#baseball opens many doors ed boy....

[sweet-villain]

Please And Thank You~ E.M

@eddiemunsons-missingnipple asked:

Babe no rush but when you ever get a chance I need Eddie to beg me to have his baby. Maybe we're best friends and he wants me to have baby with him. Either way I wanna have his child. I need to have his child.💓💓

Tagging : @woahlifehitsyahuh @cinemaquinn @pleasantlycrazyworld. @moonchildquinn @haileighboi @ceriseheaven @harringtons-cupid

He couldn't stop staring at the way you were with little kids, he'd come with you to the super market to help you with the groceries and drive you to the arcade. Something stirred inside of him watching the way you interacted with them. But, the thing was the two of you were best friends and he didn't want to risk in losing you.

His breath hitched watching you kneel down in front of a little boy that stomped on his foot that he didn't have coins left to play with his brother. You couldn't help it and went over after telling Eddie you'd be a minute.

" Here you go" you offered your palm out to the little boy that had a red baseball cap with black curls peeking out. His pout turned into a smile as his eyes turned to look at you. They grew wide seeing that you were offering your coins to him. It was such a sweet gesture.

" Are you sure?" the sweet little boy asked as he looked down at the coins that shined in the light and back up to you. His brother stood by his side unsure what to say with his hands in his pockets. The little boy turned to look at his brother to see if it was okay, with one nod the little boy reached over to grab them from your palm.

" Thank you" the little boy said sweetly as he ran over to the game he wanted to play. " You're welcome, sweetheart" you gushed at the happy sight. His brother thanked you with a soft smile as he hurried to follow his brother to watch over him.

You stood back with a soft smile turning around to walk back towards Eddie.

" I'm sorry about that, I just couldn't help it" you gestured with your thumb towards the little boy. " He looked so sweets and it broke my heart a little watching him frown about not being able to play anymore"

Oh if Eddie's heart swelled up at your gesture and your interacting with the little boy. It sure did now. But there was another urge growing inside of him. Eddie was in his own world thinking of what it would be like that you were the mother of his children.

He blinked his eyes a couple of times coming back seeing your hand waving in front of him.

" Ed? Are you okay?" you asked. His cheeks flushed red as he nodded.

" Yeah, let's go to Benny's? I'm staving" he took your wrist in his hand tugging you out the door.

‎♡‧₊˚

" How much did you pack?" you asked Dustin from the doorway of his room. He was bringing over snacks for movie night over at Steve's and he thinks it's never enough.

Dustin takes out one backpack and throws it on the bed and then you see he's taking another one and puts it on the bed.

" What do you need two backpacks for?! Are you feeding a whole family?" you strut over one of his backpack and opening to see full stuff back of chips and pretzels.

" You can feed a whole zoo with all this. You know, Steve has snacks too. There will be pizza and everyone else is bringing something" Dustin took out a bag of chips and another snack to show you.

" But these are my favorite! Also, Eddie loves these" he shows you the bag of pretzels he's packed. " Also these are for you" he showed you, your favorite, " and Robin likes these".

" Leave some behind, we don't need all of them" Dustin huffed, rolling his eyes.

Both of your heads turned hearing a loud voice of your best friend.

" Henderson! Y/L/N! What is taking you two so long?" footsteps can be heard up the steps before Eddie appears in the doorway overlooking the scene in front of him.

"Blame Dustin, he wants to take a whole picnic with him" you pointed to his bed. Eddie's eyes drop to the snack as he chuckles.

" You don't need that many, Harrington has some. There will be pizza and other things" Eddie says, motioning with his hands.

" That's what I said, and he doesn't listen" Dustin throws his hands up.

" I can never win with you two" he shakes his head closing one of his backpacks, " Fine. I will take one. Thanks a lot, Mom" he grumbles putting the backpack on his back.

You smiled feeling satisfied. But you don't catch the way Eddie is looking at you with the gleam of his eyes. Something about you acting like a mother to the kids, especially to Dustin stirs that same feeling he had at the arcade.

He stands there in the middle of the doorway, frozen in awe of you as Dustin tries to get him to move. But he steps back, " Eddie? We have to go!"

Eddie snaps out of it as he side steps to let Dustin go through. You stand with your hips watching him.

" You okay Eds?" your eyebrows were knitted together in concern.

" yeah, sorry been thinking a lot" he mumbles.

" Eddie Munson thinking?" you teased, he rolled his eyes nudges your shoulder playfully.

" ha, ha, you're so funny, sweetheart" the smile on your face made Eddie's heart flutter as you walked past him.

‎♡‧₊˚

You slide the door to the back of Steve's house watching the kids running around. Steve was by the grill flipping burgers while Robin sat on the edge of the pool dipping her legs in. Nancy just greeted you as she was looking for drinks in the kitchen.

Eddie stood by Steve talking to him. You disapprovingly looked at the kids as they all shouted at each other.

" Have you all put sunscreen on? Why are you all running? You can get hurt" at the sound of your voice, everything became silent. The running stopped. Robin turned her head towards your voice. Steve and Eddie stopped talking.

" Oh look it's ours mother" Mike mumbled to Lucas. Lucas nudged him while Max slapped the back of his head shooting him a glare.

" We forgot" El says, " We wanted to swim" she adds, looking apologetic at you. You hummed dropping your tote bag on one of the chairs looking over to Steve as he usually tells them to put sunscreen on, beforehand.

" I got distracted" he answers you going back to flipping burgers. You looked over to Nancy as she comes outside with a hand full of drink in her hands, " Don't look at me. I didn't come here until a bit later with Robin."

You turned back to the kids, " You're lucky I love you all so much. Better get dry and line up" they all grumbled as they got out of the pool.

" Do you want to burn and cry later?" they all mumbled "no" together getting their towels to dry themselves the best they can. El was the first one to come up to you.

" I'm sorry" she apologizes. " I'll do better" you gently smiled at her. " Oh El, it's okay. I just worry about you all and your safety. I know you want to have fun."

She nods, " Thank you for taking care of us"

Eddie overhears your conversation with El and his heart swells up in happiness how much you care about the little sheep even though they aren't your kids. You care so much for everyone and his mind clouded again picturing you being a mother to his child. Children even.

" What got you thinking so hard, Munson?" he hears Steve ask him.

" I think I want to have a baby with Y/N" there is shocking silence coming from Steve. He stopped flipping the burgers to look at Eddie to see if he was serious.

" What?!" Steve shouts in question. Eddie turns to him, punching him in the shoulder to stay quite and a glare. " Shut up, first of all Harrington and second of all, I can't stop thinking about it. The way she's around the little sheeps and every time I see her with kids. I want it to be our kid, the way she looks after. She'd be a great mother. I know it."

" I knew you always had a thing for her, but I didn't know you wanted to be this far with her already" Eddie shrugs. " I love her" he nods, and looks back at you as you shoot a glare at Mike who tried to wiggle around feeling the coldness of the sunscreen.

" Yeah, I really want to have my child" he nods.

Steve can't stop staring at his friend, " is something burning?" Robin asks. Steve's head shoots over at the burgers and in panic he tries to save them seeing them already burning.

" Harrington! " Eddie shouts.

‎♡‧₊˚

Eddie was too busy to look at two different type of cereal in his hands to notice that you have walked off. It's not that you walked off it was just the attention of a little girl looking for her mother had caught your attention. The way she started to cry in the middle of the store grabbed your attention.

" What's wrong?" you asked her. Her lip quivered with her eyes glossing over with tears. " I don't know where my mommy is" she says, her cheeks staining with tears.

" Oh hunny, lets go find your mommy. My name is Y/N" you offered her your hand. " I'm not suppose to talk to strangers" she says with her eyes growing big.

" That's smart, but I'm sure I am no longer a stranger since I told you my name" she hesitantly took your hand telling you her name.

" What does your mommy look like?" you asked walking off with her leaving Eddie to decide on his own which cereal he wanted. When his head turned to ask you which one, he found himself alone.

" Y/N?" he asked looking around. He frowned putting back both cereals as he hurried out of where he was to look for you to find you two rows ahead with the little girl, returning to her mom. His mouth formed into an " o" as he watched the happy little girl wrap her arms around her mom.

The mother thanked you with a hug of her own, surprising you but you hugged her back. Eddie's heart grew a tad bigger seeing the way you interacted with the little girl. He understood now where you went off to. You were helping the little girl find her mother who lost her in the store.

He was so sure he wanted a kid with you. He didn't want anyone else's. You were his best friend, the person he longed for, the person he knows is his person. He knows you are the person he is meant to be with. He feels it.

When you returned back to Eddie, catching yourself seeing he had been watching.

" What?" you asked him.

" That was adorable" he motions to the little girl and to you, " you'd make a great mother one day" he adds with a smile on his face. Your cheeks heated up as you asked him, " Really?"

He nods. He bites his tongue not wanting to scare you off. I want you to have my kid though.

" Thank you, that means a lot. My dream is to have a little one of my own some day"

‎♡‧₊˚

The ride back to his trailer was really quiet. It really concerned you the way Eddie has been driving more careful, the way he kept tapping his fingers against the steering wheel and the way there was no music in the van. Have you done something wrong? Did you say something wrong?

Your mind fished for what you could of done and when you found none, your heart sped up feeling the worst was coming. But Eddie sat, driving the van back to the trailer. You lived in the trailer park too, next door to him and you were always over his trailer, living there.

" Is everything okay, Eddie?" you asked him cutting the silence. He hummed in response not giving you a verbal answer. It caused you to frown.

When Eddie parked the van outside the trailer, he shut off the car and leaned back into his seat. " Can you tell me what's wrong? You've been quiet all this time and I don't like it."

" I want to have a baby" he says. This catches you off guard as your mouth drops open looking over to him, but he adds, " with you."

Your eyes are big as saucers. Since when did Eddie feels this way? With you? Your mind was racing with everything including the way he was looking at you now. His heart was racing with his big brown doe eyes staring at you with an awaiting answer. He had to tell you what's been running through his mind, scared for your answer.

" I....Uh.. I don't know what to say..." you mumble out. His heart sank as he closed his eyes. This was it. He ruined your friendship. It was over. " I need to go" you mumble. His eyes flash open as tears filled his eyes. He was losing you and this was the last time he was going to see you.

" I-I'm sorry..." he starts to say, " you are so good with kids and every time I look at you. I can't help but wonder you having mine, how much you look so perfect with a little mini me."

" Eddie.. I-" you couldn't even form the words out as your hand reached over to grab the handle of the door. You needed air. You needed to think and breathe. How could Eddie your best friend think about this? With you? A kid?

You loved kids with all your heart but having your own, with your best friend. That threw you off so much.

" Please.." he watched you open his door and hurried out without another word. He sank back in his seat with tears running down his cheeks. He ruined everything. He should of kept his mouth shut. His head handed as he sobbed in his van.

He never thought of losing you and it hurt.

‎♡‧₊˚

It's been only a couple of days since the last time Eddie has seen you, he was smoking outside by the van when he saw you take out the garbage and once you felt his eyes on you, you hurried back inside. His heart sank knowing that he lost you and there was nothing he could do to win you back.

To his surprise, you knocked on his door a day later.

" What are you doing here?" he asked.

" Can I come in?" you twirled your fingers around, looking up at him as you bite down on your bottom lip. He lets you slide past him inside the trailer. You brushed up against him and it took him a lot to not pull you into his arms, to feel you against him.

You been to the trailer many times before overlooking the cups that hang on the wall every time you stepped inside. There were dishes in the sink this time and there were a couple of clothes on the couch and sweetheart laid on it, too.

Eddie scratched the side of his neck, " Sorry didn't have time to really clean up" he motions around. You waved it off as you turned to face him. His mane of curls looked more puffier, his brown eyes had bags underneath, with a little redness looking like he's been crying. His lips were in a deep frown and his arms were across his chest. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt with a pair of sweat pants.

" What are you doing here?" he asked you again. You cleared your throat, " I thought about a lot of what you said."

Eddie took a deep breath through his nose as he prepared himself for what you were about to say. He felt that it was nothing good. But he nodded for you to go on.

" I want to have a baby with you too" his brown eyes widen, blinking thinking that he misheard you. His head tilted to the side with his mouth hanging open. The sight made you giggle a bit.

" But why me?" you needed to know. He could have a baby with anyone else he wanted. Why you of all people?

His swallowed the lump in his throat as he took in your question. He didn't need to think about why. He had through about this moment long an hard.

" Why not you, sweetheart? You're everything a man would want in a woman. You're caring, you're sweet, you're thoughtful, you're always putting others first before yourself. You're funny, you're always saying the things people want to hear, and I am crazy for you. You're in my mind all the time, you make me nervous, you make me happy and you made me realize what it's like to fall in love. Having a little old me or you would make me more than happy, the way you are with kids made me feel something. I don't really want kids unless they are with you. I know you are my person, and it scares me quite a bit.." he says making his way over to you and dropping on his knees.

" Please, I want you to have my baby, sweetheart. I know we are best friends. But here I am telling you that I love, and will have you any way you like after this. Best friend or not, but please. I'm begging you sweetheart. Let's have a baby, I know you want to be mother" tears are forming in your eyes hearing his confession.

You know how you feel about him all along. All the years you have been friends with him.

" Let me make your dream come true. Let me make you a mom, please" he presses kisses on top of your hands.

" Yes" you whisper out, enough for him to hear. His head shots up with happiness. " Yes?" you nodded in confirmation. He stands up from the floor and embraces you in his arms. You can feel how happy he is. He pulls away from you, having his face close to you. His breath fans over your face looking into your eyes. There is so much love and adoration on his face.

" Do you wanna do this now?" he asks.

" Yes" he leans in, smashing his lips against yours deeply kissing you with hunger and need. You squeal into the kiss, closing your eyes and kissing him back with one hand bunched up in his shirt while the other goes into his hair.

He pulls away, gasping at the way he drags you down the hall to his room. Your head it still clouded from the way he kissed you before. He pushes the door with his shoulder and shoves you inside.

" Eds-" His mouth covers your before you get to finish what you wanted to ask him. His tongue already shoving into your own mouth lapping at the taste of you. His hands tearing at your shirt to throw it over your head as he pushes you towards his bed. The back of your knees hit the mattress and then he's pinning you against the mattress, his hot breath fanning over your jaw. You arch your back as his teeth lip at your earlobe.

" You like that?" His hand slides down beneath the waistband o your pants, slipping between your thighs to play with the wetness that was there already.

" You really want my my baby in you? Do you?" you moan at his words, nodding your head. " I'll put a baby in you."

You didn't even get to process his words when one of his fingers plunges into your folds, your hand is gripping tightly onto his shirt, your eyebrow furrow as you arch your back.

Your mouth forms into an "o" feeling another finger shoved inside of you. His face is hovering above you watching your expression, his hair curtain around your face. You gasp when his fingers curl inside of you, " I've been driving myself crazy thinking for months about this, and now your making it all come true. I'm going to fill you up so good, put my baby in you."

He scraped his teeth against the side of your throat, his fingers pumping into your faster in and out of your cunt. A few minutes later, he withdrawn his fingers to remove your pants. He sits up. fumbling with the buttons of his jeans and shoves them down, his swollen cock springing free. He strokes his cock a few times and positions himself in between your thighs.

" She's so pretty" he cooed, staring down at your dripping cunt as he rubs the tip of his cock against your slit. " You're going to look even more prettier with your tits swollen, your belly huge with a little Munson. 's fucking hot."

He hooks one hand behind your thigh so that he can shove your knee to your chest. He hooks his arms under. your hips, aneling them to pull you closer, bitting his bottom lips as his eyes full blown of lust smiling wide down at you.

His cock pushes against your entrance, teasing you. Brown lustful eyes lock with yours, " I want it to be boy."

Your eyebrow knit together, " I don't think that's-" he drives himself into you, causing you to pause in what you were going to say and instead a moan slips through your lips. The corner of Eddie's lips lift up in a smirk hearing your pretty sounds.

" You want my cock into you that bad, huh?" he mocks. You moan in response, he rolls his hips harder, leaning down to peck your lips. Your only response is whining against his lips and wrap your arms around his neck while the other tugging on his locks.

" 's feel so good" you whimper against his lips, Eddie groans as you tug harder on his locks, his his way down from your lips to your chin and down your neck.

" Mine" he nips at the skin where your shoulder meets your neck, his hot breathe against your skin. " Tell me" he groans, " Tell me what you- shit..." he moans as he continues, " want from me.."

" Want your baby, Eds" you moaned louder, it was getting harder to speak from each thrust. He squeezes one of your hips as he wanted more from you, " Your baby, Eds. Please... I want a little you.." you moan.

Eddie mumbles curse words underneath his breath as his hips move faster and thrusts becoming deeper, his pelvis grinding against your clit every times he bottoms out. Each stroke and rhythm sends you into a dizzy moment from the pressure of your walls tightening.

This was a new sensation from the rutting and emotion of it.You'd never imagine being in this position with your best friend, the person you yearned for years and watched.

" Eds, 'm close" your body rocked to meet his moments, whines coming from you.

" Good girl," he growls, his pace increasing as he moves, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes are big and wide as he watches your expressions. " Gonna, fuck...going to cum with you. Make sure your pussy sucks in every drop I give you"

You were screaming his name now, and one of your hands come up to put a hand over your mouth but Eddie's ring clad hand comes up to take them and pin them over your head as his body comes closer to you. Tension is building in your core from the way he's looking down at you.

A few more thrusts and that tension in your stomach, snaps. Your walls clench tight around Eddie's cock as you come. He lets out hisses and, a few more thrust and his own hips are stuttering.

" My good girl," he groan, driving himself as deep as he can, " Going to give you all my babies." He shudders, grinding himself against you, you can feel his cock twitch as he hisses, " Take all I give you, fuck sweetheart."

You do as he say, with your hips aneling working with every drop he gives you. Your walls fluttering, accepting the warm as it floods your insides, walls coating white as he spills inside of you.

Eddie pants as he removes himself from inside you, eyes fixing on your puffy slit spilling of his cum and yours. His fingers trace over your folds, collecting the cum that is there and takes it into his mouth.

You moan at the sight.

" How long will it take? You know for you to have a baby inside of you?"

" What?" you asked, sitting up on your elbows to look at him through your legs. " A few weeks, I don't know" you answer him.

Eddie frowns, not pleased with your answer as he hovers about you. His hands coming over to grip your hips as his hands travel up your stomach and stroking the soft skin there.

He leans down whispering against yours lips, " That's okay. We can just keep trying, right?" he smirks before his cock taps at your entrance causing you to whimper out, " Please and thank you...sir"

Eddie's eyes darken as he smirks, " That's all I needed to hear."

[meistoshim]

finally making non-pkmn verse satoshi a baseball player has instantly made so many verses much funnier bc i can just make him a guy with a bat. i dont need to give him powers. i can just give him his bat & he'll start swingin.

[cali-holland]

Forever and Ever, Ch. 1: The Proposal

Tom Holland X Osterfield!Reader, Wedding Series

With the help of Harrison and Charlotte, Tom picks out the perfect ring for you, and now the time’s come for the perfect proposal.

Warnings: sexual themes, swearing, a lil bit of blood/violence and kind of an abusive ex? (it’s a flashback though)

Word Count: 4100

Series Masterlist

Masterlist   Tom Holland Masterlist

“We keep this love in a photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Where our eyes are never closing

Hearts are never broken

And time's forever frozen still

So you can keep me inside the pocket of your ripped jeans

Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet

You won't ever be alone, wait for me to come home”

Photograph, Ed Sheeran

~~~

“How’s the online shopping coming?” Harrison asked, strolling into the living room when he knew you were away at work the next day. Tom let out a frustrated groan, throwing his head back on the couch.

“There’s too many choices! I don’t understand how there can be so many shapes.” Tom stated and Harrison sat beside him to look at the engagement ring website on Tom’s laptop.

“I believe they’re called cuts.” He laughed, looking over the categories and images. “God, you’re right. How are there so many options?”

“This makes no sense.” He sighed, “How do I know which one Y/N would like the most?”

“Might sound cheesy, but I think she’d say yes even if you gave her the shittiest ring.”

“Well, that’s helpful.” Tom rolled his eyes at his friend.

“Why not go in person tomorrow? Y/N will be at work anyway.” Harrison suggested, standing from the couch.

“I don’t really want paparazzi to find out, but I guess I have no choice.” He paused, “Do you think you could come with me?”

Harrison laughed, turning back to his friend. “You’re talking to the wrong sibling. I’ll call Charlotte and see if she can go with you.”

By the time you got home from work, Tom had cleared out his search history to make sure there was no evidence of his ring shopping. You had no clue anything was up, even when you saw that your younger sister texted him while you two got ready for bed that evening.

Spotting his phone light up on the bedside table just as you were about to get into bed, you asked, “Why did Charlotte text you?”

“Probably just asking if I’m back home. I think Harrison said something about your mum inviting me over for dinner this week.” He lied with a shrug as he climbed into bed on the opposite side. While his room (which was actually your room as well) was big, it still only had one night stand on your side of the bed. Any other night, Tom wouldn’t care about it, trusting you completely with his phone, but now he was worried you’d get curious and check Charlotte’s texts. It wasn’t that strange for Charlotte to text him when he got back into town, but he got lucky by remembering Harrison’s mention of family dinner plans, something he’s gotten accustomed to at the Osterfield household.

“Oh yeah, she did tell me that. Friday, right? I just assumed you’d be free.” You laughed, making yourself comfortable under the covers by snuggling into Tom’s warm embrace. “If you don’t want to-“

“No, of course I’d love to. Your family’s my family.” He reached up and knocked on the wall behind him, just for Harrison, whose bed was on the other side of the wall, to hit the wall back. “See?”

Through your fit of laughter, you managed to say, “God, he’s going to think we’re going at it.”

“Hm, well, why don’t we?” Tom winked at you, his trailing down your waist.

“As much as I missed you, I’ll pass. One of us actually went to work today.” You teased, nuzzling your face into his neck and pressing a chaste kiss to his sweet spot. “Besides, I’m still sore from last night.”

“That good, huh?” He smirked and you leaned up to kiss him.

“Watch it, Holland.” You joked, and he couldn’t help but think that one day you’d have that last name too. Tom pulled you closer to him, intertwining your left hand with his, as you laid down with your head on his chest. As you drifted off to sleep, he mindlessly traced over your ring finger, mind racing with what the perfect ring would look like right in that very spot.

The next day, you went away to work as usual, and Tom put on his most incognito outfit- dark hoodie, dark jeans, sunglasses (though it wasn’t actually too bright out), dark baseball cap. He was completely unrecognizable for the paparazzi.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Harrison asked as he and Tom got in the car because, while Harrison still felt that Charlotte was the better sibling to ask for help, he wanted to go as moral support for his best friend. You know, best man duties and all that. In his casual white t-shirt and jeans, he looked the exact opposite of Tom.

“I’m not having anyone recognize. Not today.” Tom insisted.

“Whatever you say.” He laughed.

The two of them met Charlotte at the ring shop, after they parked a little ways away (because Tom didn’t want his car to be parked right in front of the store- that’s too “obvious”, according to him). Charlotte, just as Harrison had, commented on his rather dull outfit, but yet again, he always wore black in some form. Despite their fashion remarks, Tom was glad to have your siblings with him, or rather his future in-laws, you just didn’t know that yet.

“What about this one?” Charlotte asked, pointing to yet another ring. She’d shown Tom nearly a dozen rings that she thought you’d like, meanwhile Tom was overwhelmed by the choices. They lost Harrison to the men’s section shortly after walking inside because he wanted more.

“I don’t know. This is all so much.” Tom sighed, looking at the pretty engagement ring in the glass case. It was delicate and beautiful, but he still didn’t know. He had been told that the ring will “speak” to him, that he’ll just know when he sees it. He wished it was as easy as knowing you were the one for him; all it took was one glance at you and he knew he wanted to be with you forever. You were his forever.

After what must have been the twentieth “what do you think of this one?” from Charlotte (which he did deeply appreciate her help), Tom was ready to give up hope on this store. Maybe this store didn’t have the perfect ring. Shoving his hands in his hoodie’s pocket, he scanned over the rings again, the shiny silver beginning to blur together.

“Check this out.” Harrison called to them from across the store.

“Haz, mate, I don’t want to look at one of your rings.” Tom answered, running a hand over his face.

“No, you div. I like this ring for Y/N.” He replied, and both Tom and Charlotte immediately came over to him. Sitting in front of Harrison, in the back corner of the case, was the most perfect ring Tom had ever seen. He was speechless, and he knew it was the one.

“Can we see that one please?” Charlotte asked the worker, reading Tom’s slacked jaw expression as one of pure amazement. The worker pulled out the ring from behind the glass, and Harrison and Charlotte both exchanged a look of ‘that’s it’ while Tom examined it.

“Yes. That’s the one.” Tom nodded, and the two siblings let out their bated breaths in relief. As Tom and the worker settled out the measurements and price, Harrison waited with his sister by the door.

“And now he just needs to propose.” Charlotte laughed.

“I bet he’s going to faint before he even gets the words out. Y/N will just have to piece it together.” Harrison joked.

“Do you know how he’s doing it?” She asked.

“Oh yeah, she’s so going to cry.” Harrison watched the cashier slide the pink ring box over to Tom, finalizing the deal, and he felt a wave of pride overcome him. His two favorite people in the world were getting married; he wasn’t sure if he’d make it through this without shedding a few happy tears himself.

~~~

Tom let out a sigh, taking a step back to examine his bedroom. From the Christmas lights strung around the room to the bed sheet hanging on the wall across from the projector, everything was perfect. There were even a few rose petals scattered on the floor. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, his other hand slipping into his pocket to fish out the little pink box. Opening the box, his heart started to beat impossibly faster. It had only been two days since he bought it, but he felt like he could stare at it forever, and, well, if you said yes, then he’d gladly stare at it forever.

“Y/N,” He mumbled under his breath, beginning to pace a little. Another deep breath escaped his lips as he continued quietly rehearsing, “Y/N Osterfield, will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

Tom had never jumped so high in his life, but he eased up immediately when he realized it was just Harrison in the doorway, arms crossed as he took in the new look to Tom’s room.

“So? How does it look?” Tom asked, closing the box and pocketing it once more. His hand remained in his pocket, thumbing over the object, like he was worried the box would vanish into thin air. He felt his hands start to shake a little at the unimpressed look on Harrison’s face.

“Like you’re going to be engaged by the end of the night.” He said encouragingly, unable to hide his happy smile any longer. “Now, come on, lover boy, she’ll be here any minute.”

“Do you think she’ll be able to tell? I want to surprise her.”

Harrison looked at the room again and then at his nervous friend, who was a little too nicely dressed for a casual movie night in; yet again maybe Harrison just wasn’t used to Tom wearing anything but sweats and a hoodie around the house. It seemed obvious, but maybe you would be too tired from a day at work to notice. Before he could reply, Harry shouted from downstairs.

“She’s here!”

Quickly, Tom and Harrison rushed out of the room, closing the door softly behind them. They went to the kitchen, where Harry and Tuwaine also stood, all four of them trying to act casual as they waited for you to come inside.

“Ed Sheeran? Are you sure?” Tuwaine asked, questioning Tom’s choice of music for the night.

“Yes. What’s wrong with Ed Sheeran?” Tom refuted.

“It’s a little unoriginal.” Harry added, and his brother narrowed his eyes at him.

“Unoriginal?”

“I brought dinner!” You announced, walking into the house. Tom sent his brother and friends a quick look of “don’t say anything” before he went to greet you at the door. His smile widened as he saw you, kicking off your shoes beside the shoe bin, balancing two bags of takeout.

“How was work?” Tom asked as he took the bags from you.

“Boring. Wish I could’ve been here with you.” You replied with a smile, your arms wrapping around his neck to bring him in for a kiss. His hands found your waist, the takeout bags hanging from his wrist, as you kissed him like you hadn’t seen him in weeks, not that he was complaining though because there was plenty of lost time to make up for.

Just as your tongue brushed over his lips, making him smile into the kiss, Harrison walked in the room, scoffing, “Get a room.”

“Don’t worry. We will.” You stated, not stepping out of Tom’s embrace as you looked at your brother. Harrison just rolled his eyes at you. You let go of Tom to make your way to the kitchen with both boys following behind you.

“Remember when you hated Tom?” Harrison teased, his normal playful smile on his face as he eyed you cuddled up to his best friend across the dinner table.

You rolled your eyes at his attempt at a joke, “Hate is an overstatement. Besides, I obviously got over that ruined dress a long time ago.”

“What happened to change that?” Tuwaine asked innocently. All eyes fell on you and Tom, and you remained uncharacteristically quiet, opting to drink some water instead of responding.

“Just time, I guess.” Tom shrugged, doing his best to save you from the topic.

While you did spend the first year of knowing Tom completely ignoring his attempts at being nice to you (which ranged from him offering to help you with groceries when you and Harrison still lived at home together to him greeting you when you walked in a room), your hostility seemed to change over night for the bystanders that were your siblings, his brothers, and your mutual friends.

It was sometime in the fall of 2014; Tom didn’t really remember the day exactly, or rather the night. He just remembered that he wasn’t in the mood to go clubbing with Harrison in some no-name London nightclub, but he went nonetheless. He soon lost his friend to some girl in the crowd, and Tom found himself perched on a barstool, nursing a beer. He checked his phone with a sigh; it’d been only half an hour since he walked through the door. He scanned the crowd in front of him, looking for any sign of Harrison, when his eyes caught sight of you.

Out on the dancefloor with a carefree smile on your face, you still managed to take his breath away. It had been over a year since the incident, and you hadn’t backed down from your grudge against him. Meanwhile, for Tom, he wanted to keep trying because, maybe one day, you’d tolerate him enough that he could actually talk to you. All he heard from your mutual friends (not Harrison because he’d never speak highly of you to another guy, especially one that he already knew was crushing on you, even if Tom refused to admit it) was that you were incredibly sweet and kind and funny and smart and basically everything Tom was looking for. Sighing again, he took another drink of his beer and returned to his previous task of seeking out Harrison.

When he still came up empty handed looking for his friend, Tom’s eyes managed to find their way back to you, but this time that same smile wasn’t on your face. No, you actually looked pissed off, an expression that Tom was very used to seeing. It was then that Tom spotted a seemingly very drunk Richard beside you, Richard from the party, Richard who had been your boyfriend for the past few months, Richard who Tom absolutely loathed. He hadn’t heard much about your relationship, except for the fact that Harrison thought Richard was a “conceited, manipulative asshole” who wasn’t good for you at all. Curiously, Tom watched you interact with him as you crossed your arms, saying something that made Richard roll his eyes at you and grab your elbow forcefully. As Richard dragged you out to a hallway of the club, Tom immediately shot up to follow you two.

“Let me go. I told you, Richard, we’re done.” You said, trying to get out of his painful grip.

“No, we’re done when I say we’re done.” He barked back. Tom took that as his cue to step in, standing a bit taller as he did so.

“Hey, leave her alone.” Tom interjected, and you looked at him, surprised by his appearance.

“Tom, what the hell are you doing here?” You asked. It was Tom’s turn to be surprised; you’d spoken to him, and you’d used his name- up until this moment, he thought you didn’t even know that.

“Pool boy?” Richard scoffed, and you and Tom simultaneously rolled your eyes, “Run along. This is between me and my girlfriend.”

“Sounds like she isn’t your girlfriend anymore.” He hardly got his taunting comment out before Richard let go of you just to punch Tom square in the nose. Tom stumbled backwards a little and regained his footing to punch him right back. Richard staggered in surprise by the force of the blow, and you took the opportunity to grab Tom’s hand and run from the hallway back into the crowded club. He didn’t protest as he followed you through the swarm of people, allowing you to take him out of the club.

“Why did you do that?” You said quietly, once the two of you were outside in the cold night air. You let go of his hand and didn’t even turn to look at him, opting to pace the sidewalk a little while he leaned against the wall, clutching his nose.

“He was harassing you.” Tom stated. When you heard the slight nasaliness to his voice, you turned to look at him and your eyes grew wide as you realized his nose was bleeding.

“Oh god,” You winced.

“Dick packs a punch.” He tried to laugh, but the humor was lost from his grimace in pain.

“Come on, my place is around the corner.��� At your offer, Tom furrowed his eyebrows at you in confusion. Playfully, you added, “I can’t leave my knight in shining armor to bleed out on the side of the road.”

“I doubt I’d bleed out from this.” Tom mused, and the two of you began to walk back to your apartment. 

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you until there was a particularly brisk gust of autumn wind, making you instinctively shiver. Your sleeveless dress did nothing to shield you from the chilly air, and Tom noticed. Ever so awkwardly, he started to try to shimmy out of his jacket, mindful of his bloody hand. You paused, looking over at him in confusion, “Are you trying to give me your jacket?”

“Shut up.” He mumbled, embarrassed but still trying to take off his jacket to offer it to you. Biting your lip to keep yourself from laughing at the humor of it all, you helped him.

“What is it with you and jackets?” You joked, slipping it on over your shoulders. Seeing as he was in a long sleeve shirt and jeans, and that your apartment was just ahead, you weren’t going to decline his offer.

“I don’t know.” Tom shrugged, laughing a little at the memory, “I’m just trying to be chivalrous.”

“Very chivalrous, indeed.” You nodded as a laugh escaped your lips.

“Maybe one day, I’ll get it right.”

Tom felt that maybe this lighthearted air between the two of you was a step in the right direction for the two of you, even if he was clutching his bloody nose the whole time. Back at your apartment, he propped himself up on the bathroom counter and you got a few rags together to clean him up. With his legs spread, you stood in between them, wiping the blood on his nose off with a wet rag.

“Thank you, by the way.” You mumbled, concentrated on your work.

“Anytime.” He answered, his eyes studying you closely, memorizing every detail of your face. This was the first, and hopefully not the last, time that you had been this close to him and, damn, did he enjoy it.

“Let’s not make this a regular thing.” You teased. “And can you, um, can you not tell Harrison? He tends to get overprotective.”

“Shit.” Tom groaned and you immediately stopped your actions, thinking you’d somehow managed to hurt him. “I forget Harrison.”

“At the club?” You asked, a small smile coming over your face, and he nodded sheepishly.

“He was off dancing with some girl.”

“So he forgot about you.” You joked, before seriously adding, “You should probably let him know you left, but-”

“I won’t tell him. This is our secret, I promise.”

And Tom still fully intended to keep that promise. Years down the road, Harrison still had no clue that your ex was the one who almost broke Tom’s nose, but it’s not like your brother remembered that night anyway. All he knew was that the very next day, when you came over for drinks with him and the boys, you and Tom spoke to each other. And, well, Harrison couldn’t help the small flicker of happiness that filled him to see his best friend and his twin sister getting along... finally.

“Yep, just time.” You nodded, sending Tom a small, grateful smile.

Dinner seemed to last forever for Tom; you just did not eat fast enough for him. He even started doing the dishes while you sat at the table and talked to Harry just to distract himself from the itching nerve to just drop down on one knee right in front of you. It didn’t help that Tom knew Harry, Harrison, and Tuwaine were all anxiously wanting you to leave; they didn’t want to contain the secret any longer either. After nearly an hour of self-restraint on his part, he finally suggested you change out of your work clothes.

“So what movie tonight?” You asked as you made your way down the hall with Tom.

“I was thinking we could do something a little different tonight.” He said, a small smile playing on his lips. You eyed him skeptically before turning to open the bedroom door. You felt yourself choke up at the scene before you. Taking in the roses and lights as well as the room’s overall new romantic atmosphere, you were speechless.

“C’mon.” Tom slid past you in the doorway, holding out a hand for you. When you took it, he led you all the way inside the room, closing the door behind you.

“You did all of this for me?” You breathed out in disbelief, still processing the dramatic transformation.

“Of course.”

As you sat down beside him at the foot of the bed, in the perfect position to view the projected image, Tom quickly got out his phone to play the slideshow. Hearing the familiar tune of Ed Sheeran’s “Photograph”, you smiled, snuggling into Tom’s side. You watched in admiration as various pictures floated across the screen.

The very, very ugly first picture of the two of you together at 17 (with Dick cropped out and Harrison’s face replaced with a heart emoji). One of the many pictures the two of you took together when you went to Paris for your three year anniversary a few months ago. Goofy selfies you’ve taken together that should never be seen by anyone else. One taken by Harrison when Monty and Tessa’s leashes got tangled, trapping you and Tom together, before you were even actually together. A photo of you two in the world’s worst matching Christmas sweaters two years ago because Tom thought it’d be funny (and it was). Another photograph taken straight from a gossip magazine of the two of you at the Far From Home premiere (it was your favorite picture from the red carpet but also you couldn’t find it without the watermark); immediately following that one was Tom helping you remove your make up after the after party, make up wipe in hand (you two weren’t 100% sober when that was taken).

All of them were pictures of the happiest, most memorable days in your life, all moments that happened with the love of your life. As the song came to its bridge, Tom shifted out of your embrace to stand up, his hand deep in his pocket. When he turned to face you, his face dropped, realizing you were very teary-eyed.

“Darling, no, you’re not supposed to cry.” Worry was flowing through him now. What if you didn’t want this? What if you said no?

“Tom, yes.” You nodded, biting your lip to refrain from full on crying.

“Yes?” He repeated, suddenly confused.

“Are you going to ask me to marry you or not?” You teased. With a laugh, Tom got down on one knee in front of you, pulling out the ring box and opening it to present you with the most beautiful ring you could’ve imagined.

“Y/N Osterfield, the first time we met, you called me a dumbass, and I still am, but now I’m your dumbass that doesn’t know how to write one of those cheesy proposal speeches. You’re my best friend and my soulmate, and you know me better than anyone else. There’s no one else that I’d rather spend forever with, so will you spend forever with me and marry me?” Tom asked, hands shaking a little due to the nerves. Smiling and nodding, you leaned in to kiss him, despite the awkward angle from you still being on the bed and him still kneeling.

“Yes, yes, yes.” You mumbled happily between kisses. 

Laughing, Tom pulled away from you, “Don’t forget about the ring.” He took the ring out of the box and you held your left hand out to him for him to slide it onto your ring finger. You looked at the ring in awe for a moment.

“I love you, fiancé.” You said, eyes trailing for your ring to Tom.

“I love you, too, fiancée.” He replied and leaned in to kiss you. With his lips moving with yours, he brought himself up off the ground, blindly climbing onto the bed as you laid down on the blankets. Murmuring into your lips, Tom repeated his words happily, “My fiancée.”

~~~

Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-hollands @lonikje @sleepybesson @sunkisseddreamer @hollandsamor @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @gorrillaglue23 @petersoftboyparker @musicalkeys @duskholland @biebsmylife95 @dummiesshort @perspectiveparker​ 

Tom Holland Tag List: @quaksonhehe @tomkindholland

Series Tag List: @thefallenbibliophilequote @wassup-peoples @thevelvetseries @greatpizzascissorstaco @tomhollandsotherpinkytoe

[marveloussupernerd]

Drunk Confessions - IwaOi

Warnings: swearing, drinking, this is cute asf

Summary: Oikawa can’t have Iwaizumi, so he gets drunk off his ass to try and forget. The only problem is, Iwa comes to take care of him in his drunk state. Thank goodness Iwa likes him too

Oikawa Tooru was LONELY.

Having an insufferable crush on your best friend for the past five years made it hard to not feel lonely.

His heart felt so full when he was with Iwa, but at the same time so empty.

If he didn’t have a crush on his best friend, wow how things would be different. He had plenty of fangirls (and some fanboys even) who wanted to date him. He wouldn’t sit alone on a Friday night and scroll through his best friend’s snapchat stories and feel his heart break every time he hung out with people and Oikawa wasn’t invited.

Yeah, this sucked.

Well, his parents were away for the weekend, so what else could he do to fill the empty hole in his heart? He’d play a game: how many shots does it take until I forget his name?

He couldn’t even be positive Iwa was attracted to boys. He had never told him explicitly. Shot.

He knew everything about Oikawa, even the small things that would make him cringe. He knew how to cheer him up. Was that just a friend thing? Who would he even ask? Shot.

“Yamaguchi!” He cheered over the phone, facetiming the first year.

“I, how did you get my number?” The boy asked awkwardly.

“You and the glasses kid are childhood friends, right?”

The boy smiled. “We’re boyfriends now actually!”

“Fuck my life.” He hung up. Shot.

The radio was playing Ed Sheeran. Dammit. Although he’d never admit it, Iwa listened to Ed Sheeran a lot, usually while he studied as background music. Perfect by Ed Sheeran. That would be their song.

Shot.

Everything was Iwaizumi Hajime. The blanket he always stole when he came over. The blue cup he used and dubbed his own. The dent in the wall from the one time he tripped and fell down the stairs. The spiderweb cracks in the back window from when he threw a baseball a little too hard when they were kids—his parents never got to fixing it. Dammit.

Shot after shot for everything that reminded him of Iwa. But it only made it worse. He didn’t fill up the spot in his mind that Iwa occupied with the alcohol, but instead filled up his mind until Iwa occupied it all.

His fingers were tapping on his crush’s contact before he even comprehended what he was doing.

“Oi, Oikawa, what is it? It’s almost midnight.” It was dark wherever Iwa was, his face hardly lit up by the screen.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa slurred excitedly. “Just wanted to seee what was up!”

There was silence for a brief moment.

“Did you drink?” His eyes were serious.

“Mhmmmm.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Your parents are out of town, aren’t they?”

“Mhmmmmmm. Don’t worry about me Iwa, I’ll be okay! Just wanted to see your handsome face before bed,” he chuckled. The words brought a ping of pain to his heart, but he ignored it, pouring himself another drink with one hand.

“Hey! Cut it out. I’ll be over in a few. No more drinks til then, alright?”

“Okayyy. You know I can’t say no to you.”

“You know what? I’m staying on the phone with you til I get there,” Iwa decided. He held the phone in his hand and it shook slightly as he walked, his face being illuminated with streetlights every few seconds.

“Awwww so protective of me.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled. Then a pause. “How much did you drink tonight?”

“Seven? Eight? I dunno.”

“You shouldn’t be drinking alone. It’s not healthy or safe,” he scolded Oikawa gently.

Oikawa frowned. “I know. But you seemed to be having fun on your story so I didn’t wanna bother you.”

“Idiot. You’re never bothering me,” he said under his breath.

“Awww, Iwa Chan, you’re so sweet! You’re making me blush.” Oikawa moved haphazardously to the couch, collapsing onto it.

“You’re ridiculous. I’ll be there in just one minute, alright?”

“Okay. The door’s-“

Why was the line silent? Iwa clutched his phone tighter. Did he lose service? No, the picture was still there. Did this idiot really pass out? God. He should have been there for him. If anything happened to Oikawa he’d- well, he’d be pissed with himself. He ended the call and sprinted to his friend’s house.

He pushed the front door open urgently, shutting it behind him in one quick motion, and made his way to the living room. “Shittykawa!” He called, plopping on the couch next to the sleeping man.

“Oi,” he flicked Oikawa’s forehead, causing the boy to jump awake, startled. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Iwa!” Tooru exclaimed, pulling the man in tight for a hug, keeping him locked in his grip. “Missed youu.”

“Missed you too. But you can’t freak me out like that. I thought you died or something.”

“I knew you had a soft spot for me!” Oikawa exclaimed, poking his chest playfully.

“I always have,” Iwa smiled, shaking his head. “But I’m only telling you this because you won’t remember in the morning.”

He forced his way out of Oikawa’s grip and started cleaning up the spilled alcohol on the table. “Wanna tell me why you were drinking to make such a mess?”

“The guy I like doesn’t like me back,” Oikawa pouted.

Iwaizumi paused, then quickly picked up where he left off. “I didn’t realize you were gay.”

“Duhhh. I don’t just swoon over your muscles for nothing.”

“Sh-shut up,” Iwa stuttered, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks. “Sorry about the guy though. I thought everyone liked you.”

“I know. I’m as shocked as you are. Hey! You know the kid with the glasses from Karasano? He’s been friends with their pinch server since they were kids. They’re dating now. What bullshit.”

Iwaizumi had no clue who Oikawa was talking about but nodded. “Uh huh, bullshit.”

“It sucks to see someone living out the life you want to live,” Oikawa groaned, flopping dramatically on the couch.

“You like glasses guy?” Iwaizumi felt himself stiffen.

Oikawa started cackling. Not the response he was expecting. “No.”

“Pinch server? When did you even hang out with these Karasano guys to know them well enough to form a crush?” He shouldn’t have felt so offended by Oikawa liking someone, but Oikawa never told Iwaizumi his feelings. Girls would always swoon over him, but he didn’t seem to care. He never told Iwa about his crushes, and so hearing it now made him even more uncomfortable.

He had always hoped that Oikawa never talked about crushes because he liked him back.

“Hey, you’re not even listening to me!” Oikawa pouted. Iwaizumi turned his attention to him and smiled, putting his hands up defensively.

“I don’t know them well enough to form a crush.” Oikawa repeated himself.

“Okay? Who do you like then?” Was it probably bad to be working this information out of a drunk Oikawa? Yes. But he needed to know so he could move on.

“Iwa-Chan.” His voice was gravely serious.

“Yes?”

Oikawa shook his head. “No, like that’s who I like. You won’t tell him, right?”

“Are you stupid? I’m literally Iwa-Chan.” He almost cringed at calling himself by the nickname, but he knew it was the best way to get the information to Oikawa’s brain.

Oikawa looked sick very suddenly, his face paling. He stood up and stumbled to the bathroom, Iwaizumi following quickly behind him, getting there just in time to see the intoxicated man throwing up. He rubbed his back gently, trying to get his stomach to calm down. They sat like this for a few minutes until Oikawa felt okay enough to break the silence.

“Iwa,” he grumbled. “Please forget I said that. Literally pretend I said nothing. Please. I don’t want to lose you as my friend because something so stupid slipped out.” His eyes were teary as he looked up at his friend, face still pale as a sheet and sweaty.

“No, I-“

“Please!” He called out, tears falling now. “Please. Please try and forget. I can’t wake up tomorrow morning and have no memory of tonight and all of a sudden you’re gone and-“

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi said firmly, hands reaching to cup his face to make him look up at him. “You never were good at letting me get a word out.” He joked, a small smile on his face. He used his thumb to gently wipe away the tears that fall down Oikawa’s cheeks. “I love you too, Oikawa.”

“You don’t have to say that ‘cause you feel bad.”

Iwaizumi leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I’m not. I’m in love with you.”

Oikawa tackled him into a tight hug, almost knocking them both over. He then began to pepper kisses all over his crush’s face, while Iwa tried to pull him off. “Stop!” He laughed. “You just threw up. I don’t want kisses right now.”

“Booooo. You’re no fun.”

“I’ll kiss you tomorrow, ‘Kay?” Iwa said softly, brushing some of Oikawa’s hair out of his face. “We need to get you to bed.”

“Stairs plus me is not gonna work.” Oikawa said matter-of-factly

Iwaizumi grumbled. He was still as stubborn and annoying as ever when he was drunk. He stood up and knelt down, back to Oikawa. “Fine, get on, but only this once.”

“Awwww, is my Iwa Chan giving me a piggyback ride?”

“Better than you falling up the stairs.”

Oikawa leapt onto his back, causing Iwa to sway a little bit at first, but he quickly steadied himself and began slowly walking towards Oikawa’s bedroom.

“Wow, look at those muscles!” Oikawa swooned, poking around at Iwaizumi’s biceps. “What a man.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Iwa chuckled, letting the man poke and prod up his body.

Finally he got to Oikawa’s bed, letting him go to collapse onto the piles of pillows and blankets. Oikawa squealed as he landed, letting out a few giggles.

“You’re too adorable,” Iwa commented, looking at the man in front of him fondly. He then also collapsed on the bed, joining Oikawa. They had shared a bed plenty of times before, but this time was different. They weren’t just best friends. Maybe they were boyfriends? Iwaizumi would ask in the morning. His heart was racing thinking about it.

Oikawa tore him out of his thoughts, readjusting and flipping face first onto Iwaizumi, head nestled in his neck.

“You comfy?” Iwaizumi teased.

“Asshole. Yes I am.”

“Okay. Good night Oikawa.” He wrapped his arms around the boy, pulling him closer.

“Your heart is racing. Is that because of me?”

“Shut up and go to bed before I knock you out myself.”

Oikawa’s brain felt like putty in the morning. What the hell had even gone on last night? Bad decisions, that was what. He kept his eyes shut tightly, not ready to wake up to the blinding sun quite yet, and reached his hand around to feel for water on the nightstand.

And then he accidentally smacked someone in the face.

“Asshole.” They grumbled. That was... definitely Iwa Chan’s voice. And... did he have his arms wrapped around Oikawa? What happened last night?

He forced his eyes open to figure out what position exactly he had put himself in, and was shocked to see himself buried into Iwaizumi’s chest, laying on top of him, with the man’s arms wrapped around him.

His heart told him to stay cuddled up in his embrace, but his brain told him WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING.

“You’re up,” Iwa grumbled sleepily. “Feeling okay?”

“What in the fuck did I miss?”

Iwaizumi chuckled. “You got really drunk last night.”

“Well, duh.”

“And uh...” Iwaizumi couldn’t meet Oikawa’s eyes as he spoke.

“Uh what?”

“You might have drunkenly confessed to me.”

“Oh, fuck.” Oikawa hid his face, unable to meet his friend’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Tooru. I’m in love with you too.”

Oikawa sat up quickly, shocked, straddling the man beneath him now. “You what!?” His hand rushed to his head to hold it, the quick motion causing his head to pound.

“I love you too.”

“For real?”

Iwaizumi sat up, face only inches away from Oikawa’s. His eyes softened, and he reached out to touch Oikawa’s cheek gently. “For real,” he whispered.

Oikawa’s eyes were trained on Iwaizumi’s lips. He was going to kiss him. He was going to kiss his best friend, his crush, the man who he loved and who loved him back.

“Oh, hell no.” Iwa held his face back, palm of his hand squishing against the boy’s cheek, refusing to let him get closer. “You threw up last night and never brushed your teeth.”

“Okay!” Oikawa stumbled out of bed, almost falling flat on his face as his head spun from getting up. “Mhm, going to go brush my teeth. Wait for me okay?”

“I’m waiting. Make sure you get your tongue too!”

“I love you Iwa Chan!” He called. Iwaizumi could hear the faucet running.

“I love you too.”

[asteriismos]

hey jude - richie tozier

warning(s) : eighteen! richie tozier, rough smut, degrading terms like slut and bitch, choking, a daddy kink, oral ( male recieving )

authors note : im not saying listen to ‘da ya think im sexy?’ by rod stewart while listening to this but thats exactly what im saying

words : 3.8k

request :

Hey , I was wondering if you could do a smut with 2017 Richie being In an alt couple , with a girl who’s brittish with degrading , rough smut , choking and the almighty daddy kink ❤️

ever since you moved to derry, things have been different for richie. 

the first time you stepped into his math classroom after winter break, teacher claiming that you were the new transfer student, he couldn’t get his mind off of you. you were gorgeous, not like anyone else in the small little town of derry that he’s been living in all his life. if there were anyone there that was half as cool as you seemed, richie would be interested in them. but there wasn’t. you were the breath of fresh air in his life that he didn’t know he needed, and you had only been in the classroom for 3 minutes.

then you spoke. and richie was even more interested in you. 

you had an accent, clearly from the uk, which was explained while you talked a little bit in front of the class as the teacher awkwardly tried to get you to tell them about yourself. your dad was a businessman who was seeing some type of potential in bangor, and fell in love with derry when he drove through it a few months ago. 

now you were here, finishing up your senior year here and going to college in the states. you seemed a little bitter about that to richie, but who was he to judge. he really didn’t like derry himself, he was glad that you only had to stay here for half a year instead of eighteen fucking years. 

the rest of the day he thought of you, though his thoughts skewed a little bit towards lunch, worried about the history pop quiz that people were talking about. history was his eighth period, which led to much anxiety about the end of the day. but after school ended, richie was going to meet up with the rest of the losers outside of the school near the entrance so that they could all go get hot chocolate at stan’s place. early january in derry was so cold that it was almost impossible not to drink a warm beverage every single day. 

he sat outside on the hoods of stanley’s car lighting a cigarette when he looked up, seeing you walking over to the car right beside beverly. bevvie said that she met you in gym class and you two apparently hit it off. 

and the rest was history. you became an official unofficial member of the losers club. bev adored you, the two of you became some kind of punk rock loving duo, and that’s all it took for you to get introduced to the rest of the group.

as said before, it was customary for the entire losers club to go to someones house after school ended and to get some hot drink. winter was soon coming to an end, derry launching further into the cusp of spring every day. the snow was beginning to melt on the ground, trees starting to produce their green leaves, and the sun was shining more and more each day.

“richie, can you come and help with the coffee? jesus, it’s your house!” eddie yelled from the kitchen of the tozier residence. richie was seated on the couch next to you, spewing some nonsense about this girl in your shared math class together and how she apparently bit down on this football players dick the other day trying to give him head.

you laughed, leaning into the couch enough to where the fluffy built in cusions almost enveloped you. “you’re such a liar, tozier,” you said through your laughs, hitting him lightly on the side of the head. richie shook his head, stifling out a chuckle of his own. in his own awful posh british voice impression, he exclaimed, “you are SUCH a liar, tozier.”

“fuck off,” you said to him. “go help eddie.” you reached over and pushed him off the couch, watching richie as he walked into the kitchen out of earshot.

you sat at the couch, a smile still on your face thinking about the trashmouth. you hadn’t told anyone about your impending interest in richie for fear of them telling him because this group was not good at keeping secrets from each other at all. the only person that you vaguely told was beverly, saying that you had an interest in someone in your math class. that left like 10 boys, including richie, in the mix. but the more you hung out with the group, the more you floated towards richie tozier. it wasn’t that hard to tell whom you had feelings for when you two were together.

beverly was starting to notice your feelings for richie and you knew it. 

“so y/n,” beverly asked from across the room. you turned to face her, snapping out of your thoughts about richie. “what are the guys like where you’re from?”

stanley gave beverly a look, laughing a little bit to himself at the question. bill put his face into the palm of his hands and looked at you, interested in your answer. you shrugged your shoulders, looking up to the left in thought. “guys are the same, I guess?”

beverly hummed to herself and gave you that devious little smirk of hers, “what about sex? what are they like?” the other guys laughed a little bit, shaking their heads while still listening for what you had to say. you shook your head, deciding that you weren’t going to answer the question. but that wasn’t enough for beverly, she raised her hands up in the air and slapped her thighs to get your attention again. “come on, y/n! we all wanna know what the boys get up to in england.”

you laughed at your friend. “okay, okay,” you said in defeat, putting your hands up in a ‘I surrender’ motion. “i don’t know. they’re okay i guess. but they’re so caring, they keep asking me if I'm okay, you know? it’s like ‘yes I am now stop asking’.” you laughed to yourself, thinking back to the boys that you’ve been with that all do that. they talk the big talk, then when it comes to actually fucking them, they’re afraid to do anything to do you. they go slow and sensual when sometimes you want it hard and rough. it was exhausting and you were so tired of it. you were also so tired of riding guys to try and get an ounce of the fast rhythm that you wanted. 

richie and eddie walked back into the room right as beverly was about to ask another question, eddie going on and on about how richie wasn’t helpful at all and just watched as eds did all the work. you laughed at your two friends and grabbed the coffee mug richie had gotten for you and made room for him on the couch beside you again. he sat down and wrapped his arm loosely around your shoulder, making you smile into your mug as you took a sip. you leaned into his side, savoring the feeling of being in his arms. 

since it was senior year, the losers were trying to go to as many parties as they could. courtesy of bill being on the baseball team, he got a free ride to all of the good ones and invited all of you guys along. you were getting ready for the party in your room, wearing a short black skirt and some tank top to compensate for the heat that would be at the party. 

richie was planning on picking you up, but you told him he could just come inside because your parents weren’t around to yell at you for having a guy in the house. they were really strict about that sort of thing, which pissed you off because a majority of your new friend group was guys. 

a soft knock on your door was heard and you opened it, smiling at richie who stood idly in the hallway. he looked out of place in your home dressed in his dark blue jeans and black smiths t shirt against the yellow wallpaper of your home. “come in, I'm almost done,” you said to him, beckoning him into your room and pointing to the chair he could sit on next to your desk. 

richie took a look at you when you turned away from him, watching your hair that bounced with every step you took and how the edge of your skirt rode up just a little bit with the sway of your hips. realizing that he was definitely staring more than he should, richie shook his head to himself and made his way to the chair to sit. he watched as you looked at the jewelry that was hanging up on a storage rack. you pulled out a gold chain necklace and gave him a look, “could you help me with this?”

he cleared his throat, nodding in response and walking over. he stood behind you, at least a half a head taller than you. richie grabbed the two ends of your necklace, and with his nimble fingers he easily latched it on, watching it fall perfectly on your skin that glowed in the sunlight that shined through your window. you gave him a smile, which he could see from the mirror in front of you. richie looked at you in the mirror and sighed to himself, for some reason feeling jealous of anyone seeing you in such a short skirt. what if there was another guy there that caught your attention? what if you liked the other guy so much that you let him feel up your skirt or even worse, let him fuck you? 

“are you sure you want to wear that?” richie blurted out before even registering it. you gave him a look in the mirror, eyes landing on his own that were staring at you already. 

you gave a slight laugh, though suddenly felt a little strange feeling in your stomach. “what? are you my dad now or something?” you turned around to face him, your faces only inches apart from each other. you could smell his cologne along with the faint smell of cigarette smoke that you always felt yourself getting lost in when you were in class with him. he was looking down at you with dark eyes that made you clench your thighs together. richie walked forward, prompting you to walk backwards until you were pressed against your dresser. the cold surface made you shiver even through your clothing.

richie was kissing you. 

richie was kissing you. 

richie was kissing you.

with his hands placed firmly on the curve of your waist, body pressing against your own, richie kissed you with an unknown desire he didn’t realize that he had until seeing you in that pretty little skirt of yours. it was an almost animalistic urge and desire to show you that you were his, that he wanted you more than anything in this world. 

your lips moved against his own, eyes fluttering shut after the initial shock wore off. his tongue slipped into your mouth with ease and explored it, hands squeezing your sides with his warm hands. you moaned a little in his mouth, trying to keep up with the pace that was hard and rough. your hands flew to his face right below his glasses, fingers splaying along his soft cheekbones that made him shiver. you never thought that this moment would ever be happening, and the more his hips pressed onto your own, you hoped that even your wildest fantasies about richie tozier would be coming true. 

he grabbed you and turned you around so you were walking backwards to the edge of your bed, and with one languid push you were falling back onto your sheets. you pulled away from the kiss with richie to push yourself backwards all the way onto the bed, pulling him by his shoulders back on top of you and in between your legs, which you wrapped around his waist. richie kissed down your neck, biting a large hickey right in the crook of your neck where your shoulder and neck met. your fingers laced themselves into his black curly hair, reveling in how soft it felt. 

“richie,” you moaned out softly with his hips pushing against your own. you could feel the growing hard on of his against your inner thigh, making you even more wet at the thought of him fucking you with it. “I need you so bad.” you said in a soft tone.

richie came up to meet your gaze, giving you a devilish smirk. “I think you need to beg for it a little better, princess.” his hands went under your tank top, cupping your breasts with each of his hands. his fingers came and pinched your nipples, making you arch your back up into his touch. you needed more, you needed so much more from richie right now. “and don’t call me richie, call me daddy.” 

you threw your head back into the pillows, huffing a little bit while your cheeks burned red with embarrassment. “please daddy, fuck me with your cock,” you whined out, giving him an innocent look while batting your eyelashes at him. richie shook his head, making you frown a little bit at him. what else could he possibly want you to say? richie pushed himself off of you, standing at the edge of the bed while you still laid down, a little bit too clothed for his liking. 

“get undressed,” richie ordered. “then get on your knees.” you did what he asked, standing up from the bed, pulling off your tank top and pushing your skirt down. from there you unclipped your bra and slipped your panties down, throwing your discarded clothes elsewhere in your room. the look that richie was giving you was enough to make you moan out quietly, heat getting wetter and wetter with each passing second. you keeled down to your knees in front of him, watching as he worked to take off his belt and push his pants down. “I think you need to prove how much you want daddy’s cock,” he said to you. 

his hands reached to push down his boxers, taking himself into his hands and giving a few good pumps. you waited there for him, mouth open with your tongue laying out right for him to place his dick onto it. soon enough he was pushing into your mouth, making you sputter a small bit around his cock, hollowing out as much as you could. he was thick and long, and you didn’t know if you could even take him all in your mouth. the thought of it being thrust in and out with no remorse made you feel wild. 

you looked up at him, dick in your mouth, waiting for him to make a move. richie tutted, “such a good little slut aren't you? so ready to suck on my cock.” you shivered at the degrading, feeling that fire pool into your abdomen. his hands wrapped into your hair making a makeshift ponytail and pulling you off of his cock, then pushing it back into your mouth. he continued this motion, getting a little faster. you had to breath through your nose, spit drooling down out of your lips and down your chin. 

richie groaned from above you, bottom lip in between his white teeth. you reached to grab the back of his thighs to steady yourself while he used your mouth mercilessly. you gag around him, dick pulling out to give you a moment to breathe. while you breathe, your hands come to pump his cock that was slick with your spit. he didn’t waste another second pushing in, leading you by only your hair. your eyes are starting to water while you try and swallow around him. 

with one last thrust and push all the way to the back of your throat, richie pulls you off of him and says, “now what do you say?” it takes you a moment to find your words. your throat feels raw and fucked out and you don’t trust your voice but you say, “thank you daddy. thank you for letting me taste your cock.” 

“good girl, such a good girl,” richie praises, reaching to pull you up to your feet. your knees feel raw from kneeling before him, but instead of feeling hurt by it you just feel more aroused, anticipating what he would make you do next. “lay on the bed princess, legs spread out for me like a good bitch.”

you nodded your head, whining a little bit from the loss of contact from him, knowing that you would get it soon though. in between your thighs ached at the thought of him going to be inside you, stretching you out and fucking into you until you were a ruined mess. the eye makeup that you had put on for the party was slightly smeared already from the tears welled up in your eyes as he fucked your mouth. he didn’t fit all the way in your mouth . . . you wondered if he would even fit inside of your aching pussy. 

you laid down at the edge of the bed, spreading your legs out to show yourself to him as much as you could. richie smiled at you, a real genuine smile while his eyes raked over your body. you were so wet, he could easily see how much you wanted him, how much you needed him. richie put his hands on your thighs, thumbs running up and down your inner thighs purposely neglecting the place you needed him most. you watched him with needy eyes, breath hitching in your throat once two fingers finally slid along your slicked folds. his fingers caught your arousal, instantly getting wet enough to push into you. they stretched you out, quickening the pace while his other hand kept your hips from squirming around. 

he pulled his fingers out and pushed them into his mouth, moaning at the taste. you tasted so good that richie thought he was going to die right then and there. he pushed off his t shirt and settled in between your legs, letting his hands come right up to your hips. “now take daddy’s cock like the good slut you are, okay princess?” he said to you, giving you no time to answer when he pushed into you with no warnings. there was a little restraint from you around him, he was so big that it took him a moment to bottom out. you took every single inch of him, eyes closing and head throwing back onto the pillow. 

“you’re so big daddy,” you moaned out, hearing him groan your name after you said it. your eyes were still closed so you didn’t see his hand come and reach around your throat until you felt his long fingers wrap around your throat and squeeze. your clit throbbed at the feeling, loving the feeling of his hand around your throat while he pushed slowly in and out. “fuck me daddy, please, I need you so bad daddy,” you begged him, needing something more to push you to finish. 

“well, since you asked so nicely,” richie said to you, pushing down on your throat and fucking into you nice and hard. your tits bounced with every harsh thrust, your hands gripped the sheets beside you while you took every single rut of his hips. you were so desperate and wet for him that the sound that was made every time he pushed in and out was sinful and you loved every second of it. 

he fucked you into the mattress so hard that you were moaning and screaming, feeling hotter and hotter as he took you to that brink. “I think I'm close daddy please let me cum,” you begged him, eyes opening to meet his own that were looking intensely along your body. he gave you a serious smile and nodded his head, “you can cum then baby, let it out, since you asked so nicely.” and that’s all it took for you to clench around him, feeling your whole body spasm. your legs were begging you to close but you couldn’t, because richie’s hips were in the way, keeping you spread out. 

richie still hadn’t came yet, and you could see the determined look on his face while he picked up the pace, harsh and rough ruts against your hips left you moaning again. his hand clenched around your throat and you breathed out shakily as best as you could, his other hand pushed your leg up. this exposed a new angle and made him push even deeper into you. his thick cock stretched you out more and more with every thrust, your aching pussy so sensitive from your first orgasm. the base of his cock pressed against your clit and you knew you were going to cum again. 

right as his thrusts started to get more erratic and out of rhythm from his previous ones, you were cumming and clenching again, making him spill inside you with a moan of your name. “you took my cock so well,” richie muttered out, groaning while his hot spurts stayed inside you, only a few drops spilling out while he pulled out of you. his hand left your throat and he left you, coming back into your line of vision with a towel in hand. richie wiped away all the cum he could that was slick in between your thighs, mixing with the sweat and your own arousal.  each of you were breathing so heavily, it was as if neither of you had decided to breath during that entire time. 

too enticed by the idea of fucking each other. 

he grabbed your panties and tank top, giving you them and helping you get into them. he pulled up his boxers and gave you a look, wondering if you wanted him to stay or not. you looked up at him and grabbed his arm, not letting him leave your room for the time being. 

“if you’re going to fuck me that hard, you need to give me cuddles afterwards.” you giggled, making room for him to lay beside you. you cuddled into his side, pulling the covers over each of you. 

“I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to get into the complicated stuff,” richie said. 

you cocked your head to the side. “the complicated stuff?”

“yeah. like the fact that I have feelings for you. a lot of them.”

you smiled, leaning up and kissing him on the cheek. “then I'll spare you the explanation, yeah? I like you too, richie. a lot.” 

you liked him too. richie felt his heart start to beat more rapidly inside of his chest. he turned and wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head, humming contently.

[simplyyeol]

back then (when we used to)

—pairing; byun baekhyun x reader

—genre; fluff, college! au, childhood friends to nobodies to lovers! au lmao

—tws; swearing

—word count; 16.439 (whew)

—synopsis; when push comes to shove, and baekhyun suddenly appears in your life again taking your heart as he walked along the road beside you, you wonder if you really could have a happily ever after, with him, just like back then, when you used to.

—author’s note; hi guys! it’s me, cough, aj. you probably all forgot who i am right? well anyways! i made this after a long time of not writing since im on break. thank you all so much for the love you’ve given me so far. it means the world to me. i hope you love this one as much as my last work. thank you so much for supporting me !!11!11 (ugly cries)

“I mean, Baekhyun is cute and all, but I don’t know why you like like him that much if you haven’t even had a proper conversation with him,” Sehun explains as he takes a sip of his orange juice. “It seems kind of... farfetched, you know?” You roll your eyes as you take a bite of your sandwich. “Don’t be a drama queen.”

“I mean! Why don’t you like someone like...” he taps his chin in thought, fork stabbing through the lettuce leaves before he looks back to you, signature smirk in place. “Jongdae.”

You choke on the food.

“He’s pretty cute. And he’s really nice too. He’s even on the baseball team with Baekhyun and you guys seem to get along well. It’s a win-win situation.”

You shrug. “He’s cool, but he’s just a friend. And since when do you care about my love life?”

“Nonexistent love life,” he snarkily corrects and you stick your tongue at him.

“And you’re some best friend. Totally supporting me in my silent love affair.”

“I’m being realistic,” he defends, shrugging.

“And a horrible best friend,” you retort, grimly.

“Maybe you’re just going through this phase—” he starts.

“Okay, look,” you interject, dropping your sandwich on the table. “I have a crush on one of the star players of our college’s team. That just makes me one of the many of the girls fantasizing to be her. That’s all it is. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna throw myself at him and forget who I actually am or some stupid shit like that.” You narrow your eyes at him and pick up your sandwich. “Period.” And then you take a bite.

Sehun drops his fork in his bowl, the clatter ringing even through all the chatter in the cafe. “Wow, Y/N.”

“What?” you bark, bread in mouth, so it sounds more like ‘mwa.’ Even if Sehun is monotone in basically everything that comes out of his stupid mouth, you can hear the smirk.

He shakes his head. “Nevermind. But... since we’re already on this road. You know Park Chanyeol.”

You nod and swallow. “Yeah. Why?”

“Well, he gave me two tickets to his game since Mina and I were gonna go, but you know...” he trailed off and you look at him. He just broke up again with Mina. His now ex. They have an on and off relationship. You don’t really get it.

“I dunno,” you say, eyes flitting from the table to his face. You didn’t want him to go alone, sure, but more often than not, when he takes you to these kind of things, he usually gets sidetracked and well, forgets about you.

“Oh, come on, I won’t leave you this time, I swear,” he says, fist slamming the table.

“Sehun,” you breathe, talking to him as if he was a child. “You said that last time for that basketball guy’s party. And do you remember what happened then?”

His eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. Apparently your best friend has horrible memory as well.

“You went home with Mina, asshole,” you spit. “And yes, you are my bestfriend and deserve the best romantic life, but you can’t just leave me. Jeez, you’re heartless, Sehun.”

“I won’t leave you this time,” he pleads once more, puppy eyes now in place, hands placed together under his chin. “Please, noona?”

You stick your tongue out at him and continue with your sandwich.

“Oh, come on, I want to go with my bestest friend in the world, and not anyone else. And we’ll have so much fun and I won’t even leave your side, or anything, and as a bonus! I will personally get you a jersey as an added bonus with a certain Byun printed on the back.”

Your eyes flicked to his for a split second at the sound of a certain man’s name.

“I can even arrange a chance at the after party for the two of us, so you can have some even more fun. There’s gonna be free drinks too!” he tries.

You raise an eyebrow at this offer.

“Free food, too!” he chimes.

“We’ll see,” is your final answer.

His straight posture is slumped at your answer, pout adorning his face as he dejectedly looked at his salad that was a part of his so-called, healthy diet, that he put together himself. His eyes flicked to yours as you took another bite of your BLT.

You waved it at him. “Want some?”

He looks back to his salad before dropping his fork and stretching his hand out. You hand the sandwich to him and he takes a few bites before giving it back to you.

The rest of lunch is spent in light banter, talk about classes and upcoming finals.

The two of you have been close since the start of college after there was a mix up in the dorm distribution and you ended up in the only co-ed dorm in college. With a playboy of course. You would think you’d somehow fall in love with him, but the boy being two years your dongsaeng, the spark was never there. He became a little brother figure who you could bully whenever he came over to you to gush about his new girlfriend at how pretty she is. It’s cute enough to pinch his cheeks like you were a distant relative who claimed to used to change Sehun’s diapers. He hated it, which is exactly why you loved it.

He doesn’t bring up the game until you see Byun Baekhyun walk through the cafe doors. You being the shy person that you are, immediately duck your head and finish the rest of your sandwich in one bite, and stand up announcing your departure to Sehun.

“What? I’m not finished yet, wait another minute. We’ll go together.”

“Uh, I actually forgot I’ve got to meet a friend before class starts,” you explain, twisting and untwisting your fingers, eyes locked on Baekhyun’s figure that was currently walking towards you and Sehun’s table, which was conveniently in front of the register. 

Sehun looks at you, nose scrunched then looking somewhere behind you, and then it dawned on him, your predicament. “Oh,” he breathes.

And Sehun being the asshole he is calls Byun Baekhyun over. You never wanted more for the ground to open up and swallow you whole than at this moment.

“Hey, Sehun, what’s up?” Baekhyun says, his honey voice rolling over you in waves. You couldn’t leave due to the iron grip Sehun had on your wrist, caging you and erasing all attempts of escape.

“Hey, hyung. I just needed an opinion. Do you know, Y/N?” Sehun nods to you and you freeze as Baekhyun finally sees you. You hold your breath, waiting for the answer on the tips of your toes even though you were the one who didn’t want it.

His eyes lock with yours and you see the warmth even standing nowhere close to him. You see the small mole on top of his lip, the bridge of his nose, the cherry pink of his lips and all you can think is how he hasn’t changed one bit. 

His eyes flit down to your wrist in Sehun’s hand and you quickly pull it away. Sehun doesn’t hold you back. And then he’s looking away as fast as he saw you, and you miss the warmth that he brought with just a look but you’re glad for the lack of his fierce gaze on you alone.

He hums. “Yeah, I know Y/N. We went to the same middle school but you probably already know that,” he states matter of factly. You purse your lips. Sehun didn’t know that.

Sehun’s jaw goes slack. “Wait, what?” He turns to you, eyes narrowed. “You never told me that!”

“Uhhh—” you dumbly respond as Baekhyun looks between the two of you.

“Right, I just wanted to know,” Sehun clears his throat, grasping Baekhyun’s attention once again, “if we could come to the party after the game?”

“Oh, you’re coming to the game?” He poses the question towards the both of you, but he only looks at you.

“Well, I’m going, but Y/N doesn’t know yet—”

“You should come,” Baekhyun states simply, looking into the depths of your soul. Your heart beats just the tiniest bit faster.

“I’ll see,” you mutter under your breath.

“Well, I’ll see you guys later then?” Baekhyun waves, the corner of his lips raised, and eyes sparkling in a way that only fits Baekhyun. 

Sehun’s arm falls on your shoulder as he rises to his full height, effectively breaking you out of the haze that Baekhyun put on you unknowingly. You scowl at him as you grab your backpack.

“How come you never told me this precious piece of information that came from Baekhyun himself. I’m so disappointed in you,” he remarks as you exit the cafe. You dare not look back.

You shrug, a small shiver running up your spine from the breeze. “It never came up.”

“Bullshit. This stuff is already supposed to be established in our,” he motions exasperatedly in the space between the two of you, “relationship.”

You snort. “I’m not dating you.”

“We’re best friends!”

“That we are,” you deadpan.

“Were you guys only classmates?” he inquires, shoving his hands in his pockets and blowing out a breath.

“If you’re asking if we dated, no. But we were friends, I guess.” 

An understatement but you don’t say.

Starting middle school in a whole new city was overwhelming to say the least. Having just moved to Seoul was already climbing in on itself over you. The whole car ride you refused to meet your parent’s eye on the trip to your new house. They pointed out famous landmarks and beautiful scenery of the ocean on the way, and yet, you refused, the stubborn 11-year old side of you coming out, as you blinked the tears away, never letting them fall.

And then came Baekhyun, a whirlwind of a boy, all smiling, eyes crescents, and hair a raven-colored ruffled. He flew into your life and you were grateful to him. He suddenly became a staple in your life but really you should’ve seen it coming sooner.

As fast as he entered, he left, and you didn’t like to think about whether it was your fault or his. One day, he stopped trying. Avoiding you, or maybe he just became too busy for you. He grew out of the pre-teen Baekhyun, a child in and of itself and became the popular teen Baekhyun who suddenly became the star of your junior high. You drifted apart, as Baekhyun entered the spotlight and you steered towards the sidelines, suddenly becoming a wallflower in Baekhyun’s life. And then you weren’t in it anymore. But you watched him grow up and everytime you passed him in the hallways in highschool and eventually college, a part of your heart clenched, happy that he was happy and sad because you couldn’t share that happiness with him.

Sehun saw the lingering glances, the almost spoken hello’s to the star player and deemed that you had a crush. He wasn’t wrong so you never corrected him.

“Earth to Y/N?” Sehun called, hand waving in front of your vision. You blinked, slowly turning over to him. “Blanked out there, for a little. You good?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Just thinking.”

“About a Byun Baekhyun?”

“Shut up,” you mumble and he snickers.

A few beats of silence pass as you walk side to side, shoulders brushing against each other.

“You’re not telling me something,” he says.

“No,” you respond.

“Yes,” he retorts.

“Whatever you say.”

“I’ll get it out of you, sometime. I already have a lead.”

“What? Are you Sherlock?” you tease, lips quirked.

He slides in front of you and you stop watching as he dumbly salutes, fingers all crooked. “Holmes, reporting for duty,” he announces.

You laugh and then he smiles. 

Most of the spots are filled when you enter the auditorium, a mess of hair, clothes and Y/N.

You spit out some of the hair caught in your mouth, which probably happened somewhere between where you left the pet store, your part-time job, in a hurry after seeing the time and from now, where you stood, just barely making it into class as the professor entered through the adjacent door . You got a little carried away with the new puppers that had just arrived and that was all your fault. Not that you regretted it, though.

The professor set up his laptop, plugging in wires and setting papers aside, that you really hoped weren’t of the test you took last week. You scrambled to your regular seat, right next to the TA, Kim Minseok’s desk, and next to Kim Jongdae. 

You dipped your head in greeting at Jongdae as you slipped past him to the seat and muttered your ‘hello’ to Minseok who waved you back.

“Please don’t tell me those are our tests from last week,” you say to absolutely no one. 

Jongdae, from beside you, hears this and turns to you. “Those are totally not our tests from last week.”

“Those are totally your tests from last week,” Minseok pipes from the other side of you. You swivel towards him, lips pursed, frown in place.

“Is it bad?” you ask, grimly.

“Can’t say,” he grins. 

“A hint?” you egg and Jongdae echoes your question.

Minseok shakes his head no and points towards the front just as the professor starts speaking. You melt into your seat, hoping that time would tick just the tiniest bit faster, if only to finish this hell you’re in.

45 minutes pass, not that you’re counting every second of it but you just happen to see after sneaking a glance at the clock hung on the opposite wall, when the professor finally announces the very dreadful thing that has you in a slump.

“And now for your tests!”

A series of groans echo your sentiments and you wait as he calls out the names of the other students, fists clenched, nails digging into the skin of your palm. He goes through a few people before stopping on the nervous human sitting right next to you.

“Kim Jongdae!” he calls and you give a pitiful look at Jongdae as he stands up to retrieve it. His face looks almost like a kicked puppy. The professor hands him the paper, says something, that you can’t hear (distance), or read (bad eyesight), but there’s a smile on his face. You sit at the edge of your seat waiting as Jongdae gets closer to you, his eyes lighting up as he reads the grade and when he comes to stand next to you, showing it to you, a cheshire-grin stretching across his lips.

Your jaw drops. “An A? That’s amazing!” He has his hand out towards yours and you high-five it, smiling for him. You sit back down waiting your turn, back straight, hairs raised.

“Y/N!” 

You get up, walking as fast as your legs could take you, grasping the paper with eager hands. The professor smiles and says that it was better than your last and then your walking back, not daring to peak at the letter.

“Did you see it?” Jongdae calls when you get back to your seat. 

You shake your head. “Can’t. You do it.”

You hand the paper to Jongdae and he chuckles leaning over. He faces the paper towards you, back slanting so he’s looking at it as well.

“A B!” you cry.

“An 89!” he exclaims.

“If you round up,” you start excitedly.

“An A!” he finishes.

“Yes!” you yell, fist pumping in the air and once again before exchanging another set of high-fives.

The two of you sit back at your seats ruffling through your tests exchanging answers for the questions you got wrong. The teacher rambles on about how well you all did this time, much better than the last. You paid it no attention, though, wincing as you saw another question you got wrong. You even remember studying about that one!

“Okay, students!” the teacher finally announces and you look up, setting the paper down on the table. “You’ll be doing a project—”

A series of groans cut him off.

“Now, now don’t be like that. It gets even better; you’ll be doing it in partners! The person next to you should do—oh! Would you look at the time? I better be off! Class dismissed!”

The screeching of chairs being pushed in, the mull of the chatter of students, and the scratching of pencils on paper fill the silence that the teacher brought and you stared at Jongdae, dumbfounded. And Jongdae stared at you.

“Is this real?” you breathed, voice ragged.

“I really hope not,” he answers back. “Maybe it's all just a dream.”

“More so a nightmare,” you remark.

Minseok snickers at the two of you. “Don’t be dramatic and get out of here, you two.”

You frown at Minseok as he shoots you out of the auditorium with the rest of the lingering students. You handle your bag, throwing it over your shoulder, carelessly, before turning to Jongdae who walked to your side with another classmate.

You wait for a gap in their conversation before pulling Jongdae away. “Do you have class right now?”

He shakes his head. “No, you?”

You mirror him, before cocking your thumb behind you, head tilted. “Library?”

“Better now than never,” he grins.

Jongdae steps off to the side when someone asks him something about plans on Friday night. You tell him you’ll save him a seat and wave before leaving, begrudgingly thinking about the fact that you wished to have plans on Friday night, ugh.

The library is vacant, spare the few students like you who thought to actually use it other than the librarian that no one ever sees. You tensely smile at a girl who you really can’t remember the name of but told her that one time in that one class after she made eye contact with you. A second later, though, no later, you looked away, wincing because if that wasn’t awkward. 

The tables in the library were settled in clusters if you make your way through the library, high shelves of the paperback on your left, and non-fiction on the right. It’s almost like a maze as you enter the space, and really it's no surprise, when you spot ten people. Max.

You take a seat at the nearest empty table, pulling out your textbook and your laptop. It only takes a minute for you to get sidetracked after you tap in your password the already open tab of Twitter pulling you in.

It wasn’t your fault really! The posts kept rolling in and sucking you deeper and when finally your throat felt parched and you took a sip of water, checking the time, still not seeing Jongdae, did you see half an hour had already passed.

“The fuck is the dude, doing?” you mutter under your breath, opening a seperate tab for your email. The chair across from you screeches and you think, finally, before your eyes land on the person currently sat across from you.

His hair was ruffled and the tip of his nose and cheeks were blushing red, as if he ran. And it wasn’t Jongdae.

“Oh,” he mumbles, more to himself. “Y/N.” A deep breath then, “hey.”

“Oh, um, Baekhyun. Hi,” you dumbly respond, stomach flipping at the sight of him. Your tongue had the sudden urge to fail you at the moment, barely making the cut.

“Sorry, to, um, bother your studying,” he starts, eyes flickering to your open screen which displayed the email log-in page. Thank god he did not see your Twitter account. Maybe you would have actually died. “But, uh, I’ll just sit here for a few minutes and then leave.”

The way he’s fidgeting in his seat makes it seem like he’s trying to avoid someone. “Oh, okay. That’s, um, fine?”

His eyes narrow at you as you purse your lips. Awkward. You are very awkward and you know that. You shuffle in your seat when he looks away and chuckles silently. “Thanks,” he says.

A few beats pass before you deem it awkward enough to drag your laptop closer to you, and look through the few emails that were unread in your inbox. Okay, lie. You weren’t actually reading. It was more so that your eyes skimmed over the same from email at fifteen times, your brain not registering the contact.

Baekhyun apparently decided to break the ice, starting with a deep breath. “So, what class are you working for?”

“Um, microbiology. I’ve got this partner essay and decided to get started on it,” you explain, biting your lip from a nervousness that you’re not sure the cause of.

“Partner?” he asks.

“Yeah... partner,” you repeat, thinking that he needed clarification.

“Oh, are you waiting for them?”

You nod. “He was literally right behind me too, jeez, what is he doing?” you ramble, picking up your phone and searching for Jongdae’s contacts.

Baekhyun doesn’t say anything else as you type a text to a certain essay partner.

jongdae!!!!

You set the phone back down on the table and sneak a peek at Baekhyun who looks, even at a first glance, stressed. Eye circles ring underneath his eyes, the hint of purple tinting his fair skin. His eyes look puffy, like he just took a nap, even though it's the middle of the day, and your heart clenches at the thought that he doesn’t get enough sleep. You notice the way his fingers drum silently along the table, his teeth worrying his chapped lips, like he’s always doing that. Maybe a habit...?

“Are you... okay?” The question comes tumbling out of your mouth in a hushed whisper, like some dirty secret that can’t be revealed. Your eyes rake over him with worry as he looks at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

He’s wary, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly as he forms an answer. “What do you mean?” he finally responds. Answering a question with a question. 

“You look tired,” you point, motioning to the undersides of his eyes. 

He winces, hands fisted as he rubs his eyes, laughing half-heartedly. “It’s nothing. Just got a big game to prep for—speaking of,” and then his eyes turn to you, determined, fiery, fist placed on the table and any sign of tiredness in his eyes vanished. “Are you going to come to the game?”

“Uh—”

“You’re going to the game?” 

Your head whips towards the side as Jongdae strolls in to the area, nonchalant. You take your pen and whip it at him with all the aim you could muster at such a short notice.

“I’m sorry!” he yells as he catches the pen and holds it to his heart before gently setting it down on the table a distance away from your hand.

“Thirty minutes,” you huff, as Jongdae takes a seat beside you. His attention turns toward Baekhyun who looks between the two of you. You can’t tell what the furrow of his brows or the scrunch of his nose conveys.

Jongdae ignores your complaint and addresses Baekhyun. You turn away pointedly, hands crossed over your chest, lip slightly jutted. 

“What are you doing in the library, Baekhyun?” Jongdae questions.

“Um, just, you know, talking to Y/N—”

“Is that Eunha?” Jongdae interjects, leaning over the table, jaw dropped.

“Who?” you ask, curious.

“Yeah, who?” Baekhyun repeats, feigning innocence. You see the way, he blinks at Jongdae owlishly, and his straight posture.

“Your ex-girlfriend, Eunha! Is that why—”

Baekhyun’s over at Jongdae’s side in an instant, hand clamping over the blabbermouth’s mouth, looking around the library maniacally to see if anyone overheard. You choke, not sure what to feel about the new information, but when she leaves out of view, you figure it's her since she is the only one there that wasn’t there a moment ago. You look towards the two idiots at your side.

And if that wasn’t any worse, Eunha suddenly reappeared again right in front of you three. And she looked Baekhyun up and down, and then it was Jongdae. And lastly you.

With her sleek black hair sectioned off into braids, her makeup flawless, and her clothes without a single crinkle in them, you envied her from head to toe.

“Baekhyun what are you doing? Really? Running away?” She gives Baekhyun an incredulous look as he retracts his hand from Jongdae’s mouth, sheepish look pasted on his face. 

“Um, actually—” he starts.

“Seriously, I just wanted to talk. I won’t bite,” she promises taking a step closer. You see Baekhyun’s eyes flit to anywhere but Eunha, and then you see him take a step closer to Jongdae, his hand suddenly coming down onto Jongdae’s shoulder. Hard.

“I’m dating Jongdae!” 

Eunha’s jaw drops open, you choke on air, Jongdae shrieks and falls out of his chair, and Baekhyun colors a scarlet in the next few moments as crickets chirp through the library.

“What?” Eunha breathes, looking as if she just got slapped in the face. And in this case, you felt that it would have been a better situation. “You’re dating—” she stopped mid-sentence, closing her eyes, straightening her back, and taking a long, deep breath. “Jongdae? Is he lying?”

You watch as Baekhyun pinches Jongdae’s back as he opens his mouth, and proceeds to say the words that you are just dying to hear with some popcorn in hand. “Uh... no.”

Eunha’s eyes are almost about to fall out her head as she looks between the two of them. Baekhyun laughs a small laugh, pressing his index finger to his lips, and shushing Eunha. She barks a laugh, hikes her bag up her shoulder, and stomps out of the clearing.

Jongdae’s chair is thrown to the side courtesy his legs as he stands, towering over Baekhyun. “What the fuck—” 

Baekhyun claps his hands together in front of his face, eyes clenched together. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” he squeaks.

“I should’ve just let you suffer—”

“—and I am so, so grateful you didn’t—”

“—in pain. Why the hell do I—”

“Coffee, for a month?” Baekhyun pleads.

Jongdae narrows his eyes at Baekhyun. “Two.”

“One and a half?”

“One and three weeks.”

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, plopping into the chair next to you before turning to meet your eyes. “I am so dead.”

You smile. “I didn’t know you were gay.”

“Y/N!” he whines. “You know what? I am leaving, I have had way too much drama for today, and I feel my wrinkles popping out, god dammit.”

He walks away from the table as you erupt into snickers and Jongdae hollers an ‘8:45 AM sharp!’ after him.

“Don’t be late! I have class first thing and need my supply!”

Baekhyun doesn’t turn around, opting to flip off Jongdae, back still turned. Jongdae swears at him, and you laugh even harder.

What you don’t see is the small smile gracing Baekhyun’s lips as he exits the library doors, a little skip in his step.

Having to take an advanced sociology class for your major made absolutely no sense other than the fact that the people, whoever they were, that assigned the classes, were absolute idiots. You would know since you’re always surrounded by them.

The class ran for two terms but you only needed one, joining in at the beginning of the second this year. Everyone already had managed to find a place to sit, some people to work with, and a nice view of the screen in front of the room. You just wedged into some seats with some of the more friendlier looking girls and somehow managed to blend in to the wall, only needing a passing grade for this class.

You didn’t know many people in this class, but you at least recognized their faces. And that guy sitting at your desk with the suspicious looking hood was not one of them. You stood a few feet away from him, wondering if you should demand your seat back or just sit next to him. Or in front. 

But that’s your seat.

Well. Your inability to communicate with people caught up to you and you took a seat right next to him.

It wasn’t until the end of class that you figured out who he was. You could hear a faint purr from the hooded boy next to you, his pencil strewn next to his head that was lain on the table carelessly. A string of drool marked the paper and you chuckled. But you couldn’t judge. That would be you today if it weren’t for the fact he was giving apparently important information from the girl on your right.

You pondered on the thought if you should just leave him, but if class had finished while you were sleeping you would want someone to wake you up. What if he had a class after this?

You drew closer to him and tapped his shoulder. “Hey. Wake up. Class is over.”

The boy groaned, shifted in his seat the tiniest bit, and continued sleeping. You tapped him a bit harder this time. “Hey. Hey. Wake up.” 

You checked the time on your phone, before placing it back on the table. Taking your time, you placed your notebook back in your bag and zipped it up before tossing a look back to the boy. Still sleeping. The pencil and pen in your bag as well. Another look. Not even a little.

Boy, was this kid tired.

You tried again, and again, with even more force and smiled when the guy stirred, blinking his eyes, movements hazy. He smacked his lips a few times before finally moving his head up and locking eyes with you.

“Baekhyun?”

“Y/N?”

“You take this class?” you both said in unison.

A look passed between the two of you, as you blinked and he started giggling with you following shortly after.

“I take this class, but I’m pretty sure you don’t,” you finally say, smile placed on your lips.

“I owed my friend one and filled in for the day to take some notes.”

You snickered before motioning to the side of your face, your fingers ghosting your skin. “You have drool here.”

“What?” he squawks, hands wiping the opposite side of his face. 

You shake your head. “Other side.”

He pulls the sleeve of his hoodie up and finding the drool, quickly wiping it off before embarrassingly pulling his hoodie on his head tighter.

“What’s with the get up?” you question, as Baekhyun grabs his notebook and you grab your backpack, both walking towards the door. 

A group of students brush passed you and you notice how Baekhyun makes sure to duck his head down as he whispers to you. “You didn’t hear...?”

“Hear what? you whisper back.

He pouts at you and you shrug. “The rumors?” he tries again.

You filter through any gossip Sehun might’ve told you about in the past few days and come up blank. “Nothing,” you state.

He groans, hand coming up to slide down his face. “Come on, man. The rumors?” he harshly whispers, face turned towards you whilst walking, hands outstretched at his sides, and eyes blown out. 

You suck in a harsh breath as he comes closer to your face, and that weird feeling in your chest blooms again. Almost like an eruption of lava, but more lowkey. A good volcanic eruption.

“Me being gay?”

He pulls back when he sees your lips pursed, smile begging to be released. “Oh, from when—”

“Oh my god,” he groans, walking faster in front of you.

“Okay, okay, sorry, I won’t laugh!” you exclaim, speeding up your pace and walking next to him. He took a look at the twinkle in your eyes and the smile playing on your lips and huffs before looking away. Drama queen.

“Seriously!” you repeat again. “Okay, wait, wait, slow down a little.”

He begrudgingly complies, hands now folded over his chest as you swing your backpack to your front and bring out your notebook. You zip it up and he sneaks a glance before voicing his curiosity. “What’s that for?”

You shoot him a smile. “Your favor?”

His eyes widen. “Oh shit! I fell asleep!”

“That you did, but I take pity and give you this.”

You hand him the notebook and he takes it, hand almost brushing yours but you can’t tell from how fast its gone even though the aftermath leaves your heart beating a mile a minute. You don’t even notice.

“You are an angel,” he breathes and sends you the most breathtaking smile that you think he could ever send you.

“Your welcome,” you state, voice soft.

“Thank you,” he says back. 

You continue walking, where? You don’t know. But you move closer to him as he opens the notebook and you show him the pages that you wrote down today. You stop at a small bench on the side of the hallway where Baekhyun sets it down and takes pictures of the pages.

He slides his glasses up when they fall off his nose, before tapping the screen to make sure that its readable. You watch to the side as he ruffles through the pages make sure he got everything. His bangs falling over his eyes, and he shakes his head, the hair stubbornly staying put.

“Baekhyun!” someone calls from the side. You look over and recognize him to be from the baseball team. You forgot his name, though. Something starting with Jong but you weren’t sure. He jogs over to Baekhyun, talking about a late baseball practice and where the hell he’s been.

Baekhyun looked sheepish as Jong-something scolds him, calling him hyung and you can’t help but smile at the interaction. 

“Oh right, that reminds me!” Baekhyun turns towards you suddenly and you feel warm under his and Jong-something’s (Jongin? Is that his name?) gaze. “Are you still not sure about the game?”

You inhale, looking at the way, Baekhyun pulls out his lower lip just the slightest and how it looks adorable (you’re cringing on the inside at your thoughts) on him. “Uh... yeah. Still don’t know,” you mutter.

“Well,” Baekhyun says, looking straight at you and placing his hand on your shoulder, “I hope you come.” 

And then he sends you a smile and you feel your heart strings tugging at each other as he turns around, jogging to the rest of the team. Jongdae shoots you a small smile when he sees you and you wave back but then he’s gone.

It’s not until a good twenty minutes later do you remember that Baekhyun didn’t give you your notebook. You rushed back to the bench where you saw it last. It wasn’t there also.

Well, shit. You’re screwed for that test next week.

hey, this is Y/N. i don’t have your number so i’m texting you though sehun’s. 

You read over the text and groan. Why would he care if you have his number or not—of course you don’t. Delete.

uhhh, anyways, do you still have that notebook you took pictures of? I can't remember if I took it back or not haha

‘uhhh, anyways’ is too awkward, dammit. Delete that as well.

hey this is Y/N. do you still have my notebook you took pictures of? I can't remember if I took it back or not haha

Okay, okay. Not bad, straight to the point. A little laugh in the end to ease the awkwardness. Hit send, Y/N, before you freak out even more. You press the blue button and thrust the phone back into Sehun’s hand before diving into your pasta. Nothing like food to hit your biggest worries.

“You’re such a coward, worrying about texting him,” Sehun snarks, tapping on the screen.

You glare at him, mouth stuffed, and he glances a look at you, smirking at your appearance. “Ass,” you mutter.

“That’s me.” 

The door to the cafe jingles open and it's almost like a fairy tale when your eyes dart to the customer in the almost empty restaurant, with you sitting directly in sight of the door, and lock eyes with Baekhyun.

“Oh, Y/N! Sehun!” he exclaims, waving at the two of you with his signature smile, fingers straight as a stick, gaps wide between them in that weird way he waves at people (he still makes it cute).

You smile a small smile, and Sehun gives a weird ass cool nod that Baekhyun takes a greeting does a weird nod back. He pulls a chair from the empty table next to you, dropping the bag and sitting in the middle, your left, Sehun’s right. His side profile was astonishing.

You looked back to your food, taking another bite, as they engaged in baseball talk, wallowing about whether or not you should bring up the elephant in your room.

Thankfully, Baekhyun, ever the one with many gifts from God, looks towards you abruptly, slamming his hand on the table. You flinch, eyes startled to his, wide in shock, almost mirroring his.

He chuckles and you clamp your lips and relax your posture, eyes drifting away. Well, that’s embarrassing.

“Sorry,” he snickers. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“She’s a coward. She’s always scared,” Sehun interjects.

“No one asked you,” you retort, throwing the closest object to you (a napkin) hoping it would hit him straight in the eye (it didn’t; it floated to a stop in the middle of the table).

“Anyways, your notebook. It’s in my locker, I totally forgot to give it back, my bad.” His hand comes up to unconsciously rub at the back of his neck and you inwardly coo at the small pout on his—no! ”If you want, we can go now to the lockers since I have practice. Do you have a class?”

Your mind went blank for some strange reason and the only thing that came out was an “uh...”

Sehun, the sometimes-angel he is, saves you and you are so very grateful. “She doesn’t.”

Baekhyun looks between you and Sehun, an unrecognizable expression on his face, before his lips turn into a smile. “Great!”

He makes small talk while you finish your food, helping Sehun occasionally on the essay he was pumping out. He leaned over Sehun’s shoulder, his glasses slipping down his nose, and his eyebrows scrunched as they glazed over the screen. He’d gotten annoyed from his bangs that he clipped them up exposing his forehead, and—oh god, what is wrong with you.

“Okay!” you announce,  a little too high pitched and chair screeching back at a screech that resonated through the empty shop. You freeze, coughing awkwardly when Baekhyun looks up at you through his circle lenses and Sehun snickers in the back. You chuckle, smile tense, before grabbing your backpack in light speed, fixing your jacket.

You cock your finger back towards the door, and tilt your head. “Sehun are you coming? Let’s go.” Your heart pounds—probably because you made a fool of yourself. Sehun shrugs before packing his stuff, Baekhyun following.

Sehun and Baekhyun, with their longer legs and faster pace, strode in front of you on the too thin sidewalk. You lingered behind sometimes joining in on the conversation but you felt as if you’d interrupt them with all the sporty jock language they were using.

You just decided to stare at Baekhyun. And admire. And daydream about what it would be like to marry and have tiny babies together. But at the moment. Admire.

Even the back of his head was adorable, added to the fact he was wearing the team’s hat and hoodie combined. Really, whoever designed them was genius. Baekhyun looks absolutely swallowed, only the tips of his fingers peeking out from the sweater paws.

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N?” Sehun knocks on your head, and your eyes immediately snap towards his the moment Baekhyun’s eyes meet yours. “Is the back of his head that fascinating?”

“Wh-what? No, what the—” you end up smacking Sehun feeling the nape of your neck warming up and letting your hair curtain over your face on the side that Baekhyun faced towards you.

“Woah, there, no need to get violent, I was just joking,” he intonates the last word, a smirk voiced and you glare up at him hoping your message traveled light years fast. You take back what you said about him being a sometimes-angel. He’s the devil reincarnate.

Baekhyun laughed his small cute laugh like ’hahaha’ and said something about zoning out. You nodded dumbly and continued to trail along with him.

“As I was saying...” Sehun says, hand waving in the air nonchalantly, “Y/N’s just using me as an excuse for leaving her at the game because she’s probably just embarrassed that she doesn’t want to miss the new episode of Extraordinary You—ow! What was that for?”

You smile up at him, lips pursed, words venomous, “what?”

He looks away, pouting muttering how you’re a big fat meanie. Baby.

“Oh Extraordinary You is so good. Are you caught up with all the episodes? I haven’t had time to watch the last two,” Baekhyun comments and your neck snaps as you look up at him.

“Oh, uh...” with the thought that he didn’t find it embarrassing that you spend your free time watching romantic dramas that could never actually happen in real life, you spoke up. “I’m caught up.” You still mentally threw Sehun into the pits of hell where he belonged.

Sehun snorts as Baekhyun hums.

A curious smile peaks over the edges of Baekhyun’s lips as he looks at Sehun. “Why... is it weird or something?”

“No, just, she thinks that she’s uncool to watch dramas twenty-four seven—mmmph—what are you—!”

Your hand stays at Sehun’s side as you smile at Baekhyun. “Just ignore him. He spouts bullshit twenty-four seven,” you give a pointed look towards Sehun at the end. 

Baekhyun laughs. “Okay, then.” 

“He spouts bullshit twenty-four seven,” Sehun imitates, voice pitches higher.

“I don’t talk like that!”

The walk to the locker rooms aren’t too far, just outside the school campus. It’s only a 10-minute walk from the food court area and you’re there in no time. 

Luhan from the baseball team, which you know of from how much he frequents your apartment to hang out with Sehun, stole the younger boy, stating that they’d be back in a minute after stepping out of the locker rooms. You sat on the bench in the middle of the locker rooms while Baekhyun shuffled through his lockers that was packed to the brim.

“I’m not usually this messy,” Baekhyun mumbles as he takes out another bundle of what looks like an old sport jacket. “I’ve just been really busy these days,” he adds.

“It’s fine, take your time,” you commented, twiddling your fingers.

A few boys stepped in to the locker room, and you looked up briefly recognizing their faces but not their names. 

“Oh, Baekhyun?” one of them called. “You brought a girl into the locker rooms? You never did that with anyone, even Eunha.” The two at his sides snickered and you watched as Baekhyun’s ears turned red at the implications.

“It’s not like that,” Baekhyun barked as he continued ruffling through his lockers. “They’re idiots, don’t listen to them.”

You chuckle softly. “Okay.”

“Found it!” he grins, spinning it around and holding it out towards you.

“Oh, cool, thanks,” you state, taking the book from him.

“Yeah, but I should be telling you that,” he chuckles. “Why do you use a notebook anyway? Laptops are a thing, you know?”

“Yeah, but I like writing the stuff. It helps me remember everything,” you say, stuffing the notebook into your bag.

Baekhyun hums. “Good point, but the hand cramps are so not worth it.”

You shrug it off. “Whatever, Byun.”

“Hey, Baekhyun! Practice is starting. Your girlfriend can stay if she wants, I already asked coach,” one of the boys called.

Your face warms up at the title, and you’re meek ‘I’m not his girlfriend’ is muted by the raucous of the other boys coming in. Baekhyun sends you a shy smile and shakes his head. “Again, idiots, but you can stay if you want.”

“No, it’s alright,” you breathe, “I have class anyways, so it’s time I go. Can you remind Sehun to buy dinner, and say no chicken, please?”

“Yeah, sure. Isn’t his phone broken or something like that?”

“He’s an idiot also.”

“Looks like everyone on this team is an idiot.”

You hum, thinking over the words, one thought shining brightly in the midst of all the others.

The next thing you say is totally uncalled for and if you were in a less delirious state and not around Byun Baekhyun, it would’ve never escaped your mouth. “You’re not, though. That’s why I l love—”

Baekhyun suddenly frowns and your heart drops. You idiot! Why would you say something like that? What if he—shit. You totally messed up. The whole getting to know him, shit, shit, shit. You totally messed up. He doesn’t have time to respond as one of the boys steals him, shoveling him out of the room, throwing you a beaming smile in compensation. You can’t seem to reciprocate.

The locker room is awfully quiet, now.

It has been exactly one day since you spilled your mouth in front of Baekhyun and it has been exactly one day since you have regretted saying that. You saw him this morning, at the coffee shop down the street. He was just minding his own business, looking through his phone while taking a few sips of his drink here and there when you accidentally bumped into him. Nothing precarious happened, like you fell into his arms or his coffee spilled all over your shirt and he let you wear his spare.

No. You blushed as red as a tomato and stuttered a sorry, before scurrying off like a mouse at the stony gaze pointed directly at you.

Why did you even open your mouth and say something stupid like that? You weren’t an idiot. You knew what was implied with those words, and yet you had to go and say it. You probably ruined the friendship you had slowly progressed with Baekhyun, too. What a stupid person you are.

You walked in to the microbiology class with a huff, no regular coffee in hand as you were far too flummoxed after the run-in with Baekhyun to go back into the cafe. Jongdae had noticed something was off and shared a look with Minseok. The TA shrugged. 

You made a small burrow surrounding yourself with first, your books, second, your water bottle, and third, your bag, making a small barrier that you wished would shield you from all the remorse you felt upon yourself. Once the professor had walked in and started the presentation, you pride yourself from behind the wall. 

Your motions were robotic as you copied important things from the presentation, highlighted key concepts in your textbook, and answered questions prompted by the professor. But it was as if your mind and body were separate and your soul was nowhere to be found.

At the end of class, the professor had called you and Jongdae up, mentioning something about the project. 

You forlornly walked up beside Jongdae, the scuffling of your feet earning another worried stare from the boy.

“Y/N, Jongdae, I just wanted to note that since there’s a new student in the class, and an odd number of people, I would like for him to work with you,” the professor explains.

You nod numbly. Jongdae questions as to who. 

“Oh, he actually attend today’s class, I told him to meet me as well… oh, there he is!”

You felt someone sidle next to you and Jongdae shifted to look towards him. “Oh, Baekhyun!”

Your head snapped towards the side, and true to his words, Baekhyun stood to your side, not bothering you a glance. He smiled at Jongdae then at the professor, thanking him.

Jongdae glanced to you, your mouth agape. “Y/N, do you want to come with us?”

“H-huh?” you stutter as you look towards Jongdae. “Sorry, zoned out.”

“Yeah… uh, do you want to come with us for lunch? We’re having pizza,” Jongdae reiterates.

Your eyes flicker towards Baekhyun and sure enough, the cold stare from this morning and the last time you saw him were still there. 

“No, I’m fine. Thank you, though,” you say, lips pulled in a tight smile. 

“Oh, okay, then. See ya!” Jongdae grins, before turning towards Baekhyun who still stared at you. He nudged Baekhyun’s side. “Let’s go, then.”

His eyes are clouded as he looks at you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking and it makes your skin tingle from all the attention. He finally pulls them away from you and you let out the breath you were unknowingly holding. “Yeah, let’s go.”

What an idiot you are.

The smell of meat filled the room packed to the brim with college students. Baekhyun sat stuck in the middle of Chanyeol and Jongdae and was somehow appointed to the meat as he got the lowest runs during practice. The room was far too hot, even for Baekhyun and he grabbed the air conditioner remote, setting it at the coolest. The boys burst into raucous laughter at a story that Junmyeon was recalling but Baekhyun couldn’t find it in himself to laugh. He merely blinked as he flipped another piece of samgyeopsal.

His thoughts were running all over the place, like a hurricane. But it was all trained on you. 

Like that one time when he’d been coming from his class, he’d somehow spotted you in the midst of the crowd. You yawned, pulling down the hood covering your face and he had to hold back a snort at the way your flyaways stuck up filled with static energy. He started walking towards you, wanting to pet down the hairs but he stopped midway. Why would he want to do that? And he stood there like a fool, in the middle of the courtyard staring as you walked away from him.

He’d seen you so many other times and each time you drew him in to you and he didn’t know what was happening. Why his heart sped up at the sight of you so much, as if it were about to burst out of his chest. Why he had the urge to hug the living daylights out of you at the sight of you, as if you were his lover and he was yours. Why he blushed whenever you complimented him like a lovesick teenage boy. 

The not an idiot thing was the last straw. And what followed scared him to the deepest parts of his soul. You couldn’t just go around telling people those kinds of things with that much sincerity and stupid sparkle like you held the sun, stars, and meteorites in your eyes. It made him realize something. This whatever he felt, was different. 

It felt like how he used to feel back when he would consider you his best friend in the skip of a beat if anyone asked. It felt like that, but even more. And it scared him.

It was different from anything he felt when he was with any one of his past girlfriends. It was similar but far too different to even be compared. It was much more than that.

Was it friendship? Was it attraction? Could it maybe be… love?

Chanyeol knocked his elbow into Baekhyun’s ribs, lightly. “Baek, the meat’s burning.”

“Shit,” Baekhyun muttered to himself, still in a daze. This could be called love, couldn’t it? He always went on and on about how, all the girls he’s dated, he’s never loved. His heart was never full enough whenever he was around them to even be considered love. But around you—

“Baek,” Chanyeol called more loudly, this time jolting Baekhyun.

Baekhyun snapped his head towards Chanyeol, voice clearer. “Shit.”

“Yes, shit, the meat is burning,” Chanyeol pointed out and it finally registered in Baekhyun’s mind as to where he was. 

Baekhyun scrambled to save the meat, hurriedly flipping them, and blowing out a sigh as they were still edible.

“What’s wrong?” Chanyeol breathed, mouth full with meat. He placed a piece in a perilla leaf, adding a tiny dollop of ssamjang and placing it in Baekhyun’s hand.

Baekhyun takes it, mulling over the question. “I don’t know.” He put the wrap in his mouth, slowly chewing. “You know Y/N, right?”

Chanyeol nods, sipping his water and swallowing. 

“What do you think about her?”

Chanyeol hums. “She’s nice. Why? Do you like her?”

Baekhyun chokes on the water he’s drinking. “What? Me? Like her?”

Chanyeol shrugs. “You asked me what I thought.”

“But I don’t like her,” he wrongfully states. The way those words fall out of his lips, every word placed in it, feels wrong.

“Didn’t she used to be your friend or something like that?” Chanyeol reasons, eyebrows furrowing.

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Okay, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol interjects, seeing the inner conflict and what exactly Baekhyun was trying to get at here. “I’m going to ask you three questions.”

Baekhyun stares at him, confused. “About what?”

“One.” Chanyeol holds up his index finger, ignoring his question. “Do you like spending time with Y/N?”

Baekhyun blinks but slowly nods. Over the past few weeks where your interactions with him have slowly raised, he realized that whatever time spent with you, whether it was just a few moments, or hours on end, he never despised it. He even sometimes looked forward to it. No matter how cold he acted towards you. 

“Two.” Chanyeol pops another finger up. “Do you think she’s pretty?”

“W-what? How is that even… relevant—?”

“Answer the question, Byun.”

Baekhyun bites his lip. “Okay, yeah, she’s pretty, I guess.” This question doesn’t take long for him to answer. When you were little, Baekhyun always figured you were pretty with your blinding smile and sparkly eyes, and as you grow up, your features maturing and becoming more distinct, he’d say you’d become beautiful. In his eyes at least.

Chanyeol claps his hand, a smile spilling over his features. “Close your eyes for a minute.”

Baekhyun complies, albeit hesitantly, just in case this was just some prank and Chanyeol is just sneaking some raw garlic in his wrap. But Chanyeol’s words pull him in.

“You’re standing there, okay?”

Baekhyun imagines this well enough. He stood in the middle of a road that he’s never seen before, alone. He doesn’t know what Chanyeol’s point is but he doesn’t open his eyes just yet, intrigued as to what comes next.

“Y/N is there next to you,” his deep voice continues.

Baekhyun places you right in front of him. You’re standing there how he saw you the last time you crossed paths. Bundled up in an oversized hoodie, and jeans, your go to outfit everytime he sees you. Hair pulled into a low ponytail because as you said, it’s annoying when its down, and it hurts when it’s too high up. And only a touch of lip balm because makeup takes too much time and according to you, doesn’t fit you. He thinks you’d look pretty in anything—wait, no! This is exactly what he’s not supposed to be thinking. However, the butterflies in his stomach start to stir.

“And then she’s leaning closer  and closer…” Chanyeol hums again. 

The you behind his eyes, mirrors the actions and he watches, wide eyed as you’re almost nose to nose with him. Your breath fans over his cheeks and you flutter your eyes shut, standing there, waiting. He knows what comes next and his heart aches, his skin tingles, waiting for him to continue. He can’t even pinpoint whatever he’s feeling. He needs to repress it, he knows that he should or else it will just end up absolutely horrible. Baekhyun can’t seem to make a decision. His lips press into a thin line before his body is moving before he can react.

And he’s kissing you.

Baekhyun’s eyes fly open. He’s met with Chanyeol’s trademark grin set in place and a slight rise to his eyebrows. “So? What did you see?”

“We…” Baekhyun voice was barely above a whisper and he felt his skin tingle. That was it wasn’t it? “We kissed.” The butterflies raged and he let them.

Jongdae knows the tension between you and Baekhyun. He can quite literally feel it when he’s in close proximity between the two of you. It’s so thick it suffocates him. But he knows he can fix it. He’s good friends with the both of you and he knows where the two of you went wrong. Baekhyun is scared and running away from his feelings and you are beating yourself over having feelings for him. It’s a never ending cycle and Jongdae just wants it to stop. Which is why he’s strategically planned this last work study to the tiniest detail naming it: Let’s Get Them Together Because Everyone is Fucking Sick of it. The name needs work but the sentiment is still there.

The warmth of the cafe drafts over him as he opens the door, with you following closely behind him. He meets Baekhyun’s eyes for a split second before they immediately go towards you as you hide behind Jongdae like he’s some barrier. He doesn’t appreciate this and would prefer more eye contact between the two of you as to initiate something, so he moves away. 

Jongdae reaches the table and hovers, as you take a seat on the edge seeing that Baekhyun took the other. You face each other, but don’t dare to look at one another. The both of you were thoughtful enough to leave a seat for him straight in the middle, so there was that at least.

Operation Let’s Get Them Together because Everyone is Fucking Sick of it is now a go.

“Y/N! Why don’t you show Baekhyun that thing you showed me last night?” Jongdae chimes, smiling. Baekhyun looks questionably between the two of you before focusing his attention on you where you pulled out your laptop and materials. “Would the two of you like anything to drink?” He further questions, inwardly patting himself on the back when the two of you scoot closer together to ‘see’ your screen.

“I’m fine,” you chimed, voice soft. “Thank you.”

“Baekhyun?” Jongdae questions before looking at the cup Baekhyun taps at.

“I’m good too.” 

“Alrighty, then!” Jongdae exclaims, clapping his hands together, before narrowing his eyes at you. “Make sure you tell Byunnie here, everything alright? And in detail too!” 

Jongdae proceeds to skip off, laughing heartily at the weird stares you probably shared behind his back. Jongdae wasn’t planning on doing anything. Just fueling the spark that already came between the two of you.

Baekhyun’s eyes have opened into a new dimension and he knows about what’s driving him to act like this towards you. Well of course, he knows, he’s always known but always chose to ignore it. But now, he wants to change. He wants to change but now, he doesn’t know how. 

It’s been one week since his talk with Chanyeol and the three of you had met up almost everyday, seeing as you didn’t have much time to cram it all into the last day. He felt his walls breaking around you. A small smile whenever you scrunched your nose at a term you didn’t understand, turning to Jongdae all confused with some tech problem only to find out that it was something stupid—you would turn in to a blushing mess after. Whenever he met eyes with you, you would immediately look away and it made his heart clench. 

Sometimes you made yourself so small, he forgot you were even there, letting his walls break down thinking he was only in front of Jongdae. He would then remember that you were present, making eye contact and he would then see the pretty blush you would sport. He’d shut up straight away.

Jongdae had planned to meet at a cafe this time, going out for ice cream later in celebration for finishing. Baekhyun had come far too early, going straight after his last class just in case he came too late—a bad habit of his. And once the two of you arrived together, he’d straightened, ready to get this done and over with. He still didn’t know what was going to happen with the two of you, but has accepted that whatever would happen, would happen. But after that weird encounter with Jongdae, he felt like something was up.

“That was… weird right?” Baekhyun spoke, looking at you.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “totally weird.” You didn’t look him in the eyes as you said this.

There were a few moments of silence that drifted between the two of you, the ambiance of the cafe seeming to make up for the lack of conversation, before you spoke up.

“Did you manage to find the stuff about the stool analysis? That’s what Jongdae was talking about earlier, I guess. He told me about it and I found some stuff just in case you didn’t,” you started shifting your computer towards him.

He leaned over, hoping with the depths of his soul that you couldn’t hear how loud his heart was beating in front of you. You pointed out the parts that you found interesting and the differences between the analysis you’d come up with the days before. Baekhyun hummed, nodding along to everything you were saying, before one point caught his eye. He pointed this out. “This one seems nice to use.”

You grinned, before flipping open your notebook. “Right? I thought so too. I found some additional information about that specimen and compiled them so we could add it to our presentation.” You slid the notebook over to Baekhyun as well, and he had to scoot his chair closer to see. 

“If we use this in our presentation...” he started, lifting his head up and locking eyes with yours. His voice faltered. 

You were a breath away from him, nose almost brushing into his. He stayed there, frozen, wondering as to what to do in this situation, mind running a mile a minute and yet doing nothing at all. You were the first to move, coughing haphazardly, and leaning away from him, before pulling open a few more tabs saved on your bookmarks.

It would be okay, right? It was just you that his heart was beating for. Baekhyun was just a little too late in realizing that.

Jongdae entered at just the right time and Baekhyun spent the rest of the time, avoiding your eye now and trying his very best to control the beating of his heart.

Night had fallen as they exited out of the cafe. Baekhyun and you both carried a drink, yours being hot chocolate and Baekhyun’s another coffee to keep him awake for the rest of the night. With increased practice for baseball came less time for him to focus on his studies. And he really needed that stable GPA.

“Well, I go this way,” Jongdae states, cocking his thumb to the right. You and Baekhyun turn to look at him, confusedly.

“Isn’t your apartment like right next to mine, though?” you ask, confusedly.

“Well, yes, but I promised to meet someone earlier. Sorry I can’t walk you home, Y/N, and no ice cream,” he apologizes before his eyes brighten up again. “Oh, Baekhyun! Can’t you just walk her home? You’re headed in somewhat the same direction, right?”

Baekhyun scratches the back of his head. “I guess?”

“Great!” Jongdae exclaims before skipping off once again.

“Jongdae is acting really weird today…” you comment and Baekhyun can’t help but nod his head in agreement.

It’s a twenty minute walk from where you are now to your apartment building. Half of the time is spent silent with Baekhyun. 

Until you meet Sehun at the crosswalk.

“Oh, Y/N-noona, Baekhyun-hyung!” Sehun calls, and you wave at the familiar face, Baekhyun nodding in greeting. “Didn’t know you were such a gentleman, hyung,” Sehun teases, poking at Baekhyun’s sides. The older man swats at his arm in retaliation sticking his tongue out at the former. You laugh to the side at the two children it feels like you’re walking home.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out, eyes lighting up at the name.

“Who is it?” Sehun asks, as he slides next to you.

“My mom,” you reply.

The words are falling out of Baekhyun’s lips before he could stop them. “Tell her I said hi.”

You smile. “Okay.”

You pick up the phone, voice soft as you slowly walk in front of the two boys. “Hi, Mom.”

“Yes, yes, I’m good. Oh, by the way, Baekhyun says hello. Yes, the one from next door.”

You look back at Baekhyun. “My mom says hello back and that you should come over some time,” you state. “You don’t have to if you want to, though,” you add as an afterthought.

“I’ll come over if I have some time later,” he tries.

“Sure,” you answer, relaying his words to your mom. Baekhyun can’t help but look endearingly at you from the back.

Sehun brings Baekhyun’s attention on to him, then. “Hyung.”

He looks over, eyes blinking, as he places his hands in his pockets, craving the warmth as a particularly fierce wind drafts through. “What’s up?”

“You like her, don’t you?”

Baekhyun blushes at the sudden confrontation. He thinks about it for a second before replying, not once thinking that it not be true. “Yeah, I do. Why do you ask?”

“She… talked to me earlier about you. Like a few days ago,” Sehun started, voice lowering. The three of you passed the crosswalk and continued on the side of the road. Sehun and Baekhyun lagged the tiniest bit as you walked along unaware of the conversation being shared between the two boys.

“Yeah?”

“She said she said something to you and you just turned cold and it was all her fault. I didn’t push her, but I asked her why she didn’t just play it off and say that she didn’t mean it,” Sehun started, getting straight to the point. Baekhyun waited on the balls of his heels for the answer. “You know what she said?”

Baekhyun shook his head.

“It’s better this way. What if I grow too attached and he just leaves again. I don’t think I can do that.” Sehun looked at Baekhyun gauging him for an answer.

So... that’s how she felt?

Baekhyun didn’t like to think about the period when you stopped being friends. He thought it would be better for you, to stay away from his crowd. You would always used to point to them, saying that you didn’t like them because of how snotty there were. And when Baekhyun joined the baseball team, with those same people, he thought you would hate him for that or at least grow to hate him so he just... distanced himself before he could get hurt. Because he was childish. And immature. He didn’t account to how you would feel, thinking that you would get over it. Maybe Baekhyun was as much a stable in your life as you were in his.

“I’m telling you this, because I know you’re a good person and I really don’t want you to hurt her again. When you left her before, I think it affected her more than she lets on. She doesn’t show it much, but I think that’s why she’s so wary with people in general. I really don’t want to see her like that, ever. So please—”

“It’s okay, Sehunnie,” Baekhyun interjects. “I know. I’m planning on making things right between us and I don’t plan on letting her go.”

“Are you sure?” Sehun asks warily.

Baekhyun nodded in confirmation as you finally turn back, hanging up on your phone call and noticing the distance between you and the two of you boys.

You laugh. “You guys are so slow!”

Yes, Baekhyun is sure. He knows what he wants to do. What he needs to do.

You shivered under the touch of the cool autumn sky, the breeze ruffling up your hair. As an attempt to block yourself from the harsh winds, you pulled up your hoodie, the fabric covering your ears giving you just the warmth you crave. 

A familiar mud green slide that twirled around like a pretzel came into view as you turned the corner. Your heart felt full at the images of sunny days and fall evenings spent in the very same space years ago, with a certain child.

It was surreal when you turned towards the swings and saw the same kid that you remember from your childhood. Tousled mop hair that went past the eyebrows, button nose, rosy cheeks, and the poutiest of pouts adorned his lips as he glared at the rock a few meters away. His jean clad legs, swung back and forth and the momentum carried him down then up then down and up again, a repeating cycle. As a child, you could never stand the swings for long—they made you get butterflies in your stomach, and not the good kind.

He spotted you, eyes widening and legs skidding across the wood chips to halt his flight, before you could even wonder whether you wanted to be there or not. It looked as if you’d intruded on a rather private moment. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

You stepped out of the shadows, clammy hands gripping the strap of your bag. “I’d ask the same to you.”

The swing only slightly rocked back and forth now and you walked up to him, taking the adjacent seat. You didn’t look at him, absentmindedly kicking your legs back and forth but then decided against it when a wave of nausea passed over you. Some things never change. 

Baekhyun exhaled a heavy breath that somehow had layers to it. The creaking of the metal joints, rusted over years of children taking turns and calling dibs, showing, as he rocked back and forth. “You remember this place?”

You look towards the side, his voice drawing your attention. Clear, resolute, brights, but at this moment it sounded much different than the Baekhyun you remember. His head was tilted back, eyes closed and face relaxed, serene, and you couldn’t help but feel that way too. This place did something like that to you. All the jitters, and nervous butterflies were drowned out by the aura of this place, and it made you feel calm, comfortable. Home. “Of course I do,” you whispered. You were afraid that if you spoke too loud, something would break, and this, whatever this was would go with it. Your voice merely echoed through the space between the two of you, the buzz of cicadas quickly rebutting it.

“I come here sometimes,” he looks towards you as he says this, and you hold his eyes. Your eyes wander across his face. He looks so tired. “To think.”

You smile a small smile. “Funny.” He cocks an eyebrow at your comment. You shake your head at his pointed look. “I came here just to do that.”

“Do you come here often?” 

Your breath comes out in visible puffs in front of you. “No.” Another, but larger. “Yes.” 

He chuckles, his signature laugh making your smile grow even bigger. “And we’ve never seen each other before today? Crazy.”

“Yeah,” you grin. “Crazy.”

Your eyes bore into him, as Baekhyun, and as you see the way his shoulders hunch back, the furrow of his eyebrows, how his skin almost sags, the shadows bringing out the darkness under his eyes. You can’t help but ask, again. “Are you okay?”

His head tilts to your side and he opens one of his eyes, peering at you almost upside down, sideways. “Of course I am,” he chirps, “just a little tired ‘s all.”

“Then why don’t you go sleep?” 

He tilts his head back up, eyes closing. “Can’t.” Silence looms over the two of you, but he breaks it, once again. “I actually need to apologize to you.”

You turn towards him, confusion etched over your face. “Apologize?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I’m really sorry for being super... distant to you these past weeks. I don’t really know what got over me.”

“No, no, I mean,” you stutter, grasping his words and reason for an apology. “I should be apologizing. I guess, I stepped over a line, and your reaction was normal for what I did—”

“For what you did?” he interjects, puzzled. “I don’t get it, are we even talking about the same thing?”

“The locker rooms?” you try, wincing at the harsh memory and its outcome.

“Yeah… but you didn’t say anything like that—”

“Yes, but I said something that were implied in my words and—”

“Okay,” he grins and you warily meet his eyes. “How about we just forget that ever happened and start over again?” He cocks his head cutely and you inwardly coo, being reminded of the child you once knew (and now know again).

“Okay,” you agree, smiling.

The small smile he sported suddenly turned larger and much more wary. A mischievous grin pulled at the corner of his lips as he stood up to his full height, the swing twirling erratically at the loss of his weight. “I have an idea.” He bends down to pick up the backpack perched on the corner pole of frame when he looks at you, almost shy, and you were transported once again to the time when you were just a child and didn’t know anything better in the world. “You don’t need to be anywhere soon, do you?”

You shake your head no as you mirror him, dusting off your behind for remaining dirt, and straightening out your jacket.

“Great,” he beamed. “Let’s go!”

The arcade was still the same as you remember it. When you came to, wondering where in the hell Byun Baekhyun was taking you and whether you should’ve followed or him or just ditched to a sauna for the rest of the night was swiped clear out of your memory when you arrived at the front. A few of the letters balanced on a hilt of the building, were fused out, the A, C, and E, black in the darkness of the night. The sign now spelled, ‘RAD’ but you remembered the time when all of the letters dazzled bright colors all on their own.

Baekhyun shot you one of his award winning smiles when you looked at him, incredulously, mouth agape. “This was still here?” you marveled, breathlessly. 

He nodded, excitingly. “It hasn’t changed one bit.”

And he wasn’t wrong. 

The entrance was dimly lit, only one person over the counter and the teenage boy looked eerily dead, the light above him flickering on and off. When the bell chimed as you entered, he jolted, eyes glazing over the two of you.

“For two?” He queried, monotonously.

“Yes, please,” Baekhyun replied, bouncing on the tips of his toes.

The boy registered and handed you the tickets as you and Baekhyun paid for your own. Baekhyun tried paying for you saying that he dragged you into it, but you stared him down, and he eventually caved. Why would he even pay for you? It’s not like the two of you were on a—no! Y/N, don’t go there! Bad territory to be roaming around especially this close to a guy in a seemingly empty space. You shake your head free of thoughts as you focused back on the game at hand.

Baekhyun had got the lead when you glanced at his screen, but you quickly overpassed him, a trick from so long ago, now muscle memory, taking over you.

He groaned and you cheered as the tickets from under piled out and a crown displayed on your screen and a frowny face on his. You had an urge to soothe the scrunch between his brows when you saw him gloating off the number of tickets you accumulated over the time you’d been here. 

As you headed to the counter filled with different toys and stuffed animals, the clock behind it showed that it was almost 10. You’d been here for two hours? It barely felt like 1.

Baekhyun’s eyes were trained on a pikachu plushie to the corner. He didn’t have enough tickets to buy them.

“I’ll get the Pikachu, over there,” you pointed, and couldn’t help but coo at the small almost inaudible whine that blew past Baekhyun’s lips. “Are you going to get anything?”

His eyes flitted between the number of tickets displayed on the machine and back to the wall of toys. 

“How about that tiger over there? It kinda looks like you,” you nudged, smiling, when his eyes brightened up again at the sight. 

“Okay,” he states. “I’ll take that one.”

The walk back was heavy, silent. The impending doom and the utter discomfort at not having a bed for the night loomed over you and you cursed yourself for ever giving in to your roommate's enticing offers. Dammit, you and your weak heart.

Baekhyun took a deep breath as the ticking of the crosswalk, halted you from the street. “I go this way.”

He points towards his left and you know your apartment is in the opposite direction but you can’t help but want to lie and walk with him just a little bit more. Everything about today had just been so... nice. There was no other way to describe. It made your cheeks blush red, your breath unsteady, your legs stagger and you heart beat so hard you felt as if it would burst out of your chest.

The words were falling past your lips and you wished to take them back as soon as they escaped when you saw the worry fall onto his face. “I was just gonna crash at a cafe for the night.”

“Too much homework?” he questioned.

“Well, yes, and I’ve been kicked out of my room for the night,” you laughed the last part off, hoping that it didn’t sound as bad as it really should. And then you realized that it did sound as bad as it did and you were quick to rebuke just in case a tiny part of Baekhyun worried for you. “I mean! It’s not a big deal or anything, just I owe Sehun a big favor and apparently his plus one’s house is under plumbing or something and I do have that essay do the day after, and I guess, it just all works out...?”

“You don’t have anywhere else?”

You nervously chuckled. “I already tried...? And it’s fine. Not the first time—”

“You can stay with me,” Baekhyun interjected. You coughed a sudden cough. “If you want to, I mean.”

“Uhhhh, well—”

“You’ll have to owe me a favor, of course, it’s not every day I let someone borrow the mattress under my bed, but it’s fine if its you, as long as it is a big favor.”

You stood speechless for the minutest of moments. “I—is that okay?”

“Yeah, it's cool. A big favor, though, okay,” he pointed. 

You held your hands up in surrender. “A big favor,” you repeated. 

He dropped his finger and a lazy smile that brightened up his face all the more, washed over him. “Let’s go then, I’m bunked.”

You startled awake, eyes shooting open. Darkness meets you and it takes a few moments to register the room you’re in with the only light source being from the tiny gap in the curtain. Curtains. Blue curtains. You don’t have blue curtains. 

You’re currently on the floor. Laying on a mattress. There are two bunk beds on either side of you. One of them occupied with Byun Baekhyun who is currently dangling from the bed and drooling. Your brain finally registers awake and reruns everything that happened the night before, starting from your unexpected meeting all the way to Baekhyun’s gracious offer. Considering where you are now, last night wasn’t a dream.

You throw off the covers, suddenly feeling hot. Did he always sleep with no air conditioner? You wondered whether or not you should stay until he woke up, or if you’d be overstaying your welcome. Padding around for your phone, it was half past nine. You didn’t have any classes until the afternoon. You decided to kill time going through your social media, having nothing else to do. But your eyes soon got bored and trailed towards Baekhyun’s almost right above you.

You could make out his distinct features in the dim lights, the ones you are used to and everyone saw, but there was something so peaceful with the way his eyelashes laid against his cheeks and his lips and cheeks a rosy pink. And the drool. You stifled a laugh when the drool started to roll down his chin, threatening to drop off.

It wasn’t long for your heart to start pounding in your eardrums at the serenity of this environment and how quiet everything is. It starts getting louder, almost deafening until you peel your eyes away from Baekhyun.

You suddenly make eye contact with Chanyeol, who gazes at you blankly, face held in his palm.

You intake a sharp breath at the confrontation as he narrows his eyes at you. “Did Baekhyun bring you here?” he whispers.

You nod slowly before realizing the implication of the statement. “Wait, no! Not like that,” your harsh whisper makes Baekhyun stir and your wide-eyed as Chanyeol hold his finger to his lips. Like a deer caught in headlights you slowly nod in understanding. “I just didn’t have a place to stay, and Baekhyun offered. That’s all.”

Chanyeol’s eyes are clouded. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. For such an expressive person that everyone claims him to be he seems far too intimidating in front of you right now. “Do you like him?”

“What? No! Of course not.” you refute harshly. Chanyeol’s eyes narrow down at you. You wither under his gaze. “Okay, maybe a little. But don’t tell him, alright?”

“And why is that?” he presses.

“Just, please, I—” 

I’m scared. You choke back the words.

“I don’t want to lose him as a friend.”

Chanyeol nods. “Okay. Just be careful with him, okay? Some people use him because he’s Byun Baekhyun and he just lets it happen because he’s too nice and won’t say anything, so just when you’re with him, take care of him alright?”

You look at him questionably. “Why are you telling me this?”

He laughs, waving the question off. “It’s nothing.”

“Huh... you’re awake?” Baekhyun slurs from above you.

“Oh, Baekhyun!” Chanyeol grins. “I was just about to make breakfast, Y/N, will you join me?” A flip had switched in Chanyeol’s demeanor and your eyes don’t leave his, even as he shuffles out of his bed, his earlier words bouncing off the walls in your head. 

Baekhyun groans and flips his covers on top of his head, muffling a five minutes. Chanyeol cocked his towards you. “Coming?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, trailing behind Chanyeol.

xxx - xxx - xxxx [6:15 PM]: hey, Y/N! this is baekhyun! I got ur number from sehunnie if ur wondering 

xxx - xxx - xxxx [6:15 PM]: i gave sehun a lil something for you :) make sure you wear it to the game tomorrow!

xxx - xxx - xxxx [6:15 PM]: also u forgot your pikachu at mine

‘xxx - xxx - xxxx has been added as a new contact: baekhyun’

y/n [6:16 PM]: ...should i be worried?

y/n [6:16 PM]: and you can keep it. u probably wanted it more than me. think of it as... payment? for letting me stay the night

baekhyun [6:17 PM]: it’ll look cute on u i swear!!! just please :,( for me??

baekhyun [6:17 PM]: also the pikachu will do

y/n [6:18 PM]: i hope ur not lying 

baekhyun [6:18 PM]: i'm not!!!

y/n [6:19 PM]: sehun just came so i hope u stick to ur word

baekhyun [6:19 PM]: you’ll love it, trust me ;)

baekhyun [6:19 PM]: oh, i’ve gotta go now, duty calls

y/n [6:19 PM]: oh okay

y/n [6:20 PM]: get lots of rest and gl for tomorrow!!!

baekhyun [6:21 PM]: dw ill win it :)

baekhyun [6:21 PM]: just for you 

‘message failed to send. try again?’

Baekhyun gave you one of his old jerseys, and a yellow t-shirt. You got the reference, his favorite color being yellow, and ‘byun’ printed on the back of the jersey.

“All the Baekhyun fans have one of these, but hyung said this one was special since he got it personally for you or some bullshit.” You didn’t care much for Sehun’s snarkiness, taking the clothing with gentle hands and scurrying off into your bedroom to squeal because Baekhyun got this just for you!!!

You’d tucked it into a pair of loose-fitted jeans the afternoon after, spending hours doing your hair and makeup before topping it off with a team hat. You’d gone for a minimalistic look, trying too much to make sure it didn’t look like you actually spent hours on it. Not that you were dressing up for a certain someone—who are you kidding, you are totally dressing to impress. Sehun took one look at you and snorted. You swatted his arm ignoring the look he gave you. “I haven’t seen this much effort since prom in senior year.”

You huffed a whatever, stalking out of your apartment and placing yourself in the backseat of his car, as you went to pick up Mina. Apparently the two of them were together again. You figured you knew when that happened.

When you get to the field, Sehun announced that he’s hungry and went off to the hot dog stand. You and Mina, meanwhile, climb up to your seats taking in the view. The bleachers are filled to the brim with people from your school and also people from not. You underestimated the sheer popularity of the baseball team in your state.

And you also noticed many other girls dressed up similarly to you. 

“So there’s something between you and Baekhyun?” Mina spoke up, from beside you.

Your head whipped towards her and your mouth opened and closed like a fish, unable to make a response. 

She glanced towards your shirt and then to the fine print of ‘byun’ across your back and raised an eyebrow at your lack of an answer.

“W-were just friends,” you finally stuttered out.

Mina’s eyebrows raise up another level. “Sure…” she says, sounding totally not convinced. “Because friends blush at the mention of another friend’s name.”

Your hands fly to your cheeks patting them down. “I’m not blushing,” you frown.

She laughs. “Whatever you say, but I personally think you’d be good together.”

You look at her, curiously, egging her to go on.

“I mean, Baekhyun doesn’t really date that often. Eunha—was a stupid decision on his part, I don’t know what got into him. But he’s a good guy and I think he really likes you, Y/N.”

“He likes h-h-uh?” you bumble, head spinning.

Mina snickers. “Yeah, I think he does. And I’m the best when figuring out these types of things,” she grins, adding a cheeky wink towards you. 

Your left to mull about her words, as Sehun enters, handing you your hot dog and soda.

“Oh, it’s starting!” Sehun comments and the pitcher throws the first ball. The crowd goes wild.

The game ends with your team winning 6-4 and you find yourself cheering for them along with the others in the crowd.

Sehun drags you towards the locker rooms, telling you that it’ll be fine, and Baekhyun will totally not be weirded out by you visiting him after the game and telling him a good job. 

“Sehun!” One of the team called out as you entered the locker room. A horde of sweaty boys swatted at your friend and took the compliments he threw out. You craned your neck searching to find a familiar pink-haired boy before someone called your name from behind.

You turned to find Baekhyun, with a towel slung over his neck, bangs sticking to his forehead, and cheeks flushed. Not to mention the smile that spread over his face like he just saw an angel. He looked effortlessly hot. So unfair.

He jogged towards you and before you could even say a hello, he threw his arms around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You froze for a split second before wrapping your arms around his shoulders, a small smile playing on your lips. You forgot that he was really touchy realizing he must’ve never outgrown the habit, not that it was a particularily bad one. His drooling was far worse. With how tight he was hugging you, you figured it must’ve been out of relief. You knew it. He really was worried for the game.

“You did really well,” you breathed, lips hovering over his ear. He smelled like sweat, undoubtedly and you were sure the warmth would stick to your skin soon enough, but didn’t dare shy away from his hold. He would always hold you like this back then as well and you felt comfort from that fact. Some things really do never change. 

He groaned, voice muffled by your skin. His lips moving against your neck sent shivers through your skin so even if you did hear it, your mind was on another level. Finally he pulled his head back, still crouched so he looked up at you, a smirk sporting his lips. 

“You wore it.”

You rolled your eyes, and pulled your hands away from him, as he stood to his full height. “You’re the one who begged me to, Byun,” you huffed.

“No, I didn’t!” he exclaimed, sounding aghast at your presumption.

“Oh, really?” you egged, eyes sparkling. “Please? Just for me? Ring any bell?”

“Okay, okay, whatever, you say,” he grinned, hand coming up to ruffle your hair.

You frowned playfully before continuing. “But you did a really good job! You worried over nothing.”

“Who said I worried?” he pouted.

You laughed before motioning to his eye bags. He swatted at your hands, before the two of you burst into giggles. 

And then suddenly he’s grabbing your free hand, his encasing yours in warmth and raising it up into the air before shouting a loud ‘let’s go!’ to the rest of the people in the room.

The team chorused shouts in answer before Baekhyun tugged at your arm, eyes smiling like they held the galaxy and stars back at you before pulling you with the crowd that filed out of the cramped room. 

You lost Baekhyun to the crowd once you got to the party. Migrating towards the kitchen, you grabbed a soda from the fridge, deciding to pass on the drinks tonight, no matter how enticing they were. Sehun found you brooding in the corner not two minutes later, and true to his word, didn’t leave your side. You, Sehun, and Mina, played in a beer pong game with some guys you vaguely recognize from your sociology class, but can’t put a name on. You played rock, paper, scissors, every time to see who’d drink and it was as if Sehun got on the wrong side of Dionysus tonight. You quickly got bored, however, gravitating away from the crowd when Sehun and Mina headed out on to the dance floor. It couldn’t really be called that when really it was just the living room with some strobe lights and stereos that blasted half-assed music.

You took a seat on the empty two seater, sipping on your soda, and looking up when Jongdae came down to sit next to you.

“Having fun?” he asked, voice almost muffled by the music even though he was practically screaming.

“I think I’ve had enough for the night,” you laughed. “I’ll just find Baekhyun and Sehun and tell them I’m leaving before I go,” you say before getting up.

“Oh, I think I saw Baekhyun before, I’ll take you to him,” he commented, before leading the way.

It isn’t hard to find Baekhyun, what with his eccentric hair color and white outfit. However, Jongdae suddenly stops in front of you, making you bump into him. 

His mouth opened to say something and you peeked over his shoulder, thinking that there was something there that you just had to see. “What is it—”

Your voice falters and then you lock eyes with Byun Baekhyun. And he’s kissing someone. He’s kissing Eunha.

Baekhyun regrets it the moment it happened. His eyes fly open, when her mouth comes into contact with his and he sees your eyes undoubtedly meet his across the crowds of people hovering over the shoulder of Kim Jongdae. You stare into his eyes and before he can even pull away or shout your name, your gone, surrounding yourself in the shadows with Jongdae running behind you. He snaps his head back, glaring at Eunha.

He doesn’t bother to speak a word to her, opting to run after the way you came from. Shit, shit, shit, this probably would not end well. No, no, no need for negative thoughts, he will make it end well.

He doesn’t find you in the kitchen which was the way you were headed but he found Sehun and pounced on his immediately.

“Did you see, Y/N?”

“Huh, no, why?” Sehun asked, eyebrows furrowed. The smile was wiped off his face and in place a frown. “Hyung…”

“Just, see if she texted you maybe?” Baekhyun pleads, voice growing louder at the upturn of music. Sehun cocks his head but does as he said, eyes widening before showing him the text.

y/n: sorry sehunnie, didn’t feel too well. went back home if you need me ^^

Baekhyun’s heart runs into overdrive, and he’s out of the door a split second after. His feet are carrying him as fast as possible and when he’s finally on the elevator going up to your floor, eyes blown out and breath ragged from running, he takes a moment to conserve himself. It was a mistake. And you have to understand that. Because what Baekhyun realized as he was egging the taxi driver to go faster across the city, was that he wanted you there with him. He wanted to kiss you. Not Eunha. Not anyone else. And he wanted to kiss you really fucking bad. 

The door dings open and he sees the color of your jacket as you shuffle through your bag, presumably looking for your keys.

He’s by your side in a second and you turn and look around to see what's all the raucous. You visibly stiffen. Your face is streaked with tears, eyes puffy, cheeks blotchy, and lips a dark rouge as if you’ve been biting them for hours. 

“Y/N…” Baekhyun starts hand reaching for your wrist unconsciously. You shift away from this and Baekhyun notices that deflating.

“What are you doing here?” you question, voice wobbling, as if you were about to start crying any second now. And from the way it looked, it seemed to be true.

“That kiss—” he starts, and Baekhyun realizes his voice is far too loud for the quiet of the empty hallway and as you flinch, he takes a sharp breath. “That kiss meant nothing. Eunha doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. She’s just an ex, and I guess she thought since I was being nice to her that meant that we could be together again, and really it isn’t anything like that because I don’t like her anymore.”

You blink owlishly at him, looking as if you aren't digesting what he was saying, which made Baekhyun halt. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Be-because, you saw! You saw me kissing Eunha, and I obviously had to explain it or else there would be too many misconceptions—”

“You don’t have to tell me that. It’s not like I’m your girlfriend or anything.” You laugh heartlessly and sniffle. “I’m just some delusional girl who thinks that just because she used to be your friend ages ago, she would somehow have even a sliver of a chance that you would like her, but again that’s delusional! Because it somehow managed to slip my mind that you’re Byun Baekhyun of the baseball team. Handsome, smart, athletic, kind, caring, loving and not the Byun Baekhyun who’d tripped over his own feet and have dirt and drool over his face all the time—”

Your crying as Baekhyun kisses you.

His weight leans into you and you take small steps back as your back hits the wall behind you. He adds more pressure, tilting his head, hand gripping your hand more just in case you felt as if this wasn’t real, which he believed what would be running through your mind now. 

He feels like absolute putty when you soften at his touch and splay a delicate hand over his chest, and when he bites down on your lip you make a noncommittal noise from the back of your throat that has him falling. 

You squeak when Baekhyun’s hands, one placed on your hip and the other on your neck and in your hair and everywhere, tilt your head higher, bringing him deeper into the kiss. It isn’t until you gently push him back, breathless, and eyes hooded that he takes a moment to consider the predicament he stood in. 

“I’m not dreaming, am I?” you breathe, wiping the stray tears away from your face.

Baekhyun chuckles softly, patting down your hair. “I thought you would say that.”

The clicking of a lock from the other side of the hall, snaps both your attention towards it. Baekhyun is amused as you look at him wide-eyed as the clicks continue. You pick up the key that somehow dropped to the floor in the midst of everything and are quick to open your door pulling Baekhyun in. 

When the door shuts behind Baekhyun, with you leaning against his chest, breathing deep, and Baekhyun leaning against the door, he can’t help but feel like the luckiest man in the world.

His hands snake their way into your hair, one of them tilting your chin up. “Round two?” he smiles, cheekily.

You blush a pretty red before nodding and meeting him in the middle for a kiss.

[wonderrdies]

fine line

summary: Boy and girl meet. Boy and girl fall in love. Boy and girl live happily ever after. Except boy is Harry Styles and even when love comes easy, it doesn’t come simple.

disclaimer: this is my first harry fic ever so... how terrifying. also, it is pure self-indulgent garbage and I Frankenstein-ed the shit out of it a dozen times so y’all are gonna have to forgive me. let’s do this. (btw thank you to @hsogolden​ for this challenge; there’s nothing quite like a goal that makes you force yourself to write)

warnings: some fluff, some angst, a tiny bit of smut and a whole lotta nonsense. 

word-count: about 6,000 words

“Come on,” She yells up the stairs. “Daddy’s here!”

“Coming!” the four-year-old yells back, sock-clad feet hitting the stairs with a muffled thud. 

“Jamie,” Harry calls, not as loud as they are. He knows his son can’t see him, but surely he can hear his voice; it’s not the biggest of houses. “Don’t run down the stairs. It’s dangerous.”

A quiet and frustrated okay, Daddy is heard in the background, and both the adults smile softly. Jamie’s a cute kid. 

“I’m dropping him off at my mum’s and I’ll be back in a couple of hours, okay?”

She raises an eyebrow. “It’s Tuesday night. Don’t you have a song to write or whatever?”

“Can’t really miss my girl’s birthday, can I?”

She laughs, surprised, and the sound of it reminds Harry of the shy girl he met at a bar all those years ago. “It’s not my birthday yet, H.”

“Still,” Harry takes a second to look behind her and check on their son, who’s putting on his shoes while his backpack and a few toys are scattered around him. “Need any help, mate?”

Jamie mutters an agreement so She shifts in the door to let Harry in, and his own face stares back at him from a bunch of family pictures all over the shelves. He kneels beside his child and starts mindlessly tying his shoelaces, turning his attention back to her.

“You should dress up.”

“Harry,” she scoffs. “Is that an insult?”

“Nope,” he pops the p just as he finishes with Jamie’s shoes. “Get your stuff, Jamie. Let’s go see Nana.”

“Can we get milkshakes?” 

“Sure, mate,” but She’s glaring at him. “Tomorrow, when it’s not so late, though.”

“But Daddy—”

“Tomorrow, baby.” She interrupts. With a kiss on their son’s brown curls, she says: “Go wait for Daddy in the car. And behave at your Nana’s. I love you.”

Jamie walks away with a “Love you, Mommy”, stuffed kitten under one of his arms and his half-closed backpack hanging on the other. Harry bends over to pick up his other toys but She stops him with a gesture. “Don’t bother, H. I’ll clean it up once you’re gone.”

“I was gonna take them with us.”

“It’s just one night, he won’t miss them,” She pauses. “Too much.”

“Guess mum will just have to entertain him, then,” he drops the toys on the couch and smiles at her. “Be ready, huh? I’ll text you when I’m near.”

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“Let’s get a drink. For old time’s sake.”

She nods, looking suspicious. Then his fingertips brush her cheek and her eyes soften.

“Let’s just not get wasted on a school-night, okay?”

“We’ll be alright, love,” he says, kissing the soft cheek he just touched. It feels like home against Harry’s lips. 

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

7 years earlier…

Harry doesn’t notice her for a while. They’re both sitting at the bar counter, only one empty stool between the two of them, but the lighting is dim and the girl looks as closed off as one can get; stiff posture and hair hanging over her face while she stares straight ahead into the liquor shelf behind the bartender. Up until that point, she could be furniture for all he cares. 

Tonight, up until that point, he had been reveling in his loneliness. Harry wasn’t one to enjoy being alone much, but after months of touring, family holidays, and being surrounded by more people than he can even imagine at any given time, he got the appeal of listening to his own thoughts for a while. Even if it made him a little restless after a few weeks of it. Even if he caught himself with his mouth open, about to make a random remark on the cute bartender or the questionable music at least twice. Even if he bounced his leg nonstop and grabbed his phone every five minutes, pondering on who to call for company. 

So maybe he wasn’t reveling in the loneliness anymore. But he had dressed as ordinarily as humanly possible without wearing jeans (there were no pearls or high-heeled boots in sight) and was drinking beer instead of a Cosmo, blending in. He had to make the most of it. What could he tell himself that he didn’t already know? Maybe, Harry thought, I’m just not that interesting. If he couldn’t stand to spend half an hour hanging out with himself, had people been lying to him? He could feel the spiraling begin. 

And then his song starts playing.

At the sound of his voice coming from the speakers, she turns her head. Her hair moves away with the movement, the corner of her lips twitching as if she’s about to smile. She doesn’t, but that’s when Harry notices her. The girl’s mouth moves and he’s pretty sure that if he were just a little bit closer, there’d be a faint whisper of stop your crying, baby, it’s a sign of the times. He wishes he could hear it. 

He continues to shoot sideway glances, not wanting to make her uncomfortable by staring. He’s not sure he wants to be noticed, either. She’s a pretty girl singing along to one of his songs; there are many of those. He doesn’t really want to make a scene. But then again, what’s the chance that this woman won’t turn her head at all for however long they’re there?

Before he can worry about that answer, it happens. The bartender is cleaning the end of the counter to Harry’s right, and she shifts to order another drink. As soon as she does, their eyes meet. It doesn’t matter that he’s wearing a baseball hat or a beige knitted sweater and black slacks, she knows he’s Harry Styles. The more the thinks about it, the more self-conscious he becomes. Of course he’s hiding something; who wears that kind of outfit to a bar?

“Hey,” he softly says. He’s not sure how this will go, but so far it feels better than trying to entertain himself. Better than wondering.

Her hand shakes around the glass, empty except for the lime and melting ice, but her voice doesn’t quiver. “Hello.”

“Can I get your drink for you?”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s fine,” he calls over the bartender. “Can we get another of what she’s having? And a Cosmo.”

What the hell, he figures. It’s not like any of the few middle-aged people in tables around them will see a pink cocktail and suddenly wonder “Isn’t that…?”. Either they recognize him or don’t. When the bartender nods, he turns back to her.

“You’re not from here, are you?”

She shakes her head no. 

“America?”

“Not the United States, no.”

He’s about to guess Canada, even if her accent doesn’t sound like that at all, and make a fool out of himself when she says: “I’m not a native English speaker. I teach English back home.”

“Really!” his excitement is the first thing to get a smile out of her. It kinda throws him off for a second; it comes and goes quickly, but her whole face changes around it. Looking away for a second, he notices that their drinks are about to be ready. “Can I —” Harry gestures to the stool between them.

The girl nods, and he comes closer. Their knees touch when he sits. 

“Are you here for work?”

“No,” the side of her mouth twitches again. “What about you?”

“I’m home. Just taking some time off.”

“At this time of the year? Sounds like a cool job.”

It’s a bad joke, but he plays into it anyway. “Meh,” Harry shrugs. “It pays the bills.”

“Good for you,” she laughs quietly. “I got this trip for my birthday.”

“Well, happy birthday!”

“It’s not today.”

The bartender places their drinks on the counter, the liquid sloshing around a bit, and a little bit of her gin and tonic spills over her hand. “God,” the bartender says. “Sorry, I’ll get—”

“Don’t worry,” she smiles as if to say it’s okay. Then she licks the back of her hand and then her lips. Harry moves uncomfortably in his seat.

“So,” he says once the bartender leaves, taking a sip of his Cosmopolitan. Way better than that shitty beer. “Am I the first or last person to wish you a happy birthday?”

“First. I’ll turn twenty-two in two days.”

“It was an honor to get it wrong, then.”

“Not very subtle, are you?”

He blushes. Actually blushes. 

There’s a silent beat where she seems torn between laughing awkwardly or just straight up bolting out of the room, but the girl settles on chugging her cocktail while Harry stutters. 

“I’m —” they start at the same time. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t —” he stops himself from saying he didn’t mean to flirt. He did mean to flirt. Harry just didn’t mean to be so shit at it. So he settles for: “I just noticed you singing along.”

She brings her drink back to her lips, as if asking for some time to think of what to say, but half a cocktail isn’t enough to hide her smile. He’s staring so intently that she tips the glass towards him and genuinely asks “Do you want a sip?”

Harry just shakes his head no.

“Um, yeah,” the girl starts. “I’m a big fan of yours— your work, I guess.”

“Did you go to any of the shows last year?”

“I couldn’t,” she admits. “But I’ve seen some videos. You looked like you were having fun.”

The comment makes him smile. “I really was. Where are you from? Didn’t I go to your country?”

He realizes then that he sounds pretentious. Maybe she just didn’t want to go to the fucking concert; why is he questioning this stranger as if she’s missed his sweet sixteen? Maybe she’s not even a fan and just heard his single on the radio once. God, what a disaster.

The girl looks embarrassed, like she can’t believe she’s telling him this but won’t shy away from speaking. She tells him the name of her country and explains that she doesn’t live anywhere near the big cities where he played, so she couldn’t afford the trip.

“But if you’re ever passing by again…”

“I’ll let you know,” he says. She laughs quietly, but Harry isn’t really joking. He can see himself texting a nice girl and asking her to come and watch him sing. He’s certainly more impressive up on the stage than here, doing whatever it is that he’s doing right now. “Are you traveling by yourself?”

She hesitates to answer and it makes him cringe. “I sounded like a creep, didn’t I? Jesus. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

“Don’t worry about it,” and there it is again, the wide smile that changes her face. Out of all the things Harry Styles could do to charm a woman, acting socially inept isn’t the one he figured would win over a foreign English teacher that hangs out at random London bars for middle-aged couples on awkward dates. But here they are and the more he fucks up, the more she looks relaxed. 

Harry decides to take what he can get. “I guess I haven’t been getting enough practice talking to strangers lately.”

She’s still smiling, not as wide but just as bright. “I’d probably want a break from people too if I were you. I got here yesterday and I’m already done talking to strangers. I knew it’d be hard to get around in another continent but this is a whole other level; I can’t walk two meters without asking someone for directions.”

He raises an eyebrow, teasing. “Is Google Maps not doing it for you?”

“Shut up,” she chuckles. “Data is expensive abroad, y’know? But to be honest, I’m so fucking obtuse when it comes to maps. The thing is pointing one way and the next I know, I walked miles in the opposite direction. It’s much easier to have an actual person telling me where to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, licking his lips after finishing his drink. He sees her eyes flicker down to his mouth for a second, just like his did a few minutes ago. “You have a point.”

“I do?”

“Not really. I just didn’t want you to feel bad about being a confused old lady.”

That makes her laugh, and Harry feels his heart skip a beat. It’s nice to know she thinks he’s funny.

“But you can’t really be a confused old lady, right? Being a teacher and all.”

Like she said, not subtle at all. But he wants to know more about her.

“Bold of you to assume that most teachers are not confused old ladies, but,” she too finishes her second cocktail, pushing her empty glass away from her and closer to the one Harry just left on the counter. “I’m just a confused masters-student trying to look less confused so my students won’t give me shit about it.”

“Do you like it? The whole academic thing and teaching.”

Her smile is soft around the edges, and he can see the drinks catching up to her. “They have their moments, both working hard to understand the things I’m interested in and helping people learn another language. It’s all hard but worth it,” she’s quiet for a second. “Like most things in life, I guess. What about you?”

“Do I like being an academic?”

She rolls her eyes. “Your job, silly. Is it hard but worth it?”

“I guess it’s like yours in the sense that it helps me understand the thing I’m interested in, too.”

“Music?”

“Me,” he answers, and there is that laugh again.

“God,” she says, voice dripping with good-humored sarcasm. “I hate rockstars so much.”

“Don’t we all?” he sees her staring at their empty glasses, so he offers to buy her another drink even though she looks sleepy. Harry figures he’ll drop her off wherever she’s staying so she doesn't have to walk around alone and drunk. 

“I don’t think I can do another one,” she says. “But maybe we could share it? I can definitely deal with half a drink. And I’ll pay for it.”

Before he can say anything, she calls the bartender over and orders another Cosmo on her tab.

“You didn’t have to,” he says, referring both to paying and asking for a cocktail she knows he likes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he thinks it’s probably the fifth time she’s said that in not even an hour. Huh. “God, isn’t it stuffy in here?”

He doesn't think so, so it’s probably the alcohol, but he agrees while she shakes off her coat. When the girl turns so she can hang the fabric over her bar stool, Harry can see, among other quotes and drawings on her arm, the words sweet creature above her right elbow.

“Nice tattoo,” he comments, feeling weirdly proud. It’s not like he doesn’t know hundreds of people get the words he sings on their bodies, but this is different. It’s like trying to know more about someone and realizing, somehow, you already do.

“Which one?” she asks. He reaches out and brushes his fingers over it. It gives her goosebumps. “Oh. It’s a nice song.”

“Why did you get it?”

It makes him feel like an annoying interviewer, trying to get a meaningful answer that isn’t necessarily there. But he’d still like to hear what she has to say.

“I’ve heard I’m not one of those,” is her answer. His hand drops from her elbow.

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been told I’m not the sweetest creature,” the smile is gone. She shifts in her seat as if just realizing an old bruise is still tender to the touch. 

Before he can decide between asking more about it and risk her thinking he’s a nosy asshole or just give his uninformed opinion and claim that’s bullshit, a Cosmopolitan is put on the bar between them. 

“Thank you,” she says to the bartender. He’d thank them too, but he’s staring at that suddenly serious face, wondering what else is there to know about that tattoo. About her.

“Doesn’t it become a reminder, though?” Harry asks, and she looks back at him, not understanding the question. “The tattoo. Doesn’t it remind you that someone feels that way about you?”

“Yeah, I guess” she takes a sip of the drink and slides it over to him, their fingers touching in the process; it’s only for a second, and her hand is gone before Harry can understand why he wishes it wasn’t. “But I got it so, when I think of how he saw me, I would know I’m the one who gets to say what I am or am not.”

Harry is curious but doesn’t really know what to say to that, and it shows. She cringes.

“I always do this, you know? I drink and start getting all sad and telling people about all sorts of stuff no one wants to know. I’m sorry, Harry.”

It’s the first time he’s heard say his name. It sounds good on her accent.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, and it makes her smile because she realizes he’s been paying attention. 

They share one more drink, and Harry pays for the third Cosmo of the night. By the time they’re finished with it, both of them are giggling and he has one of his hands on her bare knee. After the slightly-awkward oversharing, she proceeded to point out how a couple on the dark corner of the bar seemed, judging by their uncomfortable silence and resentful faces, to be on the brink of divorce. Harry asked her, mostly joking, if she had been around a lot of divorcing couples; she chuckled and then commented on how a dude sitting by the restrooms was probably fingering his girlfriend under the table. She never said no or proved to know about his family by asking him the same thing back. 

But now the whole divorce thing was long forgotten. She and Harry had spent the last hour making up the most obnoxious stories about other customers and whispering them to each other, bodies getting closer and closer every minute.

“You know what I want?” she mutters. Between being shorter than Harry and slouching on her seat, her lips don’t reach his ear, so he can feel her breath on the side of his neck. He shivers.

“What?” he asks in the same low tone, eyes glittering with mischief and tipsiness. 

Her left hand grips his bicep while she practically purrs: “I really want a milkshake.”

From the way his drunken-self gasps and moans God, yes, she might as well have said that she really wanted to suck his dick.

They pay for their drinks, shared or otherwise, and leave the bar. There aren’t many people out on the street at 1 a.m, but Harry still pulls his hat down a little. 

“So,” she says. “Should I get us an uber? Where do British people get milkshakes? Is it far?” 

“I’ll just call a driver.” 

She looks taken aback. “Like a private one?”

Harry nods. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

And he is. She stumbles into the car along with Harry, sluggishly laying her head on his shoulder after closing the door.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” he murmurs against her hair.

So she does.

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

Between dinner, a few drinks and all the talking, they had already broken the not-staying-out-too-late rule. Turns out that rehashing a few days’ worth of parenting, teaching and music producing is time consuming even when you’re not having this much fun.

“One more?” Harry asks, pointing to her empty gin and tonic glass, the shadow of laughter still on his lips after a solid fifteen minutes of her getting progressively more aggravated about a student that “couldn’t, to save his own life, make anyone believe he read The Color Purple”. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Share it with me?”

“Sure, love.”

He orders another cocktail, and She smiles at him even while thanking the waitress. 

“What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” She replies, still staring shamelessly. It’s easy after all these years. “You just look really good.”

“So do you.”

She shrugs, and before he can say that she really does look beautiful and that he wishes he could prove to her just how much he thinks so (which is a cheap but sure way of making her blush), the waitress places the new cocktail between them.

“God, that was fast,” She mumbles, impressed.

After She takes the first sip, they both start at the same time. “So—”

They giggle, but since She begins sipping again, Harry speaks.

“We’ll both have a couple of months off during the summer, so I was thinking… You could go home.”

“Yeah, I should start planning once the semester ends, I’m just so—” She sighs, and Harry understands. 

“I figured you could go and spend the first few weeks, or even the first month, back home while Jamie and I do our thing.” She looks like she’s about to interrupt him, so he holds up a hand as if asking her to wait. “Hear me out. You go home, spend time with your family or your old friends or, y’know, yourself, because — and don’t even fight me on this — I know you need your alone time. And after you’ve had your break, we’ll meet you there and hang out until you need to get back to prepare for next semester and I need to sort things out for the tour. You can even go somewhere else by yourself before going home or we could do a family thing before coming back to the UK if you and Jamie want to. How does that sound?”

She doesn’t say a thing, doesn’t even smile. She just keeps looking at him while sliding the gin and tonic glass across the table so he can have his share. Harry takes two big gulps and waits for her to speak.

“I don’t—” She stops herself. “You thought of it all, didn’t you?”

“I tried,” he laces his fingers through hers. “So you wouldn’t have to. But, y’know, it’s just an idea. And I thought it’d be better if I brought it up early so we could plan everything properly and, in case you didn’t want help paying for them, the plane tickets wouldn’t cost you an arm and a leg.”

Still silent, She looks down at their joint hands.

“Thank you, H.”

“I didn’t do anything, love.”

He touches her chin so that She’ll look him in the eyes.

“I love you,” Harry whispers. 

She doesn’t have to say it too. He knows. 

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

6 years earlier…

“Hey, love,” Harry whispers from the other side of the phone call. “How are things?”

She smiles a tired smile up at her dark ceiling at the sound of his voice. “Things are…” The smile fades, replaced by a shaky sigh. “Things are fine, H.”

She means things are like they have been for as long as she can remember. Difficult. A shit-paying job where she feels like a failure most of the time, too much school work, family drama and all sorts of friendship insecurities. There are good days of course, but today just isn’t one of them. She didn’t want to ruin his call, the only silver lining of the night, by complaining. So things are fine. 

“What about you? Is everything good over there?”

“Everything’s great. Had some really good wine earlier today, reminded me of you. You would’ve loved it.”

“Bet you were in a villa, feeling the breeze on your hair, staring at a gorgeous canal or some fancy shit like that,” she jokes.

Harry laughs. “Yeah,” is his answer. 

Oh.

“I kinda wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”

“About what?”

She sits up on the bed, her room quiet except for the shifting of her body over the clothes she took off but didn’t bother to fold before laying down after work.

“You should come,” he answers on the phone. 

“What?”

“To Italy.”

“Baby—”

“Come on, love. You always wanted to travel here. Come meet me.”

“Harry,” she sighs. “You’re insane.”

She can picture his face falling just by the sound of his voice. “Why?”

“It’s the middle of September; I’m working, I’m studying. I can’t even afford it. Do you need any more reasons?”

Harry sounds frustrated when he answers, and it brings tears to her eyes. So much for a silver lining. “You can take a day or two off, right? Or just stay the weekend. You know I’ll pay for your flight.”

“Baby,” she takes a deep breath, trying to not let her annoyance show. “I’m almost finished with my master’s; I won’t get it done by missing classes. And yes, you’ll pay for my flight, but that’s not the only expense that goes into traveling and I won’t depend on your money. You know this. We can go when there’s a holiday here. Or mid-December, when the semester is over. I’ll have saved some money by then. I love you for thinking of me but… I can’t, H. Not now.”

He mumbles something under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I didn’t hear you,” but she knows he did it on purpose. “Can you say that again, please?”

“I said you’re making up excuses.”

‘You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious! You won’t even try.”

“How am I supposed to try? Either I can or can’t go. And I can’t.”

“You won’t even consider it,” his voice is filled with disappointment. It makes her blood boil.

“Harry, you sound like a child. Listen to me. Even if I went only for the weekend, I’d waste almost an entire day flying back and forth. We wouldn’t even have twenty-four hours together.”

“Don’t you think that sounds better than not being together at all?”

“I bet it does sound better for you, sitting your ass in a gondola, eating your rich-people cheese with your snobby friends, thinking of lyrics about fucking a girl that second-guesses putting you before herself while said girl is out there, flying to you so she can have a hug and a kiss and pretend that everything is fine.”

She’s crying by the time she stops talking, and she knows he can hear it. While she sobs, mostly angry but also starting to regret saying anything at all, he doesn’t say a thing. He could have stopped breathing altogether, considering how quiet the other end of the line is.

“Harry?” she half-pleads, half-scolds. “Talk to me!”

“I’m sorry,” his voice is uncertain, like he can’t quite figure out what to say and how to say it. “I guess I— I miss you. I’m being a prick.”

The weigh on her chest doesn’t go away with the apology, because she doesn’t know if he understands. And she just called his friends snobby and said she pretends to be happy. God. But she can’t say she’s sorry too because she won’t stop crying. She’s just so tired.

“Love,” Harry says, firmly this time. “Don’t cry, it’s okay. Have some sleep. Drink some water. We’ll talk properly tomorrow.”

“No,” she hiccups into the phone. “Wait. I’m—”

“We’ll talk, I promise,” she thinks he’ll hang up then when he hesitates, but he speaks again. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

The line goes dead. She cries herself to sleep.

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

"God," he pants against her bruised neck.

“What?” She teases. “Are you getting too old for this?”

“Shut up,” Harry laughs, still breathless. “I’m barely in my mid-thirties.” He pushes the sheets away and gets up, looking down at her naked body sprawled across the bed; if he wasn’t so tired, he’d be horny again. “Want some water?”

“Yeah. Thanks, baby.”

He walks out of the bedroom wearing absolutely nothing, which is one of the perks of a child-free house. By the time he’s back with their water, She’s wearing his teal button-up and brushing her teeth, messy natural hair framing her face.

“H,” she calls from the suite’s bathroom, speech slurred because of the toothbrush. She spits before continuing, “Can you sing me a song?”

Harry chugs his water and lays back on the bed, waiting for her without saying a word. 

“Can you?” She asks again, climbing on the bed in all fours, hovering over him. “Can you?” A whisper against his mouth. But when he leans over for a kiss, she falls to the bed, suddenly grinning, and hugs his side. “Come on.”

“Such a tease,” he mumbles, already hugging her back and tangling his legs with hers.

Harry starts singing quietly, voice still a little rough even after the water, and he can feel her smiling lips against his chest.

Wise men say only fools rush in

But I can't help falling in love with you…

“How romantic,” she says quietly once he’s done.

“That’s me, only doing the best for my girl” he says smugly, which makes her laugh, but then he turns serious. “I love you, you know?”

“Love you too, H.”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Can I ask you a question?”

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

5 years earlier…

The paparazzi call her name on screen. There are not many of them, but it disturbs Harry nonetheless; three or four photographers outside a restaurant, just waiting for her and yelling at her once she walks out the door. She looks nervous in a way Harry can imagine other people not noticing, fidgeting hands and a fast walk. But her face is serious and dismissive while she walks straight ahead.

“Are you Harry Styles’ new girlfriend?” one of them asks from behind the camera.

Harry pauses the video, telling himself he needs to ask someone on his team how the hell they found out who she is just by a blurry picture taken through his car window a few days ago when she’s not even on social media, which is true. But he’s also not sure he wants to hear her answer. He checks the time under the video; it was posted less than an hour ago. He should call her and ask if everything’s okay, but he just presses play again.

“No,” she answers right away. Harry feels like he’s sinking.

Why the fuck did they not discuss this before she moved to England? What was he thinking when he resisted PR’s involvement? They should’ve planned for this, coordinated answers, made up their minds so he wouldn’t feel sucker-punched and she wouldn’t be thrusted into the spotlight with no warning.

“You were in his car last Monday!” someone says, as if telling her she’s a liar.

She doesn’t bother responding to that. They keep calling her name.

“What are you and Harry, then?”

She’s almost down the subway’s stairs and there’s not many seconds left in the video, so he’s not too worried about what happens next. Harry looks at his phone, expecting her to disappear from the frame so he can text her and ask her to come over so they can talk, so he can hold her and make sure she’s not freaking out. But she slows down, considering the person’s question. She turns her head to a camera somewhere to the right of the video he’s watching, curls falling down the side of her face. 

Matter-of-factly, with amused eyes but no smile, she says: “Soulmates.” And then she’s down the stairs and the video ends.

Harry stays very still. Text notifications appear over and over, more than one person saying the same thing: apparently they found her on her university’s website, where she’s listed as a doctoral student. He doesn’t open the messages, though; doesn’t even breathe until there’s a knock at the door.

Everyone else just rings the bell or asks to be buzzed in. It’s her.

Harry walks to the door, bare feet sliding on the wooden floors, and opens it. She’s standing in front of him dressed in the same black skirt and pink sweater from the video, hair messy around her serious face.

“H,” she starts. The sound of her voice relieves most of the pressure in his chest. “I—”

He doesn’t let her finish; just kisses her like he would kiss a soulmate. She steps forward, dropping her bag and closing the door with one hand while the other busies itself holding onto the soft cotton of Harry’s worn T-shirt, the feeling of his tongue against hers making her dizzy. 

They stumble into the couch, her hips sitting on top of his, breathing heavily against each other’s lips. Harry takes longer than necessary stripping her of her sweater, gripping every inch of exposed skin as if he could keep it to himself. “Harry,” She whispers, asking him to hurry. The pink fabric falls to the floor and his right hand instantly pulls at her hair, her back arching so he can get one of her nipples on his mouth. “Harry,” She breathes out again, tortured, and a careless move of her hips makes them both gasp. The hand that’s not tangled in her hair squeezes her tight so hard they’re both sure it’ll bruise.

“Lay back,” he says before sucking on her other nipple, teeth grazing her skin and making her grind into him with more purpose. Despite his words, Harry doesn’t move so she can do what he’s telling her to. “I want to—” he bites her shoulder, hard, “see if—” sucks a mark into the side of her breast, “you can move like that on my face.”

She moans at his words, his mouth, his hand on her hair, tightening by the second.

“No,” she licks her lips, but never finishes the thought. Her hand drops to the one he has on her tight and squeezes it. “Can you—”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, letting go of her thigh. His hand disappears beneath her skirt, and she can feel him pushing her panties out of the way. He swipes a finger against her so lightly she can barely feel it. “Is that what you want?”

“More.”

She lifts her hips, trying to get more friction on his hand. “Come on.”

Harry slides one finger into her, then another. Her mouth falls open in a silent gasp, and she feels like she’s stopped breathing altogether once he fucks into her fast and hard, thumb brushing against her clit.

“Kiss me,” she whimpers, riding his fingers frantically, the sweat dripping down her torso sticking to Harry’s T-shirt.

Their mouths meet at the same time he squeezes a third finger into her. She moans against his lips and holds his waist under his clothes, seemingly undecided between tugging at his shirt or his belt.

“H, let me,” she murmurs the words into his lips, still pulling at his clothes. 

“No,” he sounds as wrecked as she does, which is saying a lot. “Cum for me first.”

Harry stops moving his hand, tries to tease her, but she barely seems to notice, moving so desperately that he hits all the right places without even trying. With a sob, she squeezes tight around his fingers and rides out her high while clinging to Harry for dear life.

Her head falls to his shoulder, face hiding behind her hair and in his neck.

“Good?” he asks, voice raspy, wiping his soaked fingers on the side of his pants. 

She doesn’t say anything for a second, just breathing hard into his skin, then sobs again. Not with pleasure. 

“Love?” Harry questions in worry. “What’s wrong?”

Her body starts to shake in his arms, tears mixing with the sweat on his T-shirt’s collar. He calls her name, scared out of his mind with what this could mean. Did she come here to say she couldn’t do this anymore? He didn’t let her say a thing before kissing her. He should’ve listened, should’ve waited, should’ve asked her what ‘soulmate’ meant when it couldn’t mean ‘girlfriend’.

“I’m sorry,” she hiccups, hugging him closer even though there’s not any space between their bodies. 

“What are you sorry for?” he asks quietly.

“I know this is freaking you out. I just—” and then she’s sobbing again.

“Talk to me,” Harry begs.

“I love you so much, H,” he could feel the but at the end of the sentence.

“I love you too…” he swallows before asking, “Is this about the photographers? Are you upset they were around? ‘Cause we can fix that.”

She looks up at him, the tip of their noses touching. With furrowed brows and swollen eyes, she mumbles, “You gonna have them killed or somethin’?”

He’d laugh if he could. “Not really. I’ll do something, though. Whatever it is you need me to do.”

She rests her chin on his shoulder so he can’t look her in the eyes. In a whisper, she asks: “Can you freeze us in time?”

“What?”

“I’m scared we’ll lose this,” She confesses. “I’m so in love with you, Harry and I— I don’t want us to be boyfriend and girlfriend the way I’ve learned it, owing each other and the world explanations and parts of ourselves. I want us to choose to love each other every day because we can’t help but do so — a forever that looks like the way you offered me a drink, the way you flew out to meet me after our fight and promised we’d do better, the way you kissed me today; like it’s not simple but it’s easy. ”

Harry stays silent for a while.

“I’m sorry if it makes no sense,” her voice shakes. “I think I’m just desperate not to lose myself in you while getting to keep you and— I don’t know, it doesn’t sound as reasonable as I thought it would.”

He whispers her name.

“Yeah?”

“Being with you forever, one day at a time, sounds reasonable to me.”

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

“Do you want to marry me?”

“What?”

“Marry me, love,” he laughs softly. “Do you want to?”

She’s silent, tear-filled eyes staring up at him.

“You know how I knew it was time?” Harry asks, still in a low voice like they’re somewhere sacred. Home. “We built a family out of a promise we didn’t even have to make. A while ago, even before Jamie, you told me we shouldn't owe each other, and it’s true. I won’t ever ask you for anything you haven’t already given me, because that’s how you love me too. But I’ll ask for this because it’s ours and I know it’ll stay this way.”

They’re both crying, and her shaking hands try to wipe away his tears.

“I want to,” She says. 

That sudden bright smile takes over her face like it did both years and minutes ago. It doesn’t take him by surprise anymore. 

[bumblebaby]

coffee bean kiss

hi i finished this a little bit late but that is okay because i’m actually kind of proud of it lol. this is my gift for @s-onora for the secret santa hosted by @itfandomprompts! hope you enjoy it hehe

reddie / 2.6k words / good ol fluff / no warnings apply

Evidently, nothing about them has changed since old times. Not the humor, not the bickering, and… definitely not Eddie’s feelings. It shows in how they continue to bounce banter off of each other the entire way there, and it shows in how Richie holds the cafe door open for Eddie, giving him a bow and a “M'lady” that prompts the classic-Eddie response of rolling his eyes and suppressing a smile, and it shows in how the small action that was meant to be taken platonically still makes Eddie’s heart skip a couple of beats. 

read it on ao3

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

The winter months are overall bittersweet if Eddie had to describe them in one word. Finals have been clawing at his mental state (and admittedly his physical state; the constant greasy takeout gives him the worst stomachaches) to the point where he’ll often pass out at 2 AM with a face-full of textbook. But the enjoyable parts of winter have mostly made up for it. He likes spending time with his friends, he likes the new Starbucks hot drinks, he likes giving gifts, and he likes receiving gifts – call him greedy for that, but the mini vacuum his mom got him last year that is perfectly dorm-sized has brought so much joy into his life it’s almost embarrassing.

The ’whirr’ of that vacuum makes its way around his earbuds and Freddie Mercury’s high notes as Eddie tries to clean up the mess that has begun to build up from a lack of care on both his and his roommate’s part. For how long Eddie has been cooped up in this room, he sure hasn’t been taking care of it. He never learned to juggle, and that was especially true of having to juggle his grades, his health, and his tidiness. But it’s whatever. He’s on break now. A twenty-minute break, but a break nonetheless.

He doesn’t hear the knock at the door, despite how loud and repetitive it is, and “Bohemian Rhapsody” continues to play on while Eddie stays distracted from the original vacuuming task and gently bounces on his toes and mouths the lyrics. It’s not until he notices the movement out of the corner of his eye that he turns around and flinches at the sight of Richie standing in the doorway.

Eddie plucks an earbud out and furrows his brow. “How’d you get in?”

“What?”

The vacuum is still going. Eddie turns it off and repeats his question.

“Your door isn’t locked,” Richie answers.

Dammit. Eddie props the vacuum against the wall and tosses his phone onto the desk. “I don’t have money to go grab lunch today. I’m on a crunch this week.”

“I wasn’t gonna ask to get food, actually,” Richie says, giving Eddie a tight-lipped smile and raises an eyebrow. “Am I not allowed to just want to hang out?”

“I dunno, man.” Eddie huffs and drapes himself over his desk chair. “Sometimes I wonder if you just use me for lunch money. Like a glorified high school bully.” Richie takes a seat on Eddie’s bed and the first thing Eddie notices is the mud all over Richie’s sneakers and how much he brought into the room. So much for vacuuming.

Richie chuckles at Eddie’s remark. “You say that like I didn’t try to crack Henry Bower’s kneecaps with Stan’s baseball bat senior year.”

“Keyword is ‘tried’.”

“Whatever.” Richie sighs and flops back onto the squeaky mattress. “There’s actually a new cafe a little ways downtown-”

“Did you forget the entirety of what I just said?”

Richie raises his hand. “I’ll pay, relax.” He strains his neck to look up at Eddie. “Maybe the nice, warm coffee will loosen up that stick in your ass.” Eddie scrunches his face at that. “It’s a short walk.”

“I have to study,” Eddie argues.

“Didn’t look like you were when I came in. You can spare an extra twenty minutes.”

“Okay, well, it’s freezing cold outside and I don’t feel like walking anywhere today.”

“…I’ve got to go awayyy-”

“Please don’t start singing.”

“I can be the Idina Menzel to your Michael Buble.” Richie stands up and takes Eddie’s hands, pulling him up from the chair. “I’ll hold your hands-”

“Richie-”

“They’re just like ice-”

“That should be my line,” Eddie finally laughs, letting his hands go limp in Richie’s.

Richie grins. “You sing it then.”

Eddie’s stomach flutters as he stares up at him. Glasses smudged with fingerprints, a couple of crooked teeth, light scruff spread across his jaw.

Shit.

Richie continues: “I ought to say no, no, no-”

Eddie giggles again and pushes against Richie’s shoulders, but the other pulls Eddie into his chest. “You are intolerable,” Eddie mutters against his jacket.

“We either stay here and sing a duet together or you can come grab coffee with me.”

Eddie squints at him, but there’s a faint smile stretched on his lips. “This a date, Tozier?” It’s joking, but… he wouldn’t be opposed to it-

“There’s only enough room in my heart for one Kaspbrak, and, I hate to break it to ya, it’s not you, babe.” Eddie gives a disgusted groan. “Come on,” Richie says, finally releasing Eddie and walking over to the door. “You still need a jacket?”

Eddie knows for a fact he has one of his own. “Sure,” he says.

-

It had been snowing all week up on campus. The few inches of what was leftover from last night’s storm crunch beneath both Eddie and Richie feet as they walk down the street, passing through the part of town with all of the small businesses. Eddie’s never been particularly fond of snow; it’s wet and it’s cold and his fingers go numb and having to warm back up is such an inconvenience. But he does have a lot of fond memories involving it. He remembers seeing the losers running up his porch steps after school was canceled for the day, and getting bundled up and going out to build a snowman after ignoring his mother’s protests about how he’ll get sick and to come back in as soon as his nose starts to run. His nose is running a bit now. He doesn’t give it a second thought.

Also, Richie’s sweatshirt is, unsurprisingly, too long. Like, way too long. The sleeves are a good couple of inches past his fingertips and the bottom hem is halfway down his thighs. It’s funny because Richie is ridiculously skinny, just ridiculously long. Eddie can hear the dick joke in his head. He’s glad he didn’t say anything out loud.

“Cold?” Richie asks him, his voice followed by a cloud that Eddie isn’t quite sure whether it’s from his breath or the cigarette dangling from Richie’s lips. Probably both.

“Duh,” Eddie replies, shuddering. He lifts a hand to take the cigarette and drop it into the snow, seeing Richie shaking his head out of the corner of his eye. “You told me you were quitting.”

“I said I was working on it,” Richie grumbles, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Eddie bumps Richie with his shoulder. “Don’t get cranky with me. I’m looking out for you.”

Richie bumps him back. “The whole point of college is to be able to do whatever you want.”

“Not with me here.”

“Well, maybe I should’ve gone to California.”

“Pfft. You wouldn’t survive without me.”

Richie wraps an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and pulls him into his side. The extra warmth is graciously comforting. “You give yourself too much credit, Eds. I’m a big boy.”

“Yeah, right.”

“In more ways than one.”

There’s the long-awaited dick joke. Eddie smacks the hand dangling over his shoulder and Richie yelps in response.

Evidently, nothing about them has changed since old times. Not the humor, not the bickering, and… definitely not Eddie’s feelings. It shows in how they continue to bounce banter off of each other the entire way there, and it shows in how Richie holds the cafe door open for Eddie, giving him a bow and a “M'lady” that prompts the classic-Eddie response of rolling his eyes and suppressing a smile, and it shows in how the small action that was meant to be taken platonically still makes Eddie’s heart skip a couple of beats.

They take their seats at a small booth by the big windows at the front of the cafe. There’s a good amount of people strolling through the streets, and Eddie notices a few couples, holding hands as they walk together. He has to pry his eyes off of them.

Richie sits with his back against the window and his legs sprawled across the entirety of the booth seat, propping the menu on a raised knee. Eddie gives him a funny look for it and only gets a shrug from the other in response.

“Whatcha gonna get?” Richie asks him.

Eddie skims over the options. He’s not really the type to branch out coffee-wise. “Mmm… the cinnamon latte looks good,” he answers.

“Lame.” Richie closes his menu and slaps it down on the table. “I’m getting a strawberry milkshake.”

“…It’s 9 in the morning and the middle of winter.”

Richie gives him a blank look. “And?”

Eddie lets out a long breath and places his menu on top of the other. “By 'big boy’ you meant twelve years old and not an adult man.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” Richie sits up normally and leans on an elbow. “So how’s that studying you mentioned earlier going?”

Eddie shrugs, sinking into his seat. “Hard, I guess.”

“You always do just fine.” Richie reaches over the table to pat his shoulder, and the touch buzzes through Eddie’s skin. “Fuckin’… smart cookie.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says with a forced smile.

The waitress takes their orders and then sets down their drinks after a couple of minutes of waiting. Richie asks for another straw for the milkshake, and the waitress initially gives a confused look but pulls one out of the apron pocket and slides it in Eddie’s direction before walking off.

“I didn’t want any,” Eddie tells Richie, pulling his mug towards him.

“Just in case.” Richie doesn’t bother with the straws at first and instead takes a sip from the rim of the glass, leaving a stripe of bright pink across his upper lip. “Can’t have you drinking from my straw. Too many germs.”

“Well, your mouth just touched it so you’ve technically already contaminated it.”

Richie wipes his mouth with his sleeve, but there’s still a bit stuck to the pitiful excuse of a mustache he has growing there. “That’s unfortunate.” He unwraps both straws and puts them in the drink. “It’s good, you should try it.”

Eddie shakes his head. “I’ll pass. You could be sick and that is the last thing I need right now.”

“I don’t feel sick,” Richie says.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie replies as he lifts his cup from its saucer and stares down into the foam, “You can still carry bacteria or viruses, or both, even without showing symptoms.”

“Thank you, Dr. K. They teach you this in med school?”

“You would not understand a word of what I learn in med school,” Eddie giggles, sipping from his drink.

“I don’t understand a word of what you tell me already,” Richie says. Eddie looks up at him from his coffee and he’s staring at Eddie with this… look, with a faint smile and raised eyebrows.

“What?” Eddie questions.

“What?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Cus you’re too smart for me, Eds.” Richie breaks the eye contact and stirs the whipped cream into his shake with one of the straws. “You’re gonna… go and be a doctor and do some great damn things. I mean, who knows what I’ll end up doing.”

“Rich,” Eddie murmurs, setting his mug down and giving Richie a gentle look. “You know you’re smart too, right?”

Richie shrugs. “Yeah, but… not in, like, a useful way.”

“Define a 'useful way’.”

The other lets out a strong exhale. “I’m not gonna be a doctor, or a lawyer, or any of that shit. I’ll probably end up a fuckin’ starving artist while the rest of you are out making six figures.” When there’s a pause of silence, Richie just shrugs again and leans back into the seat. “Whatever. Sorry to kill the mood.”

“You don’t have to have it all figured out right now,” Eddie tells him. “And I’ll be here every step of the way while you do figure it out.”

Richie looks up and warmly smiles. “See? You’re too smart and too wise for me. You got a coffee in winter and I got a god damn strawberry milkshake.”

Eddie laughs, reaching for shake’s glass. “You know what, maybe I will try it just to make you feel better.”

“That’s the spirit.”

-

They finish their drinks and begin the walk back to Eddie’s dorm. Eddie got a cheesecake slice to take with, since he thoroughly believes he deserves it after how hard he’s been working.

As they’re making their way up the sidewalk that leads to to the building, Eddie secretly prays that Richie doesn’t ask about the sweatshirt, as he’s realized through the thirty minutes of wearing it how comfy it is. It smells a little bit like weed if Eddie buries his nose far enough into the collar, but the faint scent of the cheap body wash and deodorant Richie uses is pleasant, Eddie guiltily admits to himself.

Eddie leads them up the steps and turns to Richie with a smile. “That was actually fun. Thank you for taking me,” he says.

Richie shrugs and returns a smile of his own. “Would’ve brought the others with, but they were either busy or asleep.”

Eddie chuckles, but he knows deep down how much he appreciated getting to hang out with Richie outside of a group setting.

There are a few seconds of silence alongside eye contact that Eddie knows holds something with meaning from how heavy it is. He can feel himself subconsciously start to lean towards the other.

“Richie-”

“Are you gonna kiss me?”

Eddie immediately recoils and he can feel his stomach lurch. “What?”

Richie’s shoulders visually stiffen. “Are you- are you gonna kiss me?”

“Why would I try to-”

“B-because like if you’re gonna kiss me I just-”

“-kiss you?”

“-wanted to warn you that I, um, I probably have cigarette breath and-”

“Richie-”

“-I have mints on me, if you… if you want to kiss me. If you want to.”

They’re staring at each other again. Eddie has a deeply knitted brow and the panic in Richie’s fair is clear as day.

Richie clears his throat after a few moments and begins to turn away. “I should, uh, probably… go.”

No, no, no, don’t leave right now!

The adrenaline spike is almost painful.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Eddie chokes out.

Richie turns his body back towards Eddie, giving him a worried expression. “…More than anything,” he says.

There’s another pause. Richie blinks at him. Eddie takes a shaky step forward and places his hand on Richie’s cheek, the skin warm underneath his numbingly cold fingertips.

“More than anything?” Eddie echoes, looking up into Richie’s deep brown eyes.

Richie nods, and Eddie connects their lips.

The air is fucking freezing, and Eddie is dying to get inside. Regardless, he wraps his other arm around Richie’s shoulders. There’s a hand on his waist and another on the back of his neck, and when Richie pulls back a mere inch, his breath is hot against Eddie’s face.

“Your mouth really does taste like cigarettes,” Eddie quietly tells him. Richie tilts his head back and lets out a loud bout of laughter. Eddie giggles himself before peppering kisses along Richie’s jaw while Richie reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a little box of Tic Tacs, opening the lid and pouring way too many into his mouth.  

“Can we go inside?” Eddie asks, snaking his arms around Richie’s waist. Richie waggles his brows in a suggestive manner, and Eddie punches his arm. “Not like that, stupid. I’m cold.”

“Can we kiss inside?”

Eddie rolls his eyes with a grin. “Yes, we can kiss inside.”

And so they do.

[leiascully]

The Wong End of the Telescope

By @agirlcalledNarelle: submission for Angst fic exchange in Apr 2020. Prompt was ‘Mulder and Scully on the run angst’! Trigger warning: suicide reference, disordered eating. How did Mulder & Scully end up in the UH?

6,8K words. Here on AO3

Cotton candy pink grazed the tops of the darkened hills. It was the hour of magical thinking, when dreams fuse with reality and imaginary adventures are tethered once more by the earth’s physical laws. Scully pulled up at a trailer park, her eyes on the dirt track in front of her rather on the hills above. The energy of the hour moved around her like the parted Red Sea.  Mulder stirred beside her, stretching his arms over his head, and wiped spittle from the side of his mouth.

‘Where are we?’ His voice was hoarse from sleep. He looked at her in a daze, so boyish and trusting, having slept for the last seven hours. She wanted to reach over and stroke his warm, pink cheek, but instead she sat on her hands and stared outside.

‘Crockett, Texas.’

‘Why?’

‘Sun was coming up,’ she answered tersely. ‘It meets the criteria, and we’ve been on the go for over 12 hours.’

The sky was now a cloudless blue. Dry air promised a hot day ahead. Their last town had been in flat and endless prairie country. Scully had ached to see mountains, the hodgepodge of nature competing for survival, so she subconsciously delivered them to a town surrounded by hills in the neighbouring national park. She used to like arriving. She would enjoy discovering what made each town tick, uncovering their customs and values, until she realised every place was the same in that they would one day leave it behind.

The door to the trailer park reception opened and a dishevelled woman eyed them suspiciously.

‘We don’t open til 7,’ she called, her features distorted with annoyance. ‘Y’all will just have to wait til then.’

Scully looked at her watch: it was 6:55am. Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but Scully got there first.

‘That’s fine, we can wait. Thanks for letting us know.’ She attempted a smile, but it sat foreign on her lips. The woman said nothing and closed the door.

‘It’s only five minutes, Scully,’ Mulder muttered, kicking the gravel. ‘I’m sure she could have sprung us a key.’

‘What’s the point in drawing attention to ourselves?’ Scully replied sharply. ‘We just got here. I don’t want to have to leave before we’ve even had breakfast because you’ve gone and made yourself all memorable. We’re living by your rules, you know.’

Yesterday, she had returned to their trailer to find Mulder urgently packing the car. Gotta move, he had said. The Sheriff had come into the store where Mulder worked stacking shelves, and Mulder didn’t like the way he’d answered the Sheriff’s innocent questions. Felt there was too much room for scrutiny, and he got his feeling. The feeling when someone looked at them for too long or asked too many follow up questions. Before she’d had a chance to shower, they were leaving town.

At precisely 7am, the sign on the door of the lodge switched from Closed to Welcome! We’re open. Scully paid in cash for a week while Mulder sulked by the car. She left him to carry in the bags while she entered the stuffy trailer in search of the bed.

*

She found work a café off a main road which offered all-day breakfasts for the laborers, and milkshakes and relative privacy for the high schoolers. The first time Mulder had been a fugitive, the Lone Gunmen had set up a couple of bank accounts in different names for him to access. Now they were nearing the end of their second year on the run as a pair, and without the Gunmen’s help, they worked to supplement themselves. As Mulder liked to say, their opportunities dried up as quickly as the money in those accounts.

Ed, the manager, had thought Scully would be perfect for front of house. She preferred something along the lines of washing dishes and his expression revealed that it wasn’t the first time he’d received such a request. He’d looked her up and down and nodded slowly. Shift is 6am to 2pm, 6 days a week, Ed said daringly, you think you can handle that?

Scully filled up the sink on her first day when a boy entered, skinny, with mousy brown hair in need of a trim. He slipped an apron over his standard teen uniform of black jeans, band t-shirt and converse. She guessed he was 17, maybe 18 years old. He stopped still at the sight of her.

‘Who are you?’ His voice was both deep and weedy, still adjusting to itself.

‘Denise.’ Another of Mulder’s rules: keep the same initial. Easier to roll off your tongue. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Chet. I’m the morning waiter until 2pm, when Sasha’s in.’ He reached across her to wash his hands. It had been a while since someone other than Mulder has stood in such close proximity. Feeling crowded, she inhaled quickly and concentrated on tying her hair up. ‘You’re different to the last washer.’ Scully didn’t say anything. ‘You new in town? Did you just arrive?’

‘You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’ Scully busied herself with the pots, and Chet took the hint. They didn’t talk for the rest of the shift.

‘Do you think it will work?’ Mulder asked when she returned 8 hours later, accompanied by the smell of cooking oil. The afternoon was caught under a bell jar, hot and still. Mulder was sprawled on the bed with newspapers spread in front of him, looking for any information that could potentially threaten them. Scully was sure that, should she ever ask him, he wouldn’t be able to articulate exactly what he was looking for.

‘It’s fine.’ She removed her shoes and sat on the end of the bed. Her feet were humming from the day’s work followed by the 3 mile walk back. ‘Same as that place in Burlington.’

‘Kansas?’

‘Sure.’ She crawled fully onto the bed and tucked her hand under the pillow, her back to Mulder.

‘Good. The more anonymous the better.’ Mulder pulled the papers from under her. ‘It looks like there are two local newspapers, but the most popular one here is USA Today.’

‘Well that’s a surprise.’

‘Whatever, Scully. I’m not doing this for fun.’ She felt him lie down next to her. The hairs on her back stood to attention, hoping he wouldn’t touch. The silence between them was a black hole, and Scully jumped right in.

‘I found work at a local motel. They’re renovating for Summer.’ Mulder said quietly after a few minutes.

‘Ok.’ Scully stayed on her side.

‘I stocked up at the store, so we don’t have to go for a little while. Do you want anything to eat?’

‘No.’ She closed her eyes against the daylight.

*

The mirror in the trailer was placed such that she could only see her shoulders up. Mulder had to crouch to see himself, and Scully very nearly had to stand on tiptoes. Before, this would have made her laugh.

Around her 40th birthday, she had gone through a phase of avoiding mirrors altogether, but now she studied her reflection with interest. Her pronounced clavicle snaked around the bottom of her neck like two thin arms buried under the skin threatening to strangle her. Feathery lines sat under her eyes from months of squinting at the road. Her cheekbones slid into shadowed gorges and levelled out to her soft chin, slack and furry with little hair. Freckles splattered like paint on a pale canvas. Grey dominated the natural auburn at her temples so that when she pulled her hair into a ponytail her mother’s face gazed back at her. The first time she saw the likeness she had gasped, remembering her father sitting next to her Christmas tree, little Emily asking to be set free in a wooden church. From then on, her hair was always down unless at work.

Mulder made her wear a baseball cap when she was out. If she dyed her hair, she was allowed to leave the cap at home. The idea of being anything other than a shade of red panicked her: this was her last thing. She was already hollowed out, a tinman pretending to have a heart. If she lost her hair colour, she felt she would finally rust over and be lost forever. What else did she have left?

*

Scully was scrubbing stubborn scrambled eggs from a large frying pan. The effort made her arm ache, and she felt slightly dizzy. Though they had shared fewer than 10 sentences since she started a week ago, she welcomed a break when Chet walked quickly into the kitchen.

‘Trade places with me,’ He said urgently. She looked at him properly for the first time. His head was ducked, chin covered in the duckling fluff of a teen too keen to prove his maturity. He was tall, she realised. She hadn’t realised how tall, given his movements were soft and quick. She wondered what his mother felt when she looked at him.

‘Why?’ She asked suspiciously. ‘I need to stay back here.’

‘Please, would you just do it for me?’ He pleaded. Scully scanned the room to see a table of girls laughing over their menus.

‘You want to avoid those girls?’

‘Something like that,’ Chet mumbled, cheeks flushed. Scully sighed and took the apron out of his hands, her palms sweaty with nerves. She took their order and found she had forgotten how to move her face. Her reactions felt too big, too staged. She tested her limits by taking another order from another girl sat by herself. When she returned to the kitchen, Chet had scrubbed off the remaining egg.

‘Thanks,’ he said gratefully. 

‘I’m not going to do it again,’ she snapped, snatching the brush from his hands. He left, and she leaned against the sink, hating herself for snapping. After almost three years on the run, her ability to make connections was off. She wrapped her right thumb and middle finger around her left wrist, measuring its circumference. Her wrist didn’t touch the fingers, and she was pleased when she could circle her wrist freely their grip. The bubbles in the sink crackled as they burst, slowly revealing a yellow glob of egg.

*

She would wake before Mulder to get to the café on time. He slept soundly, in a way he never could previously, on his back with an arm over his head. The conspiracy hadn’t been enough: he needed to be fully consumed by something, eaten, removed from life as he knew it, before he found peace.

He was enjoying his current line of work. She could tell because he once described the paint brush gliding like a toboggan, or by his swagger as he removed his t-shirt after a day of manual labour. Previously he was all about exposing the designs of others; now he was the creator. He was proud of himself. She had picked a hangnail on her pinkie, dry from constantly being in water, as he told her a tale about some wood and nails. Or it might have been shelves and a spirit level. She hadn’t listened too closely, knowing that whatever he found here would last only as long as he felt safe. Soon the time would come when his house of cards would fall.

*

‘What are you doing here, anyway, Ms Denise?’ Chet asked her. He was standing in the doorway, at a loose end. Rain kept the breakfast regulars away. Scully’s wet ponytail was plastered down her back and her soaked t-shirt stuck to her leggings. Her hipbones, sharp and round like pin heads, pressed against the sink as she leaned over, missing the usual padding of a dry t-shirt. They would bruise by the end of the day.

‘What do you mean?’ She asked flatly. With no customers, she kept busy by dismantling and cleaning the fat fryer.  

‘Just that.’ Chet helped her remove one of the baskets. ‘Why did y’all come to Crockett? To work in a café? What’s the story?’

‘No story. Just in need of a job.’

‘No story.’

‘Nope.’

‘You’re here just because you need a job. All on your lonesome.’

‘Yep.’ She popped the ‘p’ sound at the end.

‘My uncle had a friend who just turned up out of nowhere,’ Chet said. ‘Turns out he had two different families over in Louisiana. Weren’t long before he got sprung and had to go back. Now he’s awaiting trial for polygamy.’

‘So what?’ Her forehead suddenly prickled with sweat and she wiped it with her wrist. She met his gaze and held it in a silent threat.

‘Nothing’s never nothing, s’all I’m saying.’ Chet left to serve a customer, and Scully exhaled shakily. The oil mixed with the soap in the sink to create rainbows on the slimy surface. This kid was smart. A liability best kept to herself for now.

*

Scully ate an apple each morning as she meandered down the dirt roads to work, its crunch made louder by the darkness. She emptied her mind and savoured her surroundings, appreciating each ditch in the road, and the way a particular shrub resembled a sheep as she passed the ‘Welcome to Crockett!’ sign. Sporadic streetlights illuminated her solitary figure like the beacon of a lighthouse.

They had started out as crusaders, underdogs who would come out on top having prevented the end of the world. However, it was clear a few weeks in that without FBI resources, and the very real talents of the Gunmen, they were doomed to exist on the fringes of society, chasing wicker men. On their first night running she had told Mulder that she wouldn’t accept defeat if he didn’t, a memory that now makes her prickle with discomfort. That Scully is a high school student scribbling love hearts on her exercise books. That Scully doesn’t realise that unconditional love is actually anguish, pain, boredom, compromise, rage, sacrifice, not just sometimes but all the time until you’re so far in you can’t see where you stop and the other begins.

She used to feel like Mulder was the one holding the other end of the rope. But while they had been distracted buying cheap second-hand cars with high mileage, crossing state lines, eating store-bought sandwiches in the middle of the night, the rope had frayed and snapped. They each still had their end, but their futile attempts to mend it hurt so much that after a while, she just stopped trying.

*

‘Scully?’

My name, she thought idly as she swam from the depths of sleep. Not my never name, though. Not Dana. It’s my sometimes name. She tried to ignore it, but it repeated until she slowly became aware of her dull head, her dry mouth, of Mulder’s voice coaxing her back to him.

‘Mmmh?’ Forcing her eyes open, she saw Mulder sat on the bed. He didn’t touch her, she noted, and her shoulder shivered in the absence of his hand. The space in the trailer compacted with Mulder’s return. The walls closed in as he crossed the threshold and there wasn’t enough room for her.  She could see his mind humming with thoughts, but not knowing what they were, she would feel like an intruder.

‘You’re asleep again.’ He said with a hint of accusation.

‘Mmmh.’ She closed her eyes and sighed. If she was lucky, she could fall back to sleep quickly.

‘I’ve brought food.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve brought food.’

‘Oh. I ate at work.’

‘That was 6 hours ago.’ She opened her eyes again. It was 8pm already? ‘You were sleeping when I came home at 6, and it looks like you’ve not moved.’

‘I took a sandwich home with me,’ Scully lied. ‘You woke me when you left again, I ate then.’

He met her eyes and she realised she couldn’t remember the last time they’d properly looked at each other. His face was worn. She spied blue paint by his ear. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. Like her, he had flecks of grey around his hairline, and his eyes seemed smaller among the creases of his cheeks. But there was energy coursing behind his irises. He can handle this, she realised enviously. This lifestyle suited him.

She shrank as he studied her in return. He had always been interested in her mind, had always valued her level-headed scientific approach. She knew he had found her beautiful at some point, but his true love affair was with her intellect. She counted on the fact that he wouldn’t ever really see her. She liked feeling invisible. But now he had noticed what she saw when she looked at her reflection.

‘Are you eating enough?’ His question landed heavily in her stomach. She circled her left wrist with her right fingers and twisted, drawing confidence from the gap.

‘Yeah.’ She avoided his eyes.

‘Are you sure, Scully?’

‘I told you, I already ate.’

‘You look thin.’

Scully fluffed her pillows and lay back down again. ‘It’s just from being on my feet all day. And the walk there and back.’

‘Do you need a ride there each day? I can get up earlier. I don’t want you –’

‘I’m fine, Mulder. Please.’ She rolled away from him, not caring that she was still fully clothed. She felt sleep stalking her in the periphery and prostrated herself ready for it to snatch her.

*

The first rule Mulder created was that they avoid being in public together, the net result being a lot of alone time for her when her shift finished. She was to go home straight away. He would pick up their groceries on his way home, comfortable with his own vulnerability, but he resisted her attempts at independence beyond what was absolutely necessary.

Every day the trailer was oppressed by afternoon heat. The air refused to move so it felt like she was wading through blankets. She would sleep the afternoons away, passing out so heavily that she felt drugged when she awoke, limbs heavy, clinging on to unconsciousness as her senses fired up. More than once, she thought she was still in her Georgetown apartment, and it took a few minutes to remember. She would try to wake up before Mulder came home, but recently that was proving more challenging.

Her bones were dragging.

*

‘Can you trade with me again?’ Chet arrived at her elbow. She instinctively took a step back. ‘Please?’

‘I told you the last time,’ Scully replied, ‘no. I need to stay here.’

‘Please. I can’t go out there.’ He sounded so desperate that she sighed and scanned the restaurant for the table of girls.

‘I don’t see those girls here,’ she said.

‘That group of girls? With the headbands and the lettermen?’ Chet scoffed. ‘No, not them.’

‘Then who?’ Curious, Scully couldn’t help but look again. She saw in the corner a small girl with brown hair to her shoulders reading a book. ‘That girl over there?’

Chet backed away, his cheeks blushing

‘Yeah,’ he sighed. ‘Amanda Jones.’

‘She seems nice?’ Scully asked, unsure of what to say.

‘She is nice.’ He ran his hands over his hair. ‘She’s super smart, and she really thinks about things. She’s not one of those girls you saw the other day…’

‘Those other girls don’t think?’ Scully bristled at Chet’s casual dismissal.

‘I don’t know if they do or not. But they’re not very nice.’ He paused, looking out at Amanda. ‘Please. I can’t go out there.’

Scully sized him up before holding her hand out for his apron. She remembered how teenage love teetered between affirming and soul destroying. The girl looked up and ordered a coffee with such self-possession that even Scully had to admit she was impressed.

*

Dana pulled up outside her mother’s dark house. It was 7pm and she was expected for dinner, but she was met with silence. Her mother’s purse was on the hall table. Shopping sat on the kitchen counters. There was a sweet, fermented smell of rotting fruit.

Professional instincts kicking in, she drew her weapon and checked downstairs before making her way upstairs.  Her mom was on the bathroom floor, eyes closed and congealed blood at her temple.

‘Mom!’ Dana cried as she kneeled beside her. She patted her mother’s cheek urgently, and Maggie’s eyelids fluttered open. Relief washed over Dana and her arms shook as she moved.

‘Dana….’ Maggie whispered. ‘I fell….’

‘Mom, I’m gonna help you,’ Dana was unable to stop her voice from wavering. She held a damp washcloth against the side of her mother’s head. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Two days ago maybe… or three…I’m not really sure.’ Scully held a second wet, clean cloth to her mom’s lips for her to suck. ‘I couldn’t get to the phone….  I’ve been here for such a long time.’

Maggie closed her eyes and went limp. Dana felt her mother’s pulse weaken, and she screamed.

Scully sat bolt upright, throat wheezing as she desperately sucked in air. She panted, sweat rolling down her back as she held her hands out to orient herself. There was the bedside table. There was the side of the bed. There was Mulder, his strong back to her, snoring. Her mother was back at home, and Scully had to believe she was alive and well.

She slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Mulder, and sat on the steps outside. It was warm enough to sit in her t-shirt. She put her arms around her knees and lit a cigarette. She struggled to sleep past 2am these days.

Some nights she would reach around Mulder to wake him with her hands. She would take him in her mouth, and he would push her head until she gagged. Their bodies grew slippery together, and she would dig her nails into his back to gain traction as she sat on him, feeling him plunge into the cavernous depths of her. She would cry his name – his real name - in her throaty voice, the black night their only witness. It was always quick, vicious, and she rarely had her turn although she didn’t want that. She wanted to be entered, to be filled up. They wouldn’t speak after, but the next day there would be a new charge in the current between them which almost made the situation almost bearable.

Most nights, however, she would simply sit outside and smoke. She savoured her secret cigarettes, this tasty rebellion. The orange glow soared through the air like a grown-up sparkler.

The expanse of the stars made her mind spin as she gazed upwards. She remembered her childhood astronomy, spotting the Big Dipper and the Big Bear. She heard her father’s commentary. In these moments, Scully wondered if she was even really there. She might blow away on the wind’s currents, floating higher and higher until she was as far away as the stars. She felt like she was looking at life through the wrong end of the telescope.

*

The day in May came, around which all others moved, and she dragged herself to the café when all her instincts told her to stay in bed and spend the day remembering his gummy smile and the sound of his cry.

The day before, she had eyed a bottle of whiskey as she replenished her clandestine cigarettes on her way home but had ultimately decided against it. Throughout the years they had both tried to escape this day via alcohol. For her, it resulted shame and hazy memories of tear-soaked grief, Mulder’s clumsy hands holding her hair back as she vomited, raging against his strength as he tried to contain her. On his part, he turned inwards, growing snarky, mean and morose. He channelled his energy towards the cruellest insults which swirled in her head for months after. You call yourself a mother? You give him up and then claim to be a mother? You’re a selfish bitch, Scully, that’s what you are, and you have to live with that for the rest of your life.

At the café, she saw Chet hanging around her sink. Her heart sank when he smiled as she approached. She wasn’t sure she could handle him today.

‘Ms Denise!’ He greeted her enthusiastically. ‘I have news.’

Scully said nothing and turned the tap on. Chet wasn’t put off by her indifference, having worked with her for 7 weeks now and seen little else.

‘I was riding home from work yesterday and I saw Amanda had a puncture,’ his thin, reticulin fingers gesticulated as spoke, ‘so I helped her fix it, and we walked home together and had the best conversation. Turns out she’s reading '1984’, which is my favourite book. We both think it’s so clever, you know, how they reduce thought by altering language. Kinda like what’s going on now, all this war on terror talk. You know what I mean?’ He laughed to himself. ‘Man, I can’t believe she actually spoke to me.’

Scully shook her head slightly to refocus. She was bothered by something he said.

‘You love '1984’?’ She asked, looking directly at him. He had shaved his fluff but kept a small, patchy moustache on his baby face. His hair had greasy roots, and she wanted to tell him to take a shower. He was clean and musty at the same time. ‘How old are you, Chet?’

‘I’m 19. I’ll be 20 in October.’

‘Why aren’t you in college?’ She asked sharply. He raised his eyebrows cynically.

‘College? What college am I going to go to?’ He replied, voice squeaking. ‘You’ve seen this town, there’s no college here.’

‘You’re a smart guy.’ Scully seethed at the waste of his potential. ‘There are colleges nearby, with scholarships –‘

‘No, I’m just gonna work here, get some money behind me,’ Chet interrupted. ‘I’ve been talking to Ed, maybe one day I can take over this place.’

‘Chet, you can have bigger dreams than the local café for the next forty years,’ Scully was desperate to make this boy see the world was bigger than this. ‘You can do whatever you want.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘No, I can’t. I’m not that guy.’

‘Chet….’ She saw his face harden.

‘Anyway, what about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘What all are your dreams, why are you lecturing me about mine?’ His voice was raised, and Scully’s heart ticked like a metronome on the highest setting. She stepped back from the sink. This was too much attention. ‘You’re hiding something. You don’t wash your hands like a normal person. I reckon a doctor, or surgeon, someone who has to keep clean. And then there’s that cornfed guy working at the motel on the other side of town. Funny how he pops up same week as you, same accent as you, yet you don’t know nothing about anything. So who are you really, Ms Denise?’

He reeled, surprised at his outburst. Scully blinked back tears, her hands shaking as adrenaline bled through her. He reminded her so much of Mulder: observant, passionate, gentle, and he had her number. Yet this wasn’t her mini-Mulder. He was elsewhere celebrating this day with strangers, and she was in a kitchen in small town Texas. She heard waves crash in her ears.

‘I’m nothing,’ she muttered, and pushed past Chet. ‘Excuse me, I’m not feeling well.’

He called her name as she ran out the back door and threw up beside the bins. It felt good. Chunks of apple, half dissolved by acid, lay at her feet, and her teeth chattered. Chet appeared with a glass of water which she took gratefully. Her stomach churned as the water hit, but it stayed down.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. He stood next to her, unsure of what to do. ‘Today is a hard day.’

‘I can tell Ed you’re not well,’ Chet said awkwardly. ‘You should go… I can handle it today.’

It was mid-morning by the time she turned down the dirt road towards the trailer park. Mulder would have just left for work, and she wanted to crawl in bed and close off the day. She wasn’t sure what four-year olds were even like: she had a vague recollection of Matthew being into trains. She couldn’t imagine his hair colour, what his voice sounded like, whether he could count to twenty, or if he could do puzzles. She had no idea, and her ignorance of rudimentary childhood development made her feel worse.

On a whim, she ignored her thirst and walked past the trailer park entrance to the natural bushland at the end of the road, lured by the refreshing shades of green. The ground was covered in grass, with natural tracks running between the trees. Leaves and sticks scraped her ankles as she walked, and she soon found herself deep within the bushland, with only the track behind her for navigation.

She walked until her shin bones ached. Suddenly the path dropped away. The cliff was 40 feet or so and framed by the overhanging branches from the nearby trees. A creek ran through the lush valley at the base of the cliff. It looked so quiet, so unspoiled. She crept closer to the drop and looked down to see rocks directly below her. Standing tall, the breeze blew temptingly across her face and her toes crept over the edge. Then the balls of her feet. Her weight shift to her heels. She knew if she closed her eyes, her balance would falter, and who knew which way she would fall? The risk appealed. She felt dizzy. Reckless. Her hands opened by her side, her fingers stretching downwards to feel the breeze on her palms. She imagined feeling weightless.

A rustle next to her made her jump back, her natural instinct to survive proving to be stronger than her desperation to for everything to stop. She fell as she retreated, landing hard on her coccyx. The pain brought tears to her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she heard herself cry. Her chest heaved twice, three times, as she inhaled to support more sobs. Pain dripped like mercury from her fingers. She gripped her hair by its roots and let out a huge scream which echoed around the valley as her rage tumbled out. It was a relief to finally feel something. A fox squirrel shot out from under the scrubland and stood still, eyeing her as she wept. It tilted its head and ran up a tree trunk. Her right fingers wrapped around her left wrist, and she twisted her wrist in the gap. Tears splashed on the rocks beside her.

*

When she got back to the motel, Scully stayed away from the bedroom. She drank three glasses of cold water and took her towel to lie on the grass outside of the trailer, enjoying the solid ground beneath her shoulder blades. Studying the leaves above her, she realised that she still had choices. She could decide things. She could identify her limits, but it came down to how much she was prepared to fight for herself. She was a hologram of the person she used to be, and she wondered if she even had the strength to stand up. Eventually she was lulled to sleep by the rhythmic lullaby of leaves in the breeze.

She woke when Mulder pulled up. Her sleep had been light, leaving her unusually refreshed. The importance of the day crashed on her chest once more, but she recognised a very, very slight shift in perspective: today could be about more than grief. What should I do with this, she wondered.

‘Scully?’ He approached her with caution, wearing his own memories of this day on his face. ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘It’s a nice day.’ She folded her towel and stood. ‘I just wanted to be outside.’

That evening, they sat outside with a beer to toast their son. They talked, though not about William. He was interested in her trip to the bushland. She told him about the sound the trees made, and the squirrel, but not how the whispers of the breeze had dared her to see if she really was immortal.

*

She had grown used to the smell of old cooking oil and grease. It seeped into her skin and her hair. Having been there for two and a half months, it smelled as much like home as anywhere had. Half-way through her shift one Tuesday morning, she asked for a plate of scrambled eggs, which the chef handed to her in surprise. Out back, past the bins, she found Chet on his break, and sat wordlessly beside him.

‘You taking a break today?’ He asked incredulously. ‘You never take a break.’

They had reached a truce after William’s birthday: he chewed her ear off about whatever he wanted, and she offered sparse but pertinent advice. Each day, he brought her some new piece of information about the youth of the town, and she found herself invested in spite of herself.

‘First time for everything,’ she replied, hoping she sounded light, carefree. The fork was awkward in her right hand, plate balanced on her lap. The eggs were yellow and solid; she sliced into them with the side of her fork. They felt like stones clogging her throat. Her mouth salivated as she ate. Scully tried to ignore how heavy the food felt inside her stomach and cleared her throat nervously. ‘Can I eat with you tomorrow too?’

‘Sure thing, Ms Denise.’ Chet balled up the paper from his bacon sandwich. ‘You don’t have to ask.’

She managed half her plate, and fought against the itch in her fingers, the urge to lock herself in the bathroom afterwards.

That afternoon, as she was leaving the Mom and Pop store, Chet and Amanda cycled past. He was in front, and he said something which made her throw her head back in laughter, her hair trailing behind like a mermaid. Scully felt a spark in her chest: a tiny flame, a burst of energy. She drew warmth from its glow.

*

They started to spend the warm evenings outside together, the fog between them slowly dissipating. She told Mulder about the legend of the Ozark Howler, a cat-like creature with horns and glowing eyes. It was said to be found in the Ozarks but there were sightings as far reaching as Texas too. Mulder’s core ignited with new folklore, curling himself towards her in his plastic chair. She presented tidbits of information to him like proud child. They found themselves in a discussion of whether it’s realistic for one cat-like creature to cover so much geography, or if it meant a growing species, and whether that contributed to or undermined its veracity. His eyes narrowed when he learned that Chet had told her about it. Careful Scully, his tone immediately changing, you don’t want to get too close. Keep your distance. She had smiled thinly, ruffled his hair, and walked back inside before he could see her tears because, for just a minute, she had forgotten and they had felt like a normal couple again.

*

‘Mulder?’ Scully approached Mulder as he lay on the couch in the tiny living room reading the papers. Three months in and she could see he was starting to twitch. It wouldn’t be long until he wanted to up sticks, and she wanted to get in first.

‘What’s up, doc?’ He smiled. She sat next to him and pressed her knees together. She had recently bought some dye to patch over her grey hairs. Her cheeks were starting to fill out with her daily plate of eggs, though she still couldn’t consider anything more solid without her palms sweating. She noticed he had started to look at her differently: he had stopped looking through her, and she felt herself take up more space.

‘Mulder…..’ She sighed and looked at the floor. ‘Mulder, I need to go home.’ She glanced up and saw shock, fear, pass over his face.

‘Go home?’ he repeated dumbly. ‘Scully, I can’t…. you know what waits for me there.’

Scully closed her eyes, not wanting to remember Mulder’s sentence: death by lethal injection. The danger had always been real, but somewhere along the way she had lost the sense of it as she had lost herself. With this request, she had to face it once more.

‘There must be a way,’ she said, her voice shaky. ‘Please. It’s… I’m …. I’m not doing well. I’m… vanishing.’

‘I know that Scully,’ he said in his crinkly voice that reached into the dark shadows of her. ‘I see you. I think you’re right, I think you may have reached the end of this road. But what choice do I have?’

‘There must be a way,’ she repeated, the lump in her throat making her voice thin and tight. ‘We can email Skinner. I don’t want to leave you. I hate the thought you being by yourself.’ She paused to compose herself and reached for his hand. ‘You’re good at this life. You know how to duck and weave. The threat gives you energy, purpose, as it always has. I see you too, you know.’

 ‘You’re my gal. You’ve always seen all of me.’ He kissed her knuckles. ‘I know you’re struggling. I don’t know the last time I saw you eat more than a banana. I wake in the night and you’re not there.’ She stiffened but made herself stay in the conversation. It was the first honest talk they’d had in months.  ‘But can you give me some time? Just a little. Please, Scully. Let me get my head around it some more.’

‘Mulder….. There’s Matthew. My Mom.’ She hiccupped the last word, and to her frustration, started to cry, releasing the pressure in her chest. She wiped her eyes. ‘I mean, what is our plan here, exactly? Wait for an apocalypse that we’re powerless to stop? Well, I don’t want to welcome that one without my family. Or maybe it doesn’t happen, and we run for the next 20 years. Or do we draw the line at 30 years? And what happens if you fall from a ladder, or even just get tonsillitis?’

They sat in silence. Mulder had abandoned the newspaper, and Scully circled her wrist. There was still a sizeable gap and her satisfaction at this quickly turned to guilt.   

‘Ok, Scully.’ Mulder said finally, exhaling heavily. ‘Let’s email Skinner. See if there are options.’

*

That Sunday they drove two hours out of town to a random internet café. Mulder set up an email account and then they sent Skinner a cryptic message. Mulder drove three hours in the opposite direction two days later to see his reply, and he didn’t let Scully come. Too conspicuous for both of them to miss a day of work, he’d reasoned. Scully had wanted to throw her coffee mug at the wall in frustration.

They hadn’t spent more than a work shift apart since 2002, and Scully was bereft as she waited. She dropped a stack of plates at work, and spent the afternoon peeking out of the trailer window at the sound of every car rumble. It felt like snakes had taken up residence in her stomach.

She was sat the small table in the kitchen when he returned, a plate of celery, carrots and hummus in front of her. She cried out with relief as she heard the car pull up and ran to hug him as he exited the car. His sweater was soft, and she remembered how solid she felt when her body locked against his.

Once inside, he handed her a printout from the now deleted email account. Scully scanned it, seeing words like pardon, obstruction of justice, requalification, but her mind raced over the email before she could comprehend its meaning. She looked at him expectantly.  

‘It looks like there’s a shot,’ Mulder said nervously, rubbing his palms together. ‘A long shot. Skinner thinks he could get any potential charges against you dropped as long as I continue to lay low. But he thinks there’s a possibility for us both to return.’

‘And we’d be together?’

‘Yes. We could be together.’ He finally slipped a smile. ‘I may not see daylight for the foreseeable future, so I hope you like the anaemic vampiric look.’

Scully covered her face with her hands and pushed all the air out of her lungs. Her fingers were hot, and her head tingled. She laughed, feeling a little light-headed and hysterical. She pictured her Mom’s face and the laugher turned to loud sobs of relief. Mulder kissed her head and held her tightly while she calmed. The energy in his eyes had already been replaced with fear, and she realised the price of the choice he had just made for her. For them.

‘Pack your things Scully,’ He started pulling their bags from the cupboard. ‘We gotta move.’

[rough-n-randy-rando]

Edd and Flow; Jitters, Junk, Fireflies

Eddward Vincent had never been on a clandestine date before. Or any date for that matter.  He’d gone to Sadie Hawkins with Nazz, but it had been a pleasant outing between two friends. Nazz had met his parents, he’d met Nazz’s, pinned a corsage, danced together under the supervision of chaperones, drank punch that may or may not have been spiked. It had been a quick affair, never repeated and with no misunderstandings or hurt feelings.

     As he decided on what to wear, he thought over the situation in terms of what a date classically is and found that it was beyond typical categorization. If anything, it was a rendezvous. It had all the thrill, danger and intrigue of one at least. And it was hot, but not just hot, humid at that. A romantic rendezvous in a tank-top and shorts? It would be so.

    There was another point of consideration; was that all this would be? A passing… something… in the night? Is that worthwhile? Is that something to look forward to? So many questions, and nothing but a time and place to answer them. As well as an auburn-haired boy. That raised more thoughts, lewd, personal thoughts. He humored them and changed again. Messy, messy, messy.

    By four in the afternoon he’d run out of things to catalogue and alphabetize; every advisory note left by his parents was read and followed; Jim and the ant colony fed and watered; any and every bit of clothes washed, folded. Now he’d resorted to an impromptu one man play in the living room, portraying both himself and a suddenly erudite and proper Kevin, replete with baseball cap. Then, a knock at the door.

    Actually, it was less a knock than it was Eddy strolling in, Ed in tow. “Hey Sockhead why dontcha answer your phone?” He tracked in mud, fresh, blackened mud likely from a runoff canal near the Creek. “Ed and I found a great spot ta set up Slippery Eddy’s Super Summer Splash Park and we need ya ta draw up the plans.”

    “Eddy, shoes, please!” Double-Dee sprung over the couch and dialed a command into his wristwatch, sleeker models of the cleaner bots from the café emerging from the hall closet and setting to work.

    Ed swept Double-Dee in his arms and crushed the air from his lungs in a rib-cracking bear hug. “Eddy told me you’d been taken by the sewer people, to build them a radioactive claw they’d use to steal the Earth’s core!” He mimicked a gnarled claw and snapped at various objects on the end table near the couch, curling his lip and crossing his eyes in his best impression of a sewer person.

    “Ed, we’ve talked about unnecessary roughness in our greetings.” Double-Dee felt the pressure around him relax.

    “Sorry Double-Dee.” Ed seemed on the edge of tears, sincerely remorseful he’d slipped up and possibly disappointed his friend.

    Double-Dee had a special place in his heart, and therefore his patience, for Ed, and gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s perfectly fine, Ed, just a friendly reminder. Now, if you wouldn’t mind releasing me.” Ed dropped him bodily to the floor and stood smiling.

    Eddy had meanwhile helped himself to one of the pre-made sandwiches Double-Dee had spent the morning preparing for himself and was lounging on the couch, a phone in his hand. “All my missed calls and you didn’t even try to get back to me.” He seemed taken aback by something he saw on the screen and flew into a rage. “Kevin? What, he tryin ta shanghai ya ta help him with his summer school?”

    Double-Dee scrambled over the couch and tried his best to get his phone back, Eddy keeping him at bay with his leg. “My correspondence with other people is my own business, Eddy; so unless you’re listed as the account holder or contribute directly to my service bill, I’d appreciate you returning my property to me and pondering your own social interactions, thank you very…” he kicked off the arm-rest of the couch and managed to spring past Eddy’s leg, grabbing ahold of his phone as he sailed off towards a crash landing, “much!”

    He made a hard landing against the opposite wall, knocking over a waist-high bookshelf. Ed scrambled over and helped unbury Double-Dee, lifting him up to his feet and dusting him off.

    “Are you okay, Double-Dee?”

    “Yes, thank you, Ed… you didn’t take off your shoes?”

    Sure enough, there was a long, thick trail of viscous, blackened mud from the entryway to him, the cleaner bots chugging along frustratedly.

    “Forget his shoes, what’s Shovelchin tryin ta rope ya into, huh, huh?”

    Double-Dee held the phone to his chest and turned his nose up at Eddy, moving off towards the kitchen. “None of your ‘beezewax’ to borrow from your own crude vocabulary.” He glanced at the screen and saw he had indeed received a message from a number identifying itself as Kevin.

Hey Double-Dork, it’s Kev, don’t forget.

    He felt a bolt of lighting shoot up his spine and crash back down in the pit of his stomach, flooding him with warmth and energy, his heart racing. Now how to go about responding. He wanted to send a long-heartfelt message filled with his excitement and anticipation, the concern and worry that had been consuming him ever since their brief intimacy the day prior. Then he thought of how Kevin, up till now the smoothest of operators when it came to romance, would take this outpouring of deep emotions, especially in such an early, fragile state of their… relationship.

    “Hello, Double-Dee, ya have a stroke or somethin?” Eddy had finished his sandwich, wiping his hands on the couch, and was looking at him expectantly.

    “Eddy, how would you respond to someone who had asked you out on a date, wishing to maintain a level of distance and mask your enthusiasm?” He looked to Eddy, who had a crestfallen look on his face.

    “Oh come on, not Boxhead…”

    “The identity of the individual is irrelevant, but the question stands.”

    “Is Double-Dee in love, Eddy?” Ed again closed the distance between himself and Edd, wrapping him up in a cautious embrace.

    “I wouldn’t call it love, Ed, but someone has piqued my interest, yes.” Double-Dee relished the affection afforded to him by his gregarious friend and returned the hug.

    “What you have to do is beat up their enemy like in Ultra Space Adventure number six-hundred and four, where Tim Cobalt, space explorer, fought for the love of an alien with a thousand mouths by defeating the hairy mutants from X-O-Nine!” Again, sudden silence, pleasant smile.

    “I’ll take it under consideration, Ed.”

    “I say leave him hangin, never text back, move away, save yourself the headache.”

    “Come now, Eddy; could it be your prior antagonistic encounters with Kevin have soured your opinion of him?”

    “Kevin’s a jerk, always will be a jerk, ask Nazz.”

    Double-Dee bit his lip and tapped Ed to release him. He moved into the living room and sat in his father’s recliner, looking off to a spot on the carpet. “I admit, Kevin’s romantic record to this point has been less than stellar. But could it be that that’s a part of adolescence? After all, Kevin and Nazz remain close friends, despite their history.”

    Eddy looked Double-Dee over and shook his head, standing to leave. “Double-Dee ya could marry a hornet’s nest and I’d ask when the reception is…” he picked at his teeth with the nail of his pinky-finger and examined what he’d scraped loose, “but Kevin?” He tutted and walked towards the door. “Just don’t ask me ta be nice ta him.” He paused and said over his shoulder, “Keep it loose, say when and where, then be there, keep him guessing.”

    “Remember Double-Dee; defeating your love’s enemies is the key to the heart.” Sudden silence. Pleasant smile.

    “Ed, your advice, as always, is illuminating.”

    “Wait for me, Eddy!” Ed raced after Eddy and practically bulldozed him out the door, the pair alternatingly laughing and arguing as they made their way back to whatever spot they’d staked out.

     Save for the cleaning machines lethargically scrubbing away at the last of the Ed’s mess, the house was quiet. Double-Dee looked at his screen again and considered a response. Then, another text popped onto the screen.

Don’t flake on me or I’ll pound ya.

    It seemed Kevin was also in the throes of pre-date jitters. He thought on it for a moment, then replied.

Eight o’clock, the park.

    And that was that.

       The Park was one of the oldest in Peach Creek, planned back when the cul de sac and other suburb outcroppings were still just blueprints and promises. It was simple, a few play structures, slides and swings, as well as a sandbox. Ringed by tall, old trees that were always last on the town’s list of landscaping priorities, a canopy had formed in some places, and in others crowded saplings and bushes fought for space. Otherwise, it was a straight shot through the park from one end to the other, wide open views from the street that anyone could take in unobstructed while passing by.

    These observations were obvious to Double-Dee as he sat at the picnic table, glancing at his phone every few seconds. 7:55pm. He’d arrived promptly at 7:30 to allow himself the opportunity to settle in, seem casual, build an alibi should anyone from the neighborhood or beyond happen upon him and subject him to interrogation. He’d imagined a million and one scenarios, his stories becoming more and more fluid as the questioning increased in severity. By 7:45 his resolve had faltered a bit, though he quickly reminded himself that it was Kevin who’d set the time and Kevin who’d sent a reminder, as well as a, hopefully, playful threat.

    The summer sun set late. It would be almost 9 by the time it fully set beyond the western mountains, casting everything into deep, dark night. Now, at 8pm, there was more than enough light to show someone mounted on a restored, candy-red ’92 Honda VT600 Shadow roll up to the curb beyond the park’s entrance.

    The mystery rider cut the engine and sat back in the seat, arms crossed, the tinted, visored helmet clearly looking towards him, “You comin or what?”

    Double-Dee felt both underdressed and intimidated. Whereas he’d resolved to wear cargo shorts and a simple band tee, Kevin was clad in black denim with a weathered, adobe-colored leather jacket. He needed to retain some of the rehearsed blasé attitude he’d constructed.

    “I’d accuse you of showing off but I’m afraid I don’t know enough about motorcycles or the necessary safety gear to offer any real criticism.” Humorous, self-effacing, humble.

    “Shut up Dork, put this on.” The careful waltz of clever witticisms was shattered, and Kevin lobbed a small backpack at Double-Dee. Inside was an equally weathered chartreuse leather jacket and an older, Italian motorcycle helmet.

    “First of all, Mr. Barr, don’t speak to me in that way.” Double-Dee let the bag drop to his feet and crossed his arms. “I’ll admit I’m positively disposed towards you but this disposition does not mean I’ll forgive disrespect.”

    Kevin kept his helmet visor down, a black-eyed cyclops that stared him down wordlessly. He triggered the kickstand switch and let the bike settle at a cant, dismounting and walking straight up to the other boy. He stood a full head taller, and he still didn’t raise the visor.

    “Well?” Gasoline fumes mingled with the aseptic bite of a cologne that had given up the ghost long ago. The closeness of the two as well as Kevin’s facelessness revived the sense of enticing danger Double-Dee had dismissed as romantic fantasy.

    Kevin flipped up the visor and was smiling. “You’re cute when ya want to act all tough, Mr. Vincent.” He scooped the bag up and handed it daintily to Double-Dee. “Pretty please, with sugar on top, put this on.”

    “Very well, but only because you asked so nicely.”

    Soon, they were off, riding for about an hour to the west, halfway between Peach Creek and Lemon Brook. Suburbs gave way to orchards, the new moon providing more than enough light to navigate the many backroads Kevin detoured. Here and there you’d spot farmhouses; lonely old things that looked abandoned, only the motion-activated security lights close to the road reminding you that people lived there.

    Even with earplugs, the sound of the bike’s engine was monstrously loud, the vibration of the road rattling Double-Dee numb. He’d kept his eyes clamped shut for much of the ride, but as Kevin slowed to take the winding roads to their unknown destination, he’d allowed himself to peek out into the night, take in the sights. In the milky-white brilliance of the new moon, details were discernable; old collapsed fence posts with depression-era barbed wire; an actual honest-to-god phone booth at a crossroads that still had a functioning light on the inside; an abandoned tractor that had been consumed by wild grass and weeds, a thicket forming around it; acres upon acres of anything and everything that grew on trees.

    Though named for the citrus fruit, no lemons grew in or around Lemon Brook. The main employer of the community, Staple and Citrus Cargo Company, named the town after the first product they’d shipped in upon opening in 1890: Lemons for the Navy from California. Rail-lines, weigh stations, turntables, fuel and water depots cross-hatched and dotted the county. This area surrounding the town was known as the badlands, beginning and ending at an old district boundary no one bothered to review.

    They finally came to a halt at the beginning of a gravel road that disappeared through a cluster of beech trees. Kevin killed the engine and sat for a moment, then turned his helmeted head.

    “Hey, uh, you can let go now.”

    Double-Dee did so, the blood rushing back into his arms, hands, fingers. “My apologies, Kevin, I’m not used to this mode of travel.”

    “It’s fine, Nazz hated riding this thing too.”

    Double-Dee dismounted shakily, his legs waking up. “I’m glad to know how other people you’ve dated enjoyed the experience.”

    “Come on, Double-Dee, I didn’t me-” Kevin saw that the other boy was politely stifling a laugh. “Good one, you really made me feel like a jerk.”

    “I can’t make you feel what you already suspect.” Eddward allowed himself the laugh and removed the helmet, his beanie pressed flat underneath.

    “I’ve never seen someone get helmet HAT before.” Kevin dismounted as well and walked the bike off the side of the road into a stand of already dying paper birches. Double-Dee was waiting for him as he reemerged, and Kevin thought on how ridiculous he looked in the oversized jacket, shorts, and chipped-white helmet, old-school driving goggles sitting crookedly across the brow. “You look like you shop at the Salvation Army.”

    Double-Dee considered what he was wearing and shrugged, “Half of this outfit was provided by you, so I’d say it reveals more about your own stylistic choices than mine.”

    “Fair enough, come on, we’re almost there.”

    They set off along the gravel road and entered the stand of beeches, Double-Dee taking note of the many bottles and cans strewn about the ground.

    “I take it this is a popular place for revelry, shame they’re so inconsiderate of the local flora.”

    Kevin stooped and came back up with one of the cans in hand. It was so faded, half-covered in a slimy, mossy sludge that he couldn’t make out any kind of date or design. He let it fall back among its brothers and wiped off the sludge on a tree as he walked by. “Used to be, all the upperclassmen would come here.”

    “We’re the upperclassmen now.”

    Kevin chuckled, “Yeah, we’re in the big leagues.”

    They exited the stand of trees and stood at the edge of a field of tall grass about two acres long by two acres wide. Rising out of the grass here and there were old hulks of various vehicles. They were rusted husks without engines, without seats, skeletons of skeletons. In the center of the field there rose a jagged mound of earth and steel. Bicycles, shopping carts, weathervanes, melted and crushed together into a chaotic mass half-buried by an abortive burial attempt. The earth that had been heaped upon it had, over time, solidified and compacted, and now was topped by thin, white, fluted flowers.

    What gave this mound shape was the most surprising specimen of all; beneath the wreckage and dirt sat an old tank, its turret turned slightly to the right, main gun held aloft by a sturdy-looking support brace bolted to the chassis.

    Kevin took Double-Dee’s hand and squeezed it. “Welcome to the ThunderDome.”

   Double-Dee giggled and took the lead, pulling Kevin along as he walked towards the mound. “I’d be interested to see what species of flower that is, as well as the model of the …”

    They’d only taken a few steps in when the fireflies, as though they had fallen asleep on the job, rose and began their display. The two teens were surrounded by a flurry of light, a chain reaction rippling outward across the field, legions upon legions of the luminescent insects taking flight. The new moon was obscured by a blanket of clouds that threatened rain and thunder, the night deepening across the land. The fireflies were transformed from points of light to living stars, meteors caught in the atmosphere of this private universe, celestial bodies that collided and danced all around them.

    “It’s beautiful, it’s like experiencing the moment after the Big Bang!”

    Kevin looked at Double-Dee and was struck by the awe, the wonder in his eyes. As those wide orbs of glacial blue diamonds took in the beauty of the moment, reflections of fireflies that passed close by blinked in and out of existence like sparks from a flint. For a moment Kevin was party to Double-Dee’s immense knowledge, imagination, and understanding, and in that moment he felt afraid. He was one of the most intelligent people Kevin had ever met, an inscrutable mind of unknowable potential. What could he offer him? What could he give to him that he couldn’t create himself, better, at ten times the scale with ten times the power?

    Double-Dee moved in close and laid his head on Kevin’s chest. “I could live in this moment for the rest of my life.”

    At a loss for a response, but feeling victorious, he held him close and said nothing.

READ THE FULL STORY IN SEQUENCE HERE

[ohmysmosh]

For the unusual asks: all of the even numbered questions :)

Oh boy you really want to keep me busy. Okay I’ll make these short for anyone who would actually read all this.

2 is your room messy or clean? My bedroom is usually messy but the rest of my apartment is clean

4 do you like your name? why? Yeah, I think it’s spelled uniquely and I’m named after a family friend. (My full name is Madelynne)

6 describe your personality in 3 words or less. The Mom Friend

8 what kind of car do you drive? color? A silver Ford Fusion (I know sick right)

10 how would you describe your style? Like boho chic? maybe

12 what size bed do you have? Twin, soon to be double though

14 if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? Right where I am in Oregon honestly, I like the area I’m from

16 favorite makeup brand(s). I’m not big into makeup, I just use bare mineral concealer/foundation and cover girl mascara

18 favorite tv show? Currently I’m binging The Walking Dead, but Criminal minds is my fav show of all time.

20 how tall are you? 5’7

22 do you go to the gym? Nooo

24 how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? I don’t have any cash because I’m cursed and whenever I carry cash I get robbed (It’s happened twice, it sucked)

26 how many pillows do you sleep with? 2

28 how many friends do you have? Close friends, like 6?

30 whats your favorite candle scent? Watermelon lemonade

32 3 favorite girl names. Idk, I only have boy names picked out tbh

34 favorite actress? Emma Watson

36 favorite movie? I don’t have an all time favorite but The Princess Bride is really good

38 money or brains? Money, only because I’d rather by financially stable than a genius

40 how many times have you been to the hospital? I think just 4 (For a burn from an iron when I was a baby, to get a sty removed from my eye, to get my appendix taken out, and to get a baseball sized cyst removed from my ovary)

42 do you take any medications daily? Not anymore

44 what is your biggest fear? Tight spaces

46 whats your go to hair style? Half up half down

48 who is your role model? My mom

50 what was the last text you sent? “Yeah it was”

52 what is your dream car? I don’t have one, I had a jetta that was cute but it was kinda trash too

54 do you go to college? Just graduated!

56 would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? Rural area

58 do you have freckles? Yes all over my body

60 how many pictures do you have on your phone? 459

62 do you still watch cartoons? Yeah, not regularly but I have

64 Favorite dipping sauce? Ranch

66 have you ever won a spelling bee? Never even been in one

68 can you draw? Yeah fairly well, but I cant draw people to save myself

70 what was the last concert you saw? Ed Sheeran

72 Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? Starbucks

74 what is your crush’s first and last initial? M.E. but he knows I like him because he’s my boyfriend

76 what color looks best on you? White I think

78 do you sleep with your door open or closed? Closed

80 what is your biggest pet peeve? People walking too slow

82 favorite ice cream flavor? Mint chocolate

84 chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? chocolate

86 what is your phone background? My boyfriend and I

88 do you like it when people play with your hair? YES

90 do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? At night and/or when I shower

92 have you ever been drunk? Yeah, I went more into depth with this in my last answer

94 favorite lyrics right now. I know this may sound lame but I dig “Show Yourself” from Frozen 2, something about it gives me those good vibes

96 day or night? night

98 favorite month? November or December

100 who was the last person you cried in front of? Idk I cry at everything, probably my boyfriend over a pic of a cute dog

[babybluebanshee]

Seared With Scars - Chapter 7 (Mystery Nerds AU)

Previous Chapter

“When it comes to controlling human beings, there is no better instrument than lies. Because, you see, humans live by belief. And beliefs can be manipulated.”

- Michael Ende

---

Ivan knew it was almost time. 

He rose from his cot, standing to his full height, and stretched a little. No sense in being stiff and achy for what was soon going to happen. 

He looked again at the newspaper clipping, still clasped tightly in his fist, as if it were an extension of himself. He supposed, in a way, that’s what it was. It displayed what Ivan truly wanted and strived for, all the reasons he was still alive. True, those reasons could very well spell his death later on, but he’d had plenty of time to come to terms with that. 

But for now, all that mattered was the culmination of tonight’s endeavors with Stanford Pines.

The thought of Dr. Pines made his jaw clench involuntarily. Ivan wanted very badly to blame him as the cause of all this. After all, he was the one who summoned that triangular abomination into their world, offered up his hand and mind to forces he couldn’t hope to understand or control. Had a hand in everything Ivan holding dear inching ever closer to destruction. 

He wanted to hate Dr. Pines. It would have been so much easier.

He’d tried to force himself to, assailing him with a pipe and fists and kicks, trying to work his body up into a frothing rage, something that had never been hard for him when his plans were stymied by a foolish man who had almost ruined everything. 

He’d tried emotional manipulation, which had proven even more effective than attacking him bodily. He’d actually shocked himself a bit with how easy it was to watch devastation slowly inch into a man’s already-weakened frame, the desperate crumbling of his resolve play out on his face like a beautifully choreographed dance. 

It was the closest he’d come to truly hating Dr. Pines all night. The rush of satisfaction, the sick glee that came with knowing that he’d finally dealt a blow strong enough to chip away at the other man’s defenses, bring him low enough that he’d do anything Ivan asked. 

A part of him delighted in the suffering he’d foisted on another human being, and it almost completely eclipsed the part of him that should be horrified by that. 

But this unsettling sadism flared out quickly, no matter what he did. Try as he might, he could not bring himself to hate Dr. Pines. After all, if he hadn’t summoned that triangular monster, someone else would have. The demon was crafty that way, full of silver-tongued promises and flattery, and it took a strong will to resist him. 

It would have been so much easier to just hate Dr. Pines. But Ivan knew he couldn’t.

He couldn’t blame Dr. Pines entirely. He was a weak human, the same as all the others. He wasn’t the first idiot to be tricked by the demon. But, if tonight went well, he could be the last. 

Tonight would put an end to this distraction. No one - not Dr. Pines, not his brother, not Dr. Bergstrum, and certainly not Fiddleford McGucket - would stand in the way of him and his army any longer. He was going to end this, and then send that demon back to whatever hellish dimension he’d crawled out from. 

His hands were far too stained to even think about looking back now. 

The sound of rustling paper caught his attention, and he looked back down the clipping. It fluttering in his trembling hand. Ivan took a moment to breathe deeply, willing the tremors to cease.

Anger that a few stupid people could throw everything he’d worked so hard for in jeopardy.

Fear that all this would not be enough in the end.

Exhaustion, for he’d been at this fight for some time indeed.

And, worst of all, guilt. He felt guilty for so many things: the lying, the subterfuge, the torture - for, yes, he admitted to himself that what he’d done to Dr. Pines was torture, plain and simple. 

This hurricane of emotion roiled away in his stomach, making him feel sick. 

Oh, it would just be so much easier if he just hated Dr. Pines. 

He seemed to remember feeling this way many times before. 

Fortunately, he also knew how to make it stop.

The memory gun sat on the floor by his cot. He reached down and picked it up. He twisted the dial a few times, not even having to look at the screen to know that the words “PAIN” flickered on the screen in bright green letters. 

Ivan took one last glance at the newspaper clipping, one last glance at the sad young boy staring into the camera. For a brief moment, it felt as if the boy was staring directly at Ivan, beseechingly, brokenly. Ivan exhaled slowly, then tucked the clipping into his sleeve. 

Then he put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. 

And all that was left was the hate for Dr. Pines. It flowed through him, like an angry, flooded river, ready to swallow everything in its path. 

It came so easily.

He felt better. 

----

To the outsider observer, their little group looked utterly ridiculous, and Fiddleford knew it. 

There was Stan, who just fifteen minutes ago had given Fiddleford a brutally honest and insightful dressing down through a haze of cigarette smoke, covertly slipping a pair of highly illegal, suspiciously-stained brass knuckles into his pocket. 

There was Helen, a baseball bat Stan had given her slung over her shoulder as nonchalantly as if it were a trusted walking stick. Like they were all about to go on a Sunday drive, and not on a rescue mission.

There was Ed, still dressed in his Society robes, who’d politely turned down a crossbow when Stan offered it to him. “I’ve never even been target shooting,” he’d told them. “I wouldn’t even know how to hold that thing right.”

And then there was Fiddleford himself, with nothing more than a knapsack slung over his shoulder. True, the knapsack held a very important bargaining chip for him, but he kept that to himself for the time being. 

Yes, they were an odd assortment with a frankly deranged quest in mind. If he hadn’t lived through all the events leading up to this moment in time, he would have laughed. But he knew better. 

Ivan had to be stopped. The Society needed to be reigned in. Ford needed their help. And they were going to make sure that happened. 

Fiddleford began to open the door to the front seat, but Stan suddenly barked, “You’re in the back with Helen. Matthews is up here with me.”

Fiddleford arched an eyebrow, then looked back to Dr. Matthews. The older man was staring back in confusion, his hand hovering over the handle to open the door behind the passenger seat. Fiddleford saw that Helen had already slid into the seat behind Stan’s, her face stony and serious, gaze so firm on the headrest in front of her, it looked like she was trying to bore a hole in it. 

When Dr. Matthews turned his head to look at her, possibly expecting her to say something to Stan about how it wasn’t a big deal if he sat near her, things were fine, nothing was wrong, she didn’t meet his gaze. She didn’t utter a single word. She simply lowered her head a little and stared at her feet. 

With a sad sigh, Matthews took his hand away from the handle and walked to the front seat. Fiddleford stepped away to let him pass, then ducked back to slide into the backseat. As he did, he caught a glimpse of Stan’s face. Whereas Helen was regarding Matthews like she was trying to pretend he wasn’t there, Stan settled that steely, fiery gaze on the doctor, and didn’t stop watching him until he had ducked into the front seat and was safely buckled in. 

Fiddleford supposed that Stan’s distrust was understandable. Not only did Stan have a decade’s worth of experience with people it was incredibly foolish to trust, but there was also Helen to consider. As the car sputtered to life around them and eased forward, Fiddleford stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye. He had no idea what she and Stan had talked about after she’d retreated to the porch, but whatever it was had left her quiet and pensive. Even now, her gaze was focused outside, her chin resting on her hand. 

For the entire time it took them to gather their supplies and get out the door, Stan had been very unsubtly planting himself between Helen and Dr. Matthews. Every time the older man got too close to her for Stan’s liking, he’d shove himself up next to her, like a protective, bulky wall, until Matthews got the hint and moved away. Stan clearly blamed Matthews for causing Helen’s panic attack, and he seemed determined to keep Matthews at arm’s length from her. 

Fiddleford would have found it noble if Stan hadn't insisted on bringing her along. 

When he saw Stan handing her the bat before they left the house, he’d almost balked, demanded to know why Stan thought it was a good idea to hand a person who’d just thrown up in the sink and nearly hyperventilated a weapon and invite her along on a potentially dangerous mission. 

Then he’d caught a look at Helen’s face - mouth set in a determined line, shoulders squared, fist clenched tight enough around the grip of the bat to make her knuckles turn white. She was a woman with a mission.

Still, he’d tried to open his mouth to say something, anything. After all, he didn’t want her to be hurt anymore than Stan did, and unlike Stan, he knew that an exhausted and vulnerable person tended to be the one who was hurt the most in situations like these. 

It was like she’d read his mind. As soon as his mouth was open and a breath of speech had escaped him, Helen’s head snapped in his direction, and Fiddleford had actually taken a step back. Her eyes were full of an angry fire, hot and intense, ready to burn down anything that stood in her way, him included. 

He’d quickly snapped his mouth shut, but nothing about Helen being here sat right with him. She should be resting. Even the bat currently resting against her leg didn’t do much to assuage his concerns. 

A bump in the road jostled Fiddleford from his thoughts, and he realized that they had left the uneven dirt road of the woods, and onto the paved streets of town. The only light around them was the dusty yellow of the streetlamps. The only sound was the vague road noise around them. Fiddleford looked at the clock set in Stan’s dash. It was five minute to two. 

“Take a left at the next stop sign, then keep going straight until you hit Huckabone Street,” Matthews said suddenly, voice tight and quiet, slicing through the silence like an arrow shot by a quivering hand. As they passed under one of the streetlamps, Fiddleford saw his Adam’s apple bob in a nervous gulp.

“You’re not even going to tell us where we’re going?” Helen asked. Fiddleford looked over at her, surprised not only that she’d finally spoken, but at the sheer amount of venom behind the words. 

“I figured it would be easier if I just gave directions to the man who’s only lived here for a couple of months,” Matthews replied. There was an odd playfulness in his tone, like he was trying to joke with Helen, ignore the tension between them and just get back to the professional friendship they’d had as colleagues. 

From Helen’s face, Fiddleford suspected the effort was in vain. She just let out a derisive sigh through her nose.

Matthews turned quickly in his seat, the leather groaning beneath him. Fiddleford felt Helen start beside him. Stan’s hand tightened on the steering wheel as his shoulders tensed up, ready to fight. 

“Helen, look,” Matthews said, pleadingly, “I’m sorry. I can’t even begin to say it enough.” His eyes were watery and slightly puffy in the weak light. “I’ll never be able to fully fix what I’ve done. I thought I was doing the right thing-”

“You never bothered to see if that’s what I wanted,” Helen replied, more quietly, but still with rage bubbling just below the surface.

“I know that,” Matthews replied. “I thought the Society...at the time, I thought they could help you. Before tonight, I thought that it would do you good. It was so hard, watching you suffer and knowing there was nothing I could do…” 

Matthews trailed off, his eyes once again gaining that distant sadness, like he was one million miles away from them in the blink of an eye. After a moment, he gave his head a hard shake, and continued, “If I had known this was what Ivan was planning, I never would have given him that key. What you and your friends have been through is my fault, and I’m going to do as much as I can to make it up to you.”

Helen didn’t answer him right away, but she did finally turn to meet his gaze. Stony silence hung oppressively between them.

Helen’s face was totally unreadable. She seemed to be studying Matthews, searching his face. For what, Fiddleford couldn’t rightly say. 

Whatever it was, she seemed to find it. A small smile tugged at her lips, and she finally said, “Damn right you are, Edward Matthews.”

Matthews’ shoulders slumped as he returned the smile.

“You can start,” Helen continued, “by taking my shift on Tuesday. I’m gonna need an extended vacation after all this is over.”

“You say that like I’m not gonna take Tuesday off to recuperate from all this,” Matthews joked back.

“This is a bad week to be Simon,” Helen said, shaking her head.

“Simon?” Fiddleford asked before he could stop himself. Helen and Matthews turned their gazes on him almost like they’d forgotten he was there.

“Simon McBride. He’s the other doctor at the hospital. He’s in Miami for the weekend, at his parents’ condo,” Helen replied. Her brow furrowed in thought before she mumbled, “He’s gonna be so confused when he gets back.”

Matthews chuckled a bit, and even Fiddleford couldn’t help but smile a little. It was nice to see Helen be able to talk like this again to someone she obviously had a great deal of respect for, and who obviously cared about her a lot. 

Then his gaze moved up to Stan in the driver’s seat. His grip on the steering wheel had not lessened. The tension had not left his shoulders. His jaw was still set rigidly. Fiddleford wished he could tell what he was thinking. Seeing him looking so on edge made him anxious, and that was not something he needed to deal with, given what they were going to try and do.

Stan finally spoke up and said, “Alright, Doc, we’re coming up on Huckabone. Now what?”

Matthews turned from Helen to look out the windshield, then said, “Kill your headlights and pull up along the curb. We’ll have to walk the last block.”

Stan gave him an incredulous look as he said, “Pardon me?”

“Ed, all that’s down here is the history museum,” Helen said. 

The words “history museum” hit Fiddleford like a brick to his face. His nose was suddenly filled with the scent of dust and mildew. Chanting flooded his ears, drowning out whatever the others were saying. And before his eyes…

His footsteps echoed across the cold stone floor, as he drew closer to the trembling young man. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. He reached out a hand, and laced it through ashen fingers. They fluttered against his grip like a baby bird. “I promise, it won’t hurt. It’ll be over before you know it.”

The young man looked up at him, his filmy red right eye focused intently on the bulb of the gun pressed to his forehead. After a moment, the young man gulped and said, “I trust you, sir.”

Fiddleford inhaled sharply as the memory ended and he was flung back into reality. Stan had parked the car, away from any street lamps or overhead lights from stores. The dark and the quiet smothered him like a down quilt drawn tight around his face. 

His small gasp for air had drawn the attention of the others, and they watched him cautiously as he took a few deep breaths. His lungs ached, like he’d been underwater and holding in air for hours. 

“You okay, Fidds?” Stan asked. He’d unbuckled his seatbelt to twist in his seat, arm slung around the headrest. Fiddleford noticed that, now that he was focused on him, the tension was totally gone from Stan’s body. 

Fiddelford merely nodded, taking another deep breath before he began to speak. “Matthews is right,” he finally said. “I remember the history museum. It’s our base.”

“How do you hide a memory-wiping cult in a public museum?” Helen asked.

“The best way to hide something,” Fiddelford responded, “is camouflage.” 

Stan and Helen glanced at each other quizzically.

“There’s a false wall in the building,” Fiddleford explained. “Ivan found it, and thought it’d be the perfect place to conduct the Society - perform the ritual, store the memories, that sort of thing.”

“Wow, who could have foreseen that a shady group that wiped people’s memories run by a guy who insisted they do it in secrecy in a musty basement would ever turn into something sinister,” Stan said flatly. 

Fiddleford shot him a withering glance before saying, “At the time, I agreed with him simply because I was running out of places to put the memories. At least down there, we had storage. But as time went on and more and more people asked to join us, we decided to hold the meetings there too.”

“It was good to protect our privacy,” Matthews added. “Some of the members preferred to hide behind the hoods and the anonymity. Not many people want to give up their secrets lightly.”

“Yep, not in the slightest bit creepy,” Stan muttered again.

“Do you have a point, by chance?” Fiddleford asked, .

“Two, actually,” Stan replied. “First, if you really looked at all this weirdness and didn’t think it was the most unsettling shit ever, you have even less foresight than I thought.”

“Noted,” Fiddleford grumbled back. “Anything else?”

“Second, because this is the most unsettling shit I’ve ever come across, and because these people have already proven themselves to be desperate and dangerous, I’m starting to think just busting Ford out isn’t going to be enough.”

“What do you mean?” Matthews asked. 

“He means,” Helen said, nodding her head in the direction of her baseball bat, “that these will help us get Ford out, but we need a guarantee that they won’t retaliate.”

Fiddleford decided it was time to reveal his ace in the hole. “I might have a way of doing that,” he said, flipping open his knapsack to reveal the memory gun.  

Helen, Stan, and Matthews looked down at it like he’d just revealed a loaded pistol to them. 

“I brought it with me in case Ivan proved to be troublesome,” Fiddleford continued. “But Stan and Helen have a point - desperate people will do crazy things. I hope it won’t come to that, but if things get out of hand...I will use the memory gun on my followers.”

Matthews’ face fell in devastation. “Sir, are you...are you really prepared to do that?” he asked quietly. “To bring yourself down to Ivan’s level like that?”

The question hurt, but not for the reason that Matthews probably thought it did. The thing about it was, Fiddleford wasn’t bringing himself down to Ivan’s level with what he had planned. 

Ivan had already lowered himself to Fiddleford’s level. 

What Ivan had perverted the Society into was never what Fiddleford had intended, but his intentions no longer mattered. Fiddleford wasn’t sure if they ever did. After all, what had his intentions been? To keep people ignorant? To give them a place to hide away from their fear, to forever be victim to it? 

What, in the end, had the group ever succeeded in doing, under his direction? If tonight was anything to go by, it had only succeeded in creating people who were so afraid of what they didn’t understand, that they didn’t just want to forget it anymore. They wanted to destroy it. 

As selfish as Ivan’s motives were, all he’d really done was take the core tenants of the Society to their logical extremes. If he hadn’t done that, someone else would have. Fiddleford had provided all the groundwork needed for the Society to be turned into something dark and dangerous. All it had required was the right demagogue to complete the transformation. 

Fiddleford brought his eyes up to meet Matthews’, and said, “There’s this philosphy I learned about in college called the paradox of tolerance. It basically means that, if tolerance doesn’t have its limits, it’s eventually seized and destroyed by the intolerant. So the only way to make sure that doesn’t happen, is by being intolerant of intolerance.”

He looked down at the gun in his lap. Even in the thick blanket of darkness, it glistened like a living thing. Even though he had boasted upon this device’s creation that it was lightweight and sleek, easy to hide in the sleeve of a robe with no trouble, it felt thirty pounds heavier now. It was a testament to all he’d done, everything he’d caused, and to all that he was determined to make right. 

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep Ivan from hurting anyone else,” he said firmly. “And I will break my own rules to do it.”

He looked into the faces of the three people surrounding him. Matthews’ face was still raw with emotion, like his entire world was crashing down around him. 

Helen’s face was unreadable as she studied Fiddleford’s face intently. He fought hard to keep from squirming under that intense gaze. 

Stan, however, gave Fiddleford a small smile. It brought a warmth to Fiddleford’s chest that only strengthened his resolve. He hoped Stan realized how much he’d done to finally make Fiddleford see the truth about what needed to be done. 

“Alright,” he finally said, his words strong and firm in the dark, quiet car. “Let’s go.”

The others nodded, and slowly began to get out of the car. Fiddleford closed the knapsack, clutched it tightly to his side, and flung open his door into the cold, damp February night.

---

Darryl’s knife glinted in the weak light as it sliced through the last set of ropes, around Ford’s right wrist. He flexed his left hand a bit, forcing blood to start pulsing through it again, ignoring the raw skin where the ropes had bitten into his skin and left angry red marks. 

He could worry about the pain later. He focused, picturing a large foot squashing down the pain bubbling up inside him, squashing it down until it was nothing more than a dull blip on his brain’s radar.

Finally, the ropes gave with a satisfying snap. Darryl tucked his knife back into his boot. He began throwing the ropes off and said, “Do you think you can walk?”

Ford didn’t respond, just waited until the ropes had landed on the floor with a dull thud, then grabbed the arms of the chair with his shaking hands. With  all the power in his quivering arms, forced himself to stand.

He barely had a moment to realize that that had been a huge mistake, swaying dangerously as soon as his hands left the support of the chair. Darryl dove to catch him, wrapping two strong arms protectively around his chest to keep him from falling. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Ford muttered, despite the shrieking warnings from the back of his brain saying no, he was not okay, he couldn’t do this. His vision swam for a moment. His head feeling like it was going to explode. The shaky breath he drew felt like a hot knife being driven into his side. 

He shoved it all back into the dark corners of his thoughts where they belonged. 

“Here,” Darryl said gently, guiding Ford’s right arm around his shoulders. Using his free hand, he put a firm hand on Ford’s left side, just below his ribs to avoid hitting any broken ones. “Just lean on me, Dr. Pines,” he said. He gave Ford’s right hand an encouraging squeeze.

“Please, after all that’s happened, call me Ford,” Ford replied, smiling a bit despite himself. 

“I’ll call you ‘Long, Tall Sally’, if you want,” Darryl replied. “But I’ll do it once we get out of here.” He chewed his lower lip for a moment, then added, “This is gonna hurt, I won’t lie. I’ll try to go slow, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

“I’ll be okay,” Ford lied. Even just standing here made him ache in ways he didn’t even think possible. But he wasn’t going to let Darryl know that. He simply gritted his teeth and concentrated on that mental image of a foot stamping down. 

Darryl gave a crisp nod and said, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Darryl began moving them towards the door, and instantly, Ford felt a shot of pain up his side. He clenched his teeth harder, balling his free hand into a fist by his side, willing the pain to fade, or at least lessen. After about thirty seconds, it did, though not by much. As Darryl reached the door to Ford’s prison, his side still throbbed dully. He ignored it as Darryl eased the door open. It gave one soft creak, but did no more to give away their position. 

Fluidly, like a cat, Darryl ducked them both out of the room. Despite everything, Ford took the opportunity to look around, and was frankly amazed at what he saw. 

Before them was a short, stone hallway. It was like something out of a medieval castle, lit by torches and lined with tapestries, all in brilliant red with a crossed out eye stitched into them. A few other doors were scattered about. Occasionally, the hallway dipped into an alcove, where stone statues of hooded figures with their arms lovingly outstretched stood, silent and imposing. 

How had Fiddleford managed to do all this in the span of a few months?

Pain suddenly exploded in Ford’s side, nearly making him lose his footing and take Darryl down with him. He could practically feel the broken bones somewhere inside him shifting and stabbing at him, tearing soft tissue and threatening to make him bleed. For a brief moment, he was crippled by the imagine of one of his ribs slicing through his lung, and choking slowly on his own blood. 

Goddamit, Sixer, stop being so morbid and focus!

The voice echoed from a small, forgotten place in Ford’s mind. In his panicked state, his first thought was that this was Bill, mocking him from his mindscape, but then the voice barked out again. You ain’t dying yet, Sixer. Now get moving!

This wasn’t Bill. It couldn’t be. It was gruffer, but kinder. Encouraging, supportive, and certainly not putting up with his melodramatic bullshit. 

Stan. 

That voice could only be Stan’s.

As his senses flooded back to him, Ford slapped his hand over his mouth and pressed hard. The shrieks of agony that wanted to erupt from within him came out now as mere strained grunts. He screwed his eyes shut against the pain. He ground his teeth together to have something, anything else to focus on. He begged whatever deity was watching all this that the pain would pass. 

It will, Sixer, Stan’s voice said. I promise it will. 

Finally, after several agonizing seconds, it did.

Ford took his trembling hand away from his mouth, and only then realized that Darryl had stopped moving and was watching him. He shifted his gaze over to him, and watched Darryl mouth, “Okay?”

Ford nodded, taking in heavy, quick breaths. He still shook, though now it was less from the pain and more from the unrelenting terror of knowing that, no matter what they did, there was always more pain to come. Ford allowed himself only a moment of hopelessness, unsure if he would be able to make it. He’d never known such pain in his life. There was no direction his body could shift where more wasn’t waiting for him. The hallway might as well have been an endless, dark cave, with nothing but a sheer drop waiting for them at the end. 

But then he felt that encouraging squeeze from Darryl again, and the black stain was gone. He looked over, and saw that Darryl had set his lips in a determined line. Strangely enough, Ford was once again reminded of his father, and the only concrete memory he had of his father talking about his time during the war. 

Whenever he and Stan had come home from school with blackened eyes and bloodied noses and ripped clothes and broken glasses, Stan almost always seemed to have it worse than Ford. His shiner was always worse. His nose always gushed harder. He’d once come home with an entire sleeve of his shirt missing. But one could tell by looking at his busted-up knuckles that, while Stan had gotten the brunt of things, he gave as good as he got. 

One day, their mother, her voice harried and exhausted had sat Stan down and asked why. Why did he always get the brunt of this. Why did he act like a common street thug whenever these boys did this?

Stan didn’t looked her in the eye, but he said, “‘Cause they’d just beat up Ford worse if I didn’t.”

And before their mother could even open her mouth to respond, their father had said, “You don’t leave a man behind, Caryn. Leave him be.”

Dad hadn’t even been upset about having to buy Ford another pair of glasses after that. 

It was obvious that Darryl subscribed to that same dogma. Even when it’s hopeless, you don’t leave a man behind. 

As they worked their way further down the hall, Ford realized that they were heading towards a curtain, hung in an archway ahead of them. It was a dark red, the color of blood. He tried not to think too hard about that as he forced himself to keep taking step after step. 

The sound of footsteps echoed around them. Ford realized quickly that they were coming from the direction of the curtain. Someone was coming.

Darryl stopped moving, his eyes darting like a trapped animal, looking for a place to hide. He turned his head towards a statute slightly behind them on the right. He tugged Ford back towards it and stooped down to fit them both behind it. The fit was tight, and Ford fought not to give a gasp of pain as a rib stabbed maliciously inside him, but at least it was dark and well out of the line of sight of anyone coming down the hall. 

Not that that helped still the wild pounding of his heart. This close, Ford could feel that Darryl’s heartbeat was very much the same. 

The footsteps drew closer, and Ford began to hear voices along with them.

“...just be grateful when this whole thing is over with,” said a gruff, masculine voice. “Having that six-fingered weirdo here gives me the creeps.”

To Ford’s shock, the voice of an older woman answered the man. “At least no one is looking at you like you’re some kind of failure.” He heard her give a frustrated huff. “Still can’t believe that little bitch did this to my face.”

“It’ll heal, Louise.”

Louise? Wait, the grandmotherly secretary from the hospital? That Louise?

“How the hell am I supposed to explain it to my husband, huh? Between Helen and that oaf who was with her, I look like I’ve been in a bar fight.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something. You are a pretty dern good liar after all.”

Louise let out a small giggle. He’d never have believed that something so small, dainty, and innocent-sounding could ever send an unsettled chill down his spine. 

“You’d make a girl blush, Leroy Muggins,” she said, as casually as if they were exchanging pleasant small talk.

Leroy Muggins? As in Sheriff Leroy Muggins? The sheriff was in on this?

“‘Sides,” Muggins continued, “at least you got a few good hits in on the grimy one. When I saw him at Helen’s, he looked pretty rough.”

“Serves him right for hitting a lady. I should have given Helen a few good ones too. Never did like that uppity little tramp much…”

“Well, don’t you fret too much, alright? If everything goes the way Ivan wants tonight, you’ll get plenty of chances to pay them back…”

The voices faded as the two figures walked on, and Ford heard a door close. They must have gone into a different room. 

Ford and Darryl stood there for another full minute before either moved a muscle. 

This wasn’t just a group of frightened townsfolk anymore. The Society was out for blood, and their reach was deep enough that the medical community and law enforcement were involved. 

When Darryl finally seemed to snap back to life, he turned his head and looked Ford directly in the eye. The message in them was clear, for it was the exact same thing that was now screaming in Ford’s brain.

They needed to move faster. 

Slowly, Darryl edged them back out into the hall from behind the statue, and eventually reached the curtain at the end of the hall. Darryl lifted it back, less than an inch, checking the room that lay beyond. He let it drop back, then gave Ford’s hand another reassuring squeeze. It must have been all clear on the other side. 

In one fluid motion, Darryl parted the curtain and walked them through. They were now in some kind of open, circular chamber. In the middle of the room was a chair, with straps on the arms. Less than a foot away from it was a pedastal, upon which sat an orante box. The bulb of a memory gun, the large one that Ford had seen Ivan weilding earlier, glinted in the weak light. 

The sight of it made Ford shudder, and he forced himself to look away, pushing down the roiling nausea that flared up in the pit of his stomach. 

“Almost there,” Darryl said in a low whisper. He was taking Ford in the direction of another curtain, at the foot of a small set of stairs, set between two stone pillars. 

 A sense of inexplicable relief washed over him. He didn’t know how much farther they had to go, but knowing that beyond those curtains was “almost there”, out of this living nightmare he’d spent the last several hours in, away from the pain and the torture, was enough to dull every aching part of him for a moment. 

Then the curtain began to rustle. 

He felt Darryl’s body tense up against him in fear. Darryl whipped his head around sharply, doubtlessly looking for another place to hide. 

There was none. 

Ford’s heart began to beat wildly against his broken ribs. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. There was no way they could have come this far only for it all to amount to nothing.

The curtain parted, and Darryl took a tentative step back, clutching Ford tighter to him that ever before.

And through the curtain stepped Stan, looking around at the bizarre scene in front of him. Helen followed shortly after, looking just as confused. She was carrying a baseball bat.

Ford didn’t think before he let out a raspy, “Guys?”

Stan’s head whipped in their direction, and the confusion gave way to pure shock, like he was looking at a very familiar ghost.

“Ford?” he said quietly.

“Yeah…” Ford ground out in response.

“Holy shit, Ford!” Before Ford could say anything else, his brother was upon him, pulling him close to him in a tight hug. 

Ford’s eyes welled up instantly. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been needing this, the strong, loving support of his twin. He thought back to that morning, now seeming like a lifetime ago - Stan’s hand on his back to soothe away his anxiety, his gravelly voice offering soothing platitudes and nonsense to ease his guilt, his warm smile making him feel like everything would be okay. 

He’d been genuinely afraid that he’d never get to experience any of that again. He buried his face against into the crook of his brother’s neck and let out a strangled sob.

“Hey, Sixer, hey, it’s okay,” Stan said. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Ford wanted to say something, but Stan shifted his arm, and suddenly his broken ribs were stabbing at him again. Ford pulled his head out of Stan’s shoulder and gave a weak cry of pain. He managed to say, “Stan…” in a strained whisper before it was swallowed up in a desperate gasp for air. 

Stan pulled his arm away immediately and began babbling, “Oh god, Ford, I’m so sorry. You’re gonna be okay, alright? We’re gonna get you outta here. You’ll be okay, pal, you’ll be okay.”

“Oh my god, Ford, what did they do to you?” Helen’s worried voice reached him, and Ford managed to pull his head back up enough to see her practically running to close the distance between her and the brothers. Behind her was Fiddleford and Dr. Matthews, from the hospital. Ford didn’t have time to ask what he was doing there before Stan stepped off to Ford’s unsupported side to let Helen in closer to him.

“How the hell did you guys get here?” Darryl asked incredulously. 

Helen and Stan seemed to realize in that moment that Darryl was there, and turned to take him in - his mouth hanging agape, his eyes wide. 

“Darryl? The fuck are you doing here?” Stan asked, his voice practically climbing an octave in shock.

“You know what,” Helen finally said, sounding so very tired, “I’m not even surprised.”

A brief look of sheepishness flashed across Darryl’s face. He composed himself quickly, though, and said, “He’s in pretty bad shape, Doc. We need to get him out of here.”

“What’s the damage?” Helen asked, clearly trying to keep her gaze analytical and objective, to force herself into doctor mode. But Ford could see the concern in her eyes, that maternal warmth that had let Ford know, from the moment he met her, that she was someone he could trust. It was clear she wanted to embrace him just as much and as hard as Stan did. Instead, she merely reached out a hand and stroked it quickly, but lovingly, through his hair. She winced a bit when her finger got caught slightly where it was matted with blood.

Ford leaned into her touch, not even caring how silly it made him look. He was past that. 

“Blow to the back of the head, broken ribs. ” Darryl replied. “He’s been having trouble breathing, so I’m thinking one of them is getting close to his lungs. We need to get him to the hospital before we got a real mess on our hands.”

Helen nodded, her eyes watery behind her glasses. “Let’s get you out of here,” she said, voice strained. 

“I’ll help Darryl support him, Stan,” said Dr. Matthews, coming up to Stan’s side. “We need you at the front.”

Stan didn’t move, and gave Matthews a look that could have frozen molten steel. Ford felt his brother’s grip around his waist tightened protectively.

“Stan, he’s right,” Helen said. “You’re the semi-professional boxer. If we run into any trouble, we’ll need you to do what you do best.”

That finally seemed to get Stan to relent, and he gently helped Doctor Matthews arch Ford’s arm over his shoulders. Ford noticed that, throughout the entire maneuver, Stan never took his steely gaze off Matthews, even for an instant. They began to move toward the steps.

“Let’s hurry and get back up into the museum,” Fiddleford suddenly said from his position at the bottom of the stairs. He was pulling back the curtain, and frantically looking beyond them, clutching a knapsack close to his side. 

The museum? They were under the museum? Had Fiddleford been that close to him this entire time and Ford hadn’t even realized it? All he had to do was come into town and come to the museum, and he could have spared his friends this horrible night?

Fiddleford wouldn’t have been targeted by a mad cultist with a mysterious but dangerous agenda. 

Stan wouldn’t have a series of angry-looking stitches trailed down his temple.

Helen wouldn’t have had her very sense of peace and privacy violated.

Darryl wouldn’t having to risk his life for someone who’d caused him nothing but misery.

Once again, if he’d just been a better person, none of this would have happened. 

A wave of pain that had nothing to do with broken ribs crashed over him as his eyes welled up again.Before he had a chance to think about it, Ford murmured, “I’m so sorry, guys. Th-this is all my fault.”

“Shut up, Ford,” Stan said firmly. “Just shut up. You’ve got nothing to apologize for, you hear me?”

“He’s right,” Helen added gently, “This isn’t anyone’s fault but Ivan’s.”

“If it wasn’t for me, Ivan wouldn’t even be a problem,” Ford countered miserably. “This entire night, i-it’s my fault...I’m sorry…”

His eyes drifted shut as the tears trailed down. He was just so tired, not just physically, but mentally. He was tired of being the one who dragged everyone else through emotional hell because he was too much of a short-sighted ass to see beyond what he wanted, how he was feeling in that moment. Even when he tried to make things right, all he did was fuck it all up worse.

He heard footsteps approach him, soft and tentative, but determined. Then he felt two hands reach out and cup his face. A calloused hand gently wiped the two streaks of tears away. “Aw, hush,” Fiddleford’s kind voice said. 

When Ford opened his eyes, he didn’t know what he expected to find in Fiddleford’s expression - distrust, fear, maybe even anger. The way they’d left things at the start of all this, Ford really wouldn’t have been surprised by any of them. 

What he was greeted with instead was the soft, sweet smile of his dearest friend in the whole world.

That damn smile. It had always been like concentrated sunshine, something that always made Ford feel better when they were in school together, even at his most frustrated, his most lonely, his most afraid.

The effect hadn’t changed. 

“There’s no need for talk like that,” Fiddleford replied. Before Ford could say anything back, Fiddleford had moved his hands from Ford’s face, and wrapped his arms around his neck, in a small hug. “We both made mistakes,” he muttered into Ford’s shoulder. “At least you owned up to yours and tried to fix them. I hope, when we get you out of here, that you’ll let me do the same for you.” 

Ford couldn’t find it in himself to respond, so he just nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stan and Helen, watching the two. They both wore relieved smiles. 

After holding Ford for a another few seconds, Fiddleford pulled away, and said, “Back up we go.”

That seemed to spur the rest of the group on, and Helen and Stan started down the stairs, Fiddleford following shortly after. Darryl and Dr. Matthews began gently guiding Ford toward them. 

“Y’all never did answer my question,” Darryl said. “How the heck did you get here? I wasn’t exactly planning on running into any friendly faces.”

“You can thank Ed for that,” Helen replied. “Without him, we never would have gotten this far.”

A voice from the shadows suddenly boomed, “How fortunate for all of us, indeed.”

Everyone froze, only for an instant. Then in a dizzying flurry of red, almost a dozen hooded figures emerged from the shadows and descended upon them. 

One collided with Fiddleford’s back and slammed him into the ground. Stan and Helen were blindsided by two more figures and knocked the rest of the way down the stairs, landing in a tangled heap just inches from the curtain that lead to their freedom. Ford watched as they tried to kick and throw punches, but another pair of figures leapt into the fray and added more weight on them both. One even jerked the bat from Helen’s hands and tossed it away. It landed with a clatter on the stone floor, at least fifty yards away.

The support at Ford’s right was suddenly wrenched away, and Darryl only let out a shout of surprise as a robed figure wrapped an arm around his neck in a chokehold, and began wrestling him to the floor. 

Only Ford and Dr. Matthews were left standing, and he knew this old man wouldn’t stand a chance against feral cultists out for blood. He was just about to tell Matthews to run, to do something to protect himself, when suddenly he felt his left arm being wrenched backwards. He gasped as it popped in protest, pulled back further than he ever thought possible. The pain struck him like a bullet to the chest, and all he could do was let out a strangled gasp as he was forced to his knees. 

“Be a good boy and stay down, interloper,” he heard Matthews hiss at him, “or I’ll dislocate it right now.”

Through the pain, something clicked in Ford’s mind - the angry words, the voice that sounded minutes from snapping, the hands that gripped him like a vice. 

Dr. Matthews was the follower who’d been with him when he first woke up. 

Ford heard Helen yell, “Ed, what the hell are you doing?!”

Almost overlapping her, Ford heard Stan practically scream, “Matthews, get your goddamn hands off him, or I swear to God I’ll-”

The voice from the shadows rang out again. “Not to point out the obvious, but there’s not much you can do, Stanley.” 

Ford lifted his head, heavy and trembling on his shoulders, towards the source of the voice, and from the shadows emerged Blind Ivan, seamlessly as if he’d melted into reality from the inky blackness. On his face was a satisfied smile. Ford felt his heart fall to his shoes.

This had been Ivan’s plan all along. 

He’d used Matthews to lure Stan, Helen, and Fiddleford here. 

Matthews had been working against them from the beginning.

And now Ivan had all the pieces he needed.

The realization hadn’t seemed to dawn on Stan, and he spat, “You’re not gonna be looking so smug once I knock back your goons, cueball! When I get my hands on you, you’re gonna wish all I’ll do is kill you!”

Ivan didn’t respond. He just snapped his fingers. 

At the sound, Matthews reared back his foot, and brought it down sharply on the back of Ford’s knee. It gave with a sickening crunch, like a piece of rotted wood being split by an axe.

A roar of agony was ripped from Ford’s lungs, and he lost his balance completely. He hit the cold stone roughly on his side, and he let out another, tighter scream of pain as he landed squarely on a broken rib. Matthews brought his foot back down roughly on Ford’s back, applying just enough pressure to make Ford fearful to even breathe, for fear that Matthews would start grinding his heel into more of his broken bones.

Ford let his head fall limply to the floor, and looked to his friends. They all stared, in dumbstruck horror, between him and Matthews. 

There was nothing any of them could do to help him.

They’d lost.

“Now then,” Ivan said. “I believe it’s time we got down to business.”

[j-k-notrowling]

Untitled

Hi there! Spoilers up front: this is a gratuitously long-winded “thank you,” not an Ask (also I’m 31 and don’t know how to Social Media so apologies if this is the wrong page/tab/link/widget).

--(oh actually it’s a blog post now because of course I can’t send an “Ask” this stupidly long see? wasn’t kidding about that Social Media thing...)--

I started writing my first book in the Fall of 2016. Before that I’d only written songs. One day I got an idea which didn’t fit within the usual rhymes or rhythms. I tried and tried, but kept on hitting a wall. In addition, I was fed up with the whole “business” of music—the fragile egos, the politics of being in a band, all that. One morning I sat down at my HP desktop computer (again...31) and opened up a blank Word document. I stared at it with murderous intent for a long time, but nothing happened. So I grabbed the nearest book off the shelf (Crash by J.G. Ballard), opened it, and began to type out the first paragraph, copying the sentences line by line. I wanted to see what it felt like — my clumsy fingers pecking at the keyboard, observing how the words fell into place with a musical cadence and tempo almost prophetic, as though the ink were destined to dry in this exact form upon the page, the machinery of its tumultuous birth and impeccable design skillfully concealed. I paused and looked out the window. There was a squirrel on the deck, I remember. And then I saw it. Not outside but inside my own head, behind my eyelids. The song, the one I’d been struggling to write, I saw that it could be a story. I saw it had a clear beginning, middle, and end. I saw a world of characters opening doors to other worlds, other stories, other characters. This was life-changing shit. Suddenly I was a little boy at my first baseball game, drinking my first ice-cold Coke, surrounded by old men chain-smoking Marlboro Reds and muttering dirty words I’d never heard before about the [EXPLETIVES DELETED] on the opposing team. I’d discovered a fire fueled by the psychic anarchy of its own discovery, a Moebius-strip of dramatic invention, a repository for all the pop-cultural turds floating around inside the cracked porcelain toilet bowl of my skull. I wrote prose every night after work. I never thought about what I was doing. I never once stopped to check word counts or page counts. I never thought about sticking to an outline, making sure my story adhered to a specific plot structure, none of that. I wrote like a man in love. Delirious, overheated teenage love. Wear-my-ill-fitting-letterman’s-jacket love (is this also A Thing™️ in Canada?). Stupid stupid stupid love, naive and hormonal and precious and retrospectively mortifying. I’d turn off the world, turn on the music, sit back and watch the words sashay straight into my lap. It took 2-3 months before the ruthless scourge known as Self Doubt farted in my private elevator. Am I doing this right? How many words are in a book, anyway? How many pages? How long is this going to take? Is this an effective way to impress women and/or get laid? Am I writing a novel or a novella? The fuck is “flash fiction”? Are you allowed to write actual books in Microsoft Word? Does it matter that my free trial version of Microsoft Word expires in 30 days? They’re bluffing, right? And so on. I compared my own writing with that of authors I admired; subsequently, I couldn’t get out of bed for a week. I watched 40+ hours of “Kitchen Nightmares” reruns (it’s. the. same. fucking. formula. every. single. episode.) and nursed my shame with bowl after bowl of strawberry ice cream. To think — I’d TOLD people about this fool’s errand, and sooner or later I’d have to show them precisely how awful a writer I was... I turned to the Internet for advice. At first, it seemed like a godsend. There was such a litany of knowledge, so many pro-tips and life hacks and proven formulas for success. This was how I stumbled across your channel. I found other channels which offered more straightforward “DO IT LIKE THIS YOU FUCKING IDIOT” instructions, but I still enjoyed yours the most. I lol-ed at your jokes. I remember a few videos where you spoke highly about All The Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr, which remains among the most achingly beautiful books I’ve ever read. Also you’re Canadian, and you guys just generally Human better than we (Americans) Human. ...and here my troubles began. See, the more I tried to adhere to word count goals, the more I tried to properly organize the scenes on my Scrivener™️ virtual cork board, the less I enjoyed the actual process of writing. So I tried other things, based upon other writers’ suggestions: cut the adverbs, write in the morning, write at night, write during your lunch break, write an outline, stick to the outline, write x amount of pages per day, write x number of hours per day, spend x amount of hours drafting and x amount of hours editing, etc. But nothing I tried made me feel confident in my writing. I started actively hating it, to be honest. I dreaded the cursor and the infinite white void. Then I would watch more writing videos and feel guilty about my lack of ambition, my inability to accomplish simple tasks. It’s only a few thousand words, dude — just get in there and do it. Eventually I would. I’d grumble and feel miserable and stay locked in my little writing dungeon all night, ignoring my friends’ texts and phone calls, and the next day I’d hate everything I wrote, trash it, and start over. Then, when I had no more writing left to hate, I started hating myself. The words in my head turned malignant, putrefied into spongy, black tumors. I’d spend all day at work consumed by thoughts and ideas and goals! goals! goals! for my book, then I’d come home and stare at a blinking cursor and wonder why I was such a worthless failure. I couldn’t write the way these other writers did, no matter what I tried. But I still wanted to write. Needed to, in that yearning, terrible way I suspect you understand. I don’t know why The Internet subconsciously invites us to flay ourselves before total strangers, but it does. So I will. Shit got Dark™️, Shaelin. I gained 50 pounds, started living like a hoarder, stopped hanging out with my friends, stopped leaving the house altogether. I kept the curtains closed so my neighbors wouldn’t see the piles of empty take-out boxes stacked up on the kitchen table. I traded the pleasures and contradictions and beguiling enigmas of women for the 24-hour neon distraction of cheap porno. My cat Maggie, basically the only friend I had during this time, got cancer. I watched her suffer and waste away because I couldn’t bear the thought of putting her to sleep and coming home alone to an empty, filthy house. Eventually she died and I hated myself even more for not being able to save her. I wore the same pair of pants for six months. I’d go to work and sit at my desk all day and do absolutely nothing (I was the accounting manager at a small company, technically my own “boss,” so I got away with this for a shocking, frankly heroic amount of time). Then I simply stopped going to work. And I kept torturing myself with those stupid goals and word counts, never happy with the end result, resigned to feel like a failure every day. I remember watching your “Spill the Tea” video back when it was initially posted. Watching it now is eerie, because you describe exactly what I was going through, what I was feeling. Like, to the “T” (see what I did there? #WordPlay #LitPuns101). I’d never experienced anxiety/depression before, so I didn’t really understand what was happening to me. Not that it mattered, because by that point the damage was done. I couldn’t recognize and isolate the real problem. I’d given up. Even though you said a lot of things in that video I desperately, desperately needed to hear, I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to listen to you, because you were one of Them™️. Your eyes were bright and your voice sounded friendly and encouraging, but your name wasn’t McCarthy or Pynchon or DeLillo or Nabokov. You were just a kid. What could you possibly know that I didn’t? In January of this year I called a local psychiatric hospital and told them I was planning to kill myself. I never harbored any true intentions of doing that, but I figured they’d offer me a nice three-week vacation in a padded cell. Considering the circumstances, it honestly seemed like a relief. I ended up quitting my job, selling my house, and moving back in with my parents 300 miles away. I started seeing a therapist once a week (still do, for the record). So far I’ve lost 30 pounds of the 50 pound surplus I acquired. I kept watching your videos, even though I was no longer in the market for writing advice (#JustHereForTheSnark). You kept me lol-ing through some bad days and weeks and months. I’d listen to you talk about problems with the writing community and nod my head like an old woman in church (#ShaelinSermons™️ #SheTeachesANDShePreaches), but I still hadn’t made the connection with my own issues. I swore off writing completely, went back to playing music. Cover songs in coffee shops and family restaurants. It was fun for awhile. I genuinely felt happier. But my story was still an old pebble poking around in my shoe...calling out, issuing playground taunts, drawing hairy cartoon dicks on my forehead while I slept. About a month ago I stared down another blank page, my first since experiencing that fun-sized nervous breakdown earlier this year. I closed my eyes and heard your voice in my head. “You can do whatever you want.” I had no goals, no arbitrary quotas to meet. I wrote a few lines, stopped, fixed a couple things I wasn’t satisfied with, and then went on with my day. I thought about what I’d written, sure, but I didn’t worry or spend the whole day stressing out. The next morning I read over what I’d done, and I didn’t hate it. I thought it was actually pretty good, funny and off-kilter and a little/lotta fucked up. So I sat down and wrote some more. Took some things out, re-worded stuff, dressed up the bones in silver and pearls. Addition and subtraction. Before I knew it, I’d finished a whole page. Then another. And then the hair on the back of my neck stood up, because I remembered: This is how it felt at the beginning. Back when I was young and love-struck and writing only to catch those moments of pure levitation, that devilish tickle, that rush of blood propelled by my own wild heart. It’s been a rough road, but I finally found what I’d lost. I figured out how to write again and enjoy it. And ultimately, the best writing advice I received didn’t come from McCarthy or Pynchon or DeLillo or Nabokov. It came from a young woman in another country with a camera and a nose ring and a big tapestry and bigger dreams which run parallel to my own. So thank you. Thank you for taking time out of your busy life and braving the Steaming Pile™️ that is The Internet to offer words of empathy and encouragement to complete strangers. Thank you for the wisdom you share. Thank you for being who you are. Know that tonight the stars shine brighter as a result. They do for me, at least. (Also I’m sincerely sorry about the absurd length of this “Ask” wherein no actual questions were posed and nothing substantial was communicated beyond a simple yet torturously delayed “thank you” kthxbye #longlivethenewtapestry 

—Justin)

[studpuffin]

The World as We Know It

Chapter 1 

Read on AO3 

It was swelteringly hot.

Eddie lay sprawled in the back row of Mike’s van, wishing he were dead.

But since he wasn’t dead he was focusing on the drop of sweat making its way down his spine, the throbbing in his head, and the growling of his stomach.

The world was falling to shit and he was stuck in the back seat of a car driving somewhere with no plan, barely any food, a crowbar, and the clothes he had managed to cram into his backpack before Bill had hauled him out of the house and practically thrown him the back seat. He rolled onto his side on the back bench, taking in the exhausted looks on his friends’ faces.

It was impossible for him not to think about the face that wasn’t with them.

It was too quiet.

Eddied sighed softly and pulled his phone out of his pocket, only to see it was still blank.

Where the fuck is Richie… is Eddie’s only coherent thought, followed quickly by, Ma is gonna have a panic attack...if she’s even still alive.

“S-someone needs to go and l-look for him.” Bill’s voice reached Eddie through the hazy heat that was clouding his brain as they pulled up in front of the familiar green house.

“I’ll do it,” Mike volunteered.

“No,” Eddie cut him off quickly, “keep the car running,” he rolled off the seat, “Stan and I will go.” Stan nodded, following Eddie out of the car.

“What...what if he’s one of them,” Stan whispered.

Eddie shouldered his tire iron, “Then we do what we have to…” he closed his eyes, taking a shuttered breath, “But hopefully it isn’t going to come to that.”

Stan nodded, following Eddie into the house.

The front hall was a mess. As they picked their way through, Stan turned to Eddie, eyes wide with fear. A sudden sound from the living room caught their attention. Two bodies lay in the living room, bleeding and groaning, organs spilling out onto the carpet. Eddie poked his head around the corner and grimaced, bile rising in his throat.

“Wentworth and Maggie…” he managed to gag before vomiting on the front carpet.

“No Lydia?” Stan bit his lip, eyebrows drawing together with worry as Eddie continued to gag.

Eddie shook his head, “No Lydia…” he panted, “She left for camp.” he croaked, throat hoarse from the acidic burn in his throat.   

“Good for her. Maybe she’d get out of this shit show alive,” Stan mumbled under his breath.

A noise from upstairs caught his attention. Eddie turned to Stan gesturing for him to follow him.

This asshole better be alive because I don’t think I have it in me to kill him He thought to himself as he climbed the stairs. Stan followed close behind him, reaching Richie’s half closed bedroom.

“On three?” he whispered, looking over at Stan, who nodded.

“One...two...three.” They kicked the door open and were met with a scream and a boot being thrown at their heads.

“Jesus FUCK.” Richie slumped back against his dresser and ran a hand over his face, “You scared the fuck out of me.”

Eddie grinned, dropping the tire iron and throwing himself into Richie’s arms, “Scared you? Asshole I thought you were fucking dead! I left you twenty messages...” he whispered hiding his face in Richie’s neck. He took a deep, settling breath, letting the calming smell if his best friend (boyfriend?) calm his nerves. He pulled back, taking Richie’s hand, “We gotta go.” he pulled Richie to his feet, shoving his backpack and St. Louis Slugger baseball bat into his hands, “Pack. Clothes, first aid, food. Anything.” he let his fingers linger against Richie’s for a moment before heading into the hallway.

Moments later, Richie emerged, backpack over his shoulder and baseball bat in hand. Slowly, the three boys crept down the stairs. As the reached the first floor, another low groan emitted from the living room.

“My mom and dad…” Richie whispered, turning to move into the room next to him.  

Eddie shook his head, grabbing his arm and attempting to pull him away from the door, “It’s better not to look. They aren’t...I couldn’t kill them. Not like this. They’re gonna die anyway…” he kept a tight grip on Richie’s arms, continuing to try to pull him back from the gruesome scene in the Tozier living room, “Richie please we need to go.”

An inhuman noise ripped it’s way suddenly out of Richie, “Fuck Eddie no! This isn’t fucking fair!” he tried to pull himself away from Eddie, only to have his other arm grabbed by Stan. Tears were falling down his freckled face as he threw his full weight away from the shorter boys.

“Richie no!” Eddie dragged him back, pushing him up against the wall, “You can’t see them like this you know they wouldn’t want you to see them like this. It’s a miracle that you’re alive. Don’t push your luck. They’re gonna change any minute now and unless you wanna be the one to kill them, we can’t be here when they do.” His voice was thick with tears.

He and Stan wrestled a still screaming, struggling Richie down the front stairs and into the car. Eddie and Richie crawled into to he back, barely getting settled as Mike hit the gas.

Eddie stared out the window, wordlessly stroking Richie’s hair. The tall, skinny boy has his head in Eddie’s lap, tears still rolling down his face. Eddie wished he could say something comforting. Something that would make whatever Richie was feeling ease.

But what do you say to someone whose parents were just ripped apart by a horde of zombies?

Eddie reached down and laced his fingers with Richie’s. This...thing...whatever it was between them, had started a few months ago. Simple things. Longer glances. Hand holding. Cuddling closer together during sleepovers or on the nights that Richie snuck into his room.

Can you call someone your boyfriend if you haven’t kissed them yet?

Can you call someone your boyfriend if you haven’t told them you liked them yet?

And how do you tell someone you love them when the entire world is falling apart?

All questions that were going to have to wait until they figured out what the fuck was going on. Richie had stopped crying but was laying spread over the seat, uncharacteristically silent. Ben and Bev were in the row in front of them, whispering quietly amongst themselves as they sorted out food and supplies. Mike was driving with Bill and Stan curled in each other’s arms in the passenger seat.

The tension was palpable like any movement could set of something catastrophic.

Then someone coughed.

Almost like the universe had been waiting for a sign to dump shit on them.

A body slammed into the side of the car, a bloody handprint smearing across the window.

“What the FUCK was the that?” Richie shrieked, as another body slammed into the side off the van. He scrambled backward, pressing closer to Eddie, who instinctively grabbed his hand.

“The dead…” Eddie squeezed his hand, grabbing the baseball bat from the floor between them and passing it to Richie, “Undead I guess.” he mumbled, pressing closer into the lanky teen’s side and lacing their fingers together. He leaned over to peer out the window and gasped, recoiling in horror.

“No…” he whispered, “Fuck mom no!!” he pressed himself back up against the window, not even noticing as Richie moved next to him. Sonia Kaspbrak was lumbering up the block towards the van, her large, fat-dimpled arms and neck covered in blood. A large chunk of her face was missing from a bite mark and blood was oozing down her chest and over her hands.

“Mike stop! Stop the car!” Eddie screeched, “Stop the fucking car!”, tears were rolling down his face, “Fucking stop!” he sobbed.  

“Eddie we can’t.” Mike sounded pained, “I can’t let you go out there.”

“But-”

“No! There are too many of them out there for us to fight even if we could save her.”

The car slowed as Mike attempted to weave his way throw a new hoard of zombies that were surrounding the car and Eddie seized his chance. Jumping over the middle row, he lunged for the door of the van, knocking it open with his shoulder and tumbling out onto the street.

“Shit!” Mike slammed on the brakes, “Eddie get back in the car!” He ripped off his seatbelt as he put the car in park.

Richie was already moving. He grabbed his baseball bat and scrambled out the door, “Eddie! Eddie fucking slow down!” his long legs made it easy to catch up with the smaller brunette, “Eddie come on wait!” he grabbed his arm and pulled him around the corner into in an alleyway, away from the groaning monsters on the main street.

“Eds…” he held him by the shoulders, “You can’t go after her.”

Eddie looked up at him, tears streaming down his face, “I know she’s awful, but she’s my-”

“Your mom I know,” he soothed gently, “But Ed’s you can’t save her.”

“But I-”

“No Eddie. We need to go,” Richie gripped his shoulder, attempting to calm himself and the still crying Eddie, “I know she’s your mom and you feel loyalty to her, but this is your life on the line. Not just yours. Our lives on the line,” Richie looked pained as he attempted to reason with Eddie, “Don’t make that face. I know how you’re feeling,” he pleaded as Eddie narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, “Don’t forget, I lost my parents too.

“At least let me see how far along she is…” Eddie pleaded again.

Richie stood silently, considering him for a moment. Then he sighed “Fine. But I’m coming with you.” he shouldered his baseball bat and took Eddie’s hand.

Eddie squeezed “Thank you.” he whispered as they stepped back out onto the street. Sonia stood there, swaying in place. Blood was still pouring from the bite on her cheek, muscle and bone exposed. She turned at the sound of them moving, jaw swinging loosely as the muscles threatened to snap.

“Edward…” she whispered, voice coming out croaky and weak.

Eddie took two hesitant steps toward her, “Mom…” he whispered, “Mommy…” he covered his mouth, as tears welled in his eyes again, “How long...how long have you been…”

She shook her head “I was coming back from the store. About a day now.”

“But you haven’t gotten sick yet…” he whimpered, reaching out for her, only to have Richie yank him back.

“Don’t.” he hissed, “Don’t touch her.” he pinned Eddie’s arm’s to his side.

“I know…” Eddie whispered, voice suddenly weak, “I just…” he shook slightly, leaning into Richie’s touch. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a steadying breath, “I know.”

Suddenly, Sonia shrieked. An unearthly, horrible, soul-shaking sound that chilled Eddie to his center. Her eyes rolled back and she lunged forward, unsteady as the virus took over her brain.

It all happened so fast.

Eddie felt himself freeze in place, all the air leaving his body. He watched, rooted to the concrete as she reached out for him, her skin already starting to rot as the infection raced through her body. Her fingers twitched, reaching for his throat.

Suddenly, there were several shouts, Bill grabbing Eddie by the shoulders and pulling him out of the way of Sonia and turning him away, and a sickeningly wet crunch.

Everything seemed to freeze as Eddie turned to see the source of the sound.

Images flashed in front of Eddie’s eyes; Richie holding a now bloodied baseball bat, a puddle of blood slowly spreading over Rose Avenue, the cracked glasses laying in the gutter...

And his mother, Sonia Kaspbrak, dead in the street.

[everlarkficexchange]

Prim's Plan - Part 2

Written by: @mega-aulover

Prompt 107: Everlark fic based off of the song “Thinking Out Loud” by Ed Sheeran. [submitted by Anonymous]

Rated: T for everlark Smooching ;)   Part 1

A/N: Thank you for submitting this prompt I hope you enjoy it. Thank you @everlarkficexchange for the opportunity to exchange ideas and grow our fandom. Aslo to @norbertsmom for your extraordinary beta skills I need to get you some flowers.

Katniss plopped on her bed in pure shock.

Three dates.

Her sweet stubborn sister wouldn’t take the application letters Peeta wrote until they agreed to go on three dates.

She stared up at the ceiling willing for an apocalyptic catastrophe to suddenly happen. The odds were not in her favor.

She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to go out with Peeta. Peeta Mellark, who she drunkenly confessed her feelings for to Gale. It was the reason they weren’t speaking.

“Damn you, Ed Sheeran!”

Four years ago, Peeta was waiting for her in his car. It was one of those frigid winter days. He had just bought his used car. He was the first one to get a car at sixteen. They had just gone through the drive-through when the song came on.

Katniss still wasn’t sure how it happened. Maybe it was the food, or the twinkling Christmas lights, or the fact that they got stuck in his clunker overnight and she slept nestled on top of Peeta until the tow truck came.

But that song, Thinking Out Loud, came on and Katniss recalled looking at him and really seeing Peeta for the first time, not the eleven-year-old boy she played tag with as a way to comfort her after her father died, or the 14-year-old boy who had to have his leg amputated, because a drunk driver mowed him down on his bicycle. She saw Peeta and her heart wobbled and danced in her chest as she listened to the song.

It wasn’t the first line about his legs not working that did it for her. It was the line about finding love right where they were. Katniss found her love sitting right next to her. He’d always been there, and she was irrevocably in love with him.

Her only problem, it was one-sided.

Peeta only saw her as a friend.

At the time she’d kept her mouth shut because he’d been dating that witch Clove who dumped him a week before Prom night for Thresh.

She’d tried to tell him, many, many times, but she didn’t have the courage. All of Peeta’s girlfriends were superior to her. Katniss didn’t have the boobs Johanna had. She wasn’t an older woman like Clove, and she didn’t look like Glimmer who was currently in Hollywood making movies.

She wasn’t that pretty or impressive.

Silently, Katniss carried her love for him in secret until last may when she turned 21.

“You’re not getting out of this Katniss,” Prim said from the door.

Katniss raised her head and narrowed her eyes at her baby sister. She’d forgotten to close her door.

“Prim, it’s Peeta? What if this doesn’t work? I don’t want to lose him.”

Primrose smiled sweetly like one of those baby angels with wings. “Don’t worry, sis. You’d never lose Peeta?”

“Glad you have more faith than I do.”

“Stop it, I will not have you back out of going on these dates. You’ve never been a quitter besides, do you really want me to have a bonfire with those letters Peeta wrote?”

Katniss grimaced her eyes, “No.”

“Now that we are clear, get some shuteye you need your beauty rest for tomorrow.”

“Whats tomorrow?” Katniss swallowed.

“Your first date is for tomorrow night,” Prim smirked. “Before you ask, it’s easy, a movie. I called in a favor and got tickets. Peeta will get them tomorrow afternoon. He’s coming tomorrow precisely at 6:45 pm.”

Prim closed her door and Katniss groaned, letting her head drop to the mattress and silently hoped for lightning to strike her.

The lightning never came, and the next night Katniss learned how much of a dictator her sister Primrose was. Prim nixed all of her comfy, cargo pants, pajama looking pants, sweats, and loose jeans she purchased at the thrift store to hunt in. Besides, her hunting pants had stains Prim didn’t want to even try to identify.

Her sister attacked her collection of misshapen sweaters, and shirts as well. She had a few that had special meaning for her. The baseball t-shirt had Peeta’s number on it from when he played. The state fair shirt he purchased for her two years ago. Almost all of her t-shirts had a history. The only ones she could do without were her waitressing shirts.

Primrose forced her to wear a pair of tight, uncomfortable skinny jeans, a form-fitting orange sweater, and uncomfortable flat shoes with floppy bows. Katniss wondered why designers would put such childish decorations on adult shoes. Her sister was so determined, she lent her a coat as well. Katniss doubted the wool coat would be warm enough. Her big puffy coat kept her nice and toasty. Prim was firm, no sneakers, and under no circumstances would she wear her hunting boots.

“Okay,” Prim said, circling her.

“Good, you look decent. Do you have a handbag?”

“A what?”

“A purse, Katniss.”

“Prim, I have dad’s old game bag and my old knapsack from school.”

“Katniss, you need a purse,” Prim said, running out of the room.

Katniss shook her head and turned to finish putting her rejected clothing neatly back in her dresser. When she came home she didn’t want to have to clean up. By the time Prim came back, Katniss had made sure her room was spotless.

“Here.” Prim thrust a soft leather bag toward Katniss.

“Why do I need one again? Aren’t pockets-,” Her argument died on her lips. The darned pants pockets were narrow.

Prim began putting the things she would need to carry inside of the bag. “You need a place to put your phone, your ID, antibacterial gel, debit card, cash, maxi pad, and a condom.”

“Condom,” Katniss said horrified.

“A lady always needs to be prepared,” Prim said holding out the bag.

“Who, what, where, when and how the hell did you get condoms? Are you using condoms?” Katniss stood hands akimbo in total shock to think that her sister was having sex. “Why are you using condoms?”

Prim rolled her eyes. “Katniss, I’m not a virgin and I need to protect myself. I don’t want to have kids.”

“Does mom know?”

“Yeah, she took me to get my birth control pills as well when I was 15, not that I was sexually active at that age.”

“Mom never did any of that with me,” Katniss said, sitting down on her bed.

“That’s because you’re pure, Katniss.”

“I am not pure.” Katniss blushed as she said the word.

“Oh yeah…” Primrose raised an eyebrow, “…then why do you say condoms like we’re talking about a deadly disease.”

Katniss couldn’t disagree. She did sound like she was a character in the 80’s cult classic movie, St. Elmo’s Fire.

“Okay, enough with the mourning of my no longer existing virginity.” As Prim spoke the doorbell rang.

“It’s him,” Katniss whispered. She wanted to run and hide.

Prim pushed her out of her room. Katniss thought of a thousand different things she would rather be doing, but when Prim opened the front door all of them went out of the windows.

She’d never seen Peeta dressed for a date before. He looked handsome in a button-down shirt, jacket, and dark denim jeans. His blond waves were combed back. She thought he looked like one of those male models in those Ralph Lauren advertisements.

“Here, these are for you.” Peeta held out yellow gerbera daisies. Katniss couldn’t help but grin. “You look pretty.”

“Thank you.” Her voice sounded soft and gushy, as she recalled she was wearing his favorite color.

“You ready to go?”

Katniss nodded. Together they walked out into the frigid air and Katniss wanted to kill Prim for making her wear the flimsy excuse for a coat. Thankfully Peeta’s car was warm. When he turned it on, Ed Sheeran’s song, Thinking out Loud, began to play on his radio.

Katniss’s heart thundered in her chest as the notes filled the interior of his car. Katniss glanced at Peeta as he hummed the song. She wished Peeta would take her into his loving arms, and kiss her. She wished she could wake up every morning listening to the beat of his heart.

She wanted to remember his smile. She wanted to touch his hand, have him fall in love with her. She wished so hard for him to fall for her the way she had fallen for him. The sentiments were too much for Katniss. She turned her head away to watch the twinkling lights of the small stores as they drove to the only movie theater in town.

It was ironic. They had come to the movies all of their lives and this was the first time they were going on an official date. Peeta parked the car, and together they walked toward the booth.

“Come on. Primrose got us tickets to see La Boda de Valentina,” Peeta said with his high school Spanish. Peeta was great at languages. He could pick them up easily. Katniss was lucky she knew how to speak English properly.

It’s why she avoided foreign flicks. Primrose knew this, knew how much Katniss loathed subtitles. Prim couldn’t have picked something great like Tomb Raider or Black Panther. Nope, her sister decided to choose the worst kind of torture.

Much to Katniss relief, the movie was half in Spanish, half in English, but she got frustrated with all of the subtitles she had to follow when the movie jumped from New York to Mexico.

It dawned on her as she watched the movie that the main character Valentina had to choose between two guys, and they represented her needs and wants and the expectations of her family. It was reminiscent of her own life.

For a long time people always just assumed she would end up with Gale. They had a lot of things in common, especially their fiery personalities. Gale had a worse temper than she did. Truth be told, she always saw Gale like an older brother. Hell, she and Gale even looked alike. That’s why she could never see herself with him, no matter what their mothers thought. She glanced at Peeta, who was totally engrossed in the film.

By the end of the film, Katniss understood it, but she didn’t like the movie. They were walking out of the theater.

“So, are you hungry?” Katniss glanced at Peeta. He was quiet.

“Yeah, but I have to take you someplace nice. Prim said no Sae’s.”

Katniss chuckled. “The little tyrant is going to pay for this one day.”

Peeta laughed. “I have an idea, if you’re up for an adventure.”

“Sure.” Katniss grinned.

They got in the car and drove to the bakery. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I won’t tell if you won’t?”

Peeta wasn’t a rebel, but when he put his mind to it he could be devious and at this moment she loved him for it. “If there are a pair of your comfy, fluffy socks on the other end, I’m in.”

They snuck into the back of the bakery. Peeta ordered a pizza and snuck upstairs for a pair of his socks. He sat her on the counter and much to her chagrin, he insisted on slipping them on her feet.

Her mouth went dry as he stood up. He braced his hands on the counter on either side of her and looked like he was going to step away. Katniss desperately wanted to keep him close. She said the first thing that popped into her head. “What did you think of the movie?”

He shrugged. “It was good.”

She was very curious as to his take on the movie. “But?”

“The ending was expected. She was going to pick the guy that was most familiar to her, the guy who reminded her of her home. The guy she had most in common with.”

Katniss found his statement interesting. “I didn’t like it.”

“Really, why? He knew her from before she moved to New York. It’s like you and Gale. You guys are meant to be together, because you both have so much in common.”

“Having a lot of stuff in common is not always a good thing.” Katniss couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was revolting to think she and Gale could be a thing. “It can be disastrous.” Katniss watched him. She was looking to see if he had any feelings for her other than friendship.

“But in order for a relationship to work, you need to have things in common.”

“Shared experiences, are one thing Peeta, but being too alike can almost be like dating a sibling or a first cousin. Both are gross.”

He looked down, took her hand in his, his voice shy. “Is that why you and Gale broke up?”

“Gale and I,” Katniss was disgusted by thinking of Gale and herself in a romantic relationship, “never dated.”

“But you guys were inseparable in high school. Besides, Johanna said she saw you both at the Slag Heap motel one time.” He looked up, searching her eyes. “I mean you guys hunted and used to hang out all of the time?”

Katniss wanted to hurt Johanna and her big mouth. Why Peeta dated her, Katniss never understood. “Ugh no, Peeta. Gale and I were working there, cleaning rooms before I had to go to school. Besides, we are neighbors, Peeta, and yes, when our fathers died in that mining accident, we bonded over it. We did what was necessary to provide for our families.” Katniss twined her fingers with his. “Bottom line, he’s not you, and I think he’s a little jealous of what we have.”

“Really?” Peeta smiled.

Katniss nodded. Her hands moved up his forearms. “You’re why we fought.”

“I was?” Peeta got closer.

Katniss nodded.

“You haven’t spoken to him since Christmas Eve. I noticed he gave me a death glare.”

His face was so close to hers. “Gale and I fought. I told him I…I-” She didn’t get to finish her sentence because Peeta kissed her. She panicked momentarily because this was her first kiss.

Peeta pulled away. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help myself,” he whispered. His hot breath fanned her lips.

Katniss grabbed his shirt and pulled him into another kiss. This time her body tingled. She wanted more, and pressed herself to him, causing their faces to angle and the kiss to deepen. His hands gripped her knees right before they ghosted up her legs and around to her back, pressing her closer to him. A small groan escaped her lips.

His warm lips were soft, and better than anything she ever imagined. He tasted sweet and minty. She felt cherished in his arms. Katniss was glad she waited to have her first kiss. It was even better than the cheese-buns he made her.

Neither one heard the insistent knocking at the door. They blushed when they realized their food was there. Katniss wanted to melt into him.

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back,” Peeta said.

Katniss grinned, and her smile didn’t go away all night. As they ate, Katniss was glad there wasn’t any awkwardness between them. They were themselves. They laughed, joked around, and talked about silly things and serious things.

“You didn’t?” Peeta asked incredulously as he laughed.

Katniss was so relaxed and she couldn’t believe she confessed to stealing Haymitch’s prized knife.“Yeah, well you were away at camp and I was super bored.”

“In my defense, if I would have stayed here, I would have been a felon.”

Katniss swiped at his arm.

It was a perfect evening. As they left the bakery, he took her by the hand and pulled her close. They kissed once more. She felt those butterflies girls talked about in high school. She was still smiling when he took her home. She placed a chaste kiss on his lips, but it caused the butterflies to flutter in her stomach. When Peeta left, she floated to her room.

“So, how did it go?”

Katniss didn’t know how to describe how she felt or the craving she developed for Peeta’s kisses. Her face was her sisters favorite color.

“Good.” Prim nodded. “Then tomorrow night’s date is going to be a breeze. I put the dress in your closet.”

It was only after the door closed did Katniss realized Prim was making her wear her least favorite item of clothing in the middle of winter. As she went to sleep her phone went off and there was a text from Gale:

Gale: We need to talk.

Katniss gasped as below the text there was a grainy picture of her and Peeta kissing outside of the bakery.

[jeonghanniesfool]

Minghao: College AU

Genre: Fluff

Requested by: @minghao-lines

A scenario where your roommate destroys your expectations of a roommate

Disclaimer: I know nothing about college except that personal statements are a living hell and that I’m going to be paying a lot ;u; tis the life of a high school senior amiright

you didn’t think you were going to be dorming

it cost a LOT of money to dorm

and you really didn’t get many scholarships either

you didn’t want to burden your parents with having to pay for you to dorm alongside the terrible cost of college 

but

you couldn’t help it

the only college you got accepted into was one that was far away enough that you had to dorm

so you did

begrudgingly 

and you didn’t like the idea of dorming anyway

you thought that your roommate was going to be trash

so not only were you going to be paying a large sum of money but you were going to get a terrible experience out of it too

when you arrived at your room, your roommate wasn’t there

it was a simple room with two bedrooms and a small living room/kitchen

you dragged your suitcase past your roommate’s open bedroom

and you couldn’t help but peek inside

you noticed a large mirror propped up on the side of the wall

several baseball caps hanging

a boombox on the dresser

a Kermit the frog plush on the bed

sweats draped on the chair by the desk

the floor was pretty cleared, most of the furniture pushed up against the walls, leaving a large empty space in front of the mirror

“right. this is a co-ed room” you muttered to yourself

when you caught sight of a pair of boxers on the chair as well

you set your suitcase inside your room

went outside to help your parents bring in your furniture and decorations

you spent the rest of the day decorating after your parents left, keeping your door shut in case your roommate decided to come home

you didn’t want to make the same mistake he did

you didn’t know your roommate was home until you heard music blasting from the other room

oh boy

was this going to be some annoying boy

who just blasts music all day

how the heck were you going to study

welp

might as well go introduce yourself to your roommate right?

you walked outside down the short hall to his room

you knocked out of courtesy

but obviously

he couldn’t hear

so you just wrenched open the door

you were met with a guy reaching out to open the door

wearing a black tank top and sweats

a cap squashing his brown curls

he hurriedly switched off his music

“oh hey you must be my new roommate”

you stood there

dumbfounded for a moment

he was dressed like some thug

he looked like he could be some bad boy

but his voice was so soft and gentle

and his face was adorable

“uh... yeah...”

and you couldn’t say anything else

“I’m Minghao”

“Y/N”

and the two of you just awkwardly stood there staring at each other

“uh sorry about the music. i’ll keep it down now that I have a roommate”

what

why is he so considerate?

“um... thank you...”

you excused yourself and hurried back to your room

what the heck was that

you didn’t talk to Minghao much for the first few weeks

only saw him in the mornings rushing to class

exchanging hurried “good mornings”

you spent most of your time in your room for studying

as did he

the two of you rarely making use of the shared living room

until you were assigned a project in your psychology class

and were required to pick a partner to work with

and knowing no one

you wandered around the room

and found Minghao

who was just sleeping on his desk

you had to prod him awake

asked him if he was working with anyone

“THERE’S A PROJECT?”

having to work on the project together

you two got to know each other more

finally making use of that living room

“Y/N, it says here that we have to interview each other”

Minghao handed you the sheet of paper

and leaned over your shoulder to look at it with you

his breath brushing against your ear as he spoke

sending shivers down your spine

you found yourself meeting up with Minghao after psych

as it was the last class of both of your days

even after the project was over

you would go out for lunch together

and spent more time doing work together in the living room

squeezing into the small loveseat 

you became close friends, attending parties together all the time

and whenever some lecherous guy came up to you trying to grope you or feel you up

Minghao would be there in an instant

arm slung across your shoulder

death glaring the guy

“I told you not to leave my side, Y/N”

he was your shoulder to cry on when your boyfriends didn’t turn out as they seemed they would be

breaking your heart each time

he would tag you on all the best memes on Facebook to cheer you up

and show up in the living room with tubs of ice cream

you returned the favor of course

forcing him to sleep when he was sick

confiscating his boom box and mirror when you knew he was going to procrastinate on his work through dancing

the two of you were so close

that hugs were normal

and his arm being slung over your shoulder or wrapped around your waist was a common occurence

“are you sure you and Minghao aren’t dating?” one of your classmates asked

“uhhh no we’re just best friends” 

but why does your heart beat so quickly when you’re around him?

and one day

while you were doing your work as normal

your head propped up against Minghao’s chest

you felt him wrap his arms around your waist and he bent to whisper in your ear

“hey. I like you”

you nearly flung your notebook across the room

your cheeks were flushed red

“Minghao WHAT?”

you turned to look at him

your mistake

his face was so close

his eyes searched yours

his face was etched with hurt

“oh was I mistaken you don’t like me back i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to ruin our friendship like this.” 

as he rambled he hastily withdrew his arms

“nonononononononono”

was all you managed to stutter

“so you do like me?” he leaned closer again

a smirk playing onto his lips

“don’t LOOK at me like that”

you averted your eyes and whacked him as you usually did when he acted weird

“so you aren’t going to answer my question?”

not so cute Minghao is showing

a;slkdjfa;lksdjf

you still wouldn’t look at him

his voice was suddenly filled with concern

“i’m not making you uncomfortable, am I? I don’t mean to pressure you”

“you idiot”

you turned and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before pulling yourself from his arms, trying to flee from the room before you melted because of embarrassment

but Minghao was an athletic boy 

yes that one is

and he quickly grabbed your arm and pulled you into a warm hug

his arms enveloping you

crushing you to his chest

he pressed a kiss to your forehead

“so you do like me?”

“yes i like you” you whispered, your voice muffled by his shirt

you could feel him beaming against your forehead

and his fingers intertwined with yours

“i’ve liked you all this time you know”

“even when I was with those other boys?”

“i hated those boys they all just made you cry all the time”

as you cuddled on the couch he said

“i’m so glad you’re my roommate”

“as am I. I thought you were going to be some jerk or something. your room sure made you look like one”

“ExCUse mE how DarE you, you PunK”

“your thughao is showing again”

I have no idea where this went HAHA. I’m just procrastinating