#figured what better excuse to post it than. birthday

[forecast0ctopus]

nobody likes you when youre 23!!

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, smut (oral, f receiving), overload of cheesiness, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 11.8k+

→ a/n: this might be the cheesiest, fluffiest thing i've ever written, and i can't even be bothered to care. it might be unrealistic. it might be too much. i do not care. this has been a long time coming and i think we all deserve all the cheese after this story.

i don't even know what to say besides thank you. thank you to everyone who followed along from the beginning, to those of you joined the journey along the way, to those of you who are reading as we finish it up. thank you for all the support and love you guys have shown this fic. i will always, always, appreciate it more than i know how to say. i love these idiots, and i love you all.

if you would like to see this story continued through small blurbs, my ask box is officially open to requests from this universe. i will also probably be posting some "beyond the hours" content over the next few weeks.

thank you. i love you.

without further ado...

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

EPILOGUE: A BET

TWO MONTHS LATER

“Why are there so many fuckin’ options?” 

Eddie stares at the line up of smartphones before him, all different models and different physical sizes, different colors and different memory amounts. 

“There’s not that many,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around him from behind as you rest your chin on his shoulder. It’s a bit of a stretch, making you lean up onto your tippy toes, “Besides, isn’t having options a good thing?” 

He scoffs as he brings a hand up subconsciously to where your arms overlap on his torso, grip gentle as he runs a thumb over your skin and gives a squeeze, “Sure, options are great. But there’s at least twenty different iPhones on display here, sweetheart.” 

The last few months had been interesting, to say the least. A new and exciting journey initially, but also a fairly stressful ordeal given all the hoops you two had been jumping through. You’re both busy people, having to suddenly figure out how to carve out a specific space for each other amongst bustling lives. It wasn’t the same as making time for friends or a weekly night out; it was figuring out times for dates, times for lazy afternoons, times for just you and just Eddie.

And, occasionally, time to take Eddie shopping for a new phone. Finally.

“Well, better pick one fast,” your fingers dig into his side playful, and he blows out an annoyed breath as he side-eyes you. You only retaliate in a fast peck to his cheek before whispering in his ear, “We’re gonna be late if you keep taking all day.” 

It was Argyle’s birthday party tonight. His actual birthday wasn’t for another week, but he’d be venturing back home to California for that. And so the group elected to throw him a preemptive party at one of the group’s favorite bars. 

Which — fine. Awesome. You were excited, you really were: you loved Argyle, you loved your friends, you even found yourself warming back up to parties.

But your friends didn’t know. 

Two whole months, and neither you nor Eddie had told a single soul of what had become between you two. Not even Steve. Not even Nancy. 

At first the excuse was to give this time to grow, to find your footing before you brought your lovable yet rambunctious group of friends into the equation. But then you two had found your footing, and you’d worried what they would say. Eddie had nearly made himself sick with anxiety over Nancy finding out he’d kept this relationship from her. They’d support you two — that wasn’t a worry. They’d proven that since the first time the entire group had hung out after the bet.

“So,” Robin started, narrowing her eyes at you and Eddie sitting on opposite ends of her and Steve’s couch. Neither of you had said a word to each other yet (Plenty had already been said that morning as you’d snuck him out of your dorm), “You two really aren’t together?” 

“Why is everyone so adamant that the bet has to end with us getting together?” you jeered.

Eddie didn’t help the cause when he was quick to take your side, “Exactly! The bet’s over. We lasted twenty four hours. We’re friends now — isn’t that what you guys wanted?” 

“I actually wanted to help you dudes plan a winter wedding,” Argyle chimed from the kitchen where he was retrieving a coke, “So I’m gonna side with Birdie on this one.” 

“Of course you are,” you muttered beneath your breath. 

Everything in you ached to be sitting next to Eddie rather than so far. You ached for his arm around you, his lips pressed to your temple. Just to share body heat, even — innocent thighs brushing with layers of denim between would have been enough.  

“It’ll happen eventually,” Nancy mused from her seat on the kitchen counter, Jonathan beside her and matching her confident energy with a sly grin, “Just give them time.” 

What they hadn’t realized is that it already did happen. The moment Eddie showed up to your dorm and the two of you said to Hell with space, it was inevitable. 

Now, it was just the challenge of letting your friends in on the secret.

“What about the red one?” Eddie asks you as you finally unravel from him.

“Of course you’re choosing the red one.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scowls, no malice behind it as you step up to occupy the space next to him, brushing shoulders for only a moment before his hand is grabbing yours, intertwining fingers like second nature. 

You recall that moment on his balcony, where he had once been so nervous and hesitant to hold your hand. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head, smiling to yourself as you look at the specific model he was talking about, “You’re just getting a little bit predictable, Munson.” 

He opens his mouth to argue, to nip back at what you always offer him, when one of the salesmen approach you two.

“Hi folks! Can I help you with anything today?”

Eddie squeezes your hand, no doubt in an effort to withhold his laughter at the man’s overly chirpy tone. You squeeze back, if for nothing more than to let him know you felt him.

Despite Eddie’s previous claim to a decision, he still chooses to entertain the man. Asking questions about different models, inquiring for recommendations as if they’d change his mind. They go back and forth, both polite enough, but the conversation easily bores you. In five seconds flat, your mind has officially wandered off.

You two hadn’t really discussed the specific details of the night to come. Whether you’d ride with Eddie there, how you’d navigate Eddie’s natural born clinginess once he got a few drinks in him, if tonight might be the night to finally tell your friends. 

The last one felt a bit obvious. It was Argyle’s night — you didn’t want to snatch the attention from him for even a second. 

But there were layers to your anxiety. Because it was more than just how to navigate how you two would display yourselves to your friends on nights out. 

It had been two months, and you still hadn’t said those three little words back to Eddie.

He didn’t pressure you. He never once brought it back up, never once pressured you. But just because he wasn’t constantly reminding you vocally that he loved you didn’t mean you didn’t feel it. You’d felt it, impossible to miss, when all those lazy morning fantasies became reality. You felt it during movie marathons and you felt it every time he’d worship your body. It was there — in the late nights, in the early mornings, in the dull afternoons. A wild thing unleashed in your gardens, all those vines you’d worked so hard to see flourish threatened to be torn up by impatient claws at the feeling growing rapidly in your chest every time you looked at him.

And slowly, surely, you knew that there was only so much longer that like could suffice in describing your feelings for Eddie. 

You were falling, whether he was aware or not. You just needed to figure out the right moment for those three little words to unstick, to go from hot honey on your tongue to easy breaths between you two. He’s given you time, he’d filled the months you’d awarded him with making up for every previously bitter exchange, and yet you still couldn’t give him this. And you’re starting to believe maybe that’s why you couldn’t imagine telling your friends yet. 

You sort of hated yourself for it.

You’re pulled back to reality once the salesman departs, no doubt into the back to grab Eddie’s choice of phone. You don’t even have to ask; you know he got the red one.

“Hey,” Eddie fully turns to you, bringing your knuckles to his lips in chaste kisses. Your stomach still kicks with flutters, your heart still warms at the gesture. Eddie’s affection has yet to lose novelty, “Where’d you go?”

“What do you mean?” you twist your face, “I was here the entire tim-“

“Not where’d you physically go,” he clarifies, letting your conjoined hands drop back to the sliver of space between your bodies, “Mentally. Where’d your mind just go?”

 You hadn’t thought he’d notice your drifting.

“Nowhere,” you shrug off.

“Nowhere? So you’re really just that interested in the newest iPhone model?” 

He pointedly looks up at the widescreen display you don’t doubt you’d been blankly staring at the entirety of his conversation with the man who had yet to return.

“Oh, absolutely. You know me so well.” 

All bark, no bite. These days, all the previous venom that had infected exchanges with Eddie prior to the bet had finally been sucked clean from the wound, long gone to make room for all the genuine affection to seep into its place. You still argued — or perhaps bantered was a better word for it — but you didn’t fight. You both still grated on one another’s nerves and managed to slither beneath the other’s skin, but not in an unwelcome way. 

It was a nice change.

It made you hate yourself even more for not saying those three little words. 

Eddie seemingly reads your mind, “Are you nervous for tonight?”

“I-“ you consider lying to him and saying it hadn’t even crossed your mind, but the look he gives you warns against it, “We just haven’t… discussed it.” 

“What’s there to discuss?” 

You hold up your interlocked hands for emphasis, raising your eyebrows at Eddie.

His mouth falls open softly, eyes widening, “Oh. Are you- Are you wanting to tell them tonight?” 

No, your gut screams, absolutely not tonight.

“Is Argyle’s birthday party really the best time to explode their minds?” 

You try to keep your tone teasing as you sense Eddie’s own nerves creeping up. Sometimes it was fun, standing in a room with everyone and pretending to be more akin to strangers than lovers. But sometimes, it was just plain painful. Sometimes, the entire group would be laughing at something, and you craved nothing more than to be pressed into Eddie’s side and feel the vibrations of his shared joy rather than just having to listen to it from across the room. 

It’s not that you wanted to tell your friends and cause a scene — you just didn’t want to have to hide anymore. And maybe you wouldn’t have to, if you’d just tell him how you felt.

“Probably not,” Eddie murmurs, “I mean, it’s his night. We can always tell them the next time we all get together.”

The issue is that’s what the two of you always say. You always brush it off for the next time. 

You can only sigh in defeat as you see the salesman finally bounding back out from the back room, a small box holding Eddie’s purchase in his grip, “Yeah. Next time.” 

You can’t even be mad at next time. It’s the same thing you tell yourself every time you felt those words on the tip of your tongue, so close yet so far from revealing the most terrifying truth you’d discovered yet to Eddie.

You let go of his hand long enough for him to check out, hardly overhearing when he questions how they can transfer all the data from his current flip phone. When he seems particularly worried about pictures transferring, you don’t think anything of it.

—

STEVE-O: do i need to pick you up tonight? 

You don’t see the text. You’re a bit busy with something when it comes through.

Something is currently still between your legs, curls threaded between your fingers as your back arches off his mattress and his name starts to come out as a desperate whimper rather than a chant. 

STEVE-O: ???

The initial buzz of your phone on his nightstand doesn’t phase either of you. Eddie’s tongue still works you eagerly, circling your clit as you tug particularly harshly at his roots. Each flick sends white hot pleasure through your bones, nearly making you see stars.

“Fuck,” you gasp out when he brings his fingers into the mix. You can feel his smile against you as he curls his fingers inside of you, mimicking a come hither motion and relishing in your little pants as your thighs tighten around his shoulders, “Oh, fuck. Right there, Eddie. I- Eddie.” 

The way you’re moaning his name only encourages him as he slips in a second finger, stretching you further. You feel cool metal bumping your entrance, sending shocks up your spine as his lips suction against you and he sucks hard.

He hadn’t even taken the time to remove his rings when the two of you had gotten home. He had been too eager, dragging you to his bedroom with his lips attached to your neck from the moment he’d shut the front door behind the two of you until he’d thrown you down on his bed.

“That’s right, baby,” his voice vibrates against your clit, “Say my name. Tell everyone who’s making you feel this goo-“

STEVE-O: helllooooo????

“Okay, who the fuck keeps texting you?” Eddie finally pulls back when he realizes you’re slipping out of that bubble he’d created, your head having turned towards the nightstand in curiosity, “Let me guess, it’s your other boyfriend?” 

Your head is still spinning and your chest continues to heave from that lingering pleasure he’d been offering so generously to you. He sounds annoyed, but you can guarantee you’re even more irked. 

“I don’t have another boyfriend,” you blandly reply, not taking his bait.

It only makes him wrap his hands around your thighs on his shoulder, giving a playful squeeze as you reach out for your phone. 

“You sure?” 

You squint at the notifications, but don’t properly read them, only rolling your eyes at both the fact that Steve’s the one interrupting this precious moment and at Eddie’s valiant teasing.

You slam the phone back down, eyes trailing down to his, “I am, but I can certainly find another boyfriend if you don’t get your mouth back on me in the next three seconds-“ 

He doesn’t need a second warning. In an instant, the warmth of his tongue is back on you, lapping at all the spots he’s come to memorize as of recently. That pleasure comes back into reach, edging your vision with feathery black as your eyes flutter shut and the coil in your stomach tightens.

You throw your head back into one of his pillows, one that has started to smell like your shampoo now rather than his, and let a drawn out whine escape your lips.

“You were saying?” he teases, grinning wickedly. He takes that brief moment to come up for air, turning and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your thigh beside his cheek. Not hard enough to draw blood, and probably not hard enough to leave indents. But it is enough to have you preening once more as your heels dig into his bare back and you try to lift your hips, desperate for his mouth again.

He was edging you. Without even meaning to, he was repeatedly bringing you to the edge only to leave you teetering. 

With your focus back on him, you can admire how pretty he looks. Mouth slick with you, pupils blown out, hair an absolute mess. You like him best this way, you think, when he looks so absolutely devoted to you. When he’s looking at you with a hunger you almost can’t place. It makes you want to scream from the rooftops about how you’ve fallen for him. How you feel so much more than like for your boy. 

STEVE-O: seriously. if you don’t respond, you can just walk. you have five minutes.

At the buzz of the phone, your hands leave Eddie’s hair to form fists, pounding them into the mattress at your side in a brief tantrum. He ceases all actions, pulling his lips away from you again, and it only makes you pout more. 

“Baby,” he coos, fingers trailing up the sides of your thighs before he reaches out to hold your fists down, “Maybe you should answer him. Tell him to fuck off-“

Eddie’s interrupted as your phone fully bursts to life with your ringtone.

You were going to kill Steve Harrington. 

“On second thought, let me answer it,” Eddie groans as you reach out and grab it once more, “Give the fucker a piece of my mind.”

“Shut up,” you hiss as you realize it’s Robin calling. You turn the screen so he can see, and his eyebrows lift in surprise.

He makes no move to remove himself from between your legs, though. He stays face to face with your aching core.

“Hello?” you snap after swiping to answer.

“Finally! My God, Steve’s been texting you-“

“I didn’t see the texts.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“Nope.” 

You’ve never been so short with your friends. 

But that pleasure is slipping from you, the flames of your impending orgasm dying down to nothing more than embers. It’s enough to piss anyone off. 

“Are you sure?” Robin asks, sounding genuinely concerned, “It’s kind of a far walk-“

“I’m running late,” you sigh, realizing that you were going to have to come up with a lie to get off the hook. Another thing you hated about the hiding — it led to your friendships being littered with dishonesty. Always a new excuse as to why you weren’t available, always feigning reasons as to why you didn’t reply to texts as timely as you used to. “With getting ready. I could- I don’t know, do you think Eddie might pick me up? Isn’t my dorm along the way to the bar from his place?” 

At the mention of his name, he perks up. His cheek settles against the exact spot he had bit just moments before, nearly nuzzling into you as your free hand comes down to gently push back his bangs. On instinct, you find yourself soothingly pressing your fingertips in slow circles against his scalp. You’re nearly melting beneath his soft gaze, those big and wide eyes locked on you with bated breath.

“You want Eddie to pick you up?” you suddenly hear Steve exclaim in the background.

Your face scrunches up, a wrinkle forming across the bridge of your nose and between your brows. It’s so damn cute to Eddie that he can’t help but press a quick kiss to the skin he continues to lay into, beginning to smile as your absent-minded head massage continues. 

So much more than like.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was on speaker.” 

“Why do you want Munson to pick you up?” Steve ignores your sarcasm, voice sounding closer to the phone now, “He drives a motorcycle, you know. That’s dangerous.” 

Eddie must be able to catch some of Steve’s shrill exclamation, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly. You feel his curious hum against your skin and you don’t hesitate putting your own pesky friends on speaker. 

“Motorcycles are not that dangerous,” you retort, and it makes Eddie have to hide a slight scoff into your thigh in an effort to stay silent. It was ironic that they cared about how safe it would be for you to ride with Eddie on his bike now, after that allegedly dangerous vehicle had been your main source of transportation for nearly two months now, “He has a helmet, right?” 

“Isn’t your dorm the opposite direction of the bar from his place?” Robin questions, “I mean, I’m all for you asking lover boy if he’ll give you a ride but-”

Steve interrupts her flatly, “It’s making him go out of his way. Besides, he might have already left for the bar by now.” 

You don’t know what to silently laugh at first. The assumption they were making that couldn’t be further from the truth, or Robin’s new nickname for Eddie. 

Lover boy is fitting for him in this current position. He’s still latching onto your leg, cuddling you in every way he could from where he laid, staring at you and hanging onto your every last word. The poster boy for pathetically in love, he gives your leg another kiss, starting a fiery trail with his lips until he reaches your knee. It pangs in your chest, wondering if he can see your feelings also painted so obviously across your face. 

“Steve,” you murmur, breath catching in your throat as Eddie’s lips linger in the ditch of your knee. It takes a second to remember you’re on the phone, “No offense, but Eddie hasn’t been on time to a single get together the entire time I’ve known him.” 

Eddie reacts in real time to your insult, forcing an over-exaggerated offended look before he bites you again. This time, his teeth do leave an imprint from his nip, and it makes you slap a hand over your mouth to avoid yelping. 

Don’t bite me, you mouth at him. 

Don’t be mean, he answers right back, silent as ever. 

“Technically we’re all already late,” Steve points out. It makes you sit up quickly, startling Eddie in the process. You squint at the clock across the room and- fuck. Steve was right, “Nancy just texted me that she and Jon are there, Argyle’s on his way. She said she tried texting Eddie but didn’t get any response,” there’s a long pause as you motion wildly for Eddie to get up with you, the boy watching as you fling yourself off his mattress and carry the phone with you to his dresser, “Have… you heard from him recently?” 

“Why are you saying it like that?” you jab, throwing open one of the drawers Eddie had cleared out for you to keep some clothes here in his apartment. At this point, a good chunk of the tuition you paid was going to waste considering the fact you rarely spent the night at your dorm. You were already half moved into Eddie’s space. 

You try not to think too hard about it, because just last week, you’d had a panic attack at the revelation. 

You were afraid of smothering him, even if he was the one always insisting you could leave more of your things here. He was always the one conning you into spending another night, promising soft murmurs of giving you a ride to class the next morning if you did. You rarely ever had much of the choice in the matter; once he’d wrap his arms around your waist, curl his body flush against yours, it was always game over.

Practically living together, and you still hadn’t said those words back to him. 

“I’m not saying it like anything!” Steve defends himself, “I’m just asking an innocent question!” Eddie’s snort this time is audible, and you freeze as Steve clearly mistakes it for your laughter, “Shut up. It’s a reasonable question. You guys are friends now, remember?” 

Friends. Of course, because all your friends jumped at the chance to bury their mouths against your cunt and make you cum repeatedly until you had tears streaming down your cheeks. Because you let all your friends sleep in the same bed as you, and wake you up by burying deep within you as they bite your shoulder with a moan. You and Eddie were friends. 

“Trust me,” you glance over your shoulder in your haste, looking at Eddie as he stretches out on his side and props himself up on his elbow, “I remember.” 

He gives you a knowing smile, squinting his eyes at you in entertainment. 

“Babe, it really would just be easier for you to ride with us,” Robin’s voice sounds again as you tug a shirt out of the drawer, something casual and comfortable that you could style for the night, “Unless you’re just hellbent on having alone time with Eddie for some reason-”

“I’m not hellbent on being alone with him, Robs.” 

Another lie. I definitely am. But not in the context you think. 

“You just sound like you are.”

“Well, I’m not,” you yank a pair of black jeans free from the drawer and slam it shut, standing and turning to Eddie. 

He hardly has time to react before you’re tossing your phone down on the mattress in front of him, the small device bouncing and hitting his chest. He winces and throws himself back dramatically, letting out a small oof that you pray neither Robin or Steve pick up on. 

As you dress, throwing on the random t-shirt and shimmying on your jeans, Robins laughs, “Denial isn’t a good look on you.” 

Eddie watches you, never moving to get ready himself. All he does is stare as you button up the pants. 

When you give him an expectant look, he merely mouths, bra? 

You shake your head. You don’t know where Eddie had flung your undergarment, and you’re not in the mood to frantically search for it. You’ve gone without a bra before – you can survive one night out without one. 

Eddie’s entire face and chest immediately flushes pink. Cute.  

“Now you guys are just being assholes,” you scowl despite the fact that only Eddie can see it, waving your hands to motion for him to get up and also get dressed, “I’m texting Eddie. If he has already left, I’ll just walk. Fuck you guys.” 

“Tell lover boy I said hi,” Robin teases. 

“Even if he’s already parked at the fucking bar at this point, we both know he’d jump right back on his bike and come pick you up,” Steve’s voice grumbles over the line. 

It almost makes you smile.  “Someone sounds jealous.” 

“Not jealous, just annoyed,” Steve corrects as Eddie finally stands from the bed, “When are you two going to get your shit together?”

“What do you mean?” you play dumb.

You’ve had this conversation with your friends multiple times. They were truly going to have your head once they realized what you’d been keeping from them for months now. 

“Don’t you have a 4.0 GPA?” Robin inserts herself back into the conversation, “You can’t possibly be this stupid.” 

Eddie pauses in his fumbling with pulling his jeans from the pile he’d left his clothes in at the end of the beg, face scrunching in silent laughter. You almost walk over and smack his bare back angled towards you. 

“First of all, no. I don’t have a 4.0 GPA. Thanks for the reminder,” you grab your phone back off of the bed and decide to leave Eddie behind in the room, heading into the bathroom to finish getting ready. You hate to admit it, but if you have to keep watching him giggle so cutely to himself, you’ll also probably break. And you aren’t in the mood for any further interrogation from Robin and Steve, “Second of all, I’m hanging up now. I’m going to call Eddie. At least he won’t be such a dick to me.” 

“Oh, you must see the irony there-” 

You cut Steve off, “Bye! See you in… like, ten minutes.” 

Once you’ve hung up, you put your phone down on the bathroom counter and look up into the mirror. Your hair is a mess, wild and tangled from all the writhing you had been doing before being so rudely interrupted. You give it your best effort, trying to tame it a little bit to look more presentable, but it’s a lost cause at this point. Fuck it. 

Eddie appears in the doorway behind you, fully dressed and his hair pulled back into a bun, leaning into the door frame with his arms crossed and an impish grin on display, “Oh, you’re going to call me now, sweetheart?” 

You glare at him in a jocosely manner through the reflection, “Don’t look so proud of yourself.” 

He pushes off the frame and comes up behind you, still locking his eyes only through the reflection as he leans his chin over your shoulder, “And what if I don’t want to give you a ride? You have been awfully mean – insulting my punctuality, throwing your phone at me, teasing me by going without a bra. The list goes on and on.” 

Something deep within you stirs, those embers that still ache to burst into a forest fire. You hate that you could easily spend the entire night here with him, letting him take you every which way between his sheets. And even without sinful actions involved, you would be plenty content with just his presence tonight. As a matter of fact, you might be more content with that outcome rather than heading out to see your friends.

Sorry Argyle, you think guiltily. 

“I’m teasing you?” you question just as his hands land on your hips, moving so that he was pressed firmly against the curve of your ass. Making sure you could feel how hard he was against the seam of his jeans’ zipper, “You didn’t even make me cum.” 

“Seems like we’ll both be spending the night frustrated, then,” he smiles, almost gleefully, almost devilishly, “Besides, that was technically Harrington’s fault, not mine. We both know I usually have no problems making you cum on my tongue – without interruptions, of course.”

He rolls his hips ever so slightly into you, and your mouth falls open, eyes going glossy as you continue to stare him down through the mirror.  The stirring in your abdomen is persistent now as your heart hammers against your ribs, mind melting and completely forgetting the obligation at hand. 

And Eddie knows this. He’s well aware of the effect he’s having on you, and it’s deliberate. 

Suddenly, his body completely pulls away from yours, “I’ll meet you downstairs. Don’t want to keep them waiting any longer, do we, sweetheart?” 

Damn him. Damn him, and damn his dimples, and damn how good his legs look in those jeans as he’s walking away from me right now.

You linger in the apartment, alone, for a few extra minutes to compose yourself. Trying to quelch the heat between your hips that had slowly spread across your entire body, threatening to consume you. You even go as far as to splash cool water across your cheeks, giving yourself a few smacks for good measure as you try to prepare yourself to go into public and put on the usual act. And beneath it all, you also hush the animal in your chest, the one that claws at you to tell him. The one that wails everytime you simply tell him you like him, the one that roars when you let another moment slip you by. It has to quiet, just as your flames need to settle, all for the sake of the act.

You deserve a goddamn Oscar at this point. 

After deciding that touching up your makeup would take up far too many precious seconds, you’re darting out of Eddie’s apartment, locking up behind yourself before you head down to where he’s waiting. He’s already straddling his parked bike, the engine roaring to life like the animal inside you as you exit the main doors of the building and his hands extend his only helmet. You don’t fight him on who’s going to wear it – that’s a battle, you’ve learned, you will always lose. 

We really need to just buy a second helmet. 

The thought makes you smile as you hold the clunky thing. Buying a second helmet. Something Eddie had never done before, because he had never had a regular passenger before. He had never had someone glued to his side as you had become, not even Nancy. It sounds terribly domestic; perusing aisles with him, debating which helmet fits your style best. He’d probably make a joke about your head being big. He’d probably tease you for looking at the ridiculously expensive ones and tell you to opt for a cheaper one. You’d probably end up with a pricier one in the cart regardless, and Eddie would probably refuse to let you pay for it. 

Domesticity. The image of it doesn’t ache like it had that night all those months ago. This isn’t something you yearn for hopelessly, smoke and mirrors that dissipate when you dare to reach out for it. It’s something finally in your grasp. Something tangible and something bound to happen, all you’d have to do is say the word and Eddie would comply eagerly. 

Anything to keep my girl safe, as he would tell you any time you pointed out how dangerous it was for him to go without a helmet. He’d gotten creative in saying his own version of those three little words. 

“M’lady,” he hums, nodding for you to put the helmet on before sweeping a hand over the empty space in the seat behind him, “Your chariot awaits.” 

You don’t have a snarky quip to throw back at him, only grinning at the ground as you flip the helmet around a few times to prepare to put it on. All those embers aren’t just desire for him – there’s a warmth there that always exists. A candle on the windowsill of the home you had finally found. 

You raise the clunky thing and tilt your head when Eddie suddenly says, “Oh, and babe?” 

Immediately, you lower it, eyes wide in curiosity, “What?” 

“That’s my shirt.” 

“What?” 

He motions to the t-shirt tucked carefully into your jeans, “That fine shirt you are currently wearing is mine.” 

You look down, and he’s right. It’s too late to go back inside to change, and you know he’s aware of this when you catch his amused smirk. He probably noticed the moment you had put it on, and had deliberately waited until it was too late for you to do anything about it to inform you. 

Bastard. 

“I-” you pinch the fabric between your fingers, looking between it and Eddie wildly for a second before your shoulders slumped in defeat, “It’s fine. I doubt they’ll even notice.” 

—

You were wrong. They do notice. 

Everyone is already waiting inside for the two of you, nestled around a table in the bar in a similar arrangement to the very first night you’d been introduced to the group. There’s only two empty seats left conveniently, right next to each other. You don’t miss that mischievous look of success on Robin’s face as she looks overly proud of herself.

They’d set it up so we’d sit next to each other. 

You’re grateful for your friends’ antics until you go to take the empty seat next to Steve.

“Is that Eddie’s shirt?” 

Robin is leaning around Steve eagerly as she says it, ridiculing the shirt intensely. 

“What?” you laugh nervously, looking down and tugging at the fabric. 

Lie. Make up a lie. Make it good. 

“That is Eddie’s shirt,” Nancy looks surprised across the table, looking up at the two of you questioningly. 

“What?” you repeat yourself. Eddie has already taken his seat, and is avoiding the stares of everyone, “No, it’s not.” 

“He has one just like it,” Jonathan adds fuel to the fire, “He literally wore it - what? Two days ago?” 

In a pathetic attempt of an excuse, you plop down in your seat and force an offended look, “People can own the same shirt. He’s not the gatekeeper of-” you look down, and nearly erupt in embarrassment when you see what the shirt is. “Deftones.” 

Ah, fuck. 

It’s not just the embarrassment of being on the verge of getting caught in your lie – it’s the memories that flood back. You, on Eddie’s lap. Your mouth and his becoming one. Steve calling, and you sucking so innocently on Eddie’s neck. 

Fuck. 

You really wish Steve and Robin hadn’t interrupted earlier. 

“It’s not like I got it at a show,” Eddie shrugs, and you wonder for a moment if he’s lying, “They’ve gotten more popular lately. I’ve seen their shit in Target.” 

“Exactly!” you exclaim a little too loudly, a little too quick to defend yourself, “Exactly. I just thought it looked cool at Target. Besides, tonight is about Argyle.”

You smile at the birthday boy, and he returns the joy as he waves a little at you. The reminder is all it takes for everyone’s attention to return to the focus of the night – everyone’s attention but Nancy’s. 

You can feel her eyes on you as conversation sparks up and debates of ordering shots begin. Everyone is busy asking Argyle what his plans for next weekend are – which are mostly composed of normal family gatherings, probably a homemade cake, etc. – but Nancy is watching you and Eddie like a hawk. In the peripheral of your eye, you watch the way she leans back so casually into Jonathan's around her shoulder, looking like she knows. You’re probably just being paranoid. You’re definitely just being paranoid. 

You try to ignore it, and instead let yourself just enjoy the moment. All your friends gathered, a group in which you finally feel like you belong to, jokes being made and laughter being exchanged that has you feeling a bit giddy. It’s nice. Even between the smoke of the room and the flickering lights overhead, murmuring chatter of nearby patrons mingling right in with your group’s noise, it’s homely. The smell of drunken cigars and fruity cocktails should be overwhelming, but you just let it wrap you up instead. 

And when you turn your head, inhaling deeply the smell of cinnamon and musk rather than all those other foreign anomalies, you find Eddie already looking at you. Soft eyes, bitten grin, a few loose curls framing his cheeks as his bangs curl up into his forehead. Even in the shoddy lighting, he takes your breath away. 

He’s looking at you. Just like that first night. Dozens of other people in this room at this moment, and he only has eyes for one – he only has eyes for you.

“So!” Argyle announces, “I think, my dudes, instead of doing what Birdie had so… excitedly suggested,” and oh, he was being generous and calling Robin suggesting he took twenty three shots for his twenty third birthday just her being excited rather than foolish, “We should just take the twenty three shots and split them up amongst the group.” 

Steve and Jonathan immediately groan, protesting how they’re driving, and Eddie only shakes his head with a chuckle. So far, he’d only ordered and been nursing on a plain coke, no whiskey. 

Somehow, sitting beside him with the group is worse than keeping distance. 

When he’d taken off his jacket, you’d silently begged for him to rest an arm across the back of your chair just as Jonathan was doing to Nancy. And he had, almost too naturally before he’d caught himself. It would have been easier to play off cooly, probably would have gone unnoticed, but your boy had practically jumped out of his bones as he’d flinched and tucked his arm back into himself suddenly. He’d even bumped his elbow against his own seat in his haste.

And Nancy had noticed. 

“That’s only three shots per person!” Argyle defends, “Four for me, since you know – birthday boy.” 

While Eddie may be avoiding alcohol tonight, you aren’t. Not unusual, but it had been odd when Eddie had told the waitress your order of an amaretto sour rather than you telling her yourself. 

Another strike. Another thing Nancy had noticed with her watchful eye.

“I’m down,” you shrug, “Hell, I’ll even take an extra shot if those two dumbasses won’t.” 

“Is that a good idea?” 

You wish Eddie had been drinking to excuse his idiocracy. Because all it takes is him saying that, not with malice but with concern, and the look on Nancy’s face told you she was officially catching on.

He hadn’t said it with the concern of a friend prepared to warn against drinking yourself sick. He’d said it with the concern of someone who would be taking care of you by the end of the night, of someone who would be dealing with the aftermath of that many shots. 

You two were bombing this whole secrecy, to put it lightly. 

You try to save the moment but laughing it off, turning to him slightly and teasing, “What, are you my keeper now?” 

Despite your best efforts, the statement doesn’t come across as friendly banter. It’s not quite fighting either. It’s a dare, you dangling something in Eddie’s face that no one else at this table quite sees. A stupid, idiotic continuation of your flirtatious game of cat and mouse from earlier in the apartment, when he’d deliberately gotten you hot and bothered. When he’d deliberately let you leave in his shirt. His palm is warm when he shifts ever so slightly, placing it on your thigh beneath the table. Out of sight from everyone else. Fueling and fanning all your growing flames. 

You two were toeing a very dangerous line tonight. 

His eyes darken a bit, and you pray no one else notices in the dim bar lighting, “I don’t know, am I?” 

Everyone is distracted enough with your idea. Steve and Jonathan were agreeing, saying they could take one shot and then others in the group could shoulder the extras. Robin was quick to also say she’ll take an extra one. But Nancy is silent, watching your quiet exchange with Eddie. 

“I don’t think you are, Munson.”

Except he is. Without a single doubt in your bones, you know that he is. 

Your playful smile betrays you. It tugs up the corners of your mouth and it’s clear to any outsider this wasn’t a brewing argument. The game was obvious if anyone was watching close enough. And Nancy, ever the smart one, was watching close enough. 

She’s playing her cards right, you realize, when she waits until the group has ordered the round of shots to say anything. 

“So, Eddie,” she begins, drawing the entire group’s attention to her best friend, “Do anything fun today?” 

He nearly chokes on his coke subtly. “I- Um-” 

“You just didn’t answer any of my texts today,” she continues on, “Must have been busy, yeah?” 

Eddie retracts his hand from your thigh, far more elusive in this action than he had been about removing his arm from your chair, before he fiddles with his hands in his lap. “Yeah – no, yeah. Sorry about that, Nance.” 

He pulls his phone from his pocket for no apparent reason. The shiny new smartphone, having not even bought a case or screen protector yet. You’d already yelled at him for that, claiming out of everyone, you trust him the least to not break the phone on the first day. He’d only laughed and shut you up with a kiss. 

His new phone is placed face down on the table, cherry red glinting, “I just had to go to the mall and-”

“Is that a new phone?” Argyle interrupts him, catching sight of the movement and the glinting, “Oh, holy shit, my dude! That’s a new phone! That is an iPhone if I’ve ever seen one!” 

Everyone – Robin, Steve, Jonathan – are rapidly leaning to catch sight of it as if they can’t believe it. Eddie continues to shrink at being the center of attention suddenly. 

“It is,” Steve laughs in disbelief, “Never thought I’d see the day, Munson.” 

Robin scrunches her face, “Does this mean we have to add him to the group chat?” 

You let out a giggle at that, lips pressed to try and contain some of that smile breaking through as you look at him and wiggle your brows. He immediately rolls his eyes, but picks up the phone regardless to give everyone a better look. 

“Yes, yes. I’ve finally joined the dark side,” he teases everyone just as the waitress returns with the tray of shots. Jonathan is the only one with enough sense to look away from Eddie’s spectacle, thanking her kindly, “Feast your eyes, my friends, for this is where my five hundred dollars went-” 

“Holy shit.” 

Nancy’s sudden whisper of an exclamation has everyone freezing. Eddie stops spinning and flipping the phone to show it off, staring at her with nothing but concerned, “What? What happen-” 

Nancy shares a look with Robin as they both grin.

Oh no. 

“Eddie,” Nancy says slowly, turning her head back his way slowly. 

“What?” Eddie frowns, eyes flitting back and forth between Nancy and Robin.

Robin is the one to ask the question rather than Nancy, “What exactly is your lockscreen?” 

Eddie goes pale. You’re confused, looking at the phone he’s currently cradling with the screen against his palm. 

Did he even change it? Wouldn’t it just be one of the default ones? 

“Guys,” you decide to come to his rescue, still impossibly confused, “It’s probably just some default screen, don’t tease him.” 

“That was not a default screen,” Nancy laughs out. 

Argyle looks around at everyone. Nancy and Robin, both with mischievous glints in their eyes. Eddie, still ghostly white as if he’s been caught red-handed. Steve and Jonathan, both just shrugging at each other. “Uh…. Why do I feel like I’m missing something here?”

“Show the class your lock screen, Eds.”

“Fuck off, Nancy.” 

“Oh my God,” Robin coos, leaning across Steve and pressing you back gently to catch sight of Eddie, who’s dipping his face down, “He’s blushing!” 

“Guys, leave him alone,” Steve insists, sharing a look with you now. But you have no clue what’s going on.

You have no clue what his lockscreen is. 

“Edward Munson, show us that lockscreen right now, or I’m Venmo-requesting five hundred dollars from you,” Robin continues to threaten. 

You look away from Steve and at Eddie immediately, leaning in closer to his space. He looks at you, clearly focusing on your presence more than everyone else’s, and smiles like a child trying to get out of trouble. 

“Eddie,” you say quietly, almost impossible for your friends to hear, “What the fuck is your lockscreen?” 

He slowly and carefully turns the screen towards you, making sure only your eyes can see it, and- oh.

It’s a low quality photo. Clearly taken on his flip phone. Details just a little fuzzy, and the darkness of the photo wasn’t helping. But you can see it clearly. You can make out exactly what it was that had Nancy and Robin losing their minds. 

It’s a picture of you and Eddie, with your head on Eddie’s chest.

For a moment, everyone else at the table doesn’t exist. You hadn’t been insane that night – he had taken a photo. A snapshot of the moment where everything had changed. The moment in which you had given up the fight and completely succumbed to just how much Eddie meant to you, how badly you pined for him and how deeply you liked him. 

“I was going to make it the one of you at Betty’s,” he whispers, “But, I just- I really liked this photo.” 

He’s still tense, as if he expects you to be upset with him. 

You’re the farthest thing from upset at him. 

“You made me your lockscreen?” you breathe out, a slow-growing smile beginning to stretch your lips. 

You’re not upset at him. As a matter of fact, you’re in love with him. You want to scream it from every rooftop, shout it to every stranger on the street – you are in love with Eddie Munson.

And you have been for a while. You just hadn’t found a way to tell him yet.

“Yeah,” he loosens up a little when he realizes you’re happy, enamored with the fact, “Yeah, of course I did. Who else am I going to make it besides my favorite…. Enemy?” 

He says it loud enough for everyone to hear clearly. All of Nancy’s teasing has come to a halt, Robin has settled back into her chair, and Steve is finally looking too curious for his own good. 

“As birthday boy,” Argyle breaks the moment, shatters away the bubble you and Eddie always seemed to end up in, “I am demanding I get to see this lockscreen.” 

Eddie doesn’t make any move to show the screen to any other person, only watching you for approval. 

Well, so much for next time. 

You give him a little nod. 

Eddie makes a dramatic show of it, sighing heavily before he very slowly turns his lockscreen to face everyone else. But even in his dramatics, you can see that weight lifting off his chest.

This, as a matter of fact, changes everything. 

No more hiding, no more lying. One simple flash of his phone screen, of a photo he had taken on a night that no one has even been gifted the details of yet, and all your friends suddenly know.

The reactions all vary. 

Argyle leans forward and squints before his face breaks out into pure joy for the two of you, “Oh, fuck yes! Best birthday gift ever. Pay up, my dudes!” 

Jonathan leans backward, digging out his wallet as he murmurs, “Son of a bitch.” 

Steve only smiles and shakes his head, also digging for his wallet as he seemingly chastizes himself, “I should have fucking known.” 

“Hold on,” you look between everyone as Jonathan digs out a couple twenties, “Wait, did you guys fucking bet on this?” 

“We did,” Robin answers you, holding up a hand to make Jonathan and Steve pause their retrieval of cash, “What do you take us for? Idiots? Now, gentlemen, before either of you payout, we’ve gotta ask the most important question,” she shoves a palm against Steve’s chest so that he’s out of line of sight, gaze set on you and Eddie, “When did this happen?” 

You don’t have any time to be mad at your friends. Because when Robin asks you this, suddenly you’re back to two months ago. You’re outside your dorm with Eddie, kissing him as if tomorrow would never be promised, and you’re home. 

You pulled back from Eddie finally, both of you gasping for breath as he held you steady. Your exchange from moments before still hung heavy in the air. 

You liked him, you liked him, you liked him. 

And the feeling was mutual. 

You’d already known, but it was nice to hear. It was nice to be reminded that this, what had happened between you two, was so very real. 

“I don’t wanna start over,” the words tumbled from your tongue before you could consider them, upheaving from your chest, desperate for Eddie to heard them, “I- I don’t need to start over. I like our story, okay? You had been right – it wasn’t all bad, and… and I don’t want to start over. I never want you to be a stranger again, and I know that sounds stupid-” 

“It’s not stupid,” he interrupted you, forehead meeting yours, “So very not stupid.” 

“I don’t care if you were a dick,” you continued on, carefully, “I was, too. We were both… shitty. I forgive you. I’ll forgive you a thousand times over, as long as you keep trying to make it up to me.” 

“Make it up to you?” he grinned playfully, “And just how do you suggest I start making it up to you?” 

“Ask me out,” his eyebrows raised in surprise, and you knew you must have looked like a wild idiot to everyone else, but you didn’t care, “To dinner, to a movie, to just hang around your apartment with you for another twenty four hours – I don’t care. Just… Just please, Munson, ask me out.” 

And so he had. A first date, a second date, a third. You two had gone through the entire ordeal of every cliche relationship despite the unconventional beginning. You’d gone to dinner, you’d gone to a movie, and you had done plenty of hanging out around his apartment and more. 

“The night of the bet,” Eddie answers as he finally brings an arm up around your shoulders, just as he had wanted to earlier. 

Immediately, both Robin and Argyle let out their own curses, pulling out their wallets just as Steve and Jonathan had. 

You look between them, all the annoyance you should feel just being run over with adoration for these idiots. Your eyes land on Nancy, and when you realize she’s the only one at the table not coughing up any cash, you ask her, “I’m assuming you guessed correctly?” 

“I did,” she nods, looking proud of herself. 

“How’d you know?” 

Nancy raises a threatening finger, before suddenly pointing it right in Eddie’s direction, “That idiot has always been down bad for you-”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie stops her, “I’ve already told her the nitty gritty details. No need to embarrass me.” 

“No need to embarrass you?” Nancy asks in disbelief, “Good God, just how many times did I have to sit and listen to you pine for her? No, no – I have earned this, Munson.” 

You look at Eddie, a glint in your eye, “You only told me about the first time.”

“I only remembered the first time,” he counters, blushing under yellow and faded lights, “I was usually dru-”

“Don’t lie,” Nancy stops him, “There were plenty of rants where you were dead sober.” 

Everyone only smiles at Eddie, a few teasing comments made his way, but none of them matter as you lean into his side, your shoulder bumping his to the best of your ability with his arm still around you.

“Aw, babe,” you coo, warm all over for the man beside you, “You had a crush on me? That’s cute.” 

His chin lowers, eyes boring into yours with unlimited affection. For a moment, it’s just you and Eddie. The guise of you two having your own bubble of a moment. 

His head tilts further, his ears brushing your ear as he whispers for just you to hear, “So did you, if I’m not mistaken.” 

“Not mistaken,” you whisper back. Money is now being exchanged, tossed across the table with grumbles that hold no heat. 

Yeah, you did have a crush on Eddie. You still do. You don’t think you’ll ever stop having a crush on him, even as he’s surrendered himself as yours. Especially not when his thumb is stroking your shoulder as it is now. 

Just like that very first night. The smoky bar fades to nothingness, your tunnel vision focused on Eddie. You know jokes are being made about the two of you by your friends, but it’s all white noise when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re everything to him, like he’s just returned home after a long week. 

You’d really like to be his home to return to after every long week, for the rest of your lives, but there’ll be time to ponder on that later. For now, you two have time. 

The voice inside your head suddenly comes to life as it recognizes that this is your moment. You can tell him. Now that you’ve told everyone else, you can tell him those three words. Finally get them off your chest. Make it real. 

“Hey, Munson,” you say, still quiet enough for the words to only reach his ears. He perks up, eager to drink your next words. You have all his attention. You always have all his attention, “I-” and then you choke. He stares curiously for a few seconds, and the words just won’t come out. You want to scream – you wonder if it would work if you screeched the three words at the top of your lungs. Probably not, “I’m just really glad you didn’t really hate me,” a pathetic excuse at a coverup,  “And… I’m really glad they made that first bet.” 

He smiles so softly, it strikes you right in the center of your chest. Right amongst your garden that not only had you tended for him, but that he had also had a hand in watering these last few months. 

You should have told him. You love him, and you should have told him. 

“I’m really glad I didn’t hate you, too,” he remarks, squeezing your shoulder a little tighter, “Actually, I’m glad you don’t hate me. Not anymore, at least.” 

“I never really did.”

“You definitely sort of did. You tried to take me out with a glass, remember?” 

You burst into secluded laughter, hearing your friends beginning to pass around the shots but paying them no mind. 

Eddie can’t help it. He pulls you in close, placing an impulsive kiss to your temple and letting his lips linger there. Just pressed against you, breathing in the scent of you. 

That kiss sends shivers down your spine, warmth through the center of your bones. You love him. 

You love him, you love him, you love him. 

So why can’t you just tell him that?

“Aw!” Robin pulls the two out of your bubble, “Aren’t they just adorable?”

“Yes, yes,” Steve passes two shot glasses down to your end of the table, “Absolutely adorable. It’s nauseating. Also, I’d like to go on record – I totally knew the entire time. I was just giving them the benefit of the doubt.” 

“Playing the Devil’s advocate?” Argyle asks, lining up his multiple shots, “I dig it. Even though you’re totally lying right now.” 

“You’re so lucky it’s your birthday, dude,” Steve rolls his eyes, clearly holding back an insult. 

Eddie’s arm stays heavy on you, a welcome weight as you sit up straighter to take your own several shots. 

These were your friends. Somewhere you belonged, filled with people you loved and a boy you could come home to after all your long weeks. A certain happiness that is rare, and impossible to place, and can nearly bring you to tears overwhelms you as you grab that first shot. 

“Also-” Steve turns to you and Eddie, “I knew that was Munson’s shirt. The day he got it, all he did was brag about what a rare find it was. Fuck off with your Target bullshit.” 

Eddie’s hand leaves your shoulder long enough to reach out and thump Steve, laughter booming and vibrating against you, “Sure you did, Stevie.” 

“Target has some nice things,” Nancy offers with a shrug, now holding her own shot glass. 

The seven of you all hold up the first of what will probably be too many shots tonight, the beginning of a night that will probably be remembered through killer hangovers tomorrow and possibly even captured on camera by the likes of Jonathan, Steve, and Eddie. 

“To Argyle,” you take the lead on the cheers, jittery and anxious as all the love you continue to withhold buzzes in your chest, lifting your small glass in his direction, “The most lovable twenty three year old I know.” 

Everyone moves to drink, but Argyle immediately shakes his head, “Nah, fuck that. It’s not even my birthday yet – I demand a new toast.” 

He lifts his brows, staring you down and silently adding, you know what to do. 

And yeah, you did know what to do. 

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically, leaning further forward, Eddie’s arm following. You relish in the tense silence as everyone waits for what you’re about to say instead. Even Eddie is waiting with bated breath, watching your every move, a contrasting yet easy smile on his face, “To bets.” 

A booming applause from your group. Glasses tapping against the wooden table before shots are downed. Groans of disgust as the tequila hits everyones’ tongues. 

Eddie hardly waits before you’ve both swallowed to remove his arm and grab your face, turning your cheek so that his lips can capture yours. Everyone only cheers louder, Steve letting out an obnoxious whistle as Argyle claps. You’re surely going to get kicked out of the bar at this rate. But you really don’t care as you kiss your boy back. 

Next time. You have to tell him next time. 

—

The night ends in more of a whisper than a bang, surprisingly. 

Everyone has suddenly become a happy drunk, probably from all the love and good news passed around throughout the night. It’s all warm feelings and warm hugs, tequila on the breath and love on the mind. 

You don’t even get kicked out of the bar. Your waitress only smiles at your rowdy table from time to time, and you figure that all the good vibes must be rubbing off on her. 

Steve is the first to call it quits. Robin has drank enough to give herself the hiccups, and he says that after that, she almost always gets viciously nauseous. He wants to get in the car and home before she gets to the point, for the sake of his car’s interior not getting covered in puke.

It’s a domino effect from there.

Argyle quickly agrees, Jonathan offers a guiding arm to Nancy, and Eddie’s arm only tightens around you. The group closes out the tab, putting off worries of everyone paying Jonathan back until tomorrow. Quick, simple, painless. 

Until you all get outside. And goodbyes are exchanged – that’s not the part that gets to you – with promises of seeing each other throughout the week. Everyone congratulates you and Eddie one more time for good measure, Nancy and Steve looking the most proud of you two as Argyle and Robin giggle like children about it. And it’s fine – you laugh along and it’s all good. You let them get in all their I told you so’s and know it’s all in good fun. 

It’s all fine. Until you two branch off from the group, Eddie’s bike across the lot from everyone else’s cars. 

The moment you two are alone, you can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or if it’s the levity of suddenly having a moment that only belongs to you. Your mind wastes no time of reminding you of your pathetic cop out: I’m just really glad you didn’t really hate me. None of those words even sound akin to the real ones you should have said.

I love you. 

It’s not because your friends have found out. You know it’s not that, because just last week, right after your breakdown about whether you were smothering Eddie by half-living in his apartment, you’d had a breakdown because you realized you wanted to fully live in his apartment. You’d had a breakdown because you hadn’t grown tired of him yet, hadn’t satisfied the need to see his face every morning when you first wake up yet. You hadn’t gotten bored with all his lingering affectionate touches. You hadn’t gotten used to the way he’d kiss you in the middle of sentences. He was still taking your breath away, two months later, and you had a breakdown because you realized it wasn’t novelty or a pathetic crush making you feel this way.

You had a breakdown because you love Eddie. 

You love him, ardently so, and you still can’t find the right moment to say those words to him. He deserves to know – the entire foundation of this relationship was honesty.

It’s all you can think about as his hand finds yours and he’s walking up to his bike, practically dragging you up to his bike as your legs forget how to work amongst nerves. 

“So, I was thinking,” he carries on conversation so casually, “You want to spend the night at my place? I know you said you don’t have any class-“ 

Now. Not later, not next time. Now. 

“Hey, Eddie?” you interrupt him, stopping the two of you a few paces away from his bike. 

His face is impossibly concerned as he looks down at you, clearly reading the worry on your face, “What’s up, babe?” 

Here goes nothing – be brave.

“I-” 

Why is this so hard? 

It shouldn’t be this hard, because loving Eddie is easy. 

It’s easy when he’s looking at you like this, like he always does. It’s easy when he wakes up after you, and he comes into the kitchen to just wrap himself around you as you make him coffee, no matter what time of day it might be. It’s easy when he catches your eye from across the room during outings, sometimes winking once he knows you’ve found his gaze, just to see you laugh. It’s easy when he tries to distract you from homework when you’ve been spending far too many hours hunched over your laptop on his couch, coming and bugging you, laying his head on your lap and insisting his girl needs a break. It’s easy when he kisses you and everything just feels right. 

It’s easy. He loves you – you love him.  It isn’t hard. You’re making this hard, when it never was. 

“I love you,” you admit quietly, voice shaking as the words leave you easily. 

Loving Eddie is easy. 

“I love you,” you say more surely, voice raising in volume as you find the willpower to look into his eyes, “I love you so fucking much, Eddie.” 

Each time you say it, you gain confidence in it. It’s true – you love him. You love him so much, it encompasses every inch of your being. It entirely consumes you. You love him. 

His face falls slowly, mouth agape and eyes boring into yours.

You don’t wait for his response. You already have it – in the way he’s still holding your hand, in the way he holds you at the end of each night, in the way he knows both your orders at bars and coffee shops. In the way he will always put himself between you and the street when walking down the sidewalk, in the way when he roughly stops his bike at stop lights that his hand always flies back to hold onto you. In every soft touch and every expression of devotion he has offered you for not just two months, but for over a year. 

“You love me?” he softly asks, finally beginning to come back to life. 

You nod without hesitation, “I love you, Eddie.” 

Now that you’ve started saying it, you can’t stop it. And each time, it’s still heavy and sweet like honey, even as the confession comes as easy as breathing. It’s pouring from every crevice, filling up the night air around you. 

He takes you off guard with a harsh kiss. His teeth colliding with yours, his breath stealing yours, his entire being molded with yours. 

“Say it again,” he begs in a murmur as he pulls you in even closer, desperate as you break into a smile, “God, please say it again, sweetheart.” 

“I love you,” your cheeks begin to ache, the kiss no longer even to be a considered a kiss as you two are just mindlessly pressing your smiles together, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” with each repeat of the sentiment, Eddie drinks it in, “I’m so fucking in love with you, Eddie Munson. You and your stupid lockscreen and-”

“You do not think my lockscreen is stupid,” he pulls away, raising his eyebrows as his palms squish your cheeks, “I saw the way you looked at me. You were eating that shit up.” 

You bite your lip, trying to pull further away from him, but he won’t let you, “I was not-”

“You were,” he cheekily teases, eyes bright as he looks at you, “You were, and it was the best thing ever. Totally worth stealing Argyle’s spotlight.” 

“We didn’t steal Argyle’s spotlight,” you try to defend yourself. 

“We so did.”

You shake your head to the best of your abilities, face still between his hands, “We… Okay, we sort of did.”

He grins like a young boy, all his youth and all his love on show for you as he leans down, pausing right before pressing another kiss to your lips, “We definitely did. And it’s fair, because they fucking bet on us.” 

“They did,” you agree, not even feeling guilty anymore, too consumed by the love for the man right in front of you, “They tend to do that a lot, don’t they?” 

“They do.” 

He finally surges forward, lips sealing against yours one last time. It’s less messy this time, more meaningful. A bit more patient as he takes the time to fit his lips into yours, just as they should be. 

You have an audience. You’re completely oblivious until you hear the cheering from across the parking lot, snapping apart to both glance at where Argyle and Robin are jumping up and down, screaming their heads off. 

“Hell yeah, my dudes!” Argyle’s voice booms as Robin only produces incoherent coos to echo. 

Nancy, Steve, and Jonathan are all just watching silently, shaking their heads, but you can also see their grins. Almost as radiant as you felt.

Steve finally cups his hands around his mouth, sending his voice to you over Argyle’s continuing whooping, “Get a room!” 

Perfectly in sync, you and Eddie both throw up a hand with your middle fingers raised in their direction, still half tangled in each other. 

Your eyes find Nancy. She’s looking at you two with overwhelming pride, a certain satisfaction that breathes out the relief of finally. This may be a weight off not only your chest but Eddie’s as well, yet you can’t help but imagine just how she feels. How many nights she had stomached Eddie’s rambles about you leading up to this very moment. The pay off must be unimaginable. 

Finally. 

“Congrats on finally getting the girl, Munson!” she calls out, but her eyes are on you, winking. 

You see it now. Why they’re best friends. How all her best parts and Eddie’s best parts overlap and compliment one another perfectly. 

Jonathan is the final one to yell across the parking lot at you two, one arm slung around Nancy as the other moves to unlock his car, even his usually grumpy face showing signs of elation in that timid smile, “Now take your girl, home, dude. Spare the rest of us the gory details.” 

Eddie’s laugh reverberates against you physically from how he holds you, also making its way to burrow deep within your chest where all that liquid bliss belongs, as he throws his entire head back and makes you finally focus on just him again. Home. Not just his apartment, but him. You realize now that it’s simply wherever he goes. Where he leads, you’ll follow. It could be a shitty dorm room with a mattress that leaves your back aching, it could be a comforting apartment that holds you ‘hostage’ for twenty four hours straight – it doesn’t really matter. Wherever he is, home is. He’s your home; you love him, he knows you love him, and he’s your home. 

When his laughter finally fades, and he’s looking at you again, his dimples are prominent as ever through his whisper, “Just in case you’ve forgotten – I’m very much in love with you, too, sweetheart.” 

His lips meet yours for good measure. 

It’s been the longest week of your life, the longest year, but you’re finally home.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

[bitchfitch]

My mother's bf had a fairly major surgery (he's fine and recovering well DW) and he's going to be housebound for his birthday this year, so I've been enlisted to come up with a fancy birthday meal for the special birthday boy that's primarily fruit and veg, sweeter than savory, and is something he's never had before.

Bc I'm making watermelington. It's beef Wellington, but watermelon. bc my mom only found out recently you can use watermelon as a tuna substitute. And I know that you can substitute most higher quality beef cuts with tuna or salmon.... usually. Anyways the idea fascinates her so I'm hoping to use that for bonus points.

Now he's off his ass on pain killers so I can't like. Ask him if he's ever had something before. so to meet my brief I've decided to just. commit a novel hate crime against the British I guess.

Anyways. I'm writing this because I need to walk myself through this process and think it'll be surreal enough to be worth taking y'all along for.

So, Beef Wellington. In its most basic bitch arrangement is a beef tenderloin wrapped in prosciutto/really thin bacon, with a layer of mushroom and onion mush, that has been further wrapped in mustard slathered puff pastry.

We will be ship of Theseusing this. bc beef Wellington is like. the opposite of what he wants. Which is why it's funny.

Puff pastry-> it's still just puff pastry

this one doesn't have to change (aka I can't be fucked to do pastry prep and I'm just gonna use store bought it's Fine.)

the prosciutto is also just going to be prosciutto.

Thin meat

Beef tenderloin-> watermelon,

Tbh this is a pretty 1 to 1 substitution. I'll bake the slices at like. 250-300 for an hour or so ahead of the rest of prep to dry it out a bit. bc you can't like. Sear watermelon to seal in the water like you can beef. By definition it's a very wet fruit (like me when I fall into the lake). Ill Add salt and chili and lime juice while baking maybe. this is the easy part

The mushroom mush-> salsa done bad style

As the word mush implies, this is meant to be a very soft mix. It adds a lot of nuttiness to the wellington that rounds out all of the salt from the meats. I'm replacing it with white person salsa(the birthday boy can't handle spice). Tomato, lime juice, parsley, avocado, cucumber, feta, and maybe mango so I can have an excuse to have a lil mango treat. I said I wasn't making it spicy. I'm still putting a bit of chili in it. bc it'll be better like that. This is also a ridiculously wet bit of mush, Even the original mushrooms have too much water. I'll figure something out.

Mustard -> jelly

He lives in a big city. those preserve sections are massive. I'll find a weird one. maybe apricot.

Prep:

We're in the mind palace kitchen, I have not attempted any of this. We're just thinking real hard about it and I'll edit as needed on the day and post results.

The watermelon

Preheat oven to eh. 300f? We want low and slow to dry things out without it taking a year. but idk what his oven is like. If it's gentle I'll bump it up another ten-twenty.

Slather some watermelon slices in salt chili powder and lime juice mixture.

bake for 30 min on a wire rack or directly on the oven racks (after cleaning thoroughly) if he doesn't have a wire rack. with a drip try underneath to catch the drippage. check frequently. Have one slice that's for being poked to see if it's approaching being meat. Bake longer if needed.

Salsa bad style

chop everything up and add it to a pan with some oil in it. Tbh I don't think the type of oil you use for cooking matters if you're not like, getting near any smoke points. Most people can't tell the difference unless you made your food bland as hell.

Anyways there's some wildly different moisture contents on the list so there has to be an Order to cook off as much water as possible without getting yucky.

Tomatoes and cucumbers go in together with some salt to get the cucs softening, then the mango chunks and lime juice. Once most of the water is gone the avocado feta and parsley can go in. There is a good amount of water in avocados but they're delicate and don't pan fry well, so we're just going to ignore their water crimes and hope for the best. They just need to be evenly mixed through the rest of the mush.

Putting it together

lay out the puff pastry, cut into sections to wrap each watermelon slice individually with.

Slather in jam

Take the prosciutto and lay it out on half of each section of the pastry,

spoon the salsa onto that

Melon

Another layer of salsa

another layer of thin meat

Fold the pastry over the top and pinch the edges bc watermelon slices are not a rollable shape and I don't want to carve a watermelon into a tube for this because that sounds irritating.

Brush with egg wash and more parsley

Cook in oven following the pastry's preferred temp and time. it's fucking watermelon, you're not getting ecoli from it.

watermelington :)

I'm serving it with baked sweet potatoes and spinach based salad with whatever toppings are left over from making the salsa.

anyways thank you for joing me on this thought experiment. I will post updates once the deed is done. I'm sorry to every British person ever.

[hunnylagoon]

Right Where You Left Me

Pt 4: The Sweetest Thing to Ever Scare You (Finale)

Ellie Williams x reader

I remember when I first saw you. I remember looking into your warm almond eyes and feeling butterflies in my stomach. But soon, when I looked into your eyes, I no longer felt the same warmth that I once knew. It felt as though you had killed all of the butterflies inside my stomach but yet, I still loved you.

Premise: You and Ellie are childhood best friends until you drift apart. Funny thing about soulmates is they tend to find their way back to each other. You and Ellie try to end the tireless war between you.

Warnings: Angst / drinking / violence / not really religious mentions in this one

Part one here!

Part two here!

Part three over here!

Guys I thought I posted this two days ago but I actually just saved it to drafts. Sorry for being an idiot lmao

I think that I have unlearned how to love.

That’s not even a word but there is no other way to tell you that I have turned myself cold.

Without partying to distract me and religion to fill in gaps of emptiness, I isolate myself and begin to write once again. I'm almost certain that my body has been telling me to write, that I need to pour myself into art as opposed to a girl I was friends with a million years ago.

I figure that I need to create rather than destroy but it might take me a while to do so.

The morning after I abandoned my faith on the church floor, I had woken up and expected Ellie to be gone, however, she was wide awake and playing subway surfers on her phone. Her hair is messy and her eyes are half-lidded. 

She turns to look at me when she feels the shuffling of the bedsheets; despite her doing nothing more than smile at me it is like an understanding passed between us, war is over.

Almost.

It's like I've forgotten how to be soft, I can't manage to get the words out that I need to, and the thought of it alone makes me cringe. "Breakfast?" I ask, unsure of what else to say.

Ellie passes on it and I awkwardly excuse myself, saying that I got called in to take a brunch shift at work. Of course, this is not true. What I do is get into my car and drive and drive until I get mad at myself for burning gas. 

The war between Ellie and I had ended but it didn't register in my head, I almost fell in love with it. Without the constant arguing and passive aggressiveness, there was nothing to put a wall between us and I wasn't ready to be vulnerable again. 

So I begin to feed Ellie the ugliest parts of me; I show her everything I'm sure she will hate but she doesn't, she's patient and shows me the kindness I have been looking everywhere for. Still, I am cold to her, I don't know what else to do. 

I try to push her away all over again but this time, she doesn't let me. Ellie comes into my room when I'm studying to sit on my bed so that she can be in proximity to me. Sometimes she'll ask me if I want to go for a walk or a late-night gas station run, all of the things we used to do.

When I'm angry at her, she lets it happen, she won't escalate the fight all she does is apologize and does what she can to fix it. Everything feels like it's in order again, Joel even starts to send me little text messages to check in on me and sends me Facebook memes that make him think of me.

As of now, we are setting up for Dina's twenty-first birthday. The living room, typically a space for casual gatherings and movie nights, had undergone a transformation. Vibrant streamers adorned the walls, and an array of balloons in assorted hues scattered themselves along the floor "Are balloons too childish?" Abby asks as she walks out of her bedroom.

"They better not be after I just spent half an hour doing all of these," Cat answers, giving her a scornful glare.

"They look great, Cat," I smile and give her a thumbs-up from where I am in the kitchen dumping bags of chips into bowls. "Should I make a veggie platter?"

Cat furrows her eyebrows "If you can finish it by yourself, sure."

"Cat, we aren't children, adults eat vegetables," Abby takes a seat on the couch behind Cat, investigating the hard work she's put into making the living room look nice for just one night "Isn't it weird that Dina is organizing her own surprise party?"

I shrug, placing a wooden cutting board down on the kitchen counter "I don't blame her, I don't think we've always been one hundred percent reliable, me specifically."

"But it's not a surprise if she knows about it."

"So?" Cat asks.

"So why are we calling it a surprise party if it isn't a surprise?"

"Why not?"

"Well, why can't we just call it a party?"

"I don't think it matters," I cut in, I begin to peel carrots and slice them up into quarters. Ellie comes out of her bedroom, she took a nap after completing her physics presentation, her hair in a messy bun, and she's in her typical pyjama uniform of sweats and a hoodie. "Hey, Ellie," I smile at her.

She rubs some sleep away from her green eyes "Hey," Ellie walks over to the kitchen island where I slice and chop vegetables and sits right in front of me. Even half asleep she looks like a statue of marble carved by a skilled hand.

Abby raises an eyebrow, asking 'When did you guys become friends?' without saying it and then it hits me like the plane in Lost. Ellie still hasn't told anyone about our history, our sixteen years of friendship is invisible to the eyes of those who think they know us well.

I'm broken from my thoughts when Abby speaks up "When are you picking up the cake?"

My heart drops "I'm not?"

Cat and Abby cast one another side glances while Ellie snatches a cucumber off my cutting board "Dina was handing out duties and you said you would take care of the cake."

I freeze, unsure of what to say "Nuh-uh." I shake my head like a child denying blame for breaking her mother's favourite dish.

"Yuh-huh," Cat shoots back. "How could you forget that?"

My mind fumbles for an excuse and somehow I land on "I forgot because I went temporarily insane from Lyme disease," What am I saying? "I got Lyme disease because I go camping in secret," I don't camp "And I never told you guys that I go camping because I'm deeply ashamed of it."

Now everyone looks perpetually confused, Ellie included "What are you talking about?" Abby asks, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Okay-well," I place my knife flat on the counter by the wooden cutting board, ignoring the odd spiel I just went on "I'm going to drive to-

"You dropped your car off for a suspension repair yesterday," Abby reminds me.

"Ellie is going to drive me to get a cake," I correct myself "I will be back to finish making my veggie plate." I quickly rinse my hands before grabbing Ellie's keys from the little jewelry dish on the island and yank the sleeve of her hoodie to pull her along.

Ellie doesn't say anything, she slips into some Crocs and we walk outside to her car. "Where are we headed?"

"Uh, hang on," In Ellie's passenger seat, I go on Google Maps to look up the closest bakeries that are still open at this hour, there are two, one a couple of streets away and the other one is across town and closing in twenty minutes. "Infectious Confections," I wrinkle my nose "That's a weird fucking name."

While Ellie tries to make conversation in the car I only speak when giving her directions to the bakery. She knows something is up and I can tell by the way she keeps glancing at me. I just can't manage to get it out of my head that she's still keeping me a secret. 

She pulls up to the bakery and I get out before she even turns her car off, she pulls the keys out of the ignition and trails behind me through the doors.

The bakery itself was rustic and clean, there were two display cases and tills one of the displays held danishes, croissants, cookies, scones and whatever those little swirly flakey things are called. The other display had a big chalk menu above it that read 'Cakery' Though what was in the display case was very sparse.  

"Hi," I walk up to the till, putting on the friendly smile and customer service voice that I usually only use at work. "This is pretty short notice but I was wondering if you had any cakes left or if I could get one made for today?"

The guy behind the counter is a scrawny teenager who looks like he has had a long enough day of dealing with annoying customers "We close in half an hour, there's not enough time to bake and decorate a cake." He explains it like he's said this to a million people, he's bored of the same phrases that his manager has scripted out for him.

"Any shot that someone didn't pick up their cake?" I ask, fingers crossed in the hope that he says yes.

"Let me talk to my manager," His voice drags on, and he turns around and disappears through a commercial kitchen door. I wait patiently, hands balled together in front of me as I rock back and forth on my heels. A minute or two later he comes back holding a bright blue cake with pink detailing of bows and mustaches, there's text on it that reads 'It's a...' gender reveal cake. "This is all we have left, they cancelled last minute.

I look back at Ellie to get her opinion, her eyebrows are furrowed slightly "Maybe we good just get some of those cupcakes and smush them together and smear the icing so it looks like a cake."

I wave her off "I'll buy it," I say this only because it is 5:41 and with each passing minute I am growing desperate, also I don't want Jesse to be disappointed that I fumbled the cake and ruined his girlfriend's birthday.

Angsty teenager puts the bright blue monstrosity into a cake box and charges me an absurd total for it, I bitterly tap my card on the machine. 

As I walk back out to Ellie's car I take a brief moment to look at the sky, it's the same hue as cotton candy and looks as if it had been projected from a watercolour painting, even after I get back into the car and Ellie begins to blast her old dad rock songs, I can't tear my eyes away from it.

After five minutes of silence from my end, Ellie finally asks the question that's been burning into the forefront of her brain "Why are you being weird?"

"Why haven't you told anyone that we met before we moved in together?"

Her dark eyebrows furrow "You haven't told anyone either-

"Yes, I have."

"Who?"

"Yara, Stacy, Kayla, Mitch, Nigel, Carmen, literally everyone from my work," I admit "I just haven't told people who know you personally so it can't make its way back to you because you clearly don't want people to know."

She falls silent, searching her mind for the right words. She clutches the steering wheel tight and looks dead ahead at the car's bumper-to-bumper ahead of us. "I just know how to slip it into conversation."

"I don't think it's that hard, you can just say that we were friends, you don't need to give an intricate play-by-play of everything that happened."

"Why is it important that people know if we're cool again?"

I turn my head to slowly look at her "You are the one who always said 'If we don't have honesty, we have nothing at all'," I point out.

Silence strings between us again, I almost want to throw up.

'We're cool again' Nope, not anymore, we are so very far from cool. Instead of Ellie casting me little glances as she had on the ride there, she ignores my presence almost completely while I glare daggers at her. Was she embarrassed by me? When we went to lunch together why did she lie to Dina about where she was? When she slept in my bed why did Cat ask me if I knew why Ellie came home at eight AM with nothing, not even a key? Did she crawl through my bedroom window to walk around to the front door and pretend she was just getting home?

AND WHY DIDN'T I CALL HER OUT?

She was keeping me a secret and that realization hurt worse than any injury I had ever suffered. She hasn't even told her dead who practically raised me that we lived together. 

God, we weren't even anything and she was keeping me under wraps like I was some disgraceful secret that she would get shamed for holding. The very second she approached our house, I got out of her car, she hadn't even stopped it completely but cake in hand, I hopped out of her car door and didn't look back.

I think I've had my fair share of partying.

After that month-long bender I had where I went to clubs every night and replaced food with vodka, I never wanted to even look at another solo cup full of liquor. Instead of drinking, smoking, or doing karaoke, I hide from Ellie.

I hide from her in conversations and sometimes sneak into my bedroom just to get a bit of breathing room from all of the strangers in my house. Wherever Ellie was, I was not. If she was outside, I was inside, if she was in the living room, I was in the kitchen enjoying my veggie platter. 

Have you ever been the only sober person around in a group of people? If the answer is no, have you ever babysat a houseful of toddlers? Because it's just about the same thing.

When I'm not hiding from the girl who wriggled her way back into my good graces just to trip herself off the podium, I'm cleaning up, protecting our furniture, holding back hair as girls I've never met sob into the toilet, and stopping the drunk from doing stupid things. 

"Hey, buddy," I take my can of hairspray that this frat-adjacent man is holding behind an ignited lighter "I don't think you would look good as a burn victim," His friends moan in disappointment as I do so, they were very excited to see a makeshift flamethrower; I wasn't in the mood to have my house burn down, or have a guy with peach fuzz waste my thirty dollar hair spray. 

Thirty dollars?

Note to self for later: Make smarter spending choices (And smarter relationship choices!).

I felt a tap on my shoulder only to turn around and see Dina, she wasn't drunk, just tipsy "Smile!" She holds up a camera to her eye and clicks the shudder button before I even have a chance to react the flash goes off. A large Polaroid begins to print out, Dina snatches it and shakes it until you can see my silhouette, my eyes are wide, my hair flying behind me from the quick turn of my head and I'm holding a can of hairspray angled to look like I'm going to spray the camera with it "Cute!" She smiles, tucking it into her pocket for later "Wait, I want a group picture of the roommates."

Dina takes my hand and pulls me to one of the couches where Ellie and Abby sit with some guy, she shoes him to get up and drags Cat over to replace him, she stands me in between Ellie and Abby and lightly pushes me down to sit wedged between the two.

"Jesse, please do not do me dirty with this picture," She hands the pink Polaroid camera to her boyfriend and quickly ushers herself to the far left of the couch where she bends over to kiss Cat on the cheek for the picture. Ellie and I are stiff and awkward when the flash goes off. 

After the picture is taken, Ellue turns to face me just the slightest "Hey, I think we should talk-

"I think it's time for cake!" I push myself off the couch and usher myself to the kitchen. 

I pull the cake out of the fridge, looking at what I had done to salvage it; Below the part that said 'It's a...' I wrote '21 year old!' in chocolate pre-made Betty Crocker icing that I had in the fridge for months, it didn't look the best, but it could've been worse.

Dina, of course, cackles when she sees it. To her, it is the funniest thing she's seen all night. I stick the candles in and light it with the light I confiscated from peach fuzz frat boy and push the cake towards Dina after tucking the light back into my pocket, she is illuminated in the glow of iPhone flash all filming her.

"Make a wish!"

Age Sixteen- Grade 11

I think back to how embarrassing it felt to be thoughtful.

How fragile I felt when I would share my feelings and how frail I seem when I do it now. Ellie was always tougher than I was, in rugby, in fights, just in general. That's why I figured she would be taking it better than me when I cut contact, once again I have been proven wrong.

"Conner, can we please just leave?" I pleaded with my then-boyfriend. The night had started fine but after a couple of drinks Ellie and I were becoming increasingly hostile to one another, it wasn't my intention to speak to her but the universe forced my hand when we were shoved into a circle of our friends and made to converse around the bonfire at the beach.

The salty breeze carried the sounds of laughter and the gentle crashing of waves, the scent of roasted marshmallows wafted through the air.

 "What, you need your boyfriend's permission or something?" Ellie held a can of berry blast Smirnoff, staring into my soul from the other side of the fire, the sparks glitter through the night like fireflies. Her words don't feel too bad but they don't feel too good either.

I cast her a glare before I looked back to my boyfriend "Please?" 

He is getting perpetually annoyed with me he shrugs away from my grasp, "Fuck off, we just got here," He mutters, Conner must think I couldn't hear it. He had already downed three Bud lights and a couple of shots of cheap vodka, now he is nursing another beer in hand. 

"Excuse me?" I say, narrowing my eyes. Everyone around the fire pauses their conversation to tune into mine. "Come on," I stand up and try to pull him along so we can have a conversation away from the prying eyes of our friends.

I can't pull the mass of the 6'2 quarterback along with me but he obliges and follows me where I yank him. As I drag him along the rest of the group giggle and makes jokes along the lines of 'Trouble in paradise' but Ellie is the only one who doesn't jump back into mindless conversation, her unnerving eyes are still on me while I chew my boyfriend out by the shoreline. 

"Why do I have to leave just because you're feeling a little bummed out?" 

I'm almost floored at out someone can lack so much empathy "Because you're my boyfriend?" I can feel myself tensing up.

"Why does that mean you can't get up and leave on your own?" He defends "You begged me to come here and now I just wanna down a couple of beers and hang out with my friends."

"You've already drank like twenty!" I retort.

"It's a fucking party!" Conner says, raising his voice "It's a party and it's summer and you're seriously trying to tell me not to have fun?"

"Fuck!" I shout in frustration "Why don't you ever call me? Why can't you ever let me in?" The argument is quickly escalating "Why didn't you tell me that you kissed Tamar and why haven't you told me that you love me?"

"Because I don't."

My words fail me. I knew he didn't, I knew that he hardly even liked me. My dad had thought so highly of him, she said he was the type of guy to rescue a baby from a burning building but as I look at him now, I figure that he eats babies.

I almost open my mouth to say something different, almost, but I don't. The rest of my life might have turned out differently if I didn't, I might've been able to salvage the rotting corpse of my relationship with Ellie but I didn't. "Fine," I say, voice calm and quiet "Let's stay."

Before that night I had never really gotten drunk but the second I got back to the bonfire, I was digging through the cooler and shotgunning canned Smirnoff. "Woah," Riley laughs "Someone's finally being a bad influence."

I got myself so shit-faced that when everyone else got up to dance to the music blaring through the Bluetooth speaker, I sat by myself at the shoreline, looking bitterly out towards to ocean while the tides crash at my feet and get sucked back into the ocean. For a moment I think about jumping in and letting my lax body get washed away and sink beneath the surface until I wash up as a water-bloated corpse that some nine-year-old will find when they're beach combing.

My mouth tastes like peroxide and blood, my lungs burn with a red-hot pain. The wind is becoming increasingly harsh and I ignore the hair that is tangled into my golden hoop earrings.

"Wow, you look awful," I don't need to turn around to know who it is.

"Can you just fuck off?" I say "I don't give a shit about you, just leave me alone."

She always had to antagonize me, Ellie went out of her way to stray from the group and bother me. It had something to do with the alcohol in her system. Despite her alleged hatred for me, she takes a seat next to me regardless.

"Fuck, you're so sensitive," She scoffs "I don't know why you're dating him, I'm not even sure why you'd want to fuck him unless you're too lazy to jerk off-

My hands think before my head and I deck Ellie right in the side of her face, getting a solid hit to her cheekbone. My hand flies over my mouth "I'm sorry, I-

Ellie doesn't waste any time in lunging back at me, she pushes me down by my shoulders until my back is in the shallow of the water that moments ago just splashed at my feet and takes a swing. The impact of her punch almost knocks me sober.

I take a sharp inhale, grabbing her elbows and pulling her down to where she was the one on her back and I was the one straddling her. I land one last blow to her nose, I hear a crunch and the panic immediately sends me scrambling to my feet. My eyes go wide at the blood dripping down, her face I turn to run but Ellie is faster, she grabs me by my hair and yanks me down further into the water with her. 

"Fucking cunt!" I cry, though my scream is drowned out by the overwhelmingly loud tides crashing on the shore "Get the fuck off me!" 

Ellie is better at fighting than I am, I had never been on this side of her before, usually, I had been the one to drag her away from fights but now I am the one who is going to stumble home numb from the devastating pain.

Frankly, I'm fucking scared.

She continues to drag me by my hair until I'm knee-deep in the water with her, she almost throws her entire weight into me, dunking me beneath the surface where her bony hands snake around my neck. My eyes have gone blurry with the salt water, they sting and burn. I can't see anything, all I can do is uselessly thrash beneath her. My hands push against her face, trying to pry her off my body. 

Eventually, I manage to claw her face with my fingernails, I dig deep enough that it breaks skin and she recoils just enough for me to knee her in the stomach and let me get out from under her. Just as I try to slip away she reaches for my hair again, but instead of tugging on my hair, she rips out my gold hoop earring. I screech out in agony, hand reaching for where the metal sliced through the lobe of my ear, I shudder in pain; my cries are now jagged and harsh.

This is the exact moment Ellie begins to regret what she's done. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to." Her tone softens and she tries to approach me but I back away from her like a frightened dog.

"Get away from me!" Despite the pain surging in my body, I find the strength in me to hit her again, she staggers back tripping into the water. I hit her so hard that I feel a crack in my knuckle and I yelp out in the immediate shock of pain. 

I wasn't sure when the others had noticed this was happening probably because my vision had gone blurry from salt water and adrenaline but before Ellie could hit me again, she was being restrained by Riley and Kennedy while some guy who I had probably had two conversations with dragged my back to shore.

I keel over on my hands and knees and begin to start retching onto the sand. Laila rubs a gentle hand on my back, my hair sticking wet on my forehead. A seagull, disturbed by the commotion, took flight, its wings cutting through the charged air. 

Next to the pile of vomit I just heaved, blood drips down from my ear, pooling and then soaking into the sand. My neck swells from what is still the raw sensation of Ellie closing her hands around it. 

I look up at Ellie, there is blood that has dripped its way into her mouth, clinging to her white teeth. She has what almost looks like a cat scratch running down her cheek, blood begins to prick and spill from the lacerations.

She stares back at me and we don't say a word but we understand each other clearly, I never want to see you again.

"Let's go," Ellie grabs my arm as Dina begins to slice the cake "We're gonna fix this right now."

"Ellie, there are so many people here," I say in a hushed tone so people can't hear me.

"I don't mean here," She looks at me, face expressionless "Just get in my car."

"Excuse me?" I say, tone accusing "Did you just order me to get in your car?"

"Fuck," She sighs, dropping my wrist to rub her hands down her face "Please can you get in my car so we can work this through."

"There's nothing to work through," I retort "You're embarrassed by me or you still secretly hate me and that's fine, I meant what I said on winter break about the lease, the second it's up, I'm getting the fuck out of here."

"What? No, don't- just," She takes a breath, reevaluating what to say "I have a point to make but I can't make it unless you get in my car."

We stare at each other for a moment, I narrow my eyes and she is still unmoving. Every scenario runs through my head of what could be waiting for me in that car.

"Fine."

I sit silently in her passenger seat, my knees are pulled into my chest and I rest my chin on them. Ellie doesn't say anything either as she drives. I watch each traffic light pass me, every street name to try and make sense of where we are going.

I almost feel like I'm going to suffocate beneath the silence of everything going left unsaid.

When I spot the boardwalk up ahead, I know exactly where she's taking me "Ellie, why are we at the beach?" I give her a side glance "Do I need to take out my earrings?"

Heat rises to her cheeks when I say this, "Not yet," She jokes, getting out of her car and grabbing a tote bag from the back seat, and I follow in tow.

We walk past the boardwalk and onto the sandy beach, I'm already not feeling whatever she's doing; there is sand filling up my Converse and a slight wind chill, I'm really wishing I had a hoodie right now. "Can you tell me what we're doing yet?" I'm hugging myself in an attempt to stay warm "If we're still walking on the beach why couldn't we have just walked on the boardwalk instead? It literally has walk in the name." I'm already going off on one of my tangents.

She still walking ahead of me but she briefly turns around to face me "Can you just stop asking questions for a minute?"

"Okay, whatever," I mutter, trailing behind her still. I can hardly see in the night, the only light to guide us is the moon and the warm ceiling lamps from restaurants along the boardwalk. I can vaguely see Ellie's silhouette, she's outlined by the gentle glow radiating off the moon, I try my best not to stumble over things poking out of the sand that have been lost to sight by darkness. 

"Okay," Ellie stops, "Here we are."

"Where are we?" I ask "I can't see shit, I don't know where here is."

Ellie digs around in her pocket for her phone and turns on a flashlight and it reveals a small iron firepit that was cemented into a slab of concrete in the sand. She hands me her phone so I can keep the flash on her and she can see what she's doing. 

She pulls out some pages ripped out from her notebook "Can you hand me your lighter?"

My eyebrows furrowed, and I felt around in my pocket wondering if I even had one. I did, it had slipped my mind that I still had the bic lighter that I confiscated from Peach Fuzz. I hand the lighter to her and watch as she tucks the pages beneath logs that were in the firepit before we arrive, they are somewhat charred but still viable.

She flicks the lighter to ignite it and the paper catches immediately. The initial flicker grew into a tentative blaze, licking at the edges of the kindling. The crackling sound echoed through the night. 

Once she is sure the fire can survive without her feeding it, she steps away. "Alright, let's have it out."

"Like sex?" I scrunch up my nose.

"Oh my god, no, like let's talk this through." She pinches her nose bridge, taking a breath in before exhaling and putting her hand back down "We're gonna recreate the night of the bonfire how it should've been," Ellie reached back into her bag and pulled out two white claws "I snagged these from Dina's party, sorry this was kind of last minute."

I can't help the smile that grows on my face, I take one of the white claws and crack it open "I don't know how authentic this is gonna be if there isn't any canned Smirnoff."

I think back to exactly how that night played out and I take a seat on the sand, facing the crashing dark ocean. I sip my white claw, as expected Ellie takes a seat next to me, just what happened on the actual night.

"Wow," She says "You look really pretty and I'm an idiot for ever saying you looked awful," Ellie looks gorgeous illuminated by the orange light of the fire, and the breeze causes her flyaway hairs to drift in the wind. "I'm an asshole for pretending that I didn't know you, I was scared I would get hurt again and take it to heart like I did last time. I promise the second we get home that I'll come clean."

I don't know if I can deal with this sugary philosophy. She's being so sweet that it's rotting my teeth.

"Ellie," I say gathering my thoughts, it was so hard being honest with my feelings, it felt like I would get hospitalized if I showed any emotion. "I was so in love with you in high school that it killed me, and I was terrified that my parents would throw me out well, they did- but that's why I pushed you away and there isn't a day that goes by where I don't regret it." 

The surprise on her face morphs into a soft smile "What about now?" she asks "Do you still love me?"

I shrug, it's honest "I dunno, but I think there's room to try."

She looks from me to the ocean and the way the moonlight glitters off the surface "What happened next?" Ellie toys with the tab of her drink "Did you hit me?"

"Yeah," I say softly, following her gaze out to the waters "But if we're doing the night how it should've been, I'd rather just kiss you."

Ellie turns her head back to look at me. She shoves her white claw into the sand then takes my face into one of her hands and kisses me like it's her job, so tender and carefully like she's afraid I will break beneath pressure.

How weak have I become? My heart is so full of her that I can hardly call it my own.

A/N: Be grateful for this ending because I was very tempted to give you guys an unhappy one. Sorry that I forgot to post this lol, I’m sad this series is over but excited to show you all my next one which may be the angst-iest yet 👀

Thanks for reading!

Tag list: @elliesaturnsoftdrink @elliesaesp @melanie-watermelon @yalaysbee @laundrybag29 @readbydayana @skylerwhitwyo @lmaoo-spiderman @joliettes @kittnii @taylorgracies @sameenatruther @mikellie @belles-hell @fullmachinegirl @eveshyper @whosmica

[thelastofhyde]

hit the road, jack!

pairing. ex!jack daniels x fem!reader synopsis. the last time you sat in jack’s infamous bronco, you broke his heart. now, a year later, you’re sitting in it with a mud-stained wedding dress and he’s driving you back to the man you left at the altar. is one night, a thousand miles, and a well-timed car radio enough to remind you of the love you shared? warnings. road trip au, exes to lovers, runaway bride!reader, mutual pining, miscommunication/no communication, idiots in love, exes in love, minor character death, infidelity, one ( 1 ) comment regarding food restriction, mentions of period, smut ( unprotected piv, dirty talk, sex in public spaces, implied creampie, fairly non-descriptive ) the reader of this fic is mostly non-descript, with mentions of having hair long enough to stick to her neck when wet and hands smaller than jack's. word count. 14.7k hyde's input. quick disclaimer that this fic was admittedly better in my head, but i tried my best :') it unfortunately never got to reach it's full potential as my friends dragged me off on an unexpected trip on friday for my birthday (which is today aka the 23rd). because of that, i've not had time to finish the last few scenes as well as i'd hoped to (it's literally 5 am as i'm editing it bc it's the only chance i've had) but i don't want to post this any later as this is my entry to the #SummerLovin'24 event, organised and hosted by @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery & @amanitacowboy , a massive thank you to them for creating such a fun event. i really enjoyed taking part and i can not wait to sink my teeth into the other amazing fics from this event. if you care to listen, here is a playlist of songs mentioned/featured in the fic.

INTRO — silver springs.

“Time cast a spell on you, but you won’t forget me.”

Stevie Nicks et al chant out of old speakers, a bass blown out over time and an intruding static that demands to play alongside the band. Perched upon the bar counter, they sit adjacent to a cash register that shakes each time it opens, a slam seemingly the only way to close it. The swish of a mop over chequered vinyl flooring and the squeaks of a waitress’ coffee-stained sneakers play to their own tune. The passing of time turns it all to background noise.

Through lunch, through dinner, and two shift changes you’ve survived. Out in the parking lot now sits only a semi-truck, its drivers, two men in scuffed boots and jeans that fray at their seams, the only other customers that remain. One tucks into a Sloppy Joe, the other has fallen asleep against the table, his coffee turning as cold as your own.

You ordered the coffee for nothing more than an excuse to sit a while longer. Time for figuring out what’s next. What you’ll do, where you’ll go, how you’ll get there. The elderly couple who’d been kind enough to take you off the side of the road, moving luggage into the trunk to make space for you in the backseats, are now long gone from the roadside diner.

It wasn’t a sorrowful departure. You were quite happy to see them leave, and take their pitiful glances and unasked questions with them. The looks still linger on in others. Each pair of eyes you’ve encountered, dragging over the expanse of your messed up hair, and your smudged eyes, and your mud-stained gown. It’s not hard to imagine the scenes they play out in their heads, of a bride scorned and abandoned on what was meant to be the happiest day of her life, a day meant for vows and first dances twisted into one of heartbroken wandering and roadside pit-stops.

You wonder if any of them know you’re not the victim, but the aggressor. The one who fled, leaving behind a bouquet of striped carnations, marigolds, and purple hyacinths.

Tires crunch on gravel as a car rolls into the parking lot. Whichever fool sits behind the wheel has their full beams on. A light flickers over your head. It’s been doing so for the past hour, an irritating reflection in the window that steals your attention back into the diner.

The waitress is eyeing you again, a weary look on her face that tells you she wants to approach but doesn’t know how. Maybe she wants to ask if you’re okay, or enquire about the events that led you here, deep in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe she just wants you to close your tab and leave. 

The bell above the door rings as it opens. It’s been a while since you heard it do so. A smile comes over the waitress as she greets the newcomer. Her eyes seem to take them in, slowly. From top to bottom, and right back to the top. Innocent, if not a little flirtatious. She’d not looked at either of the truckers that way. Perhaps this is her lover, here to wait about and keep a watchful eye as she works the night shift. You can’t imagine it’s the safest place in the world for a woman to find herself working through the twilight hours, nothing but open road and sky-rise trees surrounding the diner.

A sip from your coffee. It’s as cold as you expected. Bitter too, having not found your voice in time to ask for sugar. Your stomach growls, a plea for a meal. If you’d only stayed at the venue, you’d be full of vanilla frosting, and smoked oysters, and… had it been the coronation chicken or the roast sirloin the wedding planner had gone with in the end? You can’t remember. What you do remember is her unwanted advice: just stick to some light bites, no bride wants a food-baby in her pictures.

In retrospect, you’d disliked her from the moment you met her. But you had no desire to plan a wedding. And no time either, much to your future mother-in-law’s chagrin. So out she’d gone, a cat on the hunt, dragging home some mousy-brown haired wedding planner as a sacrificial lamb. Better it be her than you who stresses over the shade of napkins, and the taste of merlots, and the seating arrangements.

Footsteps thud against the floor. Slow, deliberate, not a stumble in the way they move. You stare back out the window and spy a cowboy hat reflected in it. It belongs to the waitress’ lover, who by now is likely making his way over to pull her in real close and swoon her with a kiss only men blessed by southern charm possess.

A different version of you, a happier version, used to be kissed like that every morning.

“Are you lost, sweetheart?” The voice of a man echoes. Softly spoken, yet loudly heard in the quiet of the diner. In the window, the cowboy hat stands right behind you. You turn slowly, let your eyes dance over its owner. Like a sculpture plucked out of ancient Rome, he’s a fine art only the most delicate hands could shape. He’s brown-eyed affection. He’s an aquiline nose. He’s a well-groomed moustache. He’s Jack. “Think it’s a few miles up north they’re expecting a pretty bride.”

Leather jackets and well-fitted jeans have been traded in for a suit. Simple, classic. White shirt, black tie, a trademark cowboy hat you’d never failed to spot amongst any crowd. There’s a crinkle where a cheeky grin meets eyes framed by full brows and lashes, a scar on his right temple a reminder of the kind of man he is. Dauntless, righteous, brave. An undercover agent, posing as the CFO of one of the largest whiskey distilleries in the world. 

An illusion plays out where no time has passed and his is still the face you come home to each night. A lot can change in a year, however, like the bed you sleep in, or the ring upon your finger.

He welcomes himself into the seat across from you. The protective barrier of a water-ring stained table keeps a safe distance between you both, yet you still feel his knee knock against your own as he makes himself comfortable. One arm stretched over the backrest, the other rests against the table and drums a nervous tune with his fingers.

“You’ve worried a lot of people, darliln’,” his gaze studies you. You wonder if it’s the same look he used to give his targets. The thought sours the sweetness of seeing his pretty eyes after all these months. “Runnin’ off like that, not even a hoot or a holler to let your daddy know you’re alright.”

Your dad. He’d slipped off to the bathroom, a kiss to your cheek and a promise he’d be back in time to walk you down the aisle. What must he have thought, rounding the corner to the sight of a bouquet, abandoned a la Cinderella and her glass slipper. Before you stew in guilt for too long, the rest of Jack’s words catch up to you.

He knew you ranaway. That glimpse of a cowboy hat amongst the pews had not been an illusion.

Jack was at the wedding.

“What happened?” His hand seeks you out. Warm as you remember him to be, large enough to engulf your smaller palm in his. “Why’d you run?” You stay quiet. Shrug your shoulders, eventually, and stare down as his thumb brushes over your knuckles. “You gonna give me a proper answer, sweetheart?”

Another shoulder shrug leads Jack to a sigh. There’s a pause in the quiet tension brewing between you, in the shape of the smiling waitress, pen and pad in hand. Her eyes seem to dart between you both, and you can almost hear her wondering who Jack is, if he’s the man you were meant to meet at the end of the aisle. There’d been a time when yes was the only possible answer to such a question.

“A glass of your finest whiskey. Neat, of course. And how ‘bout somethin’ to please a sweet tooth, hm?” His foot bumps yours beneath the table, calling you to look at him. You meet his eyes, watch him raise his brows in question. “Spied a pretty mean lookin’ cherry pie on my way in. That sound good to you, darlin’?” Your mute staring continues. Your stomach takes control, answers him with a disgruntled growl from within. His head turns to the side, laughing, and he nods at the waitress. “Think she’s gonna need a slice of that pie, miss!”

The right to speak returns to you at last, as you watch the glass of liquid caramel be placed down in front of him, head turning to stare out the window, a familiar Bronco sits poorly parked, obnoxious in the way it treads the line of two parking spaces.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive.”

Surprise flashes over his face, but he recovers quickly, untensing his shoulders as he sinks further into the booth. “Didn't order it for me,” he slides the glass of whiskey over to you. “Eat up, drink up. You need it.”

Though it kills you to admit it, the first bite out of the pie feels like heaven in your mouth. Tart, sweet, with pastry so golden it’s as if King Midas baked it under the heat of his own hands. A sip of the whiskey isn’t so great, but you stomach the burn and accept the erasure of nerves it promises. Your eagerness to clear the plate and empty the glass has nothing to do with the approving smile Jack watches you with.

“How did you find me?” 

“You doubtin’ my skills?” He’s teasing. You know this. Still, you fall into the trap of a panicked head shake, a cough over the final bite of cherry goodness. “I stopped at a gas station. Runnin’ on an empty in the middle of nowhere ain’t on my list of wants, you see. Overheard two kids talkin’ about some bride sittin’ at a dinner a few miles down. Don’t take no Hercule Poirot to figure it was you”

“Oh.”

You shouldn’t feel disappointed by his answer, there’s no reason a man you hurt so deeply would have any vested interest in finding you.

The last you’d seen of Jack was through your car’s rear-view mirror, his tear stricken face watching you drive away, five years of clothes, and shoes, and memories stuffed into your car. He’d begged you not to leave your shared home; offered to sleep in the spare room, give you both time to work things out between you. You’d been the one to declare it useless.

“This isn’t something we can fix, Jack!”

“But, darlin’, I love you.”

“A happy coincidence, I was lookin’ for ya anyway. You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on inside that head of yours yet?” At least this time your mute stare is paired with a head shake. “Look, I mean well when I say this, but darlin’, you’re lookin’ a mighty mess. Now, a pretty mess that may be, but a mess all the same.” His hand is back on yours, squeezing with enough strength to ground you and keep you from floating off into the landscape of your own conflicted mind. “So here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna take a trip to the gents, then I’m gonna square up whatever we owe this fine establishment, and then we’re gettin’ that pretty caboose of yours up'n out of here.”

Frozen where you sit, it takes a few moments for the warmth of whiskey to settle in your bones, lurching you forward when it does, a gasp and a tight grip at his wrist, holding him back before he can stroll away from the table.

“Where are we going?”

“For a drive, sweetheart.”

TRACK 1 — vienna

You and Jack are no strangers to a late night drive.

An entire love story, told within the confines of four wheels and a chassis. The very night you met, you wound up in his passenger seat, arms up in the air and the wind blowing through your hair, the charming cowboy next to you taking every joyful laugh as a plea to go faster, nothing ahead but the open road and a southern voice crooning out of the radio. Too lost in your own head, that’s what he’d claimed you to be, having strolled up to a lonely-you in a crowded bar, lamenting over a glass of bitter white wine, freshly fired and with no real clue of what you were going to do next. Never one to entertain a stranger, you’d tried to brush him off, but he flashed that smile and invited you, so tenderly as the intro to a Bruce Springsteen song began to play, to just give him one dance.

One dance led to unimaginable love.

As time passed, a relationship burst into full bloom, the imprint of you carved into the car’s leather. Jack insisted you grow accustomed to the life of a passenger princess. He picked you up from work, drove you to all your girls’ night outs, sacrificed hours of necessary sleep to drop you at airports, and train stations, and whatever other public transport your work trips demanded you to travel upon. But how could you dream of saying no when you got to ogle the view of him, one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh, effortlessly manoeuvring his beloved vehicle. 

The car came on couples' vacations, too, road trip getaways. Up north, past the Canadian borders, and down south to the skyline of Mexico City. Out west, a trail up to the Grand Canyon, the Empire State Building in the east. But the late night drives, those were your favourite. Times when life felt too much, with work stressing you out, or your parents giving you grief, or a stress headache gnawing away at your remaining sanity, Jack would tug you wordlessly out into the driveway, buckle your seatbelt, and drive off into the night. Roof down, radio on, the cool breeze clearing your mind.

The only breeze you feel now blows in through an open window.

Pulling away from the diner, Jack turned the wheels south, out into the dark of the night. Trees wall the road in, a never ending sea of pine-green lit by headlights, the looming presence of a dark, dangerous, rumbling sky above. A storm brews ahead, awaiting the perfect moment to crack open and drop a downpour on the world. Little words have been exchanged between you, most of them spoken by Jack, as he tells you about the nightmare he had checking in at his hotel, and the difficulty he had finding the venue, and just how beautiful you look in your dress, tears tracks and messy hair aside. Softly playing over the radio, Billy Joel seems to speak to you, pleading that you slow down, you crazy child.

“D’you remember our trip to Vienna?”

Your head snaps over to Jack. His eyes remain on the road ahead, and a part of you is thankful, unsure of how you’d fare gazing into them as melancholy tangles itself in their shades of brown. The other part misses how it used to feel to catch him watching you from the driver’s seat, affection incarnate as his loving gaze burned heat into your cheeks, your own voice pleading him to pay attention to the road, the light’s already green, Jack!

“How could I forget you almost getting us kicked out of Saint Peter’s church?”

“Hey, now darlin’, let’s not start playin’ the blame game!” His head turns once in your direction, a teasing smile splashed upon his rosy lips. You try not to think about how you’ve felt that very smile pressed against your mouth, memorised the shape of it so perfectly you could draw it with your eyes shut. “You knew what you were doin’ wearin’ that pretty little sundress.”

The dress in question had been a purposeful attack, an attempt at getting payback for the night prior, in which Jack found pleasure in reducing you to tears, begging for release hour after hour, after hour of edging touches. Never the best at putting up a fight against his pouting lips, pleading eyes, and filthy tongue, you’d caved into his hands the moment they skimmed their way up the length of your thigh, the watchful eyes of any Lord above be damned.

“I still dream of the garden’s at Schönbrunn Palace,” a sigh floats out of you as your brain hits play on a kaleidoscope of memories of strolling the grounds, hand in hand with a man you’d imagined yourself being with for the rest of your life.

If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes? He’d asked, as you watched a couple get engaged before your very eyes.

Promise me we’ll get married here, and I’ll consider it.

“I still have nightmares of the boat.”

“The boat!” The patterns in the kaleidoscope shift into images of a viennan skyline reflected upon glassy waters, a city cruise dragging you down the canal. “I still can’t believe you fell off it!”

“I jumped.”

“Backwards? Just admit it, you fell into that water!”

“I jumped, to make you laugh!”

“Oh, don’t worry, me and the coast guard were definitely laughing!”

A silence settles between you both. Jack drums his fingers along to the closing notes of the song, your foot does the same. It crosses your mind that this, in itself, may very well be a dream. Sitting back in the Bronco, staring over at Jack as he drives you both into the aimless night. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s visited your dreams.

You watch him inhale, deeply. With a blink, his eyes reflect the moonlight, glassy with unfallen tears, the image of him too beautiful to be fiction. 

“Sometimes I wish we’d never left Vienna.”

His words cut you deep, the sorrow he speaks them with cuts you deeper. Barely a week back in your own home, suitcases still unpacked, pulling into the driveway hours after the unexpected funeral of a friend, you broke both your hearts.

All that goes up must come down and, in the very same place your relationship started, it ended. Sat across from him, rain beating down on the windows, tears trailing down your face. He begged you to stop before those words came out of your mouth, tried his best to switch the engine back on and pull out into the road. You’re just stressed, darlin’, he’d said, a deceptive whine in his voice cracking his straight-faced facade. Just need to clear your head, right? Lemme take ya for a drive. It was too late, your own hand curling back around the handle and forcing the door open, the water from outside flooding in. I’m sorry, I can’t be with you. Not anymore.

“Yeah,” you exhale, shaky. Swallowed emotions, a tight lipped smile, eyes that search for sanctuary out the window. “Me too.”

In the wing-mirror, lighting crashes amidst the sea of pine-green.

TRACK 2 — purple rain

A perfect summer’s storm.

Mother nature’s mid-June release of pent-up heat, making space amongst the skies for what’s yet to come in the scorching months of July and August, the last of any rain to be seen until September brings back the sombre skies and cooler weather. The rain falls heavily, a persistent thump-thump-thump of water that bounces off the car’s roof, bonnet, windows. In the sky, thunder roars an angry sound, each one louder than the last, followed by an even brighter flash of lighting that electrifies its surroundings, turning the black night into shades of violet, and midnight, and indigo, and purple.

“You’ve not bought any new albums? None at all?” The question comes as you flip through Jack’s collection of discs, a notable lack of change in his roster since the last time you’d sat in his car.

This lack of change is likely not without good reason, like the lack of time to go CD hunting between secret missions to save the world, or a general lack of interest in newer records. He’s always been a fan of the old fashion, after all, the home you’d once shared made up of collections of vintage whiskeys, and classic records, and faded wallpaper that he convinced you gave the kitchen charm.

“Nothin’ new since…” His eyes shift over your way, the look in them enough to wordlessly end his sentence. “You were always the one buyin’ me music. Said you didn’t want me get-”

“Getting bored on missions,” impulse seems to be what forces you to speak, an honest smile sent his way. “I remember.”

It had been a while into your relationship, with i-love-yous and apartment keys exchanged, until the truth of Jack’s job came up.

On your first date, he’d told you he was a businessman. A few dates later, he specified that he was an investor, dipping his fingers into the honey jar of some classically Texa whiskey distillery. Only a half lie, and not one that was hard to believe. Every fibre of his being, stitches and loose threads included, made sense as a man in the business of selling whiskey. The overzealous amount of Statesman whiskeys occupying the shelves in his apartment, the photos he’d send of the view from his high-rise office, the endless number of suits and ties that occupied his wardrobe, even his damn name, Jack Daniels. 

Then, out came the truth.

A phone call from one of Jack’s co-workers, Ginger, lasting no more than five minutes and of which only three words mattered: Jack’s been shot.

A bullet through his head. Any ordinary man would have died. Yet there was your Jack, eyes open, a measly bandage over his temple, and standing up-right. To your own credit, you managed to keep a grasp on your sanity long enough to drive him home, cook him dinner, and sit yourself down across from him at the table. But when he pricked his finger on the tip of his knife, the rivulet of blood dripping down his finger was enough to send you over the edge. Open mouthed sobs, hands clinging to him the instant he sank down on his knees at your side, tears staining every inch of his white cotton t-shirt.

You could’ve died, Jack.

Now how could I go dyin’, when I got such a pretty reason to live for?

You begged with questions, he promised with answers. Hands intertwining with your own, a gentle voice guiding you out the apartment, the soft slam of a car door closing. He turned the key in the ignition, pulled your hand up to his mouth for a kiss, and drove you both off into the night. Under the melodic fall of rain beating down on the car, you came to terms with three facts: Jack was involved in the business of selling whiskey; Jack was otherwise known as agent Whiskey, esteemed senior agent to the Statesmen secret intelligence agency; and Jack was not often shot- at least not in the head.

Arriving home that night, with the rain falling heavy on your front lawn, you’d tried your best to dash from the car and into the house but Jack had other plans. He’d gripped your hand, and pulled you close, and kissed you under the flash of lighting. And when you dared whine that your clothes were soaked, he held you tighter and let himself guide your body into a gentle sway, two lovers under the moonlight and the storm. That night had ended with a fatal promise from Jack, your limbs entangled upon a shared bed, his lips pressing into your forehead.

I promise I’ll always come home to you safe.

“Don’t need no discs anyway, already got all I need right here,” Jack’s impeccable timing, seemingly sensing the shift in your demeanour. It’s like he knows what you’re thinking about, and trying to drag you out of the past and back to the present, his fingers stretching over to turn the volume up. A familiar set of haunting chords plays over the radio, a grin instantly appearing on his face. “Shit, they even got Princ-”

“Stop the car.”

“Huh?”

“Just pull over, Jack!”

Despite the confusion, he abides by your words, foot pressing down on the break, hands steering the wheels off-road, fingers switch the car off. Without the hum of the engine, the rainfall grows louder, the view out the windscreen suddenly blocked behind a wall of flowing water. The radio plays on, the voice of an angel singing lyrics that so aptly match the purple shades painted across the sky by the storm above. There’s a cautious echo of your name, and, for a moment, it’s easy to forget this is the first time you’ve heard him actually say it in over a year. It feels like just yesterday he was calling out to you, begging with solutions you weren’t willing to give.

Your heart beats with a longing to escape your chest, hard and steady against the cage that is your ribs. Your eyes fill with emotions from the past and of the present, as every version of yourself that’s sat within this car comes together as one. Your hand curls around the silver grip of the door, pulling it open and lunging yourself out into the pouring rain.

Under the storm's wrath, you’re reborn. Baptised by mother nature, a soul cleansed of all its prior troubles, returned to you brand new and free of heartbreak. As the rain soaks your face, your neck, your dress, it washes all the pain away. Breathing easy, head tilted back, eyes closed. It's the feeling of being alive, an anomalous euphoria found only beneath a thunderous sky. The tears that dare fall here mean little, a known comfort that they’ll mix with the rain and be swept away.

Enthralled under the moonlight and barefoot, you drift on through the trees that line these woods, chasing the sweet promise of petrichor. You’re unsure if it comes from the sky, or the trees, or Jack, but something calls your name. A fallen tree trunk becomes your own personal tightrope as you dance over the length of it, one careful foot in front of the other, arms stretched out to the heavens above. All it takes is one misplaced step and you lose your footing, slipping over moss and bracing for impact that never arrives.

“Heaven to Betsy, darlin’!” Jack’s hands, warm as a summer breeze, catch you by the waist, your shoulder socking him square in the face as you fall back into his figure. He makes no complaint of pain, taking it like a champ and placing you back down on steady ground, upon unsteady feet. “Did’ya sneak a few extra whiskeys when I was takin’ a leak?”

You open your mouth to reply, to deny, but the rain comes to a stop, and the thunder no longer rumbles, and the moonlight breaks through the parting blanket of clouds, and you’re suddenly so aware of how close you both are.

Like his hands, do his lips still feel the same? Soft as a feather, pillowy as a cloud, as sweet as a peach? It’s not something a married woman should be thinking about another man, about the man another version of her had loved.

But you’re not a married woman, are you?

Wet to the bone, it's as if your wedding dress has shrunk, possessive linen meant to warn you away from leaning forward till your face meets his.

“Careful where you point those eyes, sweetheart. Don’t go givin’ me a reason to make a dishonest woman out of you.” His warning only makes you want to lean in more, test just how dishonest he’s willing to make you, in a dress you wore for another man, upon a forest floor covered by moss, and mud, and rainfall.

He’s stepping back and holding out his hand before you can even try, saving you the trouble of mixing up your head even more. 

Careful steps back to his car, where the radio plays on as Prince’s voice slowly fades out. The headlights are back on, the key sits in the ignition, and you half wonder just how quickly he chased after you, abandoning his precious car so carelessly at the side of a darkened country road, free for any Tom, Bill, or Sally to claim for themselves.

“You’re lucky I got spare clothes in the back,” Jack’s voice echoes out from where he stands, bent at the waist, and rummaging through the floor of the back seats. You want to think he’s not going this on purpose, putting himself on display so obviously, but it feels easier on your conscience to blame him for your own inability to stray your eyes away from how snugly the soaked dress pants hug his behind. “Ain’t no hope in hell I’d let you in my car, all drippin’ wet.”

“You never used to complain about me being wet in your car.”

It’s a quickfire response, the kind you don’t quite get the chance to think over before you say it. Though it may shock your own ears to hear, it seems to shock poor Jack more, the smack with which his head hits against the car’s roof loud enough that you almost feel it in your skull.

You rush over to his side, dress dragging through more mud, and more leaves, and more broken gravel. No chance to even rest your hand upon his arm, Jack’s already pulled himself out the car to face you, a splash of pink brewing across his cheeks and a hand soothing over the back of his head. In the backseats, his hat lays abandoned, knocked off in the commotion.

“Can’t just be sayin’ things like that, darlin’,” he says as he holds out a change of clothes for you, smugness in his voice yet a shake in his hand. “Not unless you’re tryin’ to give old Jack over here a heart attack.”

In silence, you both turn your back on each other. Jack does so in spare of your modesty, and you, in search of someplace dry to lay down his clothes. You do so upon the passenger seat, hands immediately contorting every manner of way they can to reach the dress’ buttons that span down the length of your spine, each more finicky than the last. You manage to free only two, in the very centre, before you sigh and wonder if the entrapment you feel in the white gown could get any more literal than this.

“Jack,” it only feels right to seek out his aid, you tell yourself, the sooner the buttons are undone, the sooner the dress will be off, the sooner you’ll be changed, and the sooner you’ll both get back on the road again, destination unknown. It only makes sense, really, so who could blame you when you say, “come help me out my dress.”

No reply comes your way.

At first, you think he’s not heard you. Then, you worry that he has, and is choosing to ignore such a request, thinking it best he keeps his hands away from any act that involves undressing you. Then, fear that you’ve given him that heart attack after all. Fingers brush wet hair off your shoulders before you can turn to check on the cowboy.

Cicadas scream out into the night, and some faceless host rants over the car radio about the rising conspiracy theory of spycams in childrens’ toys, and your heart beats louder than any set of drums could ever hope, but all you can hear is the steady breaths Jack pulls in and blows out behind you, so close you feel each exhale brush your skin. His fingers do so too, with each button they pop loose, each inch of skin he reveals.

Before you can ask him to touch you with more than just his mouth and breath, his own voice fills your ears.

“I used to dream about doin’ this someday.”

“I think we both know this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten a girl out her dress, Jack.”

“Is your mind ever anywhere but the damn gutter?” A pinch delivered against your left side, a chastising tsk accompanying his words. “I meant that I dreamt about this, me helpin’ you take your weddin’ dress off.”

There’s an audible hitch in your breath, one that perfectly tells Jack everything your own voice seems to fail to. Air stings at your eyes, yet you refuse to blink, too aware of the tears building within them. His warm hands dance back up your spine as the final button is loosened, tracing slowly over skin he’d once memorised, a missionary returning to the land it once knew.

Your dress falls to the floor.

“‘Course I never thought I’d be doin’ it on the side of the road, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

TRACK 3 — lover you should’ve come over

“Wait, are these pyjama pants?”

The realisation dawns upon you twenty minutes after you hit the road again. Confined to the small space of the Bronco with little to look at— besides Jack, his clothes still damp and smelling of summer rain, a towel laid over his seat— you’ve resorted to the finer details, picking apart the scraps of clothing he’d handed you. A plain white t-shirt that, when paired with one of his tight-fitting jeans and a corduroy-lined leather bomber jacket, becomes a Jack Daniels staple. You find it best to ignore how it smells of campfire, and sweat, and the cologne you’d bought Jack on your last anniversary. He’s paired it with a pair of blue chequered pyjama pants, loose-fitting yet tied securely around your waist by a fraying draw-string.

“Took myself and the old gal up to Alaska a few weeks back, chasin’ after a view of the Northern Lights.” There’s a flash of something hot, bright, green as you register his words, myself and the old gal, tamed and dampened only when you remember that’s what Jack calls the Bronco, his old gal. “I was livin’ out my car the whole trip, figured it was easier than trynna find some inn out in the middle of the Alaskan woods. In fact, if you check down there, pretty sure you’ll find some uneaten energy bars I packed for the trip.”

He seems to point aimlessly down at a space around your legs, hand back on the wheel and guiding the wheels around a harsh bend before you can truly pinpoint what he’s referring to. You settle on the glove compartment, sitting upright and reaching a hand out to pop it open.

Then you remember what it houses, the weapons Jack carries in there. The lasso, the whip, the pistol, the bullets. A sickness burns your throat, your eyes unable to even glance down at the opened compartment, instead searching for Jack’s own eyes that stare back with equal amounts of surprise.

“I forgot those were in there.” He steals the words right out your own mouth, a nervous chuckle following them. You’d known to never touch the dreaded compartment, for your own sake, too eager to forget about the parts of him that made him an agent, the parts of him that put him in danger. “You can read ‘em, if you want. They were written for you anyway.”

Confusion floods the soul, curiosity winning over survival and dictating that you muster the courage to turn your head, take a peak at what sits inside the glove box. When you do look, you find there’s no whip nor pistol, no piece of Agent Whiskey in sight. What is there are the energy bars he’d promised, a hiking guidebook of sorts, a map, and a stack of wrinkled envelopes.

One glance back at Jack, he encourages you to take them with a nod, and so, you do. Feel the weight of them all in your hands, do your best to not drop any as you pull them out onto your lap. They scatter all over you, each a different shade of white, unopened and all sporting a red return to sender stamp. All appear addressed to the same place, and it takes only a moment of wondering why it seems so familiar for you to realise.

It’s your old address.

“They’re all labelled with dates, I wrote the first one a few weeks after you left. Wasn’t sure where you’d moved to, I figured there was a chance you’d gone back to your old place. I never forgot about how much you loved that apartment,” he says, and you did. Leaving it behind had been hard, the first real home you’d made for yourself since moving out of your parent’s place, the first space you made your own in the world. The idea of making a new space with Jack, a place you could build together, share together, had outweighed the pain of saying goodbye to your little one-bed apartment. “Wrote the second one because you didn’t reply, and I was missin’ you. Then I just kept writin’ em, and sendin’ em, and waitin’ on you writin’ back, even if just to tell me to get lost. I got a note back, along with the letters, but it wasn’t from you. Some older couple moved in to your old place, told me they’d been keepin’ em all safe incase you ever came round to collect your old mail, but they figured it was time I stopped writin’ to a ghost.”

Attentive to his every word, you search for the letter with the earliest date. Sent two weeks after things ended, with a colourful stamp and a seal that’s slightly opened at the edges, the glue’s hold loosening with time and neglect. You tear it open completely and unfold the sheets of paper found within, eyes drawn immediately three quarters down the page.

I saw our friends tonight for the first time since you left. They asked how you’re doing and where you were. I thought they were just being cruel at first but no, they didn’t know about the break up. I told them you weren’t feeling well, that you decided to stay home tonight. I guess I just wanted one more night where you were still mine, even if it was just in the eyes of our friends. I will tell the truth next time I see them.

You feel as though you’re invading his privacy, reading over words he’d written months ago, despite being the intended audience. That doesn’t mean you have the willpower to stop, however, eyes diving deeper down the page.

Or maybe I won’t have to tell them. Maybe, next time I see them, you’ll have come home. There’s still a chance for us. I believe it because I love you. You said this wasn’t something we can fix. I think you’re wrong. There’s never been an issue we couldn’t solve by talking it through, why should this one be any different? Let’s get coffee, darling. Our usual place, our usual time, next Tuesday. We can get through this, you just have to let me know it’s something you want, that I’m something you still want. 

Jack’s quiet in the driver’s seat, forgiving with the time he gives you to read over his letters. When the turning of pages and the ripping of envelopes rings too heavy in the car, your shoulders tensing up in a discomfort of disrupting the peaceful silence, he wordlessly turns the radio back up and the voice of Jeff Buckley greets you both.

You return to his letters, the second he’d sent already open in your palm.

I went to our usual spot. You never showed up. Your lack of reply to my letter should have been enough to tell me that, but I still had hope. Maybe I really am a fool. Our friends seem to think so. I told them about us and they immediately asked what I’d done wrong. There was no answer I could give them. The worst thing isn’t just that I’ve lost you, it’s that I don’t even know why.

You open the next envelope, and the next one, and the next one, paragraphs melting together into a heartbroken shape.

I tried to sleep in our bed. I lasted half an hour before crawling back to the guest room.  Our room just feels too empty without you. I smell you everywhere no matter how many new sheets I buy.

Eggsy and Tilde got married. It’s the first wedding I’ve been to without you. I’m doing a lot of firsts without you recently. I hate it. Our friends (am I wrong to call them our friends? I’m not ready to just call them mine) tried setting me up with someone new. They showed me a picture and she’s beautiful, but I just kept comparing her to you. Against your beauty, she’s nothing.

Your mother was at the Statesman ground tour today. I was surprised to see her, she already done the tour years ago. I tried not to talk about you too much, I didn’t want her knowing how desperate I am to hear about you. Congratulations on your promotion, I always knew you’d get it. I’m so proud of you for finally applying for it. I heard you’ve started seeing somebody, a veteran turned mechanic. Your mother was kind enough to give me his name. I hope you understand that I don’t want to invade your privacy but I had to make sure you’re safe. The guy’s got a clean slate, other than a sketchy trip down to South America with some other vets. He seems like a good man. I want you to get your happy ending. Are you happy? I’m not. 

Only one envelope remains unopened. The weight of it sits heavy in your lap, a fear settling in that has you not wanting to open it. You study the front of it, find out it was mailed three months ago. The radio moves in sync with you, it seems, the song that plays reaching its climatic moment at the same time as you do, tearing open the final letter. Next to you, Jack clears his throat and wrings his hands over the steering wheel.

This last one, you read the letter in full.

Darling girl,

Spring came faster this year. The daffodils you planted bloomed in early March. I’ve been tending to the garden, I know how much love you put into it. The flowers are coming up alright, the fruit and vegetables not so much. If only I had your green thumb.

I visited Tequila last week. I don’t know if it’s right to call him that anymore. Champ’s still not named his successor, part of me thinks he wants to retire it. That’s not what Tequila would’ve wanted. He would’ve wanted Ginger taking on the mantle. The grounds he’s on are beautiful, if not sombre. They overlook a lake, and the grass is cut everyday, and the sun shines on his grave from sunrise to sunset. I didn’t say much to him, just sat and enjoyed the view. Thought about a lot of things, and finally realised why you left.

You were scared. For me. I thought you were being selfish, breaking my heart like that, but I finally understand how awful that day must’ve been for you. We’d just buried my comrade, our friend, and you had to watch Tequila’s wife say her last goodbye, knowing it was almost me in that casket and you on the podium. That was my mission he went on, I could’ve been the one who didn’t come home to the woman I love.

I’m sorry I took so long to understand. I retired from my position at Statesman. I’m agent Whiskey no more. I’m coming to find you, and hope you give me one last real try at fixing us.

Love always,

your Jack.

“Your wedding invitation found me first,” Jack says, foot off the accelerator, eyes off the road, hands on the wheel.

The weight of his stare drags down to your lap, where the heap of papers now all sit, piled atop one another and rustling with every movement you make. Your own eyes have welled with tears that slip down the apples of your cheeks and splash the papers below, smudging the ink.

The confirmation of his invite knocks out the questions of how he wound up in the pews.

“I didn’t invite you,” you’re unsure if the truth is crueller than fiction. No part of you wants him to think you’d be so spiteful, so hurtful as to invite him to a day you’d once promised to share together. “I didn’t invite anyone. I was… busy, with work. My mom dealt with the invites, she must’ve written you down by accident.”

Your lips may be the ones to say it, but your own ears struggle to believe. Your mother’s always been a meticulous woman, practical, with her affairs eternally in order. The only mistakes she makes are the ones she means to.

“Yeah,” Jack sighs out from the driver’s seat, resignation in his voice. “I figured you didn’t invite me.”

TRACK 4 — 50 ways to leave your lover

Jack drives deeper into the night.

Out the car window, you watch as the world flies by, a blur of unlit trees and unmarked road signs. Earlier’s storm has rolled away and revealed the blanket of stars above, twinkling alongside a full moon. The road is long, and winding, and seemingly never ending. There’s no discussion of destination, no sanctuary you’re waiting to reach. You feel no urgency for it, either. So long as you sit right where you are, passenger in a car, you don’t have to take the wheel, you don’t have to choose where to go, or what to do. You can just exist within this liminal space, where no wedding lies in the balance and no hearts lay broken.

It’s just you and Jack, like the old days, going for a drive.

“Ask me,” permission comes off your tongue as you observe the driver and his less than subtle glances your way. “I can see the wheels turning in your head. Everything you wanted to know in the diner, I promise I’ll answer this time.”

“I guess I’m tryin’ to put myself in your shoes, figure out what was runnin’ through that pretty head of yours,” Jack is, at his core, a gentleman. For hours, he’s let you sit beside him, biting his own tongue and fighting back his own curiosity, a trait so vital to his existence it led him into a world of spies, and guns, and movie-esque kinds of evil. Even now, with your promised approval, he eases his way into his questioning, the part of him that knows you better than your own self dictating that this is something he must address with care.  “How’d you do it?”

“I just slipped out the back, Jack,” there’s a chuckle of sorts that welcomes itself out the depths of Jack’s chest, your choice of words going hand in hand with that of the Paul Simon record reaching its end over the radio. As quick as the humour appears, it goes, leaving nothing but the unfortunate reality of the situation. “Someone left a door open, it led out onto the back gardens. The further away I got, the faster I started to run. I made it all the way past the highway on foot before an older couple pulled over. They dropped me off at a diner, and that’s where I stayed until-”

“Until I found you,” it’s a reminder you shouldn’t want, the image of Jack setting off to find you in the midst of the commotion of a missing bride. It’s not healthy for your poor psyche, already at odds with what it wants, no need for further complications brought on by unresolved feelings. You can’t help but smile at him, however, no filter strong enough to cover your subconscious’ joy. “Why did you run away?”

Your smile fades.

The promise you made is already at threat of being broken. You thought there’d be more questions, more time until he hit you with the heaviest of them all.

Why did you run away?

You know the answer. Of course you’ve known the answer, from the moment you decided to turn on your heel and sprint down the halls, in search of an escape. As much as you can pretend otherwise, and feign naivete, you can’t change the truth. That doesn’t mean you’re ready to admit it out loud, and so you refute it with a question of your own: “Why did you come to the wedding?”

It would be easy to forgive Jack for getting irate when faced with your avoidant response. He doesn’t even acknowledge it. Instead, he spins the steering wheel and shoots you a smile, the kind that used to keep you warm at night.

“I wasn’t goin’ to come at first,” comes his admittance. You can’t say you blame him, really, a picture of yourself in his shoes, receiving an invite to his wedding. The thought conjures a painful throb from your heart. “Nearly tossed the damn thing into the fireplace when I got it. A few weeks later, I met with Champ for a drink. Drank myself blind, till I started tellin’ him all about the invite. He told me I had to come.”

A lift of your eyebrows, a snap of your head towards him. There’s a desire to have his full attention on you. There’s also the awareness that the road acts as a buffer for the tensing heartache that swells and lulls between you, each exchange of words a game of painful chess. You make the choice to bring forth a pawn this once, a simple why?

“He said I’ve been livin’ with life on pause since you left, maybe watchin’ you marry another man would be the thing to help me hit play at last.”

INTERLUDE — go your own way

Like tires upon gravel, time rolls on.

No matter how easy it is to forget about the world outside, look out the window and pretend you’re simply on a train, trapped in a constant onward motion, there’s no ignoring the orange glow that begins to grow on the horizon, nor the red lights on the car radio that read 05:38. A new day grows fast upon you and, where you remain mute to it, Jack can not allow the fantasy to go on any longer.

The tires screech against the gravel and everything comes to a stop.

“Thinkin’ time’s up, sweetheart,” his hands retreat from the wheel, finding purchase on his thighs. You try not to follow their descent over the tailored suit, try not to think about the thick muscles that sit hidden beneath the black trousers. It’s not your place to think about them anymore. “Where are you goin’?”

Decision has never been something you’ve struggled with, much less when the choices are so simple and limited. Either you go back to the wedding venue, and meet whatever fate awaits you of scornful mothers, and disappointed fathers, and abandoned fiances. Or, you can go anywhere.

You make a mistake, let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t, and end up asking yourself where will Jack go. He still lives in the home you once shared, this you know. Will he go there, pour himself a drink, and try to forget this night even happened?

You can still picture it all. The coffee table Jack hand-carved, both your initials engraved on the side. The picture frames all along the wall, a mural of memories shared between you. The matching set of mugs, eternally sitting on the drying board, waiting for Jack to stagger his way down the stairs and fill them with boiling coffee. If you walked through that door again, would you find everything just the way you left it? Or, has he gotten a new table, changed the pictures in the frames, bought new mugs? Is there someone there, right now, sleeping in his bed and waiting on his return?

A bitter taste overcomes your tongue at the thought, your insides twisting up like you’ve not spent the past few months sleeping next to someone else and saying yes to proposals you weren’t expecting.

“What do you think I should do?” You don’t want him to tell you to go home, you want him to say come home.

“You can’t ask that of me. My answer’s gonna be nothin’ but selfish.” Would it really be so bad, you wish to ask, if Jack was selfish? Maybe life would be easier if he was. He clears his throat, like he clears his mind, and gone is your moment to tell him you want selfish. “I can say this, though… Your fiance’s a good man, a kind man. Kind enough to trust your parents words and let me, a stranger, go searchin’ for you. He deserves to know what decision you make. It ain’t just your weddin’, it’s his too.”

He’s right, and you hate it.

There’s no way you can tell him now that you were even contemplating not going back, of disappearing into the sunrise with him, driving till life leads you down the right roads to find a new home, your old home, Jack.

The muddied wedding dress seems to call to you from the car boot, a whispering of your name that tells you to put it back on, go back, and walk down that aisle. You owe that much to your fiance, if he’ll still have you. With him, you’ve never had to worry about him coming home safe. With him, you could live a happy enough life, keep yourself busy enough to ignore all the what-ifs your mind would try seduce you with.

Besides, that’s what Jack needs, right? To see you marry another man, a final nail in the coffin named us, so he can finally move on with his life. You owe him that much, at least.

With a nod of your head and the straightening of your spine, you set your choice in stone, “drive me back to him, Jack.”

The engine shudders to life and the radio sets itself back on course, some upbeat voice that demands you go your own way, a musical slap delivered upon your face. Jack turns the steering wheel, rerouting the car’s course with an effortless u-turn before he presses down on the accelerator, propelling you forward down the paths you’ve already travelled.

You tell yourself you’re doing the right thing, even if a familiar dread starts to settle in the pit of your stomach, brushing them off as rational nerves. Who wouldn’t be anxious when facing a man they left at the altar?

A yawn escapes you.

“We’re a few hours out from the chateau.” There’s something in his voice that weighs on him, the tone between you shifting to something of desperation. Goodbye is a few hours away. This time, for good. “Sleep, it’s late.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Pull over, you want to say. Let’s sleep. The wedding can wait a few more hours.

How unfortunate that he cannot read your thoughts, understand the intentions behind your staring as you recline your chair, turn to face him on your side, hands crossed protectively over your abdomen.

One blink, and your eyes are already fighting to stay open, dragging you down into the depths of slumber.

“I’m fine. Don’t sleep much these days anyway,” the sound of Jack’s voice fades slowly into the background, melting away with the hum of the engine, and the turn of the wheels, and the voice on the radio. “Never got used to the feeling of an empty bed.”

TRACK 5 — i’m on fire

When your eyes next open, the sun’s warmth is caressing your face.

The sound of children’s laughter fills the air, and the smell of smoke fills your lungs, and the feeling of resting against Jack’s shoulder fills you with dread. Fearful to move, you take in all of him that you can see from this angle.

There’s no suit upon him, replaced with the casualness of a cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded denims. The hat’s back on his head, the curls of ungelled hair that peak through dry as a bone. A cigarette rests neatly between fingers on his left hand, the right one grasping at the neck of a beer bottle. No wheel sits in front of him, no gear shift keeps space between you. The Bronco’s been replaced with the view of your parent’s backyard and the comfort of a well cushioned outdoor couch.

You know this memory.

You’ve lived this memory.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” just like you remember, Jack’s stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette the moment he notices your open eyes. “How you feelin’?”

“Like my uterus is trying to carve its way out of me,” your mouth plays along with the dream, speaking the same words it had years ago.

“That good, huh?” A beer stained kiss meets the corner of your mouth, another follows up to your forehead, as Jack’s free hand reaches into his pocket, reemerging with silver foil between two fingers. “Got these off your mother. Let me go get you somethin’ to eat, then you can take two, hm?”

You remember thinking that you love him. You didn't dare speak it, however, simply nodding as you took the blister packet of paracetamol out his offering grasp and uncurled your legs back down onto the floor, stretching your arms. Jack bends down, presses his lips against the crown of your head, and then he’s off, venturing over to where your father stands grilling another round of burgers on the barbeque.

Jack’s always been a confident man. He carries himself with a head held high and a careless smile on his face, no chip on his shoulder and no flare for anger in his bones. A southern gentleman, who knows his own charms and, most dangerously, how to use them. Place him alone with your father, however, and watch how he crumbles like a house of cards. To the untrained eye, it’s unnoticeable, but you don’t miss the glances he spies your father with each time he throws out a joke, nor the way his hands can never seem to relax, a nervous tic of drumming against his thighs or balling into fists as he makes conversation with the older man. He’s desperate for the approval of your monotonous father, so desperate he fails to see he won it months ago, 

“Eat up, drink up, you need it,” he says as he hands you the paper plate, and his half-drunk bottle of beer. He settles back down on the couch, pulling you into him once more. “Your old man was sayin’ we should probably head off soon, ‘fore it gets too late. Think he’s startin’ to warm up to me, he’s even worryin’ bout me drivin’ in the dark.”

“Oh, he loves you,” you take a bite, break two of the pills out their casing, wash them down with a swig of bitter beer. The summer sun burns in the corners of your eyes, forcing them into a squint. “He kept looking for you at the dinner table at my mom’s birthday, you should’ve seen his reaction when I told him you were stuck in New York slaving away in your office.”

Months later, you’d come to find out he wasn’t in New York, surrounded by mountains of paperwork, but somewhere in the south of France, hunting down some billionaire wine-maker with plans to poison the crops of surrounding vineyards, leaving only his wine safe to consume.

In your memory, Jack plucks the hat off his own head and rests it gently upon your own, a shaded barrier against the bright light in the sky. You thank him, he watches on quietly as you continue to eat, gaze not peeling itself away from you the whole time.

“What? Do I have ketchup on my face? Or, in my hair?” You’d asked him, mid-chew. No answer, more staring. Panic made a debut in your mind, suddenly alert to his unusual behaviour. “Wait, is it a bug? Jack, is there a bug in my hair?”

“I love you.”

No build up, no grand-speech, no overly romantic setting.

He said it like one shares the weather, or the time, or what they’re wanting for lunch. He said it like it was something he always said, would always say, despite it being the very first time you’d heard him do so. Tears had flown in quickly, your hormones already gone haywire with the unexpected arrival of shark week earlier that morning. There’s a vague assurance that you told him you loved him too, through tears, and he teased your weepy face with kisses down your cheeks and full-chested laughter.

“Bless your cotton socks, my sweet girl, cryin’ all cause old Jack says-”

“Tell me now baby, is he good to you?”

You jolt awake.

Jack’s by your side, suit on, hair air dried, one hand on the wheel, the other rests out the window. The roof is down, letting the sun shine on you and his caramel eyes. An old Springstein song plays in the background, the very same thing that coaxed you awake. Just like the dream, he takes a few minutes to notice your opened eyes, head turning your way as another car shoots off ahead of you both, overtaking him.

“You were mumblin’ in your sleep. Were you dreamin’ of somethin’ sweet?”

“I was,” too quick comes your reply. Too honest. Nerves have you stumbling over words, scrambling to pick them off the floor of your mind and spew out the first thing that doesn’t involve Jack and his easy-going professions of love. “About the first time my fiance told me he loves me.”

You regret it as soon as you speak, the visible halt to his smile. He overcorrects it, forcing a grin that stretches the corners of his mouth so tight it almost looks painful. “Well, c’mon, don’t go keepin’ it to yourself!”

“He, uh, wrote it in the sky.”

“How romantic. Pricey too, I bet.”

“It was his best man who did it, an ex military pilot.”

As you try to reminisce on the day, little memories blossom in your mind. Instead of vivid motion capture, the day is black and white, no sound. You don’t remember where you were, what he was wearing, how you felt when you read those words up above.

It happened only two months into your relationship, that you do remember. You also remember being parked in your old neighbourhood the night before, twenty minutes spent trying to will yourself to go knock on the door to your old home. The Bronco was in its usual spot, parked outside. No lights were on as you pulled away and willed yourself back to rational thinking.

“Jeez, if that’s how he’s tellin’ you he loves you, I can’t imagine how he proposed.”

You wonder if this is as tortuous for him as it is for you, listening to you detail the life you’d gone on to live just months after walking away from five years of love. “In a restaurant,” you can’t remember the name, or what you ate, or what you wore, as if the memory is one that doesn’t belong to you, never belonged to you. “I ordered dessert, ‘will you marry me?’ was written on it in cherry sauce.”

“You must’ve said yes immediately.”

“I did.”

You leave out the part where the whole restaurant had watched him get down on one knee, or the part where you rushed to the restroom right after accepting the ring, spewing your guts out in a stall. By morning, you told yourself it was fine, you were just feeling nervous. 

After all, you loved him enough to spend time with him, so why not spend the rest of your life with him?

TRACK 6 — she’s always a woman

It had been too easy to forget the thing you loved most about road trips with Jack.

It wasn’t his constant commentary of interesting facts on sites you’d drive past, or his love for taking the long-way to anywhere and everywhere, or his ever-present need to drag your hand up to his lips with every few miles.

The thing you loved most was listening to his voice, unfiltered, unashamed, outloud, singing along to his favourite songs. The voice of a crooning angel and the shyness of a bashful fox. Every so often, when he’d catch you watching him a little too fondly as he sang along, he’d throw in a voice crack, or twist up a lyric into a sickly innuendo.

In the present, it’s you who interrupts his spirited rendition of a Billy Joel classic.

“You were right, in the letters,” the leather of your seat squeaks as you fix your posture, sit yourself up straight if only to force yourself to stop observing the way his lips fall into a natural pout and, instead, focus on memorising the licence plate that drives ahead. “I’m sorry.”

“Right about what?” As though nothing has changed, his hand extends towards your own, effortlessly intertwining your fingers, beginning an ascent to his mouth before mind takes over instinct and he’s letting you go, setting you free.

You give up on the licence plate ahead, turn your face once more towards Jack and his pouty lips.

“I couldn’t be with Agent Whiskey anymore.” A relationship made up of a man, a woman, and an agent. Whiskey would kiss you goodbye in the morning, while Jack would be the one to come home to you. With the passing of time, three became a crowd, and so you removed yourself. “I didn’t want to break your heart, Jack, I swear. But I also didn’t want to let you break mine. And you did, every time you walked out of our home and left me wondering if you’d ever come back. Then, when Tequila… You loved your job. You loved being Agent Whiskey. How could I ask you to leave that part of you behind?”

“Darlin’ if you think there’s any world where losin’ you was easier than losin’ Whiskey, you’re out of your mind.” Like his first I love you, he speaks words that flow out of him as easily as an exhale, as though they carry no weight to them. As though they do not momentarily flip your world on its axis and have you wishing he’d turn the car around, driving you both off into the forever you never got.

Yet another car overtakes the Bronco, its driver angrily pressing on his horn. You both continue to ignore the speed at which Jack drives. Up ahead, everything you’ve been dreading comes into view, an unmissable billboard. Clearview Manor.

50 miles to go. 50 miles till goodbye. 

“I’m hungry.”

“Those energy bars should still be in there, if you’re wantin’-”

“Jack, I’m hungry,” you say it louder, hoping he’ll pick up what you’re laying down.“Can’t we stop somewhere for breakfast?”

His answer comes in the form of a left blinker switching on, wheels cutting over gravel and carrying you off the main road. Then, as if to break your heart some more than his last declaration, he turns to you. “If it had been me waitin’ on you at the end of the aisle, would you have ran?”

You try to picture it.

Jack, in his suit and tie, hands clasped behind his back to keep him from drumming nervous fingers over his thighs, eyes brimming with tears as you take your first step down the aisle. Would the panic have settled in? Would you have felt that same wrongness as when you’d been sneaking a peak at your fiance waiting down the aisle?

Would you have ran?

“It’s not something I planned, y’know? Running. I didn’t think it was even an option,” you’re laying your final card on the table, a truth you couldn't bring yourself to admit earlier at last coming out to play. You’re unsure if it dismisses or further condemns you for your runaway crimes. “I took a peak, at the ceremony hall, while waiting for my father. I needed to see what I was about to walk into. I guess I thought the nerves were just from that, the unknown. Then I saw you, a few rows from the back. At first I thought I was hallucinating, that you were just a man who happened to be wearing a cowboy hat. But then I saw my mum pulling you in for a hug, and I caught a glimpse of your face. That’s why I ran. I couldn’t… marry another man, not with you standing in the crowd.”

“You’ve not answered my question,” it’s the first you’ve seen Jack put his foot down since he dragged you out the diner, the seriousness etched into his frowning forehead and stamped onto his lips. “Would you have ran?”

“No.”

Jack just keeps driving.

TRACK 7 — dancing in the dark

“You can’t be serious!”

Squeezed into the corner booth of a dingy, run-down bar, you and Jack sit across from one another, digging into a stack of pancakes lathered in maple syrup.

The bartender and two of his patrons glance at you both every so often, and you have to wonder how odd a pair you and Jack must make. One dressed to the nines, if you ignore the dried mud at the bottom of his dress pants and his loosening tie, the other wearing yesterday’s make-up paired with cotton pyjama pants. You prefer it to the stares you’d gained in your wrinkled gown.

“Deadly. I’m a serious tap-dancin’ student,” his fork stabs into the fluffy goodness, dragging it along the plate, soaking the pancake in as much syrup as possible. You try not to think of mornings that used to be spent like this, sitting at your own table, flour in his hair and eggshells in your own, both of you ignoring the disastrous mess in the kitchen begging to be cleaned as you tuck into your homemade pancakes. “Retirement breeds weird hobbies.”

“Before long, you’ll be playing bingo at the old folks home.”

“I just have to ask, I really do,” a dread you haven’t felt since stepping out the car— with the help of Jack and his offering hand, the other holding your door open— creeps back in. You don’t want to talk about your own current reality, not when it’s been so easy to pretend none of the wedding fiasco happened and, instead, you’re simply catching up with Jack after bumping into each other in this bar.  “This fiance of yours… is he bigger than me?”

As quick as it inflates, the tension pops. 

“Oh my god, Jack!” You laugh, a little too loudly, and dip your head as other tables turn their heads your way.

“What?”

“You did not just ask me that.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“You can’t just say things like that!” In mock surrender, he throws his hands up. Your own grab ahold of your knife and fork once more, an ironclad focus on the near-empty plate as you will the shameful heat away from your face, mumbling over your words. “But, no, he isn’t bigger. Happy?”

“You’ve no idea.” As though you’re being haunted by music, a song begins to play over the speakers. You’re not the only one who takes notice, Jack’s eyes lighting up with a devious look, his legs already rising out of his seat. “Think that’s our queue, darlin’.”

“Sit back down.”

“Oh, c’mon now, don’t be so uptight,” he lays out his hand, begging for you to place your own in it. Flashes of a memory, six years back, the very same song playing as the very same man attempted to coax a dance out of you. “One dance, sweetheart, then I’ll leave you in peace.”

Just like your younger self, you’re incapable of resisting his baby cow eyes, letting him guide you out onto a makeshift dance floor before it’s too late to run back and hide in your seat, the eyes of strangers already piercing you with their questioning stares. If you weren’t deemed a strange pair with your attire alone, you certainly are now, feet stumbling awkwardly along with Bruce Springstein.

“This song was playin’ when we met,” he says it like you don’t know, like you don’t remember, like you aren’t replaying that night as you speak, pretending you’re both in that same crowd of swaying bodies, young, and naive, and on the cusp of experiencing the greatest love you’ll ever know, rather than here, on an empty dance floor, stumbling blindly through the hardships of holding each other so close, mutually aware you’re dancing on borrowed time and, soon, you’ll have to go. “Knowin’ now how it ends, if I was sent back in time, I’d still ask you to dance. I’d do it all again.”

“This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just…”

He spins you, drags you closer, sways you. It’s far less care-free than the first dance you shared, no alcohol to dull the shame and a whole lot of history packed between your bodies.

The first dance had been the thing you had dreaded most about your wedding, dancing with your husband, to a whole room of loved ones watching. Dancing now with Jack— even through all the embarrassment you feel as an elderly couple point over at you— feels easier, less daunting, so much so that you can’t help the way you start to laugh, arms loosening around his shoulders, hips moving less abashedly.

The two of you inch closer, and closer, and closer as the song reaches its end. Like a happy couple finishes their first dance, Jack’s mouth lands atop yours.

A gentle kiss, innocent of sin, it begs you to give back, to press your own mouth against his. You answer its calling, hand clasping at the back of his neck, holding him safely against you, less he drifts away and reveals this all to have been a dream, a nightmare, a delusion. Like coming home after a cold winter’s day, his kiss is the comfort of knowing you’re exactly where you belong.

And it’s absolutely terrifying.

You rip away from him, flashes of your fiance’s face blinding you as you stumble off, doing what you do best: running away. You miss the way the patrons all go back to their own drinks, and the way a new song comes on, and the way Jack chases after you, stopped only by the slamming of a bathroom door.

You come up for air when you find yourself faced with the image you paint in the mirror.

Never has there been a more heartbroken girl, eyes a mess of tears, and faded eyeliner, and smudged mascara, hair a nest fit enough for any bird to build its home in, body draped in the clothing of an ex-lover. It’s almost as frightening as the image you made yesterday, wedding gown freshly laced and make-up pristinely done.

A knock rings against the door. 

It’s followed by a gentle call of your name.

You switch on the tap, welcome the cold splash of water over your face. Pray that, if you scrub hard enough, you’ll wipe away the taste of him, forget the shape of his touch, purge yourself of the desire to follow anywhere he may go. Your hand slips down your face, the dim bathroom light catches on something.

Your engagement ring, a tight shackle that binds you to someone else, reminds you of the closure you owe to Jack.

He calls your name again.

“Darlin’,” it’s muffled behind the door, but the regret in his voice is all too clear. “I just got caught up, I’m sorry. Come on out and we’ll get back on the road-”

The hinges creak as the door opens, only a crack, and your hand shoots out, grabbing a hold of Jack’s tie before you can will yourself to be rational.

He lets you invade his space with little protest, mouths returning to the dance they never got to complete. Hands move, slipping off ties, and undoing draw strings, and locking doors. There’s a mumble, are you sure, followed by a moan, please.

All hope of forgetting his skin is lost, a leg hooked around his waist, fingers tangled in his hair. He bites at your neck, and kisses along your jaw, and pants into your ear, all the while his hips rock back and forth against your own, filling you inch by inch. Mouth covered by your own hand, muffling a cry of his name as you feel him brush against that spine-tingling spot inside you. Your head falls back, eyes slip shut. Jack’s quick to rectify it.

“Watch, darlin’,” he whispers, a hand tilting your eyes down to where your two bodies meet. “ Want you to see how perfectly your lil’ pussy takes me.”

You do as he says, hypnotised by the sight of his cock, glistening in your own arousal, sawing in and out of you, each thrust deeper than the last.  

“He can’t fuck you like this, can he?” Despite his ego-fueled words, there’s a desperation in his voice, a soul lost in a sea of darkness, searching for a life jacket. “Tell me he can’t.”

He can’t, you tell him, clinging onto him tighter, needier, begging him to never leave.

Any minute now, you worry, someone’s going to knock on the bathroom door, kick you both out. Instead, the music that plays outside the door seems to increase in volume.

“Fuckin’ made for me, meant for me,” both of you grow increasingly desperate, fingernails digging into flesh, and mouths rejoining in a frenzy of kisses, and the tightening of an invisible string, drawing you nearer and nearer to the edge. “My sweet girl.”

An end that comes all too soon, both of you exhausted, and spent, and collapsing against one another, a sticky mess left between your legs where his hips continue to rut into you through his own overstimulation.

“I’m sorry,” his head falls against your shoulder, burrows into the warmth of your neck. There’s a press of his lips against your skin, and a million apologies that follow. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I love you.”

“It’s okay, Jack,” you lie, sooth a hand over his back, ignore the tears you feel falling against your skin.

TRACK 8 — hit the road jack

The clock reads 13:18 as Jack brings the car to a stop.

A set of stairs lead up to a grand double-doored entrance, a sign post declaring the extravagant building as Clearview Manor. Rented for the whole weekend, the wedding party isn’t cited to leave until late Monday evening. Though all cars remain parked in the driveway, no familiar faces await your arrival.

“I hope you get your happy ending,” the two of you step out of the car in sync. A voice whispers that it’s the last time you’ll step out the Bronco, you brush it off and follow Jack as he makes his way over to the boot. “No one deserves it more than you, Jack.”

“No promises, darlin’,” he extends his arms to you, you almost move in for a hug.

The sight of your wedding dress, no longer porcelain white, stains of brown upon a greying fabric, reminds you of why you’re here. You try your best to smile earnestly as you take it off his hands, but fear it only heightens the distress that dilates your pupils. “I’ll see you inside, right?”

The boot slams shut, and it’s an awful reminder that your time together is coming to a close, Jack dons his signature smile, cowboy hat back on his head, a head that’s shaking no.

“The mighty fool that I am, thinkin’ I could stomach watchin’ you get married to another man. After this little road trip of ours… well, I guess I just ain’t ready to hit play yet.” A tongue made of lead, shoes filled with weights. Moving feels impossible, talking even more so. You want to say his name, tell him you don’t need to marry another man, crawl back into the Bronco and beg him to drive off. “Go’on, get! There’s a good man in there, waitin’ to give you everythin’ you deserve.”

Instead, you just turn on your heel, take the first step towards the rest of your life. A life without Jack.

Halfway up the stairway, the sound of Jack’s engine reaches your ears, followed quickly by the obnoxiously poignant car radio, giving its final performance for you both.

“Hit the road, Jack, and don’t you come back, no more, no more, no more, no more!”

Eyes meeting where Jack sits, back in the driver’s seat, you share one last laugh.

OUTRO — everywhere

“Thank god you’re okay.”

Two arms, strong and secure, wrap around your waist.

On the other side of the bridal suite door stands both your mother and your mother in law, ushered out by your fiance upon your return the moment he noticed the panic on your face as questions and fingers prodded at you.

You block out the thought of the scowling faces, burrowing your own into the space between his shoulder and neck, whispering your inquiry on, “how bad is the damage?”

“We told everyone you were suffering from food poisoning. All our guests think you’ve been spewing out of both ends the past few hours, but I think that’s justified for the bruising you’ve given my ego.”

“Santi,” the shape of your fiance’s name feels foreign in your mouth, the taste of it sour on your tongue, so much so that you can’t say it in full. “I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be, what matters is you’re here now.”

Jack was right, your fiance is a nice man. A good man. A man anyone would be lucky to land in the arms of, the kind of man people dream of, and romance authors write of.

But to you, his arms just feel like a cage you’ve lost the key for. “Why did you ask me to marry you?”

“I don’t know. We just… make sense.”

“We do,” you pull apart, at last, nodding your head along to his answer. “But is that all marriage should be? Two people who make sense?” You stumble a few steps back from him, feet needing space to begin pacing back and forth as your filter slips and the word-vomit begins to spew itself out onto the pristine carpeted floors. “Do you really love me enough to spend the rest of your days with me? Because I don’t think you do, and I don’t think I love you like that either.”

Santiago is calm, collected, and completely unresponsive.

The longer he watches you pace and rant, the quicker you do each thing, as though you’re racing ahead to escape the fear of breaking his heart more than you already have, his love possibly more intense than you make it seem. He ends that fear in one foul swoop of words.

“When you didn’t walk down the aisle, I felt relieved. I also slept with someone at my bachelor party and the guilt has been eating me alive.”

“I just fucked my ex in a bathroom!” In an almost paradoxical response, the pair of you keen over in laughter, any expected animosity thrown out the metaphorical window and leaving you both no choice but to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “God, we’re a mess.”

“Wait, the cowboy’s your ex? I should’ve known, your dad told him you were gone before he even bothered to tell me.” Santiago had little luck at winning over your dad, though admittedly it was no fault of his own but, rather, your father had yet to move on from Jack. There’s a sudden commotion as Santi rushes past you, peeling back the curtains and peering down out the window. “What car is it the cowboy drives?”

“A Bronco.”

“Well, you might wanna hurry, because he’s just pulling out of the parking bays.” It’s more than just a warning. It’s a blessing to leave. Overcome with emotion, you dive back into his arms and find there’s no fear of goodbye, not like there had been with Jack. An engagement ring that slips off with no resistance, no longer a shackle that ties you both together. You hand it back to him gently. “Go, before it’s too late! I’ll take care of this mess, see if I can spin this in a way that’s heartbreaking enough to get our deposit back.”

There’s more you want to say, but now’s not the time. Apologies and thank-yous can wait till you pick up your things from his apartment, right now you’re too busy rushing to the door.

A call of your name comes when you’ve got one foot out it, treading into the now motherless hallway. You face Santiago with a smile, ready to say that magic word. 

Goodbye.

“Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t invite me to your wedding.”

You make it out the double-doors, which slam loudly shut behind you, before you spot the retreating shape of Jack’s car and an anxious glee commands you to break out into a sprint, legs kicking faster than they ever have before.

Don’t speed up, you think, watching as the Bronco slowly creeps down the driveway.

“Jack!” You call out to him, hoping that, with the open roof, he’ll somehow hear you over the radio. Pushing your feet to move a little faster, your arms join the mix, waving wildly to the wind, a careless attempt to catch his attention in the rearview mirror. “Wait!”

The car breaks with a squeak, the blaring music comes to a halt, and Jack turns to face you with his own eyes, as though he can’t trust the mirrors. When you reach the car, you pull at the door handle and find he’s already unlocked it. You slide in with ease, back into the seat you’ve always belonged in: by his side.

He can’t seem to move, frozen with his eyes focused on nothing but you.

“Drive, jack,” you finally proclaim, asking him what you should’ve the moment you saw him in that diner, in the pews, in the heartbreaking hours post-burying a friend.

“Where to, darlin’?”

“Anywhere, everywhere!” You can’t help the smile that overcomes you as he pulls your hand up to his mouth, planting a familiar kiss upon it, before the engine hums back to life. “It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you, all roads lead home.”

Like old times, you lean forward and turn up the radio, a familiar tune filling the air as you sink back into your seat, the wind back in your hair and an open road laying ahead, ready to lead you both wherever the wheels may take you.

“Oh I, I wanna be with you everywhere.”

bts with hyde. this is just a little reflective commentary that i put down here, to avoid flooding my author's note with too much rambling. please feel free to skip this!!

this fic is a compilation of firsts for me. it's the first challenge i've taken part in within the pedro fanspace, which has been equally exciting as it has been daunting. i struggle immensely with writing on a time schedule, and so i'm pretty proud of myself for not posting this (too) late.

this is also my first time writing for jack. admitedly, i'm not sure if i've done justice to him, as his character is somehow incredibly strong and, yet, so open for interpretation that i found myself struggling to connect with him in my writing. i have no plans to write for him in any future wips, but that might change. it was definitely fun to push myself out my comfort zone and write for a new character!

something i want to praise myself for is the attention i put into smaller details of this fic. for example, each flower mentioned in this fic has a very specific symbol/meaning attached to it, fitting with the themes of the scenes in which they're mentioned. the other place i hyperfocused on very unimportant details is the playlist. it opens and closes on the only two songs fronted by a female vocalist, with my intention being that these songs are a representation of the reader's inner turmoils and thoughts in the opening and closing scenes. the rest of the playlist is full of male vocalists, giving a peak into jack's mind despite the entire fic being told through the reader's eyes.

okay, i've given myself enough delusional and unnecesary praise, i'm going to sleep now. please don't be mean if you didn't like this fic, it's literally my birthday 🫡

if you've read this far, ily, i hope you have a good day !

[bebebelll]

does anyone know her dad? daniel ricciardo smau (part 1)

pairing: daniel ricciardo x toto's secret child!reader / daniel ricciardo x schumacher and wolff!reader warnings: cursing and some general fandom hate wags get note: first time doing this i dont know if this right but lets go! part 2, part 3 and part 4

mickschumacher happy birthday to @ynquads !! sorry for crashing into the cake! mama said she'll make you another

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 122 498 others

gina_schumacher thanks for almost cropping me out of the picture

mickschumacher it's about yn!! ynquads i though i was you favourite cousin gigi :( why u being so mean to me :( i'll go tell my parents micschumacher ill tell mama you're being mean to yn username123 always love seeing mick and yn be annoying little siblings

maxverstappen1 congrats! is it enough to say it here or do i have to make my own post? ive given you a present

ynquads bring me cowboy boots from austin and you dont have to

username cute cute cute cute cute cute

username honestly schumacher genes dont even feel real anymore

username right!?!?! i want yn to win the figure skating grand prix but then i remember that video where she went karting with max username like a billion drivers and a skater and the good looks in ONE family? god really does have favourites

lewishamilton happy birthday! it's been great seeing you grow up

username excuse me sir? what do you mean grow up?

ynquads visited japan for a wedding and now i'm all ready for skate america!! let's gooo cricket club!!

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, susie_wolff and 112 666 others

username YOU GOT INVITED TO YUZURU'S WEDDING

ynquads i even got to bring daniel🤭

danielricciardo it was a lovely wedding❤️❤️(ours is gonna be better)

username excuse what the fuck lewishamilton actually you're not allowed to marry her without our permission danielricciardo whose permission would i even ask? lewishamilton every german speaking driver and like three team bosses good luck

username ARIANA (our queen & god susie wolff) WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

maxverstappen1 daniel's being gross make him stop

danielricciardo am not! ynquads lmao throw bread at him danielricciardo all the love ive given you and this is how you repay me? ynquads ooh i'll repay you 😏 maxverstappen1 dont be weird under my comment

username oh she has time to fly to japan but not go to a single race ever

username babes danny has not been in the since zandvoort. theres been no race to go see him username they've been together for like three years and she's only been to less than ten races username like seriously cant she ever be supportive username you people do realize she's an athlete too?

ynquads we got silver!!!💪🥈🥈🥈congrats to kaori sakamoto 🥇 and isabeau levito🥉 (also thanks uncle lewis for dinner)

tagged: lewishamilton

liked by maxverstappen1 and 237 274 others

nicorosberg he gave you alcohol?

ynquads i have never actually drank alcohol at all in my entire life (also dad was there i was not even allowed to get food that had rum in the sauce) maxverstappen1 oh yeah we did not at all just get drunk ynquads shut up before nico goes to talk to my DAD

username are we all just gonna ignore that she calls lewis "uncle" like seriously how disrespectful is that

username calm the fuck down she calls him and all the older grid (especially sebastian) uncle so it is not new

danielricciardo why you holding your head like that? is it heavy from all the pretty? i can hold it for you

nicorosberg this is who you choose @ynquads danielricciardo why are you bullying me too??? ynquads hes funny onkel nico (uncle) username how is nico rosberg here dragging danny ric? you dont even follow him?

username EVERYBODY CALM DOWN THIS IS NOT A DRILL WE HAVE A CHANCE TO HAVE YN WIN THIS YEAR'S GRAND PRIX PLEASE BE ON EVERY PODIUM

susie_wolff congrats honey! we're really proud!

username i still think it's so damn weird she just hangs out with the older grid. how does she even know then to go on dinners

username okay but when the hell did this even happen? i follow yn and she trains in toronto and during summer is in germany or england. she doesnt attend the races? how the fuck is she and DANIEL RICCIARDO together babes

username i bet my life that max introduced them i can feel it in my bones that he planned this username "oh sorry i won by 30 secs and you have a shitbox to drive, wanna meet my friend she's great gf material? you have no chance without help" ynquads i mean.... username OH MY GOD

username she's such a shit girlfriend honestly. she dates daniel for publicity and then drags lewis down too

username what the fuck are you smoking??

username how the FUCK did daniel ricciardo bag the talented pretty QUAD QUEEN MISS YN SCHUMACHER!!! thats my wife actually! what about our kids and three lambs??

f1wagsupdates paparazzi has released a video of mercedes team boss toto wolff exiting a restaurant and driving off with a young woman. even though she tried to cover herself, the woman was quicky identified as yn schumacher. she is a figure skater and 20+ years younger. in an interview from home yn can be seen walking around the wolff kitchen in little clothing. is this the ending to toto's perfect looking marriage with fellow motorsport boss susie wolff?

liked by 10 385

username if i dont read it, it doesnt exist. no one's cheating ever

username toto and susie's kid is like 5 how could he throw that away??

username its always the goddamn family men fucking over their wives and kids

username this is such bullshit. toto and susie have been together since like 2011 this is so horrible

username little clothing? she's wearing like pajamas

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Little Bit More

25/12: Promise & Phone Sex - Billy Washington Word Count: 1.6k~ | Warnings: phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation (f and m) A/N: this exists in the Every Little Bit universe!

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

He always knew it was coming around, and yet he always hated it.

Her dad’s birthday was in between Christmas and New Year, that weird time where you don’t know what day it is, never seem to have enough food in and where you’re so disorientated in the post-Christmas haze that it’s like coming down from a sugar high.

It was the few times of year where she went away by herself, wanting to spare Billy from the absolute torture of being around her parents for a few days as she made excuse after excuse as to why they weren’t married yet.

Not that he minded, there was only so much of her mum Billy could take.

He’d seen her off at the train station, her duffel bag looking very much as big as her in the cutest way possible as she skipped off to the platform in her winter overcoat and scarf, the chill nipping at her cheeks.

It was only a few days. It was only a few days. He had to keep reminding himself. 

Billy sighed, tapping the remote control against his knee, only half-watching whatever terrible Friday night tele graced his flat. The pizza box was closed shut on the coffee table, having tried to cheer himself up with a takeaway.

His phone buzzed, and he couldn't help the smile that rose to his face, seeing her name in bright white letters on the face of it.

She'd promised to ring 9 o’clock on the dot, after all.

“Hiya, ya alright?” he answered, his voice sounding perkier already, his muscles relaxing once he heard her voice.

“Hey, you sound happy”, she replied low down the phone, and he could tell she was smiling by the way she said it.

“I am now,” he grinned, “just finished a 12 inch on my own.”

She groaned over the line, “Billy.”

“I'm joking, it's because I've heard your voice again.”

“Better,” she laughed breathily, “what you up to? Other than missing me, of course.”

He sighs, “Being a sad cunt, staying in with a beer watching whatever shite is on Channel 4.”

“Ooh dear,” she says unenthusiastically, “sounds dull, babe.”

Billy hummed in agreement, “What about you? What you up to?”

It was her turn to sigh, “fuck all, really. Mum and Dad went to go and see Mum's mate Jill, you know Jill don't you?”

“Yes, babe.”

“Yeah, well they left at five and are yet to be back. Convinced she's got them tied up in the basement.”

Billy laughed through his nose, “That actually sounds better than what she might actually be doing, chatting their bloody ears off.”

“Poor buggers, eh,” she laughed, “so I'm sat here on my tod.”

“What a shame you've got me to talk to then.”

He could hear her smile, “could be worse. You missing me?”

The alcohol had offered him a kind of confidence, and he sucked his teeth, holding back a grin, “You could say that. Missing something anyway.”

He heard her mischievous tone even over the crackle of the phone.

“Are you now?”

The line went quiet for a while, before a notification buzzed and Billy turned her on loudspeaker for a moment as he pulled his phone from his ear to check.

…has sent an image.

With one flick of his thumb, his jaw dropped, the depths of his gut becoming tight and hot by the picture she'd sent him. It was her figure reflected in a mirror, wearing clearly nothing but a large t-shirt (his, he noted) and pulling the spare fabric to one side to show her curves as well as her pebbled nipples beneath it.

“Jesus..”

She giggled over the phone, “is that a good ‘jesus’?”

“I-fuck, yes…”

Another one arrived, with her pulling up the hem of her shirt over her hips and expanse of her stomach, just beneath the shadow of her breasts.

“Christ, babe, what are you doing to me?”

She hummed, “sorry, you said you were missing me.”

Billy sighed looking at the photos, every now and then closing his eyes to will the feeling of her skin onto his fingertips, the warmth of her, the sounds she'd make for him. 

His breathing grew shallow as he reached into his jeans, wrapping one hand around his length, to softly pump himself, already half-hard since the moment the first picture arrived.

“Are you enjoying them?” she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“Mmhm..” he murmured.

Another few arrived, in various stages. One where the shirt was fully over her breasts, one where she was wearing nothing at all leaning back to show her full naked torso, and one sat on the bed, the lines appearing where her hips met her thighs.

“Oh fuck…”

Over the phone, she could hear the clinking of his belt as he pleasured himself, “are you touching yourself, baby?”

He could only make a sound in confirmation, his throat closing as he fisted himself to the photos of her.

She sighed, as if her touching herself was expelling a deeply rooted desire, her hands sliding between her legs, the other holding the phone to her ear, “Mm…wish you were here…”

“-ffuck-me too, baby-”

His strained voice was enough to coax some slick between her fingers, using it to pleasure herself, laid back on the bed.

“are you on the sofa?...”

He swallowed, breathlessly replying, “yeah..”

“Do you remember before I left…” she started, and the memory nearly made Billy dizzy.

He was sat right where he is right now, legs apart to accommodate her kneeling there. She'd been annoyed that he was playing Xbox, and so, in an effort to make him lose his game, had knelt in front of him, pulled his sweatpants over his hips and eagerly took his length between her lips.

She'd gotten what she wanted. Before long, his controller was long forgotten and instead, his fingers were threaded through her hair, guiding her pace on him.

He can feel his stomach tightening at the memory of the sensation.

“Do you remember, baby?”

“Yes…”

“Hm..” she hummed, over the phone, while in her own bed began to hasten the pace of her self-pleasure.

"If I were there...do you know what I'd do?"

"What..." he breathed, his hold on his phone so tight without realising.

"I'd get up...off my knees...on top of you..." she muses, sighing at the feeling herself beginning to crest, "...maybe tease you a bit..."

"Fuck-no, baby, don't tease me-"

She let out a breathy laugh, "but why not? It's so much fun."

Her hips canted towards her own touch, her eyes fluttering shut as she held the phone loosely as the pressure tightened in her gut.

"What would you do, baby? If I was right there on top of you..."

His voice came strained, every stroke of his length in his fist drawing him close to fulfilment.

"I would - I'd fuckin' pull you down..."

She could tell he was close by the tone of his voice, and she bit back a smile, knowing he was much too far gone to even form a coherent thought.

"I'd let you fuck me...right there...be your little fuck toy..." She mused in a sort of whisper, "...you could cum inside me...as many times as you want, baby..."

Billy's lips parted, not even realising how his movements had become rapid, needy and quick.

"Oh fuck-"

On the other side she was close herself, and then she heard the prompt and pulled the phone away from her ear to see a request to switch to video call. She accepted without thinking and felt her gut twist at what she saw.

His jeans were pushed around his zipper barely, only enough to free his cock as he pumped it quickly. She was entranced as Billy pleasured himself in real time, her face growing warm at the effect she'd clearly had on him.

And then she heard it, a long shuddered whimper of her name, followed by, "Oh baby-"

She felt her thighs tremble as she came, warmth rushing beneath her hips and a tingling sensation rushing from her toes all the way up her spine, as Billy groaned deeply and spilled all over his fingers for her to see.

Her hand has slowed, overstimulation gnawing as she touched herself with Billy's languid thrusts into his hand continuing to pull a deep arousal from her.

Over the video she heard his laboured breaths, gulping for air.

When the video turned off she smiled tiredly and pulled her phone back to her ear, hearing his tired, exhausted voice.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he breathed. She could imagine him, all spent and limp on the sofa, and the thought made her smirk and press her thighs together with want.

"Mm, you're telling me. Do you feel better now?" She asked demurely.

"Fuck you," he teased, "fuck, I can't wait for you to get back..."

She gave a short laugh, "Oh yeah? What you gonna do when I am?"

He was quiet for so long she wondered if he'd heard her, her brows furrowed in confusion, lips parted to ask him if he was still there.

But realistically, on the other end, a wide smile graced his face, his blue eyes all aglimmer with mischief.

And what he said had the power to shut her right up. Excitement made her stomach flip, wondering what version of Billy she seems to have unleashed. Gone was the shy, unconfident Billy she'd found. Her efforts in getting him to...unwind somewhat shocking even her.

"How did you put it, hm?" he laughed, with a smile so bright like he'd just opened a present, "My little fuck toy?"

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[newtonsheffield]

Ahh Princess Kate and her Companion Mr Anthony Bridgerton.

Anthony’s nervous, at the Queen’s birthday. This is the first family event he’s attended as a member of said family (he doesn’t feel Edwina’s birthday at a nightclub counts) and he wants to make a good impression. Kate’s beautiful, obviously, and he fact that she stays by herself with her arm tucked around his waist giggling in His ear makes him feel better about the whole situation. It makes him feel better about the fact that this tux is worth more than the rest of his wardrobe combined and he didn’t pay for it. He likes that there’s photos of them together that’ll be printed and reprinted with a caption that links them together. There’s pictures even of him with her parents, her father’s hand clapping him on the shoulder as he laughs.

But that candid picture of Anthony is the one that ends up causing the biggest stir.

Kate had slipped away for photographs with her mother and sister and Anthony was stood to the side, watching her with her family. He didn’t even remember the smile slipping into his face . And the next day that photograph is everywhere. He can’t get away from the comments that Benedict is sending him a little too gleefully

It’s no wonder she had a dirty affair with her bodyguard #daddy

The way he looks at her has me ready to sneak around with him

I was ready to make fun of this but they’re actually sweet? Fuck. Did you see that she holds both their drink in one hand so he doesn’t have to let go of her other one?! I-

It makes Kate chuckle when she sees them, scrolling through the comments on the post she’d put up, the last photo in the set of the two of them getting ready together. His hand in hers while she sits in the makeup chair, his hair clipped back while Kate herself teases him as she puts an exfoliating face mask on him.

“People really care about this huh?”

Kate hummed, “To be honest I think the entire country has a crush on you and they figure it makes sense that I was helpless to resist you. Which is… exactly what happened.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “oh yeah, I’m a catch.”

“Excuse me, you were the best in your snowboarding class.” Kate chuckled, “I mean, everyone else was 7 but still.”

“Josie better look out. I’m coming for that gold medal.”

“Oh an Olympic aerial skier should be concerned about you, an amateur snowboarder? Is this a new event I don’t know about?”

Anthony tutted, “Babe, I don’t actually know what aerial skiing is. That’s for rich people.”

[suguru-getos]

Birthday Lovings | Bakugou x Todoroki x F!Reader |

A/N: This post is for my baby @bakugoushotwife for her birthday. <3 (Yes I posted early I wrote this on my work laptop). I love you and I hope you like being loved by these two dorks! No warnings as such, this is an extremely fluffy (almost Diabetes inducing fluffy excuse me :P) They just love you so much and want to make your birthday special. <3 I thought of creating a mood-board to make you familiar with the aesthetics we have going on here :DD

Shouto knew better than to be impatient, yet, he couldn't help but sigh looking at the clock. "Don't understand what's taking her so long." His childish dismissal evident and biting as the Blonde gremlin next to him scoffed. "Learn patience on your own before I shove it where the sun don't shine." Shouto bites back quite instantly, "All you know is how to sound useless, do better and be more creative dull head." After tolerating each other since high school; Bakugou and Shouto have grown used to each other. Each have their own unique traits to exhibit where they show you love. It was exactly 10 pm of the day before your birthday and Shouto Todoroki was getting annoyed. The veins of his forehead popping up and flaring, though his counterpart was seemingly chill. Sometimes the tables turn on these two, and you're the only one who knows them this intimately who can figure that out.

"She'll be here." Bakugou scoffed, clearly annoyed.

They have spent a lot of time decorating the house after all. Shouto wanted to see how much you'd like it. If… you'd like it. "Cute." Katsuki snickered under his breath, rolling his eyes. They had decorated the entrance with metallic balloons in grey and white, with strings and bells of the accentuating undertones. The whole house was decorated with roses and was a literal paradise. Musk and vanilla scented candles all over, waiting to be lit up and the cake as massive as your wedding cake. They wanted the 12 am of your birthday to mark the celebrations quick and clear.

Here you were, stuck at work and the two hero gremlins who's heart you own… restless and needy.

Shouto finally texted you:

Shouto [10:19pm]: Where are you? Snowflake [10:21pm]: I'm on my way, I'll be there soon!

Katsuki chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Told ya, we'll fuck her shitty boss up if he tries to make her stay late today."

Shouto nodded, a gentle and relaxed smile plastered over his features. This sounds, nice… you'd be here in no time then! How quaint.

They waited patiently, Shouto leaning his head against Katsuki's shoulders as they sat on the couch dressed up in a white button up with blazers scrolling through TikToks. "The worst thing is these edits made by fans." Katsuki scoffs, "Taking my words completely out of the context." Shouto laughs, "If  you want me to listen then get on your knees and beg? Who says that to a villain? You should know that would be surely taken out of the context." Bakugou rolls his eyes, scoffing and scrolling further. They were extremely popular heroes, each famous for their powers but also their behaviours. On one hand we had Dynamight - the symbol of strength, the symbol of bluntness and to stand true to your opinion. His fans admired him for his good looks, powers and of course his ability to be so direct and without any filters. The other hand we had Shouto - symbol of strength and gentlemanliness. Famous as the elegant hero who is refined and almost aristocratic and exudes charm like no other. Politely speaks and still can get menacing when needed. Girls dig that. Too bad both of them are literally married to you.

Their thoughts and conversations were cut off with the door knock. Both of them lurched up, looking at each other with a shit-eating grin. "Kay, she's here. Good s' almost 12" Katsuki beamed, walking towards the door and opening it for you.

You walked in, suddenly engulfed by the scent of his cologne, while Shouto lured around too as both of them say in unison. "Welcome home!" If you had a bad day, you couldn't really do anything but give into the harmonious and contagious happiness and excitement both of them showcased. You smiled, cheeks dusting red as the decorations reflected in the browns of your eyes. "Oh my god- this- this is a lot! You guys" You blushed, getting a tad embarrassed with how extensive and extra they've been. "Shut up shitty woman!" Katsuki laughed, carrying you over his shoulder before you could absorb the decorations done in your name. Your birthday which was about to commence… "We got just the perfect fit for you, Darling." Shouto echoed, walking beside Katsuki towards your shared bedroom. The red satin dress laid down on your king sized bedroom, with three Tiffany and Co. boxes which had matching jewellery, lingerie, perfume, and of course dainty heels that would complete the look.

You gasped, chuckling at how the diamond set laid there serpentine, they really planned a lot. No wonder you watched them on their phone's showing each other things secretively three weeks before your big day. "I chose most of the things" Bakugou lied through his teeth, and Shouto frowned. "Hey- that's absolutely not true!" Immediately cutting Katsuki off with a pouty glare. "We decided things together, we had to brainstorm a lot. The things I liked, he didn't. The things he liked, I didn't." Shouto stamped the truth on Katsuki's face and yours. Katsuki was only teasing after all, nodding with a softened grin to accept Shouto's truth. "I see, I see… thank you Daddies. You both have been so cute." You almost whine, heart swelling at their efforts and their little banter. Oh how did you get so lucky? "Go change." Katsuki playfully spanked the mound of your ass, though it's not as playful because it stings just right. You roll your eyes and change in front of them… no shame in rewarding with how much they've done for you. They both look at you the same way they did when they first saw you naked. Shouto has a little dusk on his cheek, Katsuki is a little wide-eyed. Their stares turn from awe to a potion of parched predators mingled with loving worshippers. It’s something words would fail to describe. Teeth-baringly unique to Bakugou Katsuki & Shouto Todoroki when they glance at your beautiful body. "I'll rip those off after." Katsuki pointed at the lingerie and called dibs on it in front of Shouto. "Shut up, now isn't the time for that." Shouto chided him, acting refined but his core burned when you slipped the dress on. "Alright little one, get ready and Shouto and I, would go prepare stuff up." "Okay, I won’t take long, I promise." You comfort, seeing it was 11:30 PM on the clock. Hearing that calms Shouto's nerves significantly. Little perfection freak amalgamated with the other Blonde Perfectionism Freak.

They go outside after you kiss them on the lips, letting them wander around your body that grounds them, that makes them realize what they want to protect so bad.

Once you finished getting ready, you walked outside to the lit aisle of roses, champagne bottle decorated along with the dinner food on one side of the table; the other having your birthday cake. "This is all so fucking cute!" You wiggled in place, giddy like a child. Shouto likes capturing moments, hence you were recorded coming out from your bedroom. Bakugou walked towards you, hands snaking to hold your wrist and the other around your waist to pull you close, gravely whispering, "Happy birthday." It was dot 12:00 AM. You almost teared up at the sincerity of his wish, while Shouto walked in too, kissing your forehead deeply. "Happy birthday, wife." "So happy to spend the rest of my life with you. You make me the luckiest man on this earth." Shouto chimes, kissing your cheek and chuckling when you evade eye-contact because their sincerity is making you tear up. There have been random discussions about how you haven't really spent a proper birthday. You didn't really rant about it or such, but your men are perceptive after all. "We've planned a fuckin' bash for ya!" Bakugou grins, "this one's just for the family. Just us… then tomorrow we'd party our asses off. Don't give a shit if we're blacked out by the end of it." Shouto rolls his eyes with a chuckle. "The last time you were drunk you were telling her to piss off cause you're wifed up." You snickered with Shouto at the pouty Katsuki. "You half and half bastard you were fucking calling me with your phone saying you lost your phone SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Oh they can be such messes when they're drunk. "Alright, but I get to choose who we invite!" You strike again and they nod diligently. Before you could speak further, both of them held each hand of yours, letting you stand near the cake & giving you a custom gold-plated knife, iced with diamonds. "Fuck that knife- this is so beautiful why're we even using it?" You almost were baffled, blinking at the degree of 'extra' this was. "S' a gift from yer lame best friend and her dumb bird brained idiot." Katsuki rolled his eyes, and Shouto smiled, "I like it, no idea why it's a knife though?" "Cause she said she wants to be a part of a family celebration so she'd shove an object in the ceremony." Bakugou cackled, impressed by the clinginess of your friend.

"Alright, let me cut the cake. Shut up you two! I love this knife." You almost roared, giggling and cutting the cake while they both hummed a very fine-tuned, melodious and almost acoustic version of the song 'Happy Birthday'. There was an acoustic music, serene and relaxing playing in the background while you held back from tearing up. They can be so nasty with their love towards you, spoiling you & making sure you know just how much they love you. There was one time, Shouto said something that suddenly echoed in your mind as you chose him to take the first bite of the delicious dessert. "If you were cold and burning the world would provide you warmth, I will not think twice." It was one of the days when you had a bad day, and were sitting silently on his lap while he played with your hair. Now you know, he's fully capable of doing that. The second piece goes to Bakugou Katsuki himself, a force to reckon with. He might've not said anything but you know he will cause disasters in your minor problems. How do you know? Oh it's simple, he's almost glossy eyed every time you whine at something as little as a period cramp. He can't see you in pain and he can't see him being helpless about it. You find him using rage as an outlet when he feels so. So Katsuki of him.

"Happy birthday Princess." Katsuki echoed again, leaning in and stealing a passionate kiss.

"Happy birthday, dear Snowflake." hummed Shouto, hugging you extra tight causing you to whine in a whimper with giggles, stealing a kiss after.

"Let's go have dinner." Shouto coos, looking enamoured and whipped. "Then, yer gonna be daddy's dessert." Katsuki snickered, while you rolled your eyes with a grin.

"Course, I will be. I love you two!"  

[yournowheregirl]

thank y’all for your patience for this part and as a treat it’s an extra long one and posted just in time for dolly’s birthday (today, the 19th) and my own (tomorrow, the 20th). see you around for part 6!

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 6 + complete on ao3]

part 5: baby i’m burnin’ 

For a just a moment as he looks into Steve’s big hazel eyes, Eddie’s entire world stands still and just two questions echo through his mind.

One: what the hell is Steve doing here?

Two: how much of that song did Steve hear and will he be able to connect the dots?

Okay, technically he has three questions but he doesn’t have time to think about any of them because the longer he’ll stay here, the longer Steve will have time to decipher the puzzle that’s lying right in front of him, right there in Eddie’s eyes. Eddie obviously can’t have that, so he stands up, drops the guitar onto the floor, pushes past Steve and heads towards the exit. He hears Pat and Tish say something, some kind of protest but it doesn’t register in his brain as he slams the door shut behind him.

It’s still coming down in buckets once he steps outside, but it still better than staying inside, to be in the same room with Steve and those damn puppy eyes of his. He jogs to his van, patting his jeans pockets in search for his keys, only to come up empty. 

Fuck. The keys must still be in his leather jacket. Which he left upstairs. Inside the bar.

For a moment, Eddie contemplates just walking all the way back to Hawkins but the continuous rain pour stops him from doing yet another incredibly stupid thing. He kicks the side of the van - it already has enough dents so what’s one more? - and turns on his heel to go back inside.

Only to be once again greeted by Steve.

“Get lost, Harrington.” Eddie bites out before Steve can even get a word in. He pushes past Steve once again, not-so-accidentally bumping into him to really get the point across. 

“Eddie, wait!” Steve grabs him by the wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks. 

“Let. Me. Go.” Eddie’s eyes are flaming with anger as Steve nods slowly in response, fingers releasing their grip but lingering just a moment before they completely move away. 

“Eddie, please, just listen to me for one second.” Steve pleads. “I came here because you didn't show up at my place tonight and I was worried about you.”

“You were worried about me?” Eddie snaps. “You should’ve thought about that before you ditched me for some fucking date. Thanks for the heads up by the way, really appreciate it.”

Eddie’s already moving back towards the bar when Steve speaks up again, annoyance written all over his voice. “I ditched you? You were the one who didn’t show up at my house in the first place!”

Is this guy for real? Does he really not see the problem of having a friend over during a first date? Eddie feels his blood boil hotter by the second, and since Steve is probably staring at him with those big doe-eyes of his, like he did nothing wrong, something inside Eddie just snaps. He whips his head around, his wet hair flinging water droplets through the air. 

“Yeah, because you had a goddamn date coming over and so excuse me for not wanting to be a fuckin’ third-wheel with the guy I’m in love with!”

The silence that follows is deafening as Eddie slowly realizes what he just said. 

Oh fuck.

This was not how this was supposed to go. He had a plan, he had moves, he had this whole thing figured out before Dustin dropped the bomb about Steve’s date. Then the plan changed and Eddie made a vow to never say another word about his feelings for Steve to anyone. 

Until now, apparently.  

“You… you’re in love with me?” Steve asks, his voice almost a whisper over the sound of the pouring rain. 

There’s no use in lying at this point, Eddie’s pretty sure that his face is saying everything that Steve needs to know right now. He could deny it all he wants, but deep-down he know that Steve’ll see right through him. He always has. 

Eddie nods slowly, his anger making way for embarrassment and anxiety. He looks away, his racing heart prevents him from looking Steve in the eye. His shoulder sag as he somehow finds the courage to talk again. 

“Just… just go. Go be with your date or whatever. I’ll.. I’ll just back off. We don’t need to see each other if you don’t want to and- and I totally understand if you don’t wanna be friends anymore. I mean I get it, totally get it and-”

But before Eddie can finish his sentence, Steve interrupts him, suddenly standing much closer than before. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at him. “Why not?”

“Oh my God.” Steve almost whines. “Because you were my date, Eddie!”

Wait, what? That can’t be right.

“I… no. No, we weren’t going on a date, we were having a movie night.” Eddie stammers. “A movie night that you forgot about and- and- no, this wasn’t a date.”

“Tell that to the freshly made pasta and wine I had to put in the fridge because you didn’t show up.” Steve scoffs. He runs a hand through his wet hair, then over his face, shaking off the remainder of water. “Or the dozen roses I bought to put on the table because this-” He gestures between them “-was supposed to be a date.”

The roses. Those goddamn roses that Dustin told him about, they were for him? Eddie’s mind is reeling with all this new information, unable to form a coherent thought. 

“Wait, did you forget that we were going on a date?” Steve asks. He ducks his head in an attempt to force Eddie to look at him. When Eddie finally does, he’s taken aback by how soft Steve’s eyes are, how surprisingly amused he looks by all of this.

Eddie thinks back to earlier that week, when he was loitering around Family Video after his shift at the garage. He and Steve had been talking like any other day, though Eddie had been particularly flirty in that moment, teasing Steve till his face was beet-red and followed by a bright smile and a quiet ‘shut up, Eddie’. 

Customers had come in then, demanding Steve’s attention. But right before he attended to them, Steve had turned around, almost looking shy.

“What are you doing on Friday?”

Eddie shrugged. “Other than contemplating my existence and overthinking all of my sins? Not much.”

“Good.” Steve had laughed. “You wanna come to my place for dinner and a movie? I’ll be making my Nana’s pasta primavera.”

“Ooh, you know how the way to my heart, Steve.” Eddie said, dramatically lying a hand over his heart. “As long as you provide the food, I’ll be there.”

Steve had beamed at him right then and there, like Eddie had personally handed him a ten-thousand dollar check. “Great! It’s a da-” 

The sound of a customer repeatedly dinging the bell on the counter had interrupted the rest of his sentence and Eddie hadn’t thought much of it at the time. But now… now he knows exactly what Steve was going to say. 

It’s a date.

Silence hangs heavy in the air. The downpour muffles the ringing in Eddie’s ears as he tries to wrap his head around all of this. 

Steve wanted tonight to be a date.

Steve wanted to go on a date with him.

Steve likes him. 

What the actual fuck.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Steve mutters. He grabs Eddie’s hands, thumbs softly running across his knuckles and it’s only then that Eddie realizes that his hands have been trembling all this time. “You wanna go back inside? The rain-”

“You… you like me.” Eddie chokes out.

“Yeah, thought that was kinda obvious at this point.” Steve laughs. “But apparently, it wasn’t so I’m sorry, I should’ve-”

Eddie shakes his head, squeezes Steve’s hands a little tighter. “No, no way. If anyone should apologize it’s me. I should’ve just called you when Dustin told me about your date and I should’ve noticed that you were asking me out and I-”

“Eddie…” Steve says softly. 

One of his hands lets go of Eddie’s, only for it to move up to his face. His thumb softly brushes away the droplets of rainwater on his cheek, on his jaw, on his lips. There’s an unspoken question in Steve’s eyes, asking for permission as they wander down to Eddie’s lips, then back up again. 

A simple nod from Eddie is enough to answer that silent question.

Steve’s hand comes to join the other on Eddie’s jaw, cradling his face so gently, like he’s holding a precious gemstone. The way he pulls Eddie towards him, however, is anything but gentle and Eddie almost trips over his own feet, grabbing onto Steve’s waist for balance. And despite the coolness of the rain water, Steve feels warm underneath the soaked pink fabric of his button-down.

There’s a second where Eddie thinks he sees Steve hesitating - his breathing heavy, eyes once again asking for permission, as if Eddie’s ever going to back away now. Eddie fights the urge to roll his eyes and leans in, pressing his lips against Steve’s.

As far as first kisses go, Eddie has had a few. Always rough, always rushed, always dirty. Never with anyone that mattered, never with anyone that cared, never like this.

Because this isn’t anything like those other first kisses, because Steve’s kisses are soft, gentle even. It’s like he’s saying sorry over and over again against Eddie’s lips and it’s this soft gesture that somehow manages to set Eddie’s entire body on fire, burning from the inside out in the best way possible. 

The rain water makes it easier for their lips to glide against one another and it instantly makes Eddie crave more. His grip on Steve’s waist tightens, making Steve gasp in response and Eddie makes good use of that split second to lick his way into Steve’s mouth. 

Steve tastes like rainwater and mint and Eddie fights back a smile - he must’ve taken a breath mint before coming here, a boy scout always comes prepared after all. The taste of it, of Steve, is frankly addicting and Eddie kisses back harder, but still as slow as before, reveling at the soft sounds Steve’s making at the back of his throat. 

They have to pull away for air at some point and Eddie groans in annoyance. He needs to make up for lost time and this wasn’t nearly enough, oxygen be damned.

“As romantic as this is-” Steve laughs when Eddie places kisses all over his face - his cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose. “-can we please go back inside? This rain is ruining my jeans.”

“Oh, well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Eddie grins and with a final kiss to Steve’s lips, he pulls away to go back inside and escape the rain.

-xxx-

Pat and Tish are a bit weary when Eddie walks back inside the bar with Steve in tow and even Steve’s usual charming smile doesn’t seem to deter them from glaring daggers at him. 

Eddie’s heart melts a bit at their protectiveness, but he assures them that they talked things out, that things are good now. Pat nods approvingly and invites Steve to come talk to her later and even though her glare has faded, Eddie is still a little scared of her on Steve’s behalf. Tish, on the other hand, immediately squeals with joy and tries to pull both of them in a hug, only backing away when she realizes that they’re soaking wet.

“We need to get you boys some dry clothes.” Tish says.

“No, no, we’ll be on our way.” Steve shakes his head. “Don’t wanna be any trouble.”

“Nonsense. You’re one of us now.” Tish lovingly pats his cheek. “C’mon, we got plenty of clothes in the lost and found and if that fails, we always got Pat’s closet to dig around in.”

Steve looks so very confused and Eddie just laughs, head thrown back as they follow Tish back upstairs. She hands them a cardboard box filled with various clothing items that had been left in the bar over the years and directs them to Pat’s part of the closet.

“I’ll leave you guys to it.” Tish says, walking back to the hallway. She turns around in the doorway, a knowing smile on her lips. “Oh and by the way, these walls are pretty thin, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Okay, bye Tish!” Eddie says quickly, face turning pink at the implication of her words.  He clears his throat and turns to Steve. “Sorry about her.”

“Nah, it’s alright. She’s got nothing to worry about.”

“Wow, we’re, what- ten minutes into this whole relationship crap and you’re already saying you don’t want to jump my bones?” Eddie asks, mock-offended. “Not off to a great start there, Steve.”

“Oh, I’m not saying that.” Steve cocks his head to the side, smirking. “Just saying that I’m not that easy.”

Eddie scoffs. “What? You need winin’ and dinin’ to get in the mood?”

“Certainly helps.” Steve shrugs. There’s a twinkle in his eyes that Eddie can’t quite explain. That is until he remembers what Steve had told him earlier - about the wine and the roses and the dinner in the fridge - and he suddenly feels his face heat up again. There’s a lot you can say about Steve, but he’s definitely a man with a plan. 

“Anyway…” Eddie clears his throat. “Let’s find some clothes yeah?” 

Lucky for them, the clothes in the lost and found box actually fit them pretty well. Sure the jeans are a bit baggier than both of their usual styles, but at least they don’t need a belt to keep it from falling off. But much to Eddie’s dismay, Steve has to take off his button-down since it’s completely drenched

That moment of dismay is short-lived because now Eddie is faced with Steve’s bare chest on full display. He’d seen it before, way back when at Lover’s Lake but he didn’t allow himself to spare Steve a second glance. Didn’t allow himself to look, but oh boy is he looking now. Even with all the scars swirling around his skin, he’s still one the most beautiful men Eddie has ever laid eyes upon. Plus, there is that chest hair that had been torturing him since the moment he spotted it peaking out of that same pink button-down.

Steve catches him staring, right when he’s about to pull on some bland white t-shirt over his head. He stops, lowers his arms and smirks at Eddie. “You do know you’re staring, right?”

“I know.” Eddie nods, smiling. “Think I’m allowed to at this point, don’t you?”

He watches as Steve lets the shirt drop to the floor and his heart speeds up when he notices that Steve is staring right back at him, dark eyes roaming up and down his body. But it’s the look that does it, that look of hunger and desire in Steve’s eyes, that sets Eddie’s insides aflame.

It’s as if Steve can read his mind, because soon as Eddie takes a step forward, Steve does as well, meeting him halfway. There’s a moment where they both just look at each other, waiting who’s going to cave in first. In the end, Eddie isn’t really sure who was the first to lean in, all he knows is that this kiss is vastly different than their first.

No longer soft and tender, the kiss is feverish and frantic with hands roaming over damp, bare skin, pulling each other flush against each other. Their first kiss made Eddie’s brain go all soft and gooey, but this kiss... This kiss makes it go static. Hyper aware of every single one of Steve’s movements, every swipe of his tongue, every bite of his teeth, every nail that digs into his skin.

Steve seems to have a similar reaction, judging by the way he’s desperately moaning when Eddie’s hands find their way into his hair and pull his head to the side for better access to his mouth.

“Be quiet.” Eddie pants against Steve’s lips. “Thin walls, remember?

Steve whines, face scrunched up in annoyance and pulls away. “Fine.”

“Aww Stevie, what’s wrong?” Eddie teases, nails scratching against Steve’s scalp. “You seem a little worked up but… didn’t you say you ain’t that easy?”

Steve’s eyes darken, his breathing heavy as he takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair. It’s literally unfair how hot he looks when doing that and Eddie just wants to pull him right back for more. 

“You… you must know what you’re doing to me with that damn accent of yours.” Steve croaks. He looks flustered, even though he definitely had his tongue halfway down Eddie’s throat just moments ago and it makes the flurry of butterflies inside Eddie’s stomach grow ten sizes.

“Darlin’, I don’t know what you mean.” Eddie winks.

He hears Steve cursing under his breath as Eddie turns around to dig through the lost and found box again. All of the shirts are objectively terrible or don’t fit him at all and even though he knows he’ll just need to pick something dry to wear, he still wants to look good. He has a reputation to uphold after all.

And it’s like the universe is smiling down at him because at the very bottom of the box, Eddie finds a black button-down. A Western cut shirt, in fact, complete with contrasting red piping and embroidered roses underneath the collar. 

Oh, Steve’s gonna love this.

He’s rolling up the sleeves as he turns around, only to find that Steve’s too busy looking in the mirror and messing with hair to notice him. Eddie clears his throat and Steve finally tears his eyes away from his reflection 

“Well, fuck.” Steve groans once he notices what Eddie’s wearing, unable to keep his eyes off Eddie for another second. 

“I believe that now it’s you who’s staring, darlin’.” Eddie smirks

“Oh, I think I’m allowed, don’t you?” Steve says, parroting Eddie’s words back to him. He closes the distance between them again, pulling Eddie by his belt loops. “We better go back downstairs.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m not sure how much these walls can drown out if we stay here much longer.”

-xxx-

The bar is open once they get downstairs and Tish immediately pulls them aside and puts two plates of spicy fried chicken and cornbread in front of them.

“On the house.” Tish smiles. “It’s your first date after all.”

Right, tonight was supposed to be their first date. Eddie had almost forgot about it with all the hassle that happened earlier. But it’s clear that Steve hasn’t because he picks up their plates and redirects them to a booth in the far corner of the bar. He’s a real gentleman too, offering to let Eddie slide into the booth first, only to squeeze against him as soon as he sits down. 

Eddie realizes then and there that he’s never been on a date before. 

Not a real one at least, and despite his usual skepticism, it’s actually pretty nice. Now that most of the awkwardness is out of the way, the conversation flows easily, the flirting too, actually. Mostly because Steve continues to be enamored by every vaguely Southern-sounding thing that rolls off Eddie’s tongue while Eddie only pretends to be annoyed by Steve’s cheesy pick-up lines, even though he secretly loves them.

It’s…

It’s easy.

Just like Steve said all those weeks ago, when he broke up with Emily. And then again after he saw Eddie perform right there on that stage. Eddie hadn’t really believed him back then, but now… now, he’s might just start to believe it.

Believe that loving Steve is the easiest thing he’s ever done.

Eddie’s leaning against the wall, with Steve nestled in between his legs when he hears it. A familiar beat, followed by some piano and brass instruments. He immediately pushes Steve out of the booth, scrambles to the feet and pulls Steve towards the dance floor.

“Wha- what is happening?” Steve stammers.

“You look at me that way. I know what your eyes say, your eyes reflect love and desire.” Eddie sings along, a bright smile plastered onto his face. “I see that you need me, I need you to please me. You touch me and set me on fire.”

He pulls Steve closer to him, swaying his hips along to the music. It takes a second for Steve to get the memo but then he’s slinging his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and beaming right back at him.

“I cannot resist you, each time I kiss you, then everything goes up in flames.”

Now Eddie’s not much of a dancer but he can move his hips alright and the sweet sounds of this particular Dolly Parton song will get him moving any day of the week. And the same goes for Steve so it seems, as the smile on his face doesn’t fade once. 

In fact, only grows larger and larger when Eddie grabs his hand and spins him around, his head thrown back with joyous laughter when he falls back into Eddie’s arms.

“Baby, I’m burnin’, out of control. Baby I’m burnin’, body and soul. Hot as a pistol that’s flaming desire, baby, I’m burning you got me on fire.” 

Steve suddenly changes course, one hand snaking around Eddie’s waist, while the other is holding Eddie’s hand tightly. Before Eddie knows what’s happening, Steve dips him, actually dips him like some professionally trained dancer, to the beat of the song.

“Where’d you learn that?” Eddie pants as Steve is still holding him in place.

“What, you thought you were the only one with a secret past?” Steve asks smugly

Eddie doesn’t even get a chance to answer the question because Steve’s lips are back on him in a split second. Not that Eddie minds of course. He could stay like this for hours, safely wrapped in Steve’s arms, feeling warm all over as their lips move in sync against each other.

“Baby I’m burnin’, you got me on fire…”

Eddie’s outfit is inspired by this amazing fanart by themdelakrem!

tag list: @cheatghost @henderdads @unclewaynemunson @goblin-eddie @trikigirl271 @alienace @legitcookie @gothbat99 @fandomcartographer @stevethehairington @blank1eboi @this-earlobe-is-naked @fruitandbubbles @courtjestermunson @steveisabicon @stereoteleversion @wrenisflying @spectrum-spectre @hotluncheddie @punkharringtxn @remislupinsthevoiceofgod @panicatthediaz @thegingervulcan @sharkruption @goodolefashionedloverboi @thelastwalkingsoul @undreamingscatworld @starrystevie @magipemuseum @mightbeasleep @corrodedcoughin @linkydinky06 @hardboiledeggs @gamerdano @limpingpenguin @blackpanzy @piningapple @teelagurl558 @theokatz @moonlightmirrorball @milf-harrington @raisedbylibrarians @eddiemunsonswife @catateme9 @stranger-poets-society @munsonsduchess @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @uwujinniee @bejeweledbaby @hardboiledleggs @hamiltonsteele @edgelordesworld @quickenedheartbeat @episcogoth @purplepluviophile @bornonthesavage @ninjapirateunicorns @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @medolie71 @knitsforthetrail @dilutedpondwater @he-she-steveharrington @plasticcrotches @smallspaceplant @mandalynn @m-owo-n @ceaselessly-watching @aralana765 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @occasionalartthings @lucasrightarm @punctualhowell @sultrypickle @spicemallow @platinum-sunset @batxsignalsx @lovelyscot @sillysparrow @freyaforestafay @im-justatrashcan @airiervessel

[basedkikuenjoyer]

I don't care if it's Monday and I'd normally do the cover page, we're damn sure not posting about Yamato on Kiku's birthday. Happy birthday, and happy Chrysanthemum Festival! New headcanon, when they were really young Izo told her it was all a big national birthday celebration for her and Kiku has...somehow made it to 22 still believing that. The rest of the gang got in on this because they had to figure out how the hell to console her when Izo left. Honestly I could see them making a huge deal about the festival as an excuse to do something for the girl who starts throwing violent shade if any non-Kappas make a fuss over her.

Anyways, this is her actual Vivre Card! I think a lot of people know what they say, but I only recently found some of the actual images of them. Which is cool, you got some more early concept art and stuff. Oh yeah, and because it's out girl she actually gets two! Okiku & Kikunojo are still kinda treated as distinct. I wish I had a better resolution, but I quite like this early draft doubling down on the armor making her look super bulk. Really makes her look a lot like the Samurai 7 take on Kikuchiyo and it makes sense with her character. Big, spooky intimidating armor to look a lot more menacing than you actually do which maybe saves you actually having to fight once in a while.

[keter-kan]

Okay!! I've been working on something for a really long time with some oc's that are near and dear to my heart ♡ I've gotten quite a bit already written, a bit less edited. I'm thinking of doing some more in-depth posts about the characters and their lore, if anyone would be interested! Possible first chapter post tomorrow?

Also, you're not allowed to make fun of me for the shit formatting of this post. I'll figure it out eventually, I swear.

tw: heavy mentions of sa, p*dophelia, abuse, death, murder

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Broken Legends

Prologue

Leandra’s father abused her as a child, but everyone could see that clear as day. The people knew of the king’s predilection for little girls, but none seemed to care enough to do much about it. Either that, or their fear was too great to intervene. Blood right, birth right, sovereign right, whatever they wanted to use as an excuse for the deranged, disgusting behavior of the man whose father’s father staked his claim on the coastal kingdom of Aphoreum.

He never touched his son; little boys weren’t his taste. He rarely touched his wife—may her soul flow freely—but she certainly seemed to keep him in line. Until her death, there was a restraint to him that withered away as she did; rotting and leaving a smell no one could erase from his soul.

Queen Imogen died under seemingly un-mysterious circumstances. She didn’t fall suddenly ill after a lifetime of health, she didn’t claim abuse, and she certainly didn’t suspect that someone quite close to her could be the cause of her failing body. Everyone mourned for the appropriate period of time.

Everyone except the children, of course. They still find themselves mourning the idea of a mother they could barely remember. To Leandra, her mother was strong and wise, the way a woman should be. To her older brother, Callum, there was the abandonment of the only woman who would unconditionally love him. She chose to remember a legacy, while he was bound to the anger he felt towards the undeserving dead.

The first child, the original heir, was sickly; an affliction seen often in the more recent royal blood. Really, though, the only difference from the royal blood and that of all peasants was its incestuous nature. That was something the Terrance Reign brought back to the royal line after nearly a century of free marriages.

Heir to Aphoreum, Prince Terance VIII, died peacefully in his sleep on the night of his tenth birthday. Those who said his mother killed him to give him a better life soon found their heads in burlap sacks, so not many say that anymore. It was soon after Terance was dead that their mother went to join him.

Callum was named the successor to the throne just a day after his mother’s funeral. After the grand ceremony, as the succession of High Councilors and Noblemen kissed the stones at Callum’s feet, Leandra’s father took her away where no one would see for the first time.

From that moment forward, Leandra had a new understanding of her place in the palace. While her brother grew up to become the king he wasn’t meant to be, her father taught her what being a woman of royal blood really meant: when her brother left on his journey to become a man, she would go with him and ensure pure heirs.

Aphoreum’s soul was born of the blood shed by those who fought and killed the demons plaguing the land. Countless villages were saved, small kingdoms sprouting throughout. As men pushed forward, demons fled back to the oceans, leaving Aphoreum to be conquered by whoever was left. At least, this is what was taught to the people.

There are thousands of dusty and cracked scrolls of parchment scattered throughout all cities and towns in Aphoreum containing the history of the land; how the Gods rewarded us with lush fields and bountiful rivers for banishing all of their enemies to the sea. That is, to this day, where they are said to dwell.

Things started crumbling at the end of Aphoreum’s War, started by none other than Terrance the First. It took five generations, yet they reigned victorious. For the first time since anyone could remember, the entirety of Aphoreum was ruled under one king. None of the other prior kingdoms were proud of that. With their previous rulers executed during the Reckoning—the day Aphoreum’s War was officially won—they fell into disarray. Villages plundered, women sold to richer men, entire ways of life decimated under the fist of a barbarian king. For King Terrance VII, the duty to uphold total power over all of Aphoreum was a goal only completed by the iron fist of his forebearers. He held to the pride of men who fought for honor while he sat upon his plush throne.

Leandra was literate thanks to an old wetnurse that her father had killed when she was eleven. Once she was no longer needed to feed Leandra’s bastard half siblings, she was sent with the Wind. After that, the only person ever present in Leandra’s life was High Councilor Jonas, a man who never touched her unless to pat the top of her head. He taught her of Natural Chaos and what tarnishes the soul, but he also taught her that there are good odds and ends in the world, too. She just had to look very hard to see them.

Jonas was the sole educator of both Leandra and Callum, but also their father before them. He was a truce sent from the church to Terrance VI, begging him to forgive them for not modifying their scripture the first time he asked. After Grandpa Terrance killed the High Priest residing in the palace chapel, they changed their tune. Jonas, however, understood the weight of the duty he’d been assigned. To teach the young is to mold the innocent in whatever way you see fit. But not every child is as easily molded. Terrance was a child full of hate, instilled in him by his own violent father. Callum seemed to be taking after his father in more ways than one, although Jonas continued every day to try to stray him from that path. Leandra, however, was different.

Before being sent to the palace, Jonas’s congregation of High Councilors—beknown to him or not—swore upon themselves that they would right the wrongs of the Natural Chaos afflicting the royal blood, whether that be by violence or sacrifice or any other means necessary. This was a promise the church sat upon for far too many generations to count if it hadn’t been for the numerals after each king’s name. But they had to bide their time. They had to bend their rules, change their faith, modify their scripture, all to appease the man they planned to overthrow. Another mighty aspect of the Terrance Reign was the slow and steady separation of the church from the crown, an unspoken duty bestowed to each heir as the generations passed.

It was through Jonas that Leandra learned of the world, the scrolls of scripture being her main escape, but not the modified texts of the Terrance Reign. Jonas was molding Leandra to be the savior Aphoreum needed, and this was the beginning.

Leandra would read the stories of the Gods who seemingly abandoned her. She found solace there, between the pages of their legends. The comfort of long forgotten rules set by wrongly worshipped Gods was the only kind of comfort she could afford.

Terrance was of a breed of man who more closely resembled their primal counterparts: feasting, fucking, and fighting. Not much else crossed his mind.

There are those who know better, despite class or background or who sits upon Aphoreum’s throne. But the rage projected by King Terrance found a home in the hearts of his men, creating a society of violence. There were few pockets throughout the kingdom where none could be found, most of which were under attack by those taking after their king.

On the day Callum turned twenty he found himself embarking on just such a conquest, yet one of a much different scale. A Wandering is any man’s rite of passage, giving him a year to stake his claim away from his family someplace else amongst the Waters and Winds. If they never returned after a year’s time, they weren’t ever meant to be a man. With Callum, however, his Wandering was an expedition into the known world with an army at his back and a ship full of wine. As were the odds of all those who could afford it, he would likely return more of a man than those without the gold in their pockets.

It was a simple plan with a grandiose design, allowing a full year of celebration for the future king of Aphoreum. Ships made of the finest timber harvested from the southern coasts, casks of wines and spirits shipped from around Aphoreum, clothes and finery made by request for his highness. With him would go his soon-to-be wife, Leandra.

The relationship Leandra shared with her brother wasn’t one of solidarity. He was to be his father’s spawn as Leandra was to be an instrument in his success. The moments of torture and humiliation caused by her father were in preparation to be used by the future king. Knowing this, she harbored many emotions for him, none of which she understood. She knew he was tainted the same way their father was before him, and their children would be after them, and she prayed that something—anything—could steer her fate in any other direction, for she knew his never would be.

When Jonas approached her after class, crumpled parchment in a High Councilor’s shaking hands, she took it without question. She looked in his eyes and saw the pain he felt, the longing for the Gods to make the world what it once again should be.

When she unfurled the note, she needed no further explanation than what was found there. Stained with the sweat of her mentor’s hands, four simple words bleeding into the page; Jump. You’ll know when.

The final weeks leading to her brother’s Wandering were full of tension. Leandra unfurled the parchment in her hands night after night, feeling the scratches of ink fade away as she rubbed it between her fingers.

Jump.

She could barely contain her excitement. She was going to weasel her way out of the chain of command. The only man who ever truly understood her the way the Gods intended had devised a plan for her to escape.

You’ll know when.

Stiff in her seat at the Grand Table, Leandra watched her plate as the men feasted around her. Tomorrow morning the Wandering would begin, and as the fleet of Aphoreum’s ships left the harbor, she would have to be ready to flee at any moment. She knew what Jonas meant about knowing when: she needed to wait for a message from the Gods. She would pray and worship and fast and deny herself the pleasures of life to prepare herself for the message she knew the Gods would give her. She would be ready.

When the sun rose over the harbor the following morning, Leandra was at peace for the first time since she was last held by her mother. She felt as though there was finally a real purpose to her plight in life and that she would be able to break the mold that her many greats-grandfather had created here. She felt as though she—alone—could crumble the system built by generations of the world’s most appalling men.

They set sail on a glorious day. Callum made a speech just after King Terrance, pushing the entire kingdom into a week-long celebration. Bottles broken, oars heaved, sails unfurled, and they were out of the mouth of harbor in just a few hours’ time.

For the first week of their voyage, Leandra didn’t speak with Callum. Not that he had much to say to her, anyway, besides the remarks of needing to secure an heir before the year’s end. Every night he’d mention it, and every night she’d comply, silently awaiting the sign promised her.

After that first week, Leandra grew a bit restless. And the week that followed that one made her even worse. The further they traveled from Aphoreum, the more the bruises left by her father healed, the more Leandra thought that there wouldn’t be a message, or maybe she had missed it… She started toying with the idea of living a life with her brother and what that could entail for her. She couldn’t stomach the thought of living in a world that her Gods had forsaken, but if she could make her brother see things the way Jonas had intended, maybe there could be a change.

When she finally spoke to her brother, she asked him if he’d care to know her, because, really, they just knew so little of each other.

He said he very much would. He was strong, but he was nervous. He couldn’t ever rule the way his father intended, but he wanted to try.

She said she could help him, if he’d let her.

They were children. What little they could have learned through life was filtered through their father’s vision. But he wasn’t here with them now.

The storm hit just three days from where they would dock. As the rain pelted the decks of the ships and the waves swelled, Callum’s men remained calm. They knew how to work a ship in a storm. For a while, everything remained intact. The fleet, the men, even Leandra.

But the storm became something else. After countless hours of toiling under the whip of rain and wind, the air started to become heavy with the stench of something bigger. As the waves turned from rolling hills to staggering cliffs and the raindrops into daggers, the men started to lose themselves.

The young ones jumped first. Callum was called from his cabin, forced to peel Leandra from his side. As she huddled amongst the furs adorning the mattress, Callum entered into a scene from the pits of the Gods’ hatred.

He was met with a force of nature never defeated by any king. As the ship was flung from one wave to the next, Callum’s men were dropping to their knees and scraping themselves towards the rails, throwing themselves into the raging sea. As he inched over the deck, grabbing the rigging and buckets dropped by his men, he saw a look on their faces that reminded him of his mother’s corpse in her ornate casket; there was no soul within them. Not anymore.

Screams were swallowed by the waves and the winds, words lost and breath wasted. As Callum pleaded with his mean until his throat was bloody and cracked, it overtook him.

She was calling to him. No, no…

Singing.

It was subtle at first, a slow drone playing at the base of his skull, humming away as he grabbed at his men bent on suicide. The more he pleaded, the harder his skull thrummed, filling his head with a desire unknown to man. As the irritation started to spread and his screaming and howling continued to fail, the soft beads of sound started to poke pin-pricks in the humming, driving Callum to gasp and shake with momentary relief before again being swallowed by the desperation. As another wave threw the ship far off course and doused the men in water colder than ice, he broke.

“Mother?”

She was there. Her golden hair cascading down her shoulders, her naked form hovering above the railing of the ship, situated the way a God would be. When Callum locked eyes with her, he felt that she was truly there, waiting for him to reach her.

She called to him, sang to him, cooed over the man he had become. Tears mixed with the rain and sea as they poured down Callum’s cheeks. He slowly made his way towards her.

Leandra emerged from the cabin as the thrumming started to overtake her. Her shift whipping in the wind and her hair matted to her head from the rain, she saw the horrors on deck.

The Gods had sent their message.

Tears brimmed in her eyes, too, but they didn’t get the chance to meet the wood of the ship. Leandra trusted her Gods. She trusted Jonas.

She jumped.

There was no sound as she hit the water. There was no cold embrace of the ocean, no being swallowed by the waves. She let herself be taken fully, succumbing to her fate.

Although she wasn’t expecting pleasure, nor was she expecting the pain.

Hands grabbed at the shift plastered to her skin, ripping it from her body in mere seconds. As the thrumming ceased in the back of her skull, she was taken in a way no one had taken her before. Not the man slaves who lurked after her in the palace, not her brother who she grew to love, not even her father, who defiled her in a way no other living thing could.

While her soul was ripped apart, shredded down to the sand that littered the ocean floor, she knew her Gods had forsaken her.

-

Leandra had no recollection of returning home. One moment she was suffering the pain of all the Natural Chaos, and the next she was dragging herself across the wharf, blood trailing in her wake. The moon was full.

Jonas found her and took her back to her father at the palace.

Her skin was burnt, her hair missing in chunks. Her bones poked through her skin like they wanted to free themselves from its cage. Her eyes drooped in their sunken sockets, unable to comprehend the world around her. She cried her story to Jonas, who begged her father to let a healer see her, even just one from the church. He refused.

For Leandra was with child, and heavily so. Her body, slowly failing her, was feeding something inside of her that wasn’t human.

She was pregnant when Jonas lifted her from the harbor, but the progression of her state was faster than it should’ve been; her stomach bruising and aching and protruding more every day. Her bones became brittle, her legs sitting at crooked angles and her neck unable to support the weight of her head. Upon the next full moon, when the tides were high, Leandra called for Jonas with what little strength she had left.

He leaned down to her ear, her breath almost too light to decipher the words.

“Please,” she whimpered, “don’t let him kill my daughter.”

That night, as her screams of labor began, Jonas pleaded once again with the king. Terrance, with a glare in his eye, allowed for a wetnurse from the palace chapel. He wouldn’t permit anyone besides himself and Jonas in the chambers, let alone a practiced healer. The nurse was the most she would get.

When she arrived, the horror that overcame her hit a part of her soul that hadn’t ever been touched before. The king demanded death to the child upon delivery, bolting the door behind them as he left.

When Jonas asked her to defy him, her soul said yes, as the woman had done for him many times before.

She died without seeing the full moon that night. As her child took their first breath, Leandra took her last.

Her child was a beautiful monster. A writhing mass of body, shifting in form while the wetnurse clung to his mottled skin. Within a moment, the child opened his eyes, and ceased being a monster. He was a baby, covered in his mother’s blood, eyes peering into those of the woman who held him.

When the king asked for proof of the death of the monster upon the following morn, Jonas provided a mangled piglet’s corpse. The wetnurse, covered in cattle entrails, told Terrance it took more work than she’d have thought to kill such a small beast. He was satisfied.

Leandra’s body was burned in the kitchen fires by Jonas’s hand, as Terrance commanded. There would be no funeral. There would be no knowledge of the children who failed at their Wandering. That would be the end of their stories. Terrance would find a concubine to produce a legitimate heir amongst the few cousins he had left. Aphoreum would live on.

But so did Leandra’s child, deep in a forest untouched by man, left in the hands of powerful women that the Gods would grow to fear.

[cannibalsrider]

Not a lot just forever Bonus episodes: big-footed monster?

pairings: kenma Kozume x yn

A/N: this took me so long to write but I feel like yall should see what I envisioned for Lev and Yn meeting because its probably funnier in my head but I hope u like it and this is like my little gift because I might not post a new chapter tomorrow for my birthday

The morning was quiet as I walked to school, even in the cold (why the hell did it decide to be freezing today). Morisuke had decided to go a bit earlier to get something to eat instead of walking together, but at least I didn't have to hear his chatter as I walked down the road leading to the school gates.

I spotted what looked like the creature my father had told me about, tales of a bigfooted giant in America people said had existed since the 1800s, but instead, it was probably a new transfer third year or another second year.

I figured I should probably say hi since he'd help the guys on the team and make it somewhat easier for us to go to nationals. "Are you new?" I asked, staring up at him when I finally reached where he was with the woman who handles the transfer students from abroad. It was obvious he was new, but I just thought to ask. I must have looked creepy sizing him up as if I was about to fight him when he nodded. I must have looked like I was about to jump for joy.

"I am! My name is Lev Haiba!" he told me with a smile. I returned one to him. "Yaku-yn, it's nice to meet you, Lev-kun. I can't help but ask, are you interested in joining our boys' volleyball team? I manage it, and I think you'd be a great fit," I told him, staring up at him with probably what seemed like bug eyes. "Uh? Sure, I heard the sports teams are perfect here from what I've been told," he answered. He must have been from abroad; his accent kinda reminded me of what you'd think a Russian person speaking Japanese was like.

"Okay, great. Do you have any experience with volleyball at all?" I asked, grabbing his wrist before muttering out an excuse to the teacher beside him as I started to drag him towards the gym. Most of the team was already there, more the third years and possibly Fukunaga, if he was practicing his serves before class, started since it was still early enough for them to. "I don't have much experience, but my sister says I learn pretty quick," he told me after a moment. We got to the entrance, and I spotted Kai and Kuroo.

"Kuroo-san! Kai-san!" I shouted, waving the co-captains over as I saw both of the liberos watching, confused, earning a head tilt from my brother as he spotted the weirdly tall boy next to me. I assumed he probably thought the same thing all of us had seen tall volleyball players since we started at Nekoma, me managing and Morisuke playing, but Lev had taken the cake as taller than anyone we had ever met. When Kuroo and Kai stopped in front of us, it was an obvious questioning look for both of them.

"This is Lev Haiba; he's a transfer student," I told them. "What year are you?" Kuroo asked, staring at him, trying to be lowkey intimidating as he watched him before Lev spoke. "I'm a first year," he answered, staring back at the co-captains, confused at their almost intimidating aura. I looked between the three, confused, before speaking. "He can be a middle blocker, and we can swap Inouka-kun to wing spiker to up defense and offense," I interrupted to give both captains an idea of what he could do. "Nekomata-sensei and Naoi-sensei should meet him if you think it wouldn't be too much trouble to teach him the ropes?" I hummed, watching Kuroo for a moment as Kai spoke up.

"Depends if he’d even want to learn. I'd think Yamamoto-kun would be willing to help teach him," he added, looking up at Lev so he could get a better idea of him. Behind the pair, I watched Morisuke show Shibayama-kun more help with his new position as a libero. From what I had known before, he was supposedly a wing spiker on his middle school team before he was swapped to play as a libero this year. "I'd love to learn more and become the ace for the team!" Lev said enthusiastically, and I tilted my head at him. I figured he probably knew as much as the other first years but just a bit less, most likely.

"We can have you come by for practice to get introduced to everyone, and we can talk to Nekomata-sensei and Naoi-sensei when they arrive," I told Lev with a kind smile. Checking my watch, I realized there was just enough time for the boys to pack up the net and clean up before they had to run to class. “You guys should start cleaning up so Naoi-sensei doesn't scold you again,” I told Kuroo. Then, I looked up at Lev. “I can walk you to class since you're new and I technically dragged you away from the woman who handles all the transfer students,” I elaborated.

Kuroo interjected, “What class are you in, Lev? Shibayama-kun can walk with you two, and Kai and I can handle the net if Yaku has to leave.” He looked between Lev and me. “Class three,” Lev answered, glancing at the small paper in his hand with his locker combination and class information. He looked like a lost fish in the wrong stream, to be honest.

“I can take him. It's probably easier since I have to head that way anyway because I have to do something for coach Nekomata this morning,” I told Kuroo. He nodded, and we had a borderline staring contest for a moment before I heard Morisuke’s voice.

“Y/N, what are you doing with a titan-looking boy?” he asked, staring at me with a confused expression. Kuroo answered for me, not even giving me a chance to talk, “She was introducing a potential new member.”

“A new member, huh?” Morisuke said, not very convinced as he stared at Lev for a moment.

“He's a first year. His name is Lev,” I added, giving him an idea of who the kid was before he spoke again.

“Shouldn't you show him to his class since you dragged him from Furudate-sensei? She was probably going to introduce him to his teacher and the guidance counselor so he had an idea of what he was doing. She’s probably worried you tried to kidnap another student to try and get them to join the team,” Morisuke said, looking at me. I scratched the back of my neck with a grumble.

“Furudate-sensei always thinks I’m trying to kidnap the first years that transfer here. It’s not like I do it a lot; it’s happened twice!” I countered before shrugging. “We probably should head that way, Lev-kun. I can introduce you to Akiyama-sensei. I had her my first year. She's really sweet; just don't mention anything about monsters because once she looked like she was going to cry when a boy in class three last year went in-depth about a monster he had a nightmare about. She reminded me of a frightened dog,” I told him, waving for him to follow me after giving the three a wave goodbye. As we started walking towards the double doors leading into the school, I asked, “So, when did you move here?”

“Two weeks ago. My sister Alisa and I moved here with our mother since she has a lot of family in Tokyo,” he answered as we weaved through a crowd of second years. I could see Kenma on the side of Fukunaga as they talked with some random kid they both knew. Kenma gave me a confused look as I went out of his eyeline.

“Where did you live before coming to Japan?” I asked curiously as we followed the hall leading us toward the door labeled with a three above it.

“In Russia, specifically in Moscow, because my father was military,” he answered. I nodded, not wanting to pry further into the topic.

“I heard it’s really beautiful there in the winter when it gets snowy. Is it like everyone says?” I asked.

“In a way, yeah! It was always really pretty in the wintertime. In the area we lived in, there was this little café where you could sit and get warm in between times you would be out in the snow,” he responded as we stood outside the classroom. He seemed very content with the idea of new friends and didn't have to do anything but follow along.

“Alright, this is class three. Akiyama-sensei isn’t here yet, but she’s the kind of old woman who's about the height of the first year in the gym you saw,” I told him as I spotted the older woman walking down the hall almost as if on cue. “Actually, here she comes!” I said, dragging him to meet the teacher.

“Akiyama-sensei, good morning!” I said with an almost too kind tone as we walked beside her.

“Good morning, Y/N-kun. Did you need to talk to me about something?” she asked with a small smile before spotting Lev beside me.

“I was just coming to introduce Lev-kun to you. He just started, and I had dragged him away from Furudate-sensei this morning when I saw him, so I just thought to get him introduced so he wasn’t lost,” I answered.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Akiyama-sensei,” Lev said. You could tell Lev would be a kind kid just from how he spoke. Even I was surprised at how sweet he was to the old woman.

“What a sweet boy! Y/N-kun, you are such a good upperclassman to show him the way,” she told me with a kind smile before turning back to Lev. “It’s good to meet you, Lev-kun. Furudate-san told me all about you. You’ll be a good fit for the class,” she told him. I waved goodbye to both of them so I could go say hi to Kenma since I still had some time before I needed to get to class. Wandering down the hall, I spotted him walking towards the stairs leading up to the second-year classes.

“Kenmaaa,” I called out almost in a sing-song tone to get his attention from the game he was playing.

“Who was that boy you were with? He looked like a third year,” he asked, almost curiously, not looking up from the boss fight he was in the middle of on his PSP.

“He's a new first year. He just moved back to Tokyo two weeks ago. I told Kuroo, and we’re gonna talk to Nekomata-sensei and Naoi-sensei about Lev-kun joining,” I answered.

Tags @metta-crybaby @wyrcan @kunimix @phoenix-eclipses @bae-ashlynn @lotti-lyric @kettlepop @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21

[kaaaaaaarf]

wip poll winner: Murder Husbands

So this is way longer than the 22 sentances I was supposed to post, but I got carried away with things, and well....here you go. Freshly written, unedited snippit from the next chapter of Murder Husbands, inspired by this tik tok video. (cw: mature themes)

Remus has been in what you might call a slump. He just hasn't felt much like himself lately— this happens from time to time. He has a lot going on in his life, between his cat sitting business, helping out Sirius with his art students, and the plotting and execution of murder. Most people don’t realise that murder properly undertaken takes a lot of energy and planning. Remus is just running on empty and in desperate need of something to brighten his spirits. When one of his favourite kids in Sirius’ class started talking about his Ticky-Tock videos, Remus knew that it was just the thing to turn his week around. Teddy explained that Ticky-Tocks were short videos to share with friends. He played a few for Remus, and he especially liked the ones with people dancing. He didn’t have a ton of friends, but he did have Sirius. He wanted to make a really cool Ticky-Tock for him. He had Teddy help him download the application to his phone, set up an account and show him the basics on how to record.  As soon as he got home, he prepared himself to record. He already knew the perfect song, but he needed to put on his best duds. He chose his form-fitting blue jeans and a simple white, short sleeve button up, paired with his favourite striped, burgundy sweater vest over top. He put on his Casio A168W ElectroLuminescence (it’s water and blood resistant— technology is insane) and his favourite pair of glasses to complete the look.  He fumbled with his new iPhone (a gift from Sirius on his birthday), positioning it against the exposed boards on the wall inside of the west servant’s passage, and double checked how he looked onscreen (suave, as always). Once he was satisfied that his phone wouldn't fall over, he set it to play Everything She Wants and began his carefully choreographed performance, perfectly on beat with the song. He shakes his hips seductively and lip-syncs along. When he’s done, he watches it back and is pleased with how well it turned out. He posts the video to his account and sends a link to Sirius. He feels so much better now. He thinks he might have the strength to finally set about getting rid of Mitch’s body. Just in time too— it was starting to smell. **** Sirius receives the text message from Remus while he is out to dinner at Chez L’éponge with some work colleagues. He plays the attached video through once, hiding his phone under the table as he does. He freezes once the video finishes, and has to excuse himself to hide in the bathroom so that he can watch it again. It’s a Tik-Tok video of Remus, set to a Wham! Song, with the caption Whammin’ in bold letters across the top. Sirius watches as Remus awkwardly shuffles backwards, clapping his hands and pointing at the camera rhythmically, doing a dance that Sirius could only describe as a rendition of the Monster Mash. He is looking at the camera with intensity from behind his horn-rimmed glasses and has a smear of dried blood on his cheek that also seems to be speckled on his sweater vest. Sirius licks his lips and then plays it a third time. Then a fourth. God, there is something so irresistible, so alluring in the way that Remus moves like a baby giraffe that just figured out how to stand on its own legs. Sirius has to hurriedly lock himself in a cubicle while he whacks off to Remus Whammin’, the video playing on repeat until he comes with a groan that he tries to smother with a bitten lip. When he’s done, he exits the stall and washes his hands. Before he goes back out to re-join his coworkers, he replies to the message from Remus with an emoji thumbs up.

@kaleidoscopexsighs, @spindrifters, @fruityindividual, @grimjobs and @lynxindisguise are the ones who tagged me for the original survey!

[faith-less-one]

Hey lovely!

For your WIP game (SO glad you joined me in this!) anything you'd like to share about 'So It's You'? <3

Oh, you KNOW I want to share stuff about "So It's You". ♥

For those of you not in the know... this passage was in my very first Brennan/Cassandra fic (Stargazing) - which I wrote over four years ago:

Unconsciously, he wonders what it would be like if they hadn’t met the way they did. If he didn’t have the anchor in his hand and the fate of the whole world on his shoulders. If he wasn’t a mage and she weren’t a seeker. If he’d just been introduced to her at an Ostwick ball, some very minor member of Nevarran royalty who his mother thought would be an excellent match for her second-eldest son. Would they have flirted? Danced? Would he have stolen her away to a deserted corner of the grounds he barely remembers, to lie and stargaze like this?

And I always had in my head that someday, I might write that AU. No Inquisition, no titles, no powers... Not a mage, not a seeker. But the whole rest of my canon universe kept happening, and so it was always just... a thought.

Then, a little over two years ago, I wrote a short modern AU Brennan/Cassandra ficlet on my birthday (Glad You Exist). And it was so much fun, that on my birthday last year, I was like - "I should write that Ostwick ball fic!". So I started it. And... it ballooned.

It ballooned into a Fantasy-meets-Regency, highly Bridgerton-inspired literal novel (over 75,000 words!). Utterly indulgent, probably entirely ridiculous, and so, so much fun.

Technically I finished it last November, and commissioned ART for it, but I had it in my head to write an 'epilogue' in the style of the Bridgerton second epilogues. Except I kept stalling out and rewriting over and over again, and nothing felt as good as the initial fic did. So I dropped it for a few months. And then recently, I decided eh, fuck it, it doesn't need the epilogue.

But how to post it? It's fourteen chapters and (as I said) 75,000 words, so I didn't want to post it on my normal schedule, because it would take half the year, and that's a long time to go between updates of my regular series. Then, the other day, after posting this WIP game, I decided eh, fuck it. I want to share it!! (With more than just @ooachilliaoo !) So... yup, starting next Friday, I will be. And then a chapter every other week (alternating with my regular fic chapters) right up until Christmas. :D

And in case you've read all of this and aren't horrified... A short, highly indulgent snippet under the cut!!

---

He hears some soft grumbling coming from the other side of one of the hedges. Too quiet to make out any words, but it sounds distinctly… grumpy. And feminine.

“Uh… is everything all right?” he calls out, deciding that announcing his presence is better than attempting to continue to eavesdrop and try to figure out who it is. No one he recognises immediately, at any rate.

There’s a surprised, somewhat irritated gasp from the other side of the hedge. “Excuse me?”

She sounds more confused than outraged, thank the Maker.

“Hello!” he responds, trying his best to sound bright and non-threatening. “Do you need any help?”

He waits for a response, but there is none. Perhaps she’s just in a bad mood and he’s disturbed her from a perfectly acceptable bit of alone time before the ball starts. He grew up with three brothers and a sister, he understands how important a little solitude can be when you’re feeling stressed.

“Sorry!” he calls back, after a few long moments. “I’ll just… I didn’t mean to disturb you. Ignore me. I’ll leave you be.”

“No, wait!” The voice sounds a little frantic. With a Nevarran accent, perhaps? One of Great-Aunt Lucille’s guests. A damsel in distress? “You know your way around this blasted thing?”

“I do!” And then, after a beat. “Would you like me to show you the way out?”

He’s careful not to say the word ‘lost’. It seems like she might be the type of person to take such a thing badly.

There’s a short delay to her response, as if she doesn’t want to admit that she needs his help. And then finally, she makes a sort of grumbling noise.

“I’ll take that as a yes, shall I?” he says, and then, because he imagines she’ll probably want to get this encounter over sooner rather than later, he adds, “Just stay where you are. It’s a bit twisty, but I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Then, without waiting for another response, he continues on, deeper into the maze, toward her. Though he’s still a little wary of coming across other people on the way, he decides whatever embarrassment he might cause would be worth the trouble.

Less than his promised minute later, he turns the corner and finds a lady standing with her back to him. Right where his mysterious damsel in distress should be.

“My lady?”

She turns sharply, and he gets his first look at her.

Her.

Oh.

His heart nearly stops.

This is it, he thinks, when he recovers the power of thought a moment later.

This is that spark he’s been waiting his whole life to feel...

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

The Special Birthday Gift

Ayaka x Majima!S/O fic

Part 1 Here

(Part 3 of a series, context is in part 1! Also the post is pretty long so be aware before pressing Keep Reading!)

'Hello, S/O. How are you doing?'

Ayaka stared at the letter she wrote intensively, triple checking if everything was correct.

'By the time you receive this letter, it will be my birthday. Normally, birthdays did not feel any different from other days. It felt like even more work with all the gifts and guests I would receive.

But ever since I have met Aether and Paimon, in addition to their invaluable assistance ending the Vision Hunt Decree, I feel that I can be a little selfish this year.

I want you to come by the Kamisato Estate. I would like for us to catch up and speak for a while. That is my only wish for my birthday.

Kamisato Ayaka'

It was quite blunt, moreso than any letter she had ever sent out. But, she figured there was no other way for her message to get across to them.

If she had any less self control she would have doodled a tiny heart beside her name.

That'd be a bit too childish, though Ayaka was sure they wouldn't have cared.

Shrugging and figuring that was good enough she folded the letter neatly and sealed it.

She exited her bedroom and asked Thoma to bring the letter to Itto.

The letter was addressed to S/O, but Itto would deliver it during their near daily sparring sessions.

S/O had a knack for appearing and disappearing at a moment's notice.

It was like they were everywhere at all times.

Which had been infuriating, because everytime Ayaka tried to approach them; they would get warned and pushed away by the city guards, her own guards, or the townspeople.

But no one knew the feelings the Mad Dog of Inazuma had for her, and that their feelings were mutual.

…

S/O walked through the streets of Inazuma City, many of the people getting out of his way quickly, averting their eyes.

Wading their way through the crowd and finding a bench to relax on, they opened up the letter Itto gave them.

(S/O) "The hell is this?"

They were tempted to toss it out if it weren't for the very fancy looking seal on the letter.

It was then they realized it was the Kamisato seal.

Their eyes widened as they quickly tore open the letter, but relaxed as they read the contents of it.

(S/O) "Birthday? Hmph, she should've found someone better to spend it with."

They originally stayed away to make sure she wouldn't get involved due to their past gang affiliations. Not to mention the Vision Hunt Decree.

They knew she was part of the Resistance, but didn't want to make her even more suspicious by interacting with the Mad Dog.

But with the Decree ended and any loose end tied up, they supposed they had no excuse now.

S/O smiled. After all this time, she thought of them.

(S/O) "Twist my arm more, why don't ya?"

Getting up from the bench, they had one stop to make before going to the Kamisato Estate.

(S/O) "Wait a second, why the heck am I buying takoyaki? It'll get cold before-"

It was then S/O saw Aether and Paimon walk into view.

(S/O) "Well, perfect timing."

…

(Paimon) "Oooh, Aether, look!"

(Aether) "Hm?"

The two looked at an older woman who was cooking food near a small stand.

(Paimon) "Excuse Paimon, but what are you cooking?"

(Woman) "Ah, this here's takoyaki!"

The older woman began explaining what it was to Paimon who was listening earnestly.

Aether wanted to listen more, but he felt something was…off.

His battle instincts were kicking in, making him ready to grab his sword.

(Aether) "…Ma'am, please stand back."

(Woman) "Huh?"

(Paimon) "Aether?"

(Aether) "…"

Aether's attention turned to the barrel behind the group.

It shook and made Aether adopt his battle stance.

The lid of the barrel lifted, revealing S/O with a sinister grin.

(Aether) "Oh god please no-"

(S/O) "AETHER-CHAAAAAN!"

(Paimon) "OH, NOT THIS LOONY AGAIN!"

Aether immediately got ready to fight, but S/O strolled up to them with a spring in their step.

(S/O) "Come on now, that ain't no way to treat a friend! I just came to ask a favor!"

(Aether) "So why's your knife out?"

(S/O) "Why is your sword out?"

Aether frowned at the question, sheathing his sword.

(Aether) "Guess if you wanted to fight you'd have done so by now."

(Paimon) "Paimon supposes thats true. They don't normally talk this long."

The woman squinted her eyes at S/O, as if trying to recall something. Aether noticed, but didn't mention it.

(Aether) "What do you want? And no, you can't have my glider."

(S/O) "Nah nah, nothing like that! The shit I got for ya is WAY more important."

(Paimon) "Uh huh…"

(S/O) "I need you to take 2 takoyaki to the Kamisato Estate!"

(Aether) "…Why them in particular?"

S/O waved a finger to them, shaking their hear

(S/O) "Nah nah nah nah! I'm giving you a quest, you take without question and get paid!"

(Paimon) "Paimon has a looooot of questions.-"

(Woman) "My goodness, aren't you Miss Kamisato's friend from that one time?"

S/O froze up, which everyone took notice.

Aether in particular saw the panic in their eyes, even though their face remained the same.

They turned around, trying to seem intimidating as their voice growled at her.

(S/O) "…Eh? The hell ya say, granny?"

(Paimon) "Hey! Leave the lady alone-"

(Woman) "It is you! I'd recognize how you say that word anywhere, only you can say it with such hostile yet thoughtful intent!"

The woman eyed their clothing up and down.

(Woman) "What in the world are you wearing? What happened to that nice black suit you had when you were with-"

(S/O) "ATATATA! QUIET GRANNY!"

Aether noticed before S/O spoke to the woman, they quickly sheathed their knife and their voice dropped a few octaves.

It was less exaggerated and a lot deeper pitched than how they normally spoke.

(Paimon) "Now Paimon has even more questions! S/O knows Ayaka?!"

S/O turned to Aether and threw him a bag of Mora.

(S/O) "Listen, just do me this ONE thing alright? Teleport your ass to the Kamisato Estate and give that to Ayaka, alright?!"

They stomped off out of sight, leaving the older woman slightly confused.

(Woman) "Still as bashful as ever I see."

(Aether) "Do you know S/O, ma'am?"

(Woman) "Vaguely. Miss Kamisato speaks highly of them all the time, but I never expected them to be the 'Mad Dog' people have been talking about!"

(Paimon) "How do they know each other?"

(Woman) "That is something you'll have to ask her yourself. But, the two came by last year and they were such a gentleman! When I said they were a keeper, they got all shy, especially when Miss Kamisato agreed with me, haha!"

Aether and Paimon looked at each other.

(Aether) "Do you mind if we come by later to pick these up for Ayaka?"

(Woman) "Going to go after them, are you? Well, do be careful! I'll have these piping hot by the time you get back!"

(Paimon) "Thanks, miss!"

(Aether) "Thank you very much, we'll be back!"

Aether and Paimon ran after S/O further into the city.

S/O walked through the streets, finger on their chin.

(S/O) "What does Ayaka want for her birthday? Could always ask Yae, but she'll think I'm pullin' her leg. Maybe Thoma? Ayato's too much of a hardass, so-"

(Aether) "Hey, wait up!"

Aether and Paimon walked up to them, making S/O curious.

(S/O) "Hey, I gave ya a job, didn't I? No slacking off!"

(Aether) "Oh come on, we know something's up now. No use in hiding it anymore."

S/O sighed, shrugging but accepting their fate.

Their voice stopped being as high pitched and reverted to a calmer deeper voice.

(S/O) "Fine. It's Ayaka's Birthday today and I want to get her something. Satisfied?"

(Paimon) "Why do you care about Ayaka of all people?"

(S/O) "What? Thought I didn't have any friends?"

(Aether) "Not any that were that high up."

(S/O) "…Wait a second, you were the guys who went with Ayaka during the festival!"

(Paimon) "Ooooh, someone's jealous!-"

Their voice suddenly went back to the higher pitched 'Mad Dog' tone.

(S/O) "Keep that shit up and I'll shove my knife where the light doesn't shine."

Paimon quickly went behind Aether as he just raised an eyebrow at her.

Turning his attention back to S/O he replied.

(Aether) "I am. She had fun, you have my assurance."

S/O's shoulders seemed to relax.

(S/O) "She better have. Anyways, you guys have talking to her a lot recently. You got any idea of what she wants?"

(Aether) "Truth be told, I think what she wants most is just some company. Well, that and to go someplace she hasn't been."

(S/O) "Company, eh? I dunno if I can be satisfied with just company."

(Aether) "Well, the festival on Ritou still has a bunch of things left over. Maybe there's-"

(S/O) "Shit, that's right! They got all sortsa cute plushies! Yeah, that'll do!"

(Paimon) "Sounds good! Let's go-"

(S/O) "Nope. You ain't followin' me. Go give her the takoyaki like I asked, lazy bums!"

(Aether) "If we do so, then can we hear how you know Ayaka?"

They took a long look at the duo, then finally shrugging.

(S/O) "Maybe. Now get!"

The two finally out of their hair, they made their way to Ritou.

…

(Ayaka) "Aether, Paimon! What an unexpected surprise."

(Aether) "Happy Birthday! Here's a present."

(Ayaka) "Oh, thank you so much! Though, I think I can only eat the one takoyaki."

(Paimon) "Oooh, if you can't then-"

Aether elbowed Paimon, making her stagger and almost fall to the ground.

(Aether) "It's actually not a present from us."

(Ayaka) "Oh? Then who would get me-"

Ayaka stopped midsentence failing to hold back a gasp.

(Ayaka) "…S/O?"

(Paimon) "You two DO know each other!"

(Aether) "Hm. That'd explain why you never said anything bad about them despite what everyone else thinks."

She smiled as she looked off, fondly remembering their time together.

(Ayaka) "Yes. S/O is a very important person to me. And if they got takoyaki, then that means they received my letter."

(Paimon) "Where was Paimon's invitation?"

(Aether) "Read the room. She wanted some time alone with S/O."

Hiding her giggle behind her mouth, she turned to Paimon.

(Ayaka) "I would not mind celebrating my birthday with you two another day. I'm sure you are busy yourselves. Oh, but where is S/O right now?"

(Paimon) "They were going to Ritou last they said."

(Aether) "We should probably check in how they're doing."

...

(S/O) "What the hell am I looking at?"

S/O held in their hand some strange Fontaine toy, shaped like a...spider? An egg? Honestly they were completely bewildered by it.

But the colors of it was a nice icy white. Just like Ayaka's hair. The stores were sold out of plushies, so they had to improvise.

(S/O) "Tch, damn it, Ayaka. Advanced warning woulda' been nice."

(Man) "HEY! YOU THERE!"

(S/O) "Eh?"

Turning around S/O saw a man in glasses looking extremely angry.

(Man) "Lemme see that toy you got!"

(S/O) "You know what this thing is? Honestly, I ain't got a fuckin' clue of what it-"

(Man) "That right there is a limited edition Apparatus!"

(S/O) "...That does literally NOTHING on telling me what it is-"

(Man) "IT'S MINE, THAT'S WHAT IT IS!"

Paimon and Aether entered the scene to see the two arguing. Well, the man anyways.

(S/O) "The hell you on about? I just bought it myself! Though, that'd explain why the thing was like 4,000 Mora...-"

(Man) "FOUR THOUSAND?! IT COSTS 50 THOUSAND!"

(Paimon) "My gosh, it's so noisy-...Oh hey! It's an Apparatus! We have that exact model."

(S/O) "Oh, hey-Wait really?"

(Aether) "Yeah, we were the reason it's in production, actually."

(S/O) "Huh, what haven't you two done by now? So, why's this guy throwing a tantrum over it?"

(Man) "Because I am a collector, you don't even know what it is!"

(S/O) "It's a birthday gift, ya dickhead! Now piss off."

(Man) "WHY YOU LITTLE!-"

(Paimon) "S/O, WATCH OUT!"

S/O dodged effortlessly to the right as the man's punch overshot them, and he fell to the ground.

(S/O) "Wow, throwing punches over a toy? Get a life man."

(Man) "I'm not done with you!"

(Aether) "Er, S/O. Go ahead to Ayaka's we'll handle this."

(Majima) "Roger, owe ya one!"

S/O ran off towards the Kamisato Estate, with Aether and Paimon talking the man down.

S/O managed to get fifty feet away before encountering another problem.

(Treasure Hoarder) "ANOTHER TEST SUBJECT!"

(S/O) "Oh you've got to be kidding me."

After dealing with the group of Treasure Hoarders, S/O dusted off their leopard-pattern coat.

(S/O) "Anything else wanna come after this little goddamn toy?"

Hearing mechanical whirring behind them, S/O slowly turned around to see a Ruin Guard activating.

Aether and Paimon ran in behind them, out of breath.

(Paimon) "Geez, first that guy, then treasure hoarders now this?! Are you sure that toy isn't a cursed relic?!"

(S/O) "SURE AS SHIT FEELING THAT WAY!"

(Aether) "Get to Ayaka, we can't risk it getting broken!"

(S/O) "R-Right!"

One hour later...

S/O was bruised, slightly on fire, electrified, wet, and all other manners of messed up.

Aether and Paimon looked equally exhausted as they approached the door.

(Ayaka) "My goodness, S/O! Aether!"

She ran over to them on the verge of panicking.

(Ayaka) "What happened?!"

(Paimon) "SO...MANY...ATTACKERS!"

(Aether) "But...it was worth it! S/O?"

(S/O) "Ta-daa...! Your birthday gift!"

S/O held it out triumphantly in front of Ayaka.

(Ayaka) "You went through all that for a birthday gift?"

S/O laughed in their signature crackhead style.

(S/O) "You know it! And it didn't even get a scratch!"

Ayaka's gift quickly disintegrated in her hands from the stress of battle.

(S/O) "..."

(Aether) "..."

(Ayaka) "..."

(Paimon) "OH COME ON!"

(S/O) "I hate my life."

Ayaka couldn't help but giggle, making S/O suddenly perk up.

(Ayaka) "Don't worry. I think I got my real birthday gift here."

She held out a hand towards S/O, making Aether realize they were the third and fourth wheel right now.

(Aether) "Well, you two have fun! Come on, Paimon."

(Paimon) "We went through all of that TO NOT EVEN GET CAKE?!"

Quickly teleporting away, they were left alone. S/O immediately exhaled as their voice deepened.

(S/O) "...Sorry I haven't dropped by lately, Ayaka."

(Ayaka) "Come inside, I'll patch you up."

S/O hadn't been inside the Kamisato Estate in what felt like a lifetime.

She gently patched up their wounds, making S/O think back on the memories they had here.

(S/O ) "Ow!"

(Ayaka) "Sorry, was I pressing the cloth too hard?"

(S/O) "Nah, just stings like a bitch. But it's worth it, I think."

Ayaka smiled before she wrapped her arms around them.

S/O relaxed into her embrace, taking slower and deeper breaths.

(S/O) "You been doin' alright without me?"

(Ayaka) "I've been getting by, I think. I've been worried about you, S/O. Ever since you left."

(S/O) "Heh, can't imagine why. When your boyfriend/girlfriend starts screaming like some kinda idiot on the streets, anyone should be."

Ayaka softly hummed as her arms remained in place.

(Ayaka) "You didn't have to go. We could have taken everything on together and-"

(S/O) "No. Not with the risk of you getting hurt because of me. Especially when the Vision Hunt Decree was happening. I couldn't live with myself if you ended up like Makoto."

(Ayaka) "..."

S/O turned around to face her, getting to her eye level by dropping on their knees.

(S/O) "If I have to leave again to make sure you're okay, I will."

(Ayaka) "But-!"

S/O hugged her tightly, interrupting her train of thought.

(S/O) "But...I don't have to. Thank the gods I don't have to."

She hugged them back, and both of them stayed silent as they held each other.

A year of not being able to speak made Ayaka's heart ache more than she thought it could.

And now, she planned to make up for lost time.

(S/O) "I missed you too, Ayaka. You're helpin' me take care of a year-long knot. And...I've been thinking about what to do with my future. I know want you here with me."

Her eyes widened.

(Ayaka) "S/O..."

(S/O) "Yeah yeah...I know this kinda talk doesn't fit me. Hell, might just be the moment makin' me so damn emotional."

(Ayaka) "S/O!"

They backed up, laughing.

(S/O) "Sheesh, I know you missed me but at least let me finish a sentence!"

(Ayaka) "Y-You're on fire!"

(S/O) "Psh, yeah I am! Don't ruin my sappy strea-"

(Ayaka) "NO, LITERALLY ON FIRE! YOUR SHOES!"

S/O quickly turned around and saw their dress shoes were engulfed in flames across the room.

(S/O) "OH WHAT THE FUCK?!"

...

S/O sprawled out on the bed next to Ayaka, completely deadpan.

(S/O) "Some kinda birthday this is."

(Ayaka) "Heh, well...At least I got what I wanted.~"

Sighing, S/O rolled over to her.

(S/O) "You wanted me and my shit to catch on fire?"

(Ayaka) "N-No but-"

(S/O) "Relax, just teasing. Shush for now and let's sleep. We'll get plenty of time to decide what to do."

Ayaka's heart gently pounded, but she held onto S/O like there was no tomorrow.

(Ayaka) "I'm so happy you're here again."

(S/O) "Me too."

They held onto each other, saying nothing else.

(Ayaka) I wonder what they're thinking about...Maybe they're like me, thinking how our arms feel wrapping one another...Hah, how cheesy of me.

(S/O) I am SO PISSED about my shoes. And more importantly, why did everything wanna kill me over that toy?!