#I can cook and I quite like clubbing though
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too late
alexia putellas x reader
i know nothing about medical stuff except for the ones i’ve watched on grey’s anatomy
happy valentine’s day i guess
request here
———
The echoes of the heated argument lingered in the air as you paced around your living room. The tension between you and Alexia had reached a breaking point and you have no idea what to do next.
Alexia had left you alone in this big house — which isn’t really anything new — to god knows where. The trophies and medals that lined the shelves, displaying the accomplishments of your longtime partner, stares back at you like souvenirs.
Photographs covering the walls, showing the memories of the love she once held for you. Your fingers tracing the edges of the frame, heart heavy with doubt and sadness.
‘Where did I go wrong?’ You asked yourself.
That was almost three months ago. She had apologized and promised to make changes. The first week was a bliss. She’d wake you up with breakfast in bed, leaving breakfast in the kitchen when she had early training. Random dates throughout the week. You were living the dream.
Then, she won the world cup.
Interview after interview. Appearance after appearance. She was away more times than home. You don’t quite remember the last time you’d both slept in the same bed and woken up together.
—
It was Friday and you were in the kitchen waiting for Alexia to come home from training. You’ve cooked her favorite meal that Eli had taught you to make. You told her you had something to talk to her about so you hoped this meal could lighten the mood a bit.
Thirty minutes had passed so you thought she was just running a bit late.
Then an hour passed.
Another hour after that.
You’ve put away all of the food and prepared a plate for when she gets home to just reheat. Changing into your pajamas, you lounge around in the living room and check your phone. Right when you open up your social media, you were met with videos of your girlfriend and her team at a club.
You try to remember if Alexia had told you if she was going anywhere after practice, but she didn’t.
‘She probably just forgot.’
Hours later, Alexia came home to find you asleep on the couch. She stumbles into the bedroom and knocks out.
—
You’re at home in bed, staring into nothingness. You couldn’t do anything. At least not the things you used to be able to do. Even breathing became difficult.
Alexia was out so much she never noticed how much you’ve changed, how different you looked. She barely spared you a glance. When you do catch Alexia at home, she’s already asleep. You barely notice though because she’s been sleeping in the spare bedroom.
You slowly walk to the kitchen, steadying yourself against the walls. Grabbing a glass, you start to fill it with water when all of a sudden your vision starts going in and out.
Collapsing to the floor, darkness consumes you.
—
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” You ask as Alexia walked through the front door.
“I’m not even fully through the door and you’re already asking me to do things?”
“It won’t take long. It’s just something I have to tell—”
“Ay dios mío! I’m hungover and I just want to sleep. Talk to me tomorrow.”
Alexia walks away to the spare bedroom, knocking out instantly.
—
Alexia is at Mapi and Ingrid’s place with the rest of the team for team bonding. Alexia had an arm around one of Mapi’s friends that she invited over, the girl practically in her lap.
“Hey, Ale! Where’s the missus? Didn’t want to come today?” Mapi questions taking a seat next to Ingrid.
“Ooh, yeah! I miss Y/N, how is she doing?” Pina asks, the girl saw you as a big sister.
Alexia tenses, not knowing why. The girl on her shoves her arm off of her, moving to a different seat making Alexia frown in disappointment.
“Uh, she’s just at home probably. I don’t know?” She shrugs.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mapi asks, eyebrows furrowed. “You were with her yesterday.”
“I was?” Alexia was confused because she definitely wasn’t. She was at some girl’s pla— her eyes widen. “I was! Yeah. She didn’t feel that well so she wanted to stay home. Yeah.”
Mapi and Ingrid share a look but drops the subject.
The team bonding became crazier that it was supposed to be. People were tipsy and Mapi was surprised they haven’t been yelled at by the neighbors yet.
“Alright.” Mapi stands up, catching everyone’s attention. “Me and Ingrid are going to run to the store, grab a couple things cause we’re running low.”
Everyone bid them goodbye, Ingrid following behind her girlfriend.
“We’re not running low on anything.” Ingrid states as Mapi starts driving.
“No, I just needed an excuse.”
“Excuse for what.”
“To check on Y/N.”
“She’s not home though. Told us herself.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt to check. And we both know damn well Ale wasn’t with her yesterday.”
Arriving to yours and Alexia’s house, they knock on the door. Not getting a response, they try again, no response.
“Hey, Y/N? Are you home? It’s Mapi and Ingrid.”
After a couple of minutes with no response, Mapi uses the spare key she was given a long time ago. Stepping inside, it was quiet. The place was clean, almost too clean. It didn’t look like someone had lived in the place at all with how clean it looked.
Walking further in, Ingrid looks into the kitchen, finding a glass shattered on the floor. Walking around the kitchen island was a sight she didn’t want to see.
“Oh my god, María!” She immediately lays you on your back, placing two fingers on your neck. “There’s no pulse! Call the ambulance!” She starts slapping your face lightly, hoping to wake you up. “C’mon, Y/N. Open those eyes for me.”
“Here. Move.” Mapi pushes Ingrid away, handing her the phone. “You call for them. Wake up, Y/N. Don’t go yet.” She starts CPR, tears start flowing from her eyes, some dripping onto your face. “C’mon! Just wake up, damn it!”
Mapi doesn’t know how long she’s been doing CPR, but paramedics rush into the house, taking over. Ingrid pulls her into her arms where they break down, missing the looks that the paramedics gave each other.
They drive close behind as the ambulance speeds through the streets of Barcelona. Arriving at the hospital, Ingrid doesn’t bother to turn the car off, rushing to where you were being unloaded.
“What do we got?” Doctors rush out to the ambulance.
The paramedics just give a look to the doctors who immediately understand.
“Time of death…”
“Wait! What do you mean time of death? She-she’s fine right?”
“What’s your relationship to…”
“Y/N.”
“Y/N. What’s your relationship to Y/N?”
“She’s my friend and I need to know what’s happened.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t give out any information, but I saw she has a wedding ring on. Can you contact her husband?”
“Wife. She has a wife.”
“Okay, can you contact her wife for us?”
Ingrid is the one to make the call. Mapi watches as they roll you inside the hospital.
“She’s on her way.”
Ten minutes later, Alexia arrives to the hospital, walking to where Ingrid and Mapi were now sitting at the waiting room.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. They won’t tell us but they’ll tell you cause you’re her wife.”
“Y/N Putellas. I-I’m her wife and I need to see her.” Alexia asks, no demands when she goes up to the nurse’s counter.
“Mrs. Putellas. I can take you to her body.”
“Body? What-what do you mean body.”
“Just follow me.”
Walking into the room, a bed is seen in the middle of the room, a white sheet covering it.
“What’s this?”
Alexia walks up to the bed, hand hovering over the white sheet.
“Take your time.”
The nurse carefully pulls the top part of the white sheet to reveal someone — you.
“Oh my god.” Alexia gasps, not expecting to see you in this state. Mapi turns around in Ingrid’s hold, hiding her face in her chest, Ingrid also looking away. “What happened?”
“I can help with that.”
Turning towards the door, a doctor stood just outside.
“May I come in?” Not waiting for a response, he walks right in. He walks towards where your lay, staring at your features. “Mrs. Putellas lived longer than I expected.”
“Okay, can we stop being so criptic and just tell me what’s going on?” Alexia was losing patience. She has no clue what’s happening. She was having a great time and now she sees her wife lying dead right in front of her.
“Y/N Putellas, age twenty-eight, was diagnosed with stage four cancer three months ago. There was nothing that could be done as it was caught very late. All we could have done was make sure she was comfortable.”
“But she refused to be admitted into the hospital to make sure that she was still at home for her wife, no matter how much I protested.” A new voice was heard by the door. Your sister. “Her wife that leaves when she’s still sleeping. Her wife who would rather be out partying than notice how sick she was, fighting for her life. Her wife that doesn’t fucking love her!”
Your sister was now face to face with Alexia, finger stabbing her chest.
“No, no, no.” Alexia mumbles. “That- that’s not true. I love her. I do! Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She tried to.” Your sister stated, voice now void of emotion. “She tried and you brushed her off.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?” Mapi spoke up for the first time in a while.
“Because it didn’t feel important anymore after the many times that Alexia brushed it off.”
“She visited us just three days ago. She was fine.”
“She wasn’t. I think she knew she didn’t have much time left, so she had me drive her around so she can say her goodbyes.”
—
“Alright. Last house.” Your sister stated as she parked the car by the curb.
“Yeah.” You exit the car, slowly making your way to the front door. After knocking on the door, you take a step back. The door opens revealing Mapi.
“Hey, Y/N! What brings you by?”
“Uh, nothing. Is Ingrid here by any chance?”
“Yeah, let me call her. Ingrid!”
Ingrid stands next to Mapi.
“No need to shout. Hey, Y/N. What’s up?”
“Uh, well.” You clear your throat in anxiousness. “I’m gonna go somewhere in a couple of days and just wanted to see you both before I go.”
“Oh? Where are you going?”
“Just- just to take some time for myself.”
“Well, I hope you have fun wherever it is you’re going.”
You give them a smile. “Thank you.” As they were closing the door, you push it back open, wrapping your arms around Mapi tightly. Your breathing is ragged and you can feel the tears forming in your eyes. “You’re my best friend and you know that I love you right?”
Taken aback, she wraps her arms around you in return. “Yeah, you’re my best friend and I love you too.”
“You too Ingrid.” You now wrap your arms around her. “I’ll miss you both.” You step away, walking back down the driveway, giving them one last smile.
The couple don’t think much about the weird interaction, closing the door as they watched your car drive away.
—
Mapi and Ingrid broke down even more, now knowing that your goodbye was the goodbye.
“Tried to say goodbye to you too, but you were nowhere to be found.” You sister shrugged, getting tired of speaking to Alexia now.
“Why don’t you look depressed?”
“I’ve got to spend my time with her. I’ve had time to prepare for the inevitable.” Giving them all a face, she moves to stand where you laid. “I’m gonna talk to whoever about the arrangements and stuff, I’ll leave you guys alone.”
Seeing how Alexia was unable to take her eyes off of you, Mapi and Ingrid decide to give her some time, leaving the room and closing the door behind them. Now all along, Alexia hesitantly steps up next to your bed, hand hovering over yours.
In the dimly lit room, her voice shaky as she uttered, “I don’t even know where to begin. I don’t know if you can hear me, see me, but I never thought I’d see you like this. I never thought I’d hurt you like this.”
She grasps at your hand, squeezing it to stop the tears from streaming down her face.
“I’m too late. Too late. I never realized how good I had it and I see it now. You are— were the best part of me and I was too blind to see it. I took you for granted and I can’t apologize for it.”
The room remained silent, save for the soft hum of chatter outside. Alexia’s heart pounded, waiting for a response that she would never get. Bending down, she gives your forehead a kiss, letting her lips linger for just a moment.
“I’m sorry and I love you.” She whispered before exiting the room.
Arriving at home, Alexia’s emotions finally hit all at once. She couldn’t step any further away from the front door. She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. The weight of her emotions become too much and the dam finally broke inside of her. Silent sobs racked her body as the vulnerability she had hidden so well crumbled away.
As the tears cascaded down her cheeks, memories of lost moments and shattered dreams replayed in her mind like a haunting film. Each drop carried the weight of unspoken words and broken promises, a wretched reminder of a love that once felt invincible.
The scars on her heart remained, the permanence of lost loves carved onto it, wondering how to face another day haunted by the ghosts of what could have been.
#woso x reader#woso#greynatomy#woso imagines#woso imagine#woso community#fcb femeni#alexia putellas#alexia putellas x reader
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I was in a Baxter mood today so I went swimming in GB Patch's blog for all the Baxter facts:
General
His personality, at least defined by GB Patch, is that he's sheltered and out-of-touch without being elitist or self-centered. He's preppy/posh, quite sociable, and hates conflict, but likes to go against what's expected of him. He grows out of being such a rich kid trust fund baby by Step 4.
His parents are bigots. He's the unlucky one in a sea of characters with supportive parents.
He has a distant French origin.
His birthday is the day his DLC came out, meaning May 19th.
He's 5'11" (180cm) in Step 4 (this was apparently reconfirmed on the Our Life Discord as well).
His natural hair color - a dark dusty gray that he hates - is uncommon to be born with (as opposed to aged into) in the Our Life universe.
Childhood
His dream job as a child was to get into investments, having a strong portfolio with diverse assets (he does not fully know what that means at the time).
He's a late bloomer.
Baxter's crush on Qiu from Our Life 2 is at its peak when he's 12 and 13 (13 being his age in Our Life 2's Step 1), but he's moving on by 14 (when he can potentially meet the MC in Soiree).
He met Qiu at their local dance hall (as they both took lessons there, just in different forms of dance) and also met Ren/Renee (Darren in Our Life 2's Step 1) through Qiu, as the two had known each other since they were very young.
He wasn't thrown off by his crush on Qiu despite Qiu being a boy, as Qiu was popular and it seemed "unfair" to Baxter not to be able to like him. He puts more thought into it as he grows older and what it means, deciding that he'll feel however he'll feel and not worry about what's expected of him. In Soiree, the MC can notice this if they're male or non-binary, as Baxter isn't bothered by dancing with someone who isn't female.
Abilities (or Lack Thereof)
He's a weak swimmer. He can swim fine in pools but would probably struggle in the ocean.
He can sing.
He's experienced in multiple types of dance (though his favorite is the waltz).
Step 3 Baxter is a lazy, bad cook who doesn't even want to bother with cooking, but Step 4 Baxter takes an interest in trying more fancy/restaurant-style food and is able to do so.
Likes/Dislikes
He likes things being clean, but isn't always motivated enough to maintain that.
He liked video games when he was a kid, leaning towards action/adventure ones, though doesn't anymore in his late teens and beyond. He would play life-based games (such as the Sims series) with the MC if asked, however, either playing innocent like he didn't know what he was doing while messing around with the characters or being blatantly obvious about it.
He doesn't like dancing in clubs/discos. He would try it once because he enjoys trying different types of dance, but would only go regularly if he had a friend/partner who liked going to such places.
He would absolutely approve of an MC who chooses to only wear black and white.
Romantic Inclinations
Beyond his crush on Qiu (who he never confessed to), Baxter dates people, but never for long or seriously.
The reason he backs out of asking out the MC if they say that he's their first crush (unless the MC is referring to his Soiree self) is that he feels they have idealized feelings for him and he'd disappoint them. He essentially panics, not wanting to get the MC's hopes up and especially on their very first feelings of romance.
The best way to romance him is to Not Let Him Escape.
In terms of how Baxter will/won't date in the future between Step 3 and 4 if he had a fling with the MC, answers range from him not dating anyone if the player intent was that they were both genuinely in love, but would otherwise to him trying to move on with others but the flings become even more surface level than before to the point where he's simply going through the motions. He ultimately hits a breaking point (whether he dated the MC or not) and ends up improving due to the MC's return in his life and/or support from other people such as Xavier.
When it comes to what he's attracted to in another person, he likes seeing nail polish, false lashes/heavy mascara/naturally long eyelashes, and full suits (especially if they're expertly tailored).
His love language in terms of receiving is Quality Time, but in terms of giving, he will happily adapt to whatever the MC wants.
Clothing Choices
When it comes to Step 4 Baxter's personal dress code, he's always meeting/formal ready (even when not working) unless he's doing anything athletic, in which case the button-downs get a break.
- Likewise, his closet is basically all button-downs and fancy suits with a few exceptions including clothes suited for the cold.
Assorted
He immediately finds the MC and Cove appealing (not necessarily crushing on them) at the start of Step 3 as "beautiful beach strangers."
He'd be flattered to hear from an MC that they love his laugh/find it charming.
He says "hallelujah" because he's pretentious.
He doesn't know French, but does occasionally drop a French word he knows during Step 3 to "add to his formal flair." His Step 4 self considers it embarrassing in hindsight.
During the wedding in Baxter's Step 4, he will have Jude send along a vegan cupcake to the MC if they're vegan.
Semi-revealed during one of his mornings with the MC in Step 4, he has a multi-step daily skincare routine.
His Future
He has no preference over who he'd prefer to be the one to propose to the other in his relationship with the MC.
He would absolutely want to plan his own wedding (whether for or with the MC, depending on whether they want to be involved). He would not want another planner included.
He doesn't have a preference when it comes to last names during a wedding. He's just in awe that he's marrying someone at all.
He might consider having facial hair at some point in his life.
When it comes to having kids, he doesn't have any particular age he'd prefer to have them and is more of a "when it feels right" kind of guy. In terms of the number of kids, none is his default but he'd prefer to have two if the MC wants them, as he finds the relationship between the MC and Liz to be lovely and was personally lonely as an only child.
🍋
(below are asks that might be considered risqué - especially going to the posts themselves on some - but I wanted to include them for the sake of having all the information in one place; know that me and my prudish nature pushed through this for the people who want it and I hope you appreciate it! >:o)
🍋
This one definitely goes without saying due to being a love interest in a game where the MC can be she/they/he even down to being intersex, but Baxter is pansexual.
Baxter isn't good at being sexually active beyond being with an MC who wants that. He tries to bond with others but either fails to have his interest reciprocated due to being too forward or backtracks if he senses that someone is actually into him. His relationships are short/inconsistent for that reason.
He would never sleep with the MC during Step 3. He's already planning on leaving and wouldn't risk souring the relationship at any point even if the MC would want it. He wants company more than he wants sex and would not want to be remembered as the guy who slept with the MC and then just left without contacting them again.
Between chests and backsides, Baxter prefers the latter.
Baxter is a top (though is flexible on the matter), is into BDSM, and "kind of" has a sir kink.
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I have decided today I am giving out my Steve Harrington headcanons, because I love him so much.
His parents are very rich. His dad is new money, self made. His mom is old money.
His father is Indiana born and bred, but his mother is from Kentucky. She doesn't have her accent anymore because she trained herself out of it. Though it does show up when she's drunk or angry.
I know everyone does Richard (Dick) for his dad mainly for the lols, which I respect, but I think his name is Clint. It's just rich dude bro enough, you know? And then for the mom I go back and forth between Maureen and Allison. Allison because that's Ally Sheedy's character in The Breakfast Club and I often use her looks as bases for Mrs. Harrington.
They were never meant to be parents. They had the one because that's what was expected of them, but no. They don't like kids.
I don't know if his dad is only verbally abusive, but he is some kind of shit. Steve was so scared of him finding out that there was alcohol the night Barb vanished that that was all that consumed his thoughts. And even in season 3 Steve tells Dustin (thinking he was his dad) that he doesn't do drugs, just marijuana. Meaning that's something they've fought about a lot.
Kids of good parents rarely smoke, drink, smoke pot, and have wild parties all the time as an under-aged teenager. There are no doubt exceptions, but most of the time it's kids who are neglected and abused that are the ones that act out like that.
Steve had nannies and baby-sitters growing up that he saw more than his parents. But he would still be taken on actual vacations with them. Mostly to show off that they do have a son.
He was in baseball in middle school but quit when he got into high school. His parents put him in as many after school activities as they could. He was taught piano. Went to swimming and was so good at it, he joined the team in high school. Played basketball throughout both middle and high school. But he was forced to dropout due to the concussion Billy gave him his senior year. It's why he sneers at Brenda at the game when she says it would ironic if they won the championship the year after he graduated. Because he wasn't even on the team his last year.
When he turned sixteen they gave him his BMW. No, he did not get to pick the car or the color, but he takes very good care of it. Does a lot of the maintenance himself. One of the few things his dad taught him, but because you needed to know enough to make sure your mechanic wasn't ripping you off.
He can cook. But only if he has a recipe to follow and will get upset if it doesn't look like the picture. Is a consummate baker though. Because everything has a reason it's done like that and it makes sense.
Definitely a fall baby. That's why he was able to lifeguard for three years even if he didn't lifeguard after his senior year due to him working at Scoops Ahoy.
He's bad at math and science which is why the Party teases him all the time, but he's great at English and history.
Only applied at the schools his dad thought were "appropriate" and didn't get in. But to be fair, he was still suffering from a concussion when those applications went out and he wasn't really at his best. Just above his worst if he was honest.
He likes his preppy clothes and while he laughs it off, it upsets him when he's made fun for it.
Alt rock fan all the way. Depeche Mode, The Cure, New Order.
Has a list of the Party's likes and dislikes for food and other things, so he is the best gift giver. He doesn't spend a lot of money, though he has been accused of that a couple of times. But he prefers well thought out gifts over expensive ones. It's why Max, Eddie, and the Byers boys love Steve gifts. They never feel pressured to one up him.
Complete romantic. Loves being in love, but it was hard to pick up the pieces of his broken heart after what happened with Nancy.
Loves Robin, but even though it is sometimes weird, it never veers into creepy or obsessive. Robin is absolutely the vodka aunt of the party to Steve's mom.
When Eddie comes into the group, they tease him that's he's the dad to Steve's mom. Because as goofy as Eddie is he absolutely wouldn't let the kids get into real trouble.
Steve the romantic gets absolutely wooed by Eddie and never is made to feel wrong footed when showers Eddie with the affection he would for a girl. It's nice for a guy to receive flowers sometimes too.
Steve favorite flower is sunflowers. But his favorite color is blue.
He absolutely keeps the vest. Refuses to give it back. Which Eddie is surprisingly okay with.
I could go on forever, but I'll stop there for now and if I come up with more I'll add them later.
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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers
CHAPTER NINE — EDDIE the OBVIOUS and the LADY SPHINX
PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT
summary: a tense dinner at rick lipton's place reveals some part of al munson's reason for returning to hawkins. your saturday morning detention is tense, and you and eddie both get more than you bargained for when you crash hellfire club to profile them for the school newspaper.
content warnings: MINORS DNI AS ALWAYS warnings for smut, cunnilingus, dick-fondling, p in v, reference to drug usage, slight perv!eddie, silly teenagers having silly teenage fights that actually aren't so silly (kinda antagonistic ronance version!), reference to childhood physical abuse, al munson jumpscare, lacy's dad jumpscare, both lacy's real first name and surname is used in this chapter. no description of body type. just descriptions of a good time eye emoji eye emoji
word count: 16.4k
Dear Lord,
Grant me the serenity to accept the shit I cannot change, the courage to change the shit I can, and the wisdom to seize a damn fine opportunity when I see one.
Amen.
When Al Munson cooks a spaghetti dinner, you know he means business.
Once a line cook with aspirations higher than diner fumes, always a line cook with aspirations higher than diner fumes.
He learned to cook on the grill, but perfected it in the joint. During one of his stints, a homecoming tour of the state of Kentucky, he fell in with this web of wiseguys who made him stagiaire in their makeshift kitchen, slicing ghostly slivers of garlic with a razorblade.
Al’s insisted on the method ever since. Even now, hunkered over in Rick Lipton’s kitchen, preparing a meal for which Eddie’s already lost his appetite.
Eddie had already given up on the whole there are a bunch of knives right there suggestion, knowing his father loves few things like he loves performing his whole Kiss the Cook bit. He plays it to the hilt, an exercise in tart, rich, floral smarm that beats out the complex flavoring of his tomato gravy by a country fucking mile. Down to that bullshit Serenity Prayer.
“Courage to change the shit you can? Man, you can barely change your underwear!” Rick heartily chuckles, heaping pasta onto his plate. The way the noodles slide against each other, thick and glistening like worms full of nefarious promise, makes Eddie want to ralph.
He hadn’t had much of an appetite for anything since he’d visited the nurse’s office.
He felt weird. Strung out. Guilty. And angry. Guilty like, what got into me, why’d I do that and angry like, why’d I leave you just standing there like that, and why’d you let me.
“C’mon, kid, you look famished,” Al pulls that anger-inducing Cheshire Cat face, placing a solely ornamental leaf of basil on top of the dish Rick passes. This fucking asshole. These fucking assholes. In cahoots together. “Wayne’s Hungry Man dinners ain’t hittin’ the way they used to, huh?”
Al’s smile doesn’t slice through the tension of the room nearly as clean as he wants it to. Eddie feels Wayne stiffen at his right elbow, sees Rick divert his eyes from across the table.
“Well, Dad,” Eddie says, forcibly stabbing and winding his fork through the spaghetti, “You know what coulda solved that?”
“What’s that, huh?”
“You staying out of lockup for longer than the duration of an MC5 song.”
Al doesn’t falter. Eddie bets he could open-palm slap him and that shiteater of a grin wouldn’t slide from his face.
“I’m here now, ain’t I?” his father clicks his tongue, digging right into his own dish, “You really gotta learn to live in the moment, kid.”
Eddie’s spaghetti-filled mouth starts to form around the indignant words, I’m not a kid! but Al beats him to the punch. Quite literally.
“Though, judgin’ by those scuffs on your knuckles, looks like you did somethin’ without thinkin’ it the whole way through first. Huh?” Al slurps his pasta noisily, and Eddie feels Wayne tense even more, if that’s possible. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
The sense memory of silver flashes colliding with Billy Hargrove’s face in the parking lot, the sense memory of you and your vicelike grip trying to pull him off before he killed him. The sense memory of bile blowing through his veins, stumbling upon those lowlifes talk to you like that. Rage blackout. Yadda yadda.
According to rumor, Hargrove was lucky that Eddie didn’t cave his entire cheek in. He still couldn’t totally see out of his right eye, the swelling was that gathered and insistent.
Eddie lets the question droop in the air, before eventually mumbling, “S’nothing. Just– shit at school.”
Wayne had been the first one to ask him, obviously, catching sight of his bandaged hand when he came upon Eddie staring a hole into–you guessed it–yet another Murder, She Wrote rerun, following your encounter on the examination table.
Eddie had given it the brush off so Wayne had given it the brush off. He was no stranger to his nephew bearing busted knuckles, even if it did make the old man’s blood chill every time he saw it. Those interactions always reeked of you poor kid, like Eddie was the perpetual victim. Got under Eddie’s skin a little.
But Al asks him like he knows something. And Rick won’t look at Eddie.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your lovely new neighbor, would it?” Other shoe, meet short, hard drop.
Eddie’s grip tightens around his fork, and in the back of his mind, he summons the spirit of the sharpest tongue he knows.
“Who?” He’s this close to prank calling people using his Lacy impression, that’s how good it’s gotten.
Al cradles his cheek against his palm. His eyes, the eyes that might as well have been scooped out and shoved into Eddie’s skull, they’re such iris perfect replicas, search his son for cracks in his composure. Al stabs, stabs, stabs aimlessly into his dinner.
“You’re a lot of things, Eddie Munson,” he says, “but you ain’t dumb.”
“Truly do not know what you’re yakkin’ about. Can I eat?”
“Come on, Eddie boy! You out there getting into scuffles over that little gold-plated piece’ah something?”
“Can I eat?”
“A little forbidden flame, maybe, two’ah you?”
“Can I eat?”
“Can’t say I blame ya. If I were… twenty years younger.... Or maybe she likes ‘em a little more mature. Think I got a shot?” Al’s teeth are starting to grit, spittle starting to fly. Frenzied in the way he’s trying to eek a reaction out of his kid. “Huh? Eddie?”
Al’s lecherous suggestion of you toed the line of too much for the Munson men, it seems. Eddie and Wayne’s voices overlap.
“Maybe we leave that girl out of this, Al–” “–can I eat, or what?”
SLAM! Al’s fist comes into direct contact with the hardwood of Rick’s dining room table, plates and cutlery and glasses clattering nervously. Rick jumps a little, groaning under his breath. Wayne drags a hand over his eyes.
“You can answer the goddamn question! Shit!”
Eddie, for his part, should probably feel a little scared, his dad raring up on him like that. Instead, he just lets his wound-up fork sag in a pile of spaghetti and leans back in his seat. The thing with Al Munson is this– his bark has always been way bigger than his bite. Especially when he’s as coked up as he is right now.
Ever since he’d roared into Rick’s driveway in that eyesore of a muscle car (alright, it was a little cool– but in, like, a lame Dukes of Hazzard kinda way), Al had been operating in sharp angles and backed-up nostrils.
Shit, Eddie would be shocked if there wasn’t residue on that razor blade he used to slice the garlic. That stupid, reckless, peacocking-as-a-father motherfucker.
He folds his arms, waiting for Al’s tone to pitch on down, for the tremor in his hand to act up, for him to say–
“Sorry. Sorry,” pressed through a line of grit teeth, “I just… Hmm.” It’s like Al is actively trying to plaster the mask of his charming grin back on his face but it keeps slipping out of his fingers. “She’s a real dime. Smart as hell too, huh? Shame about–”
“Al, what’re you gettin’ at with all this?” Wayne asks, and thank god he does. Eddie doesn’t know how much more dancing around the subject he can take, but he won’t be the one to bend first. “What did you bring us up here for? And don’t–” the eldest of all Munson holds a hand up, “--say you just wanted to get together. I don’t buy it. Eddie sure doesn’t buy it. And if Lipton here buys it, he’s a fool.”
Al shrinks, a snot-nosed kid under the magnifying glass his big brother holds to him. “Wayne–”
“You bring us up here to make us part of that goddamn stupid high school feud with that girl’s father? You really spin out that far?”
It’s not often that Wayne speaks up, but when he does, boy. Can that man dress a situation down.
Al falters. Wayne has that ability to knock him out at the knees, and Eddie makes a mental note to ask him how he does that.
“Listen. Alright. It’s not– alright,” Al clenches his hands in fists, a flex in and a flex out. A gesture Eddie notices, because he does it too. As if he’s trying to grasp the last threads of trust from them. “With that girl’s old man permanently benched so to speak, there’s an opportunity for another batter to step up. Okay? Jail sentences get doled out like Halloween candy–who knows that better than me, right?--but life goes on. There is… an opportunity here. Work still needs to get done. Work that I could’ve– that I can do.”
Eddie knows that his dad doesn’t realize he’s saying a lot of nothing, because Al’s always saying a lot of nothing. Vague promises with no real end to them. What catches him this time around is the glint in his eye, hidden behind the drug-induced one, and the glint of a gaudy ring on his finger. A green gem stamped in the middle, like a cat’s harvested eyeball. Huh.
“... let me make good on this, boys. For once. Let me take care of y’all.” Al huffs a faux-humble breath, glancing toward Rick for some kind of illustrative reassurance. “Y’know, seeing how it screwed up that little girl, seeing her big, upstanding daddy go to jail and all, I really–,” a swallow, for dramatic measure. Gunning for Best Actor here. “--felt it. Made me think, Eddie, of all the times when you were just a squirt… Made me wanna do right by you, is all.”
“How much of that doin’ right have you got up your nose, Dad?” Eddie sneers, putting two and two together. Of course this is what he’s back for; not to sell, couldn’t possibly be that simple in the convoluted world of Al Munson, but to supply. To get a suit fitted, pretend to be the big man. “Try before you buy isn’t exactly the most cost-effective policy.”
“Jesus, why, why have you got to make this so hard on me, kid?” Al is just about wringing his hands right now, scaling the apex of his desperation. “You have an in! You have the in!”
The in, of course, being Eddie’s connection to you, and by proxy, your dad. Al’s like a bloodhound that way, sniffing out the few good things that Eddie has going for him from miles off and tearing them right from his hands and acting like he’s doing Eddie a favor by making him his man on the inside.
“This whole town could be ours if you would just–”
That does it. Eddie leaps from the table, chair clattering to Rick’s warped wooden floor.
“I don’t want this whole town, are you fucking crazy?!” he yells, spittle flying, “And–and I certainly don’t want it if it’s anything to do with you!”
What the hell would make Al think that Eddie would hitch his wagon (which, granted, ain’t in too great a shape–he’s barely passing any classes, thanks to a pickup in business he guesses he can thank his dad for) to the living sunk cost fallacy that his father is? What the hell does Al Munson want with that kind of fantasy, one where he’s king bastard of the Hawkins cockwalk when he can’t even stick within county limits for more than a couple of weeks?
Well, Eddie actually has a pretty good idea, one that occurs to him like a lightning strike as Al struggles to keep his temper level. Let Eddie look like the tantrum-throwing brat.
Yeah. Exactly.
He’d wind Eddie into whatever scheme he was cooking up and ditch it, half-baked, leaving Eddie in a kitchen with all the smoke alarms going off. Elbow deep in an unsalvageable mess, because Al could never follow through on anything.
He’d have Eddie exploit your relationship for a couple of instances of, “That’s my boy.” Because Al still thought that trick worked; making him believe he’s loved, valuable, wringing every last drop of loyalty out of him because a boy needs his father… and a father needs his boy, y’know!
Fuck that.
“We should split.” It’s Wayne who says it, batting away the apologetic glance both the Munson men get from Rick– like he’s Al’s keeper or something, managing his moods. Like he isn’t raking in a cash cow from Al’s great Ray Doevski replacement theory.
“No, c’mon–” Al half-heartedly protests, like he could still save the evening but can’t really be bothered.
Wayne follows Eddie’s furious stalk out the door, tearing a cigarette from a soft pack as he hauls into the passenger side of the van.
Eddie, a tightening ball of rage, whacks the steering wheel with one good thump. He’d been stupid enough to entertain Al these past couple of days– out of confusion more than anything else. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it were.
“The in,” Eddie mockingly mumbles as the van roars to life and he peels out against scattering gravel.
Wayne has his cigarette pinched between his thumb and index and lets that settle for a beat or two.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Fists flexing around the wheel, Eddie knows very well he’s been caught red-handed. There’s no way Wayne had gone this long without suspecting anything, even after he’d specifically warned him. More of a suggestion, actually; Wayne knows that Eddie will do whatever he wants, regardless.
Unfortunately, he’s like his father that way.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Eddie says, a shoulder shrug, a mirthless lilt in his tone. “She…”
Again, Wayne stays silent. Waiting for Eddie to tell on himself, like he always does.
“She doesn’t deserve to be in the middle of this,” Eddie arrives at, voice a little choked. “Whatever Dad’s planning on doing–”
“Neither do you,” Wayne reminds him. This is where Wayne and his stoicism pulls Eddie up short. Neither do you, and the only way you avoid the blowback is if you two avoid each other. But at that same time, Wayne always knows where Eddie’s heart is at. Knows that his heart is too big not to follow.
Even if Wayne hasn’t seen you two together, laughing ‘til you’re stupid like the kids that you are, can’t he see…
“Why can’t this be easy?” Eddie asks, his voice small. Echoes of a littler him, one that Wayne would pick up in the truck after school. Head hanging, backpack trailing, kicking pebbles and cursing the world.
Instead, through a sage swirl of smoke, Wayne’s hard stare seems to peel back some. He’s always known where Eddie’s heart is at. Eddie’s starting to think he wishes he knew less.
—
Jesus Christ, are you ever sick of learning your lesson. Of reflecting on what you’ve done.
It’s exhausting, and more to the point, pointless, and even more than that, boring.
Truth is, you’re beginning to second-guess your adoration of brilliant thinkers. Those motherfuckers knew too much, and in the past week, you’ve found yourself yearning for the days where you got by on knowing nothing but the good stuff! The juicy gossip, where the best parties were at, what lipstick could not stand up to what nail polish! When intellectualism was a bedtime story you’d read to yourself under the fucking covers and you didn’t have to decode the labyrinth of your own stupid feelings!
Sure, you felt like a husk most of the time, but you’d take that over this graceless stumbling shit!
You should be allowed to smash the windows out of Billy Hargrove’s car and no one should be able to say boo about it! God!
Instead, however, you’ve been caught up in an as-yet-unprecedented display of seething and sulking. People are still whispering about you, natch, glancing at your belly like you would’ve if that heinous spawnous prank was played on anyone else. At the very least, they still have the good sense to flinch when you match their stare.
Billy Hargrove’s two week suspension means you don’t have to worry about seeing his ugly face, but it also comes with the two week guarantee of not seeing Eddie.
And the probable delay of your Hellfire article. Which is paramount. Obviously.
Speaking of Eddie, there’s too much speaking of Eddie to do.
You keep replaying the sneak attack from Al Munson in your head, him sliding his aviators down his nose to get a look at you.
“What are you doing here?”
“Payin’ my respects. Your father, shit. Shame what happened to him. He was– well. I was gonna say he was a ‘good man’, but that sounds kinda funny, don’t it?”
It wasn’t about Eddie, except it was about Eddie, because every stupid thing is about Eddie.
Especially the fact that you’re sitting in your college-going beau’s chariot, about to slink into Saturday detention. If it weren’t for him…
“Lacy?” a voice calls from the driver’s seat. “You alright?”
You snap to, rearranging your face into something definitive and sharp and pleasing to the eye. Because you’re fine! You’d said as much when he snuck you into the basement of his parent’s house–why wasn’t he back in school yet–and said as much when he squirmed against you, asking you if you were okay in that weighted way that really meant can I put it in yet.
You’d gotten on all fours because it allowed you to roll your eyes when he was all, oh, woah! sliding it in from the back.
You’d reached around and teased your clit to attempt a climax. Trying to imitate that clumsy rhythm from the nurse’s office. It didn’t quite stick–paled in comparison, like a Simon and Garfunkel tribute act made up of people that didn’t secretly want to fuck each other.
And then he gave you a ride this morning. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to bore yourself out of misbehavior– but you’d told him that you had newspaper business to attend to.
“I’m fine,” you brightly declare for the fourth and final time, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. It was a weird gesture, but the shine had buffed off. He’s cute and all, but you two had gone to see Paris, Texas at the Hawk and he didn’t get it.
He didn’t get how much you clowned on him for not getting it afterwards either. You hadn’t been able to get it out of your head, the way he shrugged away from you at the diner as you ribbed him for his plodding misunderstanding of Harry Dean Stanton.
Coldly, you thought of the trade-off that you and Eddie had agreed on. Repo Man for Paris, Texas once it came out. You had to pretend you liked Repo Man a lot less than you actually did to swing that one, because Eddie wasn’t keen to lock in to some movie about a dude crying in the desert or whatever unless you angled in the fact that you owe me for making me sit through all that machismo.
“You love machismo. You wanted to nail that sweaty little punker, I saw you squeezin’ your knees together.”
“For Emilio Estevez? Please. I had my eye on the old guy. ‘Ordinary fuckin’ people, I hate ‘em’--that kind of shit really does it for me, Munson, you know that.”
“That why you’ve been entertaining the pleasure of my company for so long?”
“Down, dog.”
Anyway. Fuck.
“Listen, Lacy, I gotta tell you s–”
“Can’t right now! I’m already late and Fred is gonna have my head,” you chime, all saccharine, climbing out of the car. “Call me!” You pray that he doesn’t.
Slam. What an extraordinary waste of time.
As instructed, you make your way to the gym, which you think is a little weird. Detention usually denotes writing pointless, go-nowhere laments on how sorry you are for being such a bad kid, right? Think on your sins, yadda yadda yadda.
Typically enough, no one’s here on time. Everyone’s late. You’re perched on the bleachers like an asshole, sitting alone like an asshole. That’s the goddamn ticket, isn’t it? You’re alone in all of this. You always have been.
Like, for example. The Al Munson walk-on role into the surrealist tragi-comedy that is your fucking life. You can’t tell that to anybody. Not Eddie, naturally, not your mom, not Nancy because then you’d have to explain the continued and complicated Eddie of it all, not Ronnie because just because. And the ickiness of it hangs off your every move, and you can’t shake it, and no one can share it.
You’re beginning to wonder if that’s true of all the parts of you. The ickiness. It’s all a little heavy, isn’t it?
As if on cue, hearing ickiness called by name on the wind, Mr Kaminsky pushes open the gym’s double doors.
“Oh, what the fuck.”
“Had to see it for myself.” Your loathed History teacher says, full of glee.
“Sir, if this is some kind of elaborate courting ritual, I have to say, you’re not my type.”
“Careful up there, Doevski. There’s more detentions where this came from.”
“Freak accident. I can’t be caged.”
“Well, let me enjoy the exception to the rule!” Kaminsky claps, and you jerk at the echo.
You sigh so hard you almost unlatch something. “What elaborate torture have you got planned for me today? Want me to run laps or something? Because these shoes aren’t built for that.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lacy,” the teacher digs, “We’re still waiting on your comrades.”
“I’m late, I’m late, I know I’m late!” a familiar voice comes skidding right up behind Kaminsky, baseball hat askew, mud stains on the knees of her overalls. “Some goddamn lunatic tried to run me and my bike off the road–”
“Ronnie?”
“Hey, Lacy!” she calls brightly and breathlessly, slamming herself down on the bleachers beside you.
“Ron, what’re you–”
An unmistakable heel-click rounds its way into the gym, and in walks Nancy Wheeler with her face all pinched like a porcelain doll. She receives your big ol’ center-piece-missing jigsaw puzzle of a look with a knowingly arched eyebrow.
“You’re late, Wheeler,” Kaminsky tries, but Nancy’s already consulting her wristwatch.
“Detention starts at nine sharp, right?” she says, impenetrable as always. “It’s 8:58.”
“Then can I have my admission of lateness struck from the record, actually?” Ronnie asks and Kaminsky shoots her a withering one, consulting his clipboard.
“Alright, we got one more. Give it the goddamn two minutes, but then I’m bumping her to suspension. You wanna count it, Wheeler?” he scoffs. Wow, so he’s like a round the clock douchebag. To everybody.
At what you only can assume is 8:59, the mismatched gangle of Robin Buckley comes slinking over the waxed floor, looking half-awake and pissed off–more pissed off, you might argue, now that she registers her company. She perches on the furthest end of the bleachers, pointedly away from the loose gaggle of you, Ronnie and Nancy.
You shoot Ronnie a look like, what’s the sitch there? Thought you two were getting all bosomy.
Ronnie just shrugs.
“Alright!” Kaminsky claps the clipboard again, “So, this is a fun group. Bunch of smart girls who got caught doing idiot stuff. We’re gonna make you pay for that today. Sound good?”
The whole bad bunch of you just stare at him, slit-eyed.
Your collective punishment, as it turns out, comes in the form of scraping old, disgusting, errant gum and other mystery sticky bullshit from the bottom of the bleachers.
“Stupid is as stupid does,” Kaminsky sagely says, handing you each a tiny chisel from the art room, “And I understand that some of you are violent offenders,” that’s a pointed look at you and Ronnie, by the way, “but please. Don’t use this opportunity to take another girl’s eye out. Your community college acceptance is riding on it.”
Motherfucker. Everyone knows Ronnie Ecker is in the running for valedictorian.
He leaves the four of you to your own devices, promising to check up on you all in a solid forty-five.
“How many times you think he can beat off in forty-five minutes?” Ronnie immediately asks as the teacher disappears through the door.
“Depends. Is he doing it in the shameful privacy of his three-door rust bucket or the clandestine confines of the AV room?” you question.
Nancy makes a gagging sound but adds, “And is he using his imagination or Ms Kelley’s yearbook picture?”
Nasty Wheeler! That girl has truly endeared herself to you.
Robin, however, doesn’t weigh in at all. She just sort of glares and angles herself onto the nearest bleacher rung to start scraping the age-old mastication from the wood. Tension in the air.
“Buckley’s got the right idea,” you say, twirling the chisel in your fingers, “Sooner we get started, sooner we get the grossness over with…”
Ronnie sticks close by you, which is nice. You always like having her in proximity. Nancy, who’s nothing but work ethic in everything she does, starts furiously working on a corner a little ways away from you both– and Robin.
It doesn’t take long, maybe fifteen minutes of silent, resigned scraping, for you to get bored. And disgusted.
“At what point do we get to do the whole prison thing of what are you in for?” you say, sitting up and letting the blood rush back to your head.
“Well, yours goes without saying,” Ronnie chuckles, “going all batter on Hargrove’s car like that. Did you actually bust a window?”
“Just swung it around,” you say, driving your heel into the bench, “I may have inherited the felony misdemeanor gene, but I didn’t inherit getting caught. What about you?”
Ronnie flicks another gum wad off with her chisel, “Actually, you might wanna ask Wheeler about that.”
Your brow furrows. “Nance?” your voice rings down to the lower rungs, “Ronnie here says you were implicated in her detention-getting.”
“Yeah, um. Well, I heard about everything when you went–”
“--totally awesome psycho–”
“--in the parking lot and… I just. I wanted to clean up all that shit. From your locker. And then Nicole came by, smacking her stupid gum, and it kind of got ugly.”
Nicole. The irony of it, Nicole, gnashing out shittalk about you and Eddie in order to impress whatever unfortunate member of the wrestling squad she’d dug her press-ons into this week. Nicole, who’d already invaded Eddie’s territory, much to her apparent shame.
What a majorette of a bitch.
You would’ve given anything to be ringside for this, her versus Nancy.
“You toed up to Nicole Summers?” a little pause, your voice goes smaller, “For me?”
Nancy sits up, her perm clouding around her. She points her chisel Ecker-ward.
“Ronnie was the one who smacked all her books out of her hand.”
Ronnie pffts. “Like she hasn’t done that to me a million times. Eye for an eye.”
“Nicole wouldn’t even go near her on account of that one time she bit that one kid for catcalling her.”
“Oh, stop,” Ronnie’s gathering a blush, batting her hand all coquettish.
“Wait, that was real?” you say, eyes darting between them, “I thought that was just some freak rumor we came up with.”
Rabid Ecker was one of the less clever nicknames your group of crown ghouls had come up with, so it obviously didn’t stick too long.
“We?” Nancy scoffs, not mean.
“The royal ‘we’,” Robin Buckley drawls from her prostrate position on the bleachers. That sounds mean, the bite in her voice.
Your hackles can’t help but rise at that cold snap in her tone. Does she have a fucking problem, or something?
“And why are you here, Robin?” you call, hands knitting in your lap.
“I was with these bozos,” she says, a note-faithful mockery of your pointed voice, “For some godforsaken reason… and now I really wish I wasn’t.”
“Why’s that?” you press.
Nancy’s whole upper half tenses. “Robin–”
Robin’s chisel clatters on the bench, a toss made out of frustration. She looks to the three of you with pursed lips before letting loose.
“Steve found out,” Robin says, “About the pregnancy test thing. In like, the worst way he could possibly find out, which is so goddamn unfair, unfair in the first place because of Nancy not telling him–like, I get it, your choice or whatever but you guys have been together for, like, a really significant period of time and you know how he feels about you–”
You and Ronnie can’t even get a breath in before Nancy rises from her seat, fingernails digging into tiny little fists at her side. She’s all spit and fury, she’s on Robin.
“Oh yeah, the worst way he could find out, Robin, the worst way which is that you blabbed to him!” Nancy yells, ricocheting around the gym, “‘Oh, I couldn’t help it, he asked me what was wrong and it all just came out–’ Give me a break! I mean, are you really that co-dependent that no one can tell you anything in confidence without you running to tell Steve?”
Robin’s face seizes in a snarl. “Are you really that stupid that you forgot to use protection with your long term boyfriend?”
“What is your problem?” Nancy’s voice whistles through her teeth, sheer exasperation, “How is this any of your business?”
“Should we stop this?” Ronnie whispers, with no intention of moving.
You shake your head in tiny, tiny increments, gossip monger past getting the best of you. “I kinda wanna see where this goes.”
“He is my friend, Nancy! And you broke his heart, dumping him right after– after–!”
Both your and Ronnie’s mouths drop into an ‘o’. You’re kind of disappointed–a big Wheeler-Harrington bust up and you weren’t first on the call list?!
“Jesus, Robin!” Nancy spits, perm flying, stomping towards Robin, “Get a personality! Sublimating yourself onto Steve Harrington isn’t doing you any favors!”
“Why, Nancy? I thought you loved him.” What confusing wording.
“I–”
Okay, these two girls are walking right into shit you can’t take back territory. You and Ronnie rush the bleachers, breaking the negative space between them both.
“Ladies! Break it up!”
“You heard Kaminsky! We’re all holding chisels, this could get ugly fast!”
You look to Nancy and her eyes are glistening. Reddening with the heat of anger and frustration. Robin’s jaw has hardened into a tough clinch, arms bound around her chest. Ronnie, she just lingers awkwardly, not quite knowing where to look. Your hand goes out to Nancy’s elbow, and she jerks away from you at first.
“Let’s go. Come on.”
“We’re supposed to be chiseling,” Nancy seethes. Your eyes roll, no patience for this go-nowhere brat routine, and you lead her to the other end of the bleachers anyway. Saying something like, we’ll take one end, Ronnie and Robin take the other, we’ll get this shit cleared in no time.
Nancy starts working furiously, but that’s kind of not what you had in mind here.
“You broke up with Steve?” you ask, point blank. Like she’d ask you.
She keeps chiseling for a few heavy, angry seconds. “I wasn’t gonna tell him, you know. I wasn’t gonna tell him, and we were gonna be fine. He could have lived without knowing. And then–fucking Buckley– and he had all these questions.”
“Like what?”
“Like why didn’t I tell him. And why was I so put out by the idea. Like, why didn’t I want to have his hypothetical baby at age seventeen… stupid shit like that.”
“He’s sensitive.”
“He’s a moron.”
“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” as if you didn’t have irrefutable proof in her favor. But that was the old Steve Harrington, wasn’t it? He’s meant to be some soft-hearted do-gooder dream boy now, right?
“No, Lacy, he’s a moron,” Nancy hisses, spit flying again; you’ve never seen her like this. Blue eyes bold and frightening with conviction. “Why should I have to tell Steve about something like that if it’s just a big nothing? If I was never even actually pregnant or whatever? Why can’t I just have that to forget about myself? Why do I owe him part of every single goddamn decision I make about my life?”
This is a bigger conversation, isn’t it? What you’d once regarded as poor Nancy and her perfect boyfriend, boo-fucking-hoo is now poor Nancy and her perfect boyfriend, stifled by his redemption.
“At least if he was still an asshole, I wouldn’t feel bad about breaking up with him. After all this.”
“Now it’s just like you’ve kicked a puppy.”
“Exactly.”
“What total bullshit.”
Nancy shoots the tiniest smile up at you, a stiff little nod bobbing her neck forward.
There’s a long beat as your focus reframes around Nancy. All the two of you wanted were lives of your own. Existences not indebted to anybody, good or bad. Shit.
“I’m the sublimator, by the way. I know that,” Nancy whispers, great big eyeballs glittering at you, “It’s easy to… fold into someone like Steve when, y’know… you’re not exactly likeable on your own. I just. I wanted to hurt her. She doesn’t deserve it. But I wanted to.”
Her chisel gestures towards Robin, working alongside Ronnie in relative silence that Ronnie awkwardly tries to puncture.
You understand that. Wanting to hurt people after you feel like they’ve breached your trust. Even accidentally. And doing it. And the ugliness of the shame after, you’re familiar with that too.
You reach forward and brush a little lint off her collar. “Thanks for getting in trouble for me, by the way. With that stupid prank and everything.”
“What are you talking about?” she scoffs softly, “You covered for me. And you didn’t have to.”
“Hey,” you hold out your pinkie finger. It’s the least you can do. “Promise is a promise, right?”
—
The members of Hellfire Club gather in an awkward row, standing under the odd, warm glow of the drama room lights like a police lineup of suspects least likely to score a date to homecoming. Sorry, Ronnie.
“What do you think,” you say, swiveling your focus to Jonathan, who’s standing there twice as awkwardly with his camera slung around his neck, “Should we take ‘em outside, make ‘em do Abbey Road?”
In the middle of it all sits the man who can’t help but be of the hour, what with the throne and the glowering and the gravitational pull. Eddie, slumped into that wild set piece left over from god knows what drama club production of, like, Henry VI or Pirates of Penzance or whatever, is so beyond unhappy with what’s unfolding in front of him.
Good.
Ronnie clearly hadn’t even fluffed him into the idea. Which she offered to do, when you’d hitched a ride home on the back of her bike after the tension of Saturday detention dissipated. You’d firmly nixed the idea, the sneak attack being the whole point of this thing.
You’d also learned that a two week suspension was no way no how going to keep Eddie from sneaking in and running this Hellfire session, which meant your article wouldn’t be delayed after all.
So, nah. Good ol’ Ronnie, she just let you stalk in there with your notebook and your pen and your glasses and your Pentax-wielding Jonathan Byers, ready to entirely fuck up Eddie’s day, which gave him no opportunity to protest or call for embargo. Because if he did, it’d raise eyebrows of suspicion and everyone would be like, I thought you two were weird trailer park friends? Is something going on? Something emotionally incoherent and ambiguously erotic? Should we tell everyone? Should we call the Mayor?
“Capital idea,” Eddie says, not exactly to you, but to those in general attendance like he’s playing to the cheap seats, “Maybe I can mow them down in my van and save them from this torture.”
Your smile tightens and Eddie matches your expression, both your mouths straining against your skulls. Wisecracks will not save him. He should know that by now.
“Let’s get a couple of the maestro while I excavate the disciples’ brains,” come the instructions and a swift pat to Jonathan’s shoulder. He flashes you a bewildered kind of look.
“Wh– how do you… want him?”
Incredible phrasing. You glance at Eddie, but not really at him–not enough that he can register and sucker your gaze in. Bathed under the dramatic glow like he was born to sprawl all cock-kneed on a throne like that.
“Exsanguinated and hung on a meat hook, preferably,” you say to Jonathan, “But, I trust you. Do whatever.”
As you gather the rest of the Hellfire denizens at the end of the table to interview them talking head style, Jonathan Byers slinks towards Eddie.
Eddie shifts uncomfortably, less equipped to keep up that fuck you stormcloud persona when he’s at the other end of a focusing lens. Plus, Byers always kind of gave him the creeps. Not to be a dick, but. Here we are.
Byers, to Eddie’s complete and utter horror, clears his throat and attempts to scrounge up some semblance of conversation. But, of course, it’s Jonathan Byers so it’s not fucking small talk. Any other day of the week, Eddie could get behind the notion of eschewing such how about this weather we’ve been having type social norms but Byers decides to jump in with–
“So you guys are…” he trails, leading the witness. Snap goes his little aperture. That’s unfair. Means he caught Eddie’s immediate facial reaction which, hands up, he has never been good at hiding.
“Neighbors,” Eddie supplies in a rush, twisting on his throne again. “She can… hear me yelling about DnD from my trailer. S’why she’s here. To shut me up, I guess.”
Byers adjusts his stance, capturing Eddie from a lower angle– a little more badass looking, he hopes. Frame the fucking curls, for god’s sake.
“Gotcha journalism,” Byers quips. Byers quips.
Eddie’s mouth relaxes and he huffs out a little, “Exactly.”
Byers shifts yet again, clearly covering all wondrous angles with his dinky little thirty-five millimetre whatever the fuck.
It’s not that this whole sneak attack article for the Streak thing is getting under Eddie’s skin– Eddie didn’t even have a chance to acknowledge it getting under his skin. You just breezed in here and started sticking bamboo spikes under his fingernails, like the little warmongtrix you are.
And now you’re sitting at the end of the game table, ruby red end of your fountain pen pointing at Gareth, noting down everything he says without even the slightest hint of condescension. These dorks are looking at you in awe and fear, save for Ronnie who just looks smug, and you’re listening to them. Really listening to them. Your face fixed with that hard little glare that tells him you’re recording the minutiae of their answers.
Eddie digs the pad of his thumb into his lip. Why would you want to do this? Why aren’t you avoiding him at all human cost? What is your angle here?
“She’s cool, y’know.” Click, goes Byer’s camera again. “Lacy.”
Eddie’s voice comes out distant, his focus tugging away from you super, super slowly.
“I heard you blew it with her.”
Byers, caught off guard, lowers his lens. “She told you about that?”
Eddie shrugs, like it’s nothing. It’d be easier to pretend like the idea of you and Byers hanging out was nothing if Byers and Eddie weren’t both classified outsiders.
“Well, uh,” Byers fiddles with something on his camera, shrugging in turn, “It was weird, talking to Lacy back then. You know. She was kind of–”
“She’s different now.” Eddie answers too fast, springing to a defense that didn’t call for him. He sits up a little bit straighter, spine iron-rodding, and tries to recover. “I mean. She’s retired the whole icy Swatch rat bit. She’s not, like– pretending to be something.”
Jonathan gets this look on his face. One last click of the camera.
“I wouldn’t know. I blew it, remember?” But you didn’t, man.
Little does he know.
“Are we done?” Eddie says, launching himself from his chair and slapping palms on the table. His DM screen shakes. Byers steps back with a flared little danger zone! look tossed your way. “We’ve already lost–”
“--fifteen minutes of glorious game time?” you drawl, crossing a final ‘t’ in your notes. “Of course. My apologies. Tight schedule?”
Your eyebrow arches as you flash your eyes up at him. His jaw flares. You– you’re good. You’re vicious and you’re good.
“Theee tightest,” Eddie grits through the falsest of grins and jerks his head, waves flying and the rest of his little Hellfire sheepies following in motion to take their seats.
Ronnie takes her time, mumbling under her breath, “You sure this is a good idea?”
And she was right, with what she’d said before. You are using this as an excuse to get in his face–bolstered only by the fact that he had now gotten in your pants, and you weren’t letting him slink off that easy. Especially with the workplace cameo appearance from Al Munson that you had just been forced to live through.
You’d been looking over your shoulder ever since, expecting to see him leering at you over those sickening aviator sunglasses.
“Oh, I’m positive,” you assure her, turning to Jonathan. “I need, like, one or two shots of them playing then you can take off.”
“Waiwaiwaiwaiwaiwaiwait,” Eddie interrupts, an arm raising over his head to signal halt, “Okay, so first, you storm the castle with your little camera boy without my approval, now you think you’re going to stay for the game?” His ire is genuine. “It’s Hellfire Club, Lacy. Members only. We don’t need bleacher bunnies.”
“Oh, come on, Munson!” you lilt, situating yourself on an abandoned desk, away from the game table. “The people want to know how the Satanic sausage is made.”
“The people being?”
“Your critics and fans. What is this all for, if not to piss off Hawkins’ Presbyterian and garner a whole new legion of Hellfire acolytes, huh?”
“We don’t need any help from the press on that front.”
“Really?” You drag out your single-word answer, using the seconds to count the minimal amount of players in the room. Not even Ronnie could boast 100% attendance, with her marching band obligations clashing with Hellfire sessions. Eddie glares at you. Yeah, yeah.
“A–actually, Eddie… I think it’d be… pretty cool,” Gareth says, waver slowly fading out of his voice. “I mean, if we’re in the school paper, my Mom’ll be less suspicious that we’re like–”
“--doing k-bombs in the drama room…” you mutter, loud enough that only Jonathan can hear.
“--and stuff.”
Eddie exhales so hard his nostrils flare, his shoulders tense, he’s about to shit.
“And who else would like to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Gareth the Treacherous here?” he snarls, looking pointedly around the table, “Jeff? Dougie? Cyrus? Ecker?”
The dorks erupt in yapping agreement, totally swinging for Gareth’s angle.
“Shut up!” Eddie barks, throwing himself back onto his throne. Ringed fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But this, in the business, is what they call a mutiny. Don’t come cryin’ to me when you’re all gettin’ swirlies with half of the Weekly Streak stuffed in your goddamn mouths.”
That’s creative. He really could have had a fruitful career as a bully if he wasn’t so gooey in the middle.
“Munson, I promise you can ride circles around me on a motorbike on live TV if this all goes to shit.”
You make a fluttering hand motion that reads proceed, which he, naturally, hates. He stares at you, like white light white heat searing through stares at you. And then his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath.
What follows is… exactly what you should have expected, actually.
Eddie Munson transports the present-and-correct party of adventurers back into the eye of their campaign. Their mission? Infiltrate a cult of royal knights that have been bewitched by a high priest who is forcing them to sacrifice the kingdom’s innocents in order to fuel his dastardly arcane magic. The plot is… involved. You’d done a light touch of research on how exactly the dragons and the dungeons all worked, so to speak, but it didn’t really seep into the membrane. It’s something you could only really engage with if you saw it in action– you’d have to rely on Eddie and company to fill in the blanks that the extensive lore left. Like, how exactly did these mythical dice come into play? How does a character sheet set you up for success, or failure? What the fuck is a skill check and why does it read so complicated?
And fill in they… kind of did.
Aside from the technical aspects, you find yourself suckered into the story. Quite literally, gripping your seat as Ronnie’s character–a highly capable bard, from what you understand–attempts to escape the hateful royal sect and find her way back to her party. They’d taken her hostage, and she’s managed to escape her chains but they’re ruthless, on her like dogs. Eddie illustrates every sweaty, panicky movement as they close in on her, and your fine, painted fingernails are dug into every word.
Eddie weaves these stories like gossamer– both in the sense of delicate intricacy and destructive nature of that big red monster thing from Looney Tunes. Each plot twist is created to elicit a sense of true foreboding, embellishing how effective his storytelling is. It forces each and every person at the table to face fear head on, dig deep and use what they were given in order to prevail, even if they’re shaking in their boots while doing it– shit, this is good, you should be writing this down.
Blindly, you sketch the word gossamer into your journal, not tearing your eyes away from the table. You barely notice the flash going off to your immediate right– Jonathan Byers’ lens pointed right at you.
“Uh–” you start, Jonathan reaching to grab his jacket from behind you as the game goes on.
“I’m headin’ out– gotta pick Will up from…” he trails off, but you fill in the blank. Nancy had mentioned that Mike was hosting his friends for a DnD session tonight too, and the party naturally included the most junior Byers. You nod, checking the time– Jesus, where had the last three hours gone?
“Tell Nancy I said hey, if you see her,” you say, “and thank you.”
Jonathan shrinks into himself, bashful. “Don’t worry about it.” A beat. “I still want that Echo & the Bunnymen, though.”
Your face peels into a grin that says don’t worry, I”m good for it! and you wave him off. The Hellfire party don’t even notice his leaving, except for Eddie who, being judge, jury and executioner, notices everything.
“...and on that sweltering note, germies and Eckermen, we must bid each other good eventide. Until next time.”
An operatic groan of disapproval goes up from the players, and you realize this must be a regular thing. Eddie always leaving them wanting more. Tease.
“I know, I know, if you had it your way, you’d be locked in here, pissing in buckets and the show would go on all night,” Eddie jeers, rising from his seat to start collecting his stuff, “but I wouldn’t inflict that on the janitorial staff. ‘kay? Scat. Outta my sight.”
With great indignation that swiftly turns into backslaps of appreciation, the Hellfire Club moves out of the drama room one by one. You stay put, and Eddie avoids your eyes completely.
Folding shit back into that madly overstuffed DM folder, he throws a strained-casual, “Need a ride?” to Ronnie, the last straggler.
She shakes her head, smile barely contained. “Uh-uh! Two wheeled my way here and I’ll two wheel my way back– you, uh, have fun though.”
“Bye, Ronnie,” you call after her, voice properly piercing through the air for the first time in hours. Eddie reacts like he’d completely forgotten you were there. Which, impossible. It’s also impossible for him to keep up the whole punk-ass overlord act when it’s just the two of you. As it is now.
Alone, together. Again.
There’s a charge between you, as if that even needs pointing out. Like the electric fences surrounding McCorkle’s farm.
You and the wagonful of your one-time buddies, Carol and Tommy and Tina et al, used to drive out there more than a little under the influence. Your favorite trespassing activity was reaching out for the electric fence, hooking your fingers around it to feel the darting shock permeating your skin.
“What the fuck are you doing? Can’t that, like, fry your brain?” Carol’d ask you, slugging back the last of her beer as Tommy and Steve Harrington attempted to tip a cow in the background somewhere.
“Try it, Care,” you’d giggled, half drunk and half coursing with adrenaline, half alive and half dead, “It feels weird. It feels good!”
You’d woken up the next morning in your plush bedroom in Loch Nora, two little blisters on your fingers, smarting from all that pleasure seeking. Did you regret it? Or did it just make you want to do it again?
Eddie still doesn’t look at you as he speaks from the opposite end of the table.
“Get everything you need?”
“No,” you answer, short. “Missing my key interview.”
Now he looks. Now he has the nerve to. And irises lock on irises, Eddie frozen in place. He knows he’s not getting out of this.
What’s more, you don’t think he really wants to.
“Pretty controversial subject matter,” he says, tone a whole shade softer than the commanding voice of God he’d used through the duration of the session. A little higher. Nervous. “What with the panic, and all.”
“Me and controversy are bedfellows,” your shoulder darts up, “I’m the big spoon.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” you nod; your tone is as marble-solid as ever, eyes trained and undarting, “Like when I implied the Tigers were straddling a generation-defining line of bold faced failure. I got in a lot of trouble for that.”
The corners of Eddie’s mouth twitch a little. “Define ‘a lot of trouble’ by your standards.”
“They made me print a retraction!” You’re genuinely incensed by the memory, hitching forward in your seat, “I mean, how insane? ‘Bad for school spirit,’ they said. Like I’m some kind of pep exorcist.”
Eddie tongue folds in between his teeth and he turns his head a split second too late. You can see him biting back a snicker, or something, and point to Lacy and yadda yadda yadda—but you smile, and the tension feels like it’s waning. Thank god, because it is suffocating you. You take your in and up you get, moving to the seat closest to his right-hand side.
“Can we get started?” The fountain pen is uncapped, the notebook cracked, your legs crossing. Eddie sinks back into the throne, his face warming up under the yellow stage lights.
“Okay. Hit me with your best shot.” Fire away.
You’re quick with it. “Why this?”
“Really? That’s your first question?” Eddie looks bemused.
“It’s the least rudimentary of all the Ws,” you explain nice and plainly, plucking up fingers to illustrate your points, “People know who you are–against their will, mostly. People can glean what the game is–or will, once I put a fine point on the… everything that just happened there. What people don’t get is why. Why indulge yourself in this?”
His fingers knit together in his lap, nearly shy.
“Because it’s fun.”
“Nope, too vague.”
“Vague?”
You physically knock the notion with a waving hand, leaning closer over the table, errant miniatures and spare pencils still scattered there.
“Basketball is fun. Chess club is fun. Throwing rocks into a rusted can of SpaghettiOs is fun if you can make a case for it. Too vague. Didn’t come here for the everyman answer.”
“What did you come here for?” That’s loaded. The way he’s daring himself to look at you is loaded. How soft his voice turns is loaded.
“The Munson answer.” It hangs in the air like someone dropped off the gallows. “Dig for me.”
A long, metastasizing beat. Resistance is futile, as it is and ever will be with you. Eddie hitches his arms across his chest, hiding a smile in the heel of his palm. Flattery works with him. Even if you'd never call this flattery.
“Escape,” he eventually tells you.
“Go on,” you press.
“There is this… insatiability when it comes to fantasy. To stories like this, the kind with big, thriving worldscapes. Reading ‘em, even writing ‘em– it’s good, but it isn’t enough sometimes. Sometimes you want to wrap yourself up in the reality of elsewhere. Travel to a world where things are different.”
“But not idyllic.”
Eddie’s eyebrows pull together.
“No. If these campaigns were just… the bad guys are defeated by a mighty sword that you and you alone always happen to have on you, that’s not a campaign. That’s a circle jerk.”
“The idea is to be challenged. To fight for something.”
“Right. To adventure. Beat the odds.”
“And you can’t do that alone.”
“Well, you can. I think that’s called, like, writing a book.”
“Ohh-kay, Eddie…”
“No, no, no, I mean,” Eddie shakes his head, planting his elbows on the table top, “Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the thrill of the unknown? Of not knowing what the other characters are gonna do, or what sick twist the dastardly, brilliant DM is gonna pull out next?”
He’s on one now, so you don’t stop him. Eddie’s eye takes on that mercurial shine, the same one he had while he was cruise directing the campaign. You wonder when he got like this—got bit by the God complex bug. Here, he could dare people to defy him when he’d been the defiant one his whole life.
You think about a littler him, yearning for escape.
“It also doesn’t work if everyone wants to be a hero. Too many heroes spoil the stew, okay, so you need to find other, y’know, likeminded weirdos who fall into different alignments. Those alignments only work when they’re played off other characters. Your merry band of outlaws or pirates or underdogs or whoever. You work together, or you betray each other, or you come back together because of some mighty sworn oath and you see your mission through. It’s not about winning or losing, y’know? Whatever happens out there,” he gestures to beyond the barricade of the drama room doors, “doesn’t matter. Whether life’s beating the shit out of them or not, my little acolytes, as you call ‘em, sit at this table and they’re part of something bigger. Something thrilling. Magical. Alchemic. They’re part of–”
“--a team.” You think about a littler him, yearning for people to escape with.
Eddie flaps his ever-animated hands. “Not my phrasing. But.”
“That thread runs through it all,” you say, drawing a line down the center of your notes with the inactive end of your pen, “Teamwork. Belonging. Victory– an escape from the mundane to victory, especially when you can’t find it elsewhere.”
Eddie’s chin rests on the back of his hand as he squints at you. “Sounding a little sportsmanlike there, Lacy.”
“And?”
“Thought you weren’t pulling for the everyman answer.”
“A hook’s a hook’s a hook,” you quirk your eyebrows, “–and, when you put it that way—”
“When you put it that way.”
“—what really makes you any different from, say, the Tigers?”
“Besides the cult of personality surrounding all jocks–”
“As if you don’t court your own little cult of personality—“
“—we actually win our campaigns.”
You start to retort, then stop. Letting that sink in.
“Oh. Oh, that’s good,” you say, sketching it down.
“I foresee letters to the editor in your future,” Eddie says, and he’s smug about it. Anything to aggregate the status quo, no matter what the blowback might be.
No one in their right mind here behaves like him. He just… does whatever he wants.
You find yourself wanting to touch the fence.
And maybe it’s that you stare at him a beat or so too long, but Eddie shifts his gaze down to the wood grain, flexing his hand. Scabs still marring his knuckles and all.
“It wasn’t broken or anything, then?” you ask, gesturing to his hand.
Eddie looks back up with a drag. You can feel what’s coming.
“Oh no, it was shattered,” he tells you, eyes-wide earnest and lying through his teeth, “My bones just heal super fast. My mom, she ate a shit ton of canned spinach when I was in ute.”
“Right, the calcium—”
“Nah. Rare botulism side effect,” he shrugs like, whaddaya gonna do!
Dumbass.
“Rare Botulism Side Effect is a good album title.”
“I’ll tell the guys.”
Silence falls again, and if you reach around, there’s something close to normalcy in there. Among the spikes and confusion.
“Um,” Eddie’s face contorts into a tiny cringe, “I found out what the… what the prank was, by the way. I obviously wasn’t here to witness the whole masterpiece theater of it all but– but Ronnie told me.”
A tight and ugly feeling constricts your chest. You look away, nodding through a grimace. You’d opened your locker with the practiced caution of someone diffusing a bomb since that whole incident, which sucks as someone who derives real joy from slamming metal doors.
“Pretty creative bit, huh?” is all you offer.
“Almost too creative for Hargrove,” Eddie counters, uprighting a fallen miniature with one finger.
“Are you trying to say I was being hysteric, jumping on his car?” It sounds like you’re offended, but.
“No,” Eddie meets you right where you’re at with this sparkle framing his stare, “I’m saying it was probably a collaborative effort. You could go seek even more batshit revenge, if you wanted to.”
“And would you be there to stop me before I cut Carol Perkins’ breaks?”
You can see Eddie biting his tongue between his teeth oh-so-lightly… Saliva catching in the low light. It���s warm in here. Stuffy.
“Prob–”
“I miss you.”
You cut him off in such a harsh, unforgiving way that Eddie feels his words rammed back down his throat. He blinks a couple of times, tempted to shake his head to make sure he heard you right. But there you are, your sight line running clean through him. You couldn’t be talking to anybody else.
“You do?” His voice is so small that his lips barely move. His lips, teased by his tongue, wetting them.
“Don’t act brand new. Everything’s harder without you. You have to know that.”
He gets snagged on the angles in your voice. By without you, he can only imagine you mean since he started giving you the cold shoulder and you started hitching rides in that college dork’s Ford Cortina. And by everything, he can only imagine…
“Lace…”
This is hard. This is horrible. This is uncomfortable and risky and as exposed as you have ever been, but it’s necessary.
“I can’t stand the tension of not being around you,” you say, breath feeling harsher as it speeds past your molars, “And I can’t stand the tension when I’m with you either, with you and wanting to–... so what do I do, Eddie?”
You focus on him, adjusting as if you were looking through the viewfinder of Jonathan’s Pentax. Eddie’s face, bewildered and angelic, with his parted mouth and his honorific glow of the stage lights haloing the frizz in his hair. He looks like something you want to commit to memory, as if to say see?! How could you deny this?
You rise from your seat, ever the investigator, and bear over him with hands on the table. Cards on the table, too. A genuine question smarts in your mouth, too sour candy you have to spit out.
“What do I do, Eddie?”
Eddie inhales with a sharp touch as you stand up, inspecting, demanding. He goes to tell you I don’t know… in the meekest of tones but the arch in your eyebrows says don’t you goddamn dare. You terrify him, and you make him dig.
“Forget it. Forget about all of it,” he breathes, almost tasting your perfume, “We can reset. Blank slate. Pretend like we don’t know each other. Pretend like none of this ever happened. It’d be better. Safer. Easy. Right? We could totally do that. We’ve fooled everybody so far. Even ourselves, into thinking this was… we could...”
“Fuck you,” you say in a soft rush.
Eddie only realizes that you’re both smiling when you kiss him. It’s clumsy at first, teeth knocking and everything, your hands winding around his collar and your frigid fingertips finding his neck. The shock of your skin on his, the matchstick crack of your mouth on his propels Eddie onto his motherfucking feet. He leans over you, knocking you into the table as your tongue works its way deep into his mouth.
You give him an, “Mm,” and if feels like an ascent to heaven.
Sparkles in the static makes the stuffiness evaporate, makes the room come alive. Your legs part to invite him closer to you, your hands faster and more insistent than his are. You pull at the hem of his Hellfire shirt and yank your head back, a string of saliva married between your mouths.
Fingers are more bold than they were in the nurse’s office, weaving the leather out of Eddie’s belt buckle. A deep ridge etches between Eddie’s eyebrows and his hands are propped in a mid-air surrender. Your eyes, your everything fucking eyes, are weighted with want. And challenge. Because you always do have to get one up on him.
“Reset this.” You tug at his zipper. “Tell me to stop.”
“Lacy…” Eddie whispers, watching you pull at the waistband of his boxers with his mouth agape. He’d dreamt about this. Thought about this. His cock about jumps into your hand like you’re Snow White and it’s a goddamned hummingbird. Pen marks on your fingers. “Jesus, y–...”
Eddie’s arms angle up behind his head, like a strung-up marionette, fabric of his shirt ghosting against his nipples in the stretch. This only makes him angle his hips further into you, eyelids flickering and his blood breaking the speed limit on its descent. Fuck, and then you fucking touch him– fingertips along the length of him, featherlight and goading.
Eddie’s groan is broken, half-caught in his nose. You’re looking at him like he’s a bad puppy, like you’re teaching him a lesson in scolding masking adoration. You’re beautiful and he wants to tell you so, but it all comes out in a whimper. Your hand closes around his cock, thumb brushing rii-iii-iight along the ridge of his head.
“Tell me to stop,” you echo yourself, and you’re fascinated that it comes out sounding like you know what you’re doing. You don’t. You’ve never been thrust into a net of feeling like this, never had anyone look at you the way Eddie is now– like he’d throw himself on a bed of open flames for you, so long as you kept touching him. It’s drunkard-making. It’s a full headrush. The gradual glisten of his reddening head looks delicious to you.
“Tell me to s–”
Grip tightens around him and Eddie moans from right in his sternum, his arms dropping to cradle around your head. He can’t believe he’s doing this, he can’t believe he’s fucking doing this but–
“Stop,” he gasps, fingers winding in your hair. His entire spinal cord is begging him to buck into your hand, your mouth, your anything, but he steels himself. “Stopstopstop, Lacy. Fuck– fuck.”
Your eyes widen, cheek in his palm. “Really?” Said in the most painful, the most misread did I do something? lilted tone. Your hand doesn’t exactly go slack right away.
“Yeah. Yes,” Eddie murmurs, eyes screwing closed and opening again, the most manual effort ever put behind a blink. “I c–I didn’t do this right, the first time. This is stupid. This is so stupid.”
And so your hands go, and you feel the anchor of your heart slowly dropping… But Eddie drops his face right down to yours.
“You deserve… so much more than giving me a handy on school property,” he tells you, and feels almost coherent about it. “Hot as it is. Right out of my… nastiest dreams as it is.”
Oh. Oh. The corners of your mouth pick up as Eddie presses his forehead to yours, just about evening out his breathing.
“Had a premonition about this, didja?” The pressure of his face on yours, his breath on yours, his skin on yours. It’s nice.
“Came to me in a vision,” he grins, crooked. Slides his thumbs along your cheeks and kisses you, slowly and noisily. “I’m a prognosticator.” Tongue half in, half out your mouth. Your heartbeat sinks between your legs. In a good way. “Been known to prognosticate.”
“Five dollar vocab word,” you mumble into his mouth, can’t help but push your body against him like a cat begging for attention. Eddie’s lips latch to the space right below your ear, a place where his mouth makes you feel like cymbals are clashing in your stomach.
“Come home with me,” he says, the note of pleading in his voice making your legs go numb. His nose and his lips dragging against the side of your neck, begging you to focus on the details and not the bigger picture. “Please.” A swallow. A beat. A ragged whisper. “... I missed you. Too. Y’know?”
“I do…” you sigh into his curls, readjusting his boxers, “actually need a ride… so.”
—
The van ride back to Forest Hills is tight with a tension that makes you both laugh, your mouth still buzzing from the kiss Eddie’d laid on you right before he’d helped you into the passenger seat. Even after he’d insisted you not touch him from the drama room to the parking lot, insisted because, “This thing,” he’d gestured to his crotch, his hard-on painfully zipped into submission, “this thing is gonna get me hauled over by the cops!”
“Don’t laugh!” you scold, mouth straining around the gleaming smile you’re suppressing, body all giddy. Voice ringing clear and high even over the cranked radio. Sabbath, naturally, Vol. 4. Wheels of Confusion sounds like treacle to you, mixed in with his laugh.
“I’m no-oo-oht!” Eddie says, syllables punctuated with chuckles, “I just– I am expressly escorting you back to my place! To, like, have sex with me!” His hands beat against the wheel, teeth sunk into that pretty bottom lip, giddy-upping so hard he actually does swerve the van a little.
“Woah!” you yelp, “Eddie, the road! You should’ve let me drive, you’re feral!”
Eddie moon eyes at you, reaching over to pinch your chin. “Lace, please don’t get all sore about this, but I will never trust you behind the wheel of this van. She’s a delicate piece of machinery and you would drive her like it’s the demolition derby.”
Narrowed eyes and all, you kind of have to concede. You’ve never been the best behind the wheel, a road rageaholic, and if you were to add feeling as frisky as you do now on top of that sundae… you press Eddie’s DM binder into your lap a little harder. Down, girl. He doesn’t help, thumb stroking your chin and everything.
“This is suh-rreal.”
“Stop zooming out so hard or I’m not gonna have sex with you!” You’re kidding. You’re so completely kidding. If he doesn’t touch you someplace lower than your neck soon, you’re going to disintegrate.
But Eddie pauses. “Like, you don’t. Have to.” Panicky, freezy. Hastily pulling on his good guy hat. “You don’t– by the way. It’s whatever you want. Call timeout at any time. I know I’ve been kinda–”
“Eddie.”
“...you still want to though, right?”
The giggling dies down as you edge closer and closer to your respective trailers, darkness washed over them like a swathe of dark blue paint. The lights in both trailers are out. Nobody home. Wayne, something about the weekend, something about overtime. Your mom… who knew. She’d been moving around in shadows more so than usual lately.
Everything out there is dimmed, except you two. Eddie doesn’t waste a second once the motor shuts off and the radio is silenced; he slams the driver door shut but the teensiest knot of hesitation tightens in your stomach before he reaches the passenger door.
And then he reaches the passenger door, gathering you out of it and pushing you up against the side of the van. Snapping you out of it instantaneously using the bare force of his mouth against yours.
“Eddie…” mumbled, your lips barely unstuck.
“Sorry. Shit, sorry. I just really like kissing you.”
Something pops in your chest; he’s… Jesus, he’s so sweet. Coal-eyed and excitable and lovely, kissing you with nothing left to spare.
“Hey. Redirect,” you shiver, his fingertips pressing into your waist. “Come to my place.”
Eddie casts a wide glance back toward your double-wide. The forbidden castle. “Your… y–are you sure?”
“Sure that my bedsheets are cleaner than yours, yes.”
He murmurs, “Bedsheets,” with a darkened gaze and a grunt. Bedsheets. You wanted him in your bedsheets. “Get your key. Get your key. Get your key before me and my dick have a shared brain hemorrhage.”
That new lock doesn’t stick at all, thank god.
Eddie, ordinarily, would nosily register all of his surroundings– he had an extremely barebones idea of your place, cast mostly in darkness like this, from that first night he’d driven you back from the fallout at Harrington’s. But he’s too busy nosily exploring your throat with his tongue, recording and archiving every breathy sound you make as you tug him toward your bedroom.
Cardboard boxes still trip you up a couple times. Did you ever unpack, or what?
You break from his heady kiss, vision doubling, taking in a lungful of air as you push Eddie through the door. Spine flattens against it as it shuts, the noise drawing a little bit of sobriety into the room. You reach to hit the floor lamp on and your bedroom is illuminated in a soft, orange glow, a scarf thrown over the bulb to diffuse light. A half-effort to make you forget where you were sometimes. It works; the edges of everything softens, which is such a contrast to the definitive presence that he is.
Eddie’s chest is heaving. He attempts to get his bearings but he can barely get his eyes off of you, squirming ever-so-slightly, ever-so-sexily against the door. Like you’d captured him.
Lips swollen, watching you watch him from the door, he turns a little shy and turns to look at the ephemera around him instead.
He’s standing in your bedroom.
You’re far more cluttered than he expected you to be.
He expected pressed sheets and a pristine dressing table, like a prison cell designed by a set dresser from Dynasty.
Well, that’s wrong, actually. He expected that of the Lacy people thought you were.
On the walls are a couple of tear-outs from the Rolling Stones he’d helped you liberate from your porch in Loch Nora, a mission you’d bought him breakfast for but didn’t have to. But mostly, every surface in the room is covered in piles. Piles of books, records, tapes, pens, jewelry, nail polish. And the clothes. They hung from everywhere, bursting out of your tiny closet space like bodies trying to escape.
It’s confused in here; feels like someone who has unearthed parts of herself that she hasn’t been able to organize yet. Eddie wants to comb through it like a collector at a rarities market, he thinks, running a finger along the spine of a porcelain cat that sits on your dresser.
“Place is filthy, cheerleader.”
“You’d know about mess, freak.”
The only really neat, clear space is, fortunate for tonight’s entertainment purposes, the bed.
As he’s sliding his jacket (jackets, plural) off, Eddie’s eye travels to the window.
“Did you fix your blinds?” he asks, pivoting back and forth on his heel.
“My blinds?” you parrot. The blinds that had been broken when you moved in. The ones that sure were shuttered now. You’d made a point to fix them with whatever was left out of your first paycheck from the Bookstore. “How’d you know about my blinds?”
He could’ve lied, if he caught himself quicker. If he didn’t straighten up his back like someone had snapped him to attention. “Uuh.”
It dawns on you like a flashlight in the eyeballs. “Were you… watching me, Munson?”
Not spying, mind. Not peeping. Watching. Eddie sinks down to sit on the edge of your bed, because whether or not he’s ever going to get to be here again kind of hangs in the balance right now.
“That. Dep…ends. What do you,” Please don’t kick him out. Please don’t kick him out. Look at the line of your fucking body as you round on him, staring him down like you want him for dinner. Christ, he hopes you want him for dinner.
Eddie swallows roughly, tone bumpy, face a dime store Halloween mask of nonchalance. Paper thin. “What do you think about that?”
Fact is, he’d subsisted on a couple of very guilty glimpses of you. Catching sight of the lines of your bare back and taught shoulders would keep him in jerk-off material for a week, just thinking about kneading out your knots and undoing your bra clasp with his teeth.
Eddie felt positively Victorian about it. Maybe you’d flash an ankle at him next and he’d be institutionalized for hysterics.
You look at him with the same pinpoint as you did earlier. Like you’re studying him. And then you edge closer, closer, nudging his knees apart. Echoes of the nurse’s office.
But this isn’t the goddamn nurse’s office. You’re not straining to adapt to the element of surprise. You know that the breath Eddie takes, shuddering and wondrous as you tilt his chin up to look at you, is a sound you want on repeat for as long as you can bear to hear sounds.
“They’ve blinded men for that, y’know? Before.”
Eddie can’t answer. Just let out a huh! as your fingers trace his jaw, thumb brushes his lip. His hands squeeze the curve of your ass, fingers beg into your thighs as he watches you, dumbstruck. His tongue unconsciously presses to the tip of your thumb and he hears your breath hitch.
A sustained shock travels up your neck.
“I mean, was it worth it?”
“Was it w… Lacy.” Eddie’s hands have breached the hem of your skirt and with a groan, his face burrows into the silken fabric of your shirt, like he’s trying to nudge it off with his nose or his mouth. Fingers are working mindlessly to loosen some article of clothing from your body and it makes you feel buzzy and trancelike. “Don’t ask stupid questions. I might have fuckin’ carpal tunnel because of you.”
Jesus. He makes you feel so…
Desired. Needed. You’ve never felt that way before, and you don’t quite know how to navigate it. So your buttons start coming undone with the work of one hand, the other shoving Eddie by the shoulder to lean back on your bed.
Eddie, here, among all your things. Disparate in your shabby little dollhouse, looking at you like you just swallowed the sun.
Your shirt comes off, and Eddie, in a game of match point, tugs his off too. Pause comes over the both of you. You’d seen him shirtless before; shower-bare in his trailer when the first security breach happened, a crack in the containment whatever you were pretending your relationship to each other was–affable enemies, irritated acquaintances. He’d looked at you like an animal cornered, tendons tense under his tattooed skin and you’d wanted to drag a finger or two down the center of his chest.
You didn’t, though. You’d sniped, asked where the cigarettes were.
This is all one big case of making up for lost time.
You’ve been looking at him so long, bra strap slipping off your shoulder, that Eddie leans forward. As if to come get you.
Remember me? I’m real. You can touch me. Touch me, please.
His warm arms pull you to him, pull you onto the bed, pull you against his lips. It’s gentler there; not as furtive. It says, hi, I’m here. Your arms, tugging him closer as he eases you beneath him say, good, I’ve been waiting. Eddie brushes his nose against yours, you laid down with your hair fanned out on the plush comforter.
Both your pulses must have stuttered at the same time.
His smile is serene but you can feel his forearms trembling. “I feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack.”
“Don’t,” you tell him, very quietly while his hand nervously tries to find the zipper on your skirt, “I just got you back.”
Your hips lift to help him and you’re wiggling the thing off and you’re wiggling your tights off and he’s thrashing his jeans off only to land back between your parted legs with bouncing recoil from the mattress. Laughter biting in one another’s mouths. The nerves are teeming off him in waves and it makes you want to kiss him all over.
The feeling housed in your body is different; not jittery, but struck somehow. This doesn’t feel like the way it usually feels, the way it does when you disappear into spare rooms at parties or the shadow of Skull Rock or hitch your leg up against the center console of someone’s shitty car. It doesn’t feel rote, like you’re doing it to stack up experience points– that is a Dungeons and Dragons term you found particularly interesting. How many bad tongue kisses had you accepted just to feel like you’re progressing, instead of waiting for someone who wants to taste you like Eddie does?
Your bodies caged together, you feel the eager, hard, tragically clothed line of him rub against your center. Eddie manages to free your bra clasp on the first try, which you almost goadingly applaud him for–but he cuts you short with a bewitched stare, his lovely, hot mouth laving over your nipple as he slips the fabric away. It tears the first real moan from you, your back arching into his kneading fingers as his tongue curves over your tightening bud.
Eddie can’t believe what he’s hearing. He can barely see straight, but he’s trying to commit every second of this to a glorious Technicolor memory, sound and image capturing working overtime. The sound that comes from your beautiful, balmy mouth sounds fresh out the packet–like you’d never made it for anyone before. The look of suppressed surprise on your face confirms as much and Eddie feels like he might explode.
He, too, has no idea what he’s doing but he can’t help his hips from jerking into you as he plays on. Playing with your nipples, remembering that making them glisten with his spit will make you whimper, and so will kissing the center of your sternum. He’s watching wide-eyed and fascinated as your brow furrows and your legs tighten around him. He’s a wonderful student, when he wants to be.
Eddie is throbbing, and there’s too much cotton and lace between you.
There’s also this other thing, and it comes out of him like word upchuck as you try to tease his boxers down around his hips using only your feet.
“I oughta tell you,” Eddie whispers, voice all raspy, all boyish with his hair tickling your collarbone, “I’m, uh. I’m not good at this.”
“At what?” He’s got one hand roaming over your chest, the other making indents in the meat of your thigh. It feels like he’s holding your breath right in his hands.
A new shade of pink rises high in Eddie’s already straining cheeks. He really doesn’t want to have to use his words to spell it out. “Thiii-iiss.”
Oh. A rivulet of cold realization runs through you. Nicole. Cass. Girls daring themselves to get near to him. Experience points. The great freak experiment project.
“This isn’t that.” Your hands hold his chin, perhaps a little roughly, to make sure he’s listening. And Eddie is, breath baited. You press your forehead to his like he pressed his forehead to yours. “It’s not.”
He’s really about to ask you, what is it, then? but that feels like something you can work out later. Eddie lets you tug at his lips and you let him tug at your panties, arching up so you can wiggle them down your legs. His eyes cast to the downy hair at your mound, and it’d usually occur to you to apologize for your unshaven legs, as if it mattered.
But the way he regards you doesn’t call for that; it calls for you to open up for him. Spread.
A rough pad of a finger runs along your slit, feeling the generous drip that’s gathered, and Eddie moans as your breath hitches into an animalistic, “hahh!”-- he’s edging down your body to bury his face there. He wants to feel you, smell you, taste you. You tense at the sudden contact of his palms pressing your thighs open, his nose against your clit and he feels it. A jolt of worry passes through him. Did you not want that? “Sorry–”
“Don’t– no, Eddie, don’t stop,” you strain, laugh a little, “You just… surprised me. Keep– keep surprising me. Please.”
Shockwaves break through you as he gingerly offers his tongue. And more, and more, until he’s lapping at you with a vigor and no real direction. You dig against him, made speechless by the building ache in your core.
In your fantasies, you hadn’t anticipated him being so giving–so eager to please and explore. Like all things, this moment projected itself in your head with the hard edges of some imagined cockiness, Eddie telling you to spread your legs and you, nymphlike and fluid and still somehow holding all the indiscriminate ‘power’, doing so.
But this? This is soft and messy and spitty and real. Eddie is drooling and babbling into your pussy with the uncalculated effect of someone who has improvised his whole life and it’s tearing you at the seams. A satisfying little rip, every keen movement he makes.
You know when you’re close to climax, that familiar feeling of your cunt suckling at nothing, but it doesn’t feel as jagged as the first time he brought you there. Urgently, you tug at his hair, claw at his shoulders, begging for his attention.
“Eddie,” you gasp and his hands flex around your thighs at the sound of his name in your mouth. It’s yours, he wants to tell you, rutting heedlessly into the mattress from his position between your legs, keep it! Please! “Eddie, Eddie– come here, come to me.”
Your velveteen voice summons him, his face glistening from the exploration of you. Embarrassment threatens to ping at you, but it flames into want, seeing how wet and obscene he looks. That’s all from you?
Eddie does as he’s told, heart pounding– and the sensation of fabric dragging against the raw tip of his cock nearly makes him pass out.
“Fuck! Fuck, you–” he stammers as your hand pulls his heavy length free, balls tightening under your firm touch, “N-not fuck you, obvi-ously, but–hunh–okay, kinda fuck you…”
Eddie’s lips fold against yours as he attempts, with shuddering arms, to brace himself over you. He whines at your dexterity, swiping his head against your entrance. The wetness from him, the wetness from you– the sheer impact of sensation slices clean through him. It’s not a tactic, you’re not teasing; you’re angling to get him inside you. You need to get him inside you, your entire body is begging for it.
“Baby, please, please, I’m not gonna last–”
“Who said you had to?” you ask, voice a drop of dark syrup. Just for him. “Who said you had to?”
The earnestness in your eyes gives Eddie pause– for all of a pulsating second.
“I want you… inside. Don’t you want to feel me?” you ask with real conviction, thumb swiping over his moistened head in a way that makes his vision go galactic.
Eddie yanks your hand away, kissing roughly it, nailing it beside your head as he tries to ease into you.
“Want? It’s all I want–fuck, it’s all I fucking think about, Lacy–huhh–”
His first attempt results in a gasp of pain– the sting, the stretch, it’s a little much a little fast. The sharpness has you wincing and has Eddie searching your face with an arrested kind of guilt.
“Y–shit, baby, are you–”
“I’m okay,” you recover, hand steadying on his flushed cheek. “Just–slower. Ease it in. You’re– you’re pretty remarkable, Eddie.”
“Remarkable?” he mumbles against your cheek, focused and slowly lining his head against your entrance. “Really?”
“Prodigiou—ss, uhh–fuck!” Whispered swears come streaming from you as he sinks right into the velvety constraints of your cunt.
Your eyes roll right back, mouth tipping open and the grip of you arresting around him makes him cry out into your chest.
Eddie’s cock is long and heavy and thick, constricted to the point where you can nearly feel every ridge of him. It hurts, the stretch of him aches, but it’s delicious–pinned and sweetly painful.
“Prodigious–is a five dollar–fuckin’--vocab word–” he strains, lifting his hips ever so slightly– you’re clutched onto him so tight that you move with him. Eddie open-mouth groans against your neck. “Lacy, Jesus, you’re so tight–you feel so good–how the fuck do you feel so good? Who invented you?!”
There’s a tinge of a giggle in your moaning, which doesn’t let up. Eddie’s voice rings out like a church bell, making one slow stroke inside you, then another. Then another, then another, picking up speed, groans chorusing into the hollow of your neck around the lewd sound of his flesh slapping against yours. The sound alone brings you close to cumming. “Oh, pleasepleaseplease, fuck, Lace, I’m g– fuck, I’m–”
The way Eddie’s hands are carving permanent marks into your hips, the way his movements are halting, you get the idea that… “You holding out on me?” you ask him, short of breath around your panting but demanding still, “Don’t you dare–don’t you dare.”
“Lacy, uhh– please, ’mgonnafucking–”
“Cum for me? Are you?”
Your fingers tug at his curls so you can look at him as his face tenses. Eddie’s hair is flattened across his head, face glimmering with exertion. You drag your lips against his forehead, the salty flavor of sweat breaking across your tastebuds.
“For you, for you, shit, only for you–only for you, only fucking ever–fuck–”
His dark eyes have been blown out since he pulled you to the mattress, eyelids flickering over his irises as he pistons into you with speed that hurts but you love it.
You barely hear yourself beginning a prayer of dirty little succors, but there it is, easing him through his orgasm as he shudders a load between your legs. “You feel like nothing on this fucking earth, you know that, you’re so good for me...” The tension breaks with one final rasping cry, his expression dissolving into a softness as he exhales a lungful, neck stretching to lean into your touch.
A couple of half-cracked dry sobs escape him.
Looking up at you, cradled against your shoulder, Eddie’s cursing himself for every second he’s wasted not doing this with you.
And you, looking down, are stroking his damp curls from his forehead and cursing yourself. You’re going to burn the world down for this boy.
“Lacy. You–”
And then, y’know, the fucking front door of the trailer clicks.
Little too much deja vu for your liking these days!
Immediately, you seize upwards, jolting a confused Eddie with you– which breaks your heart, in a way, seeing him darty-eyed and shocked out of his bliss so fast.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.” These are not like your prior ‘fucks’, he can register through the haze of his post-nut state. These are bad fucks. So he responds in turn, “Fuck?”
“My mom!” You hiss, naked and scrambling. Panic crests on you like a wave, a wave that should have been an orgasm mind fucking you, and your fingernails tear at the comforter beneath you.
“Under, under, gogogo!”
Because if there’s one thing your mother, in all her former-center-of-attention glory, loves to do? It’s enter a room uninvited.
Case in fucking point–
“Lacy?” A perfunctory knuckle rap from the other side of the door, just as you manage to hide Eddie by shoving him behind you and tenting the comforter around you both. You’re praying to anything with a little more gusto than God that it works. And then, enter your mother and her cloud of Shalimar.
Soon as she opens the door, you can tell something is terribly off.
She’s smiling, face as serene as the Virgin Mary. Usually she’s got a sharpened dagger of a glare, just for you. Two of you haven’t been spending much quality time lately, see.
“Lacy! What–” your mom’s brow knits, but it’s a look of amusement. Which freaks you out. She’s looking at your just-fucked-by-Eddie-Munson hair, isn’t she? The mascara that’s surely streaking down your face? Does she know? Can she sense he’s in this very room? “--what are you doing?”
“Napping. Crying. What does it look like?” you snap, hiking the comforter up a little further and begging that she doesn’t notice Eddie’s incriminating clothes strewn across the floor.
Eddie, for his part, is not breathing. He’s crouched behind your bare ass, a position he’s in no rush to get out of, arms caged around your thighs like a petrified child. This is almost funny–or would be, if he wasn’t scared shitless of everything your mom would definitely do to him if she discovered him buck ass naked in your bed.
Dreamily, Eddie reminds himself that he’s buck ass naked, in your bed. He smiles into one of your cheeks and considers how biteable it is.
“Well. Wrap it up,” your mom says, tone still light, and you twinge at the irony. At least you’re on the pill. “I have a surprise.”
Slam. Door shuts. Your lamp wobbles with the force of it and Eddie emerges from behind you, like a freshly-fucked groundhog.
“She sounds happy,” he mumbles, arms sliding up around your waist.
You want to kiss the mirth out his mouth but you have to shove him back behind you first– cue your mom, doubling back through the door. Jesus!
“What was that?”
“Nothing!” you say, shortly and breathily because Eddie nips at your fucking ass cheek back there. “Just–you sound happy, mom!”
She shakes her head at you, a smile curving her tulip colored lips, like a mom from a detergent commercial. Y’know, were it not for the whole Italian widow getup she’s alway sporting.
“Get on with it already.”
You count to a full five before you even let out a breath, snapping your attention back to reality and the fact that Eddie Munson is very naked in your very bed.
“You gotta get out of here,” you tell him, and you want to kill yourself about it.
The both of you balance on your knees. Eddie tugs you into him with shining, begging eyes. Standing almost at full attention again, already.
“Jesus, that thing’s impressive.”
Eddie’s fingers wind around the hair at the nape of your neck. Despite the brief jolt of fear from your little interruption just now, he’s all romance–totally suckered, rose-colored glasses, the whole bit. Thoughts not exactly creating a straight line just yet, but he doesn’t care. He’s had his hands all over you for the better part of an evening now, and he doesn’t want to let up just yet. It might kill him. It might kill him.
There’s no unringing this bell between the two of you, and he knows that.
And you knew it first, because you know everything first.
“You sure?” he hums into your sweet lips, “You absolutely positive? Because I could be real, real quiet…”
Eddie’s also thrilled by the fact that he seems to know instinctively what to do to turn you on.
“What if I don’t want you to be real, real quiet?”
You kiss him back, sighing and sliding a single finger down the length of his cock.
“Lace…” he whimpers to you, his commandant fantasy of being dominant in the bedroom officially, officially escorted out back and shot. He wants to please you too badly. Be the jester in your court that makes you cackle and makes you cum.
“Lacy!” a shrill yell comes from the hall. Your eyes snap open, Eddie’s dancing with amusement and yours heaving with alarm.
“Fuck, okay, go! Window!”
Another scramble, you tossing jeans and socks and the rest of Eddie’s uniform at him while you clean yourself off, try to pull a robe around yourself. A stray thought occurs to you as you watch him trip over himself, ripping the hole in his jeans a little further–you hate what he wears, but you love it on him. And off him. And…
You yank up those blinds and unlatch the window with a faint smile. Nothing about you two makes any conceivable sense–
Eddie starts out the window, shirt barely pulled down his torso and his shoes in his hands, then turns to hook you to him by the elbow. Smiling with the full blush of his mouth, he kisses you. Firm and knowing and whole.
–except that. That makes sense.
The pad of his finger clears a lock of rumpled hair from your forehead.
“To be continued?” Eddie searches your face, with those crazy dark brimming universes of eyes.
Your heart is leaping in your ribcage. You nod sharply, gleaming back at him.
“I’m comin’ back for you, Lacy Doevksi,” he tells you with all the brazen confidence he can muster. “And I am gonna go down on you until I drown. On pain of death, I swear it.”
“Go!” you command, and regret it as soon as he drops out of your bedroom window. Eddie starts a cant toward his trailer across the way.
“Faster!” you hiss, just as an excuse to watch him.
He pivots mid-jog, hair swinging wildly, his hand grabbing at his crotch.
“You try runnin’ with a hard on! Witch!”
It’s far, far, far too quiet once he’s escaped through the front door of his trailer.
It's not fair, you think. You should be basking in some kind of afterglow, sharing a stupid cliché cigarette, you feel like you should be... celebrating this.
You shouldn't have to keep running away from each other.
The warmth the two of you had created, through mere physical friction or just how much you… you like each other, rapidly dissipated into a chill as you advance through your bedroom door, to deal with the other thing.
Surprise, you thought, What kind of goddamn surprise could mother o'mine have for me? Did she boost a bank? Did she win the Indiana Sweepstakes? I don’t want to know about any g–
“Lorelei.”
The universe has a way of shoving you back in place when you get ahead of yourself.
You don’t just stop in your tracks, you’re repelled a half-step backwards. The centrifugal force urging you away, telling you there’s an immediate threat in the heart of your home.
No one uses that name anymore. Not even him. Not since you were fourteen.
“Daddy.”
Your father sits at the shabby dinette that you and your mother don’t even share meals at, sits there in the suit he was sentenced in. A rich navy pinstripe, chosen because gray would have been too flashy and black would admit defeat. “Of course!” your mother had said, marveling at his ingenuity. But the pantomime of his defense was wearing real thin on you; whispering at school had started growing louder and louder and you were finding more and more chips in the porcelain of your father’s worldly facade.
“Why not compromise. Wear charcoal,” you’d said, leaning against the kitchen counter in Loch Nora, drinking orange juice from your parents’ wedding crystal as the movers taped up your boxes, “You can plead guilty and still look smug about it.”
Your father had smacked the flute from your hand and it shattered in forty thousand pieces on the ground. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe, because you knew if you did, you’d be next.
Navy it was. And navy it is. He sits at that dinette like he’s expecting white jacket service. You swear even more gray has started glimmering through his hair. Flashy.
“Should I ask how you’re here?” you say, stiff and scared. Your mother, standing at your father’s shoulder, tuts and sighs. Can’t you just enjoy this? she silently bemoans.
“Good behavior,” Ray smiles, “Can’t say the same for you. Can I, Lorelei?”
“Principal Higgins called,” your mom chimes in, “Or rather, that odious little secretary called. You think you could get a Saturday detention and they just wouldn’t tell us?”
“That’s why he’s here?” You laugh a little, inwardly. “With all due respect, Daddy, that’s a terrible reason to break out of prison.”
To your surprise, your father chuckles too. Makes your blood run cold, obviously.
“Y’know, I really didn’t anticipate this for my homecoming, I gotta tell you,” he says, shifting in his seat and plucking a cigarillo from his jacket pocket. “I mean, honestly. I thought, a nice bottle of Beaujolais–”
“We’re fresh out,” you gesture to your cringing mother.
“--a dinner at, Christ, Enzo’s, since that’s where our budget is at now,” his lighter flicks and ignites the end, “But no. I have to sit here and cross-examine my daughter about… fraternizing with the lowest of criminal elements.”
The lack of self awareness here is off the fucking charts. It makes your blood pressure spike.
“Take a seat, Lacy,” your father so gallantly gestures to the vinyl backed kitchen chair in front of him, “and tell me all about Eddie Munson.”
Chair drags aggressively against the linoleum. You sit, and swear that the next time you’re caught off guard by anyone’s father, it’d better be God himself.
This bit is getting old.
author's notes: so i'm not fucking around when i say i need to hear everyone's thoughts on what just happened immediately. i really do think that happenings-wise, this was my favourite chapter to write thus far. felt cathartic, from the al munson to the hellfire article of it all. anyway. onto the good stuff
- like i feel like everyone who reads this series will have clocked this but of course i lifted the garlic slicing right out of goodfellas. i just think it's a perfect al munson attribute to have
- al munson kicking out the jams instead of picking up his kid i know that's right
- our dukes of hazzard ref is a tribute to my own personal al munson fancast
- not that paris, texas but this paris, texas. (and you know when lacy eventually gets eddie to watch it he CRIES. they both cry)
- i should probably put the repo man trailer in here as well
- speaking of another fancast! the manager of forest hills trailer park is, of course, to me, in my heart, carl rodd.
- the best song off of abbey road by the beatles, fight with the wall
- SHOULD WE CALL THE MAYOR
- lacy promising eddie that he can ride circles around her on a motor bike is a reference to hunter s thompson being ambushed on canadian television by one of the hells angels he wrote about in his book. dude rolls onto set on his hog. it's crazy.
- eddie is kinda gossamer coded
- cow tipping? at mccorkle's? anybody? our love is god
- god wheels of confusion is kinda horny sounding huh
i think that this might be the shortest references recap so far in the series?? one of them anyway. probably because i wrote 4k words of FILTH. anyway, thank you all so much for continuing to read this fucking thing. we're almost at the end of this part of the story which is wild to me. now let me get on your ass and remind you that REBLOGGING FICS IS ESSENTIAL TO YOUR FIC WRITERS HEALTH. SO ARE COMMENTS AND SO ARE ASKS so send those pls :) love you hellcats. be well, cats
#published by powder#hellfire & ice#in progress#e. munson by powder#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x f!reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x oc#stranger things fic#eddie munson fic
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your little sister's first love feat. oikawa, atsumu, osamu, kuroo
tags: headcanons, established relationship, fem! reader, reader's sister is six years old
sinopsis: your younger sister finds her first love in your boyfriend after introducing him to your family and he started hanging around your home you try to spend time together without breaking her heart.
oikawa
When she saw your boyfriend for the first time she got hearts in her eyes, Oikawa has quite an affinity with children, only that your sister was too affected by his sympathy.
He likes to play with your little sister for a while to tire her out and then have the whole afternoon for you, after all there are few afternoons he has free from training.
She fervently believes that Oikawa is her destined prince and Oikawa believes that he is YOUR destined prince.
You love your sister very much even though you get to a point where it stresses you out too much that she is so invasive when he comes to see you.
One day Oikawa came up with the idea of introducing you to his nephew, the plan worked like a charm.
Now you can say that you finally have Oikawa all to yourself.
atsumu
Ok, Atsumu is undeniably handsome and unintentionally also captivated your sister the day you introduced him to your family.
He is not so patient with children although there are exceptions, with your sister he was quite gentlemanly but that only generated more attachment from her towards him.
During a dinner you invited Atsumu to, he almost choked on his tea when your sister suddenly shouts that she was going to marry your boyfriend.
"I want to sleep with him!" she whined several times where he went to sleep over with you.
You were tired of his attachment until it occurred to you to ask Atsumu if he knew of any children's sports clubs.
He quickly understood your idea and came up with nothing more creative than signing her up for a volleyball club for girls.
Ding dong
Your sister went from being in love with the blonde Miya to asking him to please teach her how to get better at volleyball.
How could he refuse that? At the end of the little practice he would lock you in his arms all night in your room.
osamu
Well, unlike Atsumu, Osamu does have patience with children.
He is so calm and gentle that even your mother encourages you to bring him home more often.
Osamu can better master the situation of your little sister's crush, distracting her by making cooking evenings which he also loves to do with you.
It turns out that cooking onigiris drained all her energy and consequently in the evening Osamu had all the time in the world to devote to you.
Although your sister was a bit more stubborn and tried to sneak in between the two of you.
Osamu remembered those classic legends his grandmother used to tell him and his brother and decided to tell them to your sister to see if he could get anywhere.
She was intrigued to learn about the famous red thread of destiny, although you also saw the bewilderment in her eyes when she learned that her first love already had his betrothed partner by his side.
kuroo
Your little sister didn't fall in love at first sight when you brought your boyfriend to the apartment where you live with your family.
The thing is, Kuroo was so nice and friendly to her that she gradually developed a crush on him.
He didn't take her seriously, he even liked to be openly affectionate with you because he feels this need to show you off to the world.
Your sister didn't take it well at all that Kuroo had a preference for you....
Whenever he came to see you she insisted on being the first to greet him, she also intruded on your hugs because she was jealous of the attention he gave you.
It wasn't long before you were feeling frustration at not being able to spend time alone together.
Your mother decided to intervene when your sister made a move to kiss Kuroo making him quite uncomfortable.
"My boyfriend, not yours" you tell her jokingly trying to hide your discomfort.
One night you were both quietly cuddling in your bed when you heard your sister crying inconsolably, after your mother calmed her down and left her sleeping in her room she confessed to you that she lied to her and told her you were getting married.
Apparently the lie worked, she didn't even want to see Kuroo again.
"It's not that much of a lie though" you hear the black-haired man say. "Someday you'll be my wife."
You smile shaking your head slightly, Kuroo kisses your forehead and you both go back to your room.
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x you#haikyuu fic#kuroo x reader#atsumu x reader#oikawa x reader#osamu x reader#hq x reader#hq imagines#hq hcs#kuroo tetsuro x reader#oikawa tooru x reader#atsumu miya x reader#osamu miya x reader
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Can I request for Lilia, Trey, Kalim on how they will confess to F!MC?
confessions; lilia, trey, and kalim!
lilia vanrouge
he already has basically indirectly taken you out on dates. for instance, when he once brought you to diasomnia to eat (dont worry, not his cooking) and it happened to be JUST the two of you to make it. with flowers and candles and everything. how convenient. he stares at you from his side of the table with his head in his hands as you look around at the little set up confused... but it's not like you're complaining anyways.
he sort of treats you already like you are in a relationship. i mean, with how close he has gotten to you- sometimes it may just feel that way around him. he likes that. he's always treating you and talking to you how someone in a relationship would. but its also easy to confuse that with how he normally is since he is... pretty eccentric.
with lilia, its truly a mystery on when or how he'll confess to you. lilia has no problem being open with his feelings, he does bring it up to the others in diasomnia. but lilia has basically already confessed to you all the time, he straight up tells you. you could ask him why he likes being around you so much and lilia will simply state "because i love you, why else?".
trey clover
treys mind gets preoccupied for a while, troubled with the idea on how to even confess to you. he'll be what seems to be in thought and ends up getting distracted from tasks and duties often. even you yourself ask what's the matter and he'll snap out and give you a small smile "hm? ah well, rook did something pretty crazy earlier during science club today...." he laughs and brushes it off. nope he was trying to figure you out more, thinking what you would want most in a confession.
unfortunately for him as well, he doesn't have exactly anyone to ask for advice, he's usually the guy people go to for help and such. though he would confide in riddle, his own childhood friend... riddle is not quite experienced with love himself ^^;. and cater is well... cater. probably gave him a bunch of completely over the top ways but trey laughs telling him that isn't exactly his thing.
i've mentioned this before but trey canonically isn't good at professing love or be all smooth with flirting.... like at all. like he's really bad at it. so, he prompts to do something he is actually good at and decides to make a gift basket of sorts filled with your most favorite baked goods. he even decorated them to look cute, he's got good experience when at his family's bakery anyway. with that, he'll write you a sweet but simple letter. since he can't really bring himself to say it in words.
kalim al-asim
you could see his infatuation with you from a mile away. he is so painfully obvious you'd have to be completely dense not to see. nevertheless, kalim still wants to ask you out, the right way! an amazingly romantic way! he'd come excited to jamil at literally an early hour of the morning after thinking about it practically all night. knocking at his dorm door and be like "guess what! i came up with the most perfect plan!!" proceeds to instantly gets the door slammed on him.
kalim spends the whole day getting ready, trying his best to get everything ready. he'll have a normal party/celebration at his dorm and when you're both on a carpet ride boom, he'll confess to you. he spends the whole day smiling like a total idiot as he gets everything ready. at least that's how he imagines and hopes it'll turn out.
he cannot keep his eyes off of you the whole time, he's practically glued to your side. unfortunately, as he WAS about to confess, holding your hands to him, looking at you with a lovestruck smile, there was a mishap on the carpet ride. it wasn't seriously bad and besides, it only led to the two of you laughing together as you get up. even though you two are a bit disheveled and his "perfect plan" got messed up. he'll happily continue and blurt out the rest of his confession right there.
#disney twst#twst#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#disney twisted wonderland#twst headcanons#twst wonderland#twisted wonderland#twst imagines#lilia x reader#kalim x reader#trey x reader#lilia vanrouge x reader#kalim al-asim x reader#trey clover x reader
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𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞
⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!
a/n: I made a quiz ‘Which Son Is Your Old Man’, so you can find out once and for all who you would be best suited to!
Warnings: swears, mentions of violence, smoking, drugs
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ
𝐉𝐚𝐱 𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫
・Yes, he does spend a lot of time doing club business. But it also means he’s home randomly throughout the day.
・His speciality is making breakfast; eggs, bacon, toast, french toast, waffles etc
・Yes, he did develop the skill from all the one night stands he’s had...
・But hey, at least now you’re the one that reaps the reward!
・Doesn’t snore in his sleep, but does toss and turn a lot
・Sometimes he has really really bad nightmares. He doesn’t want to wake you up, so he goes and has a smoke outside
・Really loves chewing on ice cubes. When you get McDonalds, he’ll eat everyone’s ice from their drinks (obviously after their done with it)
・When you’re feeling down; physically or mentally, he’ll read to you. Jax bought you a new edition of your favourite book for your birthday and he’s so used to holding it in his hands by now.
・Really likes when you light candles when he gets home, he prefers them over the overhead lighting
・Doesn’t like loud sudden noises - definitely has undiagnosed PTSD. He’s gotten really good at hiding it, but some days - when he has really long showers, you know it’s a bad day
𝐎𝐩𝐢𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧
・When he isn’t doing things for the club, he loves to work in ‘the shed’.
・He has a lot of projects going on - making garden beds for Gemma’s events,
・Opie usually ends up trekking dust, shredded timber and so on throughout the house. You make him have a shower as soon as he’s finished working outside.
・But you can’t lie, he does create some beautiful things.
・He made a dining room table - and the detailing was so amazing you nearly teared up
・Opie is great at painting as well, honestly, he’s just good at general renovations. Somehow he knows how to do stuff around the house - unclogging drains, fixing pipes, changing lightbulbs, stopping leaks etc
・Opie’s like your own handy man!
・Secretly a cat person. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t mind dogs. They’re great, but cats are so unpredictable - without the risk. He finds them so interesting.
・Loves Disney movies, especially the cartoon version of Robin Hood. You’ll find him humming the song about Robin and Little John
・Likes that he towers of you and will put things out of your reach just to rile you up
𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐬 𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝
・Actively cleans up after himself and you.
・Really likes a clean home, and he’s lived on his own for a long time, so he knows how to run a house
・He also grew up around a lot of women, so he knows how to cook some great meals
・Chibs was also whipped into shape by these women, so that’s why it’s ingrained in him...
・Knows a lot of Scottish drinking songs, and he always sings them when he’s had a few too much to drink
・And his voice is actually quite lovely
・He also sings in the shower
・A loud gruff Scottish man singing in your shower always brightens your day
・Automatically turns the kettle on when he gets home (and will make tea for two, knowing exactly how you like it)
・Not a lot of random visitors, he likes to keep business and his home life separate. Even though the club is his life, he likes having his own space
𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐰𝐦𝐚𝐧
・Many, many takeout and movie nights
・Especially when he’s been gone on club business
・Does the washing and folding for both your clothes. It was his main job when he lived at home too.
・Also mows the lawn without a shirt on, so that’s...a fun sight to see (he likes showing off in front of you)
・Loves the movie Avatar; would definitely go into a deep dive of how it all works and how they created it.
・Would die if you showed interest in it as well. You bought him a book about the characters and he spent a whole afternoon reading it
・Surprises everyone with how much he loves books
・A man of few words, he actually has really profound things to say. Some of it can be really poetic...
・Likes having his shoulders rubbed, and in return, he massages your feet
・Is really good at looking after you when you’re sick. He has a lot of homemade recipes; soups, oldwives tricks etc. (Except the term ‘oldwives tricks’ shouldn’t be overlooked. A lot of their
𝐓𝐢𝐠 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫
・Rescue dogs galore
・Tig hates seeing any animal hurt, but he has a special place in his heart for dogs
・Big fucking snorer, and is out as soon as his head hits the pillow
・Hates cooking but doesn’t mind doing the dishes - yeah he’s fucked up that way
・So you handle the food; he’ll get the groceries, but for the love of god he cannot make a proper grown up dish
・In return, he doesn’t mind doing the vaccuuming and mopping (he would so dress up in a maid’s outfit and do it)
・Whenever he wakes up in the middle of the night, he goes into the loungeroom to watch cartoons - like popeye
・Cried while watching Titanic btw
・Oh and has a stash of different types of drugs. Nothing too hardcore though.
・He also makes you have an unregistered firearm so you can protect yourself
・Also loves comic books. He’s a DC kinda guy...yes, his favourite character is Joker
#witch the writer preferences#sons of anarchy#sons of anarchy headcanon#sons of anarchy x reader#jax teller#jax teller headcanons#jax teller x reader#chibs telford#chibs x reader#chibs telford x reader#chibs telford headcanons#happy lowman#happy lowman headcanons#opie winston#opie winston headcanons#opie#opie headcanons#tig trager#tig headcanons#tig trager headcanons#tig x you#tig trager x reader#soa#soa headcanons#soa x reader#soa preferences#preference#preferences#sons of anarchy preferences#sons of anarchy preference
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Vampire knight 2
Male reader - fluff - angst - omegaverse
(name) was a wanderer.
So that's why the night class made a form of buddy system when they went to town, the Omega currently holding hands with Ruka and looking at all the shops, many of the alphas getting (name) gifts in an attempt to court him but the Omega just thought they were being good friends and accepted the gifts.
(Name) made his weekly stop at the candy store, the owners used to the night class at this point and greeted them politely as they watched (name) grab multiple bags and stock up on candy, he didn't like different candies touching.
The night class got a few things, nowhere on the scale of (name) who had six full bags of candy totalling to 208.13 dollars but the Omega was happy none the less as he was transferred to Ichigo who let the Omega drag him around.
It happened again.
Though this time he was indoors.
The smell of sweets caught his attention as he wandered into a room, seeing day students making baked goods "oh? Hello!" One of the students said happily, a fellow Omega and (name) looked at the cake she held in her hands with an intensely one would not expect "would you like some?" She asked as the other students cooed at the night student who nodded "please and thank you"
The baking/cooking club got him a slice and something to drink and even joined him "So what's the night class like? I couldn't imagine being up all night" one of them asked, a beta with a short bob (name) noted to himself "I'm used to it..." (Name) mumbled "what is this?"
"This is the culinary club!"
"Culinary club?"
"Yeah we make food and stuff!" Another said and (name)s looked interested "are you interested in joining?"
(Name) wasn't sure if he could but accepted an application none the less.
"Culinary club?" Kaname read the club application with an unreadable expression and (name) held a to-go container with cake "is this just so you can get sweets?" Ichigo asked with a sweet smile and (name) thought "they were nice..." He said simply and the others smiled at this but also... (Name) was precious cargo.
He was a vampire yes and could hold himself but the alphas of the night class were incredibly protective and territorial of the Omega.
And they didn't need someone like (name) being contaminated with... humans.
He wasn't a pureblood but he was a male Omega so he was held to the same regard.
"No" Kaname said simply and (name) deflated visibly, he liked the nice humans in the culinary club; they made nice conversation and fed him.
(Name) was silent as he nodded and left with his cake, he wanted to talk to his new friends more...
(Name) returned to the culinary club.
Kaname never said he couldn't visit.
"It sucks you can't join but we love having you here!" They said as they put cookies on a plate and let (name) eat the treats.
The club never really knew much about the night class, they kind of avoided the club centered around them though they did find them pretty.
(Name) was cute but in a "I want to protect you" sense as his cheeks puffed from the amount of food he was eating.
"He went to the club" Kaname said with a tone unrecognizable and the room was cold "Senri"
"Of course Lord Kaname"
Shiki hated that he had to take (name) away from this, he was clearly enjoying himself and making friends but Lord Kanames word was final.
"(Name)" (name) halted and tilted his head in confusion "guess it's time for you to go" one of the members said saidly and (name) stood and bid his goodbyes "he's quite upset with you"
"But I didn't join the club?"
"But you went back"
The night class dorms were quiet as Kaname sat at on an ornate couch "leave us" Kaname instructs before standing and walking to the Omega "I said you couldn't join" Kaname said calmly, an icy undertone to it and (name) looked frustrated "but you didn't say I couldn't go back" (name) argued and Kaname tilted his head "if you go back you will be punished"
"But I enjoyed it" (name) rarely spoke this much and Kaname wished it wasn't because he was arguing with him and Kaname could see the sleepy vampire grow frustrated "What if I asked Yuuki to join me?"
"Don't inconvenience her"
(Name) felt frustrated and unheard, he didn't understand why this was such an issue.
They all got to do what they desired so why couldn't (name) have this?
(Name) was silent for the rest of the night, fuming and the others (excluding Kaname) could understand his frustrations but they also knew how risky it could be having their pack Omega out by himself.
(Name) ripped apart his closet as he began making a nest in it, his Omega sensing the distress and deciding that he needed to be somewhere safe as his collar was thrown somewhere.
The sensation was frustrating him further.
When his nest was complete he crawled in, snuggling in a blanket and got comfortable as he began zoning out, the anger exhausting him further.
"He's nesting" Rima said after checking on (name), holding his collar "his heat isn't for another three weeks though?" Aido asked confused as (name) only remade his nest before his heat "I think I know why" Ruka sighed, Lord Kaname stepped out for a meeting with the headmaster and thus they were left to handle what he did "his Omega is distressed" she said worried on (name)s behalf as the two were quite close.
Kaname raised an eyebrow as a group of day students walked to the night dorms with containers "oh! Kuran!" One of the girls said politely "we haven't seen (name) in a while and Aido said he had a cold so we brought him some things to make him feel better, could you give these to him?" One of them asked and Kaname put on a smile "I will, thank you for being so considerate" though he didn't particularly care for them or their gestures.
He didn't like how close they seemed to think they were to (name).
(Name) hadn't eaten in two days (snacks not included) nor had he left his room, missing classes in the process.
Kaname stood in front of the closet annoyed, he was tired of the omegas tantrums and childish behaviour "it's time for this to stop" Kaname commanded only to get no reply, the brunette opening the door to find it... Empty?
Zero wasn't sure what to do.
Yes this was a vampire but this was also a feral distressed Omega.
(Name) clung to the silver haired alpha for safety, deeming the night dorms unsafe due to stress.
So now Zero had an Omega without a collar in a night gown holding him in a death grip as he walked to the headmasters office.
"Oh shut up" his mentor, Yuuki and Cross all giggled at the sight as he now sat with (name) and VERY begrudgingly let the Omega play with his hair.
"I think he think your his pup" Toga said taking a sip from his drink "how do we fix... This?"
"Well normally we would get the omegas alpha or family involved but seeing as he has neither we would get whomever is currently watching over him"
And that was technically Ruka at this moment and when word got out on (name)s whereabouts, the others followed.
See Zero wasn't normally petty but seeing Kaname and the other alphas in the night class seethe at the fact (name) was cuddling zero to his chest and playing with his hair and all but hissing at them was fucking hilarious to him. If looks could kill Zero would be dead.
"(Name) come here" Kaname instructs the Omega "he's not a dog asshole" Zero didn't know why he was defending (name) but Kaname was treating (name) like he was some dog misbehaving and not a stressed out Omega "why is (name) like this?" Yuuki asked and Aido sighed "he wanted to join the culinary club or at least visit"
"And why couldn't he?"
Toga hated vampires but during his time teaching the night class he had come to understand that (name) was harmless, he really just wanted to sleep and occasionally steal pens.
"It's dangerous for an Omega like himself to be out like that"
"And you guys couldn't go with him? It's a pretty fucking reasonable request" Zero said and Cross scolded him for swearing "what about the fangirls? They literally tried attacking him"
"We could arrange him an escort" Cross said simply and Kaname was frustrated "he's not joining"
"God you're insufferable, no wonder he left"
Kanames eyes shifted and the room went cold as he took Zero as a challenge for (name) "you treat him like he's property to you when he's not, he belongs to no one"
It shocked the others at the fact that someone like zero, someone whose been so hurt by vampire's would be defending one but he couldn't help it, out of all of them (name) was the least threatening.
Did he want a vampire near humans? No absolutely not.
But did he want to piss off Kaname? Oh most definitely.
Kaname didn't want to harm (name).
He couldn't.
He couldn't and wouldn't hurt his future mate.
"(Name) is a student here and it's his right if he wants to join a club under supervision he's welcome to"
Kaname seethed silently and (name) recognized in his lizard brain that Kaname was a pack mate and seeing him so upset made him whine and Kaname snapped his attention back to him and decided to take this from another approach.
Kaname pumped out pharamones that got (name)s attention, using the omegas subconscious need to mediate and calm their packmates to his advantage.
Everyone watched as (name) got up and walked into Kanames arms to try and calm the pack alpha down and Kaname lifted him and walked out.
"Well that happened" Cross said simply and the night class bid their farewells to the headmaster and others before following the two, (name) still feral but at least letting Kaname remotely near him, Kaname passive as he let (name) scent him as they returned to the dorms.
He supposed he could let (name)... Occasionally visit this club if it meant he didn't do whatever this was.
Kaname abused this time with (name), bringing him to his room and holding him close and felt (name) nip at his neck, (name) hadn't eaten in days after all.
'he will be my mate after all...' Kaname was deadset on romancing (name) as he tilted his neck and guided (name) who nosed at his neck before biting, clearly hungry as he clung to him.
Shame (name) probably wouldn't remember this , the omegas memory was always hazy after he went feral.
When (name) finished there was blood staining his lips and be looked not unlike when he ate that birthday cake.
"Messy..." Kaname said cleaning (name) up with his shirt, (name) was ready to sleep and practically out cold in his arms.
Getting up Kaname changed in his clothes and pretended they were in the grand bed back home mated and expecting.
#vampire knight x male reader#vampire knight x reader#male Reader#x male reader#kaname x reader#multi character x reader#omegaverse#omega male reader
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Hey anon! I love the idea, thanks for your request <3
Just us
pairing ⁀➷ henry cavill x fem!reader
word count ⁀➷ 2.2k
summary ⁀➷ up in the ask
warnings ⁀➷ age gap (reader is in early 20’s, henry is 38), pure fluff, drunk Henry (but not in a bad way?), H/F means Henry's Friend, paparazzi
a/n ⁀➷ thanks for the request anon this was a blast to write!
Since an anon pointed this out to me; („paparazzi get called and scheduled“) they can also get their information about the whereabouts of a celeb from bartenders, spotters, etc… Please remember that I write fiction and not everything is like real life 100% of the time 🫶
Here’s my h.c. playlist
🥤my kofi if you’d like to leave a tip🩷
The night was truly not as you would have imagined it to be.
„Henry... c'mon bear, let's go home." you said, trying to get him off the barstool.
„You look beautiful.“ He slurred in your ear.
Goosebumps immediately spread over your entire body. You quickly kissed the corner of his lips, "Thanks. You look terribly handsome though, even drunk.“ you whispered with a chuckle, „That should be illegal."
His hands wandered to your hips, his fingers tracing shapes all the way up to your bra.
Henry was drunk as hell, and you had to get him home now before he did something in public, that he would regret later.
Luckily, one of his mates had your number and texted you about half an hour ago.
H/F: Hey Y/N can you please pick Henry up? We might have had a little too much of…. everything...
You: I'm on my way
You instantly hoped that there would be no press around.
You couldn't use paparazzi now, but they kind of always knew where Henry was. At any time of the day… or night.
Henry's friend had sent you the address of the club right after your last message.
Usually Henry wasn't someone who partied much. You spent your weekends together on the couch, walking Kal, or cooking together. But who never went out partying on a weekend?
"Kal?" you peeked through the door into the living room. His head lifted from his big dog bed, and he looked at you, panting.
"I'm going to pick up Daddy, will you watch the house while I'm gone?" Excitedly, he wagged his tail when he trotted to you as if confirming it to you to watch out. Lovingly, you petted him behind his ears. "I won't be gone for long."
"Alright." You muttered to yourself as the car came to a hold. You thanked the cab driver who would wait for you, and got out at the back entrance of the club. You wouldn't have found a parking space in front of the club by car, so the cab was clearly the better option.
Fortunately, it wasn't very busy, and you couldn't see any paparazzi. You took your ID out of your pocket and immediately received a few strange looks from the security guards. Sure, probably very few people came here in jeans, a hoodie and sneakers.
The club was loud and sweaty, and you could feel the bass of the music pulse through your body.
Just then you realized that you didn't know where they were, and the club was quite big, so you texted Henry's friend again.
You: I'm here, where are you?
H/F: At the bar, you have to get to the back of the club
You: Thanks
Making your way through the crowd, you began to sweat in your hoodie but couldn't take it off unless you wanted to walk around in only your bra, which you obviously didn't. You saw them just a moment later, all of them looking rather drunk. A chuckle left your lips when you saw Henry on a bar stool, resting his elbow on the counter. He was clearly drunk as hell. You wondered how they managed not to get the attention of the whole club by now, usually wherever Henry went the people recognized him. Right when you thought that, two girls walked up to them.
Henry didn't even see them, too interested to get the bartender's attention for another drink. His friends did though, just for the two girls to tap Henry's shoulder and flash him a flirty smile. He turned around by the sudden touch and drew his brows together. You couldn't hear what they were saying, but you grinned when he pursed his lips, shaking his head with raised brows.
He removed the girl's hand off of his arm, and his friends suppressed a laugh.
Just then, you finally reached them and immediately caught Henry's attention. „Hi, boys.“ you greeted his friends, and immediately got smiles and waving hands back.
„Excuse me, if you'd be so nice…“ You dryly said and squeezed past the girls, „l'm going to get this drunk mountain of a man home.“
„And who are you?" One of them asked with a deprecating look, eyeing you up and down.
„Mine." Henry answered for you. He grabbed the hem of your hoodie and pulled you to his chest. „Hey baby.” He purred as he put his big hands on your cheeks and kissed you.
You could taste the alcohol on his lips but didn't mind one bit. His curls were tousled, and you wanted to run your hands through them, to make them even messier. And as much as you wanted to keep kissing him, you broke away from him.
Henry still had his hands on your cheeks.
Your hands went to his and gently withdrew them from your cheeks. "You need a bed." you laughed lightly.
"Only if you are part of the bed too." He grinned and you shook your head, giggling. "Not today, Cavill."
Henry grimaced, „C'mon baby…..please".
„How old are you anyway?" one of them interrupted the two of you. „Yeah, are you even allowed into a club?" the two girls were still giving you deprecating looks,
„I'm old enough, thanks for your concern." you tried your best to sound as nice as you could.
„Henry... c'mon bear, let's go home." you said, trying to get him off the barstool.
„You look beautiful." He slurred in your ear. Goosebumps immediately spread over your entire body.
You quickly kissed the corner of his lips, "Thanks. You look terribly handsome though, even drunk.“ you whispered with a chuckle, „That should be illegal."
His hands wandered to your hips, his fingers tracing shapes all the way up to your bra. „Stop that." you lightly chuckled. Your hands softly grabbed his and removed them from your sides. „You can do that at home. When you're sober." you whispered into his ear, knowing damn right what it would do to him.
You turned to Henry's friend who had texted you, „Thank you." you chuckled, and he just raised his glass with a smile and nodded.
„Alright, let's go." you chuckled and took Henry's large hand. „Night, boys.
"They all gave an almost harmonic, and drunken, "Ciao, y/n", which made you laugh.
On your way out, you could still feel the gazes of the two girls on your back.
The same security guards that eyed you for your unusual choice of clothes when you entered the club, were now giving you the same looks. Not because of your clothes, though. You and Henry's hands were intertwined as you two exited the club, and he continued whispering sweet nothings into your ear.
You knew that look, it wasn't the „Omg, look that's Henry Cavill!“ , but rather the „She must at least be 15 years younger than him." look.
And even though there were almost 17 years between you and Henry, you looked even younger than you really were. Something the press absolutely loved, of course.
The moment you and Henry walked out of the club, you were greeted by blinding lights, dozens of shouting paparazzi.
Henry's grip on your hand tightened and no matter how drunk he was, he immediately switched to being your protector.
Almost everyone with a camera shouted his name, the few without were shouting various questions;
„How much younger is she?"
„Is this your girlfriend, Henry?"
„Who is she?"
„What's the name of the girl, Henry?"
And so much more that got lost in all the voices and shouting.
Henry let go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulder, protecting you from the paparazzi. „Give us some space, goddamn." you could hear how he tried not to sound as drunk as he really was. And you loved him even more for doing his best to keep you safe even when he wasn't feeling his best.
He pressed you against his chest and continued mumbling complaints.
Normally Henry was one of the most polite celebrities you knew, he smiled and gave them answers most of the time, but today they were definitely crossing a line.
He didn't stop walking, nor taking his arm from your shoulder when he grabbed the hood on your hoodie and pulled it down to shelter your face from them. In all the hectic and flashlights, you totally forgot that you could do that. Which once more showed that Henry might have been drunk, but he was still your protector, no matter what.
You helped him by guiding the way to the cab, still waiting for you outside the club. The paparazzi were following you until both of you got in, the car door shutting out their questions and the sounds of clicking cameras. „Fuck, I'm sorry, peaches."
„It’s fine, Hen. Don’t worry about it.“
Last night when you had made it home, Kal was impatiently waiting for you two. Whenever you didn't come home with Henry, which got rarer with each week, he got quite confused why his new mommy wasn't coming home with his dad.
Who was absolutely wasted right now. When he hit the soft bed, a moan left his mouth. „Wait a second before you fall asleep." you giggled, „l'll be right back." With Kal by your side, you went downstairs into the kitchen, getting Henry a glass of water and ibuprofen.
„Look at him, Kal." the dog looked at his dad and back up to you. A snort escaped your mouth. The mattress sank down next to Henry. „Babe... Hen." you lightly caressed his cheek. „It's better to take them now."
His eyes opened only so much to see you, he groaned but took the glass and the pill out of your hand.
You heard the door to the living room open and close, your head turning in Henry's direction. He blinked a few times, probably because the sun was still brightly illuminating the room. You looked up at him from were you were sitting on the floor, scratching Kal behind his ears, while Henry approached you. „Morning, bear." you smiled at him.
„Good morning, peaches." The sight of you and Kal together in his home was one of the things Henry loved the most. Thus, why he always wanted you to stay at his, so much so that it wouldn't take him much longer to ask you to move out of your own apartment.
He sat down on the couch behind you and patted his broad tights. He hugged your waist as you snuggled up to him, one leg draped over his thigh. „Thanks for the painkillers." he mumbled into your hair, breathing in the scent.
They smelled like peaches, and more so like home. „lt's an old trick my cousin told me about. The headaches are much less painful if you take them at night first and then again in the morning." you grinned at him. Henry kissed your forehead, keeping his lips there a little longer.
„l love you." he whispered.
„I love you too." your hands rested on his muscular chest. You just laid there for some time, Kal sleeping on his dog pillow, and listening to the birds singing outside.
„I bet the pictures are everywhere by now.”
You raised your head to look at him. A heavy breath escaped your lungs and Henry stroked your hair.
„Let them talk." you said.
„Who are they to tell us what to do and whom to date? Martin Freeman is married to Rachel Mariam, and she is 21 years younger than him." you played with Henry's fingers, „it's not like l'm underage.” Henry chuckled at your comparison.
„But you know what you are?" Henry asked with a soft smile. You propped yourself up on his chest, „What?"
„You are the woman I love. You are the only one I will ever love and the one I want to call the mother of my children. You," he stopped and looked at you with a look of pure love, „You're all I want."
With that, he had taken all the air from your lungs. Your mouth was slightly open and tears began to run down your cheeks.
"Oh baby, don't cry." Henry grinned as he wiped the tears from your cheeks.
"How am I not supposed to cry?" you sniffled. "That was the most beautiful thing I've ever been told. And all those things, everything, I want all those things with you and only you."
As if Kal had been waiting for his moment, he put his head on Henry's thigh, looking at both of you. You giggled as you gently stroked his snout. "You too, Kal."
“l'm glad they know." Henry whispered to your hairline.
„Me too."
He wrapped his hands around you and pressed you back against his chest. His warmth wrapped around you like a blanket, and slowly your eyes closed.
Henry took out his phone to take a picture of the three of you, Kal on his pillow, you asleep on his chest. One of your hands rested on his torso while the other was resting under your head. He smiled at the picture. The sun was still shining into the room, painting everything in a golden light.
With the caption „Just us" he posted the picture. Confirming it to the whole world.
༄ Don't copy, translate or republish any of my works on any app or other platform please. I only post my work on Tumblr and Wattpad.
Reposts are always appreciated, they really make my day🧡
#e writes#henry cavill imagine#henry cavill fluff#henry cavill fic#henry cavill x fem!reader#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill#rp fic#real person fiction#henry cavill imagines#drunk henry#kal#fluff#requests#em's masterlist
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☆ WHAT THE POETS' HOBBIES WOULD BE (IF THEY HAD NORMAL LIVES AND FREE TIME) ☆
MEEKS: something tells me meeks would be really into rollerblading or skating? idk i can really picture him as a skater boy, and i can see pittsie coming with him to try it out! meeks would be very chill about it, not trying to learn the coolest tricks or something, BUT he'd totally bring his skateboard everywhere and the poets would tease him about it like oh hey mr cool, do you skateboard? that's so cool i'm SWOONING, good that you brought it to the theatre in case there's a skateboarding emergency
PITTS: photography/videography. if he lived today, pittsie would totally be a youtuber, but i can see him always taking pictures or even "vlogging" in the canon era, too! he just enjoys capturing these memories, and at the end of every year, he'd do a sort of "best of this year" with the poets- i also see him as a big plant dad, not sure if he'd do it in the 60s though? but i can picture pittsie having several little succulents. oh and baking/cooking!! meeks always snacks on his stuff before it's ready and it drives pittsie insane
TODD: i know everyone's convinced todd would be into crocheting, but i honestly don't really see it? no hate whatsoever, i get where people get the idea but to be honest i think crocheting would make todd frustrated/anxious. this boy needs movement, something to do so his mind shuts up, and i think that's swimming. i honestly think todd would be a really dedicated swimmer, maybe to the point where it gets a bit unhealthy because he just throws himself into it to turn his thoughts off?
CHARLIE: yes this one is kinda obvious but charlie would totally pursue music if he had the time and means- he seems so passionate when he plays the saxophone, it's one of the few scenes where we get to see him not joking around, dismissing things with a quip and smirk, but earnestly enjoying something. charlie wouldn't only play, I totally picture him going to jazz clubs and loving to dance there and chat up girls. oh he'd also play video games as soon as they're available!
KNOX: i've mentioned this before but knox would 2000% learn how to play the guitar, and then proceed to play it at dps meetings and with chris. i know it sounds super douchy but honestly, i think knox wouldn't even notice that it comes off as annoying sometimes? he just really enjoys playing the guitar and wants to share that with others. also seems like someone who'd love running, i can see him being one of those people who go on 1 hour jogs in the morning :') Oh and drawing! But he'd be quite shy about it.
NEIL: this is so hard for some reason? 😭 i mean obviously he'd act, and probably go to the theatre quite often on top of that- i also think neil would like cycling, but other than that it's pretty difficult for me to think of what his hobbies would be- i kinda see him as just hanging out with friends a lot and going to parks etc. to chill when he's not at rehearsal. feel free to share your ideas if you have some!
CAMERON: dancing. he's SO ashamed of it and only does it in the comfort of his own room, but if cameron could do anything he wanted, i think he'd do ballet? HELP GUYS I DON'T KNOW WHY BUT I FEEL SO SURE ABOUT THIS, CAMERON IS PRETTY MUCH BILLY ELLIOT IN MY MIND BUT HE NEVER GETS TO PURSUE BALLET/DANCING COS HE LIVES IN A TIME AND SOCIETY THAT DOESN'T ALLOW THAT?? WHY IS THIS SO CANON TO ME???? also crosswords.
#dead poets society#dps fandom#dead poets headcanons#dps headcanons#knox overstreet#neil perry#todd anderson#gerard pitts#stephen meeks#charlie dalton#richard cameron
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Could you do one for James Vowles with wife reader? Reader being sick, but still doing domestic things around the house and James has to force the reader into bed to get some rest. Add something you'd like though. Some fluffy bickering. Something sweet. Thanks!!!
Through sickness
James Vowels x reader
(I didn't know who he was so I did a little research before writing it)
Warnings : English isn't my first language, a little cursing
Fluff
Request : yes
The weekend that he was free the sickness caught y/n making her feel like shit trying to cover it up as much as she can so she doesn't ruin his off time by a stupid sickness.
With her nose running, coughing like she smoke all of her life and her previous ones, with the thermometer showing 40° degrees and a headache much stronger than any hangover she had when she was clubbing with her friends. It was Thursday when she woke up and everything hit her at ones, panicking she got up and went to the pharmacy to get everything needed so she can become better on Sunday night when he is to come back home from work.
Throughout the four days she had before the love of her love walk in through the door, she tried everything nostral spay to unstuff her nose, taking pills to get the fever and headache to calm down and syrup to drink for her throat, nothing really work in an instant so she did all of the household chores she could do with her illness but still trying to get some rest to help speed up the process and trying to do work so she wouldn't loose her job because she didn't want to take her limited time off just for being sick so she could have days off when her husband is here or if she needs to go to a few races she could with no problems.
Her husband james had asked her multiple times to quit so she could do anything she wanted with not much worry because he had money, he had enough money to retire both of them and live their life but she refused each time not wanting to spent his money for two reasons, one being that she wanted to be her own person with her own money and also for her to not lose her mind in her house not liking being in the races because of her being afraid of the cameras all over the grid.
She had fallen asleep with folding the freshly washed clothes, not waking up when James walked in with his bags in his hands and a smile in his face waiting to see his wife which he had missed, not seeing her for 2 weeks and rare were the phone calls due to the time zone and their schedules.
Trying to find her he dropped his things in the living room to shearch for her, going to their bathroom, no there, to the kitchen?, nope confused he shearch their balcony, no the laundry room?, no and finally their bedroom, yes!
He found her with a pile of clothes around her, in her hands there was one of his shirts half folded, he moved the chothes from around her and got close to her, noticed her nose was red and dry around her nostrals and her cupid's bow in help lips the skin dry and chopped. In the bedside table a mug with milk which he thought it was probably hot, now icy cold two empty water bottles, and the things she bought from the pharmacy beside them , dressed in one of his hoodies and fizzy pijamas pants and a used tissue in her hand he got the message. She was sick and tried to get better probably for him
Walking out of the bedroom he found food already cooked in a saucepan his favourite, pasta carbonara a bit cold, he audaply awed at it, seeing the flours clean the couch's cushions puffed up, the dishes done and the fridge and freezer full with food he realised she did all that with sick.
He changed out of his work clothes and into a set of pj's that she had folded up and for him before she had fallen asleep he started to make soup for her, to make her feel better, while he waited for the soup to be ready he took a shower and ate the carbonara not before warming it up and went to make the woman he married 2 years ago, some said the honeymoon feeling with pass within the six months of marriage then problems with fizzle up with everything but they still are so in love with each other, finding comfort in one other, each kiss feels like the first and their need for each other grows more and more.
Shaking her gently sitting beside her she woke up grumpy and mad to whatever woke her up but when she opened her eyes more and looked around she saw the love of her life she beamed up at him and wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed the top of his head carefully to not kiss him near his face to not spread whatever she has to him because in a week he will be back to work.
" hey baby! How was the flight today?"
She asked James her voice hoarse from the lack of use and the coughing for 3 and a half days long struggle with the illness
" It was good but I wish I had you with me the boys finished 5-8 so it was a good rce for us with no problems so I am happy, I made you soup!"
He said while explaining a bit and beamed at her
" you cooked? Why? I made your favourite didn't you liked it?"
" No I liked it and I ate it but the soup is for you baby I noticed you are sick so I thought you could use soup for it!"
"oh. Thank you baby I was trying to get better to not make your free time home shit because of me and my illness"
And with that they got up and he made her eat the soup with the bickered about him being happy to take care of y/n and with she said she would feel worse if she forced him to take care of her in the only time they get together and he was scolding her about doing the chores around the house while she was sick.
In the end of the day they got in their bed cuddling and talking about everything they missed from each other while they were not together and slept happily in the embrace of each other
#x reader#f1 x reader#drive to survive x reader#james vowles#James Vowels x reader#Marriswriting#Mary's blog#bloodyymaryyy
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All that remains | Part 1
[ PART THREE TO GROWING PAINS ]
Summary: You betrayed them all, acted on your own selfishness; will Jimin ever forgive you?
Pairing: Jimin x reader
Genre: Unrequited love; brothers’ best friend; slow burn; mafia au; angst
Word count: 7.4k
Warnings: Angsty feelings, unrequited feelings, mentions of death, blood, depression, mentions of a slight alcohol problem, drinking alcohol, feelings of being alone and isolated
Authors note: Sorry this has taken so long, and thank you for sticking around and waiting for this. Not as long as others in the series but there is more to come! Possibly a slow start but I promise that there is lots more to come and things will start heating up in no time. Part 2 won't take as long!!
Masterlist | Next
THREE MONTHS AND TWELVE DAYS LATER
The cold hits you as you exit the café. Turning, you lock the door, checking you’ve remembered to turn all the lights off. You managed to get this job not long after everything fell apart, climbing up to assistant manager quickly. It’s not your dream job, not the best pay and you could definitely get something better, but the job isn’t stressful, you don’t mind the people, it pays the bills and it’s all you need right now. You don’t want to lose this job because you forgot to turn the lights off.
The evening is dark. Beams of light coming from the streetlights. The weather’s turning cold, but you’re thankful it’s not raining like it does seemingly every day recently. It’s reflecting your mood. Dark, moody, just generally down. There are few days at the moment when you feel happy.
It’s been months since the police raid, tipped off by you with enough solid evidence to bring the organisation down. Months since your brother got locked away. Months since your whole life changed. Months since you betrayed everyone who raised you.
It’s just you and Jungkook now. The two of you supporting yourselves. In the same city just in a different part to the house you were raised in. The two of you barely scrapping by.
Oh, and Jimin.
Not working, hardly talking and barely showing his face. You and Jungkook working to support three, like some dysfunctional family. You’re struggling, only just keeping your heads above water. The flat you live in is old and cold, just enough space to squeeze the three of you in. On the sixth floor of a building with no elevator. Your neighbour’s people who the government have forgotten. People living on the margins, with little education and hardly any income, people just trying to survive like you, many of them people you’d avoid at all cost, as dangerous as people you’d meet in the gang only now you hold no status.
You take a breath when you get to the bottom of the steps to your building, mentally preparing for the six flights of steps to come and the lonely flat after that. The damp, the cold, the loneliness, hardly things to look forward to. You hate it, but it’s all you can afford and for the roof it provides you’re happy enough.
“Hello?” You call out into the quiet flat getting no reply.
Unsurprising, though you wonder if you truly are home alone. Jungkook will be out at work, either the personal trainer job or working security at a new club in town. Jimin will probably be holed up in his room doing you don’t know what.
You sigh as you head to the kitchen, routing through the freezer for something to heat up. There are only a few things to eat, nothing exciting but you’re too tired to cook anything.
Life isn’t any better, it’s not any easier, it’s not sunshine and rainbows. Your plan worked. Now you just need to try and get on with life. You knew this would be the outcome, you didn’t expect a life of luxury, you just didn’t quite expect this. The quietness. The monotonous days. The barely scraping by. The loneliness.
It’s been months since everything went down. Months since you ratted to the police, used your leverage in the gang to bring them down. You backstabbed them all, just like they did to you all those years ago. And while your plan paid off, you got what you wanted, you don’t feel complete satisfaction.
It was never something you planned. Or at least you never sat down and plotted it all out. The idea itself manifested over the years, grew from a simple conversation. It was never something you thought you’d do, more a fantasy than reality.
It was Jungkook’s idea originally. A seed he planted in your mind that grew the more distance you had, the longer you had to think it over.
You felt so alone, for so long and then Jungkook appeared. Seeped into your life so thoroughly that you no longer felt as lonely. You’d never trusted anyone enough to tell them your story, but for some reason Jungkook was different. Maybe it was because he was from a similar background, maybe it was because he made you feel less alone or maybe it was just as simple as him listening to you. Whatever it was, piece by piece, it all started to come out of you. Slowly at first, and then one night when you’d had a little bit too much to drink, all at once.
It was Jungkook that planted the seed, a mere comment about how he heard a company going down because of a whistle-blower. The CEO was bullying its staff, guilt tripping them into staying later than they should and never being happy with the outcome of work. Not comparable to your gang or situation at all. But it was that comment that blossomed everything.
For months that turned into years you mulled over the thought. Whistle-blower. Someone on the inside who knows everything that’s going on and reports it. Reports wrongdoings. Can take down the company with mere words.
Your bitterness rotted over time to hatred which quickly turned to vengeance. The fact you had little contact with anyone only made it worse. Sure, it was your father who instigated it, but you’d have thought there would be one person on your side. And even though your brother contacted you, it was so infrequent with so little information that it felt like he needn’t have bothered. It felt like he was doing it as another job, contacting you because he had to not because he wanted to. You resented him; for having it all, for not helping you, for letting you leave, for not standing up to your father.
Whistle-blower. A much nicer word than grass, snitch or rat. Just a word, but a word that made you think maybe you could do it.
You knew so much. And yet part of you knew you’d never do it.
And then you got the call, your father was dead.
Even as you flew back home, the thought still in your mind, you didn’t think you’d go through with it. The funeral was cold, everyone avoiding you as if you were infected. Your meeting with Yoongi didn’t make you feel any better. He wanted proof, wanted you to show he could trust you as if everything you had done up until that point wasn’t enough. Your whole life was to appease them, everything you did was to make them happy. And it was then that you realised that nothing you could do would be good enough. Even if you gave Yoongi proof you doubted he would ever truly welcome you into the family.
Hearing Jimin scream about wanting you out only sealed the deal. If they didn’t want you, you’d show them where they could stick it, show them how strong you could be.
You knew they would be arrogant enough to think you’d want back in, that you’d do anything if it meant you’d get your place alongside them. All you needed to do was play along. Because who wouldn’t want to be part of what they had? No matter how they treated you, no matter how you grew, they’d always think your feelings would remain the same.
But you did grow, you did change. And you realised Jimin was right. The gang wasn’t what you dreamed it was. It wasn’t your family, it wasn’t the only option you had. It didn’t want you. And now you didn’t want it.
Jungkook did most of the work because you weren’t stupid enough to be meeting the police when you were supposed to be looking into your father’s death. He did other things when he drifted off in the mornings on his own, but a lot of the time he was feeding information and planning how best to raid the gang. It was you who suggested that if you found out who the killer was you could line it all up, get the confrontation to be in a place the police could surround.
You knew it was a risk, had been told by everyone who knew what you were doing that it was a risk. They wouldn’t be able to get them all and even if they did, they wouldn’t charge them all. People would know it was you or would be able to connect the dots given long enough. It was a risk to your life and yet you still decided to do it.
After it all went down, the police gave you protection for a bit. Helped get you onto your feet, some money so you could afford a small but relatively safe flat and a rotation of plain clothed officers outside. But when weeks went by with no threats they were quick to decide it was a waste of their money and resources and you were safe. Sure, you helped them, you were key in them getting the evidence to bring the gang down. But the deal was always two sided, they always knew that there was something in it for you, even if that was some sick satisfaction in bringing down your own family.
Is it worse that you did all of this because of revenge, or would it have been worse if you’d been paid off by the police to do it?
And now it’s all done.
But was it worth it? All you have now is a crappy flat you share with Jungkook who you hardly see and Jimin who actively avoids you. A job that barely gets you by. A brother in jail because you put him there. A guilt that will stay with you forever.
No family, barely any friends. You’ve never felt so lonely.
Eyes still half closed from sleep; you look up to wish Jungkook a good morning. Only when you look up it’s not Jungkook you see.
The clattering and movement you heard was Jimin. The guy that lives with you but that you’ve only seen in passing or heard through walls in the past month. Now stood in front of you. Just like you he’s stood staring back at you, only rather than the shock and spark of joy you feel in seeing him, he only looks mildly annoyed back at you.
“Hi,” you say after a long pause, voice breathy even as you try to act normal.
He doesn’t reply, just stares at you for a second more before twisting to look back at the coffee he was making.
Ok, you think, taking a breath before you walk further into the room. The joy still remains, just a little dampened.
“Did you want food with that?” You ask. “I brought some pastries home yesterday from the café. They’re in the bread bin.”
You’re not even sure Jimin’s aware you work in a café, that that’s the wage that’s keeping you all a float, or at least is with the help of Jungkook. And now, Jimin doesn’t say anything or do anything to suggest he cares. His back muscles tense below his top, his shoulders hunched and his face looking resolutely down at the coffee machine.
Deciding he’s not going to give you anything else you move to the bread bin of your own accord. You know he hates you, know he’s probably wishing he weren’t here right now, but he is and you’re not going to let the opportunity pass.
“Well, I’m going to have one,” you mutter, still putting fake happiness into your tone as if to try and prove that this situation isn’t bothering you.
Your eyes keep flicking to Jimin when he’s no longer in your direct line of site. You can still hear him making the coffee and yet you’re worried he’ll disappear into thin air. You can’t blame him for the way he’s acting, part of you is annoyed at him, still hates him and yet you’re worried about him. It’s not good for him to be cooped up for so long, it’s not normal nor healthy. And yet you can’t get him to even look at you.
You wish Jungkook were here. He’d know what to do or say. And maybe Jimin would talk to him.
Pulling two plates out, you place a pastry on each. Awkwardly you turn and place one of them between you and Jimin. It’s not close to him, he’ll have to reach out and get it if he wants it. Worse than that, you imagine, is that he’ll have to turn back in your direction.
Sighing, the happiness getting harder to keep hold of, you decide that it’s not worth sticking around for. He doesn’t want you here. If you can give him anything, then at least you can do that.
“I’ll just,” you mutter, pausing only for a second before grabbing your plate and shuffling to the door. Words you want to say get lodged in your throat and you have to force yourself not to look back at him.
Maybe he is better off without you.
“The usual?”
A smile threatens to lift on the man’s lips. “Do I come here that often?”
“I think the question should be, am I that predictable?”
The man chuckles, his eyes dancing away from you before coming back when he’s controlled the noise. “Well, I already know the answer to that.”
“Black coffee and a croissant then?”
He hums, his eyes going to the counter which holds all the cakes as you start to type in his order.
“Which is your favourite?”
You pause and look at him, he waits with that same smile on his lips. You find your own eyes going to the cakes. No one’s asked that before, no one’s particularly interested in you. Sure, customers ask you questions and take an interest but there’s something about this guy. It’s not weird, just … different.
“Uh,” you pause, trying to keep the smile on your lips. “I like the lemon drizzle.”
He smiles at you, again not weird but something about it makes you uneasy. Especially when he just smiles and doesn’t say anything. You put it down to be an odd customer, maybe he’s lonely. Or maybe it’s you. So unused to someone being interested in you that you’re putting the blame on him rather than on yourself.
He moves to the end of the counter and watches as you prepare his coffee and then pick out a croissant.
“Here you go,” you plaster a smile on your lips as you hand over his coffee and pastry.
“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, eyes darting to your name badge and back.
You heart stutters as you watch him leave. Just a harmless man but you always read into things since leaving. Everyone you meet knows who you are, everyone who looks at you the wrong way wants you dead. Despite leaving the gang in your past, you can’t help but still live that way. Always defensive, always thinking the worst in people. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to shake it off.
“I have an idea,” Jungkook says it casually, but you can hear the note of edge in his voice. He’s expecting you to ask what the idea is but when you don’t enquire he’s forced to carry on. “So, uh, Colin at work mentioned that Ed might be leaving because his ex-contacted him, the one that moved to Scotland, and they were asking if –” Jungkook cuts himself off when he sees your face, realising he’s giving too much detail and not getting to the point. “Anyway, Ed’s leaving so I mentioned to my manager that I might know someone who’d be good for the job.”
You still don’t speak, you think you know what he’s saying from this, but you want to hear him spell it out. For a few seconds there’s a stalemate of silence, Jungkook not wanting to spell it out, you not wanting to assume.
“He needs to get out of the house, he needs to do something,” he’s finally turned to look at you, giving you his full attention.
“You don’t need to plead with me,” you say earning an eye roll. “He’s not going to take it.”
There’s a pause and when Jungkook talks his tone is hesitant, “but, you’ll still ask?”
You can read the meaning behind the words, you caused this, you need to sort it out. There’s no way to argue with that. You did create this mess and you dragged Jungkook into it. He’s at least done something to try and help out. It sounds like you have to do the rest.
“We can’t keep living like this. Only the two of us supporting all three of us. Only just scraping by. He needs to pull his –”
“I get it,” you cut him off. Gritting your teeth, you force your lips into a smile as you narrow your eyes at him. “I’ll ask.”
Jungkook waits, sizes you up as if he can read whether you’re going to do it or not. You’re not sure when your relationship became like this, stilted, forced. Maybe in the gaps between seeing each other. Or maybe when you dragged him over here just to blow everything up. Or maybe it was when he felt the expectation not to leave you, to stay with you and help you through this mess, ruining his own life as well as your own.
You miss him. But just like everything else in your life right now, you don’t know what to do to get him back. You can barely keep your own head above water, how are you supposed to think of anything else?
Taking a small breath, loosening your face so you’re not so tense, you say in a voice that’s more certain, “I’ll ask him.”
Jungkook’s features soften the same way yours do. He nods before walking towards you.
“He’ll come around,” he says, hand going to your shoulder and squeezing gently. “I’ll see you later.”
You swallow, nod even though he’s not looking at you and then mutter, “have a nice day.”
You don’t want to do this. Really don’t want to do this.
It’s just a door. All you have to do is reach a hand out, form a fist and knock. Simple. But it’s who might come to the door that terrifies you, what they might do when they answer the door, or more what they won’t do.
Taking a breath, you knock on the door.
You hear the footsteps, your heart pounding to the same beat they walk. It doesn’t take long for the door to open, Jimin stood staring expectantly at you. Voice caught in your throat it’s him that breaks the silence.
“Want a squash?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, just brushes past you leaving you standing outside his door. Heart still pounding, blood swirling in your ears you take a second before following. Jimin’s already pouring an inch of squash into a pint glass when you get to the kitchen, no sight of a glass for you.
Stood like a spare part you watch Jimin’s back as he fills his glass with water and then takes a long gulp. Feeling awkward and conscious that you left this conversation until the last possible moment before you need to go to work, you head to the fridge. Almost unseeing you pick out the first thing your fingers land on.
Hip leaning on the counter, Jimin’s dark eyes follow you as you walk around the room, first for a plate, then for a chair at the small breakfast bar that couples as the only place to eat in the flat.
“You wanted to tell me something?” He asks the second you take your first bite of food.
Chewing slowly, you mull over the words while also not wanting to give him too much time to walk out and not speak to you again. It’s the first time it’s occurred to you that maybe Jimin already knows what this is about. It’s a small flat, the walls not exactly thick and you and Jungkook weren’t being careful to stop him overhearing the other day. The fact he might already know what you’re about to suggest only makes you more nervous.
“Jungkook mentioned there’s a job going at his place,” you speak to your food rather than Jimin but when he doesn’t reply you flick your eyes to look up at him.
The glass of squash is empty on the counter next to him. His arms crossed against his chest. His face still broody and eyes half lidded looking at you. You fight the urge to look away from him. There was once a time you took down a whole gang. You can take on Jimin.
“The hours aren’t ideal, but the pays ok,” your voice comes out steady, you’ve always been good at hiding your true feelings behind a mask of indifference. “Jungkook thinks he can get it for you, but he wanted to ask –”
“So why didn’t he?”
It surprises you, makes your heart ache a little how flatly he says it. Still, you hold yourself together. “Because he’s at work. He asked me to pass the message on.”
He hums, a short, unimpressed noise. A noise that makes you twist to take another bite of food. It tastes like sand in your mouth.
“Would you just say it?” You mutter, the ache caused by your heart making you hot headed. You look back at Jimin seeing it’s his time to be surprised. “You clearly have stuff you want to say. So would you just say it already?”
It doesn’t take much convincing. You can see one of his fingers tapping on his crossed arms, his jaw tight.
“You betrayed us, Y/N, why would I ever trust you again?”
“I betrayed you? Jimin, you were the one who always said you wanted out. I got you out.”
“At the cost of my best friend? At the cost of the people who I classed as my family losing everything? At the cost of me losing everything? You think I wanted that?”
It hurts and you don’t point out that he hasn’t lost you, that surely that’s something; because clearly it’s not. Clenching your teeth, you just focus on not showing him your emotions. You didn’t expect your decision to be popular, but you could have let him go down with the rest of them, you thought that would have amounted to something, you thought that would have confirmed some of your feelings you had for him were still there.
“You betrayed your own family, Y/N,” he’s looking at you as if he doesn’t recognise you and it breaks you that much more.
You didn’t want to fight with him. You expected him to be angry with you, to say things that upset you, you just thought you’d be able to take it better than you are. But it all hits you. The emotions long bottled inside you finally come crashing out.
“My family?” You bite, frowning at the words, your hurt boiling down into frustration. “What family, Jimin? Tell me when they ever treated me like family? Was it when they forced me out, or when they refused to welcome me back? Maybe it was when they failed to recognise the fact that even as a woman I could do as much as them?”
He shakes his head but doesn’t reply verbally. It tells you everything. He has no argument against anything you’ve just said. And yet he still defends them.
“I’m not expecting a thank you. I don’t expect you to necessarily forgive me, but come on, you need to move on at some point. I’m doing all of this, giving you a home, the least you can do is contribute a little.” Or just leave, you add in your head.
A nerve ticks in his jaw. Despite his words and the way he now looks at you, you still feel hope. He doesn’t have anywhere to go, but if he hated you that much he could have left by now. He’s not contributing anything to this household, but at least he’s still here.
Still, you worry about him. Despite your words, you don’t want him to leave. You hardly see him, and yet if he wasn’t here you think that would be your breaking point.
“Let me know what you want to do about the job,” you sigh the words as you stand from the table.
Taking the bowl to the sink you place it with the rest of the dirty dishes, knowing you’ll have to clean them later but not having the energy to do it now. With Jungkook working two jobs and Jimin clearly not wanting to be here it always falls on you. You try and not let it get to you but sometimes you wonder if all of this was a mistake. Maybe you should have stayed away. Maybe you should never have come back.
As you turn to leave Jimin speaks, stopping you.
“There’s just one thing I keep wondering,” you wait for him to say it, your features hard so as not to betray your feelings. “Why did you come back for me? Why did you get me out?”
Your focus is on the door rather than him. You’ve been expecting this, not least because you’ve been questioning it yourself. Even Jungkook brings it up at any opportunity he can.
“Because you wanted out,” you say and before you can think better of it, carry on. “And honestly, Jimin, at this point if you don’t know why, then you clearly don’t know me at all.”
Before he can come back with anything you carry on towards the door. You’ve got things you need to be doing, even if Jimin doesn’t, you’re trying to get back into a normal life.
“Let me know if you want that job.”
Your life becomes monotonous. A drag of waking up early to clean the flat, heading off to work and doing long shifts, coming home to a quiet house that is mess of dishes and clothes again, a storm left behind in Jungkook and Jimin’s wake. You don’t berate Jungkook, he’s doing so much for you that you can tolerate cleaning up after him. But some days that thought doesn’t make it any easier. You couldn’t complain to Jimin if you wanted to, still hardly ever see him.
It’s lonely, boring, a life you never thought you’d have. And yet here you are.
You carry on going only because of Jungkook and Jimin. Though you never see them, you feel like you’re why they’re here. If you hate this, then they surely hate it. You caused this, the least you could is not abandon them.
Slowly, you open up to people at work. Enough that you can have small conversations with them on breaks, but not enough that they know anything significant about you. They’re still more co-workers than friends. But it’s nice to have people in your life to talk to even if it is mainly about the weather and their lives.
It’s repetitive. Boring. Lonely. And you start to find the only thing that helps is a glass of wine in the evenings. Not much, but even the small amount of alcohol helps take the edge off. It helps your mind become quieter, helps the day feel less long, helps you actually look forward to something. It helps your heart stop aching. Helps you drift off to sleep a little easier.
“So, uh, I have to tell you something.”
“What?” You ask as you shove the jam covered slice of toast into your mouth, only half listening to Jungkook as you pour a cup of tea.
“Can you sit for a minute?”
“I have to get to the shop for opening.”
“Y/N,” he doesn’t say it sharply, but the tone he uses is still enough to get you to look at him. “It’ll only take a minute. Please, will you just sit?”
It does its job, you finally stop long enough to look at him. You hadn’t realised just how nervous he was. He’s holding it together but you can see it in his tense shoulders and stiff posture. Your nerves peak as you place your toast on a plate and stop pouring your tea. You don’t rush to sit down, your mind whirling with thoughts of what he could possibly be about to tell you.
“You’re worrying me,” you say when Jungkook doesn’t immediately spit it out.
“It’s nothing. Well, it’s not. But it’s good.”
“Ok?”
He pauses, the silence only increasing the sick feeling in your stomach, only increasing the amount of thoughts swimming around your head. You’re about to tell him to hurry up but he beats you to it.
“I met someone,” he rushes to say. “A girl. And she’s asking me to move in with her.”
A wave of emotions run over you. Surprise, since when did that happen? Anger, because moving in with someone is a big thing, which means he must have been hiding this from you for a while. Hurt, that he didn’t talk to you, that he hid this from you. And a sad happiness for him. Because although he looks worried you can see the hope and desire there, he wants your approval for this but worries you won’t give it.
“Who is she?”
“A girl I met at work.”
“And you know her well enough to be moving in together?”
He’s flushed but keeps a straight face. “I met her my first day, but we only started dating a few months ago.”
Months. Your heart drops with the information. Because he never told you about it, because he has more of a life than you, because it only solidifies how lonely you are. He’s your family and he’s only telling you about his girlfriend, someone he likes enough to be moving in with, months after they met. You once would have been the first person he told. He once would have been too excited to keep the information from you. You once would have been too observant for him to even try and hide something like this from you.
And just like that, more walls of your life crumble around you.
Heart beating in your throat you try not to show him your emotions. It’s been easy to hide how depressed you’ve felt recently from him, more because you hardly see him, but you’re also a master at hiding behind a mask. Now, you have to turn away from him to hide your face, a sure fire way to tell him just how you feel.
Predictably, you hear him take a step in your direction, “it won’t change –”
“I know,” you curse your tight throat as another give away.
“I’ll come back all the time,” he adds. “I can still help you with bills.”
“Don’t be stupid,” you say before taking a deep breath and looking back at him, forcing a smile onto your lips. “I’m happy for you.”
He doesn’t look convinced. But before he can continue to protest you carry on.
“You don’t need my permission.”
“But I’d like it,” he says, slipping into your old roles. “There’s not enough room for me here and we can’t all live here together forever. But I also don’t want to leave you here. I know you’re struggling but we all need to move on from what’s happened.”
Move on from the mess you made. Move on from the betrayal. If everything had gone to plan you would have moved on, or at least Jungkook would have. Jimin would have been behind bars. You would have been on your own wallowing the same way you are now. Maybe there was a small part of you that hoped you’d be able to move on too, to make something of yourself, to start a new life. But a large part of you knew this would be your life. You at least imagined you’d be able to pretend, push your thoughts down deep, try to not think of your brother and Jimin locked up all day, of Jungkook moving on.
Jungkook has only stuck around so long because you changed plans, because you went back for Jimin. Jungkook deserves to go live his life.
“You think leaving me and Jimin here alone is a good thing?” You feel guilty as soon as you say the words.
He shrugs, avoids your eyes as he says, “maybe it’ll help bring you closer.”
You glare at him. “He barely leaves his room.”
“Maybe you should force him out a bit more.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?”
You regret the words instantly, but even though Jungkook has time to flash you a cheeky smile, you don’t have time to interrupt him before he says, “I can think of several things that you could do to get Jimin out of that room.”
“Gross,” you say flatly, pushing past him. “If you’re saying all of this to get me to tell you to leave, it’s working.”
There’s a small chuckle behind you, but there’s no smile on your lips now. Your heart still thumps in your throat.
You’re happy for him, really you are. It’s just sad. You can’t help but feel like everyone’s slipping away from you.
It’s no good, with Jungkook gone it fixes nothing between you and Jimin.
Jungkook visits still but it’s not the same. While he’s getting on with his life, creating something new, you’re still stuck. In a different place, under different circumstances but going nowhere. And now you don’t have anyone.
You grow lonelier. Hardly seeing anyone besides the people at work. Inside your own head more only makes things worse. Gives you time to remember how things used to be, how different it is now. It makes you remember the smiles. Because life wasn’t always bad, there were good times.
And you ruined it all.
You brought this on you. You couldn’t get over the fact your family didn’t want you and you destroyed it for everyone. There’s no pretending that there wasn’t good from it, that you were helping people as much as ruining many people’s lives. But it was selfish, you did it all for you. And now you can’t help but wonder if it was worth it.
To be in this tiny flat, barely getting by. With Jungkook moved out and moving on. Hardly seeing Jimin, the little you do he says little and avoids your gaze. Your brother in jail. You have no one.
And still you get up every day. Still you clean and cook and go to work. You try to carry on with your life as best you can. Try to push the bad thoughts away. Try and pretend life is normal.
Jimin’s door is open when you get home. It feels like slow motion as you walk to the door frame and creak open the door and peer in. Empty.
This is it, you think, he’s finally left me.
Your eyes glance around the small room. A single bed, blue sheets crisp and neatly tucked in. Cream shades pulled down over the window to block the night out. A wooden chest of draws leaving enough room to shuffle between it and the bed. A small desk, only big enough for a lamp and laptop. No personality. No indication of who lives here. No attachment, ready to be left at the drop of a hat.
He wouldn’t leave, would he? Part of you thinks he would. But the other part thinks of his room, all of his stuff still sat in there and thinks he wouldn’t leave without it. Another part hopes he wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.
Maybe he’s just gone out, the first time you’ve caught him doing that, you expect because he only ever risks leaving his room when he knows he won’t see you. But Jungkook text you earlier letting you know Jimin finally accepted the job, so maybe this is the start of him getting back into himself.
You know it’s your insecurities talking. Because though you don’t doubt Jimin doesn’t wants to be here, you also know he has nowhere else to go. He doesn’t have the money from his job yet, he’s still having to rely on you.
You walk back to the kitchen, get as far as opening the fridge to see what you can find to eat for tea. But you stop there. A thought occurs to you.
It’s stupid really. He’s probably just gone out for food or to the pub. But you can’t stop thinking about it when the thought occurs.
What if he’s on the roof?
He won’t be. And even if he is what would that mean? That he wanted some fresh air probably. But he won’t even be there.
You take a box of leftovers out of the fridge walk over and place it by the microwave but get no further.
What if he’s on the roof?
The thought takes you over enough that you end up forgetting about food and instead head to the front door again. You don’t even put your coat on as you head up the stairs rather than down them. You feel a little out of breath when you reach the steel door at the top. Pausing you take a breath, try to wrangle your thumping heart into a box, settle your expectations so that you won’t be disappointed.
The door feels cold as you push it open. Your heart plumets when you first see empty space, but then soars when you see a figure huddled off to the side. You can’t stop the words escaping your mouth.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Jimin looks across at you, his eyes are heavy and make him look like he’s had little sleep. His smile is small and compared to his normal smile does nothing to light up his face. But it’s still a smile.
“It’s not quite the same as our roof.”
Our roof. The words make your breath catch in your throat. Looking out at the night to hide your emotions at the words you walk towards him until you can rest on the ledge next to him.
“The views not as good,” you agree after a few seconds of silence.
He hums in reply, a silence falling over the two of you. It’s not just the view that’s different, it’s everything. The silence eats at you in a way it never has before when you’ve been with Jimin. He’s lost his spark and you can’t help but blame yourself for that. You’ve changed his life, whether or not it’s for the better you made such a monumental decision on his behalf without considering how it might affect him. While you’re in no doubt he would have done the same for you, you can’t help but let the decision eat away at you. Should you have done it? Would it be better if you hadn’t dragged him away under false pretence? Would it be easier for him to hate you if he wasn’t sat next to you?
“Jungkook told me you’d accepted the job at the club,” you say meekly, not wanting to rock the boat too much. “I’m happy for you.”
Jimin doesn’t respond, doesn’t hum or nod like he normally does when you talk to him these days. And like always you try and pretend it doesn’t hurt you.
“And hey, maybe it’ll mean you can start paying towards the bills.”
As soon as the words leave your lips you regret them. Even though you say them in a light-hearted tone, clearly as a joke, you know Jimin won’t hear it that way. He’s probably thinking that you mean it, that you want him to give you money, that you want him gone. All of which is the opposite of what you want.
“Sorry I –”
“No,” he cuts you off with a mutter. “You’re right, I should be doing more.”
Well shit.
That was the last thing you expected him to say, which effectively stops your brain from coming up with any other words.
The two of you stand in silence looking out at the city. The noise of the road and some young people shouting and laughing reaches you from the street below. Part of you hates this, but another part doesn’t want to do anything to stop it. At least Jimin’s here. At least you’re not entirely alone. At least you’re not fighting.
“I went to see Yoongi.”
Your head snaps his way. When did he do that? How had he done that? The questions forms in your head but your mouth is unable to create the words. Jimin doesn’t look at you, his features not showing any emotions. He’s impossible to read. But, despite your silence, he must know what questions you want to ask as he goes on to answer them all.
“I found out where they locked him up and requested visitation. I wasn’t expecting it to be accepted, I thought the second they had him they’d throw away the key. It took a few weeks, but my request was accepted.”
Your breath becomes laboured. Your brain working faster than Jimin can get the words out, trying to second guess what he’s going to say.
In the pause after his words he finally turns to look at you. His eyes dart around your face as if trying to remember you. You wait, give him time to say whatever it is he’s thinking. Your heart hoping, but your mind reminding you how much you’ve hoped in the past and how every time Jimin’s let you down.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Now it’s you avoiding his face. The words, the way he says them and the gentle yet pained look on his face makes your throat dry. You can’t answer him. You don’t know what he wants you to say, because even if you had an answer, you don’t know how it would make it better.
“You let me think this whole time you’d locked him up,” he carries on. “But you made a plea deal for him.”
It’s not a question but you still find yourself nodding in confirmation.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He repeats.
“I wasn’t sure he’d accept the deal,” you say, not the real answer. After a beat you add, “would it have changed anything?”
“Maybe,” he mutters but you know it’s a lie. It wouldn’t have changed anything, it’s one of the reasons you never said anything.
The silence drags out. Both of you staring out at the world below you, cars honking, people getting on with their lives, buildings standing steady and tall. The world hasn’t changed, it’s still going on. It doesn’t provide any comfort. All these weeks you’ve been struggling, silently getting on with life and Jimin’s been seeing Yoongi and clinging onto your old life, blaming you for everything.
You’ve had enough of it.
“You know,” you say, ignoring the fact that your voice his raspy and full of emotion. “It still hurts that you don’t believe in me. It’s stupid, because you’d think I’d be used to it by now, but you really have a knack for making be me believe you. I could have told you about Yoongi, but would that have changed anything? You’re only saying all this because you feel guilty, but you’ve always thought the bare minimum of me until I’ve proved the opposite. I’ve always had to work for your approval, Jimin, no matter what you want to think. And it’s stupid, but it still breaks me when you automatically think the worst of me. After everything I’ve done to show you the opposite.” You pause, still unable to look at Jimin, unable to see what he must be thinking. “I didn’t know he would accept it,” you mutter, voice once again thick. “I set up the option for him to work with the police, but I didn’t think he’d actually take it.”
You push away from the wall and as you walk away Jimin doesn’t try to stop you. His head twists to look back out across the city, his body slumping a little deeper into the wall as you turn to walk back to the flat.
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TKR Men Taking Care of Their Sick Partner HCs
Characters: Hakkai, Mitsuya, Taiju
CW: None
Reader: GN w/ high fever/super sick
Part 2
Mitsuya
As much as he loves you, he will be wearing a mask and maintaining a 3 feet distance at all times. He has little sisters to take care of and a sewing club to run, getting sick is not an option.
He'll sit you on the couch swaddled in blankets with your favorite show/movie playing while he goes and cleans. Mitsuya's the type to clean so well that he'll leave things better than when he arrived.
If you're the type that has a chronic illness or get sick often, he'll make you a few sets of custom of PJs that are so comfortable you feel like you're floating on clouds.
Since he often cooks for his sisters and mom, you bet you're gonna get an easy to eat, nutritious meal that is so good you groggily propose to Mitsuya right then and there.
"I'll think about it. Get better first," he says calmly. Deep inside he's already designing your wedding outfits.
Once you're asleep, cuddling the plushy he made, Mitsuya will gently push your hair out of your face and just bask in your beauty.
"Sorry I can't cuddle with you, baby. I'll make it up to you when you're better, promise."
Hakkai
Even though the both of you have been dating for some time, Hakkai is still nervous when it's just the two of you. So, his visits will usually be with Takemichi or Yuzuha and you guys might play some games or watch some shows if you're up for it. He'll slide you some sweets or takeout you're craving as well.
If he visits by himself, however, that's different.
When he first enters your home, he's flustered. He hasn't been in your room before, especially not with just the two of you alone. But when he sees you passed out on your bed with a flushed face and heavy eyebags, he puts all his nervousness aside.
If you end up waking up a little, Hakkai will bend down beside your bed and caress your face.
"Ho- How ya feeling? Have you eaten yet?" He'll whisper, eyebrows furrowed.
You say no, and he gets straight to work. He lifts you gently from your bed and props you up on the couch. After opening the blinds just enough to let some needed light in without adding to your migraine, he'll unpack the soup he brought.
Let's be honest, no one can top Mitsuya's food, but he tried and that alone made you feel better.
Once you're done eating, he'll let you hold his hand or let you lay on his lap if you ask. Of course, Hakkai's face will be just as red as yours and trembling like a leaf. But, he loves you and you're already his partner, so he'll brave it.
Taiju
My HC for him is that he's a germaphobe, total clean freak. He hardly ever gets sick, but something about snots and boogers grosses him out. Taiju runs a tight ship, a clean ship.
He probably won't visit very often. If you're just sniffling a bit, he'll drop off food and snacks before leaving. Maybe a hug, and definitely no kiss.
If you're having a full on coughing fit and sneezing like your lungs are filled with dust, he isn't coming within 10 feet of you. Taiju will use his long limbs to keep you faaaar away from him.
Taiju is the type to call you and stare at you through a window scolding you for getting sick. You're tired of it, but you know he cares when he sends someone by with a goody bag.
It's usually Yuzuha or the cat and dog duo (Koko and Inui). Most often it contains medicine and food that he forced had someone make. If you're lucky you might even get a card!
"Get Well." It reads. You're unsure if it's heartwarming or a threat. Either way, you're happy.
Author's Note:
This is the first installment of my "Sick S/O" HC series! I'll be adding onto it as I watch the anime and read through the manga. I hope to do all the characters and eventually do a girl version, but I don't quite have a grasp on Senju's personality yet and I want to release all the girls in one post.
#mitsuya x reader#mitsuya takashi#hakkai x reader#hakkai shiba#taiju x reader#taiju shiba#tokyo revengers#tokrev#tokyo rev headcanons#tokyo rev x reader#tokyo rev x you
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back to chicago-c.berzatto
a/n: i'm probably going to make this two parts (or more) because I really like this idea so this is part 1. i imagined a fem reader and it's mentioned quite a few times but as usual, imagine what you like. SET AFTER SEASON 2
summary: a double date with your boyfriend at the Bear can only go well, right?
pairings: carmenberzatto x femreader (complicated relationship), platonicthe bear x reader, romantic oc x reader
warnings: general angst, mentions of mikeys death
You and Carmen had grown up together, living across the street from one another. Your childhoods were wildly different, his filled with family drama and personal independence. Yours filled with absent parents and the necessity of independence. You went to school together, went to prom together (as ‘friends’), and you were each other's first kiss. Then, you went off to college for law and business and he went off to cook. You vowed to never go back to Chicago, but stayed in contact with Mikey until he died. Then you came back. You felt a debilitating need to see Mikey off. Watch him be put into the ground. You had hoped Carmen would show up. He didn’t.
You had stayed in Chicago, you had the time and money. Being a successful lawyer in New York was a great gig. Straight out of college you’d gotten a job at a top law firm, and just last year you were made partner. Taking time off for personal reasons wasn’t questioned. Even if it had happened a year ago. Even though you were in Chicago purely for the reason of nostalgia. You’d gone last year for the funeral and this time it was just because something in you missed it.
It felt good to breathe in the Chicago air again as you walked down the darkened streets, ready for a date at a new Chicago restaurant, The Bear. It was where The Beef had been. Devastating how someone just came in and wrecked all of Mikey’s work. You thought to yourself as you opened the door and searched for the man you were meeting. Adrian, an accountant you’d met at a jazz club, was a nice man. He was sweet and reliable, funny and kind and you both got along well. He was never too handsy and always on time… but you still feared full commitment. He waved you over and you sat beside him as he pressed a kiss to your lips, you smiled, greeting his friends. This ‘double date’ thing had been his idea. This restaurant had been his idea, and as you stared Richie Jerimovich in the face, a shocked dumb-founded look on his face, you remembered why you left Chicago in the first place You remembered Carmen always wanted to call his restaurant ‘The Bear’ and you remembered that there was no getting out of this.
Shit.
“Do you two know each other?” Adrian asked, a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back to reality.
“Fuck yeah we do! Cousin, how are you?” Richie smiled, forgoing the formalities and pulling you out of your seat and into a hug.
“Richie, how are you?” You mustered up your best fake smile, trying to keep the gaze of Adrian’s friends unsuspicious.
“I’m great Bug, how are you?” he asked, using the wretched nickname you endured for all those years.
“Bug?” Adrian smiled.
“Childhood nickname,” you explained quickly. “I’m good, Rich, real good.”
“You're a fancy lawyer now huh? What was it, New York right?”
“That’s right,” you smiled. You couldn’t ruin this dinner. Adrian had flown all the way from New York to see you. This was the first time in a month that he’d seen you. Adrian’s friends had to like you. You had to make them like you.
“Sugar’s going to freak out when she sees you,” Richie smiled. You followed Nat on instagram, but refused to like any of her pictures, not wanting her to reach out. You knew she was pregnant. “You won’t believe it, she’s pregnant!”
“Oh my god! I must congratulate her,” you smiled, not realising what that tiny statement would bring.
“I’ll take you to the back now! I’ll give the rest of you guys the tour after,” he smiled at the rest of the table and they seemed to be excited by the prospect of seeing the kitchen so you plastered on a smile, kissed Adrian’s cheek, and let Richie lead the way.
As you edged closer to the kitchen, you could hear voices, but thankfully not Carmen’s. You turned a corner, pushed through the door behind Richie, and you were led to a small office. Inside sat Natalie ‘Sugar’ Berzatto, ‘Uncle Jimmy’, and Carmen fucking Berzatto. You let out a breath.
“Look who came in to say hi,” Richie announced, stepping to the side to stop covering you. Sugar and Jimmy’s eyes lit up and they immediately started to hug you, yet Carmen stayed frozen to his spot against the wall.
“My love, how’s New York?” Jimmy asked, his arms around you.
“It’s great, everything I wanted,” you smiled. Your life was something you felt you could be proud of. You loved New York and you loved your job. You had great friends, friends that were practically family. You had Adrian, he was great and he loved you. Yet you still thought about the Berzattos daily. “Congratulations Natalie!” You turned to her, hugging her side due to her large bump.
You exchanged small talk back and forth with Jimmy and Sugar as Richie and Carmen whispered in the corner. You couldn’t make out what they were saying but it worried you.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
carmen
There you were. Standing there, fucking glowing. And here I was, a stained white t-shirt on and a pair of fucking jeans on. You looked beautiful, the type of beautiful that would make me jealous of the guy you were going home to if I saw you walking down the street. What were you doing here? Why the fuck were you standing in my office, looking so damn beautiful, yet so unattainable?
“She’s here with a guy,” Richie whispered into my ear.
“What?” I scoffed.
“She’s here with a guy!” He whispered louder. I felt my blood boil. So you’re here, in my fucking restaurant, with some other fucking guy. Awesome. I searched your hands for an engagement ring, or worse, a wedding ring. I saw none and my ears refocused into the room.
“So?” I sighed, feigning disinterest.
“ ‘So’? Your fucking girl is with another guy. In your restaurant!” Richie snapped.
“She’s not my fucking girl anymore, stop talking outta your ass,” I shoved him, making him leave me alone. My words were deflections. Of course you were my fucking girl, you always would be. You were perfection personified in my eyes, even with any of your flaws. And I wanted you to be my girl, but I got so fucking in my head about it I couldn‘t ask, and then we left and went our separate ways.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
You
“Look, I’d better get back to my table, my boyfriend’s waiting-”
“Boyfriend?” Jimmy cut you off. “I thought you and Carmy were dating?”
“Yeah, when we were like 17-” You started but Carmen cut you off.
“We never dated.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Your smile faltered, then faded entirely and it was all Carmen’s fault.
“Look, I’m sure my table is waiting on me to order, it was great to see you guys,” you smiled and left the room, walking back to your table, a sigh leaving your lips.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Carmen
“You are such a fuckin’ asshole!” Richie shouted as Sugar and Jimmy sighed. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about ‘we never dated’? You’re still fuckin’ in love with her!”
“Richie just fuck off ok! I don’t have to explain shit to you-” I started but I was cut off by Sugar.
“That was such a shitty thing to say Bear! We haven’t seen that girl in fucking years and of course you had to fucking ruin it. We’ll probably never fucking see her again!”
“I know that was shitty Sugar, I’mf fucking aware!” I started as I walked out of the office and into the kitchen. I wanted to make your food amazing. That was the only way you’d ever forgive me, right?
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
You
You walked back to your table and answered any and all questions pertaining to your relationships with the Berzattos, leaving out that you had a crush on Carmen. You allowed yourself to peek into the kitchen window and you saw him furiously moving. He was mixing something? You couldn’t see. Adrian’s kissing your shoulder pulled you back to reality. Adrian was great. He knew how hard tonight was for you. He knew about what happened in your childhood. He knew about what happened with Carmen. Adrian’s friends, Emilia and John both got up to take a smoke break and he turned to you.
“Are you alright?” He asked, squeezing your hand.
“Fine, it’s just… messy, I guess.”
“Well you’re doing great. John and Emilia love you,” he smiled and kissed your cheek. “I wouldn’t have picked this place if I knew, I just wanted to see you-”
“I know,” you smiled at him. “I wanted to see you too,” You pressed a soft kiss to his lips and he grinned.
“You look so beautiful tonight,” he flirted.
“So do you,” you simply said and he chuckled.
“Such a flirt,” he joked and you laughed, a real laugh. He kissed you again, quick and sweet. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” you said matter-of-factly and his face lit up. You truly had no idea if you actually loved him. Your commitment issues were constantly getting in the way of your relationships, so you had to do something, telling him you love him, I admit, might’ve been a crazy thing to start with but, you were running out of options.
He kissed you again, less quickly but still polite enough to not be seen as improper. John and Emilia started walking back in, so you pulled away to see him with a boyish grin on his face.
That felt… good? Like it was right?
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Carmen
I walked out into my own restaurant, nervous as I was when I was 17, asking you to the prom. All you have to do is explain the dishes. I thought to myself. I know my dishes. Richie walked behind me with the other two dishes in his hands, and I took a deep breath. There you were, radiant as ever, laughing along with what someone said. I would do fucking anything to just have your number so I could just text you sometimes.
I walked up, standing beside you and your smile flattened, looking fake.
“Hey Carmen,” you greeted.
“And how do you know the owner?” John asked, excited about all of the attention your table was getting.
“We were-”
“We dated in highschool,” I said before you could finish and John chuckled as your boyfriend put a protective arm around your shoulder. I explained all the dishes and placed them in front of each of your table.
“Thanks Bear,” you mumbled and my heart practically stopped.
“Well, thanks,” your boyfriend gritted out. I smirked.
——————————————————————————————————-
(PART 2)
#the bear fx#carmen berzatto fluff#carmy x reader#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto
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hello miss asa! i was hoping you would consider my request: lilia taking care of a sick darling? i'm feeling very under the weather right now, and i'm just aching for lila to nurse me back to health <3 (i adore how you write him, so delightfully evil <3)
Awe anon :( wishing for your speedy recovery!
✧ CW: yandere character,
"Oh my," Lilia's cold hand brushes away some hair that had fallen over your forehead, "you're burning up," The way he says your name, oddly apathetic despite your state and the slight twitch of his lips makes you frown and sink down further into your bed.
Maybe he should try harder to appear concerned—not that he wasn't; there was genuine worry laced in his words—but the bitter taste of betrayal is still fresh in his mouth, and the displeasure that shuddered through him when he found you standing painfully close to your friend hasn't left him completely. Besides, he glances over to your figure, collapsed onto your sheets, you're clearly not in any state to be thinking too deeply about the off-putting smile and the hardness in his gaze.
Your reply is an incomprehensible garble, but by the tone of your voice, Lilia can already tell that you were protesting his aid, insisting he go back to his dorm. It was just like you to do that, even though it was clear from the tissues littering the floor and the circles under your eyes that you were hardly able to get by without him. Besides, your condition wouldn't ease up for a few more days, and this would serve as the perfect opportunity to spend some time together—something he wasn't able to do with you for a while already.
"Now, now," his airy laugh fills the room, and his hand goes to gently pinch at your cheek, "how could I leave you alone in this state? You forget that I've done this countless times before. I promise it's no bother."
He smiles at you again, light and easy, reminding you that despite the cracks in his exterior, he was still your ever-caring senior. His fingers caress your sweltering cheek before he makes his way around your room, cleaning up as he goes. Lilia talks to you, ignoring your dazed state, about his meeting with the music club, and how SIlver had fallen asleep mid-potion again. He doesn't mention Jamil, whose cooking you were complimenting the other day, jealousy still coiled around his heart. He rapidly flits around your room, flipping through your books and papers, staring uncomfortably long at the tart Trey had left you earlier before swiftly tossing it into the bin with all your other trash—even if you wanted to eat it, you couldn't have protested in your current state—and picked up your haphazardly thrown coat with a soft chuckle. Even your messes were endearing.
"I don't know how this happened" you mutter, cradling a cup of water in your hands, "I just woke up sick."
"Humans are so sickly," Lilia sighs, "Silver fell ill quite often too. But something about your demeanor tells me there's more to it than a simple illness. Almost like..."
He waits for you to take the bait, though he's tempted to just lean over and caress your cheek and whisper in your ear about how it had been quite some time since he last used this curse and how he carefully ensured that it shouldn't drain you off all your energy and leave you a corpse, but you wouldn't take well to that, even in your current state. Instead, he stays exactly where he is.
"What else...?"
Red eyes stare at you, void of any emotion. Lilia's mouth is set in a stern line, not allowing for an inch of familiarity, and slowly, he cocks his head to the side, his gaze narrowing and eyes gleaming. Your face looks almost as delightful as it did when he had you trapped during Beanfest, taking in shallow breaths and watching him warily. How cute; you were so utterly, helpless.
"It must be a curse," Lilia finally declares, pulling away so quickly that it shocks you, "there's no other explanation for your awful state. I wonder who you've upset so to get such a nasty little thing latched onto you..."
"A curse?"
"Mmm," he shakes his head, feigning concern, "I do believe it was that Pomefiore student you were studying with. They're quite good with their curses, aren't they?"
He expects to hear some words of defense, but to his surprise, you're uncharacteristically silent. He wonders if his earlier ministrations scared you after all.
You don't meet his eyes, "Can you remove it?"
Lilia takes a moment to really look at you; weariness set in so deep that you look depleted of any life, voice listless and distant and eyes drawn to the ground. At this rate, you'd hardly be able to get up and get yourself some water.
"Removing it is a simple matter," Lilia reassures you, "but you probably won't be able to take the stress of it. I think you should rest for a little while first. Don't worry," a small spell to put you to sleep is on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be said, but his soft smile gives nothing away, "I'll be right here when you wake up."
all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)
#[You know I've caught up with Chapter 7 and now I have soooo many ideas about Lilia]#[Ahahaha...the world is not prepared]#yandere lilia vanrouge#yandere lilia x reader#lilia vanrouge#lilia x reader#yandere twst x reader#yandere twisted wonderland x reader#yandere twst#yandere twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland#twst x you#twst x reader#cw yandere#yandere x reader#drabble. 🌀#asa.writes 🌀#twst. 🌀#lilia. 🌀#mail. 🌀#anon mail. 🌀#drabble request v01. 🌀#requested work. 🌀
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Can I please request trey clover with the female tanjiro.
🍀I love the idea of them being the mom and dad of heartslabyul and them.
🎴Imagen trey his reaction to her inability to lie and how calm she is even though she has been true a lot and always sees the good in life.
🍀Imagen him getting the request to watch over nezuko while she takes care of the first years that mesed up and Carter taking a picture of them together tagging them as mom and dad.
🎴Her cooking while trey makes desserts in the heartslabyul kitchen and being totally adorable that ace starts to be a clown about and gets beheaded by riddle.
🍀Her and trey taking turns to carry nezuko in the box and nezuko loves his headpats a lot so lil nezuko running at him and he giving it.
I’m spoiling myself a bit because I love Trey.
Trey Clover
You are most definitely the mom and dad of Heartslabyul, and everyone loves you. Trey often jokes about this being practice for the future, making you blush a bit. Everyone in the dorm considers Nezuko their sister as well, which made you very happy since they didn’t judge her for being a demon.
The first time he saw you brutal honesty was an interaction you were having with Ace and Riddle. You sucked at lying, and you knew that the former needed to be punished. Thus, you revealed to the latter Ace’s hiding spot. As the first year was being dragged off, you crossed your arms over your chest as you said that he should stop getting in trouble. Trey chucked before placing a kiss on your cheek.
Another thing that you both had in common was you both remained calm even in stressful situations. For example, there was an unbirthday party coming up soon, and you both needed to cook and bake the food so that no one would get sick with just eating desserts.
One time, you asked Trey to look after Nezuko as you tended to your fellow first years, and you got a notification that Cater posted on his Magicam account. He tagged you in an image of your younger sister helping your boyfriend bake some cookies. You commented on the post with hearts before making your way back to the Heartslabyul kitchen.
Almost everyday, you two are seen together whenever you can be. You sit together at lunch, you walk hand-in-hand to either dorm, etc. This man will carry Nezuko in the box for you every single time because he doesn’t want your back to hurt. The only thing is that he was a Third Year and you were a First Year, so you obviously had different classes.
You joined the Mountain Lover Club, which kind of made Trey jealous since that meant you were hanging around and hiking with Jade. However, you found his jealousy quite cute. Every time you see each other once you return from a big hike, he makes it seem like he hasn’t seen you in 17 years.
Your sister absolutely loved Trey and saw him as an older brother/father figure. Whenever he visits Ramshackle, she will run up to him and hug him while he gives her a few headpats. Grim makes a gagging noise whenever he sees you go up and kiss the baker on the lips, but you both roll your eyes.
#twst#twst x reader#disney twst#twst wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland#trey#trey x reader#trey clover#trey clover x reader#twst trey clover x reader#twst trey x reader#twst trey clover#twst trey
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