proved his point.

There was a beat of silence as I processed his words.

“You sound jealous,” I said finally, testing the waters.

“Jealous?” he scoffed, though the flicker of something in his eyes gave him away. “Hardly. I just think you can do way better than some guy who chats you up in the coffee line.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he asked, smirking now.

“Yes,” I said firmly, though the warmth in my chest betrayed me.

We walked back toward the McLaren garage, his mood lightening with every step. By the time we arrived, he was back to his usual self—chatting with the mechanics and laughing at some joke I’d already missed.

But his words stayed with me, replaying in my mind as I sat down with my coffee. My coffee which Lando had somehow already drank half of. 

…

The McLaren lounge was a rare oasis of calm in the chaos of a race weekend. Engineers hustled past the windows, radios crackled with updates, and somewhere in the distance, an engine roared to life. But in here, it was all plush couches, soft lighting, and a distinct lack of urgency.

I was curled up on one end of the couch, flipping through a magazine, while Oscar and Lando lounged on the other side. Lando, as usual, couldn’t sit still. He was draped sideways over the armrest, absently spinning a water bottle in his hands.

“Alright,” Lando announced, breaking the comfortable silence. “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses?”

I looked up from my magazine, narrowing my eyes. “That’s the best you’ve got?���

“It’s an important question,” he insisted, his grin wide and mischievous.

I pretended to ponder for a moment. “One horse-sized duck. Definitely.”

Lando gaped at me like I’d just declared something outrageous. “Terrible answer. Absolutely terrible.”

“It’s the smart answer,” I shot back, sitting up straighter. “You outmaneuver one big target instead of exhausting yourself trying to wrangle a hundred tiny ones.”

“Do you even know how terrifying a horse-sized duck would be?” Lando asked, his voice rising in mock disbelief.

“And do you know how terrifying a hundred duck-sized horses would be?” I countered, raising an eyebrow.

Lando leaned forward, his grin widening. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me you’d rather face one giant, angry duck with a wingspan bigger than this couch?”

“Absolutely,” I said confidently. “Ducks aren’t that scary.”

“They can bite, you know,” he shot back, gesturing dramatically. “One snap, and you’re done for.”

I smirked, leaning closer. “I think I’d survive. Besides, I have a secret weapon.”

“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing playfully.

“You,” I said, deadpan. “I’ll just toss you in its path and run.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. “Wow. That’s cold, Y/N. I thought we were a team.”

“We are,” I said, grinning. “But only if you pick the right answer next time.”

For a moment, he was quiet, his grin faltering just slightly as he met my gaze. It wasn’t much, just a flicker of something softer beneath the banter. But it was enough to make my stomach do that annoying little flip I’d been trying to ignore.

“Lando,” Oscar interjected, his tone casual but pointed. “You’re staring.”

“I am not,” Lando said quickly, his ears turning the faintest shade of pink as he looked away.

“You are,” Oscar said, leaning back with a smirk.

“You’re imagining things,” Lando muttered, crossing his arms.

Oscar snorted but didn’t press the issue, instead grabbing his phone and scrolling through it idly. But the look he shot Lando wasn’t lost on me—or Lando, for that matter.

As the banter settled into silence, I decided to grab a drink from the catering area, leaving the two of them alone.

The moment the door swung shut behind me, Oscar struck. “Mate, you’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“About what?” Lando asked, feigning innocence as he fidgeted with the water bottle.

Oscar didn’t even look up from his phone. “About Y/N.”

“What about her?”

Oscar set his phone down, leveling Lando with a knowing look. “You’re acting like a lovesick puppy every time she’s around.”

Lando scoffed, though the tips of his ears betrayed him again. “That’s ridiculous. We’re just friends.”

“Sure,” Oscar said, dragging out the word like he was savoring it. “That’s why you light up like a Christmas tree whenever she walks in the room.”

“I do not,” Lando said defensively, but his voice lacked conviction.

“You do,” Oscar replied, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “Mate, you’re glaring holes into the back of her head every time she talks to someone else. And don’t even get me started on how you were watching her during the duck-and-horse debate like she’d just solved world peace.”

“That’s—” Lando started, then stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Right,” Oscar said, his smirk firmly in place. “It’s exactly like that, but go off.”

Lando opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly searching for the right words. “It’s… we’ve known each other forever. It’s Y/N.”

Oscar nodded, as if that made sense, but his smirk didn’t waver. “Don’t you think it would be time to change that soon? You two are exhausting.”

Lando shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You’re completely gone for her. Admit it already.”

Lando groaned, leaning back against the couch and running a hand through his hair. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, grinning now. “But I’m right.”

Lando didn’t respond, his gaze drifting to the door where I’d just left. And for the first time, he let himself wonder if maybe—just maybe—Oscar was onto something.

…

The moment we walked into George’s celebration, the energy hit like a wave. The room was packed with familiar faces—drivers, engineers, and friends—dressed to the nines in that effortless way people in motorsport always seemed to manage. String lights twinkled across the ceiling, soft jazz played over the speakers, and a steady hum of conversation filled the air.

“You’re going to owe me for this,” I teased, glancing at Lando. “Dragging me here after wasting twenty minutes deciding between two identical shirts.”

“They weren’t identical,” Lando replied with a roll of his eyes, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back as we weaved through the crowd. “One had a darker stitch.”

“Completely life-changing,” I said dryly, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

“See? You get it,” he shot back with a grin, steering us toward a booth near the bar.

The way his hand lingered, warm and steady, was something I tried not to think too much about. It was just Lando being Lando—playful, touchy, and completely oblivious to the little flips my stomach insisted on doing whenever he leaned too close.

We found our way to a booth not far from the bar, where Alexandra and Charles were already seated. Charles was gesturing animatedly about something, while Alexandra sat with her usual poised grace, sipping champagne. When she saw us, her face lit up.

“Enfin, vous êtes là !” Alexandra exclaimed, waving us over. (Finally, you’re here!)

“Lando a changé de chemise trois fois,” I replied, throwing him a look. (Lando changed his shirt three times.)

Charles chuckled, leaning back with a smirk. “Toujours dramatique, hein ?” (Always dramatic, huh?)

“English,” Lando whined as we slid into the booth. “You’re ganging up on me in French. It’s not fair.”

“Pauvre bébé,” I teased, patting his arm lightly. (Poor baby.)

“Whatever that means,” he muttered, though the grin tugging at his lips made it clear he wasn’t upset.

The conversation flowed easily between the four of us. Lando, of course, dominated the chatter, weaving an elaborate story about George’s awkward rookie days. His expressions were so animated, his gestures so over-the-top, that even Charles—usually the calm and composed one—was cracking up by the end.

“That’s not true,” I said, nudging Lando with my elbow. “You’re exaggerating again.”

“I’m not!” he protested, his green eyes wide with mock innocence. “It’s all true. Every word.”

“Sure it is,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Back me up here!” he said, turning to Charles.

Charles raised a brow, taking a deliberate sip of his drink. “I wasn’t there, but… I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Alexandra laughed softly, glancing at me. “Toujours l’acteur dramatique, ce Lando.” (Always the drama actor, that Lando.)

“Hey,” Lando said, pointing at her. “I know that wasn’t a compliment.”

I smirked, leaning closer. “It absolutely wasn’t.”

He gasped dramatically, his hand over his chest. “Betrayed by my own friends. I’ll never recover.”

“You’ll survive,” I said, brushing him off, though the warmth in his gaze lingered just a beat too long.

Lando eventually excused himself to grab drinks, leaving me to chat with Alexandra and Charles. As soon as he was out of earshot, Alexandra leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Il est tellement évident qu’il a un faible pour toi,” she said softly, her voice full of amusement. (It’s so obvious he has a thing for you.)

“Quoi?” I asked, my cheeks heating instantly. (What?)

“Ouvre les yeux,” she said, smirking. (Open your eyes.)

Charles chuckled, sipping his drink as he watched the exchange. “C’est écrit partout sur son visage.” (It’s written all over his face.)

“Stop,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re imagining things.”

Alexandra raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, her expression saying everything her words didn’t.

At the bar, Lando was cornered by Carlos, who leaned casually against the counter, his expression smug. 

“You know,” Carlos said, his tone casual, “you’re not very subtle.”

“What are you talking about?” Lando asked, though his focus kept drifting toward the booth where I was sitting.

Carlos raised his drink, gesturing toward me. “You’ve been staring at her all night, hermano. Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

Lando stiffened, his grin faltering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just tell her,” Carlos said, swirling his drink lazily.

“It’s not that simple,” Lando replied, his voice quieter now.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because if I mess this up, I lose her,” Lando admitted, glancing toward our booth.

Carlos tilted his head, studying him. “You’re scared. That’s what this is.”

“Of course I’m scared,” Lando muttered, running a hand through his hair. “She’s my best friend. If it doesn’t work—”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Carlos interrupted, his voice softer now. “But you’d better do something soon.”

Carlos’s smirk softened slightly, but before Lando could reply, Liam Lawson appeared at the bar.

“Who’s the girl with Charles and Alexandra?” Liam asked, nodding toward the booth. “She single?”

Carlos grinned mischievously. “Yeah, she is—go for it.”

Lando’s head snapped toward Carlos, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Carlos.”

“What?” Carlos said, feigning innocence. “Just giving the kid a shot.”

…

Liam approached with the kind of confidence that only a Red Bull driver could pull off.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from me. “You’re Y/N, right?”

I blinked, momentarily surprised but recovering quickly. “That’s me. And you are?”

“Liam Lawson,” he said, extending a hand.

I shook it, his grip firm but not overbearing. “Nice to meet you.”

“How do you know George?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table as if he had all the time in the world.

“Through Lando,” I replied, keeping my tone polite but measured. His easy demeanor was almost disarming, but there was something about the way he looked at me that made me hyper-aware of my surroundings.

“Ah, Lando,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Lucky guy. You two seem pretty close.”

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” I said simply, taking a sip of my drink and trying not to overthink his comment.

“Well,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “his loss if he hasn’t made a move yet.”

That caught me off guard. My gaze flicked to his, searching for any hint of a joke, but he was entirely serious—or at least good at pretending to be.

“Excuse me?” I asked, my voice betraying my surprise.

Liam grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Just saying. If I were him, I wouldn’t be sitting over there, letting someone else steal your attention.”

The comment was bold, and I didn’t quite know how to respond. My thoughts were a mess of confusion, flattery, and something else I didn’t want to name. Before I could formulate a response, the familiar sound of Lando’s voice cut through the air.

“Liam,” he said smoothly, stepping up to the table. His tone was calm, but his green eyes held a sharpness that made me sit up a little straighter.

Liam glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Christian’s looking for you,” Lando said, his tone casual but firm. “Something about debrief notes.”

Liam frowned, clearly reluctant. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, nodding. “He seemed pretty keen.”

Liam hesitated, his gaze flicking between me and Lando like he was weighing his options. Finally, he sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “Alright. Nice meeting you, Y/N.”

“You too,” I replied, watching him leave with a mixture of relief and something I couldn’t quite pin down.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Lando lingered for a moment, his hands shoved into his pockets as he avoided my gaze.

“That,” Charles said, his tone thick with amusement, “was the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Lando shot him a glare, his ears turning faintly red. “Mind your own business, Charles.”

Charles just smirked, raising his glass in mock surrender. “Whatever you say.”

I didn’t say anything, but a flicker of suspicion settled in the back of my mind.

Had Lando just…? No. That would be ridiculous. Wouldn’t it?

“Let’s get a drink,” Alexandra said, pulling me to my feet.

…

As Alexandra and I made our way back toward the booth, she nudged me gently, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

“Lando looked like he was about to breathe fire earlier,” she said casually, sipping her drink.

I laughed softly, trying to deflect. “He’s always protective. It’s nothing.”

“Protective?” Alexandra repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That was not protective, chérie. That was jealousy.”

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped short as we neared the booth, Lando and Charles’s voices filtering through the hum of the room.

“It will just be awkward, mate,” Lando said, his tone low and almost resigned.

“Just talk about it,” Charles replied simply.

“It’s not that simple,” Lando muttered. “She will never be more than just a friend.”

The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. My chest tightened, and the air around me seemed to still. Alexandra’s hand touched my arm gently, but I barely noticed.

“I— I need some air,” I managed, turning away before she could respond.

The ache in my chest grew with every step I took, his words echoing in my head.

She will never be more than just a friend.

And just like that, everything I thought I’d imagined felt painfully real.

…

I turned my phone face down on the table at Gigi’s, willing myself not to glance at the screen again. The missed calls from Lando were piling up, his name lighting up my notifications every half hour like clockwork. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to him—I did. But every time I thought about his voice, his laugh, his damn words, the ache in my chest tightened.

She will never be more than just a friend.

I shook my head, forcing the thought away as the waiter arrived with my order. The smell of rich, cheesy pasta wafted up, comforting in the way only food could be. I twirled a forkful absentmindedly, hoping the carbs would somehow fill the space that had been hollowed out the night before.

The familiar growl of an engine outside pulled my attention from my plate. I glanced toward the window and froze.

The unmistakable silhouette of Lando’s Miura parked just outside, sleek and shining even under the soft glow of streetlights. A moment later, the door opened, and there he was, stepping out effortless as usual—but his expression wasn’t the easygoing grin I was used to. He looked… worried.

Before I could decide what to do, he spotted me through the window, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. He pushed through the door, his eyes locking onto mine immediately.

“There you are,” he said, relief evident in his tone as he approached my table.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Lando? What are you doing here?”

He pulled out the chair across from me, sitting down without asking. “Looking for you.”

My heart twisted. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been ignoring me all day,” he said, his voice quieter now.

I looked away, focusing on my fork. “I had my phone off that’s all.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he said finally, his voice softer but steady.

I glanced up, frowning. “What?”

“You always turn to cheesy Italian food when you’re upset,” he said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s your thing.”

The casual observation caught me off guard, a mix of warmth and frustration bubbling in my chest.

“So what?” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “You’re some kind of expert on me now?”

He sighed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Y/N, I know you better than anyone. And I know something’s wrong.”

I didn’t answer, twisting my fork in the pasta and pretending to be engrossed in my meal. But the usual comfort it brought was absent, replaced by the uncomfortable weight of his gaze.

“You’re not yourself,” Lando said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, my tone clipped.

“Don’t lie to me,” he replied, his tone more serious than I was used to.

I set my fork down, the clink of metal against porcelain louder than it should have been. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking.”

His eyes softened, his frustration giving way to concern. “Y/N…”

“Lando, I’m fine,” I interrupted, though the words felt hollow.

He didn’t push further, but I could see the gears turning in his head. He sat back, glancing down at my half-finished plate of pasta before gesturing to the waiter.

“Can we get the check, please?” he asked, pulling out his wallet.

I frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Paying,” he said simply, standing as the waiter approached.

“For me?”

“Yes,” he said, looking down at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Come on.”

“Come on where?” I asked, my brow furrowing.

“You’ll see,” he said, extending a hand.

I hesitated for a moment before letting him pull me to my feet.

The warm night air hit us as we stepped out of Gigi’s, the soft sound of waves in the distance mingling with the faint hum of the city. Lando didn’t say anything, his grip on my hand firm but gentle as he led me toward Larvotto Beach, just a short walk away.

“Lando, seriously,” I said as we reached the sand. “What’s going on?”

He stopped, turning to face me, his green eyes brighter under the moonlight.

“We need to talk.” he said simply.

And just like that, my heart started racing, even though I had no idea what he was going to say.

The beach stretched out before us, quiet except for the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore. The city lights glittered faintly in the distance, their reflection dancing on the dark water. Lando walked beside me, his shoulders tense, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

For once, I didn’t fill the silence. I didn’t trust myself to. My thoughts were a whirlwind—last night’s overheard words still fresh in my mind, colliding with the unexpected intensity of this moment.

We walked like that for a while, the sand soft beneath our feet, until Lando came to a sudden stop. He turned to face me, his green eyes catching the moonlight in a way that made my stomach twist.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

I crossed my arms, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. “Try the beginning.”

He huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “The beginning’s too far back. I’d be here all night.”

“Good thing I don’t have anywhere else to be,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

For a moment, he just looked at me, his expression softening. “Y/N, I have a lot of friends. Like, a lot of friends.”

I blinked, confused. “Okay?”

“But none of them get to me the way you do,” he said, his voice dropping.

I stared at him, my breath catching. “What are you saying?”

He glanced out at the water, like he was searching for courage in the rolling waves. “I mean… you’re not just anyone to me. You never have been. You’re the first person I think of when something happens—good or bad. And the idea of upsetting you? It’s unbearable.”

My throat tightened as his words sank in.

“Like today,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “You ignored my calls, and I couldn’t stop thinking about whether I’d done something wrong. Whether I hurt you somehow. Because if I did…” He stopped, exhaling sharply, and shook his head. “I can’t stand the thought of you being upset because of me.”

I didn’t respond, too caught up in the flood of emotions his words were pulling from me.

“When you’re upset, it breaks my heart,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “And when you laugh… it’s like my entire day gets brighter. When you’re sad, it feels like my world’s falling apart.”

“Lando,” I started, but he held up a hand, shaking his head.

“I’m not done,” he said, his words tumbling out now, faster and more frantic. “I’ve been feeling like this for so long, and I thought I could just push it aside or pretend it didn’t matter, but it does. It matters so much. And if I messed up—if I’ve ruined this somehow—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You didn’t—”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted, his eyes locking onto mine. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now, but I’ve been too scared to admit it. And I know this might change everything, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

I froze, his confession slamming into me with the force of a tidal wave.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know if this makes sense. I just… I can’t lose you, Y/N.”

Without thinking, I stepped closer, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

For a second, he was completely still, caught off guard. But then he kissed me back, his hands slipping to my waist as he pulled me closer. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it deepened quickly, making the world around me disappear.

When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us catching our breath.

“So… I’m guessing you feel the same?” he asked, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re so slow sometimes,” I murmured, shaking my head with a laugh.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” I said, smiling.

The relief on his face was almost comical. He pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me tightly like he never wanted to let go.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” he murmured into my hair.

“And I’ve wanted to hear it,” I admitted, my voice muffled against his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “But… yesterday. Did I say something? Did I—”

I hesitated, my stomach twisting. “I overheard you talking to Charles.”

His face paled. “Oh.”

“You said I’d never be more than a friend,” I said, my voice wavering.

Lando winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “God, Y/N, that’s not how I meant it at all. I said that because I thought I didn’t stand a chance. Like… you’re so important to me, and I didn’t want to mess up what we already had by wanting something I thought I could never have.”

He looked at me with a mix of regret and hope. “I’m an idiot. It wasn’t because I didn’t want more—it’s because I didn’t think I could have it.”

“You are an idiot,” I said, my lips twitching into a small smile. “But you’re my idiot.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Yours, huh? Bold claim.”

I tilted my head, my grin widening. “Think you can find someone else to deal with you the way I do?”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Deal with me? You mean worship my charm and tolerate my perfection?”

“Oh, please,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “The only thing I’m worshipping is the patience I’ve built up putting up with you.”

His hands slid to my waist, pulling me slightly closer, his smirk turning more mischievous. “You love me. Admit it.”

“Not a chance,” I said, even as my pulse quickened.

His gaze dropped to my lips for the briefest moment before meeting my eyes again, his voice softening but still teasing. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

Before I could respond, he closed the gap, kissing me again with a fierceness that took me by surprise. This wasn’t the hesitant, nervous kiss from before. It was confident, teasing, like everything we’d been holding back had finally snapped into place.

I kissed him back, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. His hands tightened on my waist, grounding me as he smiled against my lips, murmuring, “Still denying it?”

I broke the kiss just long enough to catch my breath, raising an eyebrow. “You think one kiss is going to make me fold?”

“Two,” he said smugly, leaning in for another without waiting for an answer.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t stop him, meeting him halfway this time. His lips curved into a grin mid-kiss, and I could feel his stupid, insufferable smugness radiating off him.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked when we pulled apart, my voice laced with mock annoyance.

“Unbelievably,” he replied, his grin widening as he rested his forehead against mine. “And don’t pretend you’re not.”

“Maybe I am,” I admitted, smirking. “But if you keep talking, I might start regretting it.”

He laughed, pulling me closer. “Alright, no more talking. For now.”

“Good,” I said, leaning in again, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore fading into the background as everything else fell away.

The weight of everything unsaid was gone, replaced by the warmth of realizing we’d both been fighting our way toward the same truth: we’d always belonged to each other.

When we broke apart, Lando’s grin turned mischievous, and I immediately knew he was up to something. Before I could react, he scooped me up effortlessly and started toward the water.

“Lando! Don’t you dare!” I shrieked, squirming in his arms as laughter bubbled out of me.

“Payback for all those times you called me an idiot,” he teased, stopping just as the waves lapped at his shoes.

He finally set me down, his smirk smug and unapologetic. “Admit it. You love me anyway.”

Figures. I’m in love with someone who steals my fries and once confidently argued that dolphins were just “sea dogs.” I wouldn’t have it any other way though.

[pastorpresent]

Wade LOVES Halloween. Absolutely LOVES it, but his first Halloween with Logan, he decides not to go too overboard. After all, the apartment is Logan's safe space, and he knows he gets easily overwhelmed and filling it with a bunch of loud things that jump out doesn't feel the best option for his PTSD.

He puts up a few decorations, and leaves it at that.

Logan doesn't realise how much the holiday means to Wade until one of his lunch meet ups with Vanessa. She makes a comment about how odd it is that Wade isn't hosting his usual Halloween party this year, and Logan frowns.

"I didn't think he was that into Halloween."

Vanessa snorts, "you kidding me? Our apartment used to look like party city in October."

Logan is confused, until he remembers the way Wade had subtly asked everytime he put up a small Halloween decoration, asking Logan's opinion on the placement, and it clicks in his head that Wade probably thinks he wouldn't like the apartment filled with Halloween stuff.

And yeah, it's not really his favourite holiday, but it seems to be Wade's and he'll be damned if the merc doesn't celebrate it on his accord.

He goes all out. He's not all that familiar with Halloween traditions, so he consults Laura for help. She explains what a 'boo basket' is, and he just sort of stares at her, "why would Wade want a plastic bucket filled with halloween versions of crap he's already got?"

"You're such a man," is her groaned reply, and Logan just adds it to his list of stuff to do.

By the time Halloween rolls around, he's honestly a bit nervous. He spends all day decorating the apartment while Wade is out. He learns from Ness that Wade hates actual pumpkin carving because he can't stand the smell or the feel of the pumpkin guts, so he sets their pumpkins on the coffee table, covered over with a spooky table cloth, with a variety of paints to decorate.

Every inch of the apartment is covered in the tackiest Halloween decor possible. Laura helped him make Halloween cupcakes. Wade's bat basket is sat on the kitchen table, filled up with his favourite candy, a ghost blanket and a little pumpkin stuffed toy. He loads up Hocus Pocus on the TV, since Ness told him it was one of Wade's favourites.

The couples costume is the one thing he insisted on figuring out himself. He'd honestly spent an embarrassingly long amount of time working something out, and he's a little nervous Wade will hate it.

"Honey I'm-"

Logan squirms in the following silence, feeling uncharacteristically anxious. He really wanted to get this right, and he really hopes he hasn't missed anything important and that Wade doesn't think the whole thing is just stupid because he really did try here.

"Are you... Finn?"

"Yeah. I got you uh, princess bubblegum, and..." he whistles for Mary, who waited ever so patiently behind the couch, and she comes scampering out in her Jake costume.

Wade is still just staring, and Logan shuffles awkwardly, "Laura's gonna be Marceline. if you don't want to dress up that's fine. Or if you don't like all this... I can take it down? I wasn't sure what-"

And then he's got an armful of Wade, who's fully wrapped around him, and Logan just barely catches him.

"You like it?" Logan asks, because even if the reaction is pretty telling he needs to know for sure.

"Like it? Like it?! Peanut I fucking love it! I fucking love you," Wade emphasises, tightening his grip, and Logan feels his body relax finally.

"You'll have to thank Laura and Ness. I wouldn't of had a clue what to do otherwise-"

Wade shuts him up with a kiss.

"Thank you, sweetheart. Honestly, you're the best," Wade smiles, a decent that nickname always makes Logan's knees feel a little weak.

"Anything for you, bub. You not realised that by now?"

And it's not a joke, not really, and he can tell Wade knows that by the way his smile softens.

They go to Vanessa's Halloween party that night, and Logan's convinced she crowns them winners of the costume contest out of pity for all of Logan's effort the last few days, but it doesn't matter anyway because of the way the matching 'best dressed' sashes make Wade somehow light up even more for the rest of the night.

[itneverendshere]

okay we know rafes help reader in situations like with electricity and no car and such. but maybe it’s the first time where he knows he’s in love with her and she’s the one for him, where she doesn’t go to him for any help. and it’s maybe like not having enough money to buy groceries for herself, or how she walks to work still bc she can’t afford gas. and he gets so mad, and she thinks it’s an inconvenience to him. but it’s actually because rafe will always be there for her, and no matter what the problem is , he can fix it just for her

you got me overnight - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader(bartender!reader universe) warnings: first fight and confession 🫂

Rafe knew convincing you he was worth a shot was the easiest part of your relationship.

You were absolutely perfect, made to be his. He could picture you right now, the way you’d smile at his stupid jokes, the warmth of your hand in his, or how you’d send him those random "good morning" texts that hit him like a gut punch every time. You were everything. It wasn’t just the way you looked, although that obviously had him floored, but the way you thought about things, the way you cared about people. It was all of it. You gave a shit.

That was something new for him.

He never thought he’d get someone like you, someone who made him want to be better. It was months later, and he was hooked.

Totally gone. You were the real deal for him. Every time his phone buzzed with your name on the screen, it hit him in the chest. Hard.

So when you dropped it on him, casually, that you were walking to work because you didn’t have the gas money while he’d been away on a family holiday, it set off something inside him.

You said it like it was no big deal, like it was just another part of your day. He was losing it. The idea of you walking to work, sweating it out while he was chilling on vacation, made him feel sick. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. He didn’t understand why you didn’t tell him earlier, didn’t ask for help. Why didn’t you call him? He could’ve handled it in a second, no problem. You didn’t need to be doing stuff like that. 

“You’ve been walking to work?”

“Yeah… it’s fine. It’s not far,” you replied, brushing it off like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing. Not to him. He knew how far your walk was.

He knew it wasn’t just around the corner. And you didn’t have to be doing this. Even if he hadn’t been there for the past week to give you a ride as he usually did, he could’ve taken care of it even if he was miles away. He was always here for you, even if he wasn’t physically there.

Rafe gripped the counter tighter, trying to keep his frustration under control, for your sake. “Why didn’t you say anything? You didn’t tell me you were low on gas.”

You gave a little shrug, as if that was the end of the conversation.

“Didn’t wanna bother you. It’s not your problem.”

Didn’t wanna bother him? Not his problem? You were his problem, the best kind of problem, and he couldn’t understand why you thought you had to handle everything by yourself. It pissed him off—not at you, but at the fact that you were doing this, struggling in silence. It was like you didn’t trust him to be there for you. 

You didn’t trust him enough to lean on him when you needed something.

“What do you mean it’s not my problem?” His voice came out harsher than what he'd hoped for, and you froze, eyes wide.

“Whoa. Chill,” you said, holding your hands up defensively. “I didn’t think you’d get so worked up about it. I can handle it.”

But that wasn’t the point. You shouldn’t have to handle it. Not when you had him. You were supposed to lean on him, to come to him when things like this came up. 

That’s what being together meant.

It was crazy to him. Every part of him wanted to protect you, to make sure you didn’t have to deal with anything like this on your own. The thought of you walking to work—tired, probably stressed out—while he was away doing nothing important...he hated it.

"You don’t have to handle it, though," he argued, voice softer now but still frustrated “That’s the thing. You don’t get it, do you? I want to help. I need to help. When you're struggling, that's my problem too. I wanna be there for you. Always.”

You looked at him like he was overreacting like he was making something out of nothing. “Baby, it’s not that serious. It’s just a couple of walks. You’re acting like I was in danger or something.”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm down, but it wasn’t working. "It's not about the fucking walks. It's the fact that you didn’t even think to tell me. Like I wouldn’t care.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples like you were tired of this conversation already. “I didn’t wanna bother you. You were on vacation. I didn’t want to stress you out over something so small.”

He didn’t know why it pissed him off so much, but it did. It was gnawing at him like a splinter under his skin, “You’re serious? You didn’t think it was worth mentioning?” 

You shifted on your feet, already defensive. “I don’t know. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. I figured I’d just handle it.”

“That’s exactly the problem!” he snapped, stepping closer to you, his hand gesturing wildly. “You figured you’d handle it? What the fuck? Why would you think I wouldn’t want to know about something like this?”

“Because it’s stupid gas money, Rafe!” you fired back, your frustration bubbling to the surface now. “I didn’t wanna bother you with something so small! You were gone, and I didn’t want to make it a whole fucking thing.”

He could hear the irritation in your voice, but it just made him angrier.

You thought you were protecting him from being “bothered,” but all it did was make him feel like you didn’t need him. Like you didn’t think he could help, or worse, like you didn’t want him to.

“Small? Are you fucking kiddin’ me? You walked to work for how many days, in the heat, probably tired as fuck, and you think that’s small?” His voice was rising, and he hated that he couldn’t control it, but he was too worked up now. “It’s not about the gas money. It’s the fact that you didn’t tell me. You kept it to yourself, like I’m just some fucking dude who’s not in your life like that.”

You crossed your arms, your own frustration clear. “Rafe, you’re blowing this way out of proportion. I didn’t need to tell you because I can take care of myself. I’m not helpless.”

“That’s not what this is about!” he nearly shouted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “This isn’t about you being helpless or not! It’s about you letting me be there for you, letting me help you when things get tough. Shit. That’s what this is, what we are. You don’t fucking get it.”

“I do fucking get it, Rafe!” you snapped back, stepping closer to him, your eyes burning with misplaced anger. “But I don’t need to run to you every time something goes wrong. I’m not gonna fall apart because of a few days without a car.”

He was grinding his teeth now, trying to keep his composure but failing miserably. “It’s not about falling apart. It’s about the fact that you didn’t even think to lean on me! You didn’t trust me enough to just call and say, ��Hey baby, I’m low on gas. Can you help?’ You shouldn’t have to figure it out on your own.”

You threw your hands up, exasperated. “I did figure it out! I walked. It wasn’t some huge disaster. I made it work.”

“But you shouldn’t have had to!” he yelled, his voice echoing in the kitchen. “Why can’t you get that? You don’t have to handle shit like this alone! I want to be there for you. I need to be there for you. Don’t you get that?”

You flinched at the volume of his voice, but you didn’t back down.

“You’re acting like I don’t care about us because I didn’t ask you to bail me out. I care, Rafe. But I can deal with things on my own, too. I’m not just gonna dump every little problem on you like it’s your job to fix everything.”

Rafe shook his head, running his hands through his hair for the millionth time, pacing now because he couldn’t stand still. “It is my job, though. That’s the whole fucking point. I’m supposed to be the one you come to when things go wrong sweets, big or small. I’m supposed to be the one who makes your life easier, not the guy you hide stuff from.”

You let out a frustrated laugh, disbelief coloring your tone. “Hide? Seriously? You think I’m hiding things from you? It was gas money, Rafe, not some deep, dark secret.”

“It feels like it, though!” he shot back, voice cracking slightly, betraying the emotion he’d been holding back. “It feels like you don’t trust me. Like I’m not… like I’m not enough for you to depend on.”

You went silent at that, your arms dropping to your sides as you stared at him, the tension between you thick and heavy. “That’s not fair,” you said quietly, shaking your head. “You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?” his voice cracked slightly, “Because it doesn’t feel like it. I’m out here thinking I’m the one who’s supposed to have your back, but you’re just out there, dealing with stuff alone. It makes me feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m not even part of your life like that.”

“That’s not what this is,” you said, stepping toward him now, the fight draining out of your voice. “I didn’t ask you because I didn’t want you to worry. Not because I don’t trust you. I thought I was helping by not making you deal with it.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Helping? You think it helps me to know you’re struggling and didn’t say anything? That’s not helping. Shit, that’s torture, baby. I’d rather know and fix it than find out after and feel like an idiot because I wasn’t there.”

You sighed, rubbing your face with both hands, exhaustion settling in. “Rafe, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I didn’t think it was that serious.”

“It’s serious to me,” he said, his voice almost a whisper now, the anger ebbing away, leaving only the hurt behind. “Because I love you. And when you love someone, you don’t want them to handle things alone. You want to be there. Always.”

You froze, eyes wide as you stared at him. What? He hadn’t planned to say it like this, not in the middle of a fight, but there it was—out there and real.

“I love you,” he repeated, quieter this time. “And I need you to understand that means I’m here. For all of it. No matter how small it seems.”

He said it. He loved you. Maybe it wasn’t the best timing, but at least it was out of his chest. This man who had always been so intense, so fiercely protective, was looking at you like you held his entire world in your hands. And you did.

He loved you. That word—love—felt huge, almost too much. But it was what you had felt for him too. It was why you held back from asking for help, not because you didn’t trust him, but because you didn’t want to burden him with every little problem. You thought you were protecting him. Now, standing there, you realized maybe you’d gotten it wrong.

“You l-love me?”

“Yeah. I thought that was obvious by now.”

“Rafe…” you started, but he shook his head, his jaw clenched like he was bracing himself for rejection.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, turning away, his hand running through his face. “You don’t have to say anything. I just—I just needed you to know.”

“No.” You stepped forward, reaching for his hand before he could pull completely away. “No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just say it and walk away like I’m not standing right here.”

His gaze shot back to yours, confused and a little bit guarded, like he wasn’t sure what to expect.

“I love you too,” you said, the words feeling right as soon as they left your lips. You squeezed his hand, needing him to feel it. “I love you, okay? I didn’t ask for help because I didn’t want to drag you into my mess. I thought I was being strong, handling things on my own. I never wanted you to feel like I didn’t need you. I do need you,” you continued, stepping closer, your voice trembling slightly. “And I know now that I should’ve just called. That I should’ve let you help me, because that’s what we do. We’re a team. I just didn’t want to be a burden.”

Rafe let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world had just been lifted off him. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest, his grip almost desperate. You melted into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck, feeling the calming thrum of his heartbeat.

“You’re not a burden,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You’ll never be a burden. I just—I need you to let me be there for you. I don’t care what it is. Big or small, I wanna know. I wanna help.”

You nodded against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent, letting the warmth of his skin calm you.

“Okay. I promise.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. There was something in his eyes now that hadn’t been there before—relief, maybe, but more than that. Love. He felt you relax against him, your body molding into his.

“Say it again,” he murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You chuckled softly, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palm. “I love you, Rafe.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. “I need you to get something,” he said softly, his voice much calmer now “When I say I love you, I’m not just saying it. I mean it. Like… for real. I’m in this, all the way.”

You blinked up at him, your eyes wide “I—” you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off gently.

“No, listen,” he interrupted, “I’ve never felt like this before. You’re everything. And I love you for it. I love every single part of you.”

He felt his chest tighten as he said it, like the words were coming from somewhere so deep inside him that he hadn’t even realized they were there until now. But they were, and they were real. He didn’t just love you—he needed you. He wasn’t sure if you’d even processed it yet. Then, slowly, you grinned, your eyes glistening just a little. 

 “This just… it feels so big. Holy shit, bigger than anything I’ve ever felt.”

“That’s because it is big,” Rafe said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he pressed his forehead against yours again. “It’s the biggest thing in the world to me. You are.”

Your breath hitched, and he could feel you trembling slightly in his arms. You reached up, cupping his face with your hands, and for the first time since the fight started, Rafe felt like you were really seeing him. Not just in that moment, but all of him—the guy who was scared out of his mind at how much he needed you, but who was willing to do anything to keep you close.

“I love you too,” you said it again, your voice shaking a little as you said it. “I’m sorry.”

 “We’re in this together,” he kissed your knuckles, his own fingers gently brushing through your hair. “No more going through stuff alone. Not you, not me. We’ve got each other now.”

You smiled, and Rafe felt like he could breathe again, really breathe, for the first time all night. “Deal,” you whispered.

And right there, he knew that everything was going to be okay.

Because you weren’t just someone he loved—you were his person. 

[letsgoletsgetit08]

soft hours pt. 1 - christmas

how they would celebrate christmas with you (plus a suprise they have trouble keeping secret)

hyung line

warnings: mdni, christmas fluff, smut

pairings: park seonghwa x f!reader, kim hongjoong x f!reader, jeong yunho x f!reader, kang yeosang x f!reader

word count: 3.4k

author's note: I picture this as slightly aged up members and their significant others, still famous and working in the industry but with solo careers (hence the ability to take actual time off for themselves). But I did try to keep that part vague. I'm not religious but I grew up with Christmas, but feel free to sub in whatever winter holiday tickles your fancy. Maknae line coming soon!

likes, comments, and reblogs always welcome as long as you're not a minor!

Park Seonghwa: Park Seonghwa loves Christmas and even moreso, winter. He has gifts and activities planned every day of December leading up to Christmas Day. He takes you ice skating, sledding, to have your picture made with Santa - even though you're both definitely too old, and yes, some of the gifts are small, like your favorite candy, some are tokens to use for quality time with him, he’s a big fan of an advent calendar. But some of the gifts, the ones closer and on Christmas proper, are very nice. Matching bracelets with both of your birthstones, a purse you had your eye on that you mentioned in passing earlier that year.

The gifts are wonderful but your favorite part is the quality time you get to spend with him. Christmas Eve is spent in the matching pajamas he gifted you, White Christmas playing in the background while the two of you assemble the Lego set you gifted him a day early, sipping on spiked apple cider and taking breaks for long, tender make out sessions and short bursts of aggressive kisses and cuddle attacks.

You take a break from building the set to read your book, curled up behind him on the couch, and when you inevitably nod off, he only pouts for a minute when you don't reply to his excitement about finishing an elaborate section of the Lego set, turning to see you with your chin to your chest, book slipping out of your hand.

You stir only when he's kissing your forehead and urging you to go brush your teeth because, “You always regret it when you don't, my little rein-dear”. He looks at you expectantly when he makes the pun and you try not to laugh at his stupid joke but you can't help it when he's cheesing in anticipation. He stares at you for a while as you fall asleep next to him in bed, watching your eyelashes flutter, resisting the urge to keep kissing your cheeks, lest he disturb you. He's too excited for the morning to fall asleep fast, but watching you is a treat.

He's up at the crack of dawn with anticipation and resists waking you up for as long as he can until eventually, he caves, situating himself between your legs, pulling down your underwear and taking his sweet time as he eats you out, his mouth gentle and languid as he eases you into consciousness. It's one of your favorite ways to wake up and he saves it for special occasions. By the time you're fully awake, you're a whiny mess, begging for him until he gives in, too excited to start the day to make this one of his longer sessions. 

“Merry Christmas to me.” You joke sleepily as he pushes inside of you slowly. 

“Mmh your pussy is the best gift I could have asked for.” He replies as he bottoms out. 

It doesn't take long for either of you to finish, and it takes every fiber in his being to not dash out of the room immediately to go get coffee started and watch you open your final gift, but he exercises some self control, cuddling you and helping you back into your pants. You giggle at his urgency. 

His last present is an envelope containing a hand-written love letter and two plane tickets for a weekend together over New Years on Jeju Island. He's just glad you’ve yet to find the ring he's had hidden in his closet for three months now. He plans to propose as the clock strikes twelve into the new year. 

Kim Hongjoong: Hongjoong is oddly withholding, nervous, and antsy around two weeks before Christmas when you assume your gift got delivered. He's bad about spending way too much on you, despite swearing up and down that it's, “Just something small!” Fortunately for you, you can tell when he's lying because his eyes go shifty and he gets cagey and jumpy. He feels bad he can't spend as much time with you as he'd like around the holidays but when you bring him coffee to his studio on Christmas Eve, he surprises you with a song he's working on about how he'd like to spend the holidays with you. 

“My mind kept drifting to you while I was trying to work on something else so I had to get this out of my system before I could keep working on something else. It's kinda cheesy but-”

“Joongie, no.” You pull him in for a kiss, laughing at his dumbfounded face, “It's perfect, baby. You know, I would be perfectly happy if this was the only thing you got me for Christmas.” 

“Baby! No way.” He pulls you into his lap on the couch in his studio, “You're far too special to me for that. Plus, I really think you're going to love what I got you.”

“What did you get me!?” You try to catch him off guard. 

“I-” He almost fell for it, “Hey! I'm not telling.” He starts to tickle you as punishment, ending with the two of you nose to nose, limbs tangled, horizontal on the couch. 

“Can you give me one gift early then?” You let your hands wander between his thighs, sticking your bottom lip out and widening your eyes, knowing he has a hard time saying no when you pout and plead. 

“You’re going to end up keeping me here all night.” He pretends to resist, but he was already kissing down the column of your neck and reaching for the hem of your shirt. 

“Please, Joong.” You didn't know which thing you were pleading for at that point as he derobed you and worked you open with his fingers before taking you right there in his studio, both of you glad for the sound proof room. 

You convince him later to give his work a rest for the night and come home to sleep in a real bed. The next morning, you wake to him sitting by you on the bed, meticulously wrapped gift in his hands, nearly bouncing with anticipation. 

“Baby-” You blink your eyes open, knowing you look a hot mess from your slumber. 

“Merry Christmas!” He shoves the gift in your hands. 

You unwrap it painstakingly slowly just to watch him vibrate on the spot in his excitement. 

It's a beautiful custom winter coat from Balmain, lined with silk that has Hongjoong’s “No1LikeMe” printed on it, exactly in your style and you can tell even before trying it on that it will fit perfectly.

“So this is why you needed my measurements in March. Not because you would lose a bet with Wooyoung.” You laughed at his silly excuse. 

“Yeah, yeah, you caught me but DOYOULIKEIT?!” His words rushed out as you tackled him to the bed. 

“Kim Hongjoong. I love it.” You pepper his face with kisses, “Please never tell me how much you spent on this.” 

He knew this commentary was coming because he gave you a smarmy grin, “Actually! This was a personal favor. It's one of a kind. Olivier refused to let me pay a dime because, ‘Your girl keeps you fed and for that I owe her.’ His words.” 

“Ask me from my childhood if I ever thought I'd have personal favor with a designer from a high end brand and I'd laugh in your face.” You shook your head as you checked yourself out in the mirror. 

“Thank you so much, baby.” You cage him in on the bed. 

“Wait, wait. Check the breast pocket before you seduce me again.” He says this a bit breathless and you think you might kill him if he proposes to you while you wear one of his old t-shirts, your Christmas underwear, and the coat he just gifted you. Not to mention you still had bed hair and morning breath. 

Kill or kiss, they were only two letters different, and you ended up choosing the second as you stared at the ring of your dreams in your hand. 

“Hongjoong-” You were at a loss for words. 

“Please marry me, my love. My life won't be complete until you agree to be bound to me spoiling you and surprising you by the law.” 

“Yes!” You kiss him, still in disbelief, “Yes, Hongjoong. Of course I'll marry you.”

You shimmy his pants down enough to free him and move your underwear to the side, too excited to do more, and take him in one go, making love to him wearing both of his gifts. 

“This is embarrassing but I got you the exact same things.” You joke as the two of you cuddle.

“Oh, how embarrassing!” Hongjoong jokes back. He's impossible to buy for, always getting himself what he needs as he discovers a need for it. 

He doesn't expect you to have put together a binder full of photocards for your final gift to him. You put together a collection of photos of the two of you and some of just yourself. Some naughty ones of just yourself. “I was tired of being the only one with the collection.” 

“It’s perfect,” He nuzzles his nose to yours, “My fiancé is a genius gift giver.” 

Jeong Yunho: The man loves the holidays and this year is certainly no exception. He's so excited because he's convinced your families to celebrate together on Christmas Eve. You're more than a little suspicious with his hushed phone calls and the guilty puppy face he makes when you ask who called and he has to make up a lie. Twelve days before Christmas he surprises you with your first gift, a pre-paid facial appointment. The other days follow suit with a massage, hair appointment, nail appointment, things of that nature, culminating with shoes, a dress, jewelry, and a very nice set of lingerie that he wants you to wear on Christmas. It's beyond obvious at that point, but you suspend your disbelief for his sake, knowing how excited he is for this moment. 

Christmas Eve with your combined families goes better than you imagined it would. The food was good, the wine and conversation flowed, and mass hadn't even lasted that long. He waits until everyone is playing charades in the living room, and he brings you up with him after pretending to read his word on the slip of paper, holding up 4 fingers to indicate it was a four-word answer. He scans the room with his eyes before taking your left hand in his own and getting down on one knee.

“Will you marry me?” You ask as if you're still playing the game. 

“You're too good at this game.” He kisses your hand and pulls the ring box out of his pocket, “Sweetheart, I'm convinced you were created just for me. Falling in love with you over these years has been the greatest joy of my life and I never want to stop. Will you please do me the honor of marrying me?” 

“Yunho…” Tears escape your eyes at his words, “I would love nothing more. Yes, baby.” 

He drops the ring box after removing the ring and slides it onto your finger before standing, picking you up, and twirling you around to the tune of the applause of both of your families. 

Later that night, he unwraps you like the gift he considers you to be, taking off the clothes he bought for you piece by piece before turning you into a panting mess on his mattress as he insists on getting you off with his hands and mouth twice before he finally pushes inside of you, guiding your legs back with careful hands until you're practically bent and half and he’s able to fuck you deep like you like it, the head of his cock kissing your cervix every few strokes. 

“Fuck, I love when you take me like this, honey. I can’t wait to fuck a baby into you.”

“God, yes, Yunho-” You groan as he hits your sweet spot over and over. “Give me a few years, but we can pretend in the meantime.” 

“Mmh, I like the sound of that,” He grunts from the effort, “Gonna fuck you so full.”

“Everyone will see I'm yours.” You're about to fall apart around him. 

“All. Mine.” He punctuates his words with thrusts, “All. Fucking. Mine. Forever. Fuck, baby, come with me.” 

“Yunho!” You cry out as you finish, your orgasm prolonged by the feeling of him pumping you full of his seed.

Truth be told, at least in the heat of the moment, you wouldn't have cared at all had he been able to get you pregnant right then. But you knew as you fell asleep in his arms, how peaceful it was with just the two of you, you would be glad you had a few years with him as yours alone before bringing a whole other human being into the mix.

Kang Yeosang: Yeosang was not necessarily a fan of the holidays before he met you, but he adores them now. More than anything, he adores watching you enjoy them. He buys you matching berets and thinks he's so slick booking the two of you a room at a ski lodge in Austria the week of Christmas. Neither of you intend to ski, but Vienna goes all out for the holiday and he wants to spend several snow days shopping, eating, and sightseeing with you. He buys you anything you show a slight interest in, despite your protests, but his real gift is tucked safely in his luggage at the lodge. 

Two days into your trip, the two of you are exhausted and decide to spend the day around the ski village rather than in the city. You find Yeosang staring at you with hearts in his eyes more than usual that day. Normally you would blush and tell him to stop, but today, you allowed it. After all, you were doing the same thing. 

“Oh! This looks fun!” He holds up a Sanrio puzzle he found in the kid section. “I know it's for kids but-”

“We're getting it.” You smiled at how his face lit up. He was so impossible to not just completely adore and fawn over at all times.

“What if we go back to our room, order room service, and open this bad boy up?” He asks you, conspiratorial glint in his eye.

“This is why I love you.” You kiss the apple of his cheek. He's had to train himself not to move so you can't reach him when you try to kiss his face, due to years of acting like he hated it when his friends would do it. 

“I love you more, angel.” He grabs your hand and leads you over to check out, calling a slightly mispronounced “Bitteschön!” over his shoulder to the woman working the cash register on the way out. 

After dinner, spiked hot chocolates in hand, fireplace roaring in the hearth, the two of you work on the puzzle in comfortable silence. As much as you love talking to Yeosang and would pay good money to live inside his brain for a day, you cherish the fact that the two of you can have such peace in one another’s company. No compulsion to disturb the stillness. 

“Oh!” Yeosang looked up after a while, “Look, jagi. It's snowing!” 

“Really?!” You loved the snow. Well, you loved looking at the snow. 

“I wish it could snow inside. But not be cold.” Yeosang stood, pulling you to your feet and leading you over to the big bay window overlooking the powdery slopes.

“You know what? Yeah, that sounds ideal.” You chuckle, amused as ever at how his mind works. You tuck yourself under his arm and he picks up on your cue, pulling you securely to his side. 

Sure, it had been snowy the whole time you'd been there, but there was something magical about the big, fat flakes swirling in the air and glittering as they fell on the ground in the bright moonlight. 

“We'll probably be snowed in tomorrow.” Yeosang concludes as the two of you watch it accumulate, pulling you in front of himself so he could loop his arms around your waist and kiss the side of your neck.  

“I mean, we're at a ski resort-”

“Shh, babe. We're going to be snowed in tomorrow.” Yeosang says a little more firmly. 

You catch his drift, “Oh! Right. Yes. We'll definitely be snowed in tomorrow! Oh no! What will we do?” You humor him. 

“Don't worry, my beautiful girl, I'll make sure we're entertained all day while we're snowed in.” He mumbles in your ear, his voice low and carrying an unmistakable edge of desire on it.

“Mmh, like what?” You answer, breath hitching in your throat as his hands roam your body, one of them skimming the waistband of your pajama pants, the other finding a light but possessive position around your neck, “I can think of several things. But to start I'm going to fuck you against this window so we can watch the snow fall as I make you come over and over again on this cock.” 

“Fuck, Sangie-” You gasp as his hand blazes a trail to your core, knowing it will already be wet for him because he knows well what he does to you.

He's good to his word, dedicated as ever to your pleasure, stretching you around his girth, fingers on your clit as he makes you come the first time, heeding your request happily to move in front of the fire as you caught a chill with your bare face and nipples pressed to the cold window. 

He lays down one of the many plush blankets in front of the fireplace, ensuring you're comfortable before kissing down the slopes of your form, mouth landing between your legs, fingers taking over what his dick finished the first time, taking a more leisurely route to your release the second time, but quick to stuff you full again immediately afterwards for the third, words lost on both of you as pleasure rolls through your bodies in tandem. 

He washes your hair in the shower afterwards and you're nearly overwhelmed with love for the man you get to call yours. Perfect in every way. 

Both of you realize it's well past midnight as you cuddle together in bed, “Merry Christmas, precious.” Yeosang smiles at you, eyes once again full with a depth of love you had seen before but not as often as you had recently. 

“Merry Christmas, Sangie.” You return his gaze, hoping he knows just how much you mean it. 

“Marry me.” He blurts out, lost in your eyes, “Sorry, I had a whole thing planned and I have a ring, I swear-” 

You cut him off with a kiss, “Kang Yeosang.” You snicker, “Yes. God, yes, I'd be so happy to.” 

“Really?” He smiles so big it looks like it hurts his cheeks and it definitely hurts your heart with how pure and sweet he is. 

“Yes, baby, of course!” You kiss him again, unable to resist. 

The kiss deepens and your activities from earlier have an unprecedented encore, all but rendering your shower pointless as you fall apart repeatedly in one another's arms well into the early hours of the morning, watching the sunrise paint the ground pink, the exact shade, you note, of the birthmark by Yeosang’s eye. 

The two of you sleep late into the day. You're disoriented for a moment as Yeosang flies out of bed and begins rummaging through his luggage, finally finding what he sought and returning to bed with the ring box in hand. You had almost forgotten, or thought it was a dream, and you can't stop the tears as they fall when he fits the most beautiful ring you've ever seen onto your finger. 

“I'm yours. Forever. For as long as you'll have me, my love.” Yeosang’s deep voice rumbles through your bones, rearranging your neurotransmitter transporters to stop the reuptake of the norepinephrine, serotonin, and dopamine that was produced any time he spoke. 

“I want you forever, Yeosang.” 

And it was true. You were sure you were the happiest and luckiest person on earth to have earned the trust, love, and dedication of the man beside you. He felt the same way and he intended to show it to you every day for the rest of your life.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Merry Christmas, baby.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: just a little tiny bit of smut so still +18 but it’s mostly a huge pile of angst and fluff soooo Words Count: 10669 😵‍💫 Tags: POV second person, reader wears dresses, skirts, blouses and heels, she uses make up, she’s a journalist and a writer, no physical description of her is given besides having hair, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, loss of a parent, infidelity, divorce, mention of food, alcohol consumption, both reader and Pike are bad at feelings, swearing, slurs, dirty talk, quarrels, reconciliations, funeral, sharing a bed, kissing, sad thoughts, casual encounters, mention of coffee, mention of spring break activities, geography probably a bit random (but I looked at the maps, don't jump down my throat, I did research and I've actually been to Boston many years ago, I tried my best lol), brief mention of Teresa. I hope I haven't forgotten anything, if so I'll add it immediately. A/N: Written for @pedrostories Secret Santa event, hello @letsgobarbs, I’m your Secret Santa! 🤶 Happy Christmas Eve, I hope you'll have a wonderful holiday season! 🎄 I hope you enjoy this story and I hope you find the angst, yearning and pining you wanted. Among the characters you had indicated as favorites there was Pike and I liked the idea of ​​trying to write him for the first time, he is so sweet and cute and he deserves to be happy, I hope I gave him an ending worthy of him 🥹 I apologize if you find any mistakes, English is not my first language and I don't have a beta so I did it all with just one pair of stupid and tired eyes 😵‍💫

A huge thanks goes to all the lovely people who supported me through the process while I was having a full crisis about everything in this fic 😂 @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk I love you all, happy holidays 🥰

1990

“So what do you think?” 

“Um...you're good” You've just heard the ugliest Take on Me cover ever, but you can't tell the guy standing in front of you and looking at you with hopeful eyes. 

Marcus is your best friend, you've known him for a couple of years, since both of you were two dorky freshmen at your new school. You were looking for the literature room and wandering lost in the hallways when Marcus asked if you needed help. You bonded right away because you didn't know anyone else, you had just moved to Sacramento because of your father's job and he was from Texas, so it had seemed natural to lean on each other.

Over time you had become such good friends that he had met your parents, he would often stay for dinner, and your dad would let him use your garage to rehearse with his band. 

Marcus had put up flyers at school and enlisted two other boys, Timmy and Dave, who became the guitarist and keyboardist of Rocket Baby Doll. The name of the band was terrible, they were terrible, but you had never had the courage to tear them down in the face of Marcus's enthusiasm, he was sure that by continuing to rehearse they would make great progress. 

With his smooth talk, Marcus had managed to convince the committee to let them play at the freshmen's Christmas dance.

“You'll see that one day we'll be on the cover of Rolling Stone,” Marcus joked. Or at least you hoped he was joking because otherwise you wouldn't know how to talk him out of it. 

Marcus was a dreamer and he liked to do it big. He wanted to be a musician, or maybe an FBI agent, he told you. Two careers that had nothing to do with each other, but you knew that if anyone could afford to have ambitions it was him. Marcus was tenacious, persistent, dedicated, and never afraid to work hard to get what he wanted.  He certainly wasn't going to end up on the cover of Rolling Stone, but in your heart you were certain he was going to accomplish something important.

He was the kind of boy mothers liked, in fact yours loved him. When you needed math tutoring, he would come to your house totally for free and explain whatever you didn’t understand.

When Molly Preston wanted to exclude you from the winter dance because her ex-boyfriend, Ryder, had asked you out, he had been the one to give her a speech.

When you had a bad day Marcus would take you to get your favorite ice cream, you would talk for hours, and in the end he was the only one who could cheer you up.

Whatever problems you had, Marcus was there for you landing an helping hand. 

You knew your mother not too secretly hoped you would get together but it never happened, Marcus was your friend, just a great friend.

“Come on, my mom made cookies for everyone,” you told him as he continued to fantasize about what you might do. You would be their manager and you would both become rich and famous. He just couldn't keep his feet on the ground, even though he was a very good student and even had better grades than you.

You were 17 years old, your whole lives ahead of you, and you hoped that you will remain friends for many years to come.

_____________________________________________

1993

“What do you mean there is only one room available! We had booked two!” 

Marcus had yelled at the front desk of a motel where you stopped for the night. 

The owner, a rather creepy guy with a long scar on his right cheek, slumps in his shoulders, heedless “If you want number 12 is free, otherwise you can take your asses somewhere else for all I care.”

Marcus was fuming. 

It was spring break, any hotel was totally booked, and the possibilities were already significantly reduced given your pockets. 

You didn't even want to come; you had just broken up with Derek, your college boyfriend, and were back at your parents' house with the intention of spending your vacation there healing your wounds. Vegetating on the couch, reading books, watching movies, just relaxing. That was what you wanted to do. But Marcus had insisted, “Erik, Alice, Kate and Robert are in San Diego, let's join them!” 

You had shaken your head and declined “No way, I've seen enough wild college parties and besides, I'm not really in the mood.” 

“Oh come on, you don't want to spend Spring Break crying over that jerk,” he had said, shrugging and looking at you with his big brown puppy-dog eyes. 

“Marcus, I really don't feel like it.” 

“Come on, please do it for me! You'll see we'll have fun, they're nice!” Surrounding yourself with drunk and stoned 20-year-olds was the least of your desires. 

But on the other hand you felt you couldn't say no to him, it had been months since you had seen each other, your relationships had been reduced to long letters and phone calls telling each other about each other's schools.

You had chosen different colleges, Marcus had been accepted at Berkeley in California and you were at Boston University. You had changed coast, climate, everything. You were content but adjusting the first months had not been easy, you felt homesick and you missed your best friend. You were happy for him, you had known since your senior year that you were going to separate but that hadn't made it easy for you. 

You had only seen each other in person at Thanksgiving.

He had been forced to go to his relatives in Nevada for Christmas.

So you got dragged down to San Diego, because deep down Marcus was right, brooding all vacation about the relationship with Derek would not be good for you. You had had other guys before him but Derek had been special, until you found out he was cheating on you. You cried for hours on the phone with Marcus and he listened to you the whole time so maybe you owed him a little too.

After insisting on getting at least a room refund, Marcus had turned to you displeased “apparently we have no other choice.” 

“We'll adjust” you had smiled, but you couldn't deny that you were a little nervous. 

Once in the room he, too, seemed self-conscious. 

There was a double bed with a hideous floral bedspread in the middle of the room, brownish carpeting on the floor, dingy pictures hanging on the walls, and an old dresser on the opposite side of the bed with a rickety TV on it.

A smell of cheap deodorant with a musty undertone wafted around. It was the worst room you had ever set foot in, but at this point there was nothing you could do but make it okay. Sleeping in the car didn't seem so appealing.

You had set your bags down and looked at each other awkwardly “This room is awful,” Marcus had whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand “I'm sorry, it didn't look that bad from the brochure.” 

“It's not your fault, I bet those pictures were taken at least 20 years ago” you had laughed ”it will do for one night” 

You had retrieved your pajamas from the suitcase and went to the bathroom. The light blue tiles made it look like a hospital, there was an old plastic curtain in the shower and the sink looked like it had been through a war but at least it looked clean. There was a strong smell of disinfectant that made you a little nauseous. You had changed quickly and returned to your room to Marcus who was sitting on the bed intent on calling his parents “Yes mom, everything is fine, we will be back tomorrow. Yes, sure, don't worry I'll definitely say hello to her, she's in her room now” You had noticed that he had not said anything about your misadventure, you had sat down smiling on the opposite side of the bed trying to be silent. 

Marcus had rolled his eyes closing the call “she is so old-fashioned.” 

You had laughed “I find her lovely” 

Marcus had chuckled “we'd better sleep, we have a lot of driving tomorrow. Are you okay with that side?”

“Yes, it’s fine” you had nodded ”however I'd rather get this bedspread out of the way, it gives me nightmares even when awake” 

Marcus had observed it agreeing that yes, it was rather eerie.

You had taken it off and laid it on the dresser before slipping under cold, scratchy and wrinkled sheets.

You looked at each other and burst out laughing, the situation was comical to say the least. “God, I think I won't forget this bed for a long time,” Marcus had said. 

“It feels like being in a burlap sack.” You had laughed.

“Could you not squirm like that?” 

“Sorry, I'm just looking for ways to be comfortable,” you had said, ”Mattress is lumpy.” 

You had laid on your side with your back to him and closed your eyes, trying to sleep. 

“So, did you have a good time?” you had heard Marcus whisper.

“Yes” you had replied “thank you” And it was true, his friends were really nice. You had bonded with the girls and exchanged addresses and phone numbers “you were right, I needed a vacation”

“I know, I'm always right” he had sentenced from the other end of the bed.  

You had turned to look at him "oh sure, like the other night when we ended up at that beach party and you said it was allowed and then we had to run away because the police were coming?”

“It was just a little misjudgment!” He retorted.

You had burst out laughing again “come on, sleep, Mr I know everything”

Marcus had turned off the lamp on the bedside table, next to the phone with which he had just called his mother “Hey...I need to tell you something” you had heard him say. 

“What?” the tone had suddenly changed and you felt confused, you looked over your shoulder at him in the dark. 

“I kissed Alice the other night” he seemed awkward in telling you and you didn't understand why.

“Oh. Well, good for you. She's a lovely girl” he was your friend, you were happy for him. 

If it weren't for the fact that you secretly hoped he would kiss you. You'd been thinking about it for a few days, ever since you'd seen him come out of the water while you were at the beach.

It had seemed to you that everything had started moving in slow motion, your eyes glued to his tanned skin, to his broad shoulders, to the way the water slid over his chest in little droplets that died on the waistband of his swimsuit. It was a feeling you had never experienced before in five years of knowing him. You had never seen Marcus as anything more than a friend, but in that moment, with his hair disheveled, his skin wet, a smile plastered on his face as he told you and the others that ocean was great, he had seemed like a vision, and you had felt your cheeks heat up. 

Where on earth that attraction came from you didn't know, but it had hit you hard and clear, like a bump on the head that had suddenly awakened you. You had convinced yourself that your brain was doing this to protect you from painful memories with Derek, lingering on your closest friend who had never let you down. Your trust in men was at its lowest, and Marcus had always reassured you, kept you out of trouble, and he was most reliable guy you had ever known.

He said he would do something and he always, unfailingly did it. You could not say the same about Derek or any other guy you had ever been with.

You had tried to chase that feeling away, burying it in the corner of your mind for all the following days; you didn't want to ruin the friendship between you, and you were pretty sure he didn't feel the same way about you.

Sure, you thought you kissed him on your 18s birthday while you were drunk, but the next morning you were so ashamed that you hadn't even told him about it, pretended you didn't remember anything and that it had never happened. Marcus had done the same, and everything had ended there. Two years had passed since that night, you had gone to college, you had both had more or less long relationships.

That one kiss was now so far away that you had listed it among “once-in-a-lifetime mistakes.”

"I wanted to tell you, that's it. Friends tell each other everything, right?"

“Yes, of course, you can tell me anything, I’m happy for you” you replied 

You had listened to Marcus talk about the girls he liked dozens of times and you had never cared, you would have certainly forgotten it, it was just a passing crush, you told yourself. That annoyance you felt, that bitter taste in your throat, would disappear after a night's sleep. Your friendship was more important, you wouldn't have ruined it just because your brain had thought it interesting to make it something more.

Yet when you had tried to sleep all you had seen was Marcus kissing Alice. You had not seen them, fortunately, but it was not a hard scene to imagine, and unfortunately it was now implanted in your brain. His strong arms holding her, his soft lips resting on hers, her surrounding his neck with her arms, her pelvis rubbing against his. Suddenly you couldn't stand it. You had narrowed your eyes, cursing your creative mind, grunting in frustration. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” had asked Marcus from the other side of the bed.

You had lied, of course, but you had kept brooding until you fell asleep exhausted by the workings of your brain.

In the morning you had woken up confused, not at all rested, and in his arms.

Your face was resting on his chest next to your hand. How had you ended up there like that? You didn't know. You felt like you didn't know anything anymore. 

He was blissfully asleep. He seemed unaware of anything as your throat was dry, your head ached, and your pussy throbbed. Yes, throbbing, desperately. The warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, that knowledge you felt inside that this was exactly what you wanted and you couldn't even quantify how long you had wanted it.

And the panic that had seized you immediately afterward. You were convinced it was a mistake, the most terrible mistake you could make. So why did it feel so right? Why did his body feel like it was made for you? Oh no, no you couldn't allow that. Certainly he had no idea whatsoever about the situation, there was no way he was aware and let you do it, it was all your fault. 

You were going to ruin everything, your friendship, your relationship with the one man who really seemed to understand and support you. And for what? To fuck him once? It wasn't going to work between you romantically. You were going to have to spend two more years away seeing each other only during the holidays to begin with, and then you were both stubborn, too proud...no, it was wrong, you didn't care what your body told you, you had to let your brain prevail.

You slowly slipped away, back to your side of the bed, practically holding your breath, cursing yourself and your heart that wouldn't stop hammering in the middle of your chest.

He had woken up shortly after, acted as usual, getting up, stretching in his T-shirt and basketball shorts, mumbled good morning to you and locked himself in the bathroom. 

Your eyes had slid lasciviously over his body, stealing glances of his exposed skin between his T-shirt and shorts, of his broad shoulders stretching the fabric, of his thighs...

All while you wanted to sink into a black hole and disappear forever. You sank your face into the pillow to keep yourself from screaming. 

And what was worse was that you had to carry the burden of what you felt alone because the person you would normally talk to about it was the one you were longing for. Wonderful, a wonderful situation. 

When he had come out of the bathroom, with his beautiful smile and that rough voice that he always had early in the morning you almost lost control. You were about to beg him to join you in bed. Ugh, your 20s, uncontrollable, stupid, senseless hormones.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, go get dressed, we have to leave,” he had told you, in the same friendly and vaguely mocking tone as always. 

“Oh. yes, thank you, I promise I will be quick.” You had stammered.

You got up, grabbed some random clothes from your suitcase, your beauty case and went to the bathroom to shower and change. He would be ready in 10 minutes at most so he would always let you go to the bathroom first, to give you time to do your makeup and fix your hair. Marcus knew that about you, too, and he was okay with that. 

You closed the door behind you, feeling the tears stinging your eyes. You had managed to hold them back until that moment, but in the shower, covered by his of the water, they had flowed copiously and salty down your cheeks. 

____________________________________________

2000

“Hey! How are you! My goodness, long time no see!” 

You had met him at the supermarket, as you were going around the shelves intent on shopping for your mother. 

You were back at your parents' house for Thanksgiving with your husband, John. 

The last person you thought you would see was him. 

“Marcus!” you had squeaked.

“I am fine! How are you? And Danielle?” 

Your mother had taken it upon herself to inform you that he had also married, had no children, and had become a detective. 

“Danielle is just fine, she is right there down the aisle picking potatoes according to my mother's exact instructions,” he had rolled his eyes, chuckling.

Damn, you had thought, he's breathtakingly handsome. 

You hoped that in all the years you had lost touch with each other he would have lost at least some of his hair like his father, but apparently he had not inherited that gene. His hair was thick and healthy as usual, he wore a gray T-shirt under a black leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. You hated the way he could put on two random things and look so damn perfect while you felt like you had spent your whole life in front of your closet wondering what to wear. And even more you hated his smile, so friendly and sweet, that it hadn't changed at all. 

He seemed genuinely glad to see you. 

You had lost touch with each other after graduation, despite the advent of cell phones, computers, and email. Your friendship had survived handwritten letters, postcards, prepaid phone cards but still crumbled eventually. You were on the opposite coast, intent on your master's degree, dreaming of becoming a writer; he was hooked on a career in law enforcement. 

The letters had become fewer and fewer, as had the phone calls, and eventually what was there had simply slipped away as the months passed, the commitments increased, and each of you tried to become the adult you had dreamed of being.

You had thought it was much better this way, you had stifled your feelings for him for another four years before accepting that nothing would ever happen. You had dated other guys in the meantime, but Marcus had always remained in your mind as the perfect guy you could never have. It was only when you had met John that you had allowed yourself to think that maybe it could work with someone who was not your old friend. He was understanding, sweet, supportive, present and caring with you. John was a really good guy and so you had finally decided to marry him. He had asked you one spring day at the Public Garden, while you were eating a lobster sandwich under a tree in front of the pond, watching the swans. Your offices were close by, so you tried to spend your lunch break together as often as you could. You had gotten a job at the Boston Globe, were in charge of the wedding column, and wrote romance novels in your spare time, sending manuscripts left and right in the hope that some editor would notice them. John was a stockbroker, pragmatic, punctual and very thorough in his work as much as he was sweet and attentive with you. 

“How about we get married?” he simply had said to you, with his mouth full. You had laughed, thought he was joking, until you noticed his serious and hopeful look and exclaimed “oh my God, yes!” throwing your sandwich in the air and wrapping your arms around his neck. That was all you wished for. You had moved in together in a beautiful house downtown, not very big but lovely, you had fallen in love with it as soon as you saw it. It was bright and warm, the right place to start your life with John.

You had, of course, sent an invitation to Marcus as well, but he had declined, saying he was very busy with work. You had kind of tied it on your finger and so you had decided that he might as well get out of your life after all. Times change, people change, all I can do is move on and try to forget how I feel about him by devoting myself to my relationship with John, you thought.

Now that you had him in front of you again though, he looked the same as he always did, only grown. And your heart had skipped a beat the instant you recognized his voice greeting you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you had asked out of pure courtesy. 

“About a week, we were able to take a few days to relax a bit. We're always working like crazy, you know, we both needed to get away for a while. How about you?” 

“Yes, us too, by the way if you remember Sunday is my father's birthday and my mother really wanted us to be there.” 

“I guess. By the way, I'm sorry. My mother told me when we arrived.” 

Your father had been ill for several months and unfortunately there was little left to do at that point. He was slowly fading away and it would probably be the last Thanksgiving you would spend together.

“I thank you. Oh here's John. John this is Marcus, an old friend of mine. Marcus, this is John, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” John had said, shaking his hand. 

“Honey, I'm done, shall we go?” had chirped Danielle's voice as she approached you. 

“Yes love, but first let me introduce you to an old friend of mine and her husband” Marcus had told her softly. 

“Oh it's you! Marcus has told me several times about you! It's nice to finally meet you in person.”

Danielle was beautiful, dark hair, blue eyes and delicate features, a little nose that looked as if it had been drawn by an artist, full lips, high cheekbones and a well-proportioned chin. Her voice was melodious and sweet and she looked at you with an excited and surprised expression, " He didn't tell me you were so pretty!" 

“Oh, thank you, you are too,” you had said, slightly embarrassed by such kindness. At that point John had held you proudly, as if you were his greatest prize. His arm had wrapped around your waist, and his eyes looked at you lovingly "didn't she? I'm lucky that she married me." 

Danielle had laughed graciously and shook his hand introducing herself, while you and Marcus looked at each other almost studying each other, as if you were both trying to figure out how happy you actually were in your marriages.

That habit of worrying about each other had not gone away; after all, you had been close friends for quite a few years, and your friendship had faded not because of a quarrel, but because of distance and becoming busy adults. And because you had to get over the crush you had on him, of course, but you had never told him that. 

“Well, we have to go now, anyway come and see us if you can. My mother would love to see you again,” Marcus had said before offering to push the cart full of food that his wife had left beside you and start toward the checkouts. 

“We'll try, thank you,” you had nodded. You definitely should have helped your mother, tried to soothe her at least a little from the strain of caring for your father 24/7; you didn't know how much more time would be left for other things. 

You had watched them walk off together from behind, down the canned food aisle where you had retrieved the ready-made cranberry sauce you would never have time to prepare. 

They were a good-looking couple, really, attractive, well-dressed, Danielle looking impeccable in a pair of jeans that bandaged her while highlighting her curves, a red blouse that matched her complexion, and a pair of vertiginous heels on which you didn't even know how to walk. She seemed to do it without any problem. 

“We should go too, honey” John's voice had brought you back down to earth. 

_________________________________________

Once home John had announced to your mother that you had met your old friend at the supermarket, and of course she was thrilled, “Oh, he's such a nice guy, I saw him and his wife the other day walking downtown, they are such a nice couple, aren't they?” 

John had agreed, taking a beer from the fridge “really” 

“Well, like you, of course” your mother had added, looking at you softly. 

And it was true, you were fine with John, he was a good person, a hard worker, he treated you like a princess. What more could you want? 

Yet since you had seen him again, Marcus's face had made room in your mind. The intrigued way he had looked at you, as if trying to understand everything that had happened to you in the years you had not been in touch, the way his arms were reaching out to embrace you when John had arrived, a barely imperceptible movement that only you had noticed because you knew him better than the palm of your hand, the dimple that had popped up on his cheek as he smiled at you, the usual one you had grown to love so much.

You had pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to drive it from your mind “Are you okay love?” had asked John immediately. 

“Yes, I just have a little headache, I'll get something later,” you had lied, hurrying to put away the rest of the groceries. 

What annoyed you the most was that it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in your twenties and you had woken up hugging him in the bed of that dingy motel. It was absurd. You had worked so hard to move on and now it felt like you were back where you started. 

You couldn't let that happen, you wouldn't let your marriage be disrupted by a casual 10-minute meeting with him. 

You would not have gone to his house, no matter how much you would have liked to see his mother who had always been so kind to you. 

You had other things to think about anyway; your father was stuck in a hospital bed that you had managed to get him to be more comfortable. He had been put in the guest room on the ground floor, next to the bathroom, he couldn't do the stairs, and it was also easier for your mother to accompany him. The strong and generous man he had been was wearing out before your eyes, and it was a terribly painful image. You knew he had little time left, and you didn't want to waste it chasing the ghosts of the past when you had a husband who was helping you and hugging you every night trying to lessen your pain. 

Your Thanksgiving dinner had been unique to say the least, each of you shuttling from the dining room to your father's to spend some time with him, making sure he had everything he needed, helping him eat and drink. You had marveled at how gentle and patient John was with your dad, the big man you had married, one with two shoulders like a football player, feeding your father fruit jelly almost more gracefully than you. 

You knew how fond he was of your dad, they had hit it off right away, but you didn't know how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. You were moved.

___________________________________________

Your father was gone four days later. You and John were supposed to leave for Boston the next morning instead you had to call in to work, cancel your flight, call your trusty neighbor Marge to ask her to look at your house, pick up your mail, and water your plants. 

You were crushed and at the same time overwhelmed with bureaucracy so you couldn't stop. You had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, got dressed in a hurry to go to the funeral home to deliver the suit with which you had decided to bury your father, then went to do some paperwork with the insurance company and finally to the church to arrange with the pastor the time of the service and the proceedings. When you left the church you felt an emptiness in your stomach, your head was spinning, you had eaten barely a sandwich in the last two days. 

You knew you were about to collapse, saw a café across the street from the church, and went inside to get a croissant and cappuccino to go. 

When you came out you found yourself in front of Danielle. She was so sorry, of course your mother had informed Marcus's mother and they would be attending the funeral. Danielle hugged you as if you were her sister, telling you that she understood you because she too had lost her father a few years earlier and even though you didn't know each other well you could have called her if you needed anything. 

You had thanked her and headed for the car, locked yourself in and took a couple of minutes to chug your croissant and drink your cappuccino. At least partially regenerated from the late breakfast you had headed back home, where John and your mother were waiting for you.

In the car you had been thinking about how kind Danielle had been and how lucky Marcus was to be with her.

The next day you had put on a sober black suit that you used for the office and probably wouldn't be able to wear again after that day, put on just enough makeup, helped John put on his tie, and headed for church with him and your mom. 

All three of you were exhausted, grieving, trying to hold the pieces together as best you could with each other's help but your dad's absence was hard to bear. You wished you could have woken up and found it had been just a nightmare, you wished you could have hugged him and talked to him and he, as he had always done, would have found the words you needed most.

There was only one other person who could soothe your worries in the same way your dad could, and that person was Marcus. 

John had been able to be there for you anyway, with actions more than words, taking tasks to take away from you, relieving you of burdens you could not carry alone, and for that you were infinitely grateful. He was a good husband. 

After the service, under his arm, you left the church behind your mother. You had lost count of the number of people who had come to hug you, faces you had never seen, work colleagues of your father's whom you had never met, old childhood friends, the church was full of people who had come to remember him fondly. This pleased you, but it was strange to you at the same time. You wished you had some time to yourself, alone, to try to catch your breath and rationalize at least some of what had happened, that blender of emotions that had shaken and sucked you in. 

You had made your way to the cemetery, walking along the path that led to the family grave where your grandparents were buried you had felt like you were in a muffled bubble where everything moved in slow motion, barely sensing John's presence beside you. 

When you had arrived, you had looked up for only a moment and before you had seen Marcus's. You had not noticed his presence in the church, busy as you were with hugging and greeting, you had seen only his mother but he had remained in the background, respecting your grief. Just as you wished others had done. There was nothing more to be said, he always knew what you needed, no matter how many years had passed, he could still read you like an open book just like when at 18 he had realized that your highest aspiration was to become a writer without even the need to make it explicit in words. 

His eyes were swollen and reddened; it was obvious that he was moved. Beside him was Danielle with a pair of dark glasses covering her face, clutching his arm elegantly and dignifiedly. 

You had smiled weakly at him, thanking him with your eyes, and he had smiled back, looking at you with the sweetest, sorriest eyes I had seen that day. 

___________________________________________

You had stayed behind to watch the final burial operations, while John had driven your mother back to the car, who had burst into convulsive tears, crushed by the realization that she had lost forever the man she had loved most in the world. 

You had felt a hand barely graze your shoulder, you had turned around and saw Marcus standing there on the grass “hey” As soon as you had seen him the impulse to hug him had come to you spontaneously, he had welcomed you into his arms, stroking your head, wrapping you against his chest, trying to comfort you. 

Being close to him still felt like home, his warmth immediately made you feel calmer, less alone, and not that John couldn't do that but with Marcus it was different. He had always been different in a way that was impossible to explain but that you felt hammering hard in your heart.

“Thank you,” you had whispered, with the tears you had finally allowed yourself to shed wetting your cheeks and his shirt. 

“Don't mention it,” he had whispered, continuing to hold you close. 

You had lingered a little longer in his embrace before pulling away and asking where Danielle was. 

"She went home with my mom. I stayed in case you needed anything.” 

“It's okay, thank you, there was no need,” you stammered lyingly. Yes you needed him, now more than ever, and he knew it well. 

“Your mother and John?” 

“Aunt Maggie drove them home, they left my mom's car with me.”

“Do you want me to drive?” she had asked and all you could do was nod ”please. But then how are you going to get back?” 

“I'll call Danielle, don't worry” he had encircled your waist with an arm as he walked you to the car. He had opened the door and helped you get in, even buckled your seat belt no matter how hard you had tried to insist you could do it yourself. 

Marcus did not spare himself when it came to caring for others. 

He had climbed up on the driver's side and in a rush had hugged you back, there, inside the car, whispering, “You don't know how sorry I am, baby. Your father was a great man.” 

You had looked at him gratefully, amid tears that had begun to flow profusely again "thank you" 

He had kissed you, right after that. And the instant his lips had rested on yours, you had felt that you could not help yourself no matter how hard you had tried to bury your feelings all those years. There was something inexplicable that united you, a way of understanding each other that needed no words, as if you were made to recognize each other, to see inside each other's souls. You had read in his eyes that day in the supermarket how much he had missed you, and he had read the same in yours, and just before that you had felt the same need to have him near, in spite of John, Danielle, and anything else that told you it was wrong. Deep inside you had always known it was right, you had felt it from the moment you first met him. You had been crowing for years about people talking about soul mates, meetings of destiny, and things like that. But now you knew you had felt it. His soft lips on yours were like honey to your soul, you wished you could sink into that feeling, drown in that sea and never rise again.

You couldn't leave John though. Not after you had built a life together in Boston, not after he had supported and cared for you all those days. Not after all he had done for you. 

As much as it hurt to do so, you pulled away from his lips. “I’ve always thought about you, all these years,” he said. “I’m sorry, you know, I didn’t realize it before, that maybe we could be something more. I never told you, but I remembered that kiss we shared when we were 18 very well.” Marcus was a torrent of words and was saying everything you’d always wanted to hear. “And I remember the night in that motel, too, how you held me in your sleep. I…” You knew he was about to say something like “I love you” “I’ve always loved you,” and so you cut him off. “Marcus.” He paused, his mouth half open as he looked at you in shock. “It’s too late. We can’t. Maybe there was a chance a few years ago, but now? We’re both married, we have responsibilities, we have to be realistic. It’s not fair to Danielle and John. And I have a job and a life in Boston, I can’t just leave everything all of a sudden.”

“But I…” and you knew he was about to say those words again. “Please don’t say that. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Marcus had fallen silent, looking down at his hands draped over his lap, and then said sadly, “I understand.”

You had just lost your father and now you were losing him too. It wasn’t fair, but it was the only thing to do. “Take me home, please.” He would have started the car without saying anything, driving to your house without looking at you again, perhaps afraid that he wouldn’t be able to let you go if he ever laid eyes on you again. 

You got out of the car just saying thank you, without hugging him because you knew it would have hurt even more.

____________________________________

2008

When John had told you that you should move to Washington DC, you had not taken it well. You did not want to leave Boston, the bright home where you had begun to build your new life, that city that had welcomed you. Starting all over again somewhere else, in a city you had never been to, seemed too much. 

In the end, however, you had accepted it; leaving John seemed even worse. And he had continued to be a good husband, so you saw no reason to part with him.

After all, he had received a good promotion, he had rented a house where you had found a familiar light again, it had big windows, high ceilings, big rooms. John made good money and had tried to accommodate you in everything. 

He had made it worth it all the way.

You had been struggling a bit to fit into the editorial staff of the new newspaper you had found work for. You were aiming for the Washington Post, but they had totally bounced you, which had been no small disappointment to digest. 

However, after all, your life had regained some meaning. 

It was now six months since you had moved, you hadn't heard from Marcus in eight years. And this time it was not because of distance, but because it had really hurt you to find out that he felt something too but it never seemed to be the right time for you. It would have been in 1993 perhaps, if you had had courage, if you had taken the risk of exploring your feelings together. He hadn't had the guts to tell you anything, you were too afraid, and when you had found common ground it had immediately collapsed. 

John had noticed that something was wrong, even he knew you well enough to know that it pained you not to hear from your friend again, and at times he had even urged you to call him. You had told him that he had said something unpleasant about Danielle while you were in the car and you had felt sorry for her, from there you had started to argue. It was a really boorish excuse and you were pretty sure John hadn't bought it but had played it off for the sake of quiet life. 

“Can you stop by the bank to deposit this check this morning?” he had told you that morning before leaving the house. You were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and enjoying your day off. 

“Sure,” you had answered him, ”I'll go there before I go to the laundry to pick up my dress for tonight.” 

“Mmm the burgundy dress with that dizzying neckline?” he had told you as he leaned over to give you a kiss 

“Just that one” you had smiled as you returned the kiss and caressed his cheek ”you like it huh?”

“I'm looking forward to tonight” he had chuckled before leaving the house with his briefcase ”I'll be home at 7 o'clock okay?”

“Perfect, I'll be ready” you had thrown him a kiss and then curled up in your chair, finishing your coffee and admiring the view of the waking city outside. 

It was your anniversary, and he was going to take you to dinner at a French restaurant you had heard about in enthusiastic tones from your discerning colleague who was a food and wine critic. 

You had dressed quietly, gone out to do your chores, had a manicure appointment, then gone to pick up your dress at the dry cleaners and finally to the bank. 

As soon as you had left the bank you had bumped into a guy. 

You had looked up and been stunned. 

Marcus.

How was that possible? 

“Oh shit,” he had exclaimed.

His hair was slightly longer, he had grown a mustache and a beard but it was him, there was no doubt about it, you would have recognized him in a thousand. 

"What are you doing here?" you had asked him, widening your eyes, without a hello or how are you or anything else, you were too shocked. 

He was the last person you expected to see on your anniversary. 

Marcus had brushed his hand behind his neck, the gesture he always made when he was embarrassed “I got a big promotion” in a tone as if to apologize for existing in the same state as you, in the same city as you, for coexisting in the same environment as you.

“Whatever...I have to go, anyway, have a nice life,” you had tried to say quickly, to disengage yourself from that surreal situation. 

You had already turned your back on him when you heard him say “no wait...please...would you like to have a cup of coffee?”

You had turned silently to look at him. He couldn't have been serious. Yet he was.

And looking into those big brown pleading eyes, for some reason you had not been able to say no.

“All right,” you had replied with a shrug, ”I'll give you half an hour, then I'll have to go home.”

You went to sit in a café around the corner and ordered a cappuccino.

"So how are you?" you asked absentmindedly. 

“Danielle and I broke up last spring.” 

“Oh. I'm sorry.” It was like a blade through the chest to hear his voice again, to hear him say that he was single again and that his marriage was over. Somehow it made you feel guilty even though after eight years it was unlikely that the main reason for their breakup was you. 

“Yeah...she wanted children and for a while we tried but...” 

“Marcus please, I don't care, it's your business because it's over,” you cut off. 

You didn't have to get involved again. When you had thought back to your father's death and how he had confessed right afterwards you had been angry with him. Why had he done it at that time when you were so particularly vulnerable? It wasn't fair. 

"Sorry I-" he had babbled.  

“Never mind, never mind,” you had interrupted him again with a hand gesture. “Look, let's talk straight once and for all” you didn't know where all that aggression was coming from but it was growing inside you inexorably, like an infection ”why the hell are we here?” 

He had lowered his gaze to his cappuccino, then brought it back to you and stared at you in a way that made you feel naked and helpless. He still had an effect on you, and it pissed you off. “I miss you,” he had admitted under his breath, ”I miss talking to you and I miss having you around. I miss everything about you. When I saw you I couldn't believe it. But I know I can't let you leave without clearing things up.” 

“There's nothing left to clear up. It's over Marcus, can't you see that? There was never a right time for us.” 

“That's not true, I-” 

“Stop it! Look, I'm trying to live my life, you do it too,” you had screeched

“But-” 

“No 'buts'... Marcus, I'm tired. I'm tired of this running into each other and don't tell me it's fate because it's just pure randomness. John was transferred for work, now we live here, end of story. I'm still with him, okay? And I'm happy, so please leave me alone.” 

You could see his clenched fist on the coffee table, his eyes glazed with tears, his Adam's apple jumping as you mentioned John. He looked devastated. It was no longer your business anyway, so you had gotten up and made to leave, leaving a bill on the coffee table. “Don't look for me anymore.” 

Marcus had jumped up, his chair had fallen back crashing onto the pavement, and he didn't even seem to notice as he tried to stop you.

“Please” he had grabbed you by the sleeve of his jacket ”please.” 

You had turned back to him and looking into his eyes you had seen the little boy who asked you if he would ever be famous, the one who helped you with your homework, the 20-year-old who had involved you in the craziest vacation of your life, and then the adult who had broken your heart. 

“No.” you had whispered, ”no fucking way.” 

Marcus' face was a grimace of pain, as if in physical pain from your rejection, his shoulders hunched and his hand not letting go of you. He was pathetic and sweet at the same time.

His eyes were fixed in yours as he told you loud and clear, “I love you.”

I love you. 

You had longed to hear it come from his lips for so long that now it was like a lash that burned against your skin. You had stopped feeling like you were glued to the sidewalk, unable to take a step forward “What the hell! Did you have to tell me that? Was it necessary after I told you that I am still with my husband? Fuck, your timing is the worst thing ever. Do you know what day it is today? My wedding anniversary.” you had thrown up words at him angrily, feeling a knot in your stomach that nauseated you. 

“I don't want anything from you,” he had replied, his voice trembling, ”I just wanted you to know.”

“And now that I know according to you what have we solved? What have we gained? I'll tell you, absolutely nothing Marcus.” 

You had turned around and left, yelling at him, “I'll tell you again, don't ever look for me.” 

You had come home and taken a long hot bath, cried your last tears for him, and then decided it was John you had to think about, your special day. Marcus wasn't going to ruin it for you. You had prepared yourself carefully, put on the dress he liked so much, your favorite perfume, and waited for John. When he had come home you had driven out to a restaurant, had had a delicious dinner, sex as soon as you got home, and fallen asleep in his arms feeling that it was right. 

___________________________________

2010

“Love don't wait up for me, I'll be back late. I am so sorry, I love you.” 

It was already the fourth time in a week that he sent you such a message, by now John spent more time in the office than anywhere else. He had been given another promotion and was now mainly in charge of foreign exchanges, so he went to the office at impossible hours, came back later and later, and you barely saw him in the morning getting out of bed to jump in the shower. You hadn't had sex for at least a month, in those days you had talked more often with the mailman than with your husband.

Finally a publishing house had noticed you and they had published your book, you had gotten a chance to continue working for the newspaper by writing your articles from home so you could work on your second novel. 

You had huffed, looking at the screen, by now you were going to your friends' dinners alone, in those two years you had bonded with some couples in your neighborhood, and with a colleague from the newspaper and her husband. Every time you had been invited in the last three months John had declined, saying he had to work. 

You were beginning to feel really alone in your marriage, but you knew you had to try something. You still cared about John; you didn't want everything you had built together to be ruined. Sure, since he was earning more money he was showering you with unexpected and expensive gifts that certainly didn't make up for his absence, though. You had never been a materialistic person, no matter how beautiful the diamond bracelets and pearl necklaces and expensive shoes were, you missed falling asleep cuddled with your husband, feeling his caresses, having breakfast with him in the morning, spending a weekend together on the couch watching TV cuddling, simply spending time with him. For the past few weeks you had failed to write a word, you had hastily completed articles for the newspaper just to meet deadlines but your novel had stalled. You were busy cleaning to take your mind off things, you had joined the gym to force yourself to leave the house but then you would go back and find yourself spending entire evenings lounging around, not knowing what else to do. 

You had decided that night that you had to take matters into your own hands, put on a pretty dress, fixed your hair and make-up thoroughly, and then went out with the intention of surprising him. You were going to bring him his favorite dishes from your favorite Chinese restaurant to the office. 

When you had arrived at his workplace, you had looked up from the car window and seen the light on in his office. 

You had come down loaded with Chinese noodles and dumplings, and as you walked toward the entrance you had noticed his car parked not far away. 

You had taken the elevator with your heart in your throat, looking forward to seeing his happy face as he enjoyed a hot meal. The elevator had opened on the floor and you had started down the hallway leading to his office. There was no one there, everything was quiet and still, but the closer you got to his office the more you heard strange noises. Bellowing, hushed voices. 

The door was pulled over, you had pushed it slightly, and the scene that unfolded before your eyes was unsettling. 

Veronica, a married colleague of him whom you had met at the firm's Christmas party a few months earlier, was bent over John's desk, her skirt up, her panties down, her long legs covered by black hold-ups, her stilettos sinking into the Persian carpet under John's desk. And your husband holding her hips and sinking into her from behind. 

His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, his hair was disheveled, his neck tense and sweaty, as he stood there with his cool wool pants down, fucking his colleague. 

He grunted some words that you had never heard him say when you were having sex “Yeah, bitch, you like that huh? You like getting pounded by my cock huh? You're such a dirty slut, do you feel how wet you are for me?" 

You couldn't believe your eyes. Your sweet husband, the one who had stood by you so devotedly…where had that man gone? 

You dropped the bag with the Chinese dinner on the floor, the boxes had opened, and the noodles had spread all over the hardwood floor. “What the fuck?!”

John had turned around shocked, still with his cock inside his coworker “Oh shit. No, wait, honey I-” he had stepped out of her and tried to pull up his pants awkwardly ”please-fuck-I can explain.” 

“There's nothing to explain, you piece of shit!” you had yelled at him as he approached trying to stammer out some stupid excuse and had slapped him open-handed across the face as soon as he got in front of you ‘don't bother coming home’ you had added contemptuously.

“But love I-” he had pranced rubbing his cheek ”please-” 

“NO!” You had yelled “No, I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses, I don't want anything more to do with you, you disgust me!”

Veronica was standing in the corner buttoning her blouse and pulling down her skirt without meeting your gaze, her face hot and guilty.

Everything that you had sacrificed for that relationship, how you had followed him and reinvented your life for him, adapting to his needs, trying to build a happy nest for the two of you in Washington, all had been swept away. He had stomped on your marriage, your trust, your heart. 

You had driven home crying, risking missing a red light, had nailed down at the last moment with your heart bouncing inside your chest like a jackhammer. You had walked into the house throwing your purse and coat on the floor, throwing your shoes in the middle of the hallway and throwing yourself on the bed, hiding your face in the pillow with your head bursting, a sense of helplessness and defeat enveloping your temples, your chest, your stomach. 

It was over.

John had never come home, you had learned through his lawyer that he had rented an apartment near his office, and a week later he sent three big guys from a moving company to pick up his things.

You couldn't stay in that house anymore. Everything reminded you of him, the lies he had been telling you for months and what was even worse, all the happy moments you had lived in there in spite of yourself. 

You were dragging yourself from room to room without strength, you hadn't written anything anymore, you had told the editor of the newspaper that you were sick to have an excuse to delay the deadlines for your articles. 

You were tired, you were angry, you lacked the will to do anything, after three days without seeing you leave the house your friend Denise, who lived across the street had called you alarmed to see if you were all right, and hearing your dejected, fading voice had decided to use the keys you had given her in case of an emergency to come and check on you in person. 

You had not been able to lie to her; you had burst into tears and told her everything as soon as she asked you where John was. 

From that day she had been by every day bringing you dinner, making sure you ate, forcing you to shower, tidying up. You didn't know what you had done to deserve Denise in your life but you were incredibly grateful that she was there. 

Gradually you had forced yourself to take charge of your life again, started going out again pushed by your friends and even moved house, encouraged by them. You couldn't turn over a new leaf without getting out of there. 

And you had especially realized that you could walk with your head held high; you were not the one who had to be ashamed. 

And looking back on it, you had really overcome a lot in the last few years. The loss of your father, Marcus, your husband. All the men who had meant something to you in your life. 

You could have been proud that you did your best to stay on your feet. 

________________________________________________________

2011 

It had been a year since you had discovered John screwing his colleague.

You had tried dating men, without success, but things were going very well professionally. You had finally managed to finish your second book, and the publisher had been extremely pleased, so much so that he had arranged a series of meetings for you at bookstores around the country.  You had just returned from Ohio when you got a call from your mother inviting you for Christmas.

You had no desire to return to Sacramento, but how could you say no to your mom? She was left alone and it had not been easy for her. Your aunt and uncle lived nearby and took care of her but she had said she missed you a lot.

And she was so proud of you, she had asked you for copies of your books to give to all her friends, she was your biggest fan. You were happy to see her and spend time with her. 

And so, there you were at the airport, with a big suitcase, ready to get on yet another plane and fly across the country. 

You had just gotten an upgrade to business class and were in the private lounge of the area airline ordering yourself a martini when you heard a familiar voice behind you calling your name. 

Marcus. Again. 

“I swear I'm not following you,” he had raised his hands in surrender. 

“I know. I haven't seen you in three years, and we live in the same town.”

You had smiled; it wasn't bad to see his face again after all. 

“Martini?” He had asked pointing to your glass 

“Yeah. Can you please make another one?” You had said turning toward the bartender. 

You had sat at a small table with your cocktails “Are you going to see your mother?”

You had nodded, “You too?” 

“Yes, my parents were very insistent. Where is John?” 

“I have no idea,” you had squeezed into your shoulders taking a sip of your martini. 

“Oh, did you break up? I'm sorry, he seemed like a good man,” he had said.

“Apparently he wasn't since he was cheating on me with one of his colleagues.” 

“You should have better judgment anyway, aren't you a detective?” you had asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at him wryly 

Marcus had burst out laughing, “You're right, I should.”

And he had told you about the time he had fallen in love with someone named Teresa, a colleague of his, and had been left like a poor idiot the previous year, without realizing that she was in love with someone else. 

“It wasn't your fault, you know,” you told him sweetly, ”I know how you get when you have a crush.” 

“How do I become?” he had asked you with a sigh.

And you had replied with a smirk “Well, if you must know...naive, head in the clouds, like you live in a world of unicorns and fairies” 

“Really? A ridiculous clown? Is that what I become?” he had chuckled and then turned serious again ”Not with you, I hope”

You had laughed, you could have laughed at that point. Or maybe it was just the martini clouding your mind. 

“Whatever,” you had rolled your eyes. 

“Well, I'm sorry,” he had muttered.

“It's okay” you had smiled ”Really.”

At that moment they had announced boarding for your flight, so you had hurried to the gate together. 

You were both in business, so eventually you had sat next to each other and continued chatting. 

And it was nice, really nice. You were both single, more aware, you had reached an age where you could be honest with yourselves and you could joke about your dramas. 

“So you had noticed that I had hugged you that night huh?” 

“Sure. You pounced on me in my sleep and woke me up. I didn't want to embarrass you so I played it cool” she had smiled ”I thought you were sleepwalking and dreaming of hugging Keanu Reeves or whatever.” 

You had burst out in the loudest laugh you had had in years and then covered your mouth embarrassed that you had disturbed the other passengers. Fortunately those in your vicinity all had headphones on and were watching a movie. 

“Oh, come on” you had tapped his shoulder and then taken by you don't know what courage-probably the second martini you were downing-you had said ”the only one I dreamed of hugging was you.” 

“I didn't realize this until later...Now is there anyone you would like to hug by any chance?” he had whispered in your ear.

“Actually...yes” 

And there, in that plane, you kissed. For the first time without hindrance, without remorse, without drama, without fear. “I love you” he had whispered on your lips, and you had responded, finally free to say it ”I love you too.”

“So we'll try this time?” he had caressed your cheek, sliding his hand down your neck. 

“Yes” You had said ”definitely yes.”

“Your mother will be delighted” he had smiled, kissing you again “it's going to be a great Christmas.”

“Well, Merry Christman then” you whispered as your mouth moved down his neck.

“Merry Christmas, baby”

[holylulusworld]

Frostbite

Summary: You are cold and pissed.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: language, pissed reader, remorse, fluff

“Hey, can you preheat the bunker?” You sighed as Dean grumbled at the other end of the line. “Dean, did you hear me? I have everything we will need for the holidays. I’m on my way back.” Slowing the car down due to the snow you tried to focus on the road, not Dean chuckling as you are cold again. “DEAN!”

“What are you, bread?” The hunter snickered and made a joke about you being a bread, heat, and your cold feet.

“No,” you grunted into the phone. “I’m a warm and delicious pie with a wet filling you’ll never get to taste again.” You angrily hung up the phone.

After buying all the things for Christmas, booze for Dean, and gifts, you couldn’t wait to drive home to a warm and cozy bunker.

It was freezing outside, and damn cold.

One phone call later you weren’t just cold. You were downright pissed too. All you asked for was for Dean to preheat the bunker so you could warm up after being out in the cold for hours.

“Wait for it, Winchester! You’ll not get any,” you grunted and slammed your hands onto the steering wheel. “This includes pie and booze!”

“Dean?” Sam laughed as his brother ran around the bunker, pillows, a soft blanket, and your favorite plushie tugged under his arm. “Where is the fire?”

Dean stopped in his tracks, shook his head, and ran toward your shared room without sparing his brother a second glance.

“What did you do this time?”

“Nothing!” Dean yelled at his brother while running along the hallway.

“Nothing?” Sam pressed on. “Is that the reason I’m running around in a tank top and shorts because I feel like you are trying to cook me?”

“Y/N is cold…again.”

“Let me guess,” Sam dipped his head, a smirk creeping on his face, “you fucked up and said something stupid…again.”

“Just shut up, bitch!” Dean stormed off, grumbling under his breath. The last thing he needed was his baby brother teasing him for messing things up.

“Jerk!” Sam retorted and walked away. He didn’t want to get involved in your fight. The heat in the bunker was worse enough. All Sam wanted was to have a shower and to be left alone.

“Dean, what the—??” You stopped short in your tracks when you carried the first bags inside the bunker. It felt like the heat at the bunker hit you out of nowhere. “Warm…no hot…”

“Sweetheart,” Dean exclaimed loudly. He hurriedly made his way toward you to snatch the bags out of your hands. “Let me handle this. You’ll go to the bathroom and have a warm bath.”

Dean pushed the bags in Sam’s hands who only sneaked around the bunker to watch his brother make amends.

“Sammy, bring these into the kitchen. Take care of the rest in the trunk.”

“Dean! What are you,” you squeaked and tried to fight your boyfriend when he picked you up in bridal style to carry you toward the bathroom. “Let me down! Damnit, Winchester. I’m mad at you.”

“I’ll prepare a warm bath for you. I waited for you to come home,” Dean smirked as you squirmed in his arms.

“A bath won’t make things up to me. I asked you to do one thing for me after I ran around town for hours to get all the shit we’ll need,” you crossed your arms over your chest and pouted at Dean.

“It’s just…” He snickers. “You’re such a cute frostbite and I love warming you up. You always snuggle closer to me to get warm and cozy.”

“You want me to freeze so you can warm me up?”

“I love warming you up,” he chuckled. “You’re my little frostbite and I’m your heater to warm you up. We’re the perfect match.”

“You’re still an ass, and on my naughty list.”

“Uh-huh. Did you hear that Sammy, I’m on her naughty list,” Dean grinned. “I bet she loves it when I’m naughty—” You covered Dean’s mouth with your hand.

“Dean, stop talking! You can't say things like that in front of Sam.”

“Aw, come on, sweetheart. Teasing Sammy is half the fun,” he grinned and chuckled as you suppressed a giggle. “Baby, are you still mad at me?”

“A little less because you preheated the bunker for me,” you whispered in his ear and tugged at his earlobe. “If you warm me up real good tonight, I'll consider forgiving you.”

Dean made an odd noise at your words.

“I got you warm blankets and pillows. I cooked for you too, baby. I swear, after your bath, I’ll warm you up so good you will never need me to preheat the bunker for you again…” 

Tags in reblog.

[writeyouin]

Hello, for holiday fics, can i request MTMTE Bots X Reader Headcanons where its Christmas time and there's a gift exchange? Thank you!

MTMTE Bots X Reader - Gift Exchange

A/N - A-All of them?! There's… That's a lot of bots. Imma just pick a few, then if anyone wants more you can just ask me for them.

Warnings - None

Rating - T

Swerve

Swerve is far too nervous for this.

It's your first Christmas aboard the ship, and he is determined to confess his love for you. Like, he has spent every last second planning this for months.

Now that it's time though, he thinks he might purge his tanks.

What if you don't like his gift? Worse, what if you reject him? He knows you won't be mean about it, but... he doesn't want to spend his life without you. He really loves you, and nothing terrifies him more than his own feelings.

Still, here is the moment. You've given him your gift.

It was a crocheted blanket, so he'll be comfy on movie nights. When did you have time to make this? Oh wow. He presses the material to his face. It's so soft, and if he takes in some air, it smells like you. Of course it does... You've clearly spent ages making it.

Swerve hugs you and he holds on for a few seconds too long. You laugh amiably, and make a joke about being Christmas crushed.

Finally, he lets you go and bashfully presents you with his gift. It isn't wrapped very well. It must have been difficult for him, since it's relatively small. You can see where the tape has come up a few times, stripping the paper of some of its colour. All this just makes you smile more.

You tear open the gift, and it's a datapad, specially made to be human-sized. You flick on the screen and find that it's filled with music, in a specially arranged playlist.

Admittedly, Swerve doesn't know a whole lot about Earth music. He's more into TV and movies, but he knows how much you love music, so he really tried with this.

Moreover, the first word of each song creates a message, and it is a long message. It's a confession. You might have missed it, had the first word of each song not been highlighted.

You take a while to read what's written. Meanwhile, Swerve is stuck in limbo, feeling entirely sick. Part of him wants to snatch the datapad back and laugh it off like it was all a mistake or a stupid joke. Instead, he waits, trying to stop his servos from shaking by resting them on his thighs.

When you've finished reading his confession, you let your thumb glide over the first song, hitting play.

You smile, get to your feet, and approach Swerve.

"I love it," You say quietly.

Then, you kiss him.

At first, Swerve is completely taken aback. Then, his hands find their way around your back and he's holding you close, your first kiss to Nat King Cole's 'The Very Thought of You.'

Rung

Rung didn't actually want gifts. The only thing he asked for was an evening alone with you.

Normally, he's so busy with his patients, and everyone always wants time with the ship's only human, usually so they can ask you questions and place bets on what the answer will be - Rodimus is still pissed that he lost 100 shanix when you were asked what a colander was (Sufficed to say, his answer wasn't kitchen utensil for draining water).

So, that's exactly how you spend Christmas Eve with Rung. You're sat in his lap, laid back on the sofa while he reads to you from a book you chose.

His fingers gently glide over your head - You feel safe with Rung - loved - and you know that he feels the same when he's with you.

Despite that, you did get him a gift, and little do you know, he's got you one too. They will both wait for tomorrow however, as you relax into one another, with no obligation to anyone else.

The next day, you wake up atop the berth, and realise that you must have fallen asleep when Rung was reading and that he has carried you to bed.

Yet, he isn't there with you. You're just getting up when you hear him humming. Your shared hab-suite isn't like the others on the ship - it's the only one wherein the rooms are separate as if to recreate a normal Earth apartment.

So, upon getting up to explore, you find Rung in the kitchen - He's never been in here before, except when he's looking for you.

This is his gift and his surprise. He knows how much time you always put into cooking, and unfortunately, there's nobody else who could ever cook for you, which he has been led to believe is a normal part of human relationships and something most humans are grateful for.

It took a while to research the recipes, and even more time to find out what ingredients could be substituted. Moreover, Rung has spent months practising this, between meetings, and now, he's rather good at it - he always was good at following instructions and handling delicate objects.

So, your Christmas brunch is courtesy of Rung, and you make sure to tell him how delicious everything is, kissing him afterwards so he might get a taste of the wonderful meal he's made as his arms wrap around you and he presses you against the dining table.

Later, after a long, and frankly heated make-out session, you present him with his gift. It's a model ship of the only one missing from his collection - the Lost Light itself. His eyes light up when he sees it, all ready to be put together.

That afternoon, the two of you sit together and start building the miniature, all while listening to Christmas music which plays serenely in the background.

Megatron

Megatron is staring at you quite intensely. If you weren't used to him, you might think he was glaring at you.

Still, you feel like you might have done something wrong or that he hates your gift to him. It was after all, rather personal, and Megatron isn't a huge fan of PDA.

The gift in question was a song. As it turned out, Nautica was something of a musical prodigy, so with her help, you had written a song about Megatron - She had composed the tune, while you wrote the lyrics.

You assumed that by involving another bot, Megatron felt exposed; it was entirely possible that he didn't like the idea of someone else singing about him or your relationship with him.

You couldn't be further from the truth.

The truth of the matter was that Megatron loved the song. You had poured your very soul into it, and it was so much more than he could have asked for.

... And in return, he had gotten you a gift basket. Soaps, shampoos, lotions - His research had led him to believe this was the social norm on Earth. He couldn't give you that now!

How would that look? You had given him a piece of your soul, and he got you L'oriel "because you're worth it."

No. It wasn't good enough.

"Excuse me a moment, I need to retrieve something from my hab-suite," Megatron said coolly, before leaving you.

You deflated, feeling that all was lost, especially since Megatron took a good thirty minutes to return.

Yet, when he came back, he held out a datapad for you, mumbling an apology that it wasn't wrapped.

You swallowed nervously when he wouldn't meet your eye, and then you took the present reverently.

You flicked on the screen and found it open in a folder - "(Y/N)'s Poetry."

There were well over a hundred entries, all of them dedicated to you.

'The Radiance of a Smile', 'Promises of Forever', and 'Forgiveness of the Past', were just a few at the top of the list. Even more surprising was the fact that a great many of them were written before the two of you began dating. When you looked at the earlier entries, you saw how Megatron's feelings towards you had come about and evolved into something more.

You were speechless, yet on your face, Megatron was pleased to see that you knew how he felt for you, and that your love for him was just as much of a weight, though it was one you were glad to bear.

[loganwritesprobably]

Drowning

Tags/Warnings: Ace/GN!Reader, modern AU, surfing instructor Ace, civilian!Reader, Ace saves a kid from drowning

It had taken a lot to get all your friends together, days off and holiday days taken to align your schedules, but it was all worth it to be able to sit together on the beach in the hot sun. The beach was littered with families and groups of young people enjoying the weather and playing games. It was a nice, summery atmosphere.

People watching was a hobby you enjoyed, making guesses about the people around you that you'd never have proven true or false. Your book sat beside you, bookmarked with a seashell since you'd managed to forget your usual bookmark, and a drink in your hand. You sipped slowly as you just watched the horizon, seeing the children and adults alike playing in the waves.

You'd noticed a short while ago that there was a surfer on the beach, a relatively young man - you'd assume close to yourself in age - and he was quite handsome. Your friends had noticed you looking and made a few light hearted jokes, but all had moved on now. Or you'd thought. "Still looking?" One of them joked, gently elbowing you as they shuffled closer, tugging their towel closer to yours to sit in more comfort. "Can you blame me? Running around looking like that." You replied with a laugh, though you looked away having been caught. If something was going to happen then it would.

After spending a few hours just relaxing, a few of your friends convinced you to come take a dip in the water with them, and you quickly found yourself just floating along the water's surface while your friends play wrestled, though some had already retreated back to the safety of your towels under the umbrella.

The peace was disturbed as a woman shrieked from the beach. You looked up, startled by the sound, and spotted a young boy thrashing and struggling a ways away from you. Most people stood watching, stunned into stillness rather than rushing to his aid. Except one man. The surfer you'd been observing earlier dove from his board without hesitation, disappearing under the surface of the water with no sign for a long moment. Then, both he and the boy were gasping for air, surfacing properly, the boy on the surfer's shoulders.

Your friend appeared beside you and nudged you again, while another closed your open jaw with two fingers on your chin.

The surfer carried the boy back to the shore where his mother stood, and you watched as she profusely thanked the man. You looked around and noticed his board still drifting, so ignoring the laughter and taunts of your friends, you swam for it.

You dragged his board to the beach, waiting for the woman to disappear with her son, and pulled it to him. "Pretty heroic thing you did there." You said, smiling at him as he startled, then turned toward you. "Oh, anyone would've." He replied with a shrug, taking his board from you with ease. "I mean, you were the only one that even moved. It was pretty awesome." You were a little awkward, but you were trying and surely that was what mattered. "I guess it was." He replied with a laugh and a small smirk that made you want to kiss him. What a hell of an impulsive thought. "You surf?" You asked, gesturing to the board. Alone it was kind of a stupid question, but you were hoping he'd use it as a chance to talk about it more extensively. "Sure do, I'm an instructor too. The kid is one I've worked with before. He just got caught in some seaweed, he's usually a pretty strong swimmer. Guess that's why I acted so fast." He explained, and you nodded along. "So you're a surfer, a hero, and good with kids? Hot." It didn't hurt to be a little bold, right? "Yeah?" He asked, a cheeky smile taking over his face. You struggled not to fold at the sight of it, instead forcing yourself to stay strong. "Yeah. Could I interest you in sharing a cold drink, and maybe an ice cream at that café on the boardwalk?" "I think you could."

[confessionsofatvjunkie]

2.5k

~~~

Eddie isn’t stupid. He knows he’s an attractive man, he notices the looks he gets when he goes out in public. Putting on the uniform only makes it worse. He can’t count how many times he’s been hit on while actively trying to save someone’s life. It’s flattering, it really is, but there’s a time and a place for that, and asking for someone's number while they’re trying to splint your broken leg isn’t it! 

Ever since he managed to screw things up with Marisol so spectacularly, everyone at the firehouse has been asking when he’s going to get back out there, and since he doesn't have an answer for them, he just jokes it off and changes the subject. It’s not like he wants to be alone forever, especially with Chris being in Texas and the ample free time that’s left him with. Of course he’d like a partner. He just doesn’t want it to be so much work. 

Which is probably how he let Buck talk him into going out tonight. He came up to him after their shift, throwing his giant body down in a huff on the bench next to where Eddie is packing his duffle to start a glorious 48 off of work. 

“So what are your plans tonight?” He asks, there’s something in his voice, it’s his I’ve got something up my sleeve voice, but Eddie is too tired to indulge him right now. 

“Uhh, gonna catch up on laundry, then probably order in, watch the game.” 

Buck is quiet, eyeing him suspiciously, Eddie knows what’s coming so he braces for impact, a small smile pulls at the corner of full lips, “Ehh! Wrong answer!” Buck imitates a buzzer noise as he scoops up Eddie’s duffle and heads to the employee parking lot. Eddie follows behind like a lost duckling. 

“How are my own plans a wrong answer,” Eddie asks, snatching back his duffle and tossing it in the truck. 

“Because you're going out with me tonight!” 

“No. I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are,” Buck repeats, “We have the next 24 hours free, and you’re not going to spend the weekend before Halloween doing laundry. Especially when we have to work actual Halloween and you know what a shit show that usually is. We have to celebrate when we can.” 

“But I need to do laundry, and I hate Halloween,” Eddie protests.

“Since when?” Buck asks, a baffled expression on his face. 

Eddie sighs, reaching up to push back the swoop of hair that’s fallen onto his forehead, “since my son, my sole reason for celebrating the Holiday in the first place, is almost a thousand miles away.” 

A look of pained understanding crosses Buck's face, followed by the mischievous grin Eddie has always had a hard time saying no to, “that’s exactly why you’re coming out with me tonight Eddie, it’ll keep you from sitting at home, moping over Christopher. Besides, when was the last time we were both single at the same time? We can be each other's wingmen.” 

“Buck, you’ve been single for 4 days,” Eddie points out. He’s not sure what happened with Tommy, Buck hasn’t told him yet. He would, in time, Eddie knows that, but even for Buck 1.0 a 4 day rebound period seems a bit much. 

“I’m not looking to get married here Eddie, just looking to have a fun night out with my best friend,” Buck replies, a slight edge to his voice. 

Eddie knows they can go back and forth like this for hours, but in the end he’ll give in, he always does where Buck is concerned, “Fine! God, you’re a menace, but I’m not dressing up,” he states with finality, slamming the truck door and starting the engine. 

Buck slaps the hood as he heads to the Jeep, he turns back to Eddie, “that’s easy, just wear your Uni shirt. Boom, instant costume.” 

Eddie groans and starts to pull out of his parking spot, how bad could it be, he thinks as he heads home to shower and get ready. 

***

Yep, putting the uniform on always makes it worse. 

Eddie feels several pairs of eyes on him and Buck the second they enter the dark nightclub. He capitulated, and wore his Uni shirt, but even that he did with protest. Buck is wearing a vest, no shirt, and cowboy hat. He said he ordered chaps to go over his jeans, but they didn’t get delivered in time. 

He looks good, and Eddie thinks it okay to acknowledge that. After all, aesthetics are aesthetics. Buck has really been focusing on the gym lately and all that hard work is starting to show. So Eddie is pretty sure it’s no big deal when Buck picks him up that his breath catches a little in his chest at the sight of copious amounts of smooth, even skin. That it’s fine if his eyes linger on the column of flesh laid bare between either side of the vest that draws an arrow of skin down to thick hips clad in very tight denim. It’s okay, because he’s just admiring his friends' hard work. 

This is going to be a disaster, he thinks, the music in the stuffy room already too loud. A pretty brunette in a vintage Cigarette Girl costume stops in front of them, her tray loaded down with little plastic cups filled with some black and orange substance… Eddie bends to take a closer look… jello. They’re serving jello shots, he hasn’t done jello shots since basic. 

He looks over at Buck who has already scooped one up and downed it. The muscles in his throat work around the jello as he swallows. He thanks the girl as he stuffs a couple singles in her tip cup and passes one to Eddie, “Bottoms up my friend.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes but accepts the little cup and runs his finger around the edge to loosen it, he looks up and sees Buck transfixed by the movement, they make eye contact and there’s something he can’t name in his friend's expression. But Buck, being Buck,  just smiles bigger and raises his eyebrows in an expectant manner. Eddie downs the shot, and the night goes a little blurry from there. 

***

It’s a few hours later and Eddie’s pretty much done. He’s having fun, but he’s not as young as he used to be and has definitely hit his wall. They’ve spent the night alternating between jello shots and cheap IPA’s, making the rounds to socialize with the crowd, he’s even danced a bit… and at every turn Eddie has had people asking about his “costume,” asking where he got it, then watching their eyes fill with interest when he says it’s his actual uniform, yes really, yes he’s an actual firefighter. 

He’s also had his biceps, waist, hips, and even his ass, grabbed by more strangers than he can count. So yeah, he’s done. Which he’d love to tell Buck about, but he’s still on the dance floor pressed between Lola Bunny and Maverick from Top Gun, and Eddie is stuck at the bar being interrogated by a Sanderson sister. 

“So you’re really a real firefighter?” She asks for the 5th time. 

“Yep, I’m really a real firefighter,” he answers. 

“That’s so awesome, I love firefighters, is it scary running into all those burning buildings?” 

She’s asked that already too, and Eddie is starting to suspect she’s drunker than he first thought. He really wants to go, but he’s waiting for Buck and everytime he tries to get away from her, she starts asking the same series of questions, her body way closer than he’d like. He’s trying to not be a dick because she’s not done anything wrong, a place like this is made for overindulging, close dancing, and lots of flirty, Eddie’s just not feeling it. 

He’s about to try and excuse himself for the third time when he feels a set of strong arms encircling him from behind. With as much as he’s been groped tonight you’d think he’d be on the defensive, but something about these particular arms are very familiar. Buck has pressed up behind him, arms coming around his waist in a tight embrace, Eddie barely has time to catalog  what he’s feeling when Buck nuzzles into Eddie’s neck, lips pressed against his overheated skin, and lets out a hot breath as he says, “Sorry to keep you waiting babe, the line to the bathroom was crazy long. Who’s your friend?” 

Eddie, who has yet to exhale since Buck touched him, sees confusion, then understanding spread across the young woman’s face. It takes her realization for Eddie to make his own, Buck’s helping him out of a jam. Pretending to be his date to get out of an annoying conversation. It’s absolutely something Buck would do. So why does Eddie suddenly feel disappointed?

Still unable to move, or speak, Eddie listens as the girl introduces herself and apologizes for flirting with Buck’s man. Buck chuckles good naturedly, and says he doesn’t blame her, who wouldn’t flirt with someone so hot? They share a laugh, but Eddie is still mute. Buck has released him and positioned him so that Eddie’s back is against the bar. Buck has one arm propped behind his back, caging him against the left side of his, oh so large from this angle, body. The heat that is pouring off him is making it impossible for Eddie to catch his breath.

He listens to the conversation for a few more seconds, watching as this Sanderson sister starts to look over Buck’s tall frame and nearly naked chest. The lust filled haze Eddie has been dodging for the last 15 minutes settles over her again, and Eddie knows exactly where her mind is, and he’s absolutely not here for it. Finally moved to action he raises his left hand and brings it to settle on the soft spot where Buck’s neck meets his shoulder, thumb resting right by the hollow between his collar bones, and Eddie swears he can feel Buck’s pulse pick up. 

Buck turns into Eddie’s touch, making eye contact right as the woman, now all but forgotten, not so subtly suggests the three of them go somewhere more private. Eddie hears himself reply, “Sorry honey, I don’t share,” as he wraps his fingers around the back of Buck’s neck and pulls him into a breathtaking, soul shattering, explosive kiss.  

The second his lips meet Buck’s everything makes sense. Everything. Every embarrassing flutter he felt in the locker room after baseball practice. How his love for Shannon grew out of their friendship and not any physical connection, and why being on deployment for so long was never as difficult for him as it was for his friends. Why it never could have worked with Ana or Marisol. 

He doesn’t expect to have some huge revelation about his sexuality in a dark nightclub while his best friend's tongue is halfway down his throat, but here he is, and he doesn’t want it to end, and if the hard length currently pressing into his hip is an indication, neither does Buck. 

Eddie breaks the kiss and already misses it. He rests his forehead against Buck’s, they’re quiet for a moment, just looking into each other's eyes, but those full lips of Buck’s, now swollen and kiss stung, break into a full smile, and then they’re giggling. Buck ducks his head back down and captures Eddie’s lips again in another brief kiss, capturing Eddie’s lower lip in his teeth. The sensation causes a sound Eddie is sure he’s never made to escape him, it's somewhere between a moan and a whine and it makes Buck giggle again. Buck leans into Eddie’s ear and whispers, “Take me home.” 

Buck’s loft is closer to the club than Eddie’s place, so that’s where they head. They kiss in the Uber the whole way there, lips crushed together, hands exploring everyplace that is semi proper to explore when you’re in a car with a complete stranger. Eddie know’s a part of him should be embarrassed by his behavior, he’s never done anything so bold in public before. But then again he’d never made out with Buck before, so suddenly he can’t make himself care enough to stop. 

On the elevator, while Eddie’s head is thrown back to make room for Buck to feather kisses down his throat, Eddie cards the fingers of his right hand through soft, bouncy curls and tugs gently, eliciting a soft moan from Buck, “Hey,” he tugs again to get his attentions, “hey, look at me,” he whispers. 

Buck stands to his full height and brings his arms up on either side of Eddie, holding him in place against the wall of the elevator, Eddie looks into brilliant blue eyes, pupils blown wide with lust, “Hi,” he whispers. 

Eddie smiles, “Hi,” he replies, and takes a deep breath, knowing his next question might break the spell, “should we talk about this?” 

Buck’s face is unreadable, “Absolutely.” 

Eddie nods, “Okay, so - -” 

Buck cuts him off, “Tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, Eddie, tomorrow. I’m sorry, if it's selfish, but I’ve waited a lot longer than I can even admit to myself for you to meet me here, and all I want to do tonight is enjoy this.”

An emotion Eddie’s pretty sure has always been there blooms in his chest and catches Buck’s face in his hands as he asks, “You have?” 

Buck turns into one of Eddie’s hand and presses a hot kiss to his palm, “Yeah baby, I have, and I know we have a lot to discuss, and figure out, but all I want to do right now is take you inside and then take you apart,” he kisses Eddie’s palm again, then the inside of his wrist, “over and over again,” Eddie shudders as the door of the elevator opens and Buck leads them into the hall. 

“Tomorrow's good,” Eddie sighs as Buck brings his lips back up to Eddie’s neck, he nips lightly and the playfulness of the moment only further ignites Eddie. They’re kissing again as they finally reach the door, Eddie has Buck pressed against the wall, taking his turn at peppering kisses over the impossibly smooth skin of his chest. Buck has one hand at the back of Eddie’s head, guiding his movement, the other fumbling in the pocket of his jeans looking for his key. 

When Buck begrudgingly breaks contact to turn and unlock the door he spots a blue and white envelope on his door mat, he leans down to pick it up, then huffs, “of course they’d come after the party is over,” he’s turning to pull Eddie into the dark loft behind him, when he see him eyeing the package in his hand curiously.

Eddie looks up at Buck, a cat that got the cream glint in his eye, “that’s the last part of your costume?” 

Buck nods, and a look he likes very much crosses Eddie's face, “Buck,” we say, voice low. 

“Yeah?” 

“Put them on.” 

Buck laughs, as Eddie pushes him into the darkness, shutting and locking the door behind them, and from that night on, Halloween becomes Eddie’s favorite holiday of the year. 

[mi-rae07]

Hi it's me again 🤭 Hope everything is alright! If you do take requests still and like the idea, I thought about Hongjoong or Jongho neglecting their relationship, like always being out with anyone else and always at work, eventually lashing out at their partner's last desperate attempts to save the relationship and finally realising what they've lost after months? 👀💕

Choi Jongho : Regret (Part 1/2)

Pairing : Choi Jongho (Ateez) and named character (Na Jieun)

_______________

Jieun : jongho? When are you coming home?

Jieun could hear the sounds of party music and people laughing from the other end of the phone, her hands clenching against the couch fabric as she realized her boyfriend was probably at some party. He had time to go to a party but not being with her?

Jongho : jieun why do you keep calling me every 5 minutes asking me the same exact question! I told you I'd be late so just go to sleep.

Jieun : but what time does 'late' mean?

Jongho : oh lord, do whatever you want but please stop calling me.

Before jieun could reply jongho had already cut the call. Jieun sighed, throwing her phone away as she closed her eyes. She missed him, but she supposed he didn't anymore.

______________________

A week ago :

Jieun : jongho I need to talk to you.

Jongho : not now I'm tired.

Jieun : I don't care-

Jongho : for god's sake it's 2 in the morning, jieun. Give me a break.

Jieun : why do you not have time for me anymore?

Jongho turned around, facing jieun with a frown as he asked

Jongho : what?

Jieun : you never have time for me, but you have time to go around with your other celebrity friends. You never have time for me but you have time to sneak around the company with the other members. You never have time for me but you have the time to attend birthday parties and wedding invites, all without me.

Jongho : what exactly are you trying to say?

Jieun stood up, walking up to jongho as she said

Jieun : what I'm saying is, maybe you're embarassed of me.

Jongho scoffed, looking away as he muttered in disbelief

Jongho : this has to be a joke.

Jieun : is that a yes, then?

Jongho : are you stupid, jieun? You think I told my parents and friends that I was dating you because I was embarassed of you? Bought you flowers every week for a year because I missed our one month anniversary because I was embarassed of you? You think I wear your hairband around my wrist every time I go for a function because I'm fucking embarassed of you?

Jieun pressed her lips together as she realized she'd forgotten about all of that. She'd focused on the bad and forgotten about the good, like she almost always did.

Jieun : I'm sorry, I just overthought-

Jongho : no you aren't sorry. Because you'll keep thinking this, you'll keep doubting me and you'll never stop doing it.

Jieun : jongho-

Jongho : all I ever do is work for us, jieun. Every day I go out there, making music and putting it out thinking about you, about our future. I worry for you every day, so I try my best not to give up on this stupid life. And I think, oh when I come back home and see the person I'm doing all this for, she might just give me a kiss and hold me in her arms while I go to sleep. But no, instead you're out here accusing me of being embarrassed about us.

Jieun looked at jongho with teary eyes as he stepped back, his eyes now distant and closed off as he whispered

Jongho : I'm going to sleep, and please, don't come after me.

___________________________

Present time :

After that jieun didn't want to escalate things further, so she'd kept quiet as jongho went through the same cycle once again, every day. He'd go before she was awake and would come back very late. When she'd try to talk with him, jongho would say he didn't have the time for it and would leave immediately. Even during holidays jongho was working, always, fucking, working.

Jieun was an orphan, who grew up in an orphanage where she had no friends. Back in school she used to be the quiet shy kid so even there she'd make no friends. Jieun had no idea how she'd found jongho and had fallen in love with him but he was the single best thing in her life. Apart from him she had no one, no life. She was all alone in the world.

And now jongho was so far away from her, even while being so close to her. She wanted to just leave.

_______________________

2 weeks later :

Jongho stumbled into his house from how tired he was, looking forward to the week of holidays after this one where he'd get to do…nothing. Jongho let out a tired sigh as he took his shoes off, throwing it away before walking towards the living room. His vision felt dizzy, but he was going to try and find jieun. And soon enough he did, because jieun's voice cut through the dark surrounding, almost scaring jongho

Jieun : finally home?

Jongho : as you can see.

Jieun : I wanted to tell you something, I was waiting for you.

Jongho let out a breath, already feeling even more tired as he muttered

Jongho : not again.

Jieun : don't worry jongho, this will be the last time, I promise.

Jongho frowned as jieun walked closer towards jongho, her eyes glittering against the dim lights as jongho's heart dropped.

Jongho : no why are you-

Jieun : I'm leaving.

Jongho : w-what?

Jieun : why are you so surprised? You should've known your actions would have consequences, jongho. You should've known our relationship was breaking down when I was the only one fighting for us.

Jongho : no, no our relationship hasn't broken down-

Jieun : how would you know, huh? How would you know when you barely even look at me anymore!

Jongho tried holding jieun's hand as he said

Jongho : no listen to me-

Jieun : do you have a proper reason, jongho?

Jongho : jieun I told you before, that I am doing this for our betterment. I'm not going to have enough money to take care of you if I don't work like this.

Jieun : I don't care about money, jongho! I want you.

Jongho scoffed, looking away as he said

Jongho : you're being so selfish.

Jieun : I'm being selfish?

Jongho : yes! You don't go for work, and neither do you cook or clean at home. You're not bringing any money back home, jieun. So all of that burden falls on me, and all I've been trying to do, is fulfill your requirements without even taking a break for myself.

Jieun : so if I cook and clean, are you going to spend more time with me?

Jongho : that is not what I'm saying, jieun. God you don't even seem to understand me!

Jieun : and what about all those parties you attended? Were those for our betterment as well?

Jongho : I do that in order to maintain relationships with them, jieun. I do that so I can make use of their resources in the future!

Jieun scoffed as she muttered

Jieun : you make no sense.

Jongho : I wouldn't to you, you don't know anything about the outside world anyway.

Jieun stared at jongho, trying her best to keep the tears at bay as jongho breathed heavily from all the arguing they'd done.

Jieun : so…so what you're saying is that I'm selfish, I don't bring anything to the table, I'm being immature, unaware, and what, not understanding enough. Is that it?

Jongho : jieun-

Jieun : if you think all of that about me then it means our relationship has already broken down, jongho. This is useless now, and tomorrow morning, I will take my leave.

Jongho stared at jieun as she continued

Jieun : because then you can find someone who'd better suit your standards of living, find someone who's more understanding, mature and can deal with your bullshit. Because I definitely can't anymore.

Saying that jieun walked away, banging the guest room door shut behind her. And the next morning when jongho had woken up, she was already all gone.

____________________________

3 weeks later :

Jongho stared blankly into the recording studio computer, his thoughts going back for the nth time that day to jieun. He felt empty, his house felt empty with all her things gone, and his heart felt empty. He missed her, her touches, her voice, her warmth, her presence. He had no idea why he hadn't stopped her from leaving, but he guessed that at that point even if he were to have said something she still would've left him. Their relationship had been too scarred for him to fix it then.

But he still loved her, even though he'd tried drowning his feelings in a thousand bottles of soju, it still hadn't worked. Jongho knew where to find jieun, but did she want to see him? Would she hate him more if she were to find him at her doorstep?

Mingi : yah! Are you listening to me jongho!

Jongho blinked his eyes, coming back to reality as he looked at mingi who was standing right next to his chair with concerned eyes

Mingi : jongho? What did I last say?

Jongho looked at mingi as if he were in a daze before saying

Jongho : uh, what?

Mingi sighed, plopping down on the chair next to jongho before saying

Mingi : what is wrong with you?

Jongho : nothing. I'm just worried about work.

Mingi : work as in Na Jieun?

Jongho : is it that obvious?

Mingi : very. Jongho if you're this worried about her how about you meet with her?

Jongho : I can't, she hates me.

Mingi : did she tell you that?

Jongho : basically.

Mingi rolled his eyes, leaning back against the chair before saying

Mingi : we can't have you like this, jongho. You're not concentrating anymore, and everyone is concerned.

Jongho : I'm sorry I'll try better-

Mingi : that's not what I'm trying to say jongho-ya. I'm saying you need to fix things with her so you can concentrate on work when you can.

Jongho : but that's exactly the reason why she left me, hyung. Because I concentrated too much on work.

Mingi : well if I were to have a partner who gave more importance to their work and other social events over me, I'd leave them too.

Jongho looked up at mingi as he stood up, patting jongho's shoulder before saying

Mingi : learn to balance, jongho. If you can't, then you're just going to have to lead a very miserable life.

_____________________

2 days later :

Jongho walked towards the Han river bridge at 2 in the morning, his hands tucked deep inside his coat jacket as his eyes darted around the place aimlessly. He couldn't sleep, and he supposed getting fresh air would work. As he looked at the bridge a few meters away from him jongho suddenly thought of the time jieun had forced jongho to come along with her to this bridge a year ago, wanting to see the new year fireworks with him. Jongho had had a concert that same day and was too tired, but seeing jieun's excitement he couldn't refuse.

And then when jongho had seen jieun's eyes sparkling at every firework that burst in the sky, her giggles as the big clock strung 12, and the butterflies jongho had felt when jieun hugged him and wished him happy new year, it had made all his pain worth it. Jongho couldn't stand the next day, but even then he'd still have chosen to come to the bridge that day.

Now new year was a few months away from him, and he had no jieun to go along with him to the fireworks this time. But as jongho got on the bridge his eyes landed on a figure that was leaning against the railing, having a sip of a convenience store-bought banana milk.

Jongho : jieun?

Jieun quickly turned around at that voice, her eyes growing distant at the sight of her ex-boyfriend in front of her. Of course, looking tired as always.

Jieun : yes.

Jongho : what are you doing here so late?

Jieun : why does it matter to you?

Jongho : because this is dangerous, jieun. Someone could do something to you-

Jieun : look around, jongho, there's people all around us. No one's going to do anything to me. Now leave me alone.

Jongho : I'm sorry.

Jieun said nothing, turning back around to face the water as she took another sip of the banana milk.

Jongho : we could try again, jieun. I could try to be better-

Jieun : I already gave you that chance, jongho. Countless times I did and yet you kept going back to what you were before. I'm not going through this shit again.

Jongho : but we love each other, jieun-ah. Isn't this what we do?

Jieun scoffed, shaking her head as she said

Jieun : that is old news, jongho. We don't love each other anymore.

Jongho : I do.

Jieun : well then it's too late.

Jieun threw the empty banana milk carton to the trash before saying

Jieun : because I don't.

Jieun turned around as she gave jongho one last look before walking past him. And jongho could only stare at her disappearing figure, small tears in his eyes. He was right after all, she didn’t love him anymore.

__________________________

Jieun came back home the next evening after a day of work at the city corporation where she'd worked before jongho, feeling like she wanted to just lie somewhere on the floor in her apartment and sleep. But just as she was about to walk past the security gate a man rushed up to her with a boquet of flowers, making jieun frown as she asked

Jieun : ahjussi?

??? : this is for you, jieun-shi. A handsome young man came by a few hours ago and asked me to give it to you when you came back.

Jieun let out a breath, realizing it was from jongho. Jieun smiled and took the flowers from the security before saying

Jieun : thank you so much, ahjussi.

Just as she was about to leave the security said

??? : the young man seems to be very much in love with you, miss. I had a lady too, once. The look in his eyes are the same as what I'd seen in my own decades ago. Love is pure, and eternal. Please don't give up on it.

Jieun smiled, taking a single flower out from the boquet before handing it out to the security as she said

Jieun : I'm sure she loved you as much as you loved her, ahjussi. And I'm sure she always will.

The security smiled, tears in his eyes as he took the flower from jieun's hand before whispering

??? : thank you, miss.

Jieun smiled, giving a small bow to the security before walking away. She looked at the boquet of flowers filled with blue roses and baby's breath, her favorite flowers. There was also a small note inside that read

"I'm sorry, I love you"

Jieun sighed, taking her phone out as she quickly texted jongho

Jieun : don't send me flowers again.

Jongho : no.

Jieun : what?

Jongho : I'm going to keep sending you flowers, jieun.

Jieun : I'll throw it away, in that case.

Jongho : then throw them away, that's not going to stop me anyway.

Jieun let out a groan, throwing her phone back into her bag as she stepped into the lift. Jieun knew there was no point in telling jongho, he wouldn't stop.

_______________________________________

3 weeks later :

Seonghwa : jongho-ya?

Jongho looked up from his computer, his eyes falling onto a worried looking seonghwa as he said

Jongho : yes?

Seonghwa : the CEO wants to talk to you.

Jongho frowned, standing up as he said

Jongho : is something wrong?

Seonghwa : I think so?

Jongho sighed, nodding his head as he walked towards the CEO's room. As soon as he entered the man's eyes sharpened, motioning jongho to sit down on the sofa.

Jongho : is something wrong, sir?

??? : it's been a month, jongho. A month since you've been slacking on work. You're not the same as before, the dance tutors told me that you barely even attend classes anymore, and when I asked the producers they haven't gotten any new work from you either. And then I asked your manager, but he said you haven't had any promo shoots lately as well. So if not any of these, choi jongho, what else are you doing?

Jongho sighed, already having known he would have to face this someday soon. Between trying to make up to jieun by sending her gifts and flowers everyday, and trying to drown his feelings for her jongho had forgotten about work.

Jongho : I'm sorry, sir. I've just been a bit distracted-

??? : except we can't afford that from you, jongho. You're an idol for god's sake, start acting like it. The world tour is going to be scheduled next year and the group album is going to come out within due time. It's high time you start getting to work, or I'm afraid things are not going to end well for you.

Jongho nodded, his hands clenching against his shirt fabric as he said

Jongho : I'll get back to usual, sir, this won't happen again.

??? : it better not.

______________________

Jongho stumbled into the 8th floor of jieun's apartment, half drunk. He already knew jieun wouldn't let him in, but even then, he wanted to see her. He had had a bad day, and all he wanted was to see her face just once, or even hear her voice. Otherwise he was afraid he wouldn't be able to go any longer.

Jongho rang the doorbell of jieun's apartment, the door opening just slightly a few minutes later as jieun's sharp voice cut through the air

Jieun : what are you doing here?

Jongho smiled, leaning against the wall as he whispered

Jongho : I missed your voice, eunnie.

By the use of that nickname jieun had known jongho was drunk, and a drunk jongho was a vulnerable one. Jieun let out a breath as she said

Jieun : did you seriously have to get drunk like this? Couldn't you ask your manager to take you back home after you had alcohol, jongho?

Jongho : I am home, eunnie. You are my home, where else would I be.

Jieun closed her eyes, opening the door wider as jongho fell right into her arms, almost knocking her off of her feet.

Jieun : god you're heavy.

Jongho smiled as jieun closed the door behind them, dragging jongho's half-limp body to the couch before laying him down on it. Jongho stared up at jieun with heart eyes as she removed his shoes, keeping them away before putting his legs properly onto the couch.

Jieun : this is just for one night, because it's too late and I can't drive you back home and you're too drunk to be outside. Leave first thing tomorrow morning, you get me?

Jongho : you're being so cruel, jieun-ie. Do you really have to do this to me?

Jieun : you did this to yourself, jongho.

Jongho let out a shaky breath, holding his hand out for jieun to hold as he whispered

Jongho : won't you at least hold me?

Jieun looked at jongho's hand, not having it in her to hold it. Jongho inhaled shakily, small tears in his eyes as he said

Jongho : I missed you, jieun-ah. I missed you so much and I regret not having gone after you.

Jieun : and you realized that only after I left you, jongho?

Jongho lowered his hand back down, staring at jieun with hurt eyes as she sighed, throwing a blanket over jongho before saying

Jieun : I don't want to see you again like this, so don't let it happen.

Saying that jieun quickly walked away, tears in her own eyes. Jongho shut his eyes tightly as he felt jieun close the door behind her, tears streaming down his own cheeks as he mumbled

Jongho : but I love you.

________________________

[crappymixtape]

shut up and kiss me

you get laid off and go back to hawkins for the weekend to wallow, steve picks you up from the bus station to hang out with your friends to try and clear your head, but the gang has other ideas and seizes the opportunity to try and get you two dummies to figure it out | ( 5.7k – fluff, a little angst, mostly fluff, friends to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader ) REQUEST @kimmyiewrites → fluff prompts number 25 "shut up and kiss me”

S H U T U P A N D K I S S M E 🎶 aubrey plaza - nick ward

The windows were all down as you rolled along the road in Steve’s BMW, cassettes strewn along the center console, half empty Coke bottles clinking in the drink holders. Sun beamed heavy on your bare legs, hot and sticky in the Indiana heat, summer holding you tight in its bright grasp.

You should’ve been excited, should’ve been looking forward to seeing everyone, but you weren’t. You’d called him as soon as you’d gotten home from work, your cardboard box of things sitting on the counter as you cried quietly into the receiver. Told him about the layoffs. About worrying over rent and food and finding a new gig and he just listened. He always listened. Knew what you needed before you did and after your parents told you to come home for a weekend he told you he’d pick you up from the station.

As soon as you stepped off the bus he pulled you in close, hugged you into his chest warm and familiar. Safe. You had a permanent frown on your lips and he tried to make you feel better. Tried all his stupid jokes, played Blondie for you in the car, bought a couple sodas and some snacks at a gas station on the way back into town.

It had helped a little, but you were swimming in anxiety, anticipating questions asking how you were, what were you up to, when you were going back. A muddled mixture of embarrassment, frustration, and sadness sat thick in your chest and you pushed a sigh from your lips and it made Steve look over at you from the driver’s seat.

“Doin’ okay over there?” he asked gently, a soft tease tinged with concern.

A sound came from you, somewhere between a grumble and another sigh and he gave you a lopsided smile.

“Well, it’ll be better once we’re back. Max won’t shut up about it,” he reached a finger over to poke at your ribs and you swatted it away grumpily, but your frown had softened at his mention of the red-headed girl.

“Yeah?” you gave into his bait and his smile grew.

“Yeah. And Dustin’s got a new antenna set up he won’t shut up about, so. Can’t wait to not be the only other person listening to him brag about not needing all those stupid D batteries.”

That got you to finally crack a smile and you tried to hide it behind your Coke bottle, but he caught it and turned to look at you all smug, just a hint of King Steve, your best friend.

“Quiet you,” you grumbled again and he hummed in satisfaction, putting his eyes back to the road.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Mmhm, just drive.”

Steve pulled into the Wheeler’s driveway and your stomach sank at the balloons tied to the mailbox. Pink and orange and yellow and loud and you groaned, slumping in your seat, hands covering your face.

“You’re fine,” Steve shifted into park and turned to look at you, one of his hands reaching over to pull one of yours away from your face. “C’mon, I didn’t say anything, promise.”

You fixed him with a look, I can’t go in there, and he gently flicked your hand with his fingers. Playful. Reassuring. Still so much boy despite the years he’d grown.

“They really do want to see you. I just told them you’re visiting for a while, took some time off. C’mon.”

Closing your eyes for a minute you sucked in a breath, trying to steady yourself, and when you opened them again you thought maybe you could do it. You did miss everyone something fierce despite visits over the holidays, spring break, summer, whenever you could spare it honestly and when you looked over at Steve he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“I’ll even go in before you and take the silly string Sinclair and Mike are planning on spraying you with,” he offered and it pulled a laugh from you and he beamed. “There it is. You’re fine, it’ll be fun.”

Reaching over he clicked your buckle open for you before piling out of the car and you felt your stomach flip over as you followed.

Going up the front walk felt like it took ages, like you were moving through molasses, and when Steve lifted his hand to the doorknob you froze.

“Steve,” you stuttered and he looked over his shoulder at you, big brown eyes wide, wondering, waiting.

“Yeah?” his hand dropped.

The words wouldn’t come and his brows knitted together, sympathetic and soft. He grabbed your hand in his and squeezed it, giving you a little smile and nodded toward the door.

“It’s okay,” he murmured and turned back to the door, knocking overly hard. “Hello!” his voice was comically loud and you felt your cheeks flush, laughing and pushing at him and he gave you a grin. “Just me, your friendly neighbor Steve!”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you hissed through the grin that was creeping across your own lips now and he laughed too.

You could hear a commotion behind the door. Too-loud whispers, a yelp, someone dropping something and a bang against the wall and Steve gave you a look. “What in the hell is going on in there?” he whispered and you snorted, but then the door swung open and you both turned quick.

“Oh, whaaat? No one said you were coming!” Dustin’s voice was a pitch too high, cracking at the end as he tried to feign surprise and you had to bite your lips in to not laugh.

Steve rolled his eyes and you kicked the toe of his shoe with yours.

“Yeah! Here I am!” you played along, shoving your shoulder into Steve’s arm, holding him to his silly string promise as he stumbled in through the door before you and right on cue Lucas and Mike sprang out with two cans each, unloading them all too enthusiastically.

“GOTCHA!” they both yelled and Steve made a strangled noise as his arms flew up to cover his face, streams of blue and purple string covering his hair, his shoulders, his hands.

That finally pulled a real laugh from your lungs, one that should’ve embarrassed you, but it felt too good and when you saw Robin and Eddie doubled over behind Lucas, laughing so hard they were silent, it lifted the weight from your shoulders. Home. Your friends. A moment to just be.

“Okay, okay! Jesus, I think you got it!” Steve blindly waved both arms in front of him, hoping to smack at least one of the boys, but they were both too quick and snuck a high five while your best friend flailed.

Max was popping her gum when you looked up to see who else was inside and as Robin moved to help Steve with the two cans worth of silly string that had settled into his hair everyone crowded around.

“We ordered pizza for later!” El said, eyes bright and smile the same, soft and kind.

“And a movie!” chimed Will.

Max scoffed, “Pfft. Yeah. I wanted Predator, but someone had to veto.”

“Listen you, Dirty Dancing is a fucking masterpiece,” Eddie leveled the younger girl with a look, silver-ringed finger pointing at her with intent and she rolled her eyes.

“Whatever,” Max grumbled, but when you gave her a grin she smirked back.

“You and Steve can go get the pizza, it’ll be ready in a couple hours,” Nancy popped out from the kitchen with a wave, Jonathan close behind, “Mom and dad are outta town this weekend so, house to ourselves!”

“RAGER,” Dustin yelped and Steve reached over to roughly tousle his hair.

“Alright, pipe down,” he chided and Nancy waved the towel in her hand at everyone.

“You’re all gonna help clean up when we’re done,” her tone was firm, the same as it always was. Everyone murmured in agreement, a Yes ma’am mumbled from Robin, not one of them wanting to bring the wrath of Nancy upon themselves.

Then, once everyone had gotten a hug or a high five or secret handshake in Max’s case, they all dispersed into the house leaving you and Steve and Dustin in the entryway.

“Thanks for this,” you said quietly to the younger boy, a flush creeping across your cheeks and he gave you a big, wide smile. Reassuring and sweet.

“Duh,” he shot back and with a wink went to follow his friends into the kitchen. “Don’t forget, pizza soon or you’ll have a mutiny on your hands!” he called over his shoulder and you shook your head.

“I swear to god, age means nothing. They’re all still a bunch of little shitheads,” Steve muttered, taking your hand and pulling you along to join everyone else.

You fell into things so easy, just like you always did despite all of you being a little older, though you didn’t feel any wiser. A tangle of arms and legs sprawled across the couch, the floor, voices mingling together, laughter punching holes in conversation as the day spun on. Like nothing had changed.

For everyone else you were sure time was cruel. Tore people apart and drove them away, but with you, with your friends, your family it was different. With them, with you, every hug, every laugh, every smile, every little look was precious because you’d all been through hell and back.

Had watched the earth rip and tear open, gashes swallowing your home and setting loose an evil force that only you all knew how to stop. Had saved each other from the kind of monsters you thought only existed in your nightmares. You’d seen how well Steve could swing a bat full of nails, you learned how to shoot a gun, had made decisions that were life or death, watched your friends all do and endure things that they shouldn’t have.

It was survival mode.

It was patching Steve up every time he got his ass kicked. It was crawling into the shower and scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing because the ash and the blood and the dirt wouldn’t come off. It was everyone piled together in the living room shoulder-to-shoulder to sleep at night because you couldn’t bear to leave, so fucking relieved they were all still alive.

Maybe if things had been different you could’ve told him. Your best friend could’ve become something more, but it was all of you at the end of the world with no guarantees and maybe it was easier to tell yourself the feelings that swelled in your chest were friendship because then if you’d lost one another it’d make it hurt less.

But after you’d come out alive, the Upside Down shut out forever, you felt like you had to leave. Had to physically move to get Hawkins, to get the monsters off your skin, but as soon as you’d opened your first box in your new apartment to unpack you knew you’d made a mistake.

And so you were here. Stuck in this weird in between. Calling Steve every day, like he was your boyfriend. Holding his hand and getting drinks and going to the movies together every time you came home, like he was your boyfriend. Letting him give you a ride home because it was too late, like he was your boyfriend. Never making it home and fumbling up the stairs into his room, like he was your boyfriend.

Everyone else saw it.

Everyone, but you two.

“Hey,” a hand reached up from the carpet and punched into Steve’s leg.

You were sitting pressed thigh to thigh next to him on the couch watching Lucas and Will play the NES Mike had gotten for his birthday, both of them swearing under their breaths in the hope that Nancy wouldn’t hear.

“What the hell, Henderson?” Steve shot back, swatting at the back of his head and Dustin yelped.

“Pizza,” the younger boy drew the word out, all sass and attitude and you held back a snicker.

“Oh,” fell out of Steve’s mouth and he glanced down at his watch then over at you, “Alright, yeah. Guess we gotta go.”

“There’re five of them,” Nance said from where she was snuggled up tight against Jonathan in her dad’s old La-Z-Boy, “Cash is by the door.”

Steve looked over to see a mason jar sitting on the entryway table crammed full of ones and a ton of change and he closed his eyes, fingers moving to pinch at the bridge of his nose, “Great, cool, perfect.”

You had to stifle a laugh as Max glared up from her spot on the floor next to Lucas. Lips twisted in her signature scowl she quirked a brow at him, “What, pizza’s on you then, dad?”

Lucas snorted and tried to cover it up poorly with a cough.

“Little shitheads, all of you,” Steve made a point to wag a finger at them, but everyone ignored him, only a single middle finger raised in reply from Mike. Steve jammed his tongue into his cheek, cursing under his breath as you both got up from the couch and he took your hand in his, “C’mon.”

“Drive safe!” Dustin said, all sing-songy and taunting. Reaching into his back pack he pulled out an extra walkie and chucked it at Steve who fumbled it against his chest, but caught it and hissed more swears but much louder this time.

“Jesus, watch it! What do we need this for?”

“Just in case,” the younger boy said, matter of fact, and Steve sighed.

“Dart and all his shitty little brothers and sisters are dead, Henderson.”

“Just. In. Case,” Dustin repeated and with a shake of his head Steve gave up, pulling you wordlessly out the door and to the car.

The pizza shop felt like a sauna, so damn hot, and as you dumped the change on the counter – because Steve would rather have fought a demogorgon than be the one to pay – the kid standing behind the register scowled at you. He didn’t even bother counting it, just armed the contents into his drawer and shoved the jar back at you.

“Thanks for choosing Life of Pie,” he grumbled, happy to be rid of you both as you struggled not to laugh, but Steve was dying of embarrassment and as soon as the pizza was in-hand he had you back in the car again.

“Paying in all change? Christ,” he muttered, roughing a hand over his face and you finally let loose a laugh.

“Money’s money, Harrington,” you snarked and he shot you a look, but it didn’t hold any heat. It was fond, a flicker of a grin at the way you teased him, he loved it.

“A jar of dimes and pennies? No way, you can’t tell me–” but he stopped short when a crackle of static scratched from the back seat.

“Scoops Troop this is Griswold Family, we have a situation. Do you copy? Over.”

Heads turning at the same time you met Steve’s eyes across the center console, a familiar panic creeping in around the edges of you. Wrapping you up in its grasp and squeezing your chest tight as you tried to swallow it down. That part of your life was over. Wasn’t it?

“Scoops Troop, this is Griswold Family, code red! Do you copy?? Over!”

“What the hell?” Steve’s voice was tinged with the same nerves that gripped you now, but he was working real hard to keep it controlled. Trying to be level-headed. Not jump to conclusions. His brows furrowed, a deep pinch growing between them as he looked at you, praying to whatever god there was that this wasn’t happening and then he tossed his gaze over his shoulder to the back seat.

Shaking yourself you turned awkwardly against your seatbelt, scrambling between the pizzas to grab the walkie. “Griswold Family this is Scoops Troop, w–we copy. What’s going on?” your hand was shaking as you released the talk button, but then you quickly pressed it again as you remembered, “Over.”

“We have a situation, not secure to disclose details here. Proceed to the rendez-vous point at Weathertop. Over!”

Weathertop. The bluff. The giant-ass hill you’d dragged Dustin’s antenna up all those summers ago. The place where you went when everything was going wrong. The place where Suzie saved the world.

Steve grabbed the walkie out of your hand. “What d’you mean a situation? Henderson, I’m gonna need more than that,” his tone was even-keeled, but it held an urgency that made your stomach flip.

Silence greeted both of you on the other end of the walkie and Steve jammed the button down again, “Hey, dickhead, did you hear me?” Nothing. “Henderson?” Still nothing and when Steve pressed the button again you heard his tone shift with worry, but it wasn’t the change in his voice that got you. It was what he said. “Dustin?”

Dustin. Not Henderson. Not asshole. Not little shithead.

Dustin.

Huffing a heavy breath through his nose he crammed the walkie into your lap and shook his head, but didn’t hesitate, not for one second as he flipped a u-turn right there in the middle of the street, the wheels of his BMW squealing against the pavement.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. “There’s–there’s no way. Right?” his voice was pitched higher, reaching, grasping for reality and your stomach twisted uncomfortably. When you didn’t say anything he glanced over at you, shaking his head, practically begging you to answer him, “Right?”

“I don’t know!” came out harsher than you’d wanted it to and you screwed your eyes shut, biting the inside of your cheek to try and bring yourself back to reality. “I don’t know, Steve. I didn’t think so,” you tried again, but he didn’t say anything back and it dragged you back to the moment you decided to leave Hawkins.

“What d’you mean you’re leaving?”

“I don’t know, Steve! I’m leaving. Moving away? Not staying in Hawkins?”

“Okay, alright. You don’t need to be shitty about it.”

“I’m being shitty?”

“Yeah. You’re being shitty. You act like there’s nothing here for you, like nobody gives a shit about you, but you know that’s not true.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Might as well.”

Steve was standing in the doorway to your room, arms crossed over his chest like he did when he had built a wall around himself for protection. Preservation.

You’d asked him over so that you could tell him your plans, tell your best friend you were leaving. It had gone so much better in your head, promising to still talk all the time and visit and things wouldn’t change, but Steve had seen right through it and called you on your bullshit.

“You’re still my best friend,” you protested, taking a couple of steps toward him and he scoffed.

“What is this really about?” he asked, mirroring you and moving into the room, moving toward you.

“Steve…”

“They’re gone! It’s over, you saw the same thing I did. He’s dead.”

Roughing your hands over your face you felt a lump forming in your throat. “It doesn’t matter–”

“Doesn’t matter? C’mon, it’s safe! You don’t need to worry about–”

“Steve!” your hands fell away from your face, tears clinging along the long sweep of your lashes, tone sharp. Hurt. You closed the last few steps between the two of you and tilted your chin up to look into his eyes, to make sure he really heard you, “I can’t wash it off. It’s still there.”

“What’s still there?” he asked, clueless, but ready to prove you wrong.

“All of it. The dirt under my fingernails. That sticky fucking ash, I swear I can still smell it,” your words grew thick with the tears that were welling up. “Blood,” was said softly and you felt a tear slip free down your cheek, “Your blood. My blood. Max’s. Dustin’s. Eddie’s. Robin’s–”

“Hey. Hey,” his arms wrapped tight around you, warm and big and safe and for a second you felt yourself calm. Felt yourself melting into him and you pulled in a shaky breath.

“Steve,” your voice was muffled against his shirt and he let up a little so he could meet your gaze. “I can’t stay.”

And the look you gave him then shattered what little resolve he’d been holding onto because he finally understood. He knew. Knew what it felt like. Still struggled with the nightmares. Still swore he too could smell the sickly ash that fell from the sky in the Upside Down. He understood, but it still hurt.

Letting out a sigh, he didn’t know what to say. All he wanted was you. For you to stay. To say you loved him as much as he loved you, but he got it. The last few years had fucked everything up and while you’d all come out the other side you were changed. Different. And shit, maybe Steve wished he could leave too.

But instead he just pulled you in close again, hugging you tight to his chest, smoothing a hand over your hair and letting his shirt catch your tears as you let them come.

“Jesus!” the backs of your thighs lifted from the seat as Steve jerked the steering wheel hard left.

“Shit, sorry,” he winced with the uneven terrain, pulling off the main road into long, thick grass and through the still broken fence posts you’d first plowed through during Starcourt. The pizza in the backseat bumped with every dirt clod and pot hole and mole hill he ran over until he threw it in park, both of your head’s whipping forward with the sudden stop of movement.

“C’mon,” he unbuckled your belt, then his before reaching over the seat for the walkie and hopping out of the car.

The BMW had made it a little higher than the Todd Father had, but there was still plenty of bluff to climb and when you came around to meet him at the front of the car he grabbed your hand in his.

It’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be fine.

Ran on repeat in your head as you tried your best to match Steve’s long strides up the hill, both of you sucking in air as you practically ran, sweat clinging to your foreheads and chests heaving with the effort. At least it was daytime now and you could see where you were going, unlike last time when it’d been the middle of the fucking night.

You thought about what you were going to do if the Upside Down was back, if Vecna was back, and fear brushed against you, an old familiar friend. Made you want to run, want to go back to your apartment and ignore it all and pretend that it wasn’t real, but you watched as Steve ran a hand through his hair. Watched as he climbed. Always so damn comfortable with the panic as it swelled in his chest. Faced it head-on. There wasn’t another option for him. It was simple.

His friends were in danger and he had to do something.

He’d always been braver than you, had always been there to hold your hand through it, always there to encourage you and tell you you could do it. You had it in you. Just a little further and it wasn’t any different when you were little.

Sharing ice cream when one of you tipped yours onto the sidewalk, putting bandaids on each other after scraping your knee when you fell of your bike, rocks on your window well past your bedtime when you were sad and needed company, snuck kisses behind the garden gate when you’d break up with your asshole boyfriend and all you wanted was Steve.

Plenty of too-long pauses and out of breath hesitations that should’ve been filled with I really, really like you. Hell, even I love you and you thought as you climbed that maybe this was it. Maybe you should tell him because maybe you wouldn’t get another chance and the thought of not having him, the thought of losing him again, was unbearable.

“Christ,” Steve heaved, pulling you out of your thoughts as you reached the top. Dustin’s new antenna came into view and while you didn’t know much about radios it was impressive.

Cerebro 2.0. Almost all new parts, nothing bent the wrong way, receiver free of most scratches and dings. A real radio. You almost smiled, but Steve had stopped short and let go of your hand.

“What the…” bending down he crouched next to a small portable stereo that you hadn’t noticed, looking up at you in utter confusion. It was right in front of the receiver with a piece of white printer paper taped to the front. Snatching the note he held it up to you, “I’m sorry, what is this?”

His expression was unimpressed. Irritated. Almost angry and your eyes flicked over to read the messily scribbled red pen.

Push Play.

“I–I dunno–” you mumbled, grabbing it from him and reading it again. It looked like…”–did Robin write it?”

Grumbling under his breath Steve yanked the walkie out from his back pocket and jammed the button down, “Listen here you little shitheads, what is this, huh?”

There was a small crackle of static and then, “Call sign please.”

Steve closed his eyes and pulled in a breath. A silent prayer to give him the strength to not strangle Dustin Henderson when he got down the hill. “Griswold Family this is Scoops Troop, do you copy? Over,” he said the last word like a curse and when Dustin replied his voice was full of cheek.

“Scoops Troop, this is Griswold Family, hear you loud and clear! Over.”

“What the hell is going on? Over,” Steve huffed a sigh, jaw clenched as he waited for the response, but you grabbed the walkie instead and put it down in the grass. “What–what’re you doing?” he asked, waving his arm down at the walkie.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you said, shaking your head, and Steve looked like he was going to implode.

“Nothing’s wrong? I’m sorry, no one’s dying? Why’d they call a damn code red if–”

“Steve,” you grabbed his hand. Leaning down you pressed a finger against the play button on the stereo and it whirred to life.

A piano started playing, notes you knew by heart and when you realized what it was you couldn’t help but look up at Steve. His expression softened too and he slowly lowered the hand that had been holding the piece of paper as the song spun on.

Restless hearts, sleep alone tonight, sendin' all my love along the wire…

“Oh, girl, you stand byyyy me!” Steve belted out, tugging the hand of yours he was holding and yanking you into him, pulling a laugh from your lips as you spun around the kitchen together. It was Christmas Eve and snow fell outside covering everything in a soft blanket of white.

“I'm forever yoooours, faithfully!” you sang back, a little unsteady on your feet from all the beer, the sounds of everyone else laughing and shouting from the living room bleeding into the music as it played loud through the stereo on the counter.

“The voice of an angel,” Steve said and you nodded, grinning up at him as he gently swayed you back and forth.

“Not a bad name either,” you teased back and he gave you a grin of his own, chest puffed out proudly.

“Listen, no one is as good as Perry,” he said quite seriously, speaking of his favorite singer with reverence, but then he looked down at you and his expression softened into something warmer. Something familiar, but different. “But I’ll sing with you anytime,” he finished and you felt your breath catch in your throat as the arm he had round your waist pulled you closer, the wide expanse of his hand pressed into the small of your back.

You could see all the little freckles that chased across his cheeks, the twin moles along his jawline, long sweep of lashes hiding big, brown eyes that were warm and gold and hazy like whiskey.

He swallowed and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, his lips parted but hesitating, unsure of what he wanted to say.

“Steve?” you asked and he blinked a couple of times as if to try and gather his thoughts that you’d scattered across the kitchen just by saying his name.

“Yeah?” he leaned down into you, so close you could feel his breath as it warmed over your cheek, could feel his chest pressed into yours, swore you could hear his heart beating just as loud as yours.

“Oh god, this song again? Harrington, c'mon,” Eddie stomped into the kitchen with his boots, pulling Steve’s eyes up from you to glare at your friend as he wrenched the fridge open for another beer.

“Really?” Steve shot, a simple one-word question that held a staggering weight and as Eddie cracked the can open he stopped short of bringing it to his lips, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“What?” Eddie asked, but then his eyes flicked from you to Steve to you and back to Steve and his eyes grew wide. “Oh. Oh, shit. I’m sorry, you were gonna like–” and then he made a kissy face at you both and Steve’s cheeks burned bright red as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Biting your lips in against a laugh you buried your head into Steve’s chest and groaned weakly.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha,” Eddie said with a wink before slowly backing out of the kitchen, “I was never here.”

Steve heaved a sigh and he gently squeezed you in his arms, never really able to just have a minute but still so thankful to have what you did. To have your friends. To have this. Have Steve.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured and you wrapped your arms tight around him as he softly pressed his lips to the top of your head.

And being apart ain't easy on this love affair, two strangers learn to fall in love again.

The wind picked up across the bluff, tugging at the piece of paper Steve was holding and pulling it from his hand. He scrambled to grab it, but the wind swept it off into the grass that rolled like the ocean and he buried his face in his hands and let out a frustrated groan.

You felt your heart racing in your chest, finally realizing why your friends had pushed you up here, watching as Steve fought the same feelings that had wrapped themselves around you. Realizing this was it. The moment you threw it all into the wind with the paper, the moment you said to hell with it, said what you’d wanted to say all those times before but couldn’t.

I get the joy of rediscovering you.

“They called us all the way up here to listen to a song? I thought someone was hurt! Or–or some nasty flesh monster decided to start melting people again!”

“Steve–”

“What are we twelve? This is ridiculous. And totally irresponsible. We’re still like, at least ten minutes from Nancy’s. The pizza’s probably already cold and no one’s gonna want to eat it and–”

“Steve!” you shouted again, voice breaking through his rambling and he stopped, hair wild from running his hands through it and just stared at you.

“What?” he said, tone short and breathless. His heart was pounding in his chest, reeling from the overwhelming sense of relief, but unable to gain footing against the anxiety dump.

Oh, girl, you stand by me.

You grabbed his hands in yours, gently pulling him closer and closer until you were toe-to-toe, close enough to see his breathing even out. Close enough to see his eyes grow a little less wild, felt him tangle his fingers with yours trying to root himself in reality through you and the way you were looking at him.

“Shut up and kiss me,” you whispered and he hesitated for a split second, brows pulled together at the thought of what this meant, almost pained, but then he closed his eyes and you exhaled. Soft relief, anticipation, finally.

And he leaned down, catching your bottom lip between his in a kiss that said everything you’d wished you’d said so much sooner. A promise you’d made to each other so many times before, but never said aloud. Steve. Your best friend. Your everything.

I'm forever yours, faithfully.

It was slow, tender, planted itself in your chest and bloomed like wildflowers in the field. It was warm like watching the sunset light up the sky from the hood of Steve’s car, sweet like strawberry milkshakes and whipped cream and cherries. Soft like the promises you’d whispered to each other in the dark and when he finally pulled away you fought against a smile, a small laugh falling from your lips.

Steve grinned down at you and gave the same little laugh, still leaned in close as he pulled in his bottom lip. “That little shit,” he murmured and your smile grew into a grin.

“Too big for his britches,” you teased and Steve laughed again, bigger this time and lifted a hand to your cheek, but his expression softened the longer he looked at you.

“No, he’s right,” he admitted and your smile fell a bit at the seriousness of his tone. “I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

Leaning into his touch you reached up to push his hair out of his eyes and let your hand trail down the line of his jaw, feeling him under your fingertips. “Doesn’t matter,” you murmured, “You can have all of my time, Steve Harrington.”

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist

[medusapelagia]

Running From The Daylight - Part 9

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, (coming soon Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15)

Written for @whumpuary

Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Prompt: Make him stop WT: mention of violence, sick character Words: 982

Steve shivers in his sleep and Eddie looks around, searching for more blankets, but everyone they have is already there, so he takes a wet towel from the bathroom and puts it on Steve’s forehead, trying to lower his fever. It’s the first time that Eddie has to take care of someone, Wayne never got sick and neither did Steve, they were always the ones who had to nurse Eddie back to health, but he keeps an eye on his boyfriend, watching his relaxed features and hoping that the rest will help him get better, but their pace is short-lived, as soon as Steve starts to have some fever dreams that seems far from pleasurable.

“Don’t hurt me! Please! Don’t hurt me!” he yells, trashing around, while Eddie desperately tries to stop him “Mom! Make him stop! Make him stop! Please! I didn’t do anything wrong!” He begs while Eddie tries to wake him up.

“Wake up, Steve, wake up. It’s just a dream. You are ok. Wake up! Please!” Eddie calls shaking his boyfriend until he finally opens his eyes and looks at him confused.

“Eddie? You ok?” Steve asks, trying to understand what happened.

“Yes, I’m ok. It was just a nightmare.” The older boy whispers, brushing away some hair from Steve’s sweating forehead.

Steve turns his head, looking around, and then asks “Where is he?” His eyes still shining with fever.

“Who, baby?”

“My father… Where is he?” He asks again, trying to move, his eyes wide with worry and panic, but Eddie stops him before he hurts himself.

“He is not here. It’s just the two of us, do you remember? We booked a fancy place to spend the holiday.”

“The chalet…” Steve murmurs with dry lips.

“Yeah… we are in the chalet.” Eddie reminds him gently.

“He is not going to get here, right?” The boy asks, searching for an answer on Eddie’s face, his face red with fever.

“No, baby. It’s just the two of us, I swear.”

“I will not let him hurt you.” Steve whispers, his voice small and broken.

“I know you will protect me, love. And I’ll do the same for you.”

“Don’t! Please don’t! He will beat you!” Steve begs and Eddie tries to calm him down.

“I will not, I will not, I promise! Now can you try to sleep a little bit? I’ll be here and I’ll wake you if you have any bad dreams. I promise.” 

Steve sighs “It wasn’t a dream. It was a memory.” He says, lowering his eyes “I was young and stupid. I kissed Tommy at a Christmas party, we must have been twelve, or maybe even younger, and I was so happy that I told my mum that we kissed and that I was in love with him. She said to me not to tell that out loud but I was so happy, I thought my father would have been proud of me, he was always teasing me about not having a special friend… little did I know that he meant a girlfriend, not a boyfriend.” Steve murmurs.

Eddie kisses his forehead “I’m so sorry, babe.” 

“I haven’t thought about him in years. I don’t know why he came to my mind right now.”

Eddie knows that Steve has no contact with his parents and he is not surprised to know that Mr. Harrington has been an homophobic prick since Steve was a kid, but it still hurts seeing Steve being so upset even after years.

“No invitation for them to our wedding.” Eddie tries to lighten the air with a silly joke.

“Are you proposing, Munson? Because I see no ring.” Steve scoffs and Eddie smirks.

“I didn’t know you were so venal, Harrington! I thought that my feelings for you were more than enough and now you are asking me a ring?”

Steve smiles sadly “I would have married you even without a ring, you know that, right?”

Eddie's smile falters “And you will, baby. I want to spend all my life with you, wake up and see you drooling on your pillow is the best part of my day.” He tells him seriously, trying to make the other boy laugh, but Steve is far too serious.

“Ed, if I don’t make it I want you to find someone else.” He says to him looking deep into Eddie’s eyes and the other boy shakes his head in refusal.

“Stop it! There is no need to be so dramatic! I told you: I called Wayne, help is on the way, we just have to be patient.” Eddie insists.

“But if…”

“No, but. And no, I’m not going to find someone else because you are the love of my life, ok? And I don’t want anyone else. So keep your strength and stop saying stupid things.” Eddie scolds him, then he gets some water and helps Steve drink it. Humans can survive without food for a few days but they can’t survive without water, and Steve’s body is sweating far too much due to the fever.

The younger boy sips some water before falling asleep again, his body too worn out to stay awake. Eddie puts Steve’s head into his lap, singing something soft, hoping to help him have pleasant dreams. He can almost picture a young Steve telling his mum that he finally gave his first kiss only to be beaten and humiliated by his father. Eddie has never met Mr. Harrington, always on some business trip since he knows Steve, and he hopes he never will because he has a few words for him and they are not kind. 

Steve’s phone in Eddie’s pocket burns like fire, but Eddie resists the temptation to turn it on, trying to save more battery, even if all he would like to do right now is hear Wayne's comforting voice telling him that everything will be alright, because if Wayne says it he can almost believe it.

[shinycollarboneapologist]

hiiiii, just read style and illicit affairs and i freaking loved them both so much!!!!<3 i just saw the post saying that you were taking requests so i thought i’d give it a shot even tho i never send asks bc i get so nervous hdjdjsjd so could u pretty please write something inspired by good ones by charli xcx with matty or ross? im currently obsessed with it and i love ur writing style and how u incorporate the lyrics without making it cheesy :) could be a little blurb or social media au or even just a little list with thoughts 💭 wtvr u decide i’ll keep an eye out for your next fic whatever it’ll be 💖

AHHH ofc. also tysm bby, i love and appreciate you so so so so much.

he was great. really and truly was. he couldn't have treated you or loved you any better than he did. ross was a proper gentleman. he was loyal, and sweet. he would remember odds and ends of things you said in conversation, bringing them up later on to prove that he was really listening.

like that time you mentioned how you loved chocolate croissants. and coincidentally, each time you stayed over his the next morning there would be fresh chocolate croissants waiting for you on the kitchen island.

but it left much to be desired. you didn't know what was wrong with you. he was perfect. he is perfect.

the breakup was hard. and maybe that's why you had to make up convoluted stories to yourself, twisting a web of lies in your psyche that would lessen the ache of abandoning one of the best relationships you had been in. in these stories, sometimes he was the rude boyfriend that never wanted to do anything with you. other times, he was just the one that was better at leaving than you. your friends, most of which were also his, were shocked at the fact that you had called it quits. they thought he would have been the one to break the curse.

you had thought that, too. until the grass on the other side shone greener and grew taller than the comfort of the walls you and ross had created as a home for yourselves. you remember the way he sat across from you, arms crossed defensively and staring you down indignantly. it had come out of nowhere. you had grown distant, short with him. and then it was over.

he never really let you go, though. he would shoot you a happy birthday text, wished you well on all of the major holidays, asked about your friends and family, told you about the successes of the band. and it was nice. you kept him close, too, wishing him luck with the band, asking for music recommendations, making light conversation every once and awhile. all while trying to navigate dating again.

you'd picked some real winners. there was the guy with the monster truck who conveniently forgot to tell you he was married with a kid on the way. how could you manage to forget about the one with the weird obsession with sour cream? or the one with the rat tail pony tail? they made for good stories to tell, but there was something lacking.

and that something was ross, no matter how hard you tried to deny it.

your circles remained intertwined. which is the reason you find yourself sat on a barstool of a rented out local pub for matty's birthday.

there's an emptiness in your chest. a hole making you feel hollow as you watch ross lead his new girlfriend into the bar. he's probably telling her all of his stupid jokes, and she's probably laughing along and mirroring the glint behind his eyes. there's a fire burning deep within your chest, jealousy is rampant in your veins. you chose this though, and now you have to live with it. his eyes catch yours and he offers you a small smile and a wave, which you have to return in civility. but it still hurts. you still ache.

the grass would never be greener on the other side. instead it proved to be browned and dead, with no sign of life coming from it. no amount of watering or tears for that matter could save it. and as he's bringing her around the bar to say hello, you're perched on the barstool waiting for a text back. because if there's one thing about you, you always manage to let the good ones go.

[fagcrush]

Drabblecember Day 2: Baking Together

Ship: Kevin/B (Saint's Row)

Word count: 586

Summary: Kevin and B bake a cake for Neenah's birthday

“No no no, that’s confectioner’s sugar,” Kevin scolded, taking the bag away from B with a scowl. “The recipe calls for powdered sugar.”

The Saint’s church kitchen was an absolute mess of sugar, flour, and dough somehow splattered everywhere, and in the center were Kevin and B, working together to bake a bake for Neenah’s  birthday. B had thought, with her birthday falling around the holidays, a fruitcake would be a funny joke. Much to their dismay, however, Kevin rejected the idea and forced them to learn how to make an actual cake as some kind of “couple bonding” thing. It felt so stupid, but B would be lying if they weren’t having fun.

...When they weren’t being lectured, of course. 

“Is there seriously a difference?” They asked, taking the bag back and starting to measure it.

Kevin swatted the cup measure out of their hand, making the kitchen only more messy. Most the mess in the kitchen, in fact, came from the gang boss trying to use the wrong ingredients and getting scolded for it. 

“”Yes! Confectioner’s sugar has starch in it, while powdered sugar doesn’t! Come on, B, this is basic stuff! The icing we’re making already calls for cornstarch to be added, if we add too much the consistency will be absolute shit!”

“And? Why can’t we just use the confectioner’s sugar instead and skip the cornstarch?” 

There was a pause as Kevin took a deep breath and facepalmed. “B... I love you, but you understand nothing about the art of baking, ya know that?” 

B groaned and moved to sit at a table with a pout. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this shit,” they muttered before face planting into the table. “Ow.” They felt like an idiot. They wanted to get into their boyfriend’s hobby, yes. It was the least they could do for all he’s done for them. But it was so complicated. Too many flours and sugars and cups and spoons and mixers... None of it made sense. After a few moments of pouting, they felt Kevin’s hand on their shoulder and looked up at him. “You don’t have to comfort me. I know I’m not too good at things that aren’t shooting and robbing and all that shit...” 

“You know that’s not true, man,” Kevin rubbed their shoulder and smiled warmly. “You’re still learnin’. You’ll get there eventually.” He paused in thought and then chuckled. “Ya know what? I’ll let you choose how the rest the cake goes. My hands are off. As long as you’re not gonna burn the place down, I’m not gonna interfere. Just help.” 

“Wait. You’re letting... me be in charge of the kitchen?” B was beyond baffled. “I mean-hell yeah! But... you never let anyone be in charge of anything in the kitchen! That’s-”

“Up up up,” Kevin sang playfully, putting a finger to his partner in crime’s lips and grinning more. “I trust you. I know whatever your vision is, it’s perfect. ...As long as you don’t bust my stand mixer.”

B stood up, now pumped to finish the cake. “Alright! This will be the best goddamn birthday cake Neenah’s had in her life! More than the best! The ultimate goddamn birthday cake!” They rushed back to the counter and got to work. 

The cake ended up well... Neenah ate it, but she did make more faces than she would for Kevin’s cooking.

But yeah, it was the ultimate goddamn birthday cake she had in her life, despite the weird fruit chunks. 

[nolifenicole96]

In 27 years I’ve never once been in love. Never had a boyfriend. Never really had a real first date. I’ve gone through life alone for 27 years and I am tired. Don’t get me wrong, there have been plenty of guys I’ve been interested in but it just always seemed they were never into me. And the ones that were into me I didn’t feel a spark. They didn’t make me laugh and I didn’t find them attractive.

I thought I was in love when I was around 4/5. We’d known each other since kindercare and our families hung out all the time. I’m not sure what it was about Mikey. Maybe it was because we always ended up in the same class. Or maybe it was because whenever I was with him it was just fun. We were kids so nothing could get too complicated. Once I moved I thought those feelings would go away but they have always lingered. Sometimes I think about him. But I remember how happy he is with his girlfriend of 10+ years and the house they just bought together and I know he’s doing just fine without me in his life.

I thought I felt like I was in love again when I was in middle school. Specifically 6th grade. In world history I sat next non other that Frank. He was your typical emo/skater kid. We got along. Had plenty in common. And even went to the same after school program so we saw each other pretty often. We were so close in fact that in became a running joke in our class that we were dating. Now my memory gets fuzzy but if I know myself I have a feeling I would have gotten red in the face and then super defensive even though I would have loved nothing more than to be dating him. But I panic and think that that is the last thing frank wants is to be attached to me like that. Did that stop me from walking right up to him on Valentine’s Day in front of the whole class and giving him a Valentin I made for him? No. No it didn’t. Because I may have been stupid but I was no coward. But all that got me was a few “hi’s” in the hallways for the next 2 years of middle school as we hardly saw each other. We didn’t speak at all by the time we got to high school we’re eventually he left half way through for personal reasons. And with his untimely death a few years back I will never get the chance to tell him how much he meant to me even if he didn’t feel the same way about me.

And then there was Josh. As much as I would like to paint him as the bad guy I just can’t. The older I get, the more I realize I’m just a coward and if anything I used him in the end. It wasn’t love. It never was. At first it was a challenge. He had ever girl in middle school falling at his feet and I was willing to walk right up to him and tell him that “mustache” looks ugly and should shave. We both saw each other as a challenge. What he didn’t realize though was no matter how much sweet talking he did, it wasn’t going to get him any dirty pictures. I had an idea of what romance, relationships and love where and what we had wasn’t that. It scared me. He realized very fast that I wasn’t putting out so my phone eventually went silent. Then we got a little older. He said he thought of us as friends and I tried to believe him. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that he would only try and talk to me when he was in between girlfriends. So when I moved I thought I would finally let him go. But I was wrong. I had just come back to visit for the holidays and had also just got the news that one of my close friends had just died in a car accident on her way to see her family. I spent that whole trip with either a drink in my had or just sleeping. It’s like I wasn’t really there. But I was. And while I was I got a text from non other than Josh himself asking if I wanted to see a movie. For context he also knew this friend so in my mind he was asking so he could check up on me. I was wrong. Once I was in that car I knew I was wrong because he mentions about 2 minutes in that he broke up with his girlfriend. My stomach dropped and I didn’t know if it was from anticipation or disappointment. Needless to say we didn’t watch the movie. But even in my drunken stupper of that trip I knew better then to sleep with him. So came home with some dignity. After I got home I was bombarded with text after text of “when can I see you next” or “I can come to where you live now” or “we can make this work I swear”. I never once answered. I had a man telling me everything I always wanted to hear and I ran from it. Maybe it was because I knew I didn’t love him. Or because it would never really work. But either way I was a coward. So Josh for that I’m sorry.

I’ve had moments were I liked someone since. But they never amounted to anything. Mostly because I never said anything. And the one time it did since Josh it felt like a punch to the gut. Nothing hurts more then when that person knows how closed off you are, finally gets you to open up, only for them to just fuck you (and not that great if I might add) then say deuces.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I suck at online dating. I have truly seen too much dateline. I’m getting to a point where I just think maybe I’m ugly on the outside and inside as well.