#and i don’t even know what to wear you should tell me … music festival in rain and 60dg | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

greatooglymooglyyy · 1 month

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Lovers and Friends I (M.S.)

summary: when y/n's boyfriend invites her out to a dinner a week before her birthday, the last thing she's expecting is to get broken up with. but little does she know, it opens a window for her bestfriend, matt, to tell her what he's been trying to for years; that he's hopelessly in love with her. headed off to vegas for her dream music festival, matt (and the rest of their crew) try to find a way to open her eyes to what she's been blind to for years... that it's been them all along.

executive produced & cowritten by sienna @rootbeerworshiper

contains: brokenhearted reader, y/n getting cheated on, break up emotions, pining, cussing, fluff

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Y/N’s POV

“He said it’s a surprise.” I giggle, applying a thin layer of cream blush to my upper cheeks. “Do you think he’ll take me to that one Italian place I like?”

Matt sighs, constantly trying to be supportive of my many thoughts. “Hopefully. He didn’t say anything about what you should wear or something?”

I shake my head, a grin still pushing my lips apart. “No, isn’t that romantic? Our anniversary is coming up soon maybe it has something to do with that”

I've always been a huge romantic. Simple gestures and fun dates always brought me joy I couldn't find elsewhere. So it’s extra exciting that Asher planned out a night for us since that’s usually not his thing.

“Or,” Matt offers, his voice a bit muffled from the positioning of his phone. “he’s trying to make up for being a fucking idiot and forgetting your birthday.”

I roll my eyes, choosing to ignore Matt’s distaste for my boyfriend. “He didn’t forget. He’s just a busy guy.”

Matt makes a small sound of disagreement and I sigh and let it go. If almost a year of dating hasn’t softened up his stance on Asher, then nothing will.

After applying my final coat of setting spray, I step back from the camera so Matt can see my whole face and outfit. “How do I look?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just stares through the phone with a small smile. “You look exactly like you always do.”

“Bummy?”

“Beautiful.”

*************************************

“Oh. Nobu.” I say, trying not to let the disappointment show on my face as Asher whips into the parking lot of the restaurant.

“Yeah. You don’t mind, right? You know how much I love their sushi rolls.” He says as he joins the queue for a valet.

“Of course not,” I say, keeping my voice chipper even as my stomach turns over. Seafood alone is already a no-go for me and that’s before you add raw fish to the mix. But, I don’t want to seem unappreciative so I suck it up, adjusting my dress and stepping out of the car when it is our turn.

Asher pulls his hand back before hanging his keys to the valet, giving them a cold stare. “Not a scratch on the Lexus.”

I roll my eyes, hating how rude he always is about his precious car, and take his arm so he can lead us into the restaurant. He strolls up to the hostess stand and asks for someone by name and we are seated almost immediately.

Asher orders for the both of us without looking at the menu and I make a mental note that I’ll be ordering Mcdonald’s as soon as I get home.

“So,” He starts and I sit up straighter, anticipation heating my face. “I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

I lean forward, unable to stop bouncing my leg in excitement. “Yeah?”

“Look. I think we should break up.” He says, reaching out and taking a leisurely sip from his water. Barely even looking at me as my face drops the once happy expression.

A waiter comes around and sets down our plates in front of us, clearly trying to pretend he didn’t overhear but I’m too frozen to care. He scurries away, shooting me a sympathetic glance over his shoulder.

I stare at Asher and blink rapidly, sure that I must have heard him wrong. “What?”

“It’s not you.” He says calmly. “It’s me. This is just not working for me.”

“I don’t understand. What’s not working?” I ask, my voice getting a bit frantic. “And you decided to bring me out to dinner for this? Why?”

Asher looks around the restaurant making sure I’m not drawing too much attention. “ Honestly, I thought doing it in public would be less of a scene.”

Less of a scene. Like breaking up with me for no reason wasn’t a scene in itself.

I scoff, sitting back in disbelief. “Stop bullshitting me! There has to be more. Is there…is there someone else?” My lips quiver slightly but I bite down on it, smudging the lipstick I spent forever applying.

He breathes deep as if all of this is a big inconvenience. As if I’m an inconvenience. “Fine. You want honesty? I’m in love with Olivia.”

As soon as he says it, it’s like a Lego snapping into place. The late night with his brand new “protegè”, the texts that went unanswered for hours when they were together, the dozens of times he insisted he could never look at her like that.

Asher watches me like I’m a caged animal about to strike for a long moment before he speaks again. “Y/N, I never meant to hurt you.”

And despite everything, despite the situation and the ache growing in my chest, the absurdity of his words strike me as funny. Before I can help myself, I’ve burst into laughter, deep and genuine.

Asher’s face goes from faux sympathy to puzzlement to anger in a few seconds flat and he stands swiftly, grabbing his wallet and throwing a few bills on the table.

My laughter finally dies down as I watch him leave through the glass windows. I make no move to follow him out, instead sitting in wonder as onlookers throw me curious stares. There’s no way I’ve been this blind and stupid. I feel like I’ve woken up in the Twilight Zone.

It’s funny that I was that oblivious but It’s also impossible to not be hurt by it. The one time he treated me like a proper girlfriend was to tell me he’s done with me.

I must sit there for way longer than necessary because a waiter comes and asks me if he can clear the plates. Embarrassed now, I stand and thank him, rushing out the door and pulling out my phone.

My chest hurts, like It’s being weighed down by something invisible. All this time. All this time this was happening and my head was too far up in the clouds to notice, telling my best friend about every cute thing he did… every cute thing he’ll probably do for Olivia.

I hadn’t even noticed it had started to rain but I’m glad for it as I head down the sidewalk, the sadness finally catching up to me. Sobbing, I find the contact of the boy I know will drop everything to show up for me; my mascara and tears mixing with rainwater as Matt answers my call after the first ring.

************************************

Matt’s POV

“I’m just saying,” Nick starts, heading around the table to grab a drink from the fridge. “Your crush is getting a little pathetic.”

I roll my eyes and lean back against my chair. “What do you want me to do? She’s our best friend.”

“No,” Nate cuts in, shaking his head and gesturing at the rest of the group. “She’s one of our best friends. She’s the girl you’ve been obsessed with for years.”

“Okay, chill. Obsessed is crazy.” I say quickly to defend myself.

“Not that crazy,” Chris says, apparently deciding to get in on the ‘shit on Matt’ train. “Is Y/N coming?” He mocks.

“Do you think Y/N would like this shirt?” Nick joins in with a laugh.

“Yeah, kid. They got you there.”

“You too, Madi?” I ask, emphasizing my betrayal. She shrugs, muttering a quiet ‘just saying.”

“I mean it really doesn’t matter anyway. She’s in a relationship.” I say, doing the best I can to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “And she’s happy. Not like I could tell her now.”

“Happy is a stretch, but okay,” Nick mutters under his breath but before I can ask what he means, my phone goes off.

I look down, seeing Y/N’s picture, and smile before answering, despite my hint of confusion. “Hey. You home already?”

“Matt…” She starts, her voice cracking and I’m on my feet before she can say another word.

“Where are you?”

*************************************

When we pull back into the garage, I turn off the car and look over at her, studying her profile. She’s been quiet since I picked her up a block from the restaurant, shaking from the cold. She had been absolutely hysterical, giving me the story through her tears. But once I wrapped my jacket around her, she'd calmed down and had spent the drive staring blankly out the window.

“I know this is a stupid question but are you okay?” I ask softly, brushing a thumb over her freezing-cold hand. The last thing I wanted to do was to treat her as if she'd break at any second, she was strong—But it’s hard to ignore how vulnerable she looks sitting next to me.

She nods and lets out a heavy sigh. I take that as a sign she doesn’t want to talk about it yet. But when I go to get out of the car, she stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Thank you for coming to get me, Matt.”

The sincerity in her tone was enough to have me in shambles, someone hurt her and all I can do is deal with the aftermath

I reach up and place a hand over hers, giving her a reassuring smile despite how much my heart hurts for her. “Anytime. Anywhere. Any place.”

We walk into the house and the room falls silent as everyone takes in Y/N’s rattled appearance, preparing to walk on eggshells. But of course, Chris’ tactless ass is the first to speak.

“He left her in the fucking rain?” He exclaims, standing up and walking towards us but Y/N doesn’t respond, her teeth still sinking into her bottom lip. She just wraps my jacket tighter around herself, still trembling slightly from the harsh weather.

“C’mon,” I say softly, placing a hand on the small of her back and ushering her up the stairs to Nick’s room so she can take a shower and get comfortable. She has a stash of clothes there from the countless sleepovers they’ve had.

When she’s settled and I hear the water start to run, I head back down the stairs, anger flooding my body.

“Is she okay?” Nick asks, peering around me to make sure she’s not following me down.

I shake my head, pacing back and forth from the table to the couch. “That fucking piece of shit-”

“What happened? Did they break up?” Madi asks, scrunching her face up in confusion.

“Olivia. He got with fucking Olivia” I spit out, still overtaken by anger.

“Like the Olivia, he kept telling her not to worry about?” Nick asks, his own anger building up at the situation. To some extent, everyone knew about Asher and his questionable actions.

I clench my jaw, simply nodding at his question while continuing to pace. “Then the bitch just abandoned her at Nobu. Why were they even there? She fucking hates sushi, he should know that.” I rant.

I didn’t like Asher from the beginning of their relationship, Y/N knows that, but I'm also not entirely an asshole, so I’ve tried to be supportive.

But now? After leaving her in the rain? After leaving her entirely alone to cry in the rain, dislike isn’t even the word for how I feel anymore.

“Matt?” Chris speaks, bringing me back to reality.

I pause my steps, running my fingers through my hair. “Sorry, what?”

“I was saying, it’s fucked up that he did that shit the week before her birthday,” Chris says, a worry line gathering between his brows.

“We’re gonna have to make this trip extra special for her. Make sure she has fun.” Nick adds and Madi nods enthusiastically.

“On the bright side,” Nate chimes in, a smirk spreading across his face. “Matt, you might actually have a shot with your girl now.”

Before I can even respond, Chris barks out a laugh, leaning into the side of the couch like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. I narrow my eyes, stopping my pacing to glare at him. “What’s so funny?”

“You know damn well you’re not gonna make a move.” He laughs and Nate slaps his chest to shut him up, causing him to jolt forward slightly at the sudden sharp pain.

“You don’t know what I’ll do.” I snap defensively, my ego a little bruised at his lack of confidence.

“Okay.” Nate cuts in, leaning an elbow on Chris’ shoulder. “What if we make it interesting?”

“I’m listening,” I say hesitantly, taking a seat near Nick.

“50 dollars says you won’t tell her how you feel by the end of the trip” He says, pulling out his wallet and tapping it for emphasis.

“Deal,” I say pridefully, my mouth outrunning my head.

“Oh, I want in on this,” Chris says, leaning forward. “Another 50 says you can’t pull her.”

I grimace, not sure I like the idea of betting on my feelings for her. But Nick reaches over and tussles a hand through my hair. “Y’know what? I like Matt’s chances on this. You guys are on.”

Madi clears her throat and I look up to see Y/N coming slowly down the stairs, her face clean and hair still damp. The look on her face is a gut punch and my eyes track her as she walks over to where Nick holds his arms open.

And as she curls up into his side, her eyes snapping up to meet mine, all I can think is… what the hell did I just get myself into?

🏷️/ @sturniolho @sttzee @tillies33ssss @miloisdone1 @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @mrsmiagreer @asturniolos

@teapartyprincess4two @whicked-hazlatwhore @sukiipjs @accio326 @sturniolosmind @imfromthediningtable @st4rswrld @thvvluvr @sturnssmuts @littlenerdybee @sturniolossss @iloveneilperry @eclipzw @chrissloverrrrrrr16 @sstvrnioloo @lacysturniolo

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angelwithdemonictendencies · 8 months

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i wear my shame like tar in a vacant town square, spitting out feathers like blood; you touch my hand and ask if i'm ready to go home.

cc22 x reader: the two of you never go out of style (ft. best friend ax72).

(warnings: longest story yet (12.5k, get comfortable), obviously blasphemous filth (i'm getting back in the swing of it, i think), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), oral sex (f on m), choking and hair pulling and oral fixation and all of my usual nonsense (this one is a little touchy, don't ask me why), bodily fluids (you guys know the drill), depiction of self-doubt and burnout and failure and general unhappiness (you always get a happy ending, though! because you deserve a happy ending), don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.) gif is not mine.)

(a/n: favorites! this story poured out of me over the course of the last couple of weeks, all thanks to one of my friends who showed me a picture of cc22 on pinterest (thank you, country music festival season. you will be missed). and here we are! with many creative liberties taken, you have yourself a story with my typical mythical and religious imagery, way too much description, dialogue that no one would say, and plot holes the size of canyons. but you guys keep indulging me anyways, and i love you and thank you for that. you're a stylist in this one! (something fun and different, i think). as for takeways - too often we get caught up in what we think we should have accomplished by now, what we think others expect from us, how terribly we must be letting them down. deep breath and let it go, favorites. all you can do is show up, over and over again. that will always be enough. you will always be enough. enjoy this piece of my heart until inspiration next strikes and please tell me what you think. go canucks (under el capitano hughes, even! that c on his jersey stands for chokes out his girl). my snakes say hi to your snakes. love and gentleness and strength to you, always always always.)

the first car ride to your new client's house was stressful, to say the least. and that wasn't even with arber's haphazard driving style taken into account.

"jesus," you bit out from the passenger seat, "i'd prefer to be alive for this meeting, bear."

"relax," he said, taking a right. you didn't have to be looking at him to know he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "and stop with the fidgeting. this isn't an interview. you're already hired."

you dropped your hands to your sides, stopped twisting your rings around your fingers as he had requested.

you exhaled a deep breath. he was right, after all. you already had the job. that honestly wasn't what you were worried about. you were worried about styling someone who wasn't arber. that was entirely new territory.

after all, you had known arber practically your entire life. he had been your best friend, your first boyfriend, then your best friend again. he was the number one person in your life, the person you felt most comfortable with.

you had been the first person he hugged after his family when he signed with the habs, the person who he called to pick him up after a night out, the one who he asked for help when he was texting a new girl.

so, when he had asked you to be his full-time stylist, you had dropped everything, said yes immediately.

to be fair, though, you hadn't had to drop much. you knew he had asked you partially to be kind, as the offer came during the worst period of your life. freshly dropped out of school, cheated on and broken up with, without a purpose or direction in sight, arber had been the one to extend a hand, offer you a new dream like it was nothing but a jacket in the cold.

and it was your dream, genuinely. you had been studying at school to be a fashion journalist, aspiring to work in new york one day, have an office in a skyscraper, read your pieces in the print of a glossy magazine.

but things change. things fall apart. and things get glued back together again like china teacups.

you were so, so grateful, though. you loved your job. you loved bringing out the best in arber, you loved discovering new sides of the fashion industry, you loved the travel and the events and the fact that your best friend was your employer.

sometimes though, you couldn't help but feel like you were missing something, like your heavenly wings had been sawed off, leaving only dissipated potential and thick blood running down your back. and the weight. oh, how you felt the weight of your wings even though they were gone, stolen.

you felt the weight now, as arber pulled you both into the driveway, parked, turned to you. "deep breath, okay?"

you obeyed, your exhale coming out a little shaky. he put a warm hand on your shoulder, squeezed. "ready to expand your business?"

you gave him a smile, a genuine one. he had always referred to this whole agreement as your business, even though it was entirely his idea.

you nodded, to which he smiled. you both got out of the car and walked to the door. arber rang the doorbell as you straightened out the legs of your pants, even though you had pressed them this morning.

not a big deal, you thought to yourself. just adding another client. just adding another client, that's all, nothing serious.

you knew you were wrong as soon as the door opened.

your new client stood in the doorframe, much shorter than arber and maybe an inch taller than you. he looked like the human embodiment of stability, in all senses of the word. he was broad, so strong looking, you knew it must be impossible to knock him over. but his kind eyes, his warm energy, he just looked so stable. so happy, so secure.

and his smile. what other way was there to take that smile, if not serious as death?

you blinked. arber slapped you on the back, made you cough. had someone been talking?

"this is cole," arber said, shooting you a look that said dial in. he gave cole your name.

you cleared your throat and extended your hand, smiled softly. "pleasure to meet you, cole," you said. "'m excited to start working with you."

you were hit, then, with the full force of his gaze, the entirety of his gorgeous smile. "'d bet you i'm more excited, love," he said, so laidback, enveloping your outstretched hand in his, giving you a first shake.

"easy," arber warned his teammate with a look, referring to the obviously flirtatious tone cole had adopted. cole just smiled.

his palm was rough with wear, with work, and warm with promise. your hand felt heavy in his. you felt like your body might let out a comical sigh of relief at the perfect easiness of his touch.

at that realization, you dropped your hand, brushed your palm on your jeans. you didn't see his eyes follow the movement, nor did you see his jaw work for only a moment.

"i'll leave you to it, then," arber said, clapping his hand in cole's in goodbye. he had told you he would introduce you, but you knew he had things to do, and now the actual work had to begin. your work. surely, you could expand your circle, just a bit, right? make some room?

"thanks again for sharing," cole said to your best friend.

"be good to each other," arber warned like a chastising parent, moving a pointed finger between the two of you.

"if you're anything like wifi," cole said to you, "don't think that'll be hard."

arber shook his head. "oh, she's much better than me," he said, and you knew he believed it, which made you feel those phantom scars on your back. not even close, you thought.

you rolled your eyes, his antics bringing a smile out of you regardless. "sure," you said. "i'll see you tomorrow, bear."

the corner of cole's full mouth ticked up at your nickname for his teammate. he stepped back and held open the door to his house. "after you, love," he said, gentle as anything.

you bowed your head slightly in thanks, partially to hide the flush that now bloomed on your cheeks at the prospect of being alone with cole.

"i hope arber told you that you can trust me, and stuff," cole said, rubbing the back of his neck as you both walked through the entryway. "i know this is kind of out of the blue, and all that, but apparently, i really need your help, so-"

you bit back a grin. "apparently?"

he tilted his head, sucked on his teeth, gave you a guilty sort of smile. "alright," he started, "i didn't think i needed any help in the fashion department." he pulled out a stool at his kitchen countertop for you before walking around to the fridge, beginning to pour two glasses of water.

"did you?" you asked to his back as he faced away. his back that rippled under his t-shirt. which you definitely didn't notice.

there was a goofy, fake accusative look on his face as he turned back to you, placing one water in front of you. "what are you implying?"

you reached across the counter to grab two coasters and set them in front of you both, thanking him. "nothing," you teased, "except that i've seen your instagram, and maybe that my presence here wouldn't be the worst thing in the world."

he squinted for a moment, maybe confused, as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter. "well, we agree on that, then," he replied.

a pause that felt like caramel settled between you two for a moment as you held each other's gazes. his, comfortable, and yours, curious.

you cleared your throat, brought up a hand to rub at your shoulder. "so, apart from thinking you don't need a stylist, what else do i need to know?"

"i don't know," he started. his forearms flexed, making the veins in his arms more prominent. "i like hats on gamedays?"

a grin broke across your face like sunlight. you let out a laugh. "yeah?"

"what?" he asked, fake offended again, but his smile was nothing but so utterly pleased.

you shook your head, crossed one leg over the other. "nothing," you said. "just don't know why the clients i attract are dead set on hats, of all things." you were thinking of all the times arber had insisted on a hat, even though you thought his hair had looked just perfect for the camera.

"how did you and wifi meet?" cole asked easily, perhaps also thinking about arber and his colorful hat collection. "or bear, right? that's what you call him?"

you blushed, nodded slightly.

"only if you're comfortable," he clarified, and it surprised you that you actually were. sitting here, in this stranger's house, you felt normal.

"we've known each other since grade school," you began, clasping your hands. "he's my best friend."

"you don't come to the games," cole said, nothing more than an observation.

you shook your head. "not a hockey fan," you admitted.

he tilted his head. "maybe you just haven't been watching the right player, love."

you rolled your eyes at his obvious arrogance. "okay, big guy."

he took a sip of water. "so you guys have always been friends?"

"we dated for about a year in high school," you said, leaning on your clasped hands. "my first boyfriend."

something interesting sparked in his gaze. something you noted. "and?"

you narrowed your eyes. "and some people aren't meant to be dating. arber and i are meant to be friends. why?"

just a bit of a blush crept across his nose. "no reason. how did you get into styling?"

you rubbed at your shoulder blades again. "arber offered me the job." you swallowed, omitted the rest of the story. you were comfortable, but not that comfortable. "he's the first and only person i've styled, up until now. until you."

meaning flooded his eyes. "i'm honored, then."

don't be, you thought, i'm not worthy of something like your honor.

"thanks for making some room for me," he finished, giving you another smile that had your heart feel like it was bubbling.

"if you didn't want a stylist," you asked, trying to slow down your heartbeat. "why am i here?"

"i was catching too much heat from the guys," he confessed, honest and unserious. "and wifi said he could hook me up. said you were the best of the best."

you closed your eyes and gave the slightest shake of your head as you smiled. of course he would say that.

"so, how do you usually start out?" he asked.

you thought to yourself for a minute. you didn't really know. "when i started with arber, i already knew everything about him," you said. "and i don't know anything about you, cole."

"except," he clarified, "that i like hats."

"yes, except that." you let out a low laugh. what must life be like, to take everything so lightly?

"what do you want to know?" he asked, running a hand through his soft-looking hair.

"style is about showing everyone a little more you," you explained. "what do you want people to see when they look at you?"

he scrunched his mouth to the side in thought. "i don't really care what people see." his emphasis told you that he cared about specific people, not people as a collective. what would it be like to be a part of those select few?

you took a breath. what it must be like. "okay. who are you dressing for?"

he appeared confused again, and he wore the expression like a child. "what do you mean?"

you could never be anything but patient with him. what would disappointment look like on him? you shuddered at the thought.

"you mentioned the guys in the locker room. are they your audience? or maybe the girls on social media?" he blinked. "who do you want to look good for?"

"how does arber answer this question?" cole asked.

you pressed your index finger to your lips playfully. "client confidentiality," you explained.

"i want to look good for me," he said. "i play better when i know i look good before the game."

you nodded, making a note of that. "good." his gaze softened into something lovely.

"but i wouldn't be mad if your help meant i get some more edits made of me."

a laugh burst free from your chest, organic and loud. it seemed to echo across the high ceilings, and it echoed in cole's head. "got it. show me your closet?"

you made to get up as he pushed off of the counter, his arms and chest flexing as he did so. you willed your flush to dull, not wanting to give yourself away or make him uncomfortable, although that seemed impossible.

"take me out to dinner first," he joked, making you roll your eyes as he led you to the master bedroom, then to his massive closet. he held the door open for you again.

"do we have enough hats?" you asked sarcastically, your eyes immediately drawn to his excessive collection.

"okay, lay off," he said, grinning, leaning against the doorframe. "they aren't going anywhere."

you panned through his button-downs, his trousers, his ties, overall pretty impressed. "lots of color," you observed. "especially in your accent pieces."

"i like to be a little different," he admitted.

you were glad you weren't looking at him head on. as if his presence wouldn't make him stick out in any crowd, no matter the size.

"you have a lot of nice pieces here," you complimented, finally.

he looked at you with such hope, you melted. "really, love?"

the name made you flutter off the ground, like you had wings again. like they had never been severed off with a rusted blade.

you nodded, met his gaze, decided you could probably live there, drowning in his attention. "yeah, cole. i'm excited to help the world see a little more of you." lucky world.

i'm excited to see more of you, you wanted to say.

something warm swirled in the air around the two of you. "thank you again for taking me on," he said. "you didn't have to, and i'm really happy you're here."

you could have sighed at those words. when was the last time someone had told you that, so explicitly?

you bit your lip. "okay, so wednesday? we can do measurements?" you said, hoping he didn't notice your breathlessness.

"perfect," he agreed.

so, on wednesday, you were back at cole's house, this time with all of your supplies, ready to begin what you hoped would be a wonderful partnership. and you were sure it would be, if only you could stop getting so distracted by your client.

and he was ever so distracting, now, having obviously just showered, flushed from steam, hair damp and dark, his eyes a drowsy and delicious sort of comfortable.

"you came back," he said as you stepped inside past him, past what you could assume was the smell of his shampoo - something fresh and almost floral.

you clutched your clipboard to your chest, looked at him curiously. "of course i did," you said. this was your job, after all. you were dedicated to your business, your craft. to your people. and cole was technically part of that circle now.

he put his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, shrugged. "just happy you're back, 's all."

you bowed your head to hide how much his words meant to you. how could he say things like that? things that meant everything to you, but he said them like they were the easiest thing in the world? like they were just an exhale?

"how was practice?" you asked softly as the two of you walked side by side to his closet. you knew it had been exhausting, at least from arber's curse-filled rambling that had blown up your phone the second his ice time ended. you had empathized with him, but mostly just reminded him to chug some gatorade and suck it up, he was a professional athlete.

the thought of telling cole caufield to suck it up almost made you sick to your stomach.

he blew out a breath. "tough, today," he said. "i won't bore you, though. know you're not a hockey fan." he said the last part with a joking sort of bite.

i want to know, you wanted to say. i want to know about you.

but you didn't want to scare him off, or come across as weird, so you didn't say anything.

"what's your plan for today?" he asked.

right. you had a plan. you put your clipboard between your side and your arm, pulled out your tape measure. "measurements," you said with a smile, almost shyly.

now that you thought about it, taking someone's measurements was an intimate act in itself. standing here, in front of him, you realized how dangerous this was.

was there anything more tense? than to know the width of one's thigh, having never seen it bare? to deeply understand the curve of one's neck, but through numbers, never touch?

"where do you need me?" he asked, and you wondered briefly if he registered why his words made you jittery.

one look at his ghost of a smirk and you had your answer. you cleared your throat. you put a pen behind your ear, tape measure and clipboard in your hands, held your arms up in a t. "like this," you said, and he mirrored you.

you took a breath before closing the space between you, beginning to measure the distance from the center of his chest to his fingertips.

did the silence weigh as heavily on him as it did you? like kindling, one spark away from a wildfire?

you recorded the number on your paper.

"what did you do today?" cole asked you gently, as if not to spook you. you wrapped the measure around his bicep as you thought to yourself.

"not much," you said, thinking about your slow morning, which you had spent drafting something like an article, exploring recent trends among male athletes. something no one would ever read, you were sure.

you were almost embarrassed at your inability to talk to him - keeping everything short, so short, as if keeping distance from a rabid animal.

he didn't seem to notice. "what did you have for lunch, then?"

a small smile began to pull at your mouth. "a grilled cheese."

he tilted his head back and let out something like a moan, something that had you bowing your head to hide your face.

something that made the air scream.

"that sounds amazing," he said as you bent down, held the measure at his feet and began to work it all up to his knee.

"yeah?" you replied, happy to not have to look at him, to have something to do with your hands. "maybe i'll make you one sometime."

there was a pause. "would you?" he asked, voice slow.

you scrunched up your face, met his gaze for only a second before turning back to your task. "yes," you said simply before pulling the measure up to his waist.

the number made your shoulder shake in a rumble of laugh.

"what?" you could hear the glow of a smile in his voice, bouncy and bubbly.

you shook your head. "nothing," you tried. "'m just used to different measurements."

"are you?" he asked. "don't tell me you're thinking about another man right now, love. it'd shatter my heart."

you laughed for real, at that. "it's just that arber is so tall, barely proportionate," you explained, writing on your clipboard again. "and you're-" you faded out, at a loss for words.

how could you even describe him?

"not six four?" cole offered, not even close to offended. almost cocky about it, somehow. he ran his tongue along the edges of his teeth, gave you a grin.

you shook your head. "not six four," you agreed. you twirled your finger in the air, motioning for him to turn around, his arms still in a t.

you now faced his back, became closely acquainted with the damp curls at the nape of his neck, with the practically pornographic indents in his shirt that marked his triceps.

"tall enough, though," he said into the air in front of him, snapping you out of your trace, cockiness oozing from his voice like blueberry syrup. "don't you think, love?"

you thanked every star there had ever been that he couldn't see you.

what could you say, here? what would be the normal thing to say?

"i think so, cole," you squeaked, trying not to let the smell of him so close make you dizzy. if you looked at his face, what would you see? what part of you would that heal?

you held the measure at one end of his full wingspan, pulled it all the way to his other outstretched hand. your fingertips just barely grazed the backs of his hands, only just a brush, and yet it felt like some private secret, like a stolen touch in an ancient ballroom.

you longed to run your hands across the planes of his shoulder blades, check for the wings you were sure you would find.

this golden boy would never have the ugly, jagged scars that you felt marred your own back. no, his wings would be bright and proud and every bit the wonder that he was. this beautiful angel boy would never know the grief and theft that you understood so personally.

"alive back there?" he said, a roughness to his voice that made you shiver.

you nodded although he wouldn't see it, finished your last measurements, cleared your throat, tapped the top of his spine once in finality.

he turned to you. face to face, his smile was so brutal you could have flinched.

"all done, love?" he asked, little more than a whisper. you couldn't stop your gaze from slipping to his mouth, if only for a second, maybe lingering on his full lips before snapping back to his shimmery eyes.

"all done," you repeated, low and heavy. "you should probably do your inseam." you forced a lightness into your tone to dissolve the tension you felt pressed between the two of you. "and don't embellish."

his smirk was nothing like the boys you'd had in the past. there was no trace of cruelty, only a cocky sort of satisfaction. a knowing. "i'd never lie to a pretty girl like you," he rasped. "and besides," he added. "embellishment's not necessary."

you bit back a nervous laugh, tried not to let your mind wander, tried not to wince at the word pretty in his voice ricocheting against your head.

then he was handing you back your tape measure, giving you a number with that smirk on his face.

and then the cockiness was gone, replaced by something soft.

his head tilted ever so slightly as he leaned forward, just an inch, angled his face to your neck before retreating back to meet your gaze again.

your face felt hot, your feet like someone had poured cement over the tops of your shoes.

"you smell nice," was all he said, ever the gentle observation.

you blinked at him, rubbed at your shoulder blades unconsciously. "thank you," you breathed.

all of a sudden he was glowing much too bright, like staring into the midday sun, just this mass of potential, so much potential without even a smidge of doubt.

this potential, his potential, there was no doubt that it would be realized, exceeded even. no doubt at all. beautiful golden angel boy. his wings were too much to bear, just now.

you mumbled an excuse to leave, rushed to gather your things, ignored the confused scrunch of his brow, nodded affirmation about your shopping appointment tomorrow, hurried out the door with a shy goodbye. so rushed, so shy, you missed the way longing invaded his gaze as he opened his front door for you, watched you get into your car and drive away.

you hated the way slow, burning tears ran down your cheeks as you drove, the kind that hang at your jaw and feel like they must leave some kind of mark behind - some kind of ugly scalded scar.

and you weren't mad at him, that would be impossible. you weren't even jealous. you had known for years that you would never get your wings back, and it wouldn't even be the same if you did. to sew them back in would be so painful, so traumatic. so no, you weren't jealous.

it hurt, then, it hurt so terribly to want someone so, so different, someone so much better. you felt as if you would never deserve to bask in the glow of his attention, to hear what his voice sounded like when it was drenched in syrupy sleep, to know what his perfect mouth would feel like on your collarbone.

you went to sleep with a phantom ache. you went to sleep sad.

the next morning was better.

you were at arber's, laying out a couple of options for him to wear to a casual sponsorship event he was attending later.

after your usual catching up while you sorted through some of his shirts, his voice adopted an airy sort of inquiry.

"so," he began, sitting and leaning back against the wall, his elbows resting on his knees. "how's coley? 's he being nice to you?"

you scrunched up your face, laying one shirt down on top of some dark brown trousers. "'course he's being nice to me," you said. "don't think he's got a mean bone in his body."

"alright," arber relented. "you bein' nice to him, then?"

"yeah." you met his eyes, couldn't shake the worry in your tone. "why? did he say something 'bout me being mean?"

you knew the smugness on arber's face all too well. a set up. it made you roll your eyes, throw a balled up t-shirt at him.

he laughed. "i knew it," he said. "since day one. since before day one, actually."

"shut up, bear," you grumbled.

"i'm just excited for you," he defended, still in that teasing tone. "been a while since you've had a crush, eh?"

in reality, you hadn't really had a crush since your fall from grace. since that demon from your past had left you like you were nothing, like you were a pointless chore.

you grabbed a couple pairs of sneakers. "whatever," you said, tried not to sound defeated.

"what does that mean?"

"crushes are meaningless," you said.

"crushes are fun," arber corrected you.

you scoffed. "it's basically painful for me to be around him."

"fuck." arber threw a sock at you. "so you really like him, then." he shrugged to himself. "i called it."

"how could you have possibly called this?" you asked, genuinely, holding a baseball cap next to a sneaker to see if the shades of navy matched. "cole is, like, the opposite of my usual type."

arber laughed again. "and what good has your usual type ever done you?"

you rolled your eyes, despite that fact being absurdly true. "you know you count as part of that demographic, right?"

"with me being the obvious exception," he amended. "as i'm not a sadistic asshole."

you finished laying out his options, stepped back.

"i like the navy one," arber said immediately.

you were nodding already. "i knew you would."

he made to stand up. "so, you seeing him today?"

"we're shopping," you said, taking a breath.

"sounds fun," arber tried. you lack of a response was notable.

"i'm scared," you whispered eventually. "he's just so..."

no words seemed to do him justice.

"good?" arber offered, half shrugging a massive shoulder.

maybe that word did.

"wanna know something?" he asked, slowly draping his arms behind your head and pulling you into a hug. you relaxed into his familiar embrace.

"what?" you said into his chest.

"you are, too."

you carried your friend's words with you like a talisman as you mentally prepared to see cole again.

and when you arrived at your agreed meeting spot, like a vision, he was there, waving at you. and no preparation would have been enough, you realized, as his easy kind of beauty would stay breathtaking no matter how long you knew him.

his hair curled into his face as he pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, drawing your gaze to the slope of his nose, the symmetry of his high cheekbones.

you rubbed at your shoulder blades and waved back at him. "hey," you said when he was in front of you.

"you came," he said, his voice laced with such pleasantness you could taste the sugar of it on your tongue.

"of course i did," you sing-songed, knowing you had had a conversation like this with him before.

"well, i'm happy i get to see you," he replied as you began to walk side by side. "where to first?"

so you went shopping with your client, and as you did, you couldn't help but recognize how cole had this way of making you feel like showing up was all you ever needed to do.

like the phantom weight of your wings was gone, like they had never been there, because the only you he knew was the one standing in front of him right now.

and that you seemed perfectly enough for him.

every time you held up a shirt to his frame, every time he met your gaze, each accidental brush of a touch - it all felt like something you had dreamed up.

"can i ask you a question, love?" he asked at one point as you both entered a store that specialized in sneakers.

you nodded.

"how come you always wear..." he trailed off, opting instead to gesture to your daily uniform of well fitting jeans and a flawlessly ironed button down.

"how come the stylist isn't more stylish?" you asked, a teasing smile beginning to come free.

"not necessarily." cole shrugged. "you always wear the same thing. just wonderin' if there's a reason."

your heart fluttered at the idea of him observing something about you and wanting to understand the reasons why.

you quickly realized it was probably important to him, from an employer standpoint, to understand his stylist's clothing decisions, and the fluttering wilted.

you looked away. "because it's not about me," you said, picking up a unique looking pair from a shelf.

when you turned to show him, his confused expression startled you. it looked so genuine on him.

"it has to be, sometimes, right?"

no, you wanted to tell him, it's all so much easier when it's not about me. when it's not about what i want. please don't make me think about what i want.

"yeah," you said instead, less than convincing, "right."

and the day continued, successfully, if you said so yourself, as you got a better sense of what cole actually liked to wear. unfortunately, you also got a better sense of who cole was, and that was very much not helping in your desire to stop wanting him.

how his laugh came so often, and still so truly. how his smile never dimmed, a glow that seemed to permeate the thick thorns around your heart. how he asked you more questions about yourself than maybe anyone.

when you suggested a darker color, so as not bring attention away from his eyes, he asked, "where did you learn that?"

and he would listen so intently as you explained how color theory was one of the first things you learned in university.

and he would say, "that must be why you wear red shoes a lot, then. to match with your undertones."

and you would nod and try to hide your blush before it began to match your patent red slingbacks.

and then later he said, "i didn't know you went to university, love. what did you think of it?"

and you would feel embarrassed but still compelled to say, "i didn't finish it." because lying to him about that seemed cruel, stupid, petty. because lying to him seemed impossible.

and he would say, "but what did you think of it?" with no trace of judgement or expectation and you almost didn't ever remember what it was like to have wings, what your fall from grace was like, what that searing blade felt like on your back.

so a smile that was beautiful because it was true would grace your mouth as you told him, "i loved it." and it would feel so deliriously liberating to tell someone that. for someone else to know that you really had loved school, and that dropping out hadn't been what you wanted but what you needed.

and that while you were so, so grateful for what you were doing now, there was a part of you that was so utterly glutted with rage at the fact that someone had taken that from you.

that someone had broken you so critically and completely that something you loved had morphed into something you couldn't manage, something that would only break you more.

and that every day was another day closer to healing, another day closer to being okay with the fact that the past had already happened.

and cole would smile just because you were smiling.

later on, towards the end of your excursion, when he held up a positively dreadful hat that matched definitively nothing, you couldn't help but laugh.

and if your eyes weren't shut you would have seen how something sparkled in his eyes like rippling water.

"c'mon," he pleaded. "it's perfect."

"it's definitely something," you conceded, hating the hat but loving the way he seemed to love it.

"please, love," he begged, and you didn't even know why he was asking you, as it was his money, and at the end of the day, his wardrobe.

you didn't mind the tone his voice had taken on, though, if you admitted it to yourself. he made pleading sound so pretty.

"how about this?" you offered. "we can do a 'one for me, one for you' rule." you met his excited gaze. "to make sure we balance what i think is right and what you want."

"one for me, and one for you," he repeated.

you nodded. "almost like we're working together on an art project, or something."

he laughed, and it was glittery. "but i'm the art project," he responded, delighted at the metaphor.

you wanted to tell him that he was a masterpiece.

the following weekend marked the first preseason game that you would be styling him for.

very early the morning of, you drove over, having already met with arber and gotten him squared away.

"don't you dare make him look better than me," arber warned you on your way out.

you rolled your eyes. "good luck today, bear," you called over your shoulder.

"i'm serious! no playing favorites just because you want to fu-"

you shut the door before he could finish his sentence.

now, here you were, pulling pieces from cole's closet as he sat on the edge of his bed.

"what are you feeling like today?" you asked him as you thumbed through jackets. "brown or black?"

"i'm feeling like that light purple tie over there," cole replied immediately, pointing to the one he was talking about and not answering your question.

you shook your head. "well, we'll do one for me," you said as you grabbed a beautiful soft brown suit, "and one for you," you finished as you plucked the purple tie from its holder.

you completed his look together and then waited in the kitchen for him to change.

you heard his footsteps behind you, causing you to turn. "well," his rough voice asked, "what do you think?"

seeing him made you feel like the wind had been knocked out of you.

but there was something almost sinisterly personal about seeing him in clothes you had styled him in, a collaboration of his likes and your knowledge, a combination of him and you, right in front of you.

just as you had imagined, the soft brown complimented his coloring beautifully, the purple adding the perfect pop of spontaneity.

would it be like this every time? would he always feel like best thing you had ever done?

"trying to take your silence as a compliment, love," he joked, and you scolded yourself that he had even gone a second without knowing how beautiful he looked.

you approached him, then, reached up to adjust his collar, one of the first times you had willingly and unnecessarily thrust yourself into his personal space. which he noticed, by his sudden intake of breath, the way his chest rose and fell.

"look so handsome, cole," you told him honestly.

and you'd tell him a thousand times if he kept looking at you like this, like you were the sweetest thing he'd ever seen. like you were unscarred. or maybe that you were scarred, but that you were sweet anyway, like a just-over-ripe end of summer plum, the kind whose dark juice dribbles down your chin at first bite.

"thanks to you, love," he breathed, his voice a little short.

you dusted off his shoulders, relished in the sculpted muscle you felt under your palms. "you're a job well done, then," you said, and you loved the way his eyes warmed at your words, at the way you could physically see the effect you had on him, the way he wore his desire so shamelessly.

oh, to be shameless. you weren't there, not just yet. couldn't yet meet him at a shameless middle.

but as you left him to do any final preparations before his game, you couldn't help but feel that you were gliding, slowly, but absolutely, towards that meeting.

that feeling was strengthened that weekend, the last weekend before the real season began. you were scheduled to style both arber and cole for a country music festival in toronto.

for the last two years, you had styled arber for this event, as it was one of his favorite weekends of the summer.

it was one of your favorite events to style, too, as you rarely got to lean into a more western, almost cinematic sort of look.

it would be your first time thinking about this event from the perspective of two different clients.

arber's side was easy. he already had a favorite cowboy hat, a refusal to wear boots, an insistence on sneakers. it was only a question of colors, of brands to satisfy sponsorships, of what flannel shirt to rip the sleeves off of.

"and you're sure you don't want to come?" arber asked, ever the inclusive best friend.

"'m sure, bear," you said, although part of you wanted to come. something was holding you back though, something you didn't like very much. a fear of being a burden? a fear of feeling alone, surrounded by thousands? something like that.

arber knew you well, though.

"i'll see you at the festival," he said as you left him to get ready.

"what?" you asked, confused.

you could hear his smugness even though your back was turned. "know coley's going to ask the same thing and you're going to go all gooey-eyed. 'of course i'll come, cole,'" he said, doing a dreadful imitation of your voice at the end, "anything for you!"

you were happy he couldn't see your vengeful flush, your embarrassment at how accurate his statement had been.

anything for you was echoing around your brain when you showed up to cole's house, made your bow past him extra bashful, made his presence seem extra indulgent. being around him today smelled like brownies, like chocolate, like fudge that gets stuck on your teeth. it was rich. and it felt a little shameless.

you handed him a container with a grilled cheese you had made that morning. "'s your off day, right?" you explained. "just don't tell your trainer."

and maybe somebody else would have looked at you with expectation, maybe someone else would have thought what else will you do for me?

but cole's gaze was so genuine it melted you away. "for me, love?" he asked, and you could sighed at how happy he was in that moment. how easy it was for him to be happy. how it still felt so lovely to make him happy, despite the ease.

"of course for you," you said, willing nonchalance into your tone, even though that couldn't be farther from the truth. you began to walk to the closet. "now, about today's event-"

his hand grasped your wrist, ever so gently, like you were some kind of precious porcelain doll. like to disturb your beauty would be a malevolent crime. like he would lock himself up if he did.

his barely there touch stopped you where you stood. "thank you," he breathed, some kind of meaning twisted up in his words that was beyond you.

and you wanted to laugh nervously, wave him off, mutter something about how it was just a grilled cheese, for god's sake, how it didn't mean anything.

but lying to cole caufield had always felt like an impossible ask. so of course what you ended up saying was, "anything for you."

and of course you wanted to bang your head against his beautiful wallpapered wall after you said it. you could hear arber's grumble of a laugh in the back of your head.

if you had been focused on cole's face, then, you would have seen how the heat in his eyes burned like embers, how his jaw worked at your words.

but you were already opening his closet, the place in his house that was quickly becoming your safe space. "about today," you began, forcing the squeak out of your voice. "how do you feel about standing out a bit?"

"as in...." he said, an easy smile on his face like he was just happy to listen to you talk.

"as in full western," you answered, hope dripping from your tone like granulated sugar.

he looked at you with a teasing skepticism.

"please?" you asked, barely noting how his eyes darkened, if only for a second. "please let me dress you up, coley?"

you knew you had him. and you were right, but to a greater degree than you realized.

"dress me up, then, love," he conceded, leaning against the doorframe.

your smile was nothing short of triumphant. when was the last time you had felt triumph?

"one for me," you sing-songed as you placed a pair of cowboy boots at his feet like an offering, setting the tone of the final look immediately.

"and one for me," he said, soft, picking out the hat you had been going to choose anyways. something told you he knew this, which made your blush begin to creep up your neck and past your ears.

so you went spar for spar, picking out pieces until you the final look of your dreams was laid out in front of him.

you left him to get changed, but as you passed him in the doorway, you rubbed gently at his shoulder. "you're too good to me, cole," you said, in a joking tone, but you meant every word. "letting me win."

he exhaled and relaxed into your comfortable touch. "like it when you win," he said.

and what could you even say to that? so you didn't say anything, went to wait for him in the kitchen. everything felt warm. what a delicious pleasure, to have someone say they were rooting for you. suddenly being a professional athlete made a lot of sense to you.

"'m glad i let you dress me up," he said as he walked in, adjusting his hat. "i think standing out might be exactly what i need before the season starts."

and when he stood in front of you, a vision of western silhouettes and muted denim colorways, a pop of red here and there, you could have clapped yourself on the back. he looked like a truly wonderful combination of a trashy airport romance novel and a luxury magazine editorial.

his embroidered denim button down strained at his thick biceps and shoulders, his shorts the same sort of tense around his thighs.

you clasped your hands behind your back to release some of the pressure that had begun to coil up inside of you like a mechanical snake.

you didn't think you would ever get used to seeing the fruits of your imagination painted across cole's body. it was a special kind of intimacy. a torturous one, almost.

you approached him again, pulled at his sleeves in a teasing sort of way. "a little small in the arms, yeah? maybe around the thigh, too?"

he tilted his head, his gaze filled with cocky knowing. "and who took the measurements, love?"

you had entered an unknown land, the boundaries of which were unclear, blurry. it fizzed at the edges with danger.

accordingly, he brought a hand to your chin and held your jaw gently. "starting to think you did it on purpose," he breathed, something rough and raspy beginning to invade his tone.

"i'd never do such a thing," you defended, emboldened by his hand, by his courage. your hands were again clasped behind your back. don't cross a line, you thought to yourself. don't.

"i'd be willing to forgive you," cole started, his trailing off meaning there would be a condition.

his thumb had begun to trace feather-light circles on your jaw.

"if?" you asked.

"if you come with me today," he said plainly, openly, easily. always easily.

"done," you said, almost as easily. even if you knew there would be hell to pay when arber saw you. even if you knew the line between work and pleasure was becoming very, very thin. perhaps transparent.

as you drove back to your place to change into something a bit more suited for a festival, it dawned on you that you hadn't thought about your wings at all, hadn't rubbed at your shoulders the whole time you had been with cole that day. not even once.

with him, you didn't need to be the beautiful, smart prodigy practically overflowing with potential. you didn't need wings.

you just needed to show up. so, that's what you did.

you showed up for him at the festival, very notably not in your everyday uniform, instead in a vintage sundress you had been dying to wear and your boots, a unique pair of accent sunglasses pushed up into your hair.

it felt good to wear something different, to wear something a little more out there, to wear a bit of you. you were not used to giving the world a bit more of yourself, having felt before that perhaps the world didn't need any more of you.

you glanced at your phone, approached the spot that arber suggested you meet the group at, quickly recognized the clothes you had put together this morning.

you hugged arber first, elbowed him lightly when he whispered, "change your mind, did you?" into your ear.

you smiled, rolled your eyes, but you could see in his gaze that he was just happy that you had decided to come, that whatever you had going on with cole was enough to bring you here.

he introduced you to some of his other teammates, their respective friends and partners, everyone being especially welcoming.

some of his other teammates joked about how they might be needing your stylistic help soon, too, and their girlfriends might have shared a look with you and mouthed "please" with a friendly grin.

you could feel cole's eyes on you the entire time you stood there, could have touched the side of your face to check if his gaze had seared a burn into your skin.

finally you turned to face him, were starkly unprepared for the vulnerable desire you found lurking in his eyes like some kind of mythical beast.

you couldn't help but smile at him, tilted your head, asking him a silent question.

can i trust what i'm seeing? how do i know my vision isn't a liar, like everything else?

"you came," he said to you, then, like he had so many times before.

"of course i did," you said, like you had so many times back to him.

you adjusted his hat on his head, straightened it, tilted it down slightly, creating a bubble-like barrier between the two of you and everyone else.

you picked up right where you left off, on the fringes of danger. danger you felt as he only barely touched your fingertips with his, not quite holding hands, almost.

he thumbed the hem of your dress between his fingers. "wear something pretty for me, love?" his gaze flared across your figure like high beams, getting stuck on your exposed legs like sediment, coating your bare shoulders thickly, like brownie batter.

who are you dressing for, that's what you had asked him at the beginning.

"'cause you look it," he clarified, raspy, "just so pretty."

and you blushed strawberry pink, let the group lead you to the main stage, settled into the space as the artist came on.

set after set, you couldn't remember the last time you had existed so carelessly, so gently, so shamelessly.

there were no thoughts of the past, of wings that once were, of anything but dancing with your best friend, laughing with his teammates, singing along with their girlfriends like you had known them your whole life.

you felt so light, so present, so perfect.

light on your feet, almost floating, each time your gaze caught on cole's, immediately tugging a smile free on your face, the kind you felt in your ears, in your jaw, in your squinting eyes.

present, absolutely no where else, each time you heard cole's starburst of a laugh, the sound ringing through the air and your head like a bell, like a lullaby.

perfect as anything, each ghost of a touch you both stole from each other throughout the afternoon. making an excuse for hair in your face, for a bustling crowd, for having a bit to drink, for a thread that had come free. excuses that were unnecessary, that nobody believed anyways.

late into the afternoon, you pressed a hand to your collarbone, felt a glow of heat under your palm. you bit your lip, found cole next to you. "'m gonna get burned," you said to him, shaking your head like you had said a joke, like you had said can't take me anywhere, hm?

but he only started to unbutton his shirt, making your eyes widen more as he revealed more and more skin.

"what are you doing?" you whispered, a sort of pleading tone injected into your voice. something like please don't do this to me.

something that he heard, must have, given the smirk that crept onto his face at your flush, at your voice. "gentle, pretty girl," he soothed, now entirely shirtless, entirely distracting. he handed his shirt to you. "can't have you burning up."

you tried not to be too terribly touched. you took the sunglasses off of your face and handed them to him. "one for you, one for me," you said with a smile as you traded.

"one for you, one for me," he repeated like a child repeats a prayer, doused in a desperate kind of faith. he pushed your sunglasses up onto his head, making his soft hair stick up in a million different directions.

you let him hold your drink as you shouldered on his shirt, fastened the top two buttons, tried not to get dizzy at the scent of him all over you.

just then, your favorite artist in the lineup came onstage to begin their set, cheers from the crowd loud and warm.

you faced the stage now, away from cole, clapping your hands, flushed with excitement.

a flush that only deepened as the music began, as you felt cole behind you, as he wrapped his arms around your front and swayed with you to the rhythm, something twangy and groovy.

"'s this okay?" he whispered, resting his chin between your head and shoulder, his mouth so close to your ear that you could feel the heat of his breath.

maybe okay wasn't the right word for this. this being his thick arms resting lazily around your hips, his bare broad chest against your back like puzzle pieces slotted together.

you nodded, regardless, had a hard time focusing on anything but the feeling of him, so close. "'s okay," you breathed.

maybe okay wasn't the right word.

"can you see?" you asked, hesitantly relaxing back into his chest, draping yourself across him like some kind of quilt.

you felt his laugh more than heard it, the shiver it evoked making it's way up to your hairline.

"tall enough, remember, love?" he whispered.

you snaked one of your hands back, ran your nails lightly across his neck, his curls. "more than enough," you said, not really referring to his height, more so just him. how this beautiful golden angel boy was more than enough.

the night fell like blackberry jam, thick and sweet and like home. you lost track of time as you slouched deeper against cole's body, as he began to hold you up a bit as you grew tired, continuing to sway to the music all the time. you had never been more comfortable. nothing had ever been easier.

too soon the night was over. you felt the residue of the sun on your face like a blush, the weight of the day in your legs. too soon you were hugging your new friends goodbye, handing your number out to the ones who were interesting in perhaps becoming a client, a few of the girls saying they better be seeing you at games, soon.

too soon you were at the passenger door of arber's truck, as he had arranged to drive you home after you told him you were coming.

cole walked you to the door, opened it for you, held your warm hand as you hopped into the lifted truck.

"you have everything for the road trip?" you asked him, referring to the outfits you had picked out together for him to wear for his series of away games.

he nodded, something flickering in his eyes. did he feel the shadow of you against him as you did him? was he cold like you were, without his exhales on your collarbone?

"travel safe," you said, your words brimming with meaning. i'll miss you went unsaid, but not unrecognized.

"the gala when i get back, yeah?" he said, almost drowsy.

"i've already got some ideas," you said, and the thought brought a smile to your face.

something dangerous flashed across his face, making your stomach flutter, your heart tense. "i've got some ideas too, pretty girl."

and then arber got into the driver's seat, said goodbye to cole, who returned the sentiment.

"i'm really happy you came," he said to you as the car started. i'll miss you, too.

you had a dreamy smile on your face as arber drove away.

"i like your friends," you said.

"they like you," he returned before smirking. "some more than others."

you rolled your eyes, but it was no use. hope bubbled up in you like caramelizing sugar. "does it bother you?" you asked then, squinting, realizing you hadn't really asked your best friend what he thought.

"does what bother me?" he asked. "you coming out to things you never would have a couple months ago?"

you went to cut him off, but he pressed on.

"or that you smile more now than i've seen in years? or that you seem to be genuinely enjoying your work?"

he wasn't lying, wasn't wrong, wasn't even critical.

you had always felt that you connected with arber because he, too, walked with the distinct slouch of a fallen angel, of a being, once heavenly, now devoid. the same evidence of struggle, of lack.

it dawned on you then that you had never judged him for it, had only appreciated him more. maybe it was time to extend yourself the same appreciation, the same forgiveness.

it was arber who had extended a hand to you in that place of darkness, but it had been you who had taken it. it had been you who had gotten up.

you had always been the most wonderful team. the kind of trust existed between you that perhaps one only offers their first love.

"you know i just want to see you happy, don't you?" he said, a bit softer than his typical biting humor. "if that's him, i could never be bothered."

"i do know that," you said, and you meant it. "i don't tell you enough how much i appreciate you, bear. but i do."

how lucky you felt to know you had him by your side no matter what, that no matter what happened, you had your best friend. to know that he had you, too.

you made sure he was all squared away for his trip, gave him a hug goodbye, told him to text you when he landed.

and such began the week of time away.

a week you filled with planning, preparations, shopping, lists, moodboards, drafting articles that (probably) no one would read but you wrote them anyway.

a week you wore things that didn't match, clashing colors and aesthetics, frilly silk skirts and sneakers, jerseys and business trousers. just to see how it would feel, just because you could. shameless.

no matter how busy you kept, you missed cole. you missed the way your stomach would flip when he would open his front door, the way he smelled after he showered, you missed his firework of a laugh and the way his voice would get raspy with use.

it was hard to leave off at the point that you did - seemingly on the precipice of the point of no return.

part of you hated that you had left everything so uncertain still. every possibility of what he felt, what would happen, it twisted around you like a lovesick tornado. what would happen when he returned?

would you have to build up to everything again? would he forget what you felt like against him? would he even want you to remind him?

or maybe he would kiss you immediately, like you so desired. as he was away, your workdays became interrupted by visions of his lips, phantom hands on your hips, your fingers on his throat, his in your hair.

visions that left you a little breathless. a little flushed. but wanting, above all else. they left you wanting.

so you were a little scared, a little tense, but mostly full of want when you arrived at cole's for the first time since he'd arrived home after a successful string of games on the road. the week had gone by fast, but also painfully slowly.

today you planned to prepare for the gala tomorrow for one of his teammate's charities, a black tie event, sure to be a fun night to style.

today you wore a dress, and that said enough.

when cole opened the door your breath caught. beautiful golden angel boy.

he looked so soft, then. the angle of his jaw, of his cheekbones, perfectly distilled by his halo-like messy hair, his flushed face, almost girlish nose. you missed seeing his face in front of you, noticing everything about him.

what a privilege, to be close enough to cole caufield to notice things about him.

"after you, love," he said, stepping back and allowing you though. you bowed your head as you walked past him, a plume of his scent dissolving around your face.

how many times had you had this same interaction? had it always felt so electric? had the air been vibrating like this the whole time?

you made your way to his room, to his closet, just like always, catching up, asking him questions about his trip.

yes, he was a little tired, and yes, the team looked good, though he wished he had finished a couple more of his net-front chances. yes, arber did well, even coach said so.

and he asked you about your week as you began to lay out some options, occasionally referring to your clipboard of notes, moodboards, ideas.

yes, you had a nice week. yes, you ate well, really. you wrote a bit, and he could read the articles, if he really wanted to, which he insisted that he did.

"and how do you feel about a three-piece?" you asked.

"that depends," cole began, taking up his usual post, leaning on the doorframe. "how do you think i would look in a three-piece?"

you felt a blush begin to creep up your neck. "remember when you said you dressed for yourself?" you said in a teasing tone.

"still do, love," he defended. "just got a panel to consult, first, these days."

you exhaled. "you know i think you look lovely in anything, cole," you said. it had always felt like a crime, the prospect of lying to him.

you could feel the heat of his gaze on you as you panned through his dress shirts, his vests, his ties. you could feel the sparks of his eyes ignite into flames, flames that licked at your legs and tensed the coil inside of you.

was his halo beginning to singe the ends of his hair?

"did i ask you yet if you missed me?" he said, lazy but attentive, his eyes sharp.

you approached him, held a couple of ties up to his face. a forest green, a baby blue, a burnt orange. "you didn't ask me," you said, your gaze glancing to meet his between swatches. "do you really need to?"

the air fizzed and sparked. you could practically smell smoke.

you looked back to the ties, scrunched up your face in thought before nodding. "one for me," you began, referring to the baby blue tie you had chosen.

"and one for me," cole breathed out, all in one motion grasping your face in his rough hands and capturing your lips with his. his kiss tasted like a home-cooked meal after a semester away at university. it smelled like sugar and smoke and cinnamon and felt like floating, like flying.

it was rushed and just so desperate and rough but also gentle. there had never been anyone, after all, who had been as gentle with you as cole had, as if he was holding your delicate, bleeding heart in his hands, taking care of it for you until you were ready to house it again.

you dropped whatever you were holding, wrapped your arms behind his neck, your way of saying, closer, please. your way of saying finally.

he walked you backwards until you were the one leaning against the doorframe, the plane of it pressing between your shoulder blades. you twisted one hand in his hair, pulling gently.

he moaned into your mouth, making you smile into his as he brought one hand to brace against the frame, just next to your hip, the other still resting on the side of your face.

"please, love," he said, little more than a whimper. "i need you."

pressing himself against you using his leverage, you could feel exactly how desperate he was, just how much he had missed you, too. was there any better feeling than bringing an angel to his knees?

your sly smile turned mocking, your voice dripping in desire, still. "stop whining," you breathed.

the way he immediately did as you said, without question, eyes wide and glossed in waiting for your next move, it felt shockingly beautiful.

you had always been plagued by the struggle of a fallen angel. but here, now, with cole, you didn't feel like an angel at all. he made you feel like a god. and what good did shame ever do any god?

you gripped his shirt and pulled him out of the doorway, away from the closet, the place that had become something like a cathedral for both of you.

a cathedral for which the only accepted sacrifice was the sacrifice of shame, left bloody and dead on an altar welded from want.

you pushed him back onto his bed, the one you had walked by so many times, had barely allowed yourself to look at.

he leaned back with a grunt, put one elbow behind him and the other on his thigh, seemingly waiting patiently for you. ever so patient. always had been.

you sunk down to your knees, rested your elbows on his, now spread apart, looked up at him through your lashes, tilting your head as he brought one hand from his thigh to your head, lacing it through your hair. your mouth watered.

"can i suck you off, coley, please?" you begged as his grip on your hair tightened. "want to feel you in my mouth so bad, baby, can i?"

he whimpered at your words, was already nodding feverishly, moving clothes aside so you had better access to him.

you bit your lip as you pulled him out, felt the weight of him in your hands, hot and thick and -

"told you i didn't have to lie about measurements." cole's joking words broke you from a trance of heavy seriousness. you looked up at him, your delicate grip pumping him up and down, and found him to be smiling, a big, toothy, goofy one.

you couldn't help but laugh, a real laugh, one that had you flushing and shaking your head.

this, this was the real privilege. to be on your knees in front of him and still have him making you laugh. you knew then that you could be awkward and messy and still be beautiful, perhaps even because of your awkwardness and messiness. you could be a beast of desire and want and still be worthy of his smile.

then you took him in your mouth, moved your head slowly up and down, hollowing out your cheeks, promptly catching the laugh in his throat and urging it into an almost anguished moan instead.

he held your hair to the side, tilted his head back when you took him all the way to the back of your throat.

"fuck, love," he groaned, the curse guttural on his typically clean tongue. "bein' so perfect for me. feels so good."

his words spurred you on, pushed the pace of your rhythm, made you rake your nails down his thigh.

you felt his overstimulated shudder in your teeth as he grew impossibly harder in your mouth.

his breaths grew short and choppy, his moans whiny as his thighs tensed under your hand.

you pulled yourself off of him, spit running down your chin, your eyes watery and lashes clinging together as you pumped him with your hand.

he met your gaze and promptly moaned. "look so pretty, love, gonna cum if you keep lookin' at me," he whined.

and so the dirty, messy, and awkward god grew bashful at the angel's words.

"want you to cum for me, coley," you pressed, running a thumb over his sensitive tip. "please?"

something dark flickered across his gaze like lightning in a storm, powerful and inevitable. in a motion he pulled you to your feet, pushed your legs apart so you could straddle his hips, your dress pooling around you both, your center precariously and dangerously against his hard cock.

"hate sayin' no to you, pretty girl," he said, your faces again just a breath apart. "but gotta fuck you first, yeah? been dreaming about it."

now it was your turn to nod feverishly, to lift your hips up gently and let him angle himself underneath you. the seconds felt gelatinous. you both took a breath.

a breath you both released as you sank down onto him that first time, his coming out strangled and yours full of relief.

you both paused for a moment, you adjusting to him and he to you.

his stretch made you dizzy, a pull you could feel in your throat, in your fingertips. he mumbled something incoherent that dissolved into a groan as you began to move your hips up and down, each push deeper than the last.

you rested one hand on his lower stomach, grounding you, the other coming to gently grasp at his throat, squeezing only the tiniest bit. "like you've been dreaming, baby?" you asked, only a little teasing, only because you knew he could take it.

he moaned louder, nodded, dug his hands into your hips, began to meet you thrust for thrust.

something possessed you then, something hazy and hot, something had you moving your hand from his throat to his cheeks, clutching at his face in a way that forced his mouth open. open enough for you drop your head, almost like you were going to kiss him again, but instead letting spit drop from your mouth into his.

you could have sighed at how easily he swallowed, how his eyes were brimming with lust and something softer when he opened them and found you, there.

his eyes made you whimper, which made him thrust up into you harder, a little faster, somehow deeper.

"so wet for me, love, fuck," he bit out, dragging a slow hand from your hip to your bottom lip, sticky with spit. "take it," he moaned, an order but also a plea. "so good, love, take it."

you let him push his fingers into your mouth, let him rest them there, your eyes rolling back at the feeling of him everywhere inside of you. so deep you felt him in your stomach, the back of your throat. your heart, most of all.

you became aware of the hair sticking to the back of your neck with sweat, the pleasant evidence of effort that burned in your thighs, the croak of wear that had begun to tear at your voice.

you built up a rhythm, quick and hard. you rolled your hips back against him, hitting a new, perfect spot inside of you, making you clench tighter around him.

"feel you close," he rasped, "where do you need me?"

and you were back to that day, so far away, now, taking measurements. where do you need me? he had asked.

here, present you thought, here and now.

you tugged his hand from your mouth and led him to your folds, showing him exactly how to touch you. exactly what you needed.

his touch jolted through you, an electric current of desire, bringing you brutally close to your high as he continued to rub at your clit, thrust into you hard.

"fuck, coley," you whined, "'m so close for you. gonna cum all over your cock, baby. stretchin' me so perfect."

the muscles of his stomach clenched under your fingertips, his shoulders tense under your other palm as your motions up and down became messier, his thrusts sloppier, both of your breathing choppy.

"please cum for me, pretty girl," he breathed. "make me feel so good, yeah?" he grunted, almost a pained noise. "need you."

you did as told, his words and the beautiful vulnerability in his eyes sending right over the precipice of pleasure you had been teetering on. you came with a shuddering moan, collapsing into cole's damp chest, triggering his own orgasm, warm and raspy.

draped over him like a velvet curtain, you felt the rise and fall of his chest slowly become regular again against your cheek. the air around you was warm and stained with the enormity of your want, realized.

you tilted your head up to gaze at him, found him glowing, flushed, his hair fussed. he looked so beautiful.

"you look like an angel," you said, your voice all but a rasp as it escaped your worn-out throat.

his laugh was like honey and lemon. he shook his head, traced your jaw with his fingertips. "just a human, love," he said, a whisper. your eyelids grew heavy, your voice lazy. too lazy to stop the sweet smile that tugged at your mouth. one that he mirrored.

"me too," you breathed. he pressed his swollen lips to the top of your head.

and with that, with a sigh of relief, you finally laid your wings to rest, in the graveyard of things that had never been.

fin.

#hockey #nhl #hockey smut #nhl smut #cole caufield #cole caufield smut #cole caufield x reader #cole caufield imagine #jack hughes smut #jack hughes #trevor zegras smut #trevor zegras #quinn hughes #smut #jack hughes x reader #montreal canadiens #arber xhekaj smut #arber xhekaj

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holylulusworld · 4 months

Text

The Grinch

Summary: We get to know how you and Lloyd got together.

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Assistant!Reader

Warnings: Christmas mood, sweet reader, maybe clueless reader, language, a little fluff, a hint of groping

A/N: This is the prequel to my miniseries: Plant Apocalypse

“Put your Christmas sweater on,” you sing along to the music blaring from your phone. You shake your ass and giggle as the snowman you placed on your desk starts singing the moment you pass him by. “Yeah, you too!”

Lifting the box with Christmas decorations you huff. There are so many people around in this house and no one offered their help with the Christmas decoration.

You walk over to Lloyd’s office, smiling wildly as one of the newer agents wishes you happy holidays.

“Cheery and bright, guys,” you coo and wave at the men discussing the next job, or target.

You shrug when they don’t look your way. Whatever they are up to is none of your business. From the moment you started working for Lloyd, you knew it was better to shut your mouth and not ask too many questions about his business.

While you fight to open the door and balance the box in your arm the men get louder. They seem to fight over something the newbie said.

“Hey, no fighting in here.” You yell, and the men stop in their tracks. “Mr. Hansen hates it when you demolish the headquarters!”

“Sorry,” they mumble. No one would believe that five bulky and heavily armored men stopped fighting only because you yelled at them.

“That’s much better. It’s Christmas, team. We should be cheery and happy, not fight. In the kitchen are cookies and later we can have hot chocolate.”

You managed to open the door and walk inside the office, huffing as it looks cold and unwelcoming.

There are monitors on the wall and a desk in the middle of the room. The other wall is grey and undecorated. Nothing is making you sadder than a room without decoration and plants.

“I’ll turn this cold room into a nice office,” you put the box on the couch standing next to the door. “Mr. Hansen will love it.”

You clap your hands and cheer yourself up.

“What the fuck is that?” Lloyd feels like he’s going to vomit rainbows. He looks around his office, shaking his head in disbelief. “I was away for two hours, and someone infiltrated my office and turned it into Santa’s shithole.”

“Mr. Hansen, you are back!” You squeal and walk toward Lloyd. “Welcome to your new office. I decorated it for you to make it look more festive.”

“I-“ He chokes on air as there is a rocking Santa next to his beloved gun shelf. You even dared to sling a fairy light around one of the shotguns. “What did you do? You are…you are…”

He looks you up and down. You’re wearing an ugly Christmas sweater with a snowman and blinking lights.

“I know.” You wrap Lloyd in a hug. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I got a Christmas sweater for you too, Sir. You’ll love it. It matches your eyes.”

Lloyd opens his mouth. He wants to tell you that you are fired. You violated his sanctuary, his beloved office but he can’t bring the words out. I mean, he killed people for less, but he can’t hurt you, or ruin your festive mood.

“I got you a matching one,” you smile sweetly. “I had hoped you’d wear it when we have hot chocolate and cookies.”

“Cupcake,” he sighs deeply and runs one hand down his face. Lloyd is a cold-blooded man and doesn’t give a shit about people, but he cares for you. “If I wear this thing, my men will believe I got weak and kill me.”

“Oh,” you sniffle. “I didn’t think this through. You’re a dangerous and strong man. Men like you don’t wear Christmas sweaters or kiss a girl under the mistletoe.”

“Mistletoe?” He cocks his head as you point at the mistletoe you hung up above his desk. Lloyd smirks. “So…did you already test the mistletoe?”

“I was alone at your office, Mr. Hansen,” you giggle. “It’s physically impossible for me to kiss myself.”

“Cupcake, you’d wonder about the uncanny flexibility of some people,” he gives you a dirty grin.

You wrinkle your nose. “Gross.”

“Yeah, a pretty girl on her knees is much better than suckin—” You cover his mouth to stop Lloyd from saying something gross.

“Do you like the decoration?” You look up at Lloyd with glassy eyes. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Sighing dreamily, you wait for Lloyd’s answer.

“Let’s see.” Lloyd walks you backward until you stand under the mistletoe. “How about we follow the tradition of kisses under the mistletoe?”

He cups your face and presses his lips to yours. Lloyd kisses you slowly, and almost sweetly. A stark contrast to his personality and profession.

“That was,” you whimper against his lips, “nice.”

“Not bad, cupcake,” he steps away to watch you stand on wobbling legs. He hums and almost doesn’t hate the decoration until his eyes land on a plant on his desk. “What is that?”

“Oh…” you smile sweetly. “I love plants, Lloyd. Don’t you love plants too?”

“I should shoot it for standing near my laptop,” he grunts and pokes the plant with his index finger.

“You’ll get used to it. How about I show you the plants at my apartment?” He watches you wring your hands. For months you tried to find the guts to ask Lloyd out and now you got him where you want him. “I’ll cook for you.”

“Hmm…” He is considering your offer. “I hope you know I love dessert the most…” Lloyd grins. He wraps his arm around your waistline and moves his hand to your ass. “Maybe we can have dessert first…”

Steve Rogers/Chris Evans/all CEvans characters Tags

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@kandis-mom

#lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #The Grinch #lloyd hansen x female!reader #female reader

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vodika-vibes · 4 months

Text

Missed You

Summary: Its the summer festival, and you're not in a very festive mood, since your boyfriend, Echo, has been away for a month. Lucky for you, he's just come back.

Pairing: TBB Echo x Reader

Word Count: 927

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @kiss-anon

A/N: I have decided that my Echo has started to heal, so his hair is growing back and he's just healthy.

You tilt your head back, enjoying the cool evening air against your skin. It had been hot, miserably hot, today, and you’re grateful for the cool breeze that arrived only half an hour ago.

In the distance, you can still hear the music and the raised voices of the people enjoying the summer festival, and you know that you should still be there. Your friends had been so excited for the festival, so excited to spend the evening together and watching the fireworks together.

But watching your friends being all lovey with their partners, just left you feeling like a seventh wheel, so to speak. In fact, you’re fairly certain that they hadn’t even noticed that you left.

You allow your head to fall forward again, and you open your eyes to look out across the lake, enjoying the peace and quiet, and the fact that there isn’t anyone there telling you that you need to cheer up.

Echo would never tell you that you need to cheer up.

But then, if Echo was here, you would have spent the whole festival with him rather than with your friends.

You miss him. He’s been gone for well over a month now, and you know what your friends are thinking. They think that Echo ghosted you. That he just up and left you and you’re just not accepting the reality of the situation.

It’s not true, of course. You talk to Echo for hours every evening, he’s just not on Pabu right now. But he promised that he was going to be back soon. And you’ve never known Echo to break a promise.

You lay back against the boulder you’re sitting on, the same boulder where you first met Echo and the same boulder where he brought you on your first date, and you look up at the stars. You should have brought your flute, at least then you would have something to do to pass the time while you wait for the fireworks.

You turn your head to the side when you hear heavy footsteps, “You know,” A familiar voice has you shooting up into a sitting position, a wide grin crossing your face, “I’m fairly certain that the festival is on the beach, cyare. Not all the way back here.”

Echo steps into the clearing, a teasing smile on his face. He’s already wearing casual clothing, which means he stopped off at his house first, before coming to find you.

“Echo!” You slide off the boulder and throw yourself into his arms, forcing him to catch you. He spins you, to work off some of the momentum, and then settles you back on your feet, and folds his arms around you, “You’re back!”

“I’m back.” He brings his hand up and lightly caresses your cheek, “Did you get all peopled out, cyare?”

“They’re exhausting,” You reply as you place your hands over his and lean into his touch. “But I stayed for several hours. Until I got tired of the heavy handed hints that you ghosted me.”

Echo scoffs, “They have such faith in me.”

“I don’t know why they don’t like you, you’re amazing.” You say with an adoring smile.

“You’re biased, beautiful.” Echo replies with a warm smile as he slides his thumb across your lower lip. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more.” You mumble as you kiss his thumb. “You’re my favorite personal heater after all.”

“Ah hah! So you just want me for my body.” There’s laughter in his voice, and you beam at him. There was a time, not so long ago, when he wouldn’t have been able to make jokes like that.

“I’m afraid I want the whole package.” You counter as you lean against him, “Mind, body, and soul.”

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” His arms hold you securely against him, and he bumps his forehead against yours.

You giggle and trail one hand up the back of his neck, lightly ghost your fingers around his implants, and brush through the short hair on the top of his head, “You didn’t cut it?” You ask and he tenses slightly against you.

“I thought I’d try growing it out a little. What do you think?” He asks, some nervousness in his voice.

“I think I love you with or without hair,” You reply immediately.

The tension drains from him at your words, “What did I do to get so lucky to be with someone so amazing?”

“You called me more beautiful than the stars in the sky on a day when I felt absolutely awful, and then you sat with me and told me jokes until I was laughing.” You say with a fond smile.

“That was clever of me, wasn’t it?”

“The most clever.”

“Well,” He ducks his head and brushes his lips against yours in a chaste kiss, “How about this? On all of the planets I’ve been on, across all of the systems I’ve visited, you’re still the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.” Echo murmurs.

You release a shy giggle, and avert your gaze, able to feel your face heating.

Echo’s fingers brush against your cheek, and then a slow, mischievous, smile crosses his face. “Can I come home with you?”

A broad smile crosses your face and you tilt your head to kiss him, “Always.”

“Mm, I’m going to show you how much I love you, cyare. I hope you have lots of energy.” He promises, his voice a pleasing rumble in your ears. And he chuckles when you shiver and press against him.

#star wars #tbb #tbb echo x reader #echo x reader #arc trooper echo x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction

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hldailyupdate · 8 months

Text

Many know Louis Tomlinson as a Doncaster lad-turned-pop-icon and part of era-defining boyband, One Direction. But despite his superstar status, the 31-year-old has never lost touch with his relaxed Northern soul. It’s been central to everything he puts his mind to, from music to football… and now, fashion.

After fighting his way through X Factor, growing his talent in One Direction, and going solo after their break-up in 2015, Tomlinson split fresh ground while keeping authenticity at the forefront. Embracing the rockstar lifestyle, he has traveled worldwide on his own terms, revolutionizing his sound through chart-topping hits, including Bigger Than Me, Change, and Silver Tongues.

Now fiercely independent, Tomlinson is continuing to make strides that set him apart from the crowd, releasing his debut solo album Walls in early 2020. Leaving the pop-forward One Direction sound behind, Tomlinson embarked on a journey of self-discovery by embracing his British roots and revitalizing his musical journey with a fresh mindset.

After returning to London from the third edition of his Away From Home festival in Lido di Camaiore, Italy, Tomlinson prepares to continue his global album tour for Faith in the Future across Europe. But there’s much more than music on his mind these days – before he jets off on tour, he’s sitting down with Hypebeast to discuss all things 28, his all-new streetwear label that embodies everything he has been, is, and will be.

Growing up in Northern England naturally gravitated Tomlinson to football, selling pies at his boyhood club, Doncaster Rovers. But he’s kept a keen eye on fashion since his early childhood. “When I grew up, I viewed Doncaster as a working-class town. Now, when I go back to Doncaster, the streets have a real sense of style. That wasn’t the norm for me growing up; there was just scruffy and cool — there was really no in-between. We couldn’t afford really nice clothes, so it was just about working with what you got.”

Standing out has always been of utmost importance for Tomlinson, aligning his laidback attitude with the clothes on his back. Football tops were always a staple, taking to vintage and charity shops to find hidden gems that strayed from normality. “It was always important for me to look cool as a young lad, and I always enjoyed wearing good clothes. You might think, in a place like Doncaster, that it isn’t about fashion — and fashion might be the wrong word — because the thing that would turn people’s noses was that everyone is striving to look cool.”

Known for wearing striped tees and suspenders in One Direction, Tomlinson grew into his true self after the band’s hiatus, returning to his Doncaster roots and embracing comfort at all times. “As a young lad going into a business like this, you are surrounded by people telling you what’s cool and what isn’t. I’d say the boys could relate to this; you have to go through the motions of letting the industry tell you what they think you should do — because you don’t have enough confidence in that world yet to say: actually, no, I want to dress how I want to dress,” the singer-songwriter explains.

He grew up wearing essential British tracksuits, football tops, and trainers, drastically different from the boyband style that had every member dressed in “uniform.” “It’s only as I’ve grown confident in myself that I started to revert back to how I dressed as a young lad, just a kind of modern example of that. I really do wear Doncaster on every item of clothing that I put on, even if it’s subconscious, it’s so much a part of who I am.”

Launching 28 is a tribute to his humble beginnings in music, fashion, and sport, representing his Doncaster Rovers squad number and his lifetime devotion to the football club. The brand idea came to him nearly a decade ago, taking a closer look at standard tour merchandise and finding missing pieces, feeling “a creative itch that I wanted to scratch.”

28’s first drop is a tribute to all things football, embracing the beautiful game through vintage-inspired sports silhouettes destined for summertime. Checkered green tracksuits are ideal for pre-game antics, featuring distorted and faded patterns alongside “OFFICIAL PROGRAMME” collared jerseys.

While concert apparel caterers to the general public, 28 allows his artistic talents to run wild. “That’s why 28 excites me. It’s something that can be a little bit more tailored, a little bit more stylized. I suppose it’s similar to songwriting… seeing how deep your imagination can go when creating clothes.”

When designing 28’s first drop, Tomlinson pushed comfort forward through quality craftsmanship and refined fabric manipulations. His ideas feature heavily across every design, architected on lightweight hoodies, turtleneck collars, and distressed knitwear. Abstract floral illustrations bloom on additional designs, complementing the collection with a neutral color palette. Collections will release on the 28th of each month, expanding its sportswear identity one step at a time.

28 is undeniably football-focused, making clothes he would identify with as a young boy growing up in “Donny.” Tomlinson aims to bring his community together with interactive drops and a story to tell, enlisting emerging creatives to front the brand’s first campaign. “Community is something that runs throughout everything I do, and after getting the casting ideas for the models, I knew I wanted to use street models. I didn’t want to use that traditional model face because that’s not what I grew up with,” Tomlinson says.

“If I picture that rough lad I grew up with in Doncaster, he certainly didn’t have that look — he just looked cool in the clothes,” Tomlinson says with a wide smile, “There’s a beautiful authenticity to that. I think there’s a more interesting way and authentic way of telling these stories for 28.” While Tomlinson is the brand’s Creative Director, he sees 28 standing on its own two feet without his face attached, building a core community within its evolving identity.

So what’s in store next for Tomlinson? “I’m going back on tour, which is my favorite thing to do. At some point, there’ll be a new record. I don’t know when, though; I’m trying not to put too much pressure on myself and just trying to enjoy it. I’m mostly tour-focused right now — that’s why I love creating 28 — because it means that when my brain is all on touring and music, it’s creatively fulfilling to get into something else and scratch that itch.”

via HYPEBEAST. (28 August 2023)

#louis tomlinson #louis update #28 clothing #hypebeast #article #august 2023

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louistomlinsoncouk · 8 months

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#louis tomlinson #press #28aug23 #28 clothing

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hekate1308 · 7 months

Text

If you don't stop now

Prompt: "If you don't stop now -"

Fandom: Death in Paradise

Pairing: Camille/Richard

If she were to use Richard’s way with words, she would probably say that she just… snaps.

After all, Richard finally told them that he has decided to make his stay on Saint Marie “permanent” and that he will actually be looking for a house soon, so there should be time to discuss other things as well…

She half-expected it, she certainly wished for it, but it’s been three weeks and Richard has made no move to tell her that he considers to make other things permanent as well, or rather, to change some things.

So, Camille has decided to take matters into her own hands.

Now, she knows Richard well enough to know she can’t be too straightforward. That would probably make him run in the other direction as fast as he can, which is not something she is interested in, although she would have nothing against him chasing her the beach down once more, one of these days…

But first things first. When it comes to what she’ll be wearing… she would like to pick the dress from the Erzulie festival, but she’s chosen Sunday morning for her… attempt, and that would be a bit too much and probably only clue him in as to what is happening earlier than she would wish, so it will be one of her plainer dresses… yellow, she thinks; Richard always looks appreciative when she is wearing yellow.

Then, what her plan is going to be… normally, she likes to do things spontaneously, but this is Richard Poole, so it can hardly be a bad idea to make one.

Well, there is one thing she’s wanted to do for quite a long time (several things, if she is being honest, but those will have to wait).

And so, she arrives at the shack on this Sunday morning, determined as she’s ever been.

Richard is reading on the terrace – although she is pleasantly surprised to find that he’s actually rolled up his sleeves, and that there is no tie in sight. He even looks up and greets her with a smile, which is all the encouragement she needs.

“Is there news?” he asks when she arrives but she shakes her head.

“No, but I just remembered you still owe me something…”

He frowns and puts the book aside, because if you tell Richard Poole he has failed to do his duty, he will immediately jump into action. “I don’t know what you mean…”

“Sully’s wake” she reminds him, stepping into the shack and simply turning on the radio. “You just left me standing there when the music changed… there” finding a channel that plays appropriate music “That should be slow enough…”

“Camille, I really don’t think…”

She turns around. “Come on, Richard, there’s no one around to see us, it will be fine…”

He swallows and looks at her. Somehow, she has the feeling that they’re standing at the edge of a precipice, even though of course it’s not as dramatic as all of that.

“Camille” he suddenly declares “If you don’t stop now —”

And Camille knows that he means it. This is it, the moment she either chooses to do this or step back or never have the chance again.

It shouldn’t be this easy, and for Richard it probably isn’t, but Camille –

Well –

She did decide she was done with all this uncertainty, and she will be.

She steps up to him. “Alright then I won’t.”

He swallows again. “Camille –“

“Dance with me Richard” she tells him and finally, he takes her in his arms and does just that, looking rather shocked at his own daring.

It was a good idea to come here instead of dragging him to La Kaz – Richard, when they are alone, turns out to be an actual good dancer; she guesses he must have had ballroom dancing lessons at one point.

“Richard?” she eventually asks.

“Yes?” he manages to reply, looking rather like a deer caught in headlights, but she will soon fix that.

“You know” she allows her hand to slide from his shoulder to his breast “You said I should stop back then, and I didn’t, so…”

“We are definitely dancing” he agrees, which is probably all he is capable of at that moment.

“Yes we are” she confirms, and then she lets her hand glide up to cup his neck. He jumps ever so slightly at that, but makes no move to extradite himself from her embrace, or step away. “But I think right now we should be doing something else.”

She has to give him credit – he doesn’t ask what, or why, or even how, but his lips meet hers without any hesitation, and she feels a part of her that has never been touched before sing out and knows that all will be well.

#fictober23 #my writings #death in paradise #camille x richard #richard poole #camille bordey

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lizmitches · 1 year

Note

8, 7, 12 or 25 for the hurt/comfort prompts :33 (i couldn't pick :'p)

25. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Melissa slams the side of the vending machine in a fit of rage, earning nothing for her efforts except an aching palm and a candy bar that hangs precariously in the balance. Leave it to this ancient piece of shit to eat her last dollar and her last nerve.

She’s winding up for a second attempt when her phone starts ringing in her purse. “Hey, sweets,” she answers.

“Any news?”

“Nothing yet. Your dad’s still trying to hunt down the doc for an update. You girls doing okay?”

“Just worried.”

“I know, hon, but listen. She’s gonna be okay. They got her in as soon as they could and they’ve been workin’ on her ever since.” Gerald enters the waiting room as she says it, looking exhausted but no worse for wear. Melissa internally sighs with relief; as long as he’s upright it means that Barbara’s still breathing.

Next to her, he successfully retrieves a soda from the other machine, taking it to the table in the middle of the room. She purses her lips as she looks at her own purchase—one that’s not so easily retrievable—and bends down to try and reach it through the slot. Her hand outstretches as she attempts to make contact, fingers curling to try and give it a nudge, but she can’t get close enough. Her bad shoulder protests the action, inspiring a string of expletives that make a nurse pop her head into the room with concern.

“What happened?” Taylor asks through the phone.

She tucks the phone underneath her ear, waving off the nurse with her free hand. “Oh, nothing, I’m just having a standoff with the world’s worst vending machine. Che cazzo, who runs these things?” She grunts as she finally withdraws her arm, standing back up and glaring through the glass. “Listen, You should get to bed, okay? It’s been a long day. I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning.”

“Okay,” Taylor replies. “Love you.”

The sound of it is music to her ears; that even as a college student, Taylor would still say such a thing. “Love you too, kid.” She drops her phone back in her bag–the one she'd hastily packed with only a hairbrush, a novel, and a change of underwear. In her rush to get to the hospital, she’d forgotten something: sustenance. She stares longingly at the candy bar once more before turning to the table where Gerald sits.

“What’d you learn?” she asks.

He runs a hand over his eyes, opening his can of Coke with an echoing pop. For better or worse the ER is deadly quiet tonight, and so far they’re the only ones who have sequestered themselves amongst the bad coffee and broken snack machines. In the corner, the local news recaps the Groundhog Day festivities. Looks like the damn chipmunk saw his shadow after all.

Just what we need right now, Melissa thinks. A never-ending winter.

“They couldn’t tell me much—just that she’s stable and they’re still running tests. They won’t know the damage to her heart until they get the results back.”

Melissa joins him at the table. “Lotta help that is.”

“One of the doctors asked me if she’s been stressed lately. I told him what I knew, but figured you may know better. With how much she’s at the school these days it seems like I only see her when she’s sleeping.”

“I mean, not to break best friend confidentiality or anything, but…” Melissa sighs. “Work’s really been getting to her. A bunch of office politics mixed with a really tough handful of kids. No budget to speak of, not enough hours in the day. I mean, you know her better than I do, but it does feel like this year’s the toughest she’s had in awhile.”

Gerald’s attention is focused solely on the can in front of him, his fingers catching the drips of condensation before they can hit the cheap veneer of the table. “Sometimes I question that,” he says.

“That things are tough?”

“That I know her better than you do.” He looks into the hall as another nurse passes by. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s my number one, but that head of hers. Man.”

Melissa smiles knowingly. “Hard as a brick, huh?”

Gerald chuckles; a hearty, warm thing that brightens up the otherwise cold and drab setting they’ve found themselves in. Just as he laughs, though, his expression turns, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “If I’d known she was so stressed I could have done something. Taken her to see someone. Forced her to get off her feet.”

“Hey, c’mon,” Melissa lays a gentle hand on his forearm. “You’re husband of the year. Your wife loves you, your kids adore you. You did all you could. Sometimes it’s just a bit of bad luck.”

Her phone buzzes again in her purse, but she knows without looking that it’s not one of the girls. The two of them sit and listen to the sound—accompanied by an insurance commercial that plays at a low volume—until it stops. “Speaking of which,” Gerald says, changing the subject. “How is Joe doing?”

Melissa’s shoulders droop. “She told you?”

He shakes his head. “Didn’t have to. She’s been over at your place so much I figured either something happened or she was about to come home with a penchant for eating Italian.”

“Sorry about that.” She winces. Here she is taking up all of Barbara’s free time and now the woman's booked herself a week-long stay at UPenn Presbyterian. “He, uh, actually served me divorce papers this morning. So at least the chapter is finally closing on that one.”

Gerald leans back in his chair. “Ah.”

“I didn’t get a chance to tell Barb that yet, actually. When you called from her phone I thought—“ She has to swallow the lump that’s in her throat, ignoring the pain as it settles in her chest. “Anyway. Looking back on it I should’ve given her a break from all my bitching and moaning. Hell, maybe it was her heart’s last straw.” She cautions another glance to the vending machine; the forbidden candy still dangling behind the glass. She can’t help but feel, briefly, that she always wants what she can’t have.

“Look, Melissa, I know we haven’t done a lot of one-on-one bonding since you entered the picture, but from the way my wife talks about you, well. You’d think you hung the moon.” Gerald looks at her with such kindness in his eyes, and Melissa wonders what’s in the water at the Howard house that gives all of them the ability to hold onto her heart so tightly.

The tears fill her eyes now, and she has to look up at the fluorescents in an attempt to stop them them from falling. Tissues. That’s another thing she forgot to bring.

“What I’m trying to say is that after a day like today…” He inhales shakily. “Thanks doesn’t even begin to cut it. The way you take care of my girls—all three of them—it’s good to know I have someone like you in my corner.”

Melissa clears her throat, dabbing at her eyes. “Jeez, and I thought Barbara was the only one who could dole out a life-changing compliment.”

Gerald smiles softly, and in his eyes Melissa can see no one else but her.

“Come on, big guy. You’ve had a long day.” Melissa stands, pushing a few of the chairs together to construct a makeshift bed. “You should get some shuteye. If we get any updates you’ll be the first to know.”

At his hesitance, she adds, “Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Thank you, Mel. For everything.” He lays down, bringing his arm up to cover his eyes from the light. For a guy that usually stands so tall, Melissa thinks he’s looking awfully small right about now.

“‘Course,” she says softly. Across the room, there’s the sound of a hollow thunk. She almost thinks she’s imagined it, save for the fact that—when she looks over her shoulder at the vending machine—her candy bar is no longer hanging by a thread. Cautiously, she approaches, retrieving the fallen treat before it can change its mind.

Despite its treacherous journey, the wrapper is pristine; shiny and enticing under the bright lights of the waiting room. Even so, as she holds it delicately in her hands, she can’t bring herself to open it—as if at any moment it could disappear. Resigned, she drops it into her bag for safekeeping. She’s not hungry anymore anyway, her stomach still tied in knots from worry. Either way, she thinks, it’s hers.

She’ll just have to hold on to it until the time is right.

#abbott elementary #melissa x barbara #work wives #my fic #a real penchant for….eating…….italian #akdbhdhdhshdhhc

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magpie-to-the-morning · 2 years

Text

Wild Child

Moodboard by @acrossthesestars

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader, could be read as Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham

Tags: Fluff, A bit of spice, consensual drug use (pot), reader experiencing anxiety due to fireworks

Word Count: 3k

Author’s Note: I’m playing fast and loose with the Stranger Things timeline because I needed some romantic Eddie fluff this weekend goddamn it! For my own peace of mind, the reader is 18 and Eddie 19 or 20.

Alex, this one’s for you 🎸

_________________

When you were little, you loved the Hawkins Fourth of July Celebrations; the excitement thrumming in the air, the riot of color and sound that accompanies an entire community celebrating together. The sense of nostalgia and tradition and belonging it gave you.

So why is the holiday making you so damn jumpy this year?

It started at the parade. The lone firework that always erupted at the start of the festivities with a boom like cannon fire set your heart racing every year, but this time it also sent you into a near panic, bumping into the younger cheerleaders you were supposed to be leading in a display of school spirit.

“What’s wrong with you?” One of them hissed.

You tell me, you thought wryly, even as you apologized and pasted a bright smile over your face to get back in formation. People were counting on you, after all, and they would damn sure notice if the captain of the cheer squad was anything less than flawless.

By the time the parade ends and people begin to disperse to barbecues and parties, your face is aching from the skeleton grin you’d forced yourself to wear.

When did pretending to be okay get this hard? You used to be so good at it.

Maybe sometime around the mall fire, and the latest round of grisly deaths in your once sleepy town. No one talks about it but there is something rotten beneath the manicured lawns and bustling Main Street of Hawkins. Something that has you on edge, and feeling like you’re the only one seeing it makes you wonder if you’ve simply lost it, cracking under the pressure of being the town’s pretty, perfect princess.

You’re so wrapped up in these thoughts that you don’t notice how far you’ve wandered from the crowd until a growl rips through the air. It’s a wall of sound - music, you realize once an electric guitar wails to life. It’s coming from a radio set back in the shadowy bay of a mechanic shop, the volume cranked loud enough for the bass and lyrics to bleed onto the street. It’s a howling, furious clamor, but something in it soothes your soul, calling to the restless spirit within. It’s a call to battle and you surprise yourself by thrilling to it.

You take a closer to the music, so caught up in the moment that you collide with someone inside the shop, barely catching a glimpse of them as you do. Just a quick impression of wild, dark hair tumbling over a startled face, doe-eyed and full-lipped. Eddie Munson, you realize as you draw a steadying breath.

“Shit!” He jumps back, looking as startled as you, his soft brown eyes widening even more when recognition dawns. When it takes you a moment to recover, your nerves still jangling from the glare of the festivities, he cocks his head, watching you carefully.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He holds his hands up and takes a half step back, dropping the stereo volume as he goes.

You shake your head, embarrassed. “You’re fine it’s, it’s not you.”

“Did you uh, need something?” He glances over your shoulder as though looking for a broken down car. “The shop’s not really open.”

“Oh, I wasn’t - I was just… walking. I’m surprised you’re working today.”

“Yeah, well, some of us have to work for a living, you know?” There’s an edge to his voice, but he’s looking at his hands as he says it, the comment half muttered as though more to himself than you.

“You should take a break, enjoy the holiday. Everyone else is.”

Eddie chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Oh don’t worry, Mayberry’s doing just fine without me. Besides, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not exactly the patriotic type.”

“I didn’t feel much like celebrating either.”

He’s looking at you like you’re a mystery to be solved, uncertain if you are friend or foe. You can hardly blame him - your starched, pristine cheerleading outfit clashes with the comfortably worn, grease-streaked jumble inside the garage. The two of you are assessing each other like soldiers on opposite sides of a war that’s been waged since high school began. The haves, the have nots. The popular and the freaks.

The lines weren’t always so harshly drawn.

When the awkward pause becomes oppressive, you venture “What were you listening to before?”

“Black Sabbath,” Eddie replies with a knife-sharp grin, his eyes theatrically wide although you could swear uncertainty still flickers there. “Better be careful. You know what they say: it’s the devil’s music. Could lead to all kinds of mischief.”

You just shrug and turn the radio’s volume back up. “What sort of mischief?”

He raises his eyebrows, amusement and something like admiration creeping into his tone. “What kind are you looking for?”

You bite your lip, unsure, but ask “Do you still deal? I could use something to take the edge off.”

A slow, impressed grin unfurls over his features. “You little rebel!”

He pulls out a battered black metal lunchbox and digs through it, finally coming up with a baggie half full of brownish green weed that looks like it’s several months out from fresh, but will still get you where you need to be.

“I can do… fifteen for the half.” Light catches on his thick silver rings as he offers the bag to you.

Electricity races up your arm when you move to pass him the cash. Despite Eddie’s fierce image, his touch is tender, his palm pressing lightly against your own, and you find yourself reluctant to pull back. Meeting his gaze makes your heart race for the third time today. He’s studying you just as closely - a curious look in his soft brown eyes. It gives you the courage to ask “So, do you have to keep working, or…?”

You should be on your way to a party by now. All your friends will be waiting for you. Your varsity-lettered boyfriend too, a few beers in and looking for somewhere to drape his kingly, possessive arm, your shoulders its rightful place.

You should. But instead…

Instead, you’re sharing a joint with Eddie Munson on the swings. The playground is deserted, all the wholesome townspeople off following the script you've left behind, leaving the afternoon sun-drenched park blissfully free, with no one to care how loudly you’re giggling at Eddie’s antics.

He’s standing on the swing beside you, his previously cautious face animated and gleeful now that he’s let his guard down, his hands wrapped around the chains as he recounts his Dungeons and Dragons group’s latest campaign.

“Oh, you should have seen them - warriors to the last. A Dungeon Master’s never been so proud.” His smile falters a little at that and he drops heavily into the swing beside you, his head ducked. “Sorry, I get a little carried away sometimes.”

“I don’t mind. It sounds fun.”

He looks at you skeptically. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the nerdy type, princess.”

Hurt flashes through you and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out “Don’t call me that.”

“Woah, hey, no offense intended.” Eddie lays a hand on his heart, his expression suddenly both open and solemn. “It’s just - “

You cut him off. “That would be like me calling you a freak. That’s all anyone else sees me as.”

As soon as the words are out, you clap your hands over your mouth. “Oh, I didn’t - that was rude, I - “

To your surprise, Eddie just throws his head back and laughs. “Don’t apologize, I was being a shit.” For the first time, he looks completely at ease in your company and his infectious good mood coaxes a smile back onto your face.

“What’s so bad about being a princess, anyway? Some of them are pretty badass.”

“Name three.”

“Princess Leia,” he announces triumphantly. “And…”

You raise an eyebrow as he trails off.

“Okay okay okay, um… Ha, what about Susan and Lucy in the Narnia books? You know, the one with the lion, the witch and the wardrobe?”

“First of all they were queens, and second of all that’s bullshit! Aslan wouldn’t even let them fight in that battle, and when everyone else got swords they just got a horn and a bow. Typical. Their brothers get to go be warriors and they just have to be all polite and ladylike.”

Eddie’s eyebrows have nearly vanished beneath his shaggy bangs. “Wait have you actually read the books?”

The two of you launch into an animated discussion of fantasy books, and how you had loved them as a child until your friends’ changing tastes made you put them aside, feeling like the odd one out for still reading about magic and checking the backs of closets for snowy forests.

By the time you’re finished, Eddie is looking at you almost worshipfully.

Pleased heat creeps up your neck. “What?”

“You are full of surprises, aren’t you, rebel?”

Before you can answer he leaps up and points excitedly at you as though he’s just remembered something. “ÉOWYN. Or, oh, Lúthien! Talk about badass - she went into Morgoth for her love.”

You blink at him sort of apologetically. “Who?”

“Ohh, you haven’t read The Lord of the Rings?”

“No, sorry. Is it good?”

“It’s the best. You’ve read The Hobbit though, right?”

When you shake your head, Eddie takes you by the shoulders, radiating excitement. “Ohh, we need to fix this. I’ll lend you my copy - you’re gonna love it.”

Shadows lengthen around you as the two of you talk, the streetlights coming on before either of you run out of things to say. Eddie tells you about his band, about living with his uncle, about working odd jobs to help make ends meet while he finishes school.

You find yourself relaxing in his presence, and not just because of the joint you shared. His enthusiasm lifts your spirits, his walls falling as he tells you about the things he loves - and listens when you do the same. He lights up when you do, the two of you swapping playful teases and reminiscences of middle school.

“I didn’t think you remembered me!”

“Eddie, your band’s name was Corroded Coffin, how was I supposed to forget that?”

“I thought you were too busy practicing that cheer routine. Which I thought was pretty cool, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And it still is, you know. The band. We’re playing at the Hideout next week, you should come check it out.”

You’re just about to tell him that maybe you will when there’s a shrill whistle through the air, an explosion of red light, and a loud boom. Noticing the way you jump, Eddie shifts to kneel in front of you, peering up at your tense expression.

“Still need something to take the edge off?” He rests his palms lightly on your knees, ready to back off at a moment’s notice. When you nod, your lower lip between your teeth, he only hesitates for a moment before rising to his feet. Eddie offers you his hand, saying “Come on. I know somewhere we can go.”

He leads you through the park and up a steep hill, putting more distance between you and the baseball field where the town’s fireworks display is beginning. His fingers are warm and reassuringly solid in your grasp, his touch grounding you even as it sets your pulse pounding. When you stumble over a nearly invisible rock in the dim twilight, he’s there with a hand under your elbow, courtly and reassuring.

“Come on, almost there.”

He stops near the crown of the hill in front of a small hollow. It’s not quite a cave, but a spot hidden slightly away while still affording an unobstructed view of the fireworks display.

“Oh wow, how did you find this place?”

Eddie shrugs, a pink blush spreading over his cheeks visible even in the low light. “Would you believe me if I said satanic rituals?”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the real answer.

“Fiiiiine. I used to play out here and pretend it was my castle.” He tosses his hair as though daring you to tease him, even with a playful look in his eyes.

“Eddie Munson that is adorable.”

“You’re gonna leave my reputation in tatters, aren’t you?”

“I would never.”

The two of you settle beneath the protective overhang and somehow, it feels only natural to lean back against Eddie’s chest while he rests his chin on your head. This far away, you’re able to relax and enjoy the fireworks the way you used to, a glittering display of color and light that instills a sense of wonder rather than anxiety.

Eddie wraps his arms around you in a loose hold and your breath hitches, the air suddenly crackling with possibility. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do next. Without saying anything, you lay one hand over his, playing idly with his cool silver rings. Eddie goes completely still behind you - until he raises the stakes in this unspoken game, winding his fingers with yours, his thumb brushing questioningly against your palm.

You’re so caught up in the moment you don’t even notice how chill the air has turned until Eddie’s warm breath huffs against your cheek.

“You’re shivering. Here.”

You turn to see him shrugging off his black leather jacket. Warmth clings to it, seeping into you when he wraps it around your shoulders. The movement brings him impossibly close, your noses nearly brushing and your breath mingling in the small space.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Neither of you turn back to the fireworks.

Curling his fingers beneath your chin, Eddie tilts your face up to his and breathes your name as though saying it too loudly will break whatever spell brought you into his orbit. “Can I kiss you?”

You know you shouldn’t. There is no version of Hawkins where you can get involved with Eddie Munson without either of breaking every law of high school and small-town expectations. No version of this story that ends with a happy ending.

Well, you’re tired of living in someone else’s story.

“Yeah,” you breathe, already reaching for him. You close the distance between you, the sweet shock of Eddie’s mouth making your lips part in a gasp.

No one has kissed you like this before. Generously. Coaxingly. Sweet enough to make you melt and deep enough to make you moan. Every kiss before has been perfunctory. The hurdle to leap over before the finish line. But Eddie… Eddie kisses you like he craves it. He takes his time, tracing your lower lip with his thumb, seemingly more intent on tasting you and pulling out all those little sighs and gasps you make than getting up your skirt. It’s that leisurely pace that leaves you panting, your eyes bright and your heart beating hummingbird fast. When Eddie doesn’t so much as try to slip a hand up your shirt you draw back, glassy eyed and puzzled.

“Don’t you want to…?” You bite your lip and trail off, embarrassed heat creeping up your neck.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie groans. He catches your hand, kisses your palm and presses it to his heart so you can feel it racing. “You tell me. Do you want to?”

When you take off your shirt in silent answer, Eddie’s eyes roll back in his head in a mock faint, his back hitting the ground with a low thump. You laugh and lean in to check on him, playing along by ‘slapping’ his cheek. He rolls you over, one hand cupping the back of your head, making you shriek with laughter.

Your laughter fades, softening into silence as you make out the look on his face.

People in this town don’t see you any more. Oh, they may glance your way, but all they’re seeing is the neatly groomed and meticulously crafted version you present. That is, if they even bother looking past your cheerleading outfit. Most don’t.

Eddie Munson is not most people. He looks at you like he would follow you into battle. Like you scattered the stars across the sky. Like he sees you. All your jagged edges and puzzle pieces that just don’t fit, no matter how hard you try to work them into place. He sees them, and accepts them.

You wonder if he has someone who looks at him that way.

Shyly, you lift a hand and run it through his long hair a few times before scraping your nails gently along his scalp. Eddie leans into your touch, eyes half-lidded and a look of contentment on his face.“You’re not what I expected, Munson.”

His grin is a bright flash in the dark. “Neither are you, rebel.”

By the time the fireworks are over, the two of you are grass stained and giggling, half-rising only to tumble back down into kisses you both know won’t really be the “last one, I swear.”

Eventually Eddie sighs and lifts his head from where it’s been resting in your lap. “It’s getting late. I should probably get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”

There’s a wistful note in his voice and it chimes a hollow ache in you, too. What happens after tonight? The queen of Hawkins high can’t possibly show up in the fall with the town outcast on her arm.

Can you?

You let Eddie pull you to your feet, his jacket a comforting weight on your shoulders as the two of you make your way down the hill and through the dark town. You head for your house, the darkness shielding you from prying eyes and gossiping tongues. It gives you the same thrilling sense of liberation that Halloween used to - the one night in the year you could defy expectations, running freely through the streets with your wind in your hair and a wild laugh on your lips.

Maybe you should play in the dark more often.

Eddie leaves you to your thoughts, your hand in his like he’s afraid someone will spirit you away if he doesn’t. Not tightly or possessively, just… carefully. Intentionally.

When you reach your doorstep, Eddie takes your hand and brings it to his lips.

“Farewell, lady,” he says, the quaint language somehow right in his distinctive cadence. “Morning approaches and I must away.”

He takes a last, lingering look before leaping off your doorstep and sprinting into the night, turning an almost stumble into a theatrical bound and making you laugh with the same surprised delight he’s pulled from you for hours.

“Goodnight,” you murmur, a smile still playing over your lips as you let yourself into the silent house.

Eddie lifts his head from where he’s bent over his guitar when a quiet knock rattles the trailer door.

Expecting it to be his uncle, he calls out “Forget something, old man?” He blinks when he pulls open the door, startled not by the bright late morning sunlight but by the sight of you standing on his doorstep. You’ve traded your cheerleading outfit for jean shorts and a t-shirt but otherwise, you’re the girl who’s been pleasantly haunting his dreams.

With a nervous smile, you reply “Yeah, I forgot to borrow that book from you last night. What was it again, The Hobbit?”

Eddie’s astonishment melts into a radiant grin as he steps aside and welcomes you in with a flourish.

To be continued…?

#Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x F!Reader #Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader #Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham #Eddie Munson #x reader #Fic #My fic #Stranger Things #I don't THINK there are any real spoilers for the show

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womenareonline · 1 year

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Woke, Art, leftist dirtbag

This is in response to the discussion of Matty Healy on The Adam Friedland Show and about leftist dirtbags.

A few months ago I went on a date with a guy and my first text to my friend once I was home was: he is too woke. My friend and I have an ongoing joke where we talk about people going on TikTok and explaining why we shouldn't study Picasso a man who has been dead for over 40 years. Yet a few days ago I saw Chris Brown was the headliner for a festival. Do you see the issue here? I think a lot of people are talking about the over wokeness and canceled culture and how it does not work. I agree. Canceled culture is dumb and there are still a lot of people doing far worst things than Matty Healy.

What the leftist dirtbag loves to do is make fun of gen-z woke culture. Because they turn around and vote for Bernie Sanders, and that's great. We love Bernie. But voting for more leftist politicians does not give you a free pass to be racist and sexist. I get it, you are making a joke out of woke culture or of “locker room talk”. Here is my question to you: What do you gain from this? What exactly do you gain from spending an hour talking about the most bizarre and random stuff, mocking accents, and objectifying women? If you are so mad about gen-z not taking issues seriously but instead focusing on the language they use, isn't it a bit hypocritical if you sit down and make fun of them instead of helping? Great you voted for Bernie, but you are still going online and making degrading jokes about minorities. I get it, I really do. I don’t think you are racist or sexist, but I also don’t think this is the way to stay woke or to help the ongoing issue in society.

I always believed there is a balanced to everything. You can be woke and you can still focus on the important issue. I personally believe that standing up for women's rights so we don’t get murdered on our way home is far more useful than spending 10 minutes talking about Ice Spice dms. But that's just me. I’ve been online for probably the same amount of time than these guys, so I understand there is a lot on the internet and I grew up into the internet and not on the internet. I have also developed critical thinking to understand when to draw the line when joking and when to be “woke”.

Here is the thing about these jokes: POC and women have spoken up and said this isn’t funny. We do not enjoy this kind of humor. Why aren’t you listening to them? I understand your jokes and satire, but if someone is telling you it's making them uneasy, should you stop? What's the point of satire if it offends people? Why are you telling people to “take a joke” when you are joking about their own culture? We heard enough about this when it's not a joke and outside of art, and we are telling you: we are very tired. We are tired of white men telling us how to feel. We are tired of men telling us “it's a joke”. I know you are joking, I get that. But tomorrow I’ll wake up and a man would catcall me for wearing a skirt. I am tired even when you are joking.

About the whole concept of this being art. I get art, I really do. I adore art and would always try to understand the most bizarre and random art. I don’t judge it for what it is. I like to believe I try different forms and genres of art because I don’t believe in listening to criticism or mouth-to-mouth (I even listened to the podcast I swear). They are saying art is supposed to challenge us and this is for you to think and to step outside. I love that concept of art. I really enjoy watching something new and experiencing new music (like The 1975!!). But I don’t understand what is so challenging for white men to sit for an hour to talk about other races and women. Isn’t that what we see every day? Is that literally what politics is like? Men telling women what to do with their bodies? I think it is more challenging when men stand up for women because we don’t see that every day. I think it's braver when we talk about the killing of POC and transgender people. Why isn’t art about that? I think that's a challenge because the status quo is men speaking for women. Are white people telling other groups how to feel or who to be? I think the challenge in the art should be to those in power. Let's make fun of those who are in power and who marginalized others. I believed Matty Healy did an amazing job portraying this in Consumption on his last tour and I loved that. He was a white man, calling out men. I am tired as a Latina woman to see men talk about us but not about themselves. There is more value in a man telling another man they are wrong. Two of my favorite writers are Isabel Allende (Chilean) and Gabriel García Marquez (Colombian) they both write about the issues in Latin America. They both explain what is wrong in our culture. That's more valuable and challenging than men talking about other races and genders.

I’m closing this by saying I had and maybe still do a great admiration for Matty Healy as an artist. I think he is brilliant: his music is amazing, he is a great songwriter, the shows are all created by him, an amazing frontman (i saw them live back in 2019), and has an amazing meme curation. But i don’t get why he blur the line into I don’t want people to see me as too woke. I think it might be a “trauma” response to being canceled so much. I get it. But I don’t think that's where we need to direct the conversation.

#Woke culture #Cancelled culture #Internet #online #leftist dirtbag #Matty Healy #writing

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genesic-archives · 6 months

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Nunnally's Halloween Ch 1-2: In a Different School than Usual

This is a translation of the second section of Nunnally's Halloween. This section shows all the previously mentioned characters all now being trapped within this spooky alternate version of Ashford Academy when they encounter a ghastly individual.

Previous Section - Next Section - All Story Sections

The visual open on a blurry look within a hallway similar to one within Ashford, but with a few spooky decorations put into place.

Al: Ugh… Wh-where am I?

Silly halloween music plays as bats start flying around Al.

Al: I saw this place in a story I observed before. Is this Ashford Academy?

Hong Yu groans as he shakes himself and his sister awake.

Hong Yu: Liu Ki, You alright?

Liu Ki: Y-yea…

Gigi then pops up into the picture.

Gigi: Ouchie, ouchie. Huh? Where are we?

Al: Looks like Gigi is okay too. The rest of us are…

Suddenly, Lelouch jolts up out of nowhere, now wearing a festive jiāngshī (Chinese vampire/zombie) costume.

Lelouch: NUNNALLY!

Everyone: !?

Al: Lelouch, is that…

Lelouch: Don’t worry about me! Where’s Nunnally!?

Nunnally: Brother, I’m right here. I’m completely fine…

Lelouch: I see. Thank goodness…

Nunnally then fully comes into view, now sparkling and wearing a cute kitty outfit.

Lelouch:!? Nunnally, what's with that outfit...?

Nunnally: Huh? …Ah, I was wondering why it felt different than usual.

Gigi: Wait, wait, wait! Lelouch, you got one too. Calm down and take a look at yourself!

Lelouch: Huh!? What's with these clothes...!? When did I...!?

Hong Yu: Lelouch’s and Nunnally's clothes seem to have changed since they were sent here. But why are they the only ones...?

Liu Ki: I can't find the clothes you two were wearing.

Gigi: It doesn't seem to cause any harm, so I guess it's okay to leave it as is. I'm also in a ‘Halloween Party Style’.

Lelouch: Humph...I wonder if something like this would happen without the chairman…Speaking of that, it seems like this is definitely Ashford Academy, where Nunnally and I attended.…

Nunnally: In that case, is this the sort of “Observation'' that Al usually does?

Al: No, it's different from observation using my Geass. My phase shift Geass just lets me observe. I can't move freely like this.

Gigi: Maybe someone invited us here.

Lelouch: In any case, we need information to understand the situation.

Al: That's right. There's nothing we can do if we stop here. I'll leave the command to you, Lelouch… Hehe.

Lelouch: Al, you shouldn’t be laughing right now.

Al: It can't be helped. You look so silly dressed like that.

Lelouch: That’s enough from you. Well, now I feel a little embarrassed.

Al: On the contrary, don't you think it's okay for you to relax a little? We're here so you don't have to deal with this all by yourself.

Hong Yu: Al's right. Didn't I tell you earlier? I believe in you too.

Lelouch: ...I understand. This all happened so suddenly. Maybe I was a bit too upset. I'll try to calm down a little.

Nunnally dismally looks down at the ground.

Liu Ki: What's wrong, Nunnally?

Nunnally: N-no. Nothing…

Gigi: Nana-chan, even though you're cosplaying as a cute cat, it'll be ruined if you don't look happy. C'mon, smile smile~

Nunnally: Huh? Am I wearing a cat costume? I guess so. I have cat ears!

Gigi: Yeah. You're so cute. Right, Lelouch?

Lelouch: Yeah. That costume is perfect for Nunnally.

Al: You're so honest with Nunnally.

Lelouch: Of course.

Liu Ki: Nunnally, you really are cute.

Hong Yu: Yeah. I'd also like to see Liu Ki wearing a costume like that.

Liu Ki: I'm having a hard time deciding whether that’s something I should be happy about…

The group then start walking around the halls, getting a sense of their surroundings.

Lelouch: The structure of the school building itself doesn't seem to be any different from Ashford’s.

Nunnally: Yes, but it seems somehow colder than the school we know…

Al: ......! Everyone stop!

Suddenly, a mysterious ghost with a pumpkin hat appears before them.

Hong Yu: They're different from normal enemies! Be careful!

Al: Wait, um, this is…

Liu Ki: It has a strange appearance, it seems like it’s a different enemy than before!

Gigi: I suppose you could call it an enemy.

Lelouch: It’s a typical ghost.

Nunnally: Huh!? Oh, there’s a ghost…

Lelouch: It's okay, Nunnally. It’s just dressed up like one. It’s not like it’s a real ghost.

Lelouch (internal thoughts): (Does that mean that it doesn't belong to the "Moon of the End"? However, if that's the case...)

Gigi: Ah!

Lelouch: What?

Gigi: Isn’t that a Halloween ghost?

Liu Ki: Huh!? Was Halloween a festival made to fight off metamorphosis…!?

Gigi: If we don't give it sweets, we'll get pranked.

Liu Ki: Sweets? Unfortunately, I don't have any…

Lelouch: Quick, what should we do to scare it away, Liu Ki? He’s coming!

#code geass #genesic re;code #stories #side story #translations #nunnally's halloween

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minaramen · 2 years

Text

Thanks for the 7th Anniversary - Part 4: And it’s just the start!

*Cut to a classroom. Haruka is a kindergarten school student, Tamaki is a superhero and Iori is a doctor*

Haruka&Tamaki&Iori:.....

Iori: Let’s do a final check

Tamaki: Yeah

Haruka: Okay

Iori: Our class’ project is a stamp rally

Iori: Visitors are supposed to find the cosplayers around the school, recite a keyword and get a stamp

Iori: The form they're given comes with both the required keywords and the stamp card itself

Iori: My keyword is “Doctor, my heart is in pain”

Tamaki: Mine is “We’ve met here for the hundredth year!”

Haruka: Mine is…. “Let’s play~”

Haruka&Tamaki&Iori:.......

Haruka:....whose idea was that…

Tamaki: It suits you, Isumin. It’s super cute

Iori: You must be hot in those long sleeves.

Haruka: They will definitely laugh at me!!

Tamaki: Let them laugh, then. It’ll rattle their abdominal muscles

Haruka: Is it a win-win situation, then?

Tamaki: Nyan. Transformation!

Haruka: Ahah, what’s that? What a hilarious pose!

Tamaki: See, that's a gag

Iori: It’s somehow cute…

Haruka: I’ll give them a laugh as well, then. Do you know any funny jokes I could tell?

Tamaki: You could yell “Babu!!” You don’t want to miss the opportunity to say “babubabu!” with confidence, right?

Haruka: Yes

Iori: Is saying “babubabu” with confidence an essential opportunity in life?

Tamaki: What’s your gag, Iori?

Iori: I don’t have one. Do yours again, Yotsuba san

Tamaki: Nyan. Transformation!

Iori: Fufu

Haruka: Do you like these kinds of things, Izumi?

Iori: Ahem. Let’s do our best with the role we got until the end of our turns. That’s all. Dismissed!

Haruka&Tamaki: Yeah!

*Cut to a street*

Aya: It’s a bit further, Kujo san!

Takamasa: There are posters even on the street. About the Seventh Nanahoshi School Festival

Aya: Tamaki nii chan, Haru chan and Iori san are in the same class. I wonder what they’re planning to do

Takamasa: They didn't tell you?

Aya: Haru chan said it’s embarrassing. He refused to tell me

Aya: Do you have any memories regarding a school festival, Kujo san?

Takamasa: Maybe, that time I sang in an impromptu band. The school’s popular music band asked me to

Aya: Must be on the first page of your teenage memories! I would have loved to see Kujo san singing in an impromptu band!

Takamasa: I was such a bad MC, everybody’s enthusiasm dampened more and more, it was like rolling down a hill

Aya: If I had been there, be sure that I would have started a mosh pit to get everyone excited!

Takamasa: Ahah. If I had found you back then, I would have pulled you on to the stage from the audience

Aya: Wonderful!! It feels like a movie…!!

Takamasa: There are people who have a natural inclination to be players. The power to become a star…

Takamasa: Haruki wanted to stay behind the scenes, and it was the very same for me. People like Tenn, and you….and Haruka. You’re wonderful

Aya: Kujo san…

Takamasa:... Zero too. Zero was also wonderful

Receptionist: I’m sorry, you can’t enter the place without an invitation

Aya: Ah, it seems like there’s a quarrel going on at the reception. Maybe they lost the invitation

Takamasa: …I know that person

Aya: Mh?

Takamasa: Aya, go ahead. We’ll meet back later

Aya: G-got it!

Aya: Mmh…where are Tamaki nii chan and the others?

Aya: The class over there is holding a competition where you can win a handy mixer

Aya: I wanted a new one so…maybe I should challenge myself?

Aya:...yes, I think I will!

*Cut to a classroom*

Riku: I received the stamp rally’s form

Sogo: Me too

Riku: I hope we can find Iori and Tamaki. Do you know what kind of costume they’re supposed to wear?

Sogo: I don’t. Maybe they’re embarrassed…?

Riku: If it’s something embarrassing, I want to see them even more!

Sogo: Me too!

Riku: Ah! That guy looks like Iori, doesn’t he?!

Sogo: Yes! Do you want to try talking to him, Riku kun?

Riku: Greeting him like usual wouldn’t be any fun. Let’s pretend to be classmates!

Riku: Iori kun!

Iori: Yes

Riku: I knew it! It’s you! Did I give you the impression I was a classmate of yours?

Iori: Not at all. You know, Nanase san, I can recognize your voice

Riku: What kind of cosplay…are you a doctor?

Sogo: You look so good, Iori kun! The white coat suits you

Iori: Thank you

Riku: What a cool doctor…! You look so handsome, Iori!

Iori: A-ah..really?

Riku: Yes…

Sogo: It may be because you used to be sick when you were a kid, Riku kun

Sogo: I bet you have a feeling of gratitude toward doctors. So everytime you spot a white coat you naturally trust and esteem who’s wearing it

Riku: Maybe….

Sogo: It’s the same for me everytime I see a rocker. Since I admired my uncle so much, my heart unconditionally starts beating faster and faster

Iori: I’d like to run a test. I’m changing clothes

Riku: What?

*Iori comes back wearing his school uniform*

Iori: Done

Sogo: As expected, you went for an outfit which was easy to put on and take off

Iori: Nanase san, please take good care of yourself

Riku: You don’t need to tell me!

Iori:...I’m changing back

Sogo: I'll help you

*Iori wears his white coat again*

Iori: Done

Iori: Nanase san, please take good care of yourself

Riku: I will!

Iori: Are you for real?! Does your attitude really change that much just because of cosplay?!

Riku: You’re so handsome, Iori! You look very reliable!

Iori: It’s extremely effective, then. I shall always keep a white coat ready…

Sogo: It probably makes him feel comforted, but maybe you should try with a Kujo san costume as well…

Iori: Osaka san, that would be a total defeat for me. I’m afraid I have to refuse

Sogo: I see. That’s too bad

Riku: Tell me to take care of myself

Iori: Take care of yourself

Riku: Waah! He told me to take care of myself!

Sogo: I’m happy for you, Riku kun!

Iori: It even became some kind of pseudo-fanservice!

Riku: Ah, I almost forgot! “Doctor, my heart is in pain”

Sogo: Ah, me too! “Doctor, my heart is in pain”

Iori: You can get your stamps. Here you go

Riku: Hooray!

Sogo: And we got one. Do you know where Tamaki kun is?

Iori: I think you can find him in the school east area

Riku: It’s a hint! Thank you so much, doctor!

Iori: Take good care of yourself

*Cut to a hallway*

Haruka *thinking*: Okay, let’s get into it. If they come, I’ll definitely make them laugh

Student: Waah…! The three guys over there…aren't they Zool??

Student: Oh, you’re right, you’re right! They’re so handsome! I can’t believe it! Zool is in our school as well!!

Minami: Where is Isumi san?

Touma: He should be somewhere around here…

Torao: Ah, over there…?

Haruka:....tsk, they came… okay, then! I’ll give them a good laugh!

Haruka: Babuuuu!! Chu you wanchu your stamp?

Minami&Touma&Torao:...........

Torao: Yo, Haru

Torao: Today’s festival is a success

Minami: Thank you so much for the invitation

Haruka: Ehm…wait, what…? Don’t get over it so quick…

Touma: Have you already had lunch?

Haruka: Instead of talking about lunch, look at my costume…! You don’t have anything to say..?

Torao: Mh? Not really

Haruka: What?! Didn’t you hear me saying “babuuu”??

Minami: It naturally blended in

Haruka: And it makes me a naturally talented artist, right??

Touma: Right, right! We came here, now give us the stamp!

Haruka: Say the keyword, then

Minami&Touma&Torao: Let’s play!

Haruka: One, two, three…here you go

Minami: Thank you so much

Torao: Ah, the stamps are also very well done

Touma: So good we’re collecting them!

Haruka: You guys are the only ones putting all your effort into collecting stamps without having a single laugh at the costumes…

Touma: Really?

Torao:...mh…fufu…

Haruka: Ah, Torao!! Don’t look away! Look at me!

Torao: No, it’s just…The diagonal discontinuance on the right side of the ceiling up there is pretty interesting, isn’t it?

Haruka: Don’t talk rubbish! It’s just that you know you’ll end up laughing if you look at me! Laugh! Babuuuu!

Torao: I can’t, I can’t, I just can’t…! I need to focus on the ceiling…!

Haruka: Hey, look at me! I’ll show you my patch!

Minami: Midou san, run!

Torao:....g-got it…!

*Torao runs away*

Minami: Nice dash

Haruka: Are you guys for real?!

Touma: Speaking of which, you may be wondering where Utsugi san is! I shall explain the whole situation, then…

Haruka: Why are you so descriptive today, Touma? Could it be that you're panicking?

Touma: No, no

Haruka: You’re really suspichus

Touma:...fu…I can’t…hold it…

Minami: Run!

Touma: Got it!

*Touma runs away*

Minami: Nice dash

Haruka: He also ran away! I can’t believe it…!

Minami: Isumi san

Haruka: What?

Minami: I’m the last one

Haruka: Yes, this much I know, thanks! What are you doing, some kind of challenge?!

Music magazine journalist: Ah…! Isumi san, Natsume san!

Minami: You are…

Haruka: The journalist we met at Red Fes!

*Cut to a stage*

Moderator student: Welcome to the big mimicry competition of Nanahoshi festival!

Students: Woooh!

Moderator student: Let’s get started! Please, come in!

Yamato lookalike student: Entry number one! I mimic Nikaido Yamato from Idolish7!

Students: Wooooh!

Yamato lookalike student: You wanna play some bad games with your favorite onii san?

Students: Wooooh!

Moderator student: You really look like him! Ah, the music suddenly changed? Maybe…!?

Yamato: I’m Nikaido Yamato from Idolish7

Students: Woooh!

Moderator student: The real one just came out!

Yamato lookalike student: T-the real one…! Now I feel kinda sorry…

Yamato: Nah, you did a good job. You got my peculiarities pretty well

Students: Wooooh!

Yamato lookalike student: Wah! I’m happy…! Thank you!

Yamato: Do your best with today’s activities

Yamato lookalike student: Yes! I will!

Moderator student: Thank you! Here’s our next entry…!

Nagi lookalike student: Entry number two! I mimic Rokuya Nagi from Idolish7!

Students: Woooh!

Nagi lookalike student: Hi, girls! Do you want to be my princesses?

Students: Woooh!

Moderator student: You also look like him! Ah, the music changed again..! Could it be…?

Nagi: Hi! I’m Rokuya Nagi from Idolish7

Students: Woooh!

Moderator student: The real deals keep coming out!

Nagi lookalike student: Waah, Nagi kun! So cool…! Aah, I really did the mimicking in front of the real one…!

Nagi: Oh! It was a wonderful show! Shall we say goodbye together?

Nagi lookalike student: Yes! Of course!

Nagi: Ready….?

Nagi and Nagi lookalike student: Bye bye!

Students: Woooooh!

Moderator student: Thank you so much! Let’s go to the next entry!

Iori lookalike student: Entry number three! I mimic Izumi Iori from Idolish7!

Students: Wooooh!

Iori lookalike student: When you talk about a perfect student, you’re obviously referring to me

Students: Woooh!

Moderator student: Touche! You also did an amazing job! Aah, the music changed again! Is the real person, again…?

Mitsuki: Hello!

Moderator student: It's Izumi’s brother, Mitsuki san!

Students: Woooh!

Iori lookalike student: Wah, it’s Mikki! What a cute nii san! So cool…!

Mitsuki: I’m not your nii san, tough! Ahah, but thank you!

Students: Woooh!

Iori lookalike student: How was it? Did I look like Izumi? Izumi gave me a D for it!

Mitsuki: Yeah, you looked pretty much like him! However, Iori is cuter

Students: Wooh!

Iori lookalike student: I’m happy to meet you! Can I shake your hand?

Mitsuki: Yeah! Take care of Iori, okay?

Moderator student: Thank you so much! The next person is a last-minute guest!

Aya: Entry number four! I mimic Kokona from Mahou Shoujo Magical Kokona!

Students: Woooh!

Aya: Mahou Shoujo ☆ Magical Kokona! Magical Kokona, lovely Kokona! If you stay close to me, I gain infinite power!

Nagi: Yes!! The opening! That’s amazing! We love Magical Kokona!

Mitsuki: Aya chan is so cute! She really looks like Kokona

Yamato: You’re getting pretty excited, aren’t you?

Aya: Eheh…I aim for victory!

Nagi&Yamato&Mitsuki&Students: Wooooh!

Mr Shimooka: Oh, she ignited the atmosphere…!

Mitsuki: Mister Shimooka san! You’re joining the event as well?

Mr Shimooka: I was asked to come by Tamaki kun and the others. Also, I heard that Matsunaga kun’s son is working hard in the executive committee

Mr Shimooka: Please, help yourself. Have it together, okay?

Nagi: Oh, this is…?

Mr Shimooka: Dokidoki russian roulette tapioca!

Nagi&Yamato&Mitsuki: Dokidoki russian roulette tapioca?!

Mr Shimooka: Yes! There’s just one odd piece mixed among the colorful tapioca

Yamato: A real fish egg?!

Aya: Amazing! What an ingenious idea!

Mr Shimooka: I bought a lot of it, so be sure to share it with the others

Mitsuki: Thank you!

Mr Shimooka: Are you going to join today’s competition? The newborn star project?

Yamato: Yes, we will. Our turn has yet to come

Mr. Shimooka: A newborn star….you’re already guests of such an important project, despite being so new in the entertainment world

Mitsuki: It’s also thanks to you, Mister Shimoka. We owe you a lot

Mr. Shimooka: I did nothing. It was your competence that made you stars

Mr. Shimooka: You grew a lot, Idolish7. I look forward to this night’s performance!

Nagi: Thanks, Mister Shimooka! I’ve always been grateful we had the chance to meet you!

Mr. Shimooka: It’s my pleasure. Let’s keep supporting each other forever

Nagi&Yamato&Mitsuki: Yes!

Moderator student: Aah…! We have the voting results! We are ready to announce the winner! And it is…

Moderator student: Kujo Aya san!

Aya: Kyaah, I did it!

Nagi: Wow! Fantastic!

Mitsuki: Amazing! Well done, Aya chan!

Yamato: Good job. And thanks to the guys who mimicked us!

Yamato lookalike student: No, thank you!

Mr. Shimooka: Well done! Congratulations, little lady!

Aya: Thank you so much!

End of part 4

#Idolish7 #idolish7translation #7thanniversary #trigger #revale #Zool

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