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dantakeyoman · 1 year

Note

the, “his secret mate.” part in your fic where she took the bullet from neteyam had me tearing up huhuhu can we get the detail of their intimacy in relationship before that war? not always to be nsfw, but fluff with full of lovesick moments aarghhwbd

You and Neteyam Mate In Secret (Slight-NSFW / Comfort)

Prologue of "You Take The Bullet"

CW: nsfw implied ( and a little described ), right after his second birth ( he is now a tribe-observed man, and part of the People ), you and Neteyam are so in love, kinda magical ngl, reminder that Utral Aymokriyä is the place Jake and Neytiri mated, Neteyam is a consent king

"You skxawng! Where are you taking me?" you laughed, Neteyam's hand in yours as he ran through the forest with you, his trademark smile plastered on his face.

"You'll see," he teased, jumping off a large tree root and landing on the mossy ground.

You did your best to keep up, jumping as well, but you landed off balance, and were about to fall.

Neteyam noticed this and quickly turned around, yanking you toward him so you landed in his chest, instead of the mud.

You sighed, pulling your face out of his pecs, and resting on it instead.

You were tired.

This man had made the both of you sprint from Hometree, all the way to....wherever here was.

Technically, the both of you weren't even supposed to be out right now.

Neteyam had just had his Second Birth, and was supposed to be spending it with the People.

But through the commotion, he managed to sneak the both of you out.

"I must show you something. Come!" his words echoed in your head.

If Neteyam wanted to sneak out, then it must be something incredibly important.

"Irayo," you panted, breathless as you took your quick break.

A dark tint of blue rested on his cheeks as he nodded, his hands instinctively going to rest on your hips.

"Kea tìkin," he assured, averting his eyes from you so you could not see his blush.

Noticing the slight purple-ish glow that was shining from behind him, you lifted your head, peeking over his shoulder and gasping at the sight.

Utral Aymokriyä.

"Oh, Neteyam!" you gasped, quickly breaking from the hug and walking over to the large tree.

It stood tall, and proud, like the might of thousands lay hiding in it's branches.

Despite being Omaticaya, you had never been to this place. Though you had constantly told Neteyam how you dreamed of doing so one day.

Out-stretching your arms, you walked toward the base of the tree, smiling as you allowed all of it’s tendrils to rake over you, softly.

Neteyam did the same, but not without letting his gaze linger on you.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched you experience the tree in wonder.

You were adorable.

The tree bathed you in purple light, accentuating your every feature.

Your beauty was a sight to behold, that was what caught his attention first.

Your face was sculputure-like, ethereal.

Even if he were to stare at your face for hours, he wouldn’t be able to find a single thing wrong.

You laughed, dancing with a tendril of the tree as if it were another person.

And your voice. It came out so smooth and silky, like his favorite song on repeat.

Sitting down on the ground, you rested your hands on the ground, shutting your eyes and allowing yourself to feel the beautiful energy the tree was emitting.

It wasn’t just your physical features, either.

It was the way you carried yourself, the way you were strong, and tough, yet soft and kind for your people and Pandora.

You had this man weak in the knees every time you crossed paths, and it was getting to the point where it was affecting his day-to-day life.

All he thought of was you. Eat, sleep, breathe, repeat. You.

You were a distraction, but a beautiful one. One that deserved to be protected by every ounce of his being.

"My mother took me here when I was no older than a baby," Neteyam started, walking over and sitting down next to you.

"She said this was a place for prayers to be heard. ....And sometimes answered."

He took his queue, making tsaheylu with a soft sigh, before turning back to you, who was watching him in peaceful, silent awe.

It made him blush.

You did the same, a soft gasp leaving you lips as you shut your eyes, the songs and chants of past peoples dancing through your ears, as clear as day.

When you opened your eyes again, Neteyam chuckled at your child-like expression, your mouth slightly gaped in wonder.

“I can hear them,” you nodded, eyes trained on the tendril you were bonded with.

Neteyam disconnected the bond, and looked up at the mighty tree, your gaze burning holes into his face.

"My mother told me that now I am truly one of the People, I can make my bow out of the wood of Hometree.....and choose a woman," he cheesed, the thought of you being his mate bringing a smile to his face.

But you did not think the same.

Oh. He has already chosen.

You expression fell, but you did your best to keep your smile happy.

"Who are you going to choose? We have many good women for a future Olo'eyktan," you tearfully recommended, a quiet gasp leaving you lips as a atokirina floated down to you, resting in your palms.

Neteyam snapped his head over to you, confused.

What in the world are you talking about?

"Eyati is a good hunter."

"I do not want Eyati," he quickly shut down, looking at you intently.

Lovingly.

"Oh," you nodded. He didn't want a huntress, then.

"Ilyena is a good dancer."

Neteyam internally facepalmed.

You were not understanding.

He thought he was being quite obvious with his admiration.

His frequent touches, talking of finding a woman, taking you to a spot where people literally go to mate.

You were the only one he wants. The only one he could ever want.

What else would he have to do to get that through your head?

Once the atokirina flew away, you returned your hand to the earth, where Neteyam smoothly interlocked his with yours.

"I do not think you are understanding. I have already chosen," he smiled, looking down at your conjoined hands.

"Oh," you sighed, averting your eyes from him. "Who is the lucky woman?"

Oh, for Eywa's sake.

He groaned, cupping your face in his hand and turning you to face him, where he roughly landed his lips on yours, practically knocking the wind out of you.

At first, you were shocked. All this talk of women, and now he was kissing you?

But you decided to let a good thing be.

You kissed back, matching his roughness as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

His hands immediately went to your waist, resting his hands on your hips as he pulled out from the kiss, staring at you like a lovesick fool.

And his heart seemed to pick up speed when he saw that you were looking at him the exact same way, a beautiful smile on your face.

It seems you liked it better when he showed, not told.

He would remember that for the future.

"(y/n), it is you. You are the woman I have chosen. I cannot think of anyone better to be at my side," he beamed, switching his gaze to the glowing tendrils around him, along with the many atrokirina that decided to make an arrival.

"Do you not see? Eywa has chosen us for each other."

You were on the verge of happy tears.

You had loved this man for so, so, so long, and so hard. And to hear that he has loved you with the same intensity, if not more, was something that warmed you from the inside out.

"I see you, my Neteyam," you smiled, cupping his face in your hands, resting your forehead on his.

"I see you, my love," he smiled back, giving your lips a peck.

It wasn't enough.

As he pulled back, you chased him, attaching your lips once more, throwing your arms over his shoulders.

He groaned, his hands softly caressing your hips as he kissed back with just as much fervor.

"My Neteyam," you sighed, trailing your kisses from his lips, down to his jawline.

He understood your quiet plea, shifting his position so he sat on his knees, before lifting you into his lap.

With this new angle, he peppered your chest with loving, heavy kisses, making you sigh once more.

You raked your hands through his hair, one sensually trailing down his braid and carefully holding up his kuru.

Using your other hand, you found yours, and were about you connect them when Neteyam stopped you.

"My love, are you sure? We do not have to do this if you are not ready," he asked, firmly.

Don't get him wrong. He wanted do to this more than anything in the world.

Having you in his arms, kissing him like this, was his greatest dream come true.

But just because it was his, did not mean it was yours.

And he wanted you to do this of your own volition.

"I am ready, Neteyam. I have always been ready," you assured, resting your forehead on his as you landed another heavy kiss on his lips.

With that, he nodded, and you made tsaheylu.

And the moan you two set loose surely reached the stars.

The feeling that enveloped the both of you was too much.

You could feel everything the other was feeling perfectly. Their heartbeat, their longing, their love.

Oh, the feeling of Neteyam's love was flooding your senses so much it was overwhelming.

Every piece of exposed skin he touched burned with fiery heat, but it felt so, so good.

You had no idea he loved you to this extent.

And as he lay you down on the mossy ground, him placing feather-light kisses across your exposed chest, the vision of children flashed through your head.

His vision.

They were your children, the kids running around the tent as the two of you lay in the corner, curled into each other.

Even in a moment so intimate, even as he entered you, his thoughts still traveled to something so wholesome and domestic.

It made you blush uncontrollably, and he sensed this.

"I....hnngh...see you, my (y/n). And there...fuck....is no one else I can see to be the mother of my children...shit...," he said huskily, peppering kisses on your shoulder with each thrust.

As tears welled in your eyes, you tightened your grip around his neck, another moan escaping you lips.

"I see you....ohhh!....my Neteyam," you sighed, bringing your hands to rest on his chest.

But for the first time, the both of you felt like that word didn't express enough.

Your love for each other expanded farther than just I see you, it was indescribable.

There was no Na'vi word for it.

But there was an English one.

One Jake had taught both of you, respectfully.

"I love you!" the two of you exclaimed in unison as you finished together, Neteyam making his final thrust.

And as you both lay on the ground, intertwined, coming down from your high, Neteyam said something that made you feel all the happiness in the world.

"I am with you now, (y/n)," he sighed, a tired smile on his face.

"We are mated for life."

#avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #na'vi x y/n #na'vi x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #atwow x reader #atwow

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nocturnalrat · 10 months

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Hear me out…

1610! Miles comforting reader after she get jealous because of how much he’s been around Gwen and he’s just touching and kissing her in all the right places and makes sure that reader knows that he loves her and only her 🙈💕

Thank you for the great prompt! I had lots of fun writing this. :p <3

---

It was truly infuriating.

You hadn’t seen each other in a week due to school work keeping you busy, and there had been a surge of criminal activities in New York, which is why Miles had been occupied most of the time as well.

And now, when the two of you were finally able to hang out again, he kept talking about someone else entirely.

You were lying on the bunk bed in his dorm room, listening to him ramble on about the adventures he had lived through last week.

“You should have been there, the way Gwen incapacitated the guy was like something out of a movie.” He gesticulated frantically with his hands as he vividly described last night’s care chase.

"That sounds really fascinating," you grumbled.

After hearing your unfazed (and slightly sarcastic) tone, he looked up from his chair. "You don't sound very impressed, though."

How could you have told him that his constant stories and songs of praise about Gwen were starting to annoy the heck out of you?

Jealousy was an ugly emotion. To confess to it was shameful, exposing; you wanted to be the easy-going, cool and confident kind of girlfriend, but Miles was making it really hard for you to not seethe with anger and discontent.

"Everything okay?" he asked, and you avoided his gaze. Lying was easier when you didn’t look him into his eyes. They always were too honest and seemed to notice too much.

"Sure," you said.

He saw through your charade immediately, and climbed onto the bunk bed to be closer to you. "There's something bothering you. I can tell."

"You can't tell shit," you said before you could stop yourself. There was anger in the pits of your stomach threatening to take over.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Yes.

"No."

"Then why are you frowning like that? It looks like you’re ready to kill someone. It better not be me."

Fuck. Were you really scowling that obviously?

"You and Gwen get along great, huh?”

"We certainly do." He tilted his head. You recognized that look on his face – it was the same one he had when struggling to solve complicated math problems. "Why’d you bring her up?"

"Why do you keep bringing her up?" you snarled. "We weren’t able to have a single conversation in the last few weeks without you mentioning her a dozen times. Not to mention the fact that you spend way more time with her than you do with your actual girlfriend.”

Shoot. Now you had done it; you had shown weakness.

Miles stared at you incredulously. "Wait a minute - are you jealous?"

You crossed your arms and looked pointedly at the ceiling.

"Absolutely not."

"Nuh-huh. That's why you're pouting." He grinned, and his lighthearted reaction only intensified the nauseating feeling of jealousy. "You know, part of me wishes you could come with us when we're patrolling, just so you could witness how much I talk about you when I'm with Gwen. But the other part of me is terrified of you being with us, as it would be incredibly dangerous for a civilian.”

"Yeah." Biting sarcasm. "I'm sure that's what you talk to her about."

"It is!" He scrambled over to you and leaned in close. "You don't have the faintest idea how important you are to me, do you?

"Can’t be that important, judging by your behavior.”

"Not that important!" he repeated indignantly. "I think about you all the time. How you're doing, what you're doing, if you need anything - always. You're the first thing I think about when I wake up, and the last thing when I go to sleep!"

"Well, you sure as hell don’t act like it,” you mumbled.

“What do I have to do to make you believe me?” He brushed an unruly strand of hair from your forehead, and the gentleness of his touch loosened the knot in your stomach the jealousy had caused. You had only recently started dating, so every little touch of his felt all the more exciting.

You looked at him, and his wide eyes were filled with worry.

“Do you guys have to hang out so much?” you asked reluctantly. “How would you feel if I suddenly spent all of my time with an attractive guy who was single?”

He furrowed his brows. “Well, I wouldn’t be thrilled,” he began slowly. Then he shook his head. “Okay, scratch that, I’d be really pissed.”

You almost laughed. He was just like you.

“Then you know exactly how I feel.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth. "You really have no idea, do you?"

The almost-kiss had distracted you, and it took a moment for you to reply. “No idea about what?” you asked, a little breathless.

"About the things I'd do to make you happy." With a tender gesture, he took your face in his hand and caressed your cheek. "I love you more than anything in this world." The kiss that followed made any doubt you had disappear in an instant. He was telling the truth, that much was evident. “Next time, you can just straight up tell me what’s bothering you. Although I have to say, I kind of like it when you’re acting all jealous and cute.”

“Fuck off,” you said, but it was with a smile. You playfully tried to push him off of you, but he buried his face in your neck.

He was stronger than you, and his weight was pressing against you in a way that made it impossible for you to escape. Not that you wanted to - not when his lips had found your neck and left a sensation so new and good that you couldn't help but let out a sigh of contentment.

“I love you,” he said, His voice was so full of affection that it warmed your heart. “Only you. Always you. I won’t be patrolling with her as much in the future, I promise.”

At times, you wondered how someone as great as him had ended up with someone like you. The room was bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun. His eyes shimmered with an amber-like hue; the smile that graced his face was a breathtaking image.

He appeared radiant in the sunlight, and in his presence, you felt a profound sense of peace and trust overcome you.

#miles morales x reader #miles x y/n #1610 miles is the cutest i love him so much <3 <3 <3 #miles morales x y/n #miles x reader

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pokemon1oadvanced · 8 months

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Thoughts on the live action one piece

Spoilers 😉

Yes, I binged all 8 episodes, and have work today and can’t see out my eyes but worth it.

I’ll try to keep it short.

Luffys character was immaculate. The way Inaki portrayed him and brought this man to life was so amazing to see. Oda really saw Luffy in him and he did not disappoint. The moves looked great, CGI was on point for a live action, and they really did break the curse.

Zoro’s character was beautiful. I love that he was more serious, and him throwing up the finger in his first scene?! I’m star struck. You can say what you want about the live action, but theres no denying this cast was perfect for these characters and the fight scenes were choreographed to the point where it looked so clean.

Nami 🥳 The emotion! The conflict! I absolutely love the way she had more action scenes and was more open with her care for the crew early on. Nami has always been my favourite character, and Emily did her justice.

I will be listening to her song on repeat.

Ussop! Ussop! Are you serious! Why do I love you in every reality! And Ussop and Kaya! The kiss! The scream I let out! I died😵‍💫 I wish he had more shooting scenes, but his true potential wasn’t seen until later in the anime so I can’t complain, cause season two Ussop is gonna pop off.

Sanji😳 First off, live action Sanji has a hold on me😮‍💨 Like what happened to the guy who couldn’t get any girls. Ngl, was keeping an eye out for the blonde at table 8, looking out for my competition👀 His kicks were so smooth and all, and I mean ALL, his fight scenes were perfect. Like how did they do this. You can see the care and effort he put into his character.

Buggy? I love our unhinged clown. His making a circus with trapped towns people. His CGI? Amazing. The little goof we were left with when they trapped his parts in the chest made me cackle!

The pacing of the show was done so well. I was worried that 8 episodes wouldn’t be enough (and I was right where’s season two I want Vivi), but the retelling was more then I hoped for. I will always love the anime more, as most of us know there’s not enough episodes in the series, but the live action did great in that respect. I did miss some of the characters they had to cut to make it flow better though. The ussop pirates live on in our hearts

Don’t get me wrong, there was some scenes I missed from the original show, like Zoro lifting Luffy’s cage, Nami burning her hands on Buggys cannon fuse, Nami stabbing Ussop. BUT, they wouldn’t have fit in this version of the show.

They did give us Zoro lifting the safe like he did Luffys cage which was cool. And Nami holding Ussops hand when Zoro was fighting, Nami showing up for the fight rather then leaving. I love her. Even though Nami didn’t get to show her care through the actions of saving Zoro or stabbing her own hand, she was still able to show those emtions through different actions. The hand holding with Ussop rather then the stabbing of her hand was so good to see. This version of Nami seemed more fragile in a way, so this suited her version well.

It was like watching One Piece for the first time all over again. I didn’t know what would happen. Getting more marines, and Garps relationship to Luffy being revealed so early in the series to cause tension within the crew *chef’s kiss* And Koby? ‘Be a good pirate.’? Like I love you? Not doing what Garp asked? Standing up for his beliefs? You are going to be a good Marine. You’ll be the greatest 💕

The relationships they explored?

First off Ussop and Kaya 😵 I love them so much. Them talking to the straw hats about their relationship was so cute, and Zoro saying it wasn’t his area of expertise 💅🏻✨ Jokes 👀

Nami being besties with Kaya😍 Her telling Kaya not to let someone tell her how to run her life, drawing connections to her own situation, telling Kaya not to be trapped. Her returning the treasure! I loved it so much. Ussop’s and Nami’s friendship has always been the one I cherished in the crew, and for Nami to support Kaya, and Ussop to see how Nami was good to his girl I feel will only strengthen their relationship.

Nami and Zoro besties? Didn’t know I could love them more.

Nami caring so much for Zoro after his fight with Mihawk showed her love for her new friends, and mirrored her care she had in the original series where she saved him from drowning at Arlong park. Even though we didn’t get the original scenes, they were supplemented with new scenes that held the same feelings.

Zosan- I mean Zoro and Sanji. The wings of the pirate king? I love their bickering in any universe it seems. The fish men fight was so good, them being unbothered with the guys trying to kill them as they fought with each other was so them. And Zoro licking his plate clean and saying Sanji’s food was okay? Not bad for a waiter huh?

And the most important pair. Captain and his first mate. I just loved how many times they reiterated that Zoro is Luffys right hand man 🥰 Luffy not stepping in the way of Zoros dream was beautiful, and his care afterwards reminded me of how he cared for Nami when she got sick in the original series. Asking Sanji to cook his favourite? So cute. He couldn’t decide if it was best for Zoro to eat or sleep or drink and him stressing for Zoro. All amazing. I’ve used amazing so many times but its just the word I need to explain it. Zoro waking up, Luffy engulfing him. I could go on and on.

Nami and Luffy? The amount of love I have for them. They were everything I wanted from them. The scene. THE scene. Beautiful.

I could go on and on about this show, but sadly I have work. Please show this version love, and don’t go into expecting the same series. It is different. It’s its own version and deserves its own category.

I love the cast! Thank you for making history with this adaptation! Xx

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dizscreams · 1 year

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Hii hii can I request a Jack Champion × actress reader where they react on some edits Abt the two of them in an interview and then one ship edit Abt them came out thank you so much

++ I luv your writing so much some times I go overboard by liking all of them sorry Abt that Have a great day/night

ur so sweet anon ty :( <3 I hope I understood this right 😭

Mesmerized — Jack Champion ★

PAIRING: Jack Champion x gn!reader

TAGS: @beary-rambles @ashlesys-blog @wekiamo @wenvierismycomfort @aesthetixhoe @mbankfav @aqellano @dizzyscreams @c8rdigan @teyamsgirll @evanpeterswifeyy868

A/N: he’s so bf like he’s literallyy my bf?! I love my bf!! bf!! he’s so this song!!

The producers for the interview you were doing didn’t tell you what the interview would be about. Both you and Jack just assumed it was a normal interview until you had to do the intro for the video. ‘Action!’

You wave, “Hi I’m y/n l/n!” Jack follows you and waves as well, “And I’m Jack Champion.” You both share a smile before quickly looking back at the camera, “And today we are going to be reacting to edits of ourselves.” Jacks eyes widen a bit before nodding slightly, “Lets do it.” “Lets do it,” you repeat.

Someone gives you a phone and tells you all you need to do is scroll and give commentary. “Jack, do you ever look at edits of yourself?” You ask him before clicking on the first video, you pause it before it starts to hear Jacks answer. “Uhh sometimes,” he laughs, “When I’m bored, or they’ll randomly appear on my for you page. What about you?” You smile a bit, “Same here. I also get tagged in a lot of them.” “Oohh yeah me too.”

“Shall we start?” You ask shaking the phone a little.

“We shall,” Jack responds with finger guns. You chuckle and start the first video, it’s an edit of Jack. It was of his Scream 6 character, Ethan Landry. Jack was blushing slightly when you had looked over at him. You giggled when the video ended, “Soo what’d you think?” He giggled with you, “People are really talented. I will say though I wasn’t expecting so many people to love Ethan. Especially because of.. the movie,” he said slowly.

You hum, “The movies been out a while I think you can say it.” He looks at you and then back at the camera, “I didn’t expect many people to love my character in Scream 6 because he’s a psychopathic murderer who chases people in a Ghostface mask,” He says in an accent and claps his hands together. You cover your mouth with your hand as you laugh. “Alright let’s move on, next!” Jack says smiling.

“Okay, here you can take the phone this time,” you tell him handing the phone to him. He takes it and scrolls down to the next edit, “I think it’s of you,” he whisper yells. You recognize the clip used as one in an interview you did only about a week ago. Jack looked at the video and then looked back at you while grinning. He seemed to be enjoying this a little too much, but you didn’t mind.

“Aw I liked that one,” you spoke up first.

“Me too,” Jack says as he stared at you. He liked the outfit you chose to wear today, he always admired your sense of style. He also liked the way you did your hair, it framed your face nicely. “Jack?” He cleared his throat, “Yeah? What?” You let out a confused laugh, “Were you listening?” His face turned red at the question, “uhhh-” You shake your head with a smile, “It’s okay, next edit!” You stick out your hand, signaling for him to give you the phone and he just looks at it.

You shake your hand and nod towards the phone a bit trying to be more clear and he tilts his head. You look at him and he looks like a lost puppy with his big brown eyes boring into yours. You smile a bit and lower your voice, “The phone, Jack.” “OH! Right yeah here,” he stumbles over his words as he hands you the phone. The light pink blush dusting his cheeks once again making him look even cuter than before.

“Okay and here we go,” you mutter. The video plays and at first it’s clips of Jack, you can recognize where some of the clips are from. A lot of them are from Avatar interviews, which makes sense. But then there’s clips of you and that causes your eyebrows to knit together slightly. Just a friendly edit, you presumed, but at the end of the video there’s a clip of you and Jack together.

It’s a clip from a little behind the scenes of Scream 6. The small moment was of Jack putting his arm around you while you were both in the backseat of a bus going to set that day. You smiled at the memory and the video came to an end, “That was cute.” He nodded in agreement, he had the same stupid smile on his face, “Yeah.” You took a peak at the comments, all of them were ship comments.

“They’d be so cute together!”

“Are we sure they aren’t dating?”

“The way they look at each other 🥹”

“I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE”

“There’s no way they aren’t dating”

Your smile got bigger and you handed Jack the phone with a quiet, “Your turn.”

The interview went on for a couple more minutes until they were satisfied with the length that the video would be. Then, it was time for the outro. “I’m y/n l/n,” Jack said and you followed his lead, “And I’m Jack Champion.”

“And you’re watching Disney Channel!”

“That’s not it, Jack-“

“And you’re watching Buzzfeed Celeb!”

“There you go. Thank you so much for watching..”

“And make sure to leave a like for more content like this,” he said finishing your sentence in a British accent.

“Cut! That was great, guys.”

You looked at Jack only to find him already looking at you, “You wanna go get lunch?” He asked already standing. “Of course.” You guys made your way out of the filming room and he made sure nobody was looking before he grabbed your hand, giving it a kiss,

“You don’t know how hard it was for me to stay quiet about our relationship. You looked so good, I just wanted to brag about how you were mine the whole time,” he said while pulling you in for a hug. You giggling and wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a quick kiss, “We’ll tell them soon, babe.”

#dizzy writes?! 😵‍💫#I LOVE THISSS #jack champion #jack champion x reader #scream 6 #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader

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ghostboneswrites2 · 2 months

Text

Easy Street || One Shot

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

Anon request from my old account: "can you write something about reader being daryls girlfriend and negan takes an interest towards her (like with olivia) and takes her with him maybe she becomes one of negans wife and he kisses her infront of daryl but both of them know they cant do anything shortly after they escape together…"

Summary: Negan taunts Daryl with you in some cruel ways.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: You're forced to be with Negan, so, there's that.., profanity psychological torture, TWD typical physical abuse/violence, but you do get a happy ending :)

Every time he touched you, you cringed. He'd go to plant a kiss on you, you turned away. His hands were inescapable, as were his words.

"You're mine now, sweetheart." He'd say in your ear. Your chest would feel hot and tight, as if at any moment you'd simply explode. But you couldn't fight back, you couldn't swear or cry. No, that would only hurt the other man, the one you truly loved. The one you wanted to be with. The one who was being held in a cell probably descending into insanity with that god awful song playing on repeat. Sometimes at night, when The Sanctuary was quiet enough, you could hear it playing ever so faintly. That was when you'd cry. When you were around no one else and it was safe.

You'd often think back to those sweet, tender moments you had with him.

"Quit lookin' at me like that." He'd say.

"Like what?" You'd giggle.

"That."

The other wives would tell you all the time that it wasn't worth it to think anymore, not about the past. You were his now, and his alone. There was no escape, no hope for return, only him, only Negan. They told you to just enjoy it, that you had it better than anyone else in The Sanctuary, or anyone in the communities they exploited.

That wasn't an option for you, though. You needed that hope, those sparking glimpses of what you had, or everything would just be dark.

"Hey there." Negan grinned from behind you, where you had been leaning your forearms on the counter, head hanging low. Your hair cascaded around you, a messy curtain shielding you from the room around you. "What do ya say we.. Go out?"

You turned your head a little, not turning to face him but enough to acknowledge him.

"Yeah, like, a date!" He chuckled enthusiastically.

"A date." You scoffed.

"Well, that's what husbands and wives do, right?"

"Yeah." You said lowly, voice laced with sorrow and defeat.

It irked him the way he could give you the best life out of anyone you or he knew, aside from his other wives, but somehow you still managed to take it for granted. He had a plan, though, that he was sure would scare you into obedience. He wanted to treat you well, as he did all the wives, but his sympathy only went so far. What he wanted above all else was submission. He could never love you or anyone the way he loved Lucille, and since he could never get her back, he'd simply collect the pretty girls he came across like trophies.

"Well, what the fuck are we waitin' for, my beloved?" He chuckled, sarcasm oozing from his tongue. "Let's get movin'! Got somethin' real special planned for you."

Your heart sank a little. He was a charismatic man, but he only showed this much excitement when he expected to bring misery on someone else.

----

"We're on easy street And it feels so sweet"

"Now this, darlin', I think you'll really like." Negan said with that shit eating grin that dug under your skin and made your stomach churn.

"'Cause the world is 'bout a treat When you're on easy street"

He never took his eyes off of you as he gleefully reached for the thick metal door and pulled it open. Darkness leaked out. It felt like the shadows were slithering across the floor and reaching for your feat, ready to wrap around your ankles and tug you in.

"And we're breaking out the good champagne We're sitting pretty on the gravy train"

"Well, go on. After you." He urged you, holding his hand out and stepping to the side like the doorman at a fancy hotel. You swallowed a dry gulp and sucked in a breath of bravery. Had you not been good enough? Was it your turn to be in a cell?

"And when we sing every sweet refrain repeats Right here on easy street"

You stepped slowly, one foot after the other, closing your fists and digging your nails into your palms in hopes the pain would wake you from this nightmare. When you walked in, Negan stepped in behind you. Your eyes didn't adjust well.

"Well, come on tough guy. Don't be shy." He said into the darkness. It took a while but a shadowy mass seemed to rise in the corner. As it drew closer to you and the light trickled in over its face you gasped.

"Daryl." You covered your mouth. Your eyes watered at the sight of him. His skin was caked in sweat and dirt but not enough to cover the bruises and cuts that littered his face and circled around his eyes.

He looked so miserable. Your chest ached more than it had the entire time you had been there.

You went to step forward and embrace him but Negan wrapped an arm over your chest and pulled your back into him.

"Aht-aht-aht... Don't forget. You're mine now." He whispered in your ear, just loud enough for Daryl to hear. Daryl stepped forward but Negan held his bat out against his chest. "I wouldn't do that." He taunted. "Anyways, I didn't bring her all the way over here just to check out your studio suite. Come on, let's all go for a little walk, shall we?"

Negan walked with his hand around your arm, keeping you close to him and distant from Daryl who trailed behind the two of you. He took you out to an empty courtyard where a small table was set with some wine and a meal on each side. Two chairs were pulled out for you and Negan and his men stood against the surrounding walls to intervene if Daryl acted up.

"Have a seat." He told you as he set you in one of the chairs. "You," he looked to Daryl, pointing at him with Lucille. "Stand right there."

Negan took the seat across from you and admired the setup before him.

"My, my. Isn't this nice, darlin'?" He asked you. You were at a loss for words. You just sat across from him uncomfortably. "Don't be rude." He snapped.

You nodded. "It's nice." You croaked. All you wanted to do was cry.

"Good. Now, dig in. Don't let my hard work go to waste." He ordered. You glanced over at Daryl. "Don't look at him."

You pulled in a breath and it came back out shakily. You slowly reached for the silverware and began picking at the food, taking tiny bites. You felt nauseated.

"Now, is this a date, or is this a date?" Negan chuckled, a mouth full of food. Food that was taken from your people, food that they starved to give him.

You didn't respond. You couldn't. His silverware clanked as he dropped it on his plate. A frustrated sigh escaped him -- or rather -- he pushed a sigh out to be sure you'd hear his frustration.

"(Y/N), dear, why don't ya come over here and sit on my lap?" He asked. You froze. Absolutely the fuck not. But, did you have a choice? "Don't keep me waiting. You don't want to keep me waiting."

You'd never met someone who could be so happy yet so menacing.

You stood slowly, reluctantly approaching him at the speed of a snail, savoring every moment where he wasn't touching you.

He pushed his chair back to make room for you and welcomed you onto his lap. You felt your body shrivel up as he ran a hand over your back and brushed your hair with his fingers. With your back turned to him you were able to sneak a glance toward Daryl. Your heart just shattered more. He looked so pained seeing you touched by another man, especially against your will. Maybe he could handle it if you decided to want someone else, maybe he could stomach that. But watching you endure psychological torture was too much to bare.

"Turn this way." Negan coaxed, pulling your thighs to the side to spin you. Now your body faced Daryl, but your face didn't because Negan had a gentle yet firm hold of your jaw and he was turning your face to him.

He leaned in slowly and connected his lips with yours. You went rigid, frozen solid. You couldn't escape his kiss this time. Any resistance would have been a greenlight to his soldiers to hurt Daryl even worse.

Daryl couldn't take anymore though. He'd be beaten to death if it meant he didn't have to see that anymore.

"You bastard." He growled as he went to lunge forward. His reaction was expected, though. Negan's men were on him in the blink of an eye, dragging him away as he tugged and yanked, trying to free himself from their grasp.

Negan scooted you off him and stood up. You couldn't take your eyes off of your man, your best friend, your rock. Daryl.

"That is a tragedy." Negan shook his head, feigning disappointment, as if that wasn't exactly what he expected to happen. "Teach him." Was all he had to say for his men to initiate a brutal attack. Daryl got a few good punches in. He always put up a good fight, part of the reason Negan wanted him to surrender so bad. If he could break such a wild beast, he'd have the best addition to his army he'd ever seen.

"No!" You shrieked. You tried to run for him but Negan grabbed you around the waist. You collapsed to the ground, desperately reaching for Daryl as the surrounding attackers got the better of him. When they had him on the ground they started kicking and didn't stop. You cringed at each painful grunt Daryl uttered as Negan dragged your sobbing frame away from the scene.

----

Negan was gone for the day, most likely out terrorizing someone you loved back at Alexandria. Sherry, another one of Negan's stolen wives, walked up and placed a hand on your shoulder. You hadn't eaten in days, barely drank water, rarely spoke. You were torn to pieces, replaying every strike his men struck on Daryl, every sound he made, wondering if he was alive.

Part of you hoped they'd just put him out of his misery. If there really was no hope, at least you could believe he wasn't suffering anymore.

"Hey." She said softly. Of all the wives, you related to her the most. Dwight was her real husband, before Negan took her from him. She knew what you were feeling, at least to some extent.

"Hey." You managed.

"It's time." She told you. You gave her a questioning look. "Come."

You followed her out of the home and through the Sanctuary to the building where they kept their prisoners. She brought you to his door. His door. You were sure she brought you to say goodbye, that he wouldn't be around much longer.

"You can go now. Don't let anyone see." She said quickly before she turned and ran away.

"Wh -- Sherry! Wait!" You called after her.

"Just go! The door's unlocked!" She turned to you one last time before she disappeared. She needed not say more. You did wonder if it was a test, but if it was, it was a test you'd gladly fail for even a glimpse of hope.

You tugged his door open and called his name. "Daryl?"

He stood quickly, looking behind you for Negan or other Saviors.

"Just me. Come on. We have to go now." You urged. You took his hand and pulled him out of the cell, looking around for a way out.

"C'mon." He told you, tugging you in another direction as if he knew where he was going. The sounds of Saviors echoed from somewhere. He tugged you into a room and shut the door behind him, frantically searching around.

"There." You whispered, pointing at a pile of clothes with his vest on top.

He swiftly changed into his old clothes and out of the grimy white sweat suit they had made him wear before. You grabbed a jar of peanut butter and held it out to him. He dug his fingers in and ate the entire contents in just a few bites. When he finished he wiped his hands clean on his old sweats before peaked out of the door. The coast was clear, and it was time. He tugged you along, wasting no time at all. He beat a single Savior to death with a pipe in fear he'd ruin your escape.

As if God was on your side that day, you two stumbled across his bike. There it was, it was either sign this was an elaborate setup or that you were really escaping together. He threw a leg over the seat and you quickly climbed on behind him. He cranked it and revved the engine. You wrapped your arms around him and held him tightly, resting your face against his back as he sped away.

You two rode for an hour before he pulled off to the side of the road. The two of you stepped off the bike.

"What are you doing? We have to go! They'll catch us--"

He cut you off with his hands, gripping either side of your face and slapping his lips into yours. You let go of any anxiety you had felt and just melted into his lips.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl twd #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #mdni

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queen-of-deans-booty · 1 month

Text

With Love From

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~800

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: Hey can i request a Dean Winchester x wife reader that she spoiled and pampering him to much but she don’t cared and she love giving him love, attention, affection, and etc all things him always dreamed?. something cute and fluffy because him deserve all the love from the world.

Summary: You take Dean on a much-needed vacation and give him everything he wants and deserves.

Square Filled: driving in the impala (2022) for @spndeanbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

“Got your pajamas?”

“Yes.”

“Toothbrush and toothpaste?”

“Yes.”

“What about your chargers? I put an extra one in your bag just in case.”

“What are you, my mom?” Dean jokes. “Yes, I have everything.”

“Okay, don’t come crying to me when you’ve forgotten something and ask to use my toothbrush. I won’t do it again.”

“That was one time.”

“One time too many. We’ve done a lot of things, Dean Winchester, but sharing a toothbrush is gonna be a no for me.”

“Yes, I have everything. Why are you bugging out? You’re never like this whenever we go on a hunt.”

Dean takes both yours and his bags to the library where Sam is. He has his laptop and plenty of books all around him. There is a case not far from here that he is reading up on since he is going to be the one to tackle this case.

“We’re not going on a hunt,” you reveal when he sets the bags on the table.

“What?”

“We’re not going on a hunt.”

“Sam’s been working like crazy about this case a few towns over.”

“Yeah because he’s going to be the one to take care of it. We’re not.”

“Sam, what is she talking about?” Dean asks.

“Dude, I am just as clueless as you,” he chuckles and closes his laptop. “All I know is that I’m doing this one solo.”

“If we’re not going on a hunt, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“You know I hate surprises,” Dean practically whines.

“Well, you’re getting one today. No hunt. No monsters. Definitely alcohol. Does that sound like a great time?” you smile.

“Sounds like a Saturday to me.”

“Come on, we’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.” You see the look on Dean’s face and immediately shuts down what he is going to say next. “If Sam needs help, he can call Garth.”

“Yeah, go have fun. I got this,” Sam backs you up.

You and Dean pack up the Impala and say your goodbyes to Sam who barely waves you two off. Dean is always the driver unless otherwise preoccupied, so he gets behind the wheel even though he has no idea where he’s going. You’re going to be the navigator for this special trip, only telling him what turns to make right before he needs to do them.

“Shall I put on the special playlist?”

“Special playlist? What’s the occasion?”

“I love you. Is that enough?”

“More than enough,” he smiles.

His special playlist consists of songs he could listen to on repeat for hours. Sam doesn’t let him put the playlist on since Sam complains he needs to listen to more than just classic rock. He claims they all sound the same even though each has their own unique sound.

About halfway through the trip, you stopped to get food at Dean’s favorite diner. He often comes here while on hunts even if it’s hours out of the way. There’s something about the way they make their burgers that has his mouth watering every single time.

“Okay, tell me where we’re going,” Dean chuckles with his mouth full.

“I told you it’s a surprise,” you smile. “You’re going to love it.”

Dean has no choice but to trust you. Once you two get done eating, you get back on the road and tough out the last half of the trip. You took over driving for the last hour just so he wouldn’t be suspicious of where you two were going but as soon as Dean sees the town’s name, he gets so excited.

“Wait, we’re in Mt. Sterling?”

“Yeah.”

You drive to one of the best gun stores in America. They have such a high rating since people from all over the country come here just to buy guns. Dean has been wanting to come here for a long time, and you figure it’s time to bring him. Dean is practically bouncing in his seat when you park, and he jumps out of the car in excitement.

You watch him run into the store with a smile on your face, and you make sure the car is locked before following him inside. He is like a child loose in a candy store or a toy store. He is admiring all of the guns on display, holding them just to feel how they would fit in his hands.

“Pick any you want. I’ll get it for you.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you so much,” he grins and kisses you.

Seeing him so happy brings you so much joy. He doesn’t get a lot of opportunities to be this happy. He doesn’t allow himself to be this happy most of the time, so taking time to give him this is very important. He channels his inner child and goes wild. He settled on another handgun that closely resembles the one he has now, but it has a silencer on the end of it which will make for easy hunting.

After he got all that excitement out, you two headed to the bar across the street to have a few rounds on you.

“How the hell did I ever get so lucky?” he smiles.

“I’m the lucky one, my love. You deserve all the love in the world.”

Dean leans in and kisses you, happy to be yours.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fiction #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fan fic #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fluff #spn #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn fluff

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honey-milk-depresso · 3 months

Note

Batboys x reader who is a game/singer streamer

So I'm assuming that s/o is a singer + game streamer from what I can see soooo yeah! I think I went to focus on the gamer part than singer though. Also I could only do this for Dick, Jason and Tim because 😭 sorry ;-;;;

TT o TT

Batboys with a game (mostly) + singer s/o

Dick Grayson

Don’t even get me started on how hype Dick’s gonna be. You game??? And stream?????? Epic-

Dick has played video games with Tim before it’s just that he sucks at playing the modern one sometimes-, so he probably wants to do co-ops with you and maybe join your streams and play with you.

He sucks ASS though in Among Us because he’s bad at lying when he’s imposter and too trusting when he’s just a crew mate. He’s so funny though when you record him while playing with you and your other streamer friends.

“Awww, look at me and s/o walking together and building snowmen! We are so—”

*Kills him* “…” “s/O WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME ARE YOU TRYING TO BREAK UP WITH MEEEEEEE????”*loud sobbing*

Obviously, no, it’s just what you had to do as an imposter and you have to apologise to your sulky boyfriend.

Fun fact: bought your two of those matching cat ears headphones and he’s so sappy, dear god- he loves those earphones.

Also your voice?? IT’S SO GOOD??? You made your own songs and that’s so cool!! No wonder your fanbase is so big, damn-

And he’s obviously your biggest fan! <

Jason Todd

He’s trying, he really is. Because the last thing he played before he died were Game Boys and then he awoken to Wii Games, Nintendo Switches and whatever the fuck those online games are.

Those sus game ads he clicked randomly made him question what happened when he was still dead-

Jason thinks it’s pretty cool you stream gaming content and all, although don’t ask him to play any RPG with you because he’ll rage quit. He will go insane.

Jason keeps insisting on wanting to join your streams in Among Us but like come on- WE ALL KNOW HE’S GONNA START RAGING MORE-

When he gets killed, he calls the imposter a “Joker” 💀 Sometimes you have to calm him down and tell him it’s their role as imposter to do this. Also, when he gets imposter, he’ll kill everyone except you. Like he’s your bodyguard or something and everyone’s out to get you. You don’t even need to be imposter. If you did kill him before, he’ll kill you back though-

He’s okay if you let him play Minecraft together though, he finds it peaceful (on creative mode).

Listens to your songs on repeat while he’s repairing vehicles or hear it live on your stream when he’s reading. Wholesome supportive boyfriend stuff. <3

Tim Drake

Immediately follows all forms of social media you have, and give subs to every time you go live and stream. No hesitation.

He thinks it’s cool you stream games and all, something he wished to do but just doesn’t have much time to do so, and that he has no idea how to start up a fanbase anyways so-

Tim would join your streams every once in a while to play with you and he doesn’t mind any sort of games, he’s pretty good with the controller… well, maybe RPG. Because if he’s doing a multiplayer game like with Genshin needing to join servers and all, most of the time, people wouldn’t listen to his plans and end up dying and then he goes berserk. Only you listen s/o… wHY?? WHY DOES NOBODY LISTEN TO HIS STRATS????

Also, cat ears headphones?? He has one and he looks so cute in it and would ask if you want one too- he only wears those headphones in private though, or in front of you.

Anyways, Tim loves your singing too! Would listen it live or hear it on Spotify if it’s available. If you sing covers, it’s gonna ruin him. He can’t listen to the original track anymore because it’s just not the same-

Overall, gamer boyfriend you got here. <3

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sleepyhutcherson · 19 days

Text

while we were getting high

“how many special people change? how many lives are living strange? where were you while we were getting high?” — ‘champagne supernova’ by oasis.

pairing: clapton davis x gn!reader

word count: 1.1k words

summary: where clapton and you get high almost every weekend except this time some words are exchanged.

tags: fluff, smoking, underage smoking, marijuana use (not mentioned though), honestly the smoking part isn’t really in detail but they’re high, best friends to lovers, oasis being praised and blur hate (i do not condone!), use of y/n, feelings being confessed sort of?

author’s note: i should be working on requests but i really had to urge to write for clapton since there is barely any content for him. why am i writing a fic about smoking when i have asthma. there’s brief discussion/debate about which of two bands are better (the bands being oasis and blur) but is that worth tw? like i feel like some people (by what ive seen) can take that stuff really seriously but i really don’t mean any hate towards oasis nor especially blur, i simply think that clapton would definitely be the type of guy to get into a debate over bands, or which band is better in this case, but don’t take anything seriously!

Your focus is not on Clapton’s rambling, instead you’re drawn to the familiar glow in the dark stars that stick to his ceiling within the many band posters he stuck up there. You’ve counted these stars several times before as this wasn’t your first time getting high in his bedroom.

You groan when you hear the same song start again from Clapton’s Ipod. He was the type of person that would obsess over a song and play it nonstop until he grew tired of it. His latest victim: ‘Champagne Supernova’ by Oasis. You don’t know how he hasn’t grown tired of listening to it on repeat, I mean, you have already! “Do we really have to listen to it again?” You whine, shifting around uncomfortably in his twin sized bed. The two of you were pressed up against each other, it was incredibly uncomfortable and yet you both always ended up in his bed for some reason.

A dumb smile curls up on his lips that you manage to catch briefly before returning your gaze back at his stupid ceiling. You don’t know why your heart quickens but you blame it on the amount of weed you smoked. I mean, it was probably that. “Yes, come on, Y/N, this is music! Real music.”

“‘Real music’?” You question, only to piss him off. A part of you liked seeing him angry, honestly. And you knew just how to push his buttons.

“Yeah. Unless you can name a better band.” Clapton challenges with an arrogant voice.

You could name so many other bands that have had a better discography than Oasis but you choose to name the band that you knew would rile him up. With a grin on your lips now you answer with what he would consider the worst band to name in this scenario.

“Blur.”

The words strike Clapton. Maybe he was being dramatic but honestly he found your choice offensive. He props himself on his elbows, no longer laying down completely. His face is scrunched up with slight disgust and confusion, an expression that resembles a child who’s just had a taste of a lime. “Blur?” He says with disgust in the word.

“Yeah,” you reply with a calm attitude. “They’re pretty good.” You continue to look up at the ceiling but Christ would you love to see the look on his face. “Better than Oasis.” You add for good measure.

You don’t know what reaction you expected from him, or well you did. You figured he would go on a long rant you wouldn’t be able to escape about how Oasis was in fact better than Blur. You did not, however, expect him to get on top of you, it’s so swift and sudden that you don’t even know how to respond. He pins your hands on either side of your head, your eyes now meeting his dark, mischievous eyes. Was he…grinning?!

Now you’re confused.

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” he teases, his body pressed up against yours. This is…not good. It feels good, sure, but Clapton was on top of you. Clapton, your best friend who you’ve known since grade seven. “We both know you’re just saying that to get a reaction from me.”

His hands grip onto your wrist, holding you in place. It doesn’t hurt, or maybe you just liked how he held you down. “Am I?” You play along, acting dumb.

His grin only deepens, his eyes frantically flickering from your eyes to your lips, your own eyes glued to his pretty pink lips. Fuck this wasn’t good. “You are,” his voice is deep now, a tease in his tone.

Before you know it, he’s inching closer to you. His fucking grin mocking you. “Clapton, we—“ shouldn’t, you think about saying but fuck, fuck, fuck his lips were grazing the skin of your neck now, his warm breath tickling you a bit. And that stupid song was still playing!

His thumb softly traces circles around one of your wrist. A part of you wishes your hands weren’t restrained down so you could tangle one in his hair. “We what?” He asks, his breath hitting your delicate skin.

“We—“ you can’t even finish. He doesn’t let you, his lips gently pressing a soft kiss against your neck, one that makes you tense up. Such an innocent kiss and yet that locked you. He continues to pepper gentle kisses on your neck, it’s so pure and sweet, especially when you feel his smile in each kiss.

“I’ve wanted this for so long now,” he admits before continuing to kiss your neck, his thumb continuing to trace around your wrists.

“You have?” You ask. A part of you thinks about telling him that you’ve secretly wanted this too for a bit now.

He stops to look at you now, his cocky grin replaced by a gentle smile. He nods with such a soft expression on his face. “Mm-hmm. I thought about what it would be like to kiss you every day, even while we were getting high.”

A crimson colour tints your cheeks. Clapton smiles more at that. God, you look so lovely now: flustered and underneath him, his hands wrapped around your wrists, your eyes boring into his. He would gladly count every eyelash, memorise every colour that paints your eyes.

“You’re high.” You giggle trying to play it off, though you don’t try to move away. Not that you could due to how he was holding you down.

“Yeah, you are too,” he says with a soft chuckle. His eyes don’t leave yours, he desperately wants to hold your gaze for as long as he can, honestly. “But even when I’m not high I still adore you.”

Fuck.

Your eyes widen a little, your mouth slightly hanging open due to his words. Clapton grins at that and before you can say anything else, he leans down to kiss you. Your lips move with his, not resisting his lips. You honestly don’t think you’d be capable of resisting him after all of this.

One of his hands laces with yours, the other still pinning you against the mattress. He continues to kiss you and he really doesn’t want to stop. He’s desperately craved this for so long now. He smiles in the kiss then, realising he has the privilege of kissing you.

His smile felt so great against your lips.

After some time you both pull away, a huge dumb smile on Clapton’s face that makes you smile at how adorable he looks. He plops down, laying his head against your chest, wanting to be near you for longer. You don’t even have to kiss, you really don’t have to do anything but be close to him. That’s really all he wants. All he’s ever wanted from you.

taglist: @cancelledkaley @stanheights-boyfriend @ploty-twist @jhutch-bf @laurrrelise @joshfutturman @gryffindorsblog @sofiehutch @obsessivemuso-withnofriends @helen-on-earth @fallingboba @cassiecasluciluce @maticka @jhutchissupercool ♡︎

#clapton davis #josh hutcherson #detention 2011 #josh hutcherson x reader #clapton davis x you #clapton davis x reader #clapton x reader #clapton davis x gn!reader #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson fluff #josh hutcherson smut #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x you #clapton davis smut #clapton davis fluff #clapton davis fanfic

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itsvelyria · 2 months

Text

"f1 drivers as happy taylor swift songs"

happy testing week everybody!!

Charles Leclerc

yeah, you know i did one thing right🩷

he watches as you mutter conspiratorially with his mother, whispers in each other's ears and shooting glares to whoever dares eavesdrop. sitting on his childhood sofa, he reflects on the past and his life, pondering in the moment of silence. and there is this voice in his head that talks to him, reminding him of every regret, every single person he's loved and lost. he tries to shut the voice out, knowing full well the negativity never does any good. but as arthur had put it at dinner earlier, it seems as though he's been more relaxed of late. he brushes it off, but as his eyes train on the one he loved getting along swimmingly with the woman who loved him first, he thinks to chalk it up to the tiny nagging voice in his head that had appeared a few days ago out of the blue. the voice was a stark contrast to its predecessor, this one a ball of golden light, saying that maybe he's fucked up a lot, but at least he's got you.

Carlos Sainz

i know heaven's a thing, I go there when you touch me, honey💕

there is this undeniable tingle in his spine when your soft skin presses against his. even in the blistering Spanish heat, he welcomes any skin contact from you. he glances down at where the floppy sunhat blocks most of your face from the sun, and your eyes from his. wondering how much trouble you would give him if he flings the dreadful hat into the ocean, he misses the request you direct up at him. repeating the question, he nods, taking the suncream from your outstretched hands. he takes his time with the lotion, savouring every second his hands are on your back. you thank him with a quick press of your lips to his cheek and he rests a hand on your thigh, bending down to steal another from your lips. his love language was definitely physical touch, especially if it was yours.

Danny Ricciardo

i dared you to kiss me and ran when you tried💚

the sunshine is warm on your skin but the shoulder that brushes against yours is warmer. danny’s contagious laughter is carried by the gentle breeze that passes through the park. at age 9, danny had charmed your mom enough to let him bring her 7-year-old out on an adventure. your peripheral vision shows a teenage couple giggling over clasped hands, and when you’re young, you don’t think of the consequences, so the words slip out. “i bet you won't kiss me right here, right now”. and danny leans in, always ready for any challenge. and just as your lips are about to meet, you burst into laughter, darting away. you can still remember delightfully screaming through the public park as danny gives chase. it’s the same park he proposed in, after all.

George Russell

you wish it was me, don't you?💜

immersed in the classy ambiance of an art exhibition, george navigates the gallery adorned with bright splashes of paint marked contemporary. despite being engaged in interesting chatter, an inexplicable force compels you to lift your gaze, and it locks onto the familiar curls across the room. amid the elegant hum of hushed whispers, the air shifts, his lingering eyes meeting yours, giving rise to a thump in your chest. as his blue orbs drink in your form. once. twice. the rising tension manifests in the prickle of your bare shoulders and the unspoken question echoes amidst the artistic expressions. you yearn to step closer, to be the one on his arm. but long strands of brown silk and emerald green are in your place. and though his eyes long to meet yours again, there is nothing but empty space in your stead.

Lando Norris

so baby, can we dance through an avalanche?🖤

you drop the heavy box on the floor, the fatigue in your bones too wearisome to hold you up any longer. coupled with the emptiness of your apartment and the lack of a certain laughter in the stagnant air, you crumple onto the unmade bed. lying there for what seems like eternity, the thoughts of your future and whatnot plaguing your mind. the weight of unemployment burns heavily, so much so that you miss the sound of the door letting someone through. another body sags beside you, the familiar cologne staining your nostrils. your head turns, finding purchase in the shoulder beside. the stupid orange shirt reminds you of your limited time with him and something clicks. the home system is called upon as a DJ, playing soundtracks of celebration as you pull your boyfriend around the room in a made-up waltz, laughing at his put-out expression and then over the absolute misery that is life. despite the chaos, your heart still finds comfort in its other half’s presence.

Lewis Hamilton

romance is not dead, if you keep it just yours💙

as you clean the apartment you share with lewis, your gaze falls onto the cream card hidden just between your books. Persuasion and Porchia, you note. the seal on it a light purple, the shape of a heart in the hardened wax, and you can picture your boyfriend sliding it onto your bookshelf before he had left for another race this morning, a smirk on his face as he imagines you finding it, and you already know what it is. tracing the edges of the envelope lightly, you break the seal and slide the pages out, unfolding it to reveal the handwriting you had come to reverent. in swooping sloping cursive letters, he proclaims his love again, like he does in every single one of these. and as cheesy as it is, you treasure every single one of them, tucking them away in a little box at the corner of your wardrobe. someday when you have kids, maybe you'll take it out to show them just how deeply their father loves.

Max Verstappen

i don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you🩶

he knew this. he knew full well his career would take him across the world for three quarters out of the year and yet, the one thing he failed to realize was that nothing would feel like home. and then he found you, the absolute enigma that chose to do the same thing he did, realising early on that your home wasn’t in a place. and the streets of Kyoto were just lifeless alleyways till you pointed out the cosy glow of the warm streetlights with your brown streaked hair that shined gold under them and the dark nightscape with the way you shined in his eyes. you did the same for the beaches in Miami and balconies of Spain, easing the loneliness in his memories. slowly but surely, the words you had spoken to him were coming true and his home was taking the shape of you.

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moonstruckme · 4 months

Note

Hello lovely!!

I very humbly request decorating the christmas tree with peter and for some mysterious reason he keeps finding reasons to kiss you

the holidays and peter, a perfect combo

-🔮

Hi gorgeous, thanks for requesting!!

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 982 words

“Peter.” You’re doing your best to sound firm, but it’s an impossible task to keep the laughter from your tone. “Be careful.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Peter holds up the ornament he’s just knocked off the tree, placing it back in its spot. “I’ve got it, babe, don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to your stuff.”

“That one’s yours,” you remind him. “May got it for you last year, and she’ll totally know if you break it.”

Peter makes a sheepish face, but the facade breaks as soon as you laugh. He surges forward to kiss you, your smiles a mirror. He tastes like almonds.

“You’ve been eating my cookies,” you accuse.

“They’re really good when they’re warm.”

“Peter!” You try to push him off you, but he bands an arm around your waist, freakishly strong. You’re forced to make your complaint against his lips. “Those are for my coworkers.”

“I’ll leave enough for them.”

“What, like two each?”

“Maybe three. I might be feeling generous. Season of giving and all.”

You scoff, setting your hands on his chest to push him off. “You’re awful,” you say, no small amount of fondness seeping into your tone, “and I know exactly why.” You head for Peter’s ipod, sitting in a mug to amplify sound. “It’s this song, it makes you feral.”

Peter tracks your trajectory and chases after you, snagging you by your belt loop. “Whoa, whoa, let’s not be so hasty. This is the song of our city!”

You give him a deadpan look. The song of your city has been on repeat for nearly a half hour now. “We’re not celebrating Christmas in Harlem.”

“Queens is close enough!”

“Sorry.” You reach over, pressing skip despite Peter’s hold on you.

He groans, releasing you.

“Now can we get back on task?” You give your half-bare tree a pointed look. You’ve been trying to decorate for a couple of hours now, and your boyfriend (adhd personified, bless him) keeps getting sidetracked.

But Peter’s listening to the intro of the new song, a smile unfurling across his sweet face. He dances his way over to the tree, singing the lyrics.

Well, you think, at least he’s putting on ornaments.

You join, and for a minute, you’re wonderfully productive. You join in on the duet, picking your favorite ornaments out of the box Peter had hauled out of the back of your coat closet and placing them delicately on the tree. It hasn’t snowed yet in New York, but you’re feeling so giddy with holiday cheer you’re thinking of going to the corner store after this for hot chocolate mix.

When Peter whisks you away from the tree this time, you’re a bit more amenable to it, though you roll your eyes for show. He spins you across the living room, his hands warm around yours. He croons the lyrics to you, and you play along, batting your eyelashes up at him when he pulls you close to his chest.

“The neighbors might think,” you sing in an overly coy voice.

Peter’s overlaps with it at the end. “Baby, it’s bad out there.”

“Say, what’s in this drink?”

“No cab’s to be had out—whoa, this is kind of messed up, huh?” Your boyfriend’s eyebrows raise as he pays more attention to the lyrics. “Are they saying he roofied her?”

A laugh bubbles out of you. “You’ve never noticed?”

“Jesus.” Peter looks so shell-shocked you can’t help but run your hand along his stubble, a comforting touch for him and an indulgence for you as a bonus. He breaks from his reverie to smile down at you, kissing the tip of your nose. “Just for the record,” he says, dipping lower to capture your mouth, “that cider I made earlier was one hundred percent fruit, sweetheart. No alcohol here.”

“Mmm, guess you won’t be getting any then.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying.” You smile, and Peter kisses the corner of your mouth quickly. “I seem to do just fine without shady tactics.”

“I don’t know—” you start to tease him further, but then he nips at your bottom lip and it’s pretty difficult to carry on speaking from there.

Your hands have minds of their own, one gripping his shoulder while the other tunnels its fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. Peter all but sucks you in, devoting his attentions to your bottom lip while he pulls you closer by the waist. He gives the soft inside of your lip another gentle nibble, and the sound that escapes you is so humiliatingly needy that you force yourself to pull away.

“No,” you say, trying to catch your breath. Then, more firmly, “No. We’re never gonna finish decorating tonight if we keep…doing this.”

“We can finish tomorrow,” Peter suggests helpfully, one hand coasting up your back while he noses at your cheek.

“Peter,” you chide, laughing. “We’ve already put it off for too long. At this rate, the tree’s going to die before we get ornaments on it.”

Your boyfriend heaves a great sigh, pressing a final, consoling kiss to the skin beneath your eye before stepping away from you. “Alright, alright. We’ll get it done.”

“Thank you,” you say weakly, tucking some string lights more securely into the tree’s branches while Peter stoops over the box. You do your best to calm your heart rate and try to get back into the flow of decorating.

A second later, there’s a thwick, and you look up to see a green and red sprig webbed to the ceiling above your head.

You look over at Peter, who is also staring up at the mistletoe.

“What?” His brow wrinkles, and he looks between you and the ceiling with his palms tipped guilelessly upward. “How’d that get there? Damn, sweetheart, I really wanted to stay on task, but you know, rules are rules, so…”

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elliesflower · 1 year

Text

i saw you in a dream [6]

chapter 5 here

summary; you get in your head about ellie and cat.

chapter; 6/? 2.5k words

cw (per chapter); language, light angst

an; SURPRISE SHAWTY

it's my birthday but i felt like giving y'all a gift. you all make my days so special and put a smile on my face with your sweet comments and messages. i love you all with my whole heart!

find this chapter on ao3 here, i also made a spotify playlist to go with this story, listen to it here :)

“Cat,” you repeated her name, with a smile. But it felt like poison rolling off your tongue. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she smiled back, and her teeth were fucking perfect, bleached white and practically sparkling in the soft ambient lighting in the theatre. It sounded insincere, somehow.

“So, Ellie,” Cat was back to talking to Ellie as if you didn’t exist, turning away from you so that you could gaze at her super angular jawline and dreamy slick black hair as it gently brushed her shoulders. Ellie shot you a quick look that you couldn’t quite decipher—it’s not like Cat would have noticed though, she was too busy tugging at the hem of Ellie’s flannel. You quickly averted your eyes, backing away slowly, scanning the room for Dina. Wishing desperately that the earth would just open up and swallow you whole. Their conversation suddenly seemed…personal.

“I was thinking tonight I’d take you out to dinner, my treat! Your set was amazing,” she was purring. “I couldn’t have done this without you,” and if she had a tail it would be sticking straight up in the air, curling at the tip and pulling Ellie in. You glanced back at Ellie, who didn’t look at you, and instead looked down and grabbed Cat’s hand from her flannel. You turned all the way around now, swallowing the lump in your throat.

But Ellie sang your song. Your song? The two of you had hung out one time. You can’t have a song with someone after one hang out, can you? It’s a pretty popular song, and easy enough for a quick performance. Yeah. Your brain tried to piece it all together, drowning out Ellie and Cat’s voices behind you, maybe if you squeezed your eyes shut you could just pretend you were somewhere far, far away, not making a fool of yourself in front of a pretty girl you thought might like you too.

“Dude, we gotta go, my chem professor just saw me and he’s gonna rip me a new one for missing my final,” Dina appeared practically out of thin air, like a goddamn angel, and grabbed your arm, tugging harshly. You opened your eyes, blinking at her.

“Wait, you skipped your chemistry final?”

“What? It’s not like I was gonna pass anyways,” she shook her head at you like it was obvious.

“Oh. Yeah, okay, whatever,” you sounded dejected. You felt dejected. You probably looked it, too. Dina glanced behind you, presumably at whatever disgusting form of PDA was occurring between Ellie and Cat, based on the change in her expression.

“Who the fuck-”

“It doesn’t matter,” you cut her off, starting towards the door. “Let’s just go.”

It was stupid. This was stupid. Of course Ellie would end up with a person like Cat. Girls like Ellie don’t go for people like…you. People like Cat always have the upperhand—their features the pinnacle of modern beauty standards, voices like a slow dripping faucet of saccharine honey, a presence that captivates the room in an instant. There was no competing with that. They always win.

“Hey,” Dina’s voice was laced with concern, and she was by your side in an instant, matching your stride as you practically stomped towards the exit. You tried to blink away the tears that slightly clouded your vision. “What happened back there?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you said, not looking at her. You could feel her gaze piercing into the side of your head, and could envision her brows pinched together with worry.

“C’mon, just tell me. Who was that?”

“It was no one,” you grumbled, blinking rapidly now, fighting the burning behind your eyes.

“Well ‘no one’ sure had some fucking audacity to-”

“Audacity to what, Dina?” You stopped dead in your tracks, turning to face her. She looked at you with wide eyes. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.” Your tone was harsh. You felt it, as it painted Dina’s face with dispirit, the corners of her mouth turning downward slightly. Instantly, you regretted it.

“Okay. I’ll leave it,” she forced a smile, but you couldn’t say anything else, just stuck dead in your tracks as you looked at her, unmoving. Blinking. Why the fuck are you blinking so much?

“Seriously, it’s okay,” she said after a moment, but her voice sounded a little shaky, and you felt like shit. How did Ellie get into your head like this?

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you burst, the pressure behind your eyes turning into a waterfall, spilling from your eyes as you covered them with your hands, shaking your head. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just…a lot.”

“Hey, I said it’s okay,” Dina assured, and her voice made you want to cry even harder—she was so good to you, grabbing your hands away from your face and leading you further down the hall, away from the people that were trickling out of the theater. “I’m sorry for pressuring you. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Ever.”

“No, it’s not that,” you sniffed, letting her lead you out the main entrance. “I do want to tell you, it’s just…frustrating,” you sighed, exasperated as the cold hit your face and pricked your skin through the holes of your sweater.

“I get it,” she nodded.

“I can’t believe I thought I actually had a chance with her,” you moped, wiping the wetness from under your eyes. Dina was quiet next to you as you walked, though she looked deep in thought, watching the ground as the two of you walked. She led you all the way to a bench just outside of your dorm building without saying another word. You watched your breath turn to fog as you sat, instinctively pressing against Dina to share body heat.

You felt shameful. Both for that terrible interaction with Ellie, and for snapping at Dina. You wished you had never even gone to that open mic, that you had just said you were sick like you’d proposed to Dina a few hours before when the nerves were settling in—you supposed you should have listened to your gut.

“That was her roommate. Cat,” and yep, the name was still venomous. Dina looked at you, silently prodding you to continue. You looked down at your hands, rubbing them together in your lap.

“Apparently, they ‘go way back,’” you made air quotes. “Wednesday, when she invited me to this, she mentioned something about a toxic ex. I have a feeling it’s her. Although she kind of acts more like they’re currently together.”

Dina watched you for another moment, before turning away, looking down at her feet. She was silent for a moment, and you wanted to scream. Even Dina, the queen of advice, had nothing to say to you. Lovely.

“I’m sorry, but if Ellie doesn’t see what she could have with you then she’s fucking stupid,” she blurted suddenly, and she was no longer sad, but angry. You looked at her, and she was shaking her head, looking out into the empty courtyard.

“Dina, it’s really okay,” you said, but your voice was small and unconvincing.

“No, I’m serious,” she said. “That was fucked up. And I’m sorry.”

You looked back down at your hands.

“It’s okay,” it didn’t sound like it. “It was just a crush. I’ll get over it.” Dina kept her eyes on you, watching as you bounced your knee anxiously.

Just a crush. Hah. Okay.

“Do you want to go inside?” Dina asked after a beat. Yeah, you were fucked.

“I think I’m gonna hang out down here for a minute. I could use the fresh air,” you said quietly.

“Fresh air? Dude, it’s fucking freezing out here, you’re going to catch a cold or something,” Dina chided, before standing up. “God, you’re making me sound like a mom.”

“I’m really okay, Dee,” you tried to smile, but it felt awkward on your otherwise solemn face. “I’ll walk around a bit. I’ll be fine.” She looked at you for another moment with pursed lips, before nodding slightly.

“Turn your ringer up, yeah?”

You nodded, accepting her warm hug, gratefully. Ironically, you thought, she also kind of hugged like a mom.

You regretted not going in with her about thirty seconds into your walk. It was kind of hard to think about anything but the bitter cold stinging your cheeks—though, you supposed, that was kind of a good thing. Maybe the freeze would seep into your brain and ruin the part of your brain responsible for holding onto memory of Ellie. Kind of pathetic, huh?

“Are you out here all alone?”

You nearly stumbled over nothing, flinching when a voice startled you out of your thoughts, turning quickly to the sound.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“Ellie,” you breathed, your eyes widening, your heart rate increasing by the second. She adorned a tan Carhartt coat now, her hands stuffed in her pockets, and she looked a whole lot warmer than you felt. You swallowed thickly, unsure of what else to say. So much for forgetting about her.

“You disappeared,” she spoke for you, kicking her foot against the ground softly. Nervously.

“Yeah,” you said lamely. She nodded for a second, before looking down at her feet. You wanted to run away.

“What are you-”

“I just wanted to-”

Both of you tried to speak at the same time. You immediately crossed your arms across your chest, partially for warmth, mostly because you felt really fucking awkward.

“Uh, go ahead,” she gestured at you to continue speaking.

“Oh, I, uh- was just going to ask…uh, what you were doing. Out here,” you stammered a bit, trying to gauge her expression. Fuck, she was hard to read.

“Well, my house is that way,” she pointed behind you. “So, I gotta walk…this way…” she trailed off, scratching the back of her neck awkwardly.

“Right,” you nodded, shivering slightly as a breeze swept between the two of you. You didn’t really want to hear what she was going to say.

“Are you cold?” She asked, eyes suddenly soft.

“Well I’m not exactly warm,” you quipped, but it didn’t have much weight to it. The corner of Ellie’s mouth twitched up slightly, but her face remained neutral.

“Do you want to come over?”

You felt faint. You felt like crying. You felt like saying no. You felt like saying yes. But you couldn’t say anything, so you just nodded instead.

Ellie gave you her jacket, after weak protest. It smelled like how your tent does on a warm summer night in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the stars and the peaceful whisper of wind through the trees—also like weed, and that amber aroma that seemed to be trapped in her pores.

She didn’t say a single word to you, after that. Just walked, wordlessly beside you on the familiar path to her house. You tried to regulate your breathing, tried to push aside the questions that ran through your brain like, why is Ellie here, walking me to her house when she could be having dinner with Cat? And also, where is Cat?

Ellie’s house smelled exactly as you remembered it, though, the scent was mildly soured when you suddenly remembered that Cat lived here, too. The warm air against your cold skin made you shiver slightly as you shrugged off Ellie’s coat in the entryway—of course, she was by your side in an instant, grabbing it from you before throwing it over the rack. It was still silent as the two of you kicked off your shoes, before Ellie turned to look at you.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” You weren’t sure why she was asking you. You were already shoe-less, in her entryway.

“Lead the way,” you found yourself saying. Just like the first time.

Ellie’s room still smelled the same, too. Earthy and rich, dreamy and intoxicating. You felt high already. Your brain was spinning, your heart racing, your hands slightly shaky. Ellie sat down on the edge of her bed, leaving plenty of room for you—if you ever stopped hovering near the door.

“You can sit, you know,” Ellie said after a moment, smiling softly at you. An invitation. You swallowed. What the fuck are you doing here?

But then you were sitting, next to her, just this close to touching her leg with your own. You didn’t look at her. It felt like middle school. It felt exciting. It felt so fucking confusing.

“So, I thought you were going to dinner with Cat. What happened?” Your mouth was moving before your brain could stop you, and Ellie practically flinched at your words. She regained herself quickly, though.

“Oh, I didn’t really want to go out. I’m just a little tired,” she said, pulling her legs up onto the bed and crossing them beneath her.

“If you’re tired then what am I doing here?” You asked. Her eyes widened a bit.

“Well, I mean- I’m not that tired, I just- didn’t want to go out anywhere, you know?”

No, you didn’t really.

“Yeah,” you said instead. She was getting harder to read by the second. You shrunk back a bit, drawing your legs up onto the bed and leaning against the headboard opposite of Ellie. The pause hung heavy, nearly tangible between your bodies.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, looking down at her lap. You watched a loose strand of hair fall into her face, and her nose scrunched up. You wanted to brush it away, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath your palm as you caressed her face—

“For what?” You asked, even though you kind of knew.

“For Cat,” she said quietly.

“What about her?”

“She can be kind of…a lot.”

“Is she your girlfriend?” You asked, like you were entitled to that information. Like you’d hung out more than once.

“No, she’s not.” Ellie was quick to deny, looking back up at you now. Her eyes sparkled in the soft yellow lamplight cascading upon her face. Your throat felt tight. You nodded, pulling your knees into your chest.

“She used to be.” Ah, there it is.

“And now she’s your…”

“Roommate.”

“Right.”

Just the other day, Ellie had said she knows all about toxic exes. You didn’t think that meant she literally lived with one. What are you doing here?

“She’s just my roommate, I swear,” she was insistent, leaning forward, trapping you in her gaze. You nodded again. You weren’t sure why she was repeating herself. You glanced at the clock behind her on her desk, which read 10:32pm.

“It’s getting late,” you said weakly, knowing fully well you’d be up until three am. Ellie’s face fell, just slightly.

“You just got here,” she said, though she wasn’t being much of a great host.

“You said you were tired.”

“Yeah, but I- well-” she stuttered, picking at her cuticles.

“It’s okay,” you were saying, though you didn’t know why. It didn’t feel very okay. As soon as your feet hit the ground she was standing up as well, one hand awkwardly snaking into her back pocket as she took a deep breath.

“I’ll walk you back to your dorm?” She offered.

“It’s okay. I’ll have Dina meet me somewhere.” You won’t even text her. Ellie didn’t say anything, but she nodded, giving you a smile.

It didn’t reach her eyes.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x you #ellie tlou #dina tlou #tlou pt 2 #the last of us #the last of us pt 2

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effortandmore · 11 months

Text

tuesday moon | knj (18+)

summary: being “just friends” with kim namjoon sucks

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: fluff, smut

au: university, co-workers to lovers to friends to lovers again (they're oblivious)

warnings: it's mostly fluff i think. they're oblivious. smut: minors should not be interacting/reading, namjoon has a big dick, a lil praise kink, oral sex (f!receiving), penetrative sex, the usual suspects i think. drinking (but not before they sleep together), tae is into new age jazz... and they were roommates!

word count: 7.7k

a/n: so... i had this dream a couple months ago and couldn't get it out of my head, so here you go. thanks, sleep brain. the title is from a neutral milk hotel song (but tbh the '23 album isn't great). thank you to @ugh-yoongi and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over. and then for doing it again when i couldn't even find the mistake you told me was there 🙃

read on ao3

You’ve learned a lot in university—which given how much money you’ve spent to be there is a relief. But amongst business classes and writing workshops and statistics, the most important knowledge you’ve gained is that of small things.

Of small things and how they can change your life in unbelievably big ways.

Kim Namjoon isn’t exactly small. But the events that put him right in the middle of your life are. The first day you meet him is a Tuesday. Tuesdays have always been for non-events: for meetings and your least favorite classes… For snagging a coveted dryer on the third floor of the dorm building because Jeongguk saves it for you when he’s finished with his seemingly endless laundry. Tuesdays are for your first real uni friend, Taehyung, to show up to the laundry room unannounced and make you listen to weird new-age jazz on his phone that you hate, but love how much he loves it.

And then your work-study starts. A job in the library is supposed to be easy, has better hours than a lot of the jobs that are available, and pretty much only requires you to understand the Dewey decimal system so you can reshelve things quickly. You can count and read, and those seem to be the only things the head librarian cares about. Cake.

Your first training day is a Tuesday. It’s a rainy afternoon, and in one of the conference rooms in the back of the law floor are you and three other new employees. Right away, it seems like Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon are already friends. They joke and whisper throughout the orientation videos and absolutely make you feel like a fourth wheel. At your first break, Hoseok extends the invitation for you to sit with them when he notices you still sitting by yourself in the back of the room, and it's then that you learn they for sure already knew each other—music majors and all in the same class even though Yoongi is a little older than the other two. They signed up for all the same work-study assignments hoping they’d be placed together, hoping they could have a chance to work on music during slow times at the slowest work-study assignments. Namjoon, though, who has been quiet the whole time, finally speaks up at this.

“Well, I also like books,” he says softly, one side of his mouth turned up in a grin. “So, I guess I had an ulterior motive.”

“Of course you did, Namjoonie,” Hoseok replies.

Yoongi turns to you, explaining, “Namjoon’s a double major. Smartest guy we know. Literature and music.”

You talk more with them after the ice is broken—Yoongi’s a double major, too, math and music. Hoseok raps and does street dancing in his free time, and around the three of them, you feel like you’re woefully underachieving just at life in general.

“What about you?” Namjoon prompts after you get some background on all of them.

“Ah… nothing impressive. Economics major. Just what my parents wanted, you know. But I like books, too. I volunteer at the public library already, but it doesn’t exactly help with tuition.”

“You volunteer?” Namjoon repeats, looking surprised.

“Oh, yeah… It’s no big deal. I just read books to kids sometimes.”

“That’s awesome,” he says, and the look on his face tells you he might actually mean it. Next to him, Yoongi snickers and Hoseok smiles brightly at you.

“Namjoonie here has wanted to volunteer doing park clean up for a while, but Yoongi and I are always dragging him to the studio on the weekends, so he doesn’t have time.”

Namjoon shrugs. “It would be nice to feel like I’m helping, I think.”

“It is,” you agree, sharing a look with him across the table. “The purpose of life is to be useful…” You mumble the quote under your breath, assuming they wouldn’t know what you meant anyway.

“Emerson?” Namjoon asks.

“Oh! Uh… yeah, I mean… That’s what people think, but probably not. It’s most likely from a speech someone else gave when they gave Emerson an award, but most people think it’s him—” you cut yourself off when you notice Namjoon’s eyes gone wide.

“Self Reliance is one of my favorites,” he says, leaning forward, excitement playing in his voice.

“Same! No one ever knows what I’m talking about, but ‘Nothing at last is sacred but the integrity of one’s own mind’ is maybe my whole life philosophy,” you ramble, just happy that someone might finally know what you’re talking about. No one in your economics classes ever shows any interest in philosophy, anyway. Your roommate calls you a nerd every time you bring stuff like this up, and Jeongguk just stares at you with big eyes like he wants to drink every word you're saying but doesn’t understand a drop of it. But Namjoon actually looks… interested in what you’re saying. More than interested, even.

Yoongi elbows Hoseok and smirks. “Namjoon’s in trouble,” he says.

But before you can ask what that means, the head librarian interrupts to tell you it’s time to get back to training. You have to partner up for training to use the library’s reservation and shelving programs, and Namjoon comes right up to you, grinning shyly, and asks if you want to be his partner while his friends whisper on the other side of the room. You know immediately how this is going to go. Or you think you do, anyway.

And you’re right. By the end of the first week of your work study, you’re in Kim Namjoon’s bed.

It’s just like it sounds.

You’re naked, legs bent at the knees and open with his head between them. You noticed his brain first, but it only took that first afternoon to realize that not only was he smart, but stupid hot and kind and sort of funny in the sarcastic way you like, and he seemed to like something about you, too.

On Saturday, you work a slow shift together, both of you using most of the time to catch up on homework, and when it’s over, he asks if you want to come back to his place and keep studying. You agree quickly, but as soon as you get there, you realize you’re both on the same page about being more interested in studying each other than your class work. One thing leads to another, and here you are, moaning into your own palm as he flicks his tongue over your clit in a steady rhythm.

“Namjoon, I–” You’re pathetic, you think, gasping and barely able to make words come out of your mouth, but fuck if he’s not good at this. Better than you’d thought he would be, actually. He came across as a little on the shy side during work, like he might be one of those guys who needs you to tell him where the clit is. Eager to please, but not quite sure how to go about it. Willing to take direction.

He is not that.

“Gonna come, baby? You like my tongue that much?” Namjoon lifts his head to ask, and his lips are slick with you and his voice is deep and his fingers just don’t stop moving… It's so much.

“Yeah, so close…”

At that, Namjoon smirks and ducks his head back down to finish the job. He makes quick work of you, sucking on your clit and twisting one of your nipples with his free hand. The other has two fingers fucking into you in just the right way, just shallow enough to hit your g-spot each time he pushes in.

The orgasm builds fast, pressure from the inside, pressure from the outside… Everything feels so, so good, and you try to tell him so, but all you can do is whimper through it, clenching your thighs around his ears when you come on his tongue and he tries (bless him) to keep licking your core as your knees shake.

“Fuck,” you say on an exhale, arm tossed over your own forehead.

“I’m down,” he teases.

You’re about to say something sarcastic back, but when you lift your arm and look down at him, you lose that train of thought. He looks fucking incredible: flushed, a little sweaty, chin shiny with your orgasm and he’s grinning with those stupid dimples out… How could you not give him everything he wants? Maybe it’s the orgasm talking, the sweet rush of dopamine affecting you when you say, “I want that. Fuck me…” And for emphasis, when he stares at you a little stunned, you add, “Please, Namjoon?”

He only nods, enthusiastically and a little dopey with it, a little like the boy you saw in the library. But when his cock is out—big… like, really big. Why even have a cock that large, really? What’s even the point of that?—he’s smirking and appropriately (you hope) confident again.

“That is…” you look down and make a vague gesture in the direction of his dick, which makes him look down, too.

He shies almost instantly. “Yeah, it’s okay if it’s too much or whatever…”

“No! That’s not what I meant. I just… You look good.” You scoot up so you can have level eye contact. “Want you to fuck me. I can handle it, promise. I want to.”

Namjoon swallows, visibly nervous, but agrees anyway.

You knew it would be fine. Any partner who makes sure to tell you you’re beautiful, who makes sure you come first, who pays attention to your body the way he has for the last couple hours is probably going to keep doing that, you decide. And he does. He’s careful, even though you think it might actually be killing him a little to not move once he’s over halfway inside you. He checks in with you, makes sure the consent is still there, and then when you ask him to “actually fuck me, Namjoon… want your cock… all of you,” he does. And he delivers.

You’re essentially sitting in his lap, his palms spread on your hips as he moves you on his cock and it is… Well, it’s unequivocally the best anyone’s ever fucked you. His lips are on your neck, your breasts, the swell underneath them where they meet your ribcage… He keeps talking to you in his raspy whisper, making sure you feel okay, telling you how good you feel to him. There are times when he gets a little porny, telling you how tight you are (you’re sure a cock that big hasn’t seen anything not tight), and then he says, half out of breath, “Knew you would be a good girl. Knew it from the first time I saw you.” And you didn’t even know you wanted to be a ‘good girl,’ but suddenly you very much do.

Before he comes, he makes sure you do again, too. His thumb finds your clit and his lips are hot against your ear, whispering filth when you tighten around his cock and shudder in his lap. He’s not far behind you, pulling your hips down when he thrusts into you a little harder, sweat beading on his forehead with the effort. He’s quiet when he comes, just a low moan of your name as he stills under you.

After, it’s the small things he does that you like. It’s nice that he doesn’t try and move right away, just runs his hands up and down your back—soothing, almost. The closeness is nice, his head resting against your collarbone while you stroke your fingers through his hair. It feels intimate, more than a first time or a one night stand with your coworker should. But neither of you make a move to change that, so maybe it’s alright.

For now.

You haven’t exactly been the most social university student, but you know how these things are supposed to go. You clean up, you get dressed, you make awkward small talk about your classes or your work study and then you go your separate ways. You go back to your apartment and you don’t talk about what happened. He might look at you like he knows what’s underneath your hoodie next time you see him, but you know it won’t happen again. That’s not how it works. Not for you, anyway.

Kim Namjoon is a good guy, that you’re sure of. He’s a hard worker, he’s smart, he has lots of friends and hobbies and between that and school and work, you know there’s no way he’s looking for a relationship, and you also know he’s going to do his best to let you down easy if he thinks that’s what you’re after.

But, he’s your friend. And your co-worker, and the sex was great, so you want to at least spare him the effort of all that. So, when he gets up to dispose of the condom and find a washcloth, you get dressed quietly, pack your textbooks, and do your best to look mostly put together by the time he comes back.

“So,” you start as he returns to his room, “that was great… Really great, Namjoonie. Thank you.”

He looks… confused. “You’re thanking me for sex?”

“I uh… yes?”

Namjoon gives you a dimpled smile with an eyebrow raised, clearly amused. “Okay… Well, you’re welcome, then. And thank you.” He gives you a teasing bow, and with it, you feel a little relief. Because he’s obviously ready to move forward and this can just be a fun thing that happened and you don’t have to make him worry about letting you down, and you don’t have to worry about how much you fucking like him already. You can just be friends.

The problem, you realize quickly, is that being “just friends” with Kim Namjoon sucks.

It’s like sending your poor, delusional heart through a cheese grater with each of your work-study shifts. It’s swallowing down every dream of happiness when you have to sit next to him at a party and watch him nod along in agreement as Hoseok tells him how hot the new guy in his dance class is. (The guy is hot, with at least a 6-pack, big, pouty lips, and biceps like cannons. So, even you have to agree they have a point.)

Okay, that’s probably dramatic. Incredibly dramatic according to Taehyung and Jeongguk. Which, honestly, says a lot coming from them.

So, you do your best to forget your crush and just be cool about everything. You both make a frankly commendable effort to never talk about what happened between you, and after a few weeks, things don’t feel quite so weird. Namjoon’s probably relieved you never mentioned it again, didn’t expect him to be your boyfriend or anything.

You think you’ve done well.

At one party, halfway through the semester, you meet Namjoon’s friend, Seokjin. He’s quiet at first, polite with a big smile and a nervous laugh. He sticks close to Yoongi and Namjoon, and it doesn’t take long before he’s being shuttled across the large backyard in your direction.

“Hi,” he says simply. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh! That’s good… I think?”

“Yah, Namjoonie here—”

“Well, that was great!” Namjoon interjects. “Glad you two finally met. We’re late for something, though. So, bye!” And then he’s pulling Seokjin behind him through the yard in the opposite direction. It’s so weird.

In his protests, you’re pretty sure you hear him say, “You’re ridiculous,” to Namjoon. If you were more sober, you would have recognized it as the first small thing that should have tipped you off.

The second thing happens right before summer break. Your whole group, consisting of your and Namjoon’s friends, are sitting around at lunch discussing everyone’s plans for the summer. Hoseok and Jimin (the hot dancer he wouldn’t shut up about who is now his new boyfriend) are going to a dance clinic on the other side of the country. Jeongguk is going home, promising you he’ll leave you a list of acceptable laundromats in his absence. Seokjin and Taehyung are working—teaching acting classes to teenagers at summer camp.

Yoongi’s got an internship, so he’ll be around, but barely since it’s in the city and your university is a little outside of town. It’s a long subway trip, so he’s got a sublet up there he’s moving into for the summer months.

And then it’s Namjoon’s turn.

“I’m staying. Not on campus, obviously. But I found an apartment and I’m looking for a roommate.” Everyone nods along except Jeongguk, whose eyes dart from Namjoon to you and back several times.

“What about noona?” he finally says, hooking a thumb in your direction. “She’s staying, too.”

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“That’s not a bad idea…”

Namjoon and you look at one another. He’s flushed, and he’s doing that thing he does when he’s nervous where he rubs his throat.

“I’m sure Namjoon has plenty of people in mind already,” you say, trying to give him the out he clearly wants.

“Not exactly,” he mumbles.

“This is perfect!” Seokjin exclaims. “Don’t you think this is perfect, Namjoon?”

You lean over to whisper to Namjoon, “You don’t have to, it’s really alright.” It feels like you’re making him nervous, you can feel his muscles stiffen where you’re touching his arm, and the flush he was sporting is spreading to his neck now.

“Would you even want to?” He asks softly.

You’re not sure, actually. It’s already hard work trying to put your stupid crush out of your mind most days. And now, you only see him a few days a week. Your brain (a logical friend) is telling you that living with him will be terrible for your heart. Your heart isn’t as smart and is pounding faster just thinking about spending more time around your crush. Friend, you correct yourself.

The problem is that only Tae and Jeongguk know about your feelings, and none of them know you and Namjoon have already slept together. So, if you say no, it might be weird. As far as they know, you’re just friends, good friends. Why wouldn’t you want to live with him?

“Yeah,” you reply brightly, swallowing down your nerves, “it’ll be great, Joonie. I can cook and you can help me study for my summer classes.” You’re nodding along as you speak, trying to convince yourself that what you’re saying is true.

“Okay… sure. Roommates,” he says, looking a little stunned.

“Roommates!”

You stick your hand out to shake his. You’re the least sexy person to have ever existed, you decide, as he laughs and shakes your hand.

“It was a terrible idea,” you whine into Taehyung’s lap. “He’s just here… all the time. And sometimes…”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes he doesn’t wear a shirt!” You slump further into your friend, making what you know are pitiful whining noises into his thighs.

It’s not like you’d go as far as saying moving in with Namjoon for the summer was a mistake. But it wasn’t great. Actually, it was really fucking great, and that was the problem. Or part of the problem anyway.

The apartment is nice—nicer than you’d envisioned when he told you about it. Not too big, but on the corner of the building so you got nice light throughout the day. You each have your own bedroom (thank god) and they aren’t large, but Namjoon gave you the one with the room for a chair by the window, even though you knew he’d been planning to write lyrics there. As promised, you cook for both of you in your small kitchen and Namjoon helps you with your summer classes.

With all of your friends gone or busy, you two don’t see much of them, and it feels like you build your own little world: late nights listening to the records he brings home, eating simple meals by the window and complaining that you don’t have a balcony, getting dragged out on bike rides when the sun falls and it’s cool enough outside, hunched together on the floor of the living room scrolling webtoons and drinking one too many cheap beers, and the worst (best) of all—falling asleep on the couch together before you wake up with a jolt realizing your head is on him and it’s far, far too much to realize his chest is in your face… so you scramble to your room like a coward and don’t fall back asleep, too keyed up.

Seokjin, when you do see him, adds in more and more “old married couple” jokes as the summer goes on. He makes fun of your chore lists on the fridge, cutely decorated with whatever doodle has been occupying Namjoon’s mind that week.

(Jin doesn’t even know that when all the chores are done, you save the little post-it notes, snatching them off the fridge when Namjoon’s not around or not paying attention, and putting them carefully into a little box in your desk drawer with all the other scraps and mementos of your friendship you’ve kept over the almost-year you’ve known him.)

Jin teases you when he lets himself in, late in the mornings, and finds the two of you still asleep, tumbled atop each other on the floor, record-listening session gone too late, the needle still digging into invisible grooves at the center.

It’s not his fault it doesn’t feel like a joke to you, he doesn’t know that you feel like the 45 and all of the jokes and all of Namjoon’s smiles and all of the little notes he leaves and the way he blushes when you come out of the bathroom in your robe like maybe maybe there’s just a chance you’re not the only one still thinking about that one time… that those are the needles, and you’re here, spinning in place while they poke and prod and dig for a melody that just isn’t there.

Namjoon, to his credit, is the very definition of a good friend and roommate. He does all the little things. He brings you breakfast sometimes when he’s been out all night and knows you’ll be waking up shortly after he comes home. He cleans, so that even though he’s got so much stuff (endless records and books and figurines and things he just thought were cute), your apartment never feels dirty, just lived-in and homey and a little cluttered. Buys toothpaste when you forget—before you forget, even. Puts your favorite flavor of soju in the fridge every week even though he hates it.

And it’s not just what he does at home (your home. with him. which you try not to think about because the way the thought makes your heart swell and almost burst is dangerous and confusing, and you hate that you can’t stop thinking about it entirely.) he takes you out, too. It helps that he’s more social than you: gets you outside in the real world between classes and studying. Makes sure you touch grass. Does stupid dances with you to bad music at worse clubs. Buys you hotteok at 2am because he knows you want it even though you won’t admit it so he says both pieces are for him and lets you argue that it’s bad for his heart and you’re willing to take one off his hands just for the sake of his health… because you care for him.

You don’t let yourself think about the way it seems like he flushes and his eyes twinkle a little when you say that. It’s got to be in your imagination.

He doesn’t know that each time he goes out of his way to do something nice for you hurts a little. Doesn’t know that each time he’s a touch too sweet, you wish you’d stayed that one time. Can’t possibly relate to the way you wish that one night turned into a date turned into something more, maybe.

And you know he can’t relate, because he’s started doing this thing while you’ve been living together: talking about someone. Someone that he likes.

It’s devastating and you try so hard not to cry on the nights when it comes up. You succeed in never crying in front of him, but if you drip snot onto your pillow trying to hold back your sobs once you’re alone in your room, he doesn’t have to know.

You don’t know who she is, but you’ve overheard Namjoon on the phone with Yoongi talking about her. She sounds great, if Namjoon’s probably clouded judgment is any indication. He thinks she’s smart and talented, says she sells herself short and he thinks she’s as close to perfect as anyone on the planet. He doesn’t go out without you too often, and you don’t ask where he’s been if he doesn’t offer, but he must be spending time with her because you catch him on a video call with Hoseok saying she can cook and she’s brilliant and she’s everything he’s ever wanted.

She also sounds like she doesn’t know what she’s got, because Namjoon’s convinced she doesn’t like him back and that she’s out of his league—you finally ascertain that the reason he’s been going to the gym more was because one time she said she thought another guy had nice biceps and he knows they were bigger than his.

One time, you come home late, catching Tae at a bar near campus after he’s done with classes and drinking a little too much. You’re not drunk, but you’re in that warm space past sober where everything is a little softer and funnier and Namjoon looks dangerously pretty sitting at his desk with headphones on working on a song.

You plop on his bed, as you do now, and wait for him to notice you’re there. It doesn’t take long.

“Hey,” he says as he pulls off the headphones. He’s giving you the double-dimple smile, which is especially effective when you’re tipsy like this. Throws you more off-kilter than another cocktail would have. “Have fun with Tae?”

“Hmm… yeah.” You lay back on his bed and don’t let yourself worry about your shirt riding up or your hair spilling around you in a haystack. It’s just Namjoon, and you know he doesn’t think about you like that, know he’s already seen you with more skin showing, hair messier.

“Need me to get you some water?”

“No,” you sit up on your elbows, “s’okay. Didn’t drink too much. What’re you working on?”

Namjoon is staring right at you, something indiscernible on his face. He looks almost like he’s in pain or something. “You alright?”

He shakes his head and looks embarrassed. You have no idea why. “Yeah, fine… I’m fine. Just a song, nothing too special.”

“Can I hear it?”

“It’s personal… Kind of silly. It’s not done yet… I’m not sure you’d like it,” he says.

“I like everything you make.” It comes out too honest, you’re not sober enough to hide the tenderness in your voice, to wrap it in something less vulnerable.

There’s no response to that, and you worry you’ve given too much away for a split second before he unplugs his headphones and hits play on the song. And if you thought the sight of him working, bathed in moonlight and neon, was beautiful, this song is truly something else.

It’s lovely—sweeping melody and building building with layers until it crashes all around you, his voice low and quick, persistent with words of love. It’s a love song disguised as wordplay, or maybe the other way around. It’s him in music: smart and beautiful and selfless and breathtaking… You want to keep it, you want it to be yours, you want the words to be about you or for you or just written with you in the back of his mind. It’s too much, it’s so so beautiful, and you know it’s about her. It’s for her. She’s the one who has his attention and who gets his words and it makes you want to crawl under your blankets and never come out like a petulant child.

You’re laying down again, so you don’t know what he’s looking at as you listen. When it ends, you’re asking the question even though you don’t want the answer, even though him saying it will make it too real. “Is it about her?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he answers, just as quietly. “It’s about her.”

You sit up quick, make sure you’re turned away from him so he can’t see the tears that are beginning to drip down your cheeks.

“It’s pretty,” you say as you head toward the door, hopefully not giving yourself away, not looking back in his direction. “Really pretty. She’s lucky, Namjoonie.”

You don’t see the confusion on his face as your bedroom door closes behind you. You don’t hear him tell you goodnight in a small, concerned voice.

After song-gate, you do your best to put a brave face on and move forward. It’s more for him than you, you have to tell yourself. Because you, your heart, you don’t want to let him go, can’t stand the idea of watching him be happy with someone else. But you, Kim Namjoon’s best friend, you want nothing more than for him to be happy, even if it’s not with you. And it’s hard, but for the most part, you let that version of you win.

You give him broad smiles and you keep not asking where he’s going when he leaves without you. You try really hard not to overhear his calls with Hoseok and Yoongi and when you do, you give him a ridiculous double-thumbs up and tell him to go for it, that she’d be a fool to turn him down. You’re pretty sure you’re the only one who ends up looking foolish in that moment though, even if you really, truly mean it.

One day (of course it’s a Tuesday), you come home from class, and you’re sorting through the mail when you spot a card on the counter that wasn’t there in the morning. Namjoon must’ve left it when he came home, you can hear the shower running from down the hall. It’s rare he beats you home on Tuesdays, always saying he’s got “something” to do “across town” and you just assume it’s with her, so you don’t ask.

But what’s more interesting than him being home early is what the card is: a temporary driver license issued to one Kim Namjoon. It’s got a picture of him, dimples out and glasses on, dated that day. You hadn’t even known he’d taken the class or the tests. You wonder why he wouldn’t tell you… It’s a big deal to him—he’d always said he didn’t need it, liked taking the bus and the metro. Thought cars were bad for the planet and that there were too many of them in the city anyway. But here’s the card, proof that for some reason he thought it was time for a change.

“Oh! You… I didn’t mean for you to find that…”

You look up. Namjoon’s standing by the couch, watching you examine his license, wrapped in a towel because if there’s a god, he only wants you to suffer.

“You got your license?”

“Ah… the temporary one, yeah. Still need to take the road test.”

He seems nervous, fidgeting with the blanket on the back of the sofa. You don’t know why he’d be nervous, it’s cool, you think. One more thing to add to the seemingly endless list of things Namjoon can do.

“Proud of you, Namjoonie. But… why? I thought you didn’t want to drive.”

He shrugs. “Don’t really, but… I just thought… Well, I thought if I got up the nerve to ask someone on a date, it would be nice to drive her. Just once or twice. Make it special, I guess. It’s probably stupid, but I thought y—” He cuts himself off and pauses. Looks out the window and scrunches his forehead up like he’s scolding himself. “I thought she might like that,” he says, finally.

“Did she tell you to get a license?” You’re sure you sound as outraged as you feel when you ask.

“No! She wouldn’t… No. I just wanted to try.”

“Okay. Okay, good. You shouldn’t change yourself for anyone, Joonie.” And then you do that thing again, where you say too much, where it comes out too fond. “You’re more than enough just the way you are. If she doesn’t know that, she’s not good enough for you.”

Namjoon smiles softly. “I’m starting to think she does,” he says.

And the look on his face… It’s happiness and warmth and fuck you wish it was for you. Those nagging feelings of wanting more more more from him are welling up in your chest. “Good,” you say, still too tender as you set the card in his palm and scoot past him to your room, mail forgotten. “That’s the very least of what you deserve.”

Later that night, you’ve tucked the soft and vulnerable parts of you back inside, showered, ordered food, and sent Namjoon down to pick it up with a stop at the convenience store for soju and beer. You can do this, you tell yourself in the mirror, psyching yourself up for the first time you both will hang out with all your friends in months.

The summer is drawing to an end. Seokjin and Taehyung are done teaching, Jimin and Hoseok got back over the weekend, Yoongi’s internship ended the week prior, and Jeongguk is back from his visit home, everyone returning in time to buy books and settle in for the new semester.

You and Namjoon have decided to keep the apartment: close enough to campus, affordable enough, and you both bashfully agreed you liked living together, an arrangement sealed with the secret handshake greeting from a drama you’d watched together over the summer. So, you have the biggest apartment out of all your friends (which doesn’t say much), and they’ve all decided in your group chat that the group “welcome home” party would take place in your living room.

Seokjin and Taehyung arrive first, Jeongguk in tow. They’re pouring through your door play-fighting and laughing and for a minute, you forget your crush on your roommate, you forget he’s pining after someone else, and you just feel so much joy that your friends are back as they pull you into a crushing group hug.

“We brought wine,” Seokjin says.

“Ew!” (A twin chorus from you and Jeongguk).

“Fine, you two have your cheap soju and leave the good stuff for the rest of us.”

“Hyung, that bottle was only six—”

“Shh! Have some respect!” Seokjin says, slapping in the air in Tae’s general direction.

They file into the kitchen to drop off snacks and cheap wine while you leave to dig around in Namjoon’s room for some records to play. It’s a hassle, finding enough that you like and then having to flip them every fifteen minutes, so you finally give up and resign yourself to just playing a playlist off your phone. Or anyone’s phone except Taehyung’s anyway, because “experimental jazz night” was not a hit last time he suckered you all into it.

When you come back down the hall, your kitchen is suspiciously quiet. There is whispering and you can’t hear what they’re saying but you know anytime Jeongguk and Seokjin are colluding that it means trouble.

“What’s going on in here?” You ask as you make it back to the kitchen.

The three of them are reading the notes on your fridge and they all hop around immediately. Jeongguk and Taehyung have the decency to look guilty, but Seokjin just looks like he’s unearthed the lost city or something.

“What are these?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“Our shopping list? Chore list?”

Seokjin grins. “No, not those… These.” He plucks a sticky off the fridge and starts reading it aloud.

“...And greet the all auspicious day,

Whose privilege permits my song—”

You can feel your face like a wildfire, hot and persistent, as you snatch the piece of paper out of his hand and tuck it in your pocket.

“That’s nothing. Just a poem”

“That’s not nothing, that’s a love poem.”

“We just leave each other quotes sometimes,” you mutter, fussing around the kitchen, opening the bags of snacks and setting them on the counter. “It’s no big deal. Just a small thing.”

Jeongguk looks at you with wide eyes. “And you sometimes leave each other love poems?” he asks cautiously.

“I guess… It’s whatever,” you say.

“What’s whatever?” Hoseok’s bright voice drifts into the room. You snap your head up to see that he’s with Jimin, and they’re followed in by Yoongi and Namjoon, carrying all the food and drinks.

“Namjoon hyung and Noona leave each other love notes on the fridge!” Jeongguk says brightly. “It’s so cute.”

Your jaw actually drops, and you see in your periphery, Namjoon’s is doing the same.

“They’re not love notes!” You protest.

“They’re poems,” Namjoon adds with indignance.

“Besides,” you add, “he’s got a girlfriend or whatever.” You know you sound a little annoyed, and you don’t want to, but it’s worth it if it gets them off your backs.

“Wait, what?” Yoongi finally joins the conversation, peeking his head around the corner into the kitchen.

Six pairs of eyes are on you, and one (Namjoon’s) is anywhere but. You get the offputting feeling that something is happening, but you don’t know what. That the boys staring at you know something you don’t.

“Namjoonie… He’s got a girl he likes. So, they’re not love notes. They’re just quotes we like.”

Yoongi stares at you like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, and then Hoseok says, “Oh my god, they are that bad.”

Seokjin nods. “The worst, actually.”

“What? What is going on?” You ask. The question is directed at anyone, but you’re looking straight at Namjoon, who still won’t look at you.

“I’m just gonna open some soju,” Jimin says. “Come on, guys.”

The statement is clearly directed at Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk, who are all still huddled by the fridge, clearly amused at whatever is unfolding in your kitchen. One by one, they file out. Namjoon tries to follow them, but Yoongi unceremoniously shoves him back into the kitchen with a hissed, “I don’t think so, Namjoon.”

“I’m so confused,” you say quietly. Namjoon finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, and he looks so so nervous. Just like the day you’d agreed to be roommates. You have no idea why, because you’d never do anything to make him feel that way, not on purpose. “Is this about her? I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have—”

“No! I mean… yeah, it’s about her. Or you, I guess?”

“Me?”

Namjoon nods. He takes a deep breath and shoves his hands in his pockets. “You. You and her.”

“I don’t even know her, Namjoonie.”

He sighs. “You are her.”

You’re every meme of confused people trying to do math. You think you probably have a literal question mark above your head. You think you heard him right but… but there’s no way that it’s what he meant.

“What?”

Namjoon looks like it’s almost painful to keep speaking, also a little apologetic. “I like you,” he says, shrugging. “I like you so much, and I’m a dick for agreeing to be your roommate when I felt that way, and I thought after that one time… Well, I thought maybe you needed more and that’s why it never happened again, so I started going to the gym more and trying to… I don’t know. Be more?” He runs a hand through his hair and slumps against the counter. “I just like you so much and I wanted you to like me, too. But I—”

“You like me?”

“Oh, fuck, so much.” It’s almost out like a breath, floats through the space between the two of you, waves itself in front of your face.

“That’s why you thought it would be weird to be roommates…” you say, pieces clicking together.

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. “And why I tried to get biceps like Jimin and why I leave you love notes on the fridge, and why I wrote you a whole song about how incredible you are, how you make me feel, and how much I want you even though you don’t want me back…”

“Biceps like Jimin?”

“You said they were nice…”

“Oh my god.” Little details of the past few months since you slept together all start floating around in your head and you see it so clearly now, it all starts to make sense, all the silly little things Namjoon does for you because it’s you, because he likes you… and oh no…

“Namjoon.”

“Yeah?” He’s painfully cute like this—nervous and a little shy, hair falling into his eyes like it can protect him from looking right at you.

You take a couple of steps closer to him. “I like you, too.”

“You what?”

“I like you, too. Just the way you are. I like all the nice small things you do for me, I like how you think, I like how you smell like soap all the time ‘cause you take a million showers… I like living with you… I like your records and your books and… And it’s stupid probably, but I save all your doodles like a teenager would ‘cause I just like you so fucking much… And I’m the bad friend, the one who moved in with you even though I liked you like this. I thought I would get over it. I thought… I don’t know. I thought after we slept together you just wanted to be friends, so I’ve been trying so hard, but…”

“It’s awful,” he says, a giant grin on his face as he watches you stumble through your confession. “I thought you just wanted to be friends, too. You left before I could ask you to stay.”

“Yeah, it is awful. Liked you since that first day in the library.”

“Fuck, me too. We’re so ridiculous.”

“Jin was right, we’re the worst,” you whisper.

“You are!” You hear Jin call from the living room.

You let your head fall forward and bury it in Namjoon’s chest as he wraps an arm (with a perfectly sized bicep, you note, reminding yourself to tell him later) around you and laughs into your hair.

“You’re listening to us?” you protest.

“Hard not to,” Yoongi answers, “small apartment.”

“You fucked?!” Hoseok yells.

“Oh my god,” you moan into Namjoon’s shirt.

“I bet they made love,” you hear a dreamy-voiced Jimin chime in.

You can feel Namjoon’s laugh rumble through his chest against your ear. It’s the best feeling you’ve felt in months.

“So,” you start, pulling your head off his chest, but letting him slide his arm down yours until you’re loosely holding hands. “What now?”

“Well, we should probably talk.”

You peek around him to see your friends all staring at you. “Maybe later?” you ask.

“Later is good.” Namjoon smiles so so big. You love knowing that you’re the one making him feel happy, you think you’re a little ridiculous for being jealous of some other non-existent girl this whole time.

“We like each other,” you say, still a little in shock.

“We do.”

Then, because you’re you, and you have not ever once been cool in front of Kim Namjoon, you lift your palm up. And because he’s him, and now you know he probably thinks he has never once been cool around you, he gives you a high five, his palm connecting with yours and then lingering there while you look at each other and you try not to lift up on your toes and kiss the shit out of him.

“Did they just high five?” Hoseok asks, incredulous.

“They’re so weird. Do you remember when they shook hands on being roommates when it was so obvious they wanted to jump each other on the couch? They probably kissed no tongue and called it sex,” Seokjin says, unhelpfully.

“Hey!” you shout. “We can hear you!”

“The sex was really great, for your information,” Namjoon says, and your face heats immediately.

“It was,” you agree, if for no other reason than it really really was. And you want to make Seokjin as uncomfortable as possible. “Namjoon really knows wh—”

“This is going to be even worse than them being oblivious, isn’t it?” Yoongi asks no one in particular, cutting you off.

But that night after your friends leave, and you do get the chance to kiss Namjoon again, who is now not only your roommate, but your boyfriend, you know Yoongi couldn’t have been more wrong. This is infinitely better than being oblivious to Namjoon's feelings.

“What do you see in me?” he says into the ceiling, sweaty and a little hazy post-orgasm, after you’d made sure to seal your new arrangement properly. No high fives, no handshakes, just long kisses and nervous touches turning more sure, Namjoon making sure to whisper into your skin how much he cares for you, how sexy he thinks you are, how long he’s waited to have you again like this…

(And you returning those words, moving your hips in slow circles in his lap, fingernails trailing across his shoulders as you tell him how good he is, how gorgeous he looks, how his biceps are the exact right size for you to squeeze—which makes him laugh while he fucks you, and if that’s not the best thing you’ll ever see in your life, you’re not sure what is...)

You lace your fingers with his and turn to him, thinking about all the things you love about him, how all those pieces layer together to make something so big that it seems to take up your whole heart. “I like all the small things that make you, you.”

And he kisses you as a reply, lips soft and sweet on yours, and you decide that from now on, Tuesdays are for kissing your boyfriend in the moonlight and making sure he knows exactly how much you like him so that neither of you are ever unsure again.

#namjoon fic #namjoon smut #namjoon imagine #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon fanfiction #knj x reader #kvanity #btshoneyhive #bts smut #bts fluff #bts writing #bts fanfic #bts imagines

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

Text

Bad News First, Eddie

Part One 🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇FInal Part

This was getting longer than both Steve and Wayne's parts combined, so I'm gonna break it into 2 parts. Posting part 1 now, and part 2 should be up within a day. Thank you everyone for the wonderful replies/reblogs. I screenshot them cause they keep me going haha.

Trigger Warning: Child abuse referenced, as well as one scene of a child being slapped. Use of slurs in a derogatory manner.

Bad news first, Eddie thinks to himself as he swings the trash can lid turned shield, this is a fuckton of bats. Good news, Dustin is safe.

The bats are overwhelming but he's holding his own. He can do this. He can buy them more time. He's done running away from the things that scare him.

Bad news, Eddie thinks, watching Dustin sob above him, I'm gonna die here.

Eddie dies. He knows this because all the hurt stops. The world has faded into itself, dimming to a blackness deeper than Eddie's ever known.

The afterlife is a bit disappointing if he's honest. He's not sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't nothing. Endless, unfathomable nothing.

He kinda hoped he'd see his mom or something, but that's delusional. If the afterlife was heaven or hell, he wouldn't end up in the one his mom went to, that's for sure. Too many sins under his belt for that.

Death is pretty boring though.

Time is impossible to track. He's tried a few times, counting seconds to make minutes but that's so boring he loses his train of thought. Ends up humming some tune or another before repeating the process.

The day he finds himself humming a Wham! song has Eddie a little panicked. He doesn't listen to Top 40 stations. He spent a good deal of time avoiding learning any Wham! songs, actually, so now that he's somehow gotten one such in his head...

This has got to be capital H Hell.

Well. Everyone in town thought he was on the road straight to it. Laugh it up, Hawkins. You were right. The Freak went straight down.

Eddie misses Wayne. He can't remember the last thing he'd said to him. When did he last tell his uncle he loved him? Wayne knew it though. He had to know it. They didn't say it out loud but they didn't need to. Right?

In the distance, Eddie sees something. A light? He's not sure what it is but it's something new. Something different.

The light leads him back into the Upside Down. The bats are swarming and he just crashed the bike- fuck fuck fuck, run. Run, Eddie, get the fuck out of here!

He's screaming at himself to run but instead his body stops. Turns. Pulls the shield and spear from his back and screams at the bats.

Eddie rips himself back, away. Crumples to the ground, folding into himself. Not that. Anything but that again.

A soft humming sound. Gentle, warm.

Loving.

Eddie unfolds himself to see what it is.

His mom smiles down at him, reaches out to ruffle his hair as she hums. Eddie knows the danger has passed and he is safe now because Mamma only hums that when it's safe.

"There's my handsome boy," she moves the hand from his hair to boop the tip of his nose. "How about we play a little game, hmm? The floor is lava!"

She scoops him up and plops him on the kitchen table. There is a crunching sound beneath her feet as she moves. Lava sounds an awful lot like Dad's broken beer bottles but if Mamma wants to play pretend then Eddie can do that for her.

His mother is beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the world. He takes after her in a lot of ways. Matching curly locks, the same face scrunch when they're angry, their noses, big brown doe eyes. Eddie even shares her voice, just a different pitch. The point is, Eddie's mom is beautiful and he's got enough ego left at four years old to think of himself as beautiful, too.

The problem, then, is that Eddie makes the mistake of saying it in front of his Dad. 'As pretty as Mamma,' he'd said. They'd, he and Mamma that is, were sitting crosslegged on the floor in the living room. Dad had been in the kitchen, Eddie could hear him puttering about. Mamma had booped his nose and called him the best looking kid in all of America.

Eddie nodded fiercly, "yeah! As pretty at Mamma."

It used to be a fuzzy memory, what happens next. A flurry of movement and shouting. Now he's witnessing it with terrible clarity. His dad's hand curling around his upper arm and yanking him into the air, crushing hard enough to bruise. His dad's shouting at him. He remembers not remembering the words but now they hit him like the slap his dad delivered to his face. "No son of mine is going to be a fuckin' fag, thinkin' he's some pretty little girl. Is that what you want, you little shit? To be a little girl?"

"Stop it! Stop it! Let him go, he didn't mean anything like that!" he hears his Mamma plead but his Dad won't stop shaking him and screaming. He bursts into tears because it hurts and he's confused and his Dad's never hit him before- "Hit me! Hit me! If you're gonna hit someone, hit me!"

Eddie gets tossed aside. He lands on back and sees as his Dad does exactly as his Mamma demanded. Eddie's never been so scared in his life, he can't watch. He scampers down the hall as fast as he can and crawls under his bed to hide.

If Eddie had to guess, that's the memory that ingrained his need to run.

He's reliving his memories. He's a little embarrassed how long it takes him to figure that out. They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. They don't tell you that the quote flash unquote takes a really fuckin' long time. Like, you know, your whole life long time.

It's so strange to witness, too. Like he's both watching the memories as an outsider, but also through his own eyes. He has both the knowledge that he had when he died, and also no experience beyond what he's seeing in the memory.

He watches his Dad beat his Mamma, beat him, but also watches his Dad push him on the swings and slow dance around the kitchen with his Mamma. And that's the worst part, he thinks. That his Dad could have been an awesome one. If he'd stayed sober like he kept promising. He didn't though, couldn't. Hell, maybe it's even a wouldn't. He watchs Wyatt fucking Munson pick beer and drugs over him and his Mamma time and time again.

Couldn't even put them down long enough to be there when Mamma got sick.

Eddie is seven. He's just had his head shaved, bald as his Mamma now. He regrets doing it as soon as he sees his Mamma's smile falter when Uncle Wayne drops him off at the hospital.

"We match, Mamma," Eddie says shyly, eyes downcast. "I wanted to match..."

"Oh, baby, come here," and she's scooping him into a hug, genuinly smiling again, "I love that we match. So long as it was your decision to cut your hair."

Eddie realizes now why her smile had faltered. She thought Dad had shaved his head against his will, probably because long hair was for woman, as he liked to say. Eddie in the memory didn't know that, though, so he just cuddles closer and says, "Yeah. Uncle Wayne did it for me, so it would be nice and even, he said. Wanna hear what we did in school today?"

There is something looming at the edges of his vision. Eddie can't seem to make whatever it is come into focus. It's not a memory because those always focus. It's something else. Something new.

His dad teaches him to hot wire a car. Makes him learn how to pick the lock on car doors and handcuffs. When he sees how easily Eddie took to lockpicking, he makes him learn other locks, too.

Eddie misses out on school because his dad can't be bother to enroll him and Eddie doesn't know how to do it himself. He's too scared to, anyway. Afraid his dad will start swinging and won't stop until he's dead.

When Eddie is eleven, a lot happens. It was a pivitol age for him. He got his first crush (a boy named Jimmy) and a first kiss (a boy named Jeramiah). Eddie also ends up in the hospital because his Dad caught him kissing Jeramiah.

It's not his Dad that picks him up from the hospital, though.

Eleven is the age he is the day his Uncle Wayne moves him to Hawkins, Indiana.

He's also eleven the first time he hears Black Sabbath.

Eddie is also eleven years old when he decides that he wants good news delivered last. To end with something good.

He relives becoming himself.

Catching up in school because he's not stupid, but falling behind because he is kinda dumb (schoolwork never seemed as imporant as hanging out with friends, or starting a band, or playing dungeons and dragon, or any other number of things).

The relief he feels the first time he meets another person like him, learns there's another word besides faggot for what he is. Gay. The immense pleasure of feeling truly seen the first time he says that out loud to someone (it's his best friend, Jeff) "Bad news, Jeff. You might hate me for this. Good news, I'm gay."

Good, good news. Jeff doesn't hate him!

There's a fear that Wayne might be like his Dad regarding all this, so he can't tell him; won't tell him.

But then Wayne comes home unexpectedly when Eddie is a freshman and catches him with another boy's tongue in his mouth. Eddie has a panic attack that winds up with him in the hospital.

He remembers the paralizing fear when Wayne came to pick him up upon his release. Eddie had walked to the pickup numb and afraid. He climbed in, buckled the seatbelt, and waited for the worst.

Wayne climbed in and started the pickup but didn't put it in gear. Instead, he spoke, "Life is gonna be rough for you, boy. Rougher than it should be."

Eddie cannot make words form to reply. Can't do anything but shake.

"Eddie," Wayne says and he feels the seat move as Wayne shifts to turn towards him, "the bad news is, life is gonna be rough, but the good news? Living under my roof isn't. Won't be. Eddie, my boy, I love you. And nothing, absolutely nothing, will change that."

Eddie breaks, like a puppet with its strings cut, sags in the seat and sobs. Never, never had Eddie ever bothered to entertain the idea that this might be Wayne's response.

Eddie is a sophomore the first time he notices Steve Harrington. It's fucking awful. It's also amazing.

Because noticing Steve Harrington means noticing Steve Harrington. He's immidiately popular because he's good looking and good at sports.

Eddie's not gonna claim to know Steve, he doesn't. There's just these little clues that King Steve isn't a default jerk. For one, Steve doesn't partake in bullying. He stays silent. Lets it happen.

But Eddie's also been witness to two times when Stever did step in; both times when it was escalating to be a phycical altercation.

"Hey, Tommy, don't," Steve had said, not quite stepping between Tommy and the other kid, but enough to be within Tommy's line of sight. "The game is tomorrow. You throw that punch and your hand is gonna hurt like a bitch through the whole game. And I swear to God if we lose this game because you can't handle it-" Steve didn't finish the sentence, didn't have to. Tommy lowered his arm and scoffed. Walked away mutter about how the kid wasn't worth it anyway.

The other time, it had been Jeff he'd defended. Jeff hadn't even been doing anything. Just stumbled into some asshole from the basketball team and knocked him over. Eddie had been the one who'd shoved Jeff (because Jeff was teasing him) and he was ready to place himself in the way when Steve had beat him to it.

"Fucking relax, it was an accident," Steve stood face to face with Roger. Eddie and Jeff just stared at the back of Steve's head. "It's not Jeff's fault that barely tapping you knocked you down like a house of cards. Right, Jeff?"

Eddie and Jeff blinked at each other in a sort of stunned silence because since when does King Steve know either of their names? Steve turned to look over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. Jeff stammered out, "R-right. It was an accident. Sorry, man."

"See, he's even sorry."

Eddie reached out, wrapped his hand around Jeff's wrist, and tugged him away. He could not stay here and witness anymore of Hero Steve or he was going to embarrass himself infront of the entire cafeteria in the worst way possible.

That was the tipping point for Eddie. When he finally had to admit he wasn't just noticing Steve Harrington. He had a full blown crush on the dude.

Fuck.

Watching his memories play, Eddie realizes he spent far too much time in high school trying to get Steve's attention. Bumping into him on purpose, being antagonistic to his friends just get a response, or trying his best to use Jedi mind powers to make teachers pair them together for projects in the rare few classes they shared (this never worked; teachers liked Steve too much and hated Eddie).

Steve changes between junior and senior year and still doesn't notice Eddie. Eddie's kinda bitter about it.

Then Steve graduates, but doesn't leave. He's always hanging around, bothering the freshman Eddie's taken under his wing. He's not jealous that Dustin Henderson thinks Steve hung the moon. He's not. (he is).

Anyway, the bad news. Steve graduates but doesn't leave and Eddie can't get over his stupid crush. Good news, he and Steve share a mutual friend in one obnoxiously lovable freshman, so that's like one step closer to Eddie being Steve's friend, right?

The thing that's looming finally comes into view when his most recent memories come up. Or, more accurately, it -she- makes herself seen.

He's holding a broken bottle to Steve's neck demanding to know what he's doing here and then the scene pulls away from him until he's watching himself threaten Steve. The memory moves in slow motion.

"Eddie?"

He screams because Jesus H Christ nothing else in the afterlife has ever spoken to him.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to scare you," she says. Eddie can see her now. She doesn't look like either an angel or a demon. She just looks like a regular person, a girl with shoulder length brown hair, wearing jeans and a yellow shirt that looks too big for her.

"Uh, it's fine?" Eddie says, because what else is he going to say? "Who're.. who are- what are you?"

"I am Eleven. It has been difficult to reach you, Eddie. Had to try, though."

"What?"

Eleven nods, like someone has said something he can't hear. There is a long pause before she speaks again. "Do you want to wake up, Eddie?"

"What do you mean wake up?" Eddie feels like he might start having a panic attack.

"I am not good with words. Not delicate, Mike would say," Eleven says, "so I will be frank. You are alive. Can be alive. Doctor Owens says you retreated into yourself. To protect yourself. But it's safe now. It is all safe. The Upside Down cannot hurt you again."

Eddie feels the panic set in almost instantly at those words. The memory explodes into black and the girl vanishes.

The more Eleven shows up, the more aware of other things Eddie becomes. Occasionally the sound of conversation drifts in but it's far away, muffled. He can taste food on his tongue that he had not eaten. Feel a brush get stuck in his hair.

They don't really talk, he and Eleven. She takes her queues from him and since he's got no idea what's happening he doesn't know what queues to give.

"So, you're not here to like... send me on, or something?" He asks. They're sitting cross-legged in front of each other. Eddie in the outfit he died in and Eleven in shorts, a crop top, and an oversized jacket.

"Where would I send you?"

"Y'know. Like... Hell or wherever."

Eleven is silent a long time before she says, "I don't want to send you anywhere. I want to bring you back."

Back. He can go back? That doesn't seem right. That doesn't seem like it should be an option. "You mean like, back to Hawkins?"

"Eventually."

Eddie's not sure what to make of that. Is he gonna be a ghost? Because if it's Hell or being a ghost, the latter sounds infinity more fun. Plus, as a ghost he could probably check in on Wayne.

"Alright. You win, Eleven. Take me back."

Eleven stands up immediately, offering a hand to help Eddie up. "You have to want it."

"Want to be a ghost?"

"No. You have to want to be alive."

That makes sense, Eddie supposes. Wanting to be alive is probably what makes ghosts be able to like, be ghosts. "OK. OK. I can do this." He does a full body shake, dancing from one foot to another to pump himself up. "Alive. Alive. I want that. I want to live. I want to see my uncle again. Want to give Hawkins a big fuck you for thinking I'd end up in Hell. I want to see Jeff and Gareth! I want to haunt the fuck out of Dustin Henderson for trying to follow me! I want to know if Robin, Steve, and Nancy won! I want to know if they made Vecna pay!"

He is yelling by the end of it, and Eleven is beaming at him like she's proud of him.

"Yes! Yes! Now, wake up!"

Eddie does wake up. Sort of. He's already awake, sitting in what appears to be someone's living room. He blinks several times before exhaustion washes over him and he sags back into the chair he's sitting in. "Wh-" he tried to speak but his vocal chords don't seem to want to work.

"Holy shit." A voice says off to his side. It's vaguely familiar. Like a distant memory. "Call Owens! Call Owens right fucking now!"

Bad news is this. He's been stuck in his own head for several years. His fucking body has been moving around without him yet the amount of physical therapy he has to do is torture. Fucking Owens won't let him contact anyone until he gets the all clear from his new therapist. Oh, and his uncle believes he's dead.

Good news is this. He's alive.

#steddie #eddie munson #my fic #child abuse mention #eddies really going through it guys

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