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sanjisjuul · 9 months

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Jealousy!

Summary:: Law's emo ass shows up and Sanji gets jealous

Cw: Cursing, penetration, pussy eating, kinda breeding i dont know its late

Major credits to @kibblz-n-bitz for helping me out ily

Word count: 4.4k

Mdni 18+

the slight sway of the ship relaxes you as you lay out on the deck. above lies pale blue skies, the sun radiates down through the atmosphere, warming your tanned skin as a soft breeze gusts past, sweeping your hair off of your shoulders. the day couldn’t be any more ideal, as the chatter from your crew served as pleasant background noise to the otherwise emptiness of your mind.

zoro rests by a nearby railing, muscular arms crossed as he takes his afternoon nap. nami is caring for her tangerine bushes. holding hedge shears, she’s smiling and laughing with robin as she waters her small yet vibrant flower garden. usopp and chopper sit cross legged on the lawn, engrossed in a board game. luffy sits between them, tongue poking out of his mouth as he studies their every move. franky is nowhere to be found, most likely toiling with a new gadget in his quarters. brook is perched on a bench by the lawn, horse haired bow sliding along his violin strings as he plays a soothing tune.

these are the days you cherish, no conflict, no marines, no enemies. just the days you get to spend with your best friends. the days where everybody is gathered near and most importantly safe. you smile to yourself as you relax your eyes, resting your arms behind your head, breathing in a sigh of relief. you begin to loose track of time, focusing your senses the serenity of the sea, before you’re interrupted.

“y/n,” a whisper comes from beside you. you open one eye, your peripheral revealing your smiling boyfriend standing over you, casting a shadow. you sit up in your chair, eyes lighting up at the view his charming, handsome face.

“sanji,” you reach your arms out for him. he kneels down to your level, resting his head on your shoulder, as his arms wrap around your figure. his large hands glide up and down the small of your back as he takes in the sweetness of your scent, sunscreen paired with your favorite shampoo.

“hi darling,” he whispers pressing a soft kiss into your shoulder before leaning back at an arms length, kneading your shoulders with his thumb. “i’m making some refreshments right now, would you like one?”

you smile in admiration, eyes wide as you stare up at your lover, “of course love, what did you make?” you rise to your feet, stretching your limbs and yawning loudly. you don’t miss sanji’s gaze as it rakes your body in its entirety. you’ve been dating for a while now, but that will never prevent him from admiring your beauty.

“your favorite,” he grins offering his hand for you to take. “raspberry iced tea.” you grasp his hand bringing it to your lips before you press a soft kiss his fingers. the cool metal of his rings causing a small shiver to chill your bones. “you know me so well.”

you stride hand in hand, following him towards the kitchen. just as he’s about to push the door open you hear a small racket coming from behind you. you snap your head around to find luffy, chopper, and usopp have abandoned their game. instead they are leaning over the railing of the ship, hollering and waving towards something in the near distance. you squint your eyes, just barely making out a yellow figure that slowly emerges from the sea. you release sanji’s hand, face lighting up as you bolt down the stairs. you almost skip towards where your crew mates gather, hanging your upper body over the rail alongside chopper. as you predict, it’s none other than the polar tang which means only one thing to you.

once the submarine fully surfaces, you direct your focus onto the front door. the doorknob jiggles for a moment before it’s swung open, revealing the familiar face of trafalgar law. you hear cheers from beside you, luffy jumps up and down calling out to the other captain, as chopper’s eyes light up at his entrance.

“tra-guy,” luffy bellows waving his arms back and forth dramatically as if law isn’t about 10 feet away. law rolls his eyes, before casting a room over the ship. you feel a gust behind you and all four of you pivot on your heels. law stands in front of you, long jacket open, revealing not only his tattooed torso, but the ab muscles etched underneath his skin. he adorns his signature irritated expression as he tsks under his breath. “straw hat-ya,” he speaks, avoiding eye contact all together.

“tra-guy!” luffy exclaims, marching towards him and wrapping an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in for an embrace. law’s expression becomes visibly more frustrated at the closeness. “didn’t expect to see you here,” luffy chuckles, arm tightening around law’s larger figure. law tries his hardest to distance himself, face as far away from luffy’s as physically possible as luffy pats his back aggressively. “well, whatever the reason,” luffy starts. “no-“ law attempts, but luffy interrupts . “lets’s have dinner!, sanji, food!” luffy cheers disregarding any protests from the irate captain. you hear a grumble from sanji before the kitchen door is slammed shut.

with the help of franky’s craftsmanship both your crew and the heart pirates gather around a large table for dinner. once sanji places both silverware and the dishes on the table, the heaps of food follow. as always it looks delicious, a colossal pile of linguini sits in a bowl along with various seafoods mixed inside. you lick your lips as this is your all time favorite dish, especially when prepared by your talented boyfriend.

luffy immediately stretches an arm,, grabbing the bowl and shoveling pasta onto his plate, leaving the rest of you to eye the bread on your otherwise empty plates. luffy is interrupted by a kick on the head by sanji, “leave some for the rest shithead,” he growls before snatching the bowl away and placing it back at the center of the table. luffy frowns, but soon forgets his agitation while he shovels the food he did manage to grab into his mouth.

you peer in front of you, law sits directly across the table, his eye twitches irritatedly as he awaits his turn. you can’t help but stare at the captain. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive, and although you have a boyfriend, it’s not like you would ever cheat. plus with sanji’s antics you find no harm in looking. “y/n-ya,” your daze is broken as law glares at you, offering you the dish of pasta. you freeze, your breath hitching in your throat as you observe the way his tattooed fingers grip the porcelain. his icy eyes bore into yours as you reach a shaky hands up for the bowl, but you jump as it’s seized from his grasp.

“let me,” sanji smiles. he scoops you a helping, before treating himself. “thank you baby,” you whisper before digging into your food. your eyes roll back at the flavor, nothing could ever compare to sanji’s cooking. the entire table is filled with only the sounds of chewing as everybody savors the meal in front of them. luffy wastes no time in grabbing seconds then thirds as everybody continues working on their first course. you finish your meal quickly, taking a small sip of water as you sit back in your chair. again, you focus your attention on law as he chews his meal. your eyes close in on his lips as he licks them clean after a bite. you feel a hand rest on your thigh and lightly squeeze, but you pay no mind as you continue to watch as he finishes his serving, leaving only the piece of bread in its wake.

you hear the flick of sanji’s lighter beside you. he inhales the smoke from his cigarette and exhales it in front of him, letting the smoke cloud around law. “you gonna eat that?” sanji questions, pointing a finger at laws plate. law gazes up and makes eye contact with your boyfriend, “i don’t like bread,” he responds matter of factly before sipping the glass of water in front of him. sanji slams his hand on the table angrily, “i don’t give a shit,” he snaps, “you won’t waste food on this ship.” everybody falls silent around you as sanji’s eyes narrow. “i’ll take-“ luffy starts.

“no!” sanji yells slapping luffy’s outstretched arm, “he’s gonna eat it!” you reach your hand up and tug sanji’s arm, causing him to sit back in his chair. he doesn’t break his fiery gaze as you rise, snatching the bread off of law’s plate and eating it. “y/n,” sanji starts, disappointment laced in his voice, but he falls silent as you finish it. “see babe, no big deal,” you smile as you sit back in your chair. sanji takes a drag of his cigarette before aggressively putting it out on the ashtray besides him. “i guess not,” he says blankly, face expressionless. law breaks his gaze from sanji, rolling his eyes before speaking,,“thanks y/n-ya.” you feel heat rush to your cheeks, “no problem.”

dinner ends awkwardly, and everybody gathers on the deck. brook plays a tune on his violin as most dance and drink away. zoro sits alone, watching and smiling as he takes a sip from his sake. luffy, usopp, chopper, and franky dance away along with bepo, penguin, and sachi. robin and nami stand beside you as you sip on glasses of red wine. they converse, trying to get your attention, but it’s futile, your attention is once again trained on the captain of the heart pirates. he stands across the deck, leaning over the rail, long legs crossed as he peers up at the star filled sky.

your legs act before your mind does, as you don’t even bother to excuse yourself from the girls, and walk towards him. you approach him quietly, sipping from your glass. he turns to you briefly, before training his gaze back up to the sky. “i’m sorry about dinner,” you break the silence, “sanji can be a hot head sometimes, but he means well,” you smile. he merely hums in agreement, not tearing his eyes away from the view above.

you feel a pair of hands rest on your hips, before you’re turned around softly. sanji stands before you, his head leans down towards your level, “darling,” he smiles kindly, “i hate to ask, but i may need some help in the kitchen.” he presses a kiss into your forehead. you mirror his expression, “i thought i’d never see the day you ask for help,” you chuckle as he releases his grip on you. you follow sanji as he paces to the kitchen, oddly enough he doesn’t hold your hand as he usually does. you play it off as him being stressed. he does have to clean up after more than double the people as usual.

he holds the door open for you as you enter. you halt and raise an eyebrow at the sight. the kitchen seems spotless, the table has no signs of previous use, there aren’t any dishes in the sink, and the counters are spotless. you open your mouth to question why he asked for help, but the sound of the door locking causes you to freeze.

you squeal as you’re lifted off the ground and swung over sanji’s shoulder. he marches down the hallway and into your shared bedroom before kicking the door shut so hard it almost fly’s off of its hinges. he softly rests you on the bed before hovering above you. he inhales his cigarette, flicking it to the floor and stomping it out beneath him before loosening his tie. you gawk as he leans over you, arms resting on either side of your head as he cages you in.

“why?” he questions, hurt apparent in his eyes. you furrow your eyebrows, completely oblivious to what he was talking about. “huh?” you respond, gripping his forearm reassuringly. “don’t be so naive,” he starts, “you’ve been staring at him all night. am i not enough?” he grits his teeth. sanji practically seethes with anger above you as the heat from his body radiates onto yours. “i-.” he shakes his head, cutting you off, “don’t try to downplay it. this isn’t the first time this has happened.” you start to feel guilty, you didn’t expect sanji to pick up on your actions, but he clearly noticed, and it obviously hurts him.

“sanji, baby no,” you start, cradling his face in your hands, “you are enough, i love you so much i would never.” you press a kiss into his forehead and you can feel his tense body relax under your touch. his face closes in on yours as he presses his lips onto yours.

your muscles previously taught, loosen beneath him as he tenderly kisses you. his lips cradle yours with admiration before he swipes his tongue past onto your lower lip. you part your mouth, granting his offering, mewling underneath him. his arm reaches for your leg, wrapping it around his torso, leaving no space between your bodies. you reach your hands up to his hair, your fingers tangle in his locks, as your tongues continue to fight for dominance.

you gasp as his mouth leaves yours, immediately latching onto your exposed collar bones, nipping and sucking at the soft flesh. your leg tightens around his back, hands balling into fists as he grinds down onto you. you can feel him through his slacks, he’s warm and rock hard. “mine,” he growls, warm and wet tongue drawing a line from your collar bones up to your throat. “all mine,” he wraps his mouth around the skin, sinking his teeth in softly as he sucks hard, surely leaving a mark.

your body contracts, “that feel good?” he questions. you nod, lifting your hips to meet his as he repeatedly and slowly dry humps you into the mattress. his lips leave your neck and he cranes his head up to look at you. you audibly moan at the way he stares at you. the smallest rim of ocean blue surround the black of his blown pupils. his eyes reveal his emotions which are ones of lust, passion, and jealousy.

he remains his eye contact as one of his hands slips past the hem of your shirt. he torturously slides his large hands up the expanse of your torso, starting at your hip, reaching your lower stomach, up your ribs, and landing on your bare breast. you hiss at the contact, the icy metal of his rings immediately stimulate your nipple, causing it to harden. his other hand follows , wasting no time to palm at your other breast. the tips of his fingers dance over your other hardened nub, refusing to give you what you want as he lightly flicks back and forth.

you’re pliable underneath him, squirming and whining at every feathery touch he gives you. he rarely teases you in this way, always giving you exactly what you want without asking. sanji has one rule and that is that he lives to serve you. however, that unwritten rule is tossed aside as he lets you crumble underneath him, patiently waiting for you to ask, to beg for it.

the sensation of your juices flowing freely down your thighs puts you in a slight discomfort, but theres not much you can nor are willing to do. your mind clouds as he brings your nipples between his fingers, just barely tugging at the sensitive flesh, eliciting a strained moan from the depths of your chest. at this point you can’t handle his teasing, the faint whispers of his touch aren’t enough, you crave something more. “sanji,” you mewl, your tongue swiping the cracked skin of your bottom lip, “please touch me.” at your words he slowly removes his hands out from underneath your shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps as the warmth of his flesh is replaced with the frigid night air. he brings a hand up to your head, patting your disheveled hair from your face, before trailing his thumb down your jawline. he slows his movements upon reaching your chin, before trailing up and letting his thumb tug on your bottom lip.

you freeze as his eyes scan your face, he’s searching for any signs of apprehension, to which there were none. you couldn’t be any more enthralled with the man leaning above you. nothing and nobody could compare to the immense joy and comfort he brings you. nothing could compare to the tingly feeling you get when he holds you, letting you rest your head on his chest as he sleeps peacefully beside you night after night. and nothing could compare to the way he satisfies you both mentally and physically, nobody could make you feel the way that he does. and although he’s aware of this, your actions previously in the day have him questioning it all, so he makes it his mission to remind you. to remind you that you’re his and he’s yours.

you reach for his hands, interlacing your fingers with his, but are struck with a twinge of hurt when he stands up, slowly releasing your grip and letting your arms bounce back on the mattress. he continues holding eye contact, unreadable expression painting his features as he hovers over you. after what seems like hours, he lowers his gaze onto himself. he shrugs his suit jacket off, before untying his tie. he paces slowly over to the nearby desk, back turned to you he folds both pieces of clothing before placing neatly them down. he starts working on the buttons of his shirt, intricately popping each open before peeling the blue dress shirt off, placing it on top of the small pile.

you clench around nothing at the sight of his back, lean muscles of his biceps and deltoids ripple as he puts his hands in his pockets. he turns back towards you, silently eyeing you as he approaches. he resumes his position, leaning back over you, and this time you wrap both legs around him tightly, scared to let go. “my love,” he whispers, reaching down to pull your shirt over your head, freeing your breasts with a soft bounce. “let me remind you,” he tugs off your skirt, tossing it on the desk. “let me remind you how good i make you feel.”

any response you could come up with falls flat, your mind focuses on the hungry actions of your boyfriend who’s now positioned between your legs, kissing up and down the inners of your thighs. you attempt to squirm, but his firm grip holding your legs to the bed prevent any sort of movement. he licks a stripe up your left thigh, then right one, allowing himself to lick past your outer labia, but not where you need him the most. you’re sure he can see how much you crave him, there’s no way he can miss the way your slick seeps through the thin fabric of your panties, and coats your trembling thighs.

his teasing halts, as he licks one last stripe, this time letting his tongue glide up your center and pressing a soft kiss to your clit. he releases his grip on your thighs, running his hands up your hot flesh and hooking his fingers around your panties, slowly pulling them down as he looks up at you. he stuffs your underwear in his trouser pocket, saving it for later, wasting no more time to dive into your sex.

whimpers leave your parted mouth as he slowly licks up and down, making sure to flick his tongue against your clit every chance he gets. he groans into your cunt, the taste and aroma affecting him greatly as his cock twitches, beads of precum soaking his boxers. the vibration from his mouth reverberates through your pussy, causing fire to erupt throughout your entire being, and settling in your lower stomach.

his lips latch to your clit, pressing soft kisses paired with kitten licks in between, causing you to loose composure as your hips buck up into his mouth. sanji would take this over receiving any day. the way your flushed face contorts in utter pleasure is more than enough for him to get off to. not to mention the way you tremble, one hand clawing at the sheets as the other toys with your nipples it a sight to behold. he prefers it this way, after all theres nothing better than a satisfied lady.

you feel his finger prod at your entrance, his movements on your clit never seizing as he sinks his finger into you with ease. you whine as he tests the waters, steadily pumping in and out of you as to let you get used to the feeling.

your core is boiling as he pumps his large finger in and out of you, hooking it up to hit your g spot each time. you’re already close, sanji knows your body better than his own. he’s studied any and all reactions you give him, keeping mental notes of what makes you feel good and what doesn’t. his expertise shows as he removes his finger from your entrance, his lips pressing one last kiss onto your clit before he grabs you by the hips, flipping you over on your stomach.

you cry out as he reinserts his finger, reassuming his previous pace while his tongue finds your clit once again. you sit up on your knees, back arching as he eats you out from behind. drool soaks your sheets, fingers twitching, and legs shaking as he works up his pace, rapidly licking you clean, and inserting another finger inside you.

“sanji,” you whine, your body starts convulsing, muscles twitching as he pulls your orgasm from deep within you. he only hums as a response, never daring to stop his actions in fear that your high will be ripped away. the rumble of his voice causes you to let go, mewling and crying as your orgasm overtakes your body. you come undone on his face, and although he tries to savor every last drop, your juices coat his beard and drip down his chin. you pant feverishly, arms working their absolute hardest to keep you upright as he laps you with his tongue.

he wraps his arms around your stomach, gently helping you lay down before kissing your shoulder tenderly. your hear the metal of his zipper slide down from behind you, the rustling of fabric follows before you feel his length rub your core. “you ready darling?,” he questions as he coats himself with your juices, shuddering at the warm feeling. you merely nod and whisper a small “yes please,” and he takes that as his cue to enter you.

he slowly grinds into you, stretching you to capacity as he bottoms out. he fucks you slow and deep, making you whimper every time his tip kisses your cervix. “my god,” he groans gripping the fat of your hips for leverage, “it’s like you’re made for me.” you struggle to respond, too lost by the fire that fills your body with each roll of his hips. his fingers dig into your plush skin, he grips you as if you’re about to melt away through his palms.

to your surprise he picks up the pace, his hips speedily pounding you, the rough sounds of skin slapping satisfy him to the fullest. sanji isn’t the type to fuck hard and fast, he usually savors the moment for the longest he can, but you have awakened something inside of him. he wants you teary eyed, screaming his name for everybody to hear. he needs everybody to know you’re his, especially that emo fuck.

and to his utmost pleasure, your whimpers turn into loud wails. shouts of his name leave your mouth, his cock churns your insides in the best way possible. “that’s right,” sanji smirks, arms snaking around your chest, bringing your back flush with his chest. his lips hover over your ear, causing shivers to traverse down your spine. “need to hear you, need to hear how good i make you feel,” he bites down on the shell of your ear, soft hands grip your breasts and tug your nipples through the tips of his fingers. “let everybody hear, don’t hold back.”

chants of his name are followed with profanity are spewed from your mouth as you try to cope with the immense pleasure he gives you. a loud knock on your door almost distracts you as you snap your head in it’s direction, but that doesn’t stop sanji. he can’t stop even if he tried, the way you suck him in leaves him pussy drunk, completely intoxicated by the spell you have him under.

“gonna cum baby,” he grunts, his hips sputter as he jackhammers you. “want it inside, please,” you beg arm reaching up to his head, pulling it in the crook of your neck. sweat drips down both your bodies before you hear a loud hiss come from your boyfriend. with one last deep thrust, he keeps it in, filling you with his seed. the warm feeling of his cum coating your insides drives you insane, but also brings a new sense of closeness. his cock twitches as rope after rope of cum is pumped inside of you, his body pulsates as small whimpers leave his lips.

you both gasp for air, his arm still tightly wrapped around you as he nuzzles his head into your hair. you cherish the moment as the seconds tick by. your sticky bodies in their most vulnerable state are glued together, the humid air surrounding was not only proof of what just happened, but a reminder of the passion you share for each other.

he moves your hair off your shoulder, kissing the exposed skin, “i’m sorry,” he whispers a small apology nuzzling himself into your back. you part your lips to speak, but are cut off, “i just can’t stand the thought of you… being with someone else. you are my world.” he finishes, voice cracking at the end of his sentence.

droplets of warm tears flow down his cheeks, dropping on your back and slowly sliding down. you muster up all your remaining strength, turning to face him. “hey,” you soothe, thumbs wiping the tears from his watery eyes, “you’re my world, i never want to picture a day where you aren’t mine. i love you sanji and only you.”

he sniffles, wide eyes meeting yours, “promise?” you lean in, kissing him softly on the forehead, “promise.”

tags: @leakyweep @stardustcrustaders @leftsidebonfire @kibblz-n-bitz @pileofmush

love, bia ૮ • ﻌ - ა

#one piece fan fiction #one piece smut #love bia ૮ • ﻌ - ა⁩#sanji smut #sanji x reader #black leg sanji #sanji #one piece sanji #blackleg sanji #one piece

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Summary: Eddie's past in Chicago is revealed after he reaches his breaking point, but he's not the only one facing a crisis.

Warnings: mentions of drug use/addiction, neonatal medical trauma, panic attack, mentions of learning disability, brief allusion to Kurt Cobain's death, Reader's grandma has dementia.

WC: 7.2k

Chapter 7/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie was no stranger to bad report cards, failing grades, and dissatisfied teachers. You don’t fail twelfth grade twice without dealing with all three of those. He’d learned to shrug it off and move along with his day, mostly unfazed.

Those same things directed towards his son was a different story.

Ms. Marion’s words rattle around in his brain, wrapping around his lungs and choking him from the inside out.

Constantly interrupting

His heartbeat pulses in his ears, drowning out the background noise of other parents chatting as they wait their turn to meet with the teachers.

Incapable of paying attention and following directions

A bead of sweat trickles down the back of his neck to his spine, then another, until he feels his t-shirt sticking to his skin. Despite the stifling heat building up in his body, his teeth chatter together noisily as a deep shiver rips through him.

Socially and academically behind his peers

He knew this day might come; he should’ve been prepared for it to happen. Has he only been fooling himself, pretending like everything was going to be fine?

At this rate, he won’t be ready for kindergarten

Eddie swears he’s walking to the parking lot, one foot in front of the other, keys clenched in his right hand until he feels their serrated edges digging into the calloused skin of his palm. Yet he finds himself at your classroom door jamb, leaning up against it with a soft thud.

You’re struggling to stay awake after the long day you’ve had. You roll your shoulders, wincing as you hear the small pop. You’ve just finished the last conference with Frankie’s mom, Carol, and she was a bitch and a half. She’d insisted that her son was gifted and demanded that you recommend he start kindergarten early.

A noise draws your attention to the door, and you’re suddenly wide awake when you see who’s there.

“What’re you doing–hey, what’s going on?” Your curiosity morphs into concern when you clock Eddie’s ragged breathing and tear-streaked face. He’s repeating something, but his voice is so low that the words resemble a hum, and you can’t catch them until you get closer to him.

“Harris–falling behind–all my fault.” Eddie speaks as though he’s in a trance. His brown eyes are saucers, and more tears fall with each blink of his eyelids. “Falling behind–all my fault.”

You haven’t the slightest idea what he’s referring to, but you do know that you need to get him inside the classroom before anyone else sees him breaking down. You reach for his wrist, and he instinctively flinches and pulls away before seemingly snapping back to reality and resting his hand in yours. One calloused palm trembles in your smooth one as you lead him to the table where you’d just been speaking with Carol Perkins, only letting go to steady himself into the chair.

“Falling behind–all my fault.”

You take both of his hands this time, and he doesn’t draw back when you do. “Eyes on me, okay? We’re gonna breathe together.” It’s the same technique that you’d used with Harris on Halloween. In for three, out for three. Eddie watches you a few times before joining in, breath hitching slightly before evening out. “There ya go…here, let me get you something to eat.” You offer him a small, kind smile that he doesn’t reciprocate before rummaging through the bottom drawer of your desk and pulling out a little bag of mini pretzels and a half-pint of water. “These good?”

He manages a nod, eyes locked onto you even as he twists open the snack and absentmindedly pops one in his mouth. He’s still in a daze, but no longer at risk of hyperventilating. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” you cautiously ask, not wanting to trigger another panic attack.

A solid ten seconds passes before he answers. When he finally does, the hoarseness in his voice startles you. “Could you, um, close the door?”

“Of course.” The wheels of your swivel chair skid against the tile floor, but Eddie’s too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice. When you return to your seat, he doesn’t even register your presence until you say, “whenever you’re ready.”

“I, um,” he clears his throat. “I just had the parent-teacher conference thing with Ms. Marion. And, apparently, Harris is destined for failure, just like his old man.”

He relays everything the old woman told him; the racing thoughts all spill out like bees fleeing their hive.

“She starts off by saying that he’s already behind the other kids, which may not seem like a big deal now, but, apparently, it means he’ll fall farther behind as he grows up.” He gnaws on his lower lip and continues. “And then she said that him interrupting and not paying attention is because he ‘lacks structure at home,’” he adds with a grimace.

“But y’know what really fuckin’ got me?” he asks, rubbing his hands over his jean-clad knees until his palms are tinged red. “She said to me, ‘Some kids aren’t cut out for school, and if Harris is struggling with preschool, it’ll be a long road ahead of him.” Eddie’s eyes are shiny with the prospect of a fresh batch of tears. “What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”

You try to quell your temper for the sake of professionalism, but your boiling blood makes it almost impossible. “None of that is true. Harris having trouble doesn’t make him impossible to teach. And it doesn’t make you a bad parent.”

Eddie can’t manage eye contact when he says, “But what if I’m the reason why he’s having trouble?” His voice is so small that you can barely hear it.

“I’ve taught a lot of kids with a lot of different needs, and none of them–”

“You’re not listening!” Eddie slams his fist on the desk, rattling your jar of pencils, and you reach out to steady it. His eyes blaze with fury, but this time, it’s not towards you. “It is my fault, because I am a bad parent! I let this happen!”

You crease your brows. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” What, exactly, is his fault? What could he possibly have done?

Eddie shakes his head despondently. “I-I didn’t know…Harris’s mom, she…Christ, it’s a long story.” But you can practically see the words on the tip of his tongue, just waiting for permission to be spoken.

So you give it to him.

“You can talk to me,” you murmur, resisting the urge to grab his hand and lace your fingers through his. Just to comfort him, you tell yourself. “You can trust me.”

Eddie lets out a slow, low breath and looks up at the ceiling. There’s a long silence; for a moment, you worry that you’ve said something wrong. Overstepped your bounds. Harris technically isn’t your student anymore, and God only knows where you and Eddie stand.

Finally, Eddie begins to speak. “I met her out in Chicago when I was twenty-four? Twenty-five? She was a groupie, I guess. We never said we were seeing each other exclusively, but after a while, I realized that she was the only person I was sleeping with, so…” He shrugs. “A couple nights before my band and I left for tour, she told me she was pregnant. Too far along to, um, do anything about it. She apparently didn’t even think to test until she complained about gaining some weight and her friend brought it up.” His gaze shifts to the window over his right shoulder, and all you hear is the sound of his sneakered feet nervously tapping a fast rhythm against the tiled floor. “Look, I’m not proud of this, but I used to party. A lot. And at these parties, there were, um…”

“Drugs?” you supply before you can bite back the comment, clenching your fists at your side where he can’t see you chastising yourself.

Eddie just laughs, a throaty chuckle that escapes despite the seriousness of the conversation. “A shit-ton of ‘em. I was partial to coke; helped me stay awake when I wanted to crash. But I swear, I only used when I was partying. And when I found out I had a kid on the way, I stopped using completely. Cleanest tour of my life.” His lips turn up in a semblance of a smile that doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “Figured she’d do the same…she said she would, but…”

Your heart sinks; you know exactly where this is going, but you don’t dare interrupt him this time.

“I was at some dive bar in Cincinnati when I got the call that she was in labor; ran right off the stage and caught the first flight back home. I got there in time to watch him be born; and it was the best goddamn moment of my stupid life, until…” His voice breaks on the last word, and he can’t stop the tears from leaking out of his eyes. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. “He was six weeks early. Fuck, I shoulda known, but I was just so excited to be a dad. He was shaking so hard that his tiny little body was practically blurry, and, like a total moron, I’m going, ‘Is he cold? Does he need a blanket?’ No one would answer me; they just fuckin’ whisked him away before I could even hold him. And when they brought him back, they told me that he tested positive for cocaine and had something called Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome because of it. Said it can affect his learning, his attention span, everything. Kid wasn’t even two hours old and I’d already fucked him up.”

Your response seems meek; far too pathetic for the intensity of what he’s just admitted. “But it was his mom…”

He tucks his lips into his mouth, pressing them together until the outer edges turn white.

“Yeah, she was the one using,” he relents, but his tone is so thick with self-loathing that you couldn’t claw through it if you tried. “But where the fuck was I? On the road, thinking I could be a rockstar and take care of a family. If I had stayed back, I could’ve stopped her. I would’ve seen that she wasn’t just doing it at parties or shows; she was an addict. I could’ve gotten her help; I could’ve saved my son from being born a goddamn coke addict!”

“You can’t make someone stop doing drugs,” you say feebly, though you’re certain he already knows this.

“But I could’ve done something! Fucking anything! And it would’ve been better than not being there.”

You have to choose your next words wisely, mulling them on your tongue before talking. “Is she still involved in Harris’s life?”

He shakes his head forlornly. “I invited her to his first birthday party, and she came, surprisingly. All the way from Chicago. I thought maybe she was getting her life together. Then, right before we were gonna cut the cake, she came out of the bathroom with white residue under her nose. I told her to leave and not to come back until she got clean.” He barks out a gruff laugh, as though he still can’t believe it. “Haven’t heard from her since.”

You don’t know how to respond to this. It’s going to be okay seems too patronizing, because nothing about this is okay. I’m sorry? What are you sorry for? Harris’s mom is an atrocious excuse for a human being, and so is Ms. Marion? Kind of tips the balance towards the unprofessionalism you’re striving to avoid.

Eddie continues, not noticing your failure to respond. “The doctors would tell me that he was developing slower than he should be–walking and talking and stuff–but he always got there eventually. But hearing his teacher say that he wouldn’t…fuck, if that’s true, I’ll never forgive myself.” He puffs out his cheeks as he exhales; tendrils of hair flow upwards and flutter back down with the exaggerated breath, and you realize that he’s trying to ward off another crying spell.

You can’t remove the guilt that eats him alive, but maybe he’s not asking you to. “I’ve never met a more determined little kid than Harris Munson,” you say truthfully. “Name one time that boy gave up.”

“For better or for worse, I can’t think of any.” His eyes still don’t meet yours, but you see a flicker of happiness at the mention of Harris’s perseverance before his expression darkens again. “Call me stupid; that’s fine. But my son is gonna be better than I ever was.”

Your heart pangs with sympathy when he puts himself down. “You’re not stupid.” He bristles at your reassurance, puzzling you even more. “What?”

Eddie runs his tongue over his teeth. “That’s not what you said before.” The comment isn’t accusatory, just a simple fact, as though he’s talking about the weather. “On the first day of school, you told me to leave before I said anything else ‘ridiculously stupid.’”

“I just–”

“Look, I’m not saying the Cat-and-Mouse is the nicest thing to do,” he interrupts, cheeks aflame at the mere mention of it, “but I guess it really fucked with me for someone I…someone I just met…to call me stupid.” The phrasing is clunky and awkward, and he sinks his teeth into the tip of his tongue in a paltry attempt to stop the word flow.

You take in his shameful expression, mulling over a response. Knowing what you know now–that his little game was a poorly-designed coping mechanism after being put through the wringer–your comment was harsher than he deserved. “I was hurt, and I…I should’ve just said so. I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Just an asshole?” He tilts his head, finally looking at you. The corners of his mouth turn up to form his first smile of the evening.

“Just an asshole,” you confirm playfully. Another silence fills the room, only interrupted by Eddie crunching on the pretzels you gave him. He’s nibbling on them from the outside, as though savoring each bite. “Mr. Munson?”

“Eddie,” he says, crinkling the empty pretzel bag in his fist and tossing it into the nearby waste bin. “Please, just call me Eddie.” Mr. Munson awakens memories of his father; specifically, the way the cops addressed him each time he got arrested for various offenses.

“Eddie.” Though you’d called him that on the night that you two had fooled around, the name feels foreign in your mouth. Too casual for what you’re about to propose. “Eddie, um, back to the stuff with Harris…” You swallow your nerves and push through, knowing that you need to do what’s best for Harris, even if you have to face his dad’s wrath. “If I suggest something, promise you won’t get mad.”

Eddie flinches, but not for the reason you think. No, it’s because he hates that you’re fearful of his reaction. He hates that he’s made you afraid of him. “Fuck. I mean, yeah. I promise.”

“What…what if we talked to the school psychologist about getting him evaluated for a learning disability?” The words tumble out, and you worry that whatever semblance of acquaintanceship will shatter, leaving you unable to pick up all of the pieces. And even if you can, even the best adhesive can leave visible fractures.

His jaw clenches; his shoulders draw up and biceps flex with a twitch, fight or flight instinct kicking in. This was a horrible idea; he’s already emotional from the conference with Ms. Marion, and now you’ve crossed a line. You’re so caught up in deciphering his body language that you don’t catch his softening eyes as he silently reminds himself that you’re on his side. On Harris’s side, at the very least.

“What does that involve?” he asks. It’s inquisitive, not judgmental, and you permit yourself a small sigh of relief at the narrowly-averted crisis.

You explain the process as Eddie intently listens, nodding to acknowledge that he’s following along. “Nothing invasive; just asking him questions and giving him some tests, and then if he does have a learning disability, we’d figure out what modifications we can make so he can learn alongside the other kids.”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, considering your recommendation. “Will they know? The other kids, I mean. Will they know that he needs, like, extra help to learn?”

“Nope.” You shake your head. “I don’t know how Ms. Marion runs her classroom, but I always emphasize that everyone learns differently anyway.”

He nods, drumming his fingertips on the desk in a rhythm you can’t decipher. “Do you think…if we do the evaluation, would he go to kindergarten on time?”

“Well, as a teacher, I’m not supposed to say. But as a friend,” you shrug, “I think it’s worth a shot.”

As a friend. A friend. Friend. The word reverberates around Eddie’s brain, replaying like a melody he can’t pause. But he doesn’t want to stop it. He wants you to call him your friend over and over again, enveloping him in your kindness, never letting him go. He wants to wrap his arms around you in a hug and bury his face in the crook of your neck, while he laughs or sobs or a combination of both.

Do friends do that? Or is that something more complex than he can allow himself to imagine?

Your voice brings his perseverations to a grinding halt. “And you can be there while they evaluate him. So he won’t have to be alone.”

Another nod, another pregnant pause. He twists his curls around his pointer finger, brushing them over his lips. “Could you come, too?” he murmurs, quickly clarifying, “for Harris?”

“Of course.” You agree without a second thought, watching as his body unstiffens when he leans back in the chair with a sigh. “And if you want, I could tutor him after school once a week. Catch him up and stuff.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “You’d do that?”

“Mhm,” you beam. It’s like cracking a complex code after aimlessly spinning the dial, hoping to land on the right combination of numbers. “Just…it would have to be at my place, so I can stay home with Grandma. Medicare only pays for her aide to be there for a certain number of hours. I’m actually paying out of pocket so I could be here tonight.” While you’d initially been annoyed at having to spend your hard-earned money just to talk to ungrateful parents, this time with Eddie has made it worth every penny.

“Yeah, no problem,” he easily agrees, starting to stand and brushing some rogue pretzel crumbs from his jeans. “Oh, um, how much do you charge? For the tutoring?”

At this, you giggle. “Eddie, you’re not paying me to work with my,” you lower your voice mid-protest, even though the door is closed and no one else is around, “favorite student.”

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest defiantly, denim jacket creasing at the elbows. “Well, I’m not gonna let you work for free, so name your price.”

“Fine,” you huff, feigning annoyance. “It’ll cost one…pizza.”

“Seriously?” Eddie asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Seriously,” you confirm, walking to the supply closet and grabbing your coat. The inside of the sleeves are chilly, having not been exposed to the heat churning through the classroom, and the temperature shift makes you shiver. “Saves me from having to worry about making dinner. And Grandma loves pizza, so it’s one less thing for her to argue about.”

The arguments in question were still happening frequently, though her verbiage was decreasing with each subsequent spat. Last night, you’d told her that she had to turn her TV down so you could sleep. Grandma had repeatedly yelled “no” and “hate you” until you gave up and smushed one half of your pillow over your exposed ear in a pathetic attempt to muffle the sounds of the infomercials blasting from her room.

“I can do that,” he agrees, following you towards the door and stepping out of the way so you can flick off the light, plunging the classroom into total darkness. “Any toppings?”

You think for a moment, tapping your forefinger to your chin as your other hand rotates the key in the door until you hear the soft click of the lock. You twist the knob just to make sure, only turning from the door once you’ve confirmed that it doesn’t open. “Ooh, we both love olives. Get those.”

Eddie scrunches his nose in disgust. “I’ll do half olives, half plain, so Harris and I won’t have to suffer.”

You stop in your tracks. Eddie’s chest bumps against your back. “Oh, I…”

“Shit, that wasn’t an invitation, was it?” He’s blushing, cheeks turning a deep crimson at his gaffe. “Sorry, totally misread–”

“No, no, I’d like the company.” You’ve come to appreciate how much easier it is to navigate Grandma’s moods when there are other people around, but you can’t ask someone to endure that just for your comfort. “‘S just that my grandma…well, you saw her at the hospital that night. She says things that are mean, or inappropriate, or don’t make sense…I don’t want Harris to hear that.”

Eddie just laughs, waving off your concern of Harris. “He grew up around me and Wayne. He’ll probably be teaching her some bad words.”

“Oh, God,” you shudder at the thought of Harris and Grandma swapping swear words. “Then, yeah, I’d love to have you over for dinner. Are Wednesdays at four okay? We can start tomorrow, if that works.”

“Perfect!” Eddie chirps, tossing his car keys upwards and dramatically snatching them mid-air. “I teach guitar lessons, so Wayne’ll drop him off. I’ll swing by around five with the olive pizza.” His pronunciation of the topping is obnoxiously whiny and snide, and you roll your eyes, pushing open the main doors to the school while he trails behind you.

You’re normally not at work this late, and it feels almost unnatural to walk out to a night sky. Clouds obscure the stars, and the dim streetlights do little to pave a discernible path. Eddie seems to be walking in the same direction, and there’s a sense of comfort knowing that you don’t have to navigate the parking lot alone.

The volume of Eddie’s voice lowers considerably as he says, “You’re…you’re kinda the best, y’know that?”

“About time you realized.” You smile as the two of you approach your car. You slide into the driver’s seat, tugging the seatbelt over your shoulder. “Where did you park?”

“Um…” Eddie squints, pointing to a spot clear across the lot. “Right there.”

Your jaw drops. “Eddie!”

“What?”

“Why’d you walk all this way, then?” Your keys sit in the ignition, waiting to be turned over.

“And leave you to trek across this vast terrain all by your lonesome?” He presses his hand to his heart, staggering backwards until he bumps into another parked car. “Ow, shit. So, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yup.” And as he closes your car door with a small wave, it occurs to you that you’re actually looking forward to seeing Eddie Munson.

Elise wasn’t exaggerating when she’d warned you that Grandma was in a mood today. In addition to the usual song and dance to the tune of “those pills aren’t mine,” she’s insisted on changing her clothes no less than four times in the hour since you’ve been home, grumbling that every outfit doesn’t look right. As you wipe down the kitchen counter, sweeping crumbs from your after-work snack into the garbage bin, you hear banging against the living room wall. Never a good sign.

“Grandma?” you call out as you abandon your chore and start towards her. She’s struggling to hold onto the large painting of a sailboat that should be mounted on the wall. You get to her side just before she can topple over, grabbing the artwork from her grasp. “What are you doing? Why did you take this down?”

She looks at it–and you–with utter disgust. “S’ugly,” she mumbles.

There’s no sense in telling her that it was her favorite or that she picked it out herself years ago. Instead, you heave a frustrated sigh. “Okay, well, we’ll just leave it here,” you say, carefully leaning the cherry-lacquered frame against the wall.

“No!” She shakes her head, tousled gray hair brushing against the wrinkles etched into her cheeks. “No, no!” Anger creeps into her voice, and tears appear along her lash line. Truth be told, your tears are not too far behind.

“Look, I’ll just…turn it around. See?” You swivel the painting so it faces the wall; all that’s visible now is the sad beige frame backing. It’s hard to believe that she finds this view more appealing than the soft watercolor brushstrokes of blues and greens, but you leave it as is, until she inevitably demands to know why it’s no longer hanging up.

The harsh buzz of the intercom brings your quasi-argument to an abrupt end. You can hear some shuffling, and then an older man’s raspy voice instructs, “say who you are so she knows you’re here.”

“HARRIS!” The little boy exclaims loudly. “Oh, and my Grampa Wayne!”

The sound of his voice alone is enough to bring a smile to your face. You press the button that lets them into the building, quickly ushering Grandma into her room and putting on the Animal Planet. A rerun of Wildlife SOS blares through the TV, and you can only hope that Harris won’t be too distracted by the noise. It certainly beats being the recipient of one of her incoherent rants.

The frantic knock on the door ushers away your anxious thoughts. “Ms. Sweetheart, I’m here!”

“Relax, buddy,” the older man–Wayne–gently reminds him.

You open the door, grinning as Harris barrels into the apartment. His little arms wrap around your waist as he envelops you in a tight hug. “Ms. Sweetheart! I’m at your house!”

“You are,” you agree with a laugh, patting his back with your palm before offering your hand to his grandfather. “And you must be Grampa Wayne.”

The older man chuckles as he shakes your hand in his own calloused one. The whiskers above his lips and on his chin are white, flecks of gray stubble peppered along his jawline. “‘S nice to put a face to the name. All I hear about lately is how wonderful Ms. Sweetheart is.” He bashfully scratches at the wisps of hair that lay flat along the crown of his head.

Taking compliments is not your strongest suit, but you manage. “Trust me, I’ve heard some great things about Grampa Wayne, too. I’m just glad Harris loves being my student as much as I love teaching him.”

“Huh?” Wayne’s forehead crinkles in confusion before he catches himself. “Oh, yeah, Harris. Right.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, Ed’ll be here at five.”

“He’s bringing PIZZA!” Harris shouts, unable to contain his excitement as he pumps a tiny fist in the air.

Wayne shakes his head, as if to say, this kid. “C’mere, Har. Give me a hug goodbye.” Harris all but leaps into his grandpa’s arms, spider-monkeying his legs around his waist. Emotion wells within you as the gesture reminds you of the easy way love used to flow between you and Grandma. No questions or doubts about who you were or how she would perceive you in that moment.

As soon as Wayne leaves, Harris tugs on the hem of your shirt, peering up at you with a gigantic grin. “Daddy telled me that you’re gonna teach me again! But not at school.”

“Mhm!” you say, guiding him over to the kitchen table. You’ve cleared a spot for the two of you to work. There’s a stack of flashcards in front of your chair, and Harris eyes them curiously. “Those are gonna help you learn letter names and sounds. You’ll be reading like a pro in no time.”

He eagerly nods, flinging one little leg onto the chair and climbing onto it haphazardly. He’s facing the back of the chair with his knees tucked underneath him, and he shifts until he’s sitting on his bottom, eye-level with the tabletop. “I can’t see anything!” he harrumphs grumpily.

“Here, you can face me,” you tell him, holding the chair steady as he swivels around again. “There ya go. This works out better anyway.” You tap the deck of cards on the table, watching as Harris kicks his feet in anticipation. “We’re gonna play a game with these,” you say, keeping your tone full of excitement. “I’ll hold up a letter, and you tell me what the letter’s name is and the sound it makes. And if it’s a little tricky, there’s a picture on the back that might help you out. Sounds good?”

Harris considers this, tongue poking out between his lips, and you can’t help but notice the way he mimics Eddie’s actions. “Can I see the picture even if it isn’t tricky?” he asks.

“Absolutely.” You shuffle the deck, making a dramatic show of closing your eyes and folding the cards into a bridge. “Let me give you an example.” You grab the card off of the top, the letter R printed in bold, black lettering. “This is the letter R. It makes the rrrr sound.”

“What’s the picture?” Harris squeals, clapping his hands together, the sound muffled by the cast on his wrist. When you flip the card around to reveal a cartoon robot, he cackles like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen. “He has triangles for eyes! That is so silly!”

“That is silly,” you agree with a laugh, putting the card at the back of the deck and holding up the next one for him. “Okay, now it’s your turn. Remember, just do your best. This is just so I can see what we need to work on.”

He nods, sitting up straight as he reads the letter F.

“Nice job, Har! And what sound does F make?” This is more difficult for him, and he squints as though it will help him remember.

“Umm, eh?” He knows it’s not correct, and you watch as his shoulders begin to slump dejectedly. “I…I don’t know.” His lower lip juts out, quivering as he admits it.

You keep your tone light and breezy. “No worries! We can always look at the picture, and if it’s still tricky, we can figure it out together.” You show him the french fries on the back of the card.

“French fries!” Harris exclaims giddily.

“And what sound does french fries start with?” You enunciate the start of the words, but he still can’t seem to get the pronunciation. His breath hitches with frustration, chubby fingers digging into his tousled curls to pull at them. “You can ask me for help if you need to. That’s what I’m here for!”

His tiny “need help” is almost inaudible, head drooping towards his chest in defeat. “Everyone needs help sometimes,” you say kindly, pointing to the flashcard to draw his attention back to it. “F makes the ffff sound. Go ahead, try it.”

Harris emulates you, bits of spittle flying as he makes the noise over and over again. “This is fun!” he cheers, eyes widening when he comes to a realization. “Hey, fun starts with the fffff sound, too!”

“Sure does!” You raise your hand for a high-five, shaking it in mock-agony when he slaps it. “Wow, Har, you’re super strong! Okay, let’s try the next one.”

With a few breaks to release some energy, Harris continues stumbling through the rest of the alphabet unceremoniously. He’s definitely behind, you realize, but not so badly that he’s unable to catch up with some extra help.

“Only a couple more to go,” you assure him, presenting the card with the letter P.

“P!” he yells, a grin spreading from ear to ear across his sweet face. “An’ it makes the puh sound!” He reaches out and plucks the flashcard from between your fingers, turning it to see the picture on the back. “It’s a princess.” His eyes flit between you and the pink poofy dress-clad cartoon. “Me an’ Daddy think you’re pretty like a princess.”

There’s no time to ask for further clarification before a loud bang erupts from Grandma’s bedroom. You swear silently, somehow still aware of the four-year-old beside you as you dash to her door. Instinctually, you grab the knob and twist, only to be met with resistance.

“Grandma!” you call out, pounding your fist as loudly as you can. “Grandma, open the door!” You hear the soft, slow pad of her footsteps, watching as the door knob turns slightly before it stops.

“‘S broke,” Grandma says from her side, and relief temporarily floods your senses with the knowledge that she’s unscathed enough to get to the door.

“No, it’s just locked. I need you to unlock it.” Another brief twitch, then nothing. “You…you have to turn the little dial on it. See how it’s horizontal—um, left to right? It needs to go up and down. Can you switch it?” Jiggle jiggle, silence. No attempt to toggle the dial.

“Ms. Sweetheart? ‘S everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, honey,” you lie through your teeth. “Why don’t you go look at the pictures on the—”

BZZZT!

“Pizza delivery!” Eddie croons through the intercom. “One half plain, half gross—sorry, half olive—”

“Eddie!” you press your finger to the button, cutting him off more sharply than you mean to. “Eddie, my grandma locked herself in her room, and she can’t remember how to open it.” Your voice catches in your throat, and you swallow the lump in a determined attempt not to break down in front of your guests.

There’s a pause before his voice floats through the box again. “Gimme a sec.” That’s all he says before he’s gone as quickly as he arrived, and you turn to face the inquisitive little boy who remains glued to your side.

“Har, why don’t you go sit at the table until Daddy comes.” Thankfully, he doesn’t put up a fight, and you’re able to turn your attention back to the crisis. “Grandma, can you please turn the dial?” But when you’re met with another disheartening turn of the doorknob, you have to accept defeat.

BZZZT!

“It’s me; let me up,” Eddie’s words are straightforward but not brusque or curt, and you buzz him in without wasting any time. He’s at your door in a hurry, and you open it before he can knock twice. He’s got the pizza box balancing in his right hand and a small rectangular container tucked under his arm. “Is she hurt?” he asks, handing you the box as you lead him towards Grandma’s room.

You shake your head. “I don’t think so. She’s been twisting the doorknob, but she doesn’t understand what I mean when I asked her to unlock it.”

He nods, examining the knob for a second before unfastening the box’s latch and pulling out a tool that resembles a miniature hook. Splitting his stance, he squints and pokes his tongue from his mouth, just as his son had done earlier. Within seconds, you hear the telltale click of the door unlocking, and you exhale audibly. Relief floods your body as your shoulders untense; you hadn’t even realized you’d pinched them together. Behind Grandma, the TV has toppled to the floor, screen now resting on top of the beige carpet, but that’s the least of your concerns.

“Are you all right?” you ask her, checking for scrapes and scratches, but she luckily appears to have escaped unscathed. “How did this even fall?” You pick up the TV, wincing as you get a glimpse of the spider web of cracked glass right in the center.

“Dunno,” Grandma shrugs, moving past you to get to the piping hot pizza that you’ve placed on the kitchen table. She slides into the chair you’d just been sitting on, pushing the pile of flashcards away clumsily. “‘M hungry.”

You look at Eddie and Harris and muster up a smile. “Guess it’s dinner time! Oh, Grandma, wait for a plate.” You grab four of the plastic pale blue plates from the cabinet to set the table, giving one to Grandma first. You place one at the spot Harris had just occupied, and one in front of the third and final chair–

“Shit,” you whisper under your breath before addressing the boys again. “Um, we only have three chairs. ‘S normally just me and Grandma, and sometimes her aide–”

“No worries,” Eddie waves off your concern, scooping Harris up and resting him against his hip. “Harris can sit on my lap.”

“Or I can sit on Ms. Sweetheart’s lap!” Harris squeals, wriggling out of his dad’s grasp. “Or Ms. Sweetheart can sit on your lap!”

You cough as Eddie turns bright red, cheeks the same shade as the marinara sauce buried under a thick layer of cheese. He sweeps Harris on top of his thighs and snags a slice of pizza for each of them. “Uh, yeah, no,” he mumbles, taking a gigantic cheesy bite in an attempt to end the conversation.

Dinner goes as well as it possibly can. Harris asks to try an olive, promptly spitting it onto his plate as soon as the taste hits his tongue. Grandma tells Eddie no less than five times that she likes his shirt, thoroughly embarrassing you, but he just politely says “thank you,” each time as though it’s the first. At one point, Harris gives him a bewildered glance, but before he can say anything, Eddie whispers, “I’ll explain later, bud.”

The rest of the meal is filled with conversations about work and school. Eddie tells a story about how a customer came into the store completely frazzled after listening to a Nirvana album. “She thought it was about Buddhism, and was very distraught when she got Kurt Cobain instead. Guess she missed the whole…” He mimics holding a gun to his head, and you laugh at the crude gesture, slapping his hand out of the way before Harris can see. Luckily, the boy is too engrossed in dissecting his slice to notice.

Grandma retreats to her room as soon as she finishes her dinner, and Harris gets bored soon after, squirming to the floor and dashing to the living room TV set–now the only working one in the house. That leaves you and Eddie at the table alone.

“I can take your plate if you’re done,” you say as you lean over, scoffing when Eddie starts to get up and bring his empty dish to the sink. “Hey, let me clean up. You brought the pizza.”

“Yeah, because you tutored Harris,” he reminds you, swooping in to grab your plate as well. “So we’re even.”

“Even?” you ask incredulously. “After you rescued my grandma and kept us company during dinner? Do you know how long it’s been since I had an actual conversation during a meal?”

Eddie chuckles at this. “I think ‘rescued’ is a bit dramatic. All I did was unlock a door; not exactly superhero stuff.” He shakes his hair back behind his shoulders.

“She could’ve been hurt,” you point out earnestly, following him to shoo him away from the pile of dirty dishes, “and without you, my only option was to take a battering ram to the door. I don’t even know where I would buy one of those.”

“Have you tried Melvald’s? They sell everything there. ‘S actually where I got Harris.” Eddie teases, hand inching towards the faucet.

“Eddie, sit down and relax. Don’t you dare turn on the water.” Your eyes widen as he locks his gaze with yours, flicking on the spout indignantly and grabbing the sponge without breaking eye contact. “Eddie, I mean it–”

He smacks the sponge against a plate and harshly brushes it up and down, still staring at you. “Oops,” he deadpans, rinsing it and haphazardly placing it in the dishrack before picking up another one. “Oops again.”

“Give me that!” you charge over to him, yanking it away before he realizes what you’re doing. You squeeze the bottle of soap over the already-saturated sponge just to emphasize your point. “Go watch TV with your son and let me clean up.”

He’s quiet for a moment, leaning back next to you. The hem of his shirt makes contact with some water that sprayed out of the sink, but he doesn’t notice; if he does, then he doesn’t care. “I don’t usually have anyone to talk to at night, either. And with Harris–I mean, I love him to fuckin’ death, but a guy can only hear so much about the latest episode of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.” He clears his throat, but the words come out even softer somehow. “I like talking to you.”

The water runs uninterrupted by any movement as you look into his warm eyes. Flecks of gold punctuate the deep chocolate orbs that are drinking you in. They're the same eyes that you looked into on the night that he’d brought you back to his place. The eyes that shot daggers at you while he spewed venom at you in the music store. The eyes that could barely look at you when he’d somberly confessed his past, more motivated by anxiety than trust. The eyes that could flip your world upside down if you let them.

He lets his thumb graze yours as he grabs the newly clean plate from your hand, wiping it with a towel until it’s impossibly dry. You can’t look away from his lips, the way they practically scream kiss me. And you want to. Fuck, you want to so badly.

But you’re not stupid. Possibly naive, hooking up with him nearly three months ago and thinking it would have no emotional impact on you, but not stupid. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

“Same time next week?” you blurt out, taking you both by surprise. It’s too abrupt to be natural, but you don’t care. You need to stop this before it starts. Again.

Eddie recovers quickly, though his nod is a bit delayed. “It’s a date. Uh, a tutoring date. For Harris.”

“For Harris.”

Harris is at your classroom door the next morning, knocking excitedly. “Ms. Sweetheart, I got something for you!” Digging into his backpack, he produces a plastic bag tied in a knot. Bradley’s Big Buy is stamped on the side, but the contents aren’t anything you’d find in the supermarket.

It’s a lockout kit; the same kind that he’d used last night to unlock Grandma’s door. There’s a note Scotch-taped to it, and you read it silently:

I hope it doesn’t happen again, but I wanted you to be prepared in case it does.

-Eddie

P.S. Don’t try to pay me back. It was much cheaper than a battering ram.

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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frnkiebby · 5 months

Text

Frnkiebby’s FellowWhore Appreciation Day(week) Installment Number Two:

“Are you sure you’re still up for this Frankie?” you ask. Frank was barely recovered from his latest bout of bronchitis and you really wished he would take things easier and just fucking rest.

“For the millionth time. Yes.” he said, his tone edging on exasperation now “We’ve had these tickets for *months* and I’m so fucking sick and tired of rotting on the couch.”

Frank moved to walk around you, placing a hand on your hip as he squeezed past in the narrow hallway of the front door. You let out a heavy sigh and finally took a pair of shoes from the rack in front of you.

“Will you at least wear a mask? We’re gonna be around a lot of people and I really don’t want you catching another bug. Your immune system isn’t back to full strength yet.”

Hearing a thump come from Franks direction caused you to drop your remaining shoe and snap your eyes to him.

“Yes, mother.” he said petulantly, lifting his head back from where he had let it fall against the wall in frustration.

“Frank…I’m sorry, I just worry. You’ve been getting sick a lot more frequently lately…”

Frank looked down and away. He knew that. He knew he’s been sick more often than not this fall, and if he was being honest with both himself and you, he was also worried.

“I know baby,” he replied softly “I’ll wear a mask. I’ll be okay.”

He stood and walked the few steps over to take your face in his hands. Brushing his thumbs across your cheekbones, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against your forehead.

“Let’s get outta here and go see your freaky exhibit already, huh?”

“Yeah, Frank, sounds like a plan.”

_______________

Before you got out of your uber you nudged Franks arm and passed him the mask you had shoved in your pocket. With a soft smile thrown at you he held it against his nose and looped the elastics around his ears. After thanking the driver, you both exited the car and started up the crowded steps into the museum.

Frank had teased you mercilessly for wanting to go to the exhibit. Called it gruesome and you a weirdo as if he hadn’t immediately gone into his phone to purchase tickets.

Once inside with pamphlets in hand, Frank was so excited that he was damn near insufferable. Pulling you from one display to another, chattering endlessly about the creepy history of each piece. It was honestly both adorable and a relief that he had so much energy.

“Oh my god, look-look-look!”

When you looked over to him, smile already on your face, you absolutely lost it. The look on Frank’s face combined with the ridiculous pose he struck had you laughing at a volume that resulted in more than a few glares from the other patrons.

“You absolute dork, don’t you dare move a muscle.” You weren’t even sure if he understood you with how much you were laughing.

“Don’t move a muscle, huh?” he teased “Like this guy?”

When you finally got the camera open on your phone, you nearly dropped it. Frank had escalated his pose to an even higher level of ridiculousness. God you fucking loved him.

After snapping more photos than necessary, you turned to show them off to Frank. The two of you broke out into more laughter, gaining even more glares. The night had went better than you expected, even with Frank’s laughter devolving into silent wheezes as he bent over trying to get control of himself.

Even though he would be exhausted for the rest of the night and likely tomorrow, you were glad he held firm and insisted on the exhibit. Every now and then Frank has to be right about something, you figured.

#this one was SUPPOSED to be tuesday #but it’s the week before finals.#so 🤷🏻🤷🏻#but here’s number 2!!#Frnkiebby’s FellowWhore Appreciation Day #follower milestone #frnkiebby #frank iero #mcr #frnkiero #mcrmy #mcr5 #frnkie #my chemical romance #my chem #ilhsm

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avastrasposts · 5 months

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Big Sky Country - ch. 1

Cowboy!Frankie x OFC

Hi!

I'm really excited to post the first chapter of my new fic after posting a little snippet of it almost a month ago! In it we meet a cowboy version of Frankie as he returns to New York to patch things up with his "maybe girlfriend", but he also makes a connection with another woman, who makes this lost cowboy feel welcome in her Brooklyn bar.

No age gap, OFC story, angsty as fuck in parts, some smut, and I'm putting poor Frankie through hell again (I love him, I swear...)

And a big shout out and thank you to @i-own-loki who made the beautiful banner!

Warnings can be found here - contains spoilers but please read if you know certain themes may be upsetting for you. This fic is dark in parts and I don't want to upset anyone.

Series Master List

Main Master list

Prologue

The Greyhound bus rumbled away down the pin straight highway, heading west, towards the darkening mountain range. The sun slowly sank behind the highest peaks, soon their shadows would touch her feet. Looking back, east, towards a past she’d left on a whim, she sighed and let her eyes drift up to the indigo sky. Big sky country indeed.

So alien to her eyes, so open to someone used to living their life surrounded by tall buildings, busy people, small trees in small parks.

Here, the open prairie gave speed to the cold wind that hurtled down from the mountain range, whipping dirt from the road, tugging at her loose hair. She briefly closed her eyes against the particles of dust, inhaled deeply, tasting it on her tongue, dry grass in the air, a hint of snow from the mountains. No way back now, the bus too far away to stop. Only her duffel bag and a phone number, hoping he’d pick up and let her in.

He pressed his thumb to the button with her name, the taxi behind him rolling away down the crowded street. The buzz from the intercom added another layer of noise to the assault on his ears.

He dropped his hand.

Waited.

Glanced down the street, letting the tall steel and glass buildings pull his gaze upwards, to the thin sliver of dirty gray sky visible above them. With a sigh he dropped his eyes down, towards the end of the long street, where the buildings seemed to merge into one solid wall. He knew he was looking west, could feel it in his bones, in the way his feet wanted to start walking towards it. Towards the tall mountain range behind his home.

He pressed his thumb against the button with her name on it again, the buzzer grated his skin. He had a way back, nothing stopping him from hailing a cab, climbing back on the Greyhound and heading west again.

But she was here. If he wanted to make this work, he needed to be here.

Chapter One

A wall of warm air hit Frankie as he pulled open the door to the bar, chatter spilling out onto the street. His shoulders pulled up to his ears, the environment uncomfortable to him and he stopped just inside the door, scanning the room for something familiar apart from the smell of stale beer in the air. This bar was the first one he saw that looked like it would maybe serve someone like him, a Texas boy, fresh off the bus from Montana. He’s pretty sure he still has horse dung stuck to the bottom of his cowboy boots, his old army duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

The door behind him opened again, cold air hitting the nape of his neck under the ball cap.

“You growing roots, old man?”

The line is followed by a man snorting and a hand on Frankie’s arm, pushing him to the side. He would snap, bite back with a threatening remark, or at the very least fix the man with his most intimidating soldier scowl. But he just took two steps to the side, his shoulders creeping closer to his ears as he tugged at his cap, the movement unintentional, a nervous habit. He knew he was out of place here, a stranger.

The young man, a yellow backpack slung over his shoulder and long hair pulled into a bun, shoved his way past Frankie, catching the eye of the woman behind the bar.

“Hey, dickwad! Behave yourself or I’ll have you barred,” she barked, her eyebrows furrowed as she jabbed her finger at the man and he raised his hands in a weak gesture of apology as he sauntered towards the bar.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he snarked, heading towards a loud crowd further in, walking away and ignoring the frown from the woman. She turned her attention to Frankie instead and looked him up and down, an appraising look, before meeting his eyes.

“You coming or going, cowboy?”

“Uuh..coming,” he managed to press out, picking up his feet and walking to the bar. He felt heat creep up his neck at being so easily pegged as a cowboy, an out of towner, swallowing down the urge to turn on his heel and bolt out the door. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and the woman behind it gave him a smile, setting down a coaster with a flick of her wrist.

“What can I get you? You look like you’ve traveled far.”

“Just a beer, thanks,” he said and she gave him a softer smile, pity flashing across her face.

“This is Brooklyn, cowboy, I’ve got twenty beers on tap and forty in bottles,” she said and he felt fatigue set in, can’t even order a normal fucking beer in this city. He sighed deeply, dropping his head between his shoulders. But the woman just chuckled in a low voice, tapping her hand on the bar just in front of him.

“Don’t despair, I’m a good bartender, I know what you’ll like.”

He picked up his head as she stepped away, grabbed a glass, and moved to a tap further down the bar. Shooting him a quick grin, she began to pull the pint, amber liquid filling the glass, topping off with a creamy white head. He watched her from under the bill of his cap, shouldn’t really appraise her, but he couldn't help it. The fitted jeans on her curves, and the faded bar uniform shirt tied at the waist instead of tucking it in, made his eyes drop down over her ass in a way a man trying to save his relationship with another woman should avoid. And she clocked him, checking her out when she turned towards him again, making him snap his eyes to his hands on the bar. Heat crept up his neck as he rubbed the small bullseye tattoo next to his thumb.

“Amber ale from a local brewery three blocks from here,” she said and placed the pint on the mat in front of him.

“Thanks,” he replied, watching the bubbles rise to the bottom of the head, “looks good.”

“One of my favorites, I’ve always had a soft spot for amber ale,” she nodded, picking up a cloth and returning to the never ending duty of cleaning glasses.

Frankie picked up the glass and took a long sip, humming as the ale slipped down his throat.

“Damn,” he said, “that’s good, that’s really good.”

“Told you,” the woman smiled at him and he gave her a quick smile in return before he took another sip.

She watched him from the corner of her eye as she moved around the bar, clean glasses getting wiped and stacked. Clearly a newcomer to the city, she’d called him ‘cowboy’ and he hadn’t protested, the boots and the duffel bag giving him away, even before she saw his uneasy eyes roam around the bar and his nervous shuffle. She’s used to assessing anyone who stepped in through the door, the loud ones, the quiet ones, the ones who are only coming to make trouble.

This man was one of the quiet ones, she doesn’t think he’s loud even when he’s in his own element, surrounded by friends.

As he took another long drink from his pint, she turned and picked up glass, catching his eyes on her. She smiled warmly at him, wanting to make him feel welcome, at least in this bar. The city outside is usually brutal to newcomers, and this one seemed to carry more of a burden than most.

“So you’re new to the city?” she asked him, moving back to his side of the bar, pushing long strands of ginger red hair back behind her ears before wiping another glass.

“Yeah, came in on the bus a few hours ago,” he replied and she nodded. He doesn’t look like he flew into the city, he’s got the tired face of someone who's spent too many hours leaning against a window, watching the Midwest slip past. But underneath the tired eyes there’s a warmth, a softness in the way he gives her a small crooked smile that makes a dimple appear on his right cheek.

“Spent two fucking days on it,” he sighed, rubbing a large hand over his face before he lifted his cap and swept his thick curls back. She was temporarily mesmerized by how they bounced back around his ears as he squashed the cap back down.

“Two days? Where did you come from, Texas?” she asked, her eyes widening at the thought of spending two whole days on a bus, but he shook his head.

“No, I think Texas is like three days, I came from Montana,” he took another long drag of his beer.

“I’m guessing this isn’t a weekend trip then”, she quipped, putting down the cloth, all the glasses done, and leaned back on the counter behind her. There’s more work to be done but the stranger chuckled softly at her joke and it pulled her in, making her smile in return.

“No, I’m here to stay with someone, my..ah-a friend, of sorts,” he said, “Gonna see if I can find some work around here, try a different type of life.”

“What do you do?” she asked, “Maybe I know someone who knows someone, that’s usually how it works here.”

“Back in Montana I work with horses, on a ranch,” he replied, rubbing his thumb over the condensation on the beer glass, “Before that, I was a mechanic, cars, helicopters, anything really, I can usually fix it.”

“That’s a pretty handy skill,” she replied, sounding impressed and he gave a little shrug, as if the ability to fix helicopters was something inconsequential, “I’m sure you’ll find work, especially if you can fix old cars, lots of those around here.”

She turned and grabbed a notepad from next to the till, “What’s your name and number? I’ll keep it on hand and ask around for you.”

“Really?” He sounded surprised as he sat up a bit straighter, “Uh yeah, I’m Frankie, Frankie Morales.”

“Nice to meet you, Frankie,” she smiled back at him and slid the notepad across the bar, “Write it down, and your number. I can’t promise anything, and I’m not recommending you to anyone, I’ll just let them know you’re looking for work.”

“Yeah, sure, of course, but anything helps,” he replied, grabbing the pen and jotting down his information.

“What’s your name?” he asked, as he passed the notepad back to her.

“Aisling,” she replied, slipping it in next to the till again.

“Do you own this place,” he asked, looking around the bar. When he looked back at her she was shaking her head.

“No, not at all, I’m just the bartender,” she said, “Give me a minute, I’m just gonna serve these guys.” She gave him a quick smile and headed down the bar to two men who had just sat down.

Frankie watched her as she took their orders, smiling and laughing easily as she pulled a beer for one of them. The men, her age, are both hanging on to her every word as she makes a joke, the blonde one clapping the other one on the shoulder with a loud howl. She winked at him and turned, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf to serve the other man. As she stood on her tiptoes, stretching to reach, her shirt rose up, a soft sliver of creamy skin exposed in the dim light of the bar. Frankie couldn’t help but stare at the glimpse black underwear peeking out above the edge of her jeans, a flash of lace, his mouth suddenly dry as his cock reacted. He dipped his head, but couldn't keep his eyes away, she swayed on her tiptoes, refusing to get the stepladder and her breasts pressed against the shirt as it rode up higher. Frankie had an image of her underneath him, all that soft flesh, warm and smooth under his rough palms, sweet smelling and whimpering.

She managed to slide the bottle off the shelf and grab a glass. Frankie peeled his eyes away, looking down at the now empty pint in his hands, pressed his thumb into the tattoo, forcing his thoughts in another direction. At the end of the bar, Aisling rang up the customers’ order and wiped down the bar before coming back towards him.

“Do you want another?” she asked, nodding towards the empty glass. Frankie considered it for a beat and then shook his head. He wanted a clear head when he went back to the apartment, he needed to say the right things to save the relationship with the woman who lived there. He already knew that not even in his head could he bring himself to call her ‘girlfriend’, he’s far from sure that’s what she is anymore, not with the way they left it.

“No, I can’t,” he said, “It was good though, what do I owe you?”

“Fourteen fifty,” Aisling replied and he tried not to cough at the price as he pulled his wallet from the back of his jeans.

She took his bills and he left her a tip on the bar that she deposited in the tip jar with a smile.

“Uhm…tell me,” Frankie said, absentmindedly tugging at his cap, “Do I really look that much like a cowboy?”

Aisling’s smile softened as she heard his nervous question, “Well…yeah, the cowboy boots are kinda a give away,” she replied, “It doesn’t exactly look like it’s a fashion choice, and the whole jeans, suede jacket, belt buckle look…” She motioned over his body as Frankie’s eyes dropped down to his jeans and belt, hidden from view by the counter.

“You’re good,” he said, a small chuckle escaping him, “You got all that just from when I came in?”

“Tricks of the trade,” she replied, “I need to know who steps into the bar and read them quickly.”

“So you assessed me as soon as I walked in? What else did you pick up on?” He was curious now and leaned forward on the counter as she laughed.

“Well, I’m cheating because we’ve been talking for a bit now. But you do look ‘new in town’ and I’d say ex-army maybe?”

“I guess the duffel bag gave it away?” Frankie smiled, glancing down at the old bag at his feet.

“No, they’re ten dollars at the army surplus stores,” Aisling replied, shaking her head, “But you sat down with your back against a corner, and I bet you can tell me exactly where the exits are and how many people are in here and which ones could give you trouble.”

Frankie raised his eyebrows in surprise at her and she shrugged.

“You’ve been scanning the room since you walked in.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” he replied, letting his eyes roam across the room again, it’s instinct at this point, inherited from years in the army, “I quit the army years ago but it’s a habit I can’t seem to drop.”

“What did you do? Mechanic?” Aisling asked and Frankie shook his head.

“Helicopter pilot, which means I had to be able to fix anything, but mainly I flew things, anything really.”

Aisling gave him a closer second look and the pieces fell into place, his quiet demeanor, the way he held himself, not exactly folded in on himself, but as if he was trying to stay unseen and not be noticed unless he wanted to be. A strong, solid body gone slightly soft with age, betrayed by the gray in his beard and hair, small white scars across his knuckles, evidence of old injuries.

“What?” he asked as he noticed her eyes scanning him.

“Just building the picture,” she said, a small crooked smile, “You know us bartenders, always trying to figure out the story of our patrons.”

“Not much of a story,” he said, tugging at his cap and hiding his eyes, “just new in town, looking for work.”

“Everyone has a story, Frankie Morales.”

He shrugged at that and fumbled for his phone as it began to ring. Aisling gave him a quick smile and stepped away to let him answer in private.

Frankie’s jaw ticked as he saw the name on the screen, Eva. He’s been expecting her to call since he left her front door. Their front door, maybe. The truth is, he doesn’t know where they stand anymore. They’d met in Florida, after a doomed mission to South America that left so much pain inside him, and a rift between old friends. She’d been a calming presence, someone who seemed to have his back when his mind spiraled out of control. But she hadn’t been enough, being in Florida became oppressive, and it wasn’t just the humid heat. The old haunts from the days he’d spent trying to numb his brain with white powder, bars and venues filled with memories of the friends he’d lost, both those who’d died and those who still lived, it all became claustrophobic.

When Herb, his sponsor at the NA, first invited him to the ranch in Montana he’d scoffed at the idea. He was a pilot, not a ranch hand. But after a close call, nearly falling back into the habit, he’d taken him up on the offer and gone out there for two weeks. Herb had convinced him by talking about the clear, cool air making it easy to breathe, the open sky making the mind feel less claustrophobic. And he’d been right. The first evening they’d sat on the porch, the mountains at their back, the open prairie in front, and Frankie had looked up at the endless sky and it was almost as if he was back in a cockpit, flying close to the stars. Nothing encroached on his mind, no buzz in his ears, nothing tugged at his memories, just the open sky and an endless horizon.

The two weeks of hard ranch work, aching muscles, blistered hands, sealed the deal. If he wanted to truly start over, he needed to leave Florida and come here.

Eva had been enthusiastic at first, pulled in by Frankie’s talk of the horses, a new foal that had just been born, the small cabin they’d live in. He’d shared the pictures he’d taken, all rustic beams, sturdy wood furniture and a hammock on the porch. It looked like a romantic western dream and that’s what they both really thought it would be. And for the first few months they were happy.

But when Frankie found peace and calm in the solitude of the isolated ranch, felt free and unrestricted, she began to feel claustrophobic and suffocated. The nearest town, a forty-five minute drive away, didn’t offer much of anything. She found work online and began to resent the life he’d trapped her in. That was the word she’d used, trapped. When the fights became a daily occurrence, Frankie felt the familiar itch of wanting to escape come back. Starting, as always, in his feet and crawling up his body until he spent more time out on the ranch than in the cabin. And for every hour he stayed away, Eva resented their life more, resented him more.

Until eventually, one late evening when he came back after five days on the trails with a group of guests from a neighboring ranch, she’d left. Only a note saying she’d accepted a position in New York with the company she worked for. A line about needing a different type of life, no invitation to come with her, to follow her, just signed /E and that was it.

He’d called her, spent hours on the phone when she eventually picked up, begged her to come back. Offered to move to a ranch closer to a bigger town, find a compromise where he could still have the peace of the ranch life, but let her live her life too. But she loved New York, after the silent cabin, she craved the noise and the tempo of the city.

Eventually he agreed to come to New York, to see her new life and maybe find a place in it. But the city was an assault on his senses after so long on the ranch. The peace that his spiraling mind had finally found evaporated as he navigated the city, the metro, her friends, the bars. His feet itched, the skin around his nails was picked raw and he felt on edge, even in the apartment, his mind never getting a chance to be quiet.

Eva called it his need for control, to always have a plan of escape, a way out. He knew it was the years in the army that had shredded his sense of safety, left his nerves ragged and too exposed to the mundane background noise of a city. Maybe he’d be able to deal with it some day, but now, he needed the silence.

After two months in Brooklyn, he left. A loose promise from both of them to maybe try to patch things up, to try the long distance thing. But when he sent a text, saying he’d returned safely to the ranch, and she didn’t reply for two days, he knew it was over. And he didn’t miss her. He had loved her at some point, he thinks. But their lives didn’t match, their needs too different. And he saw that he should maybe not be with anyone while he laid down the foundations of a new life in a new place. He needed to find a way to live with himself, in silence, before he considered sharing his darkest sides with someone else.

And then Eva called. Six weeks after he’d left Brooklyn. He could hear the heavy traffic behind her as she walked down a street somewhere, leaving a clinic that had confirmed what she’d suspected.

“I’m pregnant, Frankie, and it’s yours.”

The words floored him, sent a sharp jolt of dread through his system, his feet tingling, then his scalp. A baby. In New York. But his baby, their child. And the dread was replaced by nerves, how would they do this? Would she want to raise the baby in New York or come back to Montana? He had space for a child here, a guest bedroom with a view of the mountains. It would be a perfect nursery, he could paint it, build a crib with Herb’s help, the nearby town was a good place to raise a family when the child was old enough to begin school. Without even stopping to think, he built a new life around the unborn child.

Or hell, even New York, he’d make himself put up with New York if that was what she wanted. The apartment only had one bedroom but maybe they could move further out, get a bigger place. He could renovate pretty much anything, he was sure of it. Maybe they could find a quiet neighborhood with trees, where his mind could find peace even in the city. Without even stopping, he built another new life around his, their, unborn child.

“I don’t know if I’m keeping it, but I wanted to tell you.”

Eva’s voice had been hard, letting him know that she was doing him a favor by telling him, letting him be part of it.

“I’ll come to New York, I’ll get a bus today,” Frankie pleaded, “Let’s talk this through, a few more days won’t make a difference.”

She’d conceded, and he’d thrown stuff into the old duffel bag, left a message with Herb, and driven to the crossroads where the Greyhound stopped.

Now he was here, in a Brooklyn bar, looking down at her name on his phone as he pressed the green button to answer.

Chapter 2

A/N: And we're off! I'm so nervous, I really hope you all will love this and follow along as I explore this new version of Frankie! I hope to post a new chapter every Sunday so fingers crossed life doesn't get in the way too much!

❤

Tagging the ususal suspects: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @casa-boiardi

#frankie morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #frankie morales fanfic #triple frontier

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supernovafics · 28 days

Text

series masterlist | last part — next part

pairing: modern!college!steve harrington x fem!reader, bestfriend!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k words

warnings: explicit language, weed smoking, angst

summary: a conversation with eddie finally tells you everything that you need to know

quick a/n: i know this one is much shorter than usual but big things happen in this so enjoy<333

CHAPTER ELEVEN | ❝𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈❞

Spring Semester 2017

“Me and Chrissy broke up.”

Eddie’s words didn’t feel entirely real at first. Mainly because they felt as if they were coming from absolutely nowhere. That made you think that maybe he was joking— which would’ve been a really weird joke if it was— but you could tell from his face that he wasn’t about to follow up with a lighthearted “just kidding.”

A quiet lingered between you two for a brief moment. The only thing that could be heard was the soft chatter of the other people in Frankie’s diner that morning and the waitresses moving about the small place.

For some reason, once the words really processed in your head, you felt relieved and the tiniest bit happy. And then you immediately felt like the worst person in the world for feeling that way. You had never wanted them to break up, and you hadn’t been hoping for it either because you knew how happy Eddie was with her, so why were you now feeling relieved that they were over?

You started speaking in an attempt to forget about every fucked up thing you were feeling right then. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry. What happened?”

He gave you a half-hearted shrug. “She said she’s been feeling “off” about things for the past few months, so she finally decided to end it last night.”

“Oh…” You didn’t really know how to respond to that because things had seemed perfectly normal between them. Maybe even more than normal because you remembered him mentioning that they were talking about moving in together for Junior year. “Were you feeling that way too?”

“Not at all,” Eddie answered with a shake of his head and hearing how sad he sounded made you feel even worse than you already felt.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Eds. That sucks.”

His gaze shifted to his drink; a cup of coffee that you had also ordered, except you had put borderline too much sugar in yours. Another silence began to linger between you and him, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you were saying the right things at this moment. You weren’t sure, but you hoped so.

It didn’t feel right to change the subject to something else— to talk about the end of finals week or the end of the semester itself because it actually felt pretty unimportant now. But, you were trying to think of something to say.

“We should do something this summer,” You blurted out, breaking the quiet.

Eddie looked at you then, the same melancholic look on his face that was so foreign to you because he was usually always smiling or laughing or making a joke about something. It was this moment that made you feel so grateful for all the previous times that you’d ever gotten to see him happy. “Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know… Some sort of trip? A road trip, maybe?” You were suggesting the first things that came to your mind that didn’t sound too outlandish. “I’m not entirely sure, but I just refuse to let you spend the summer wallowing in sadness about this breakup.”

He considered your words for a second and in that brief silence, you thought that maybe you’d been a bit too blunt. But then Eddie was responding to you and you knew that you said the right thing. “A road trip could be fun.”

“Yes, exactly,” You smiled. “And I think that’s what you need right now.”

“Just you and me?”

“That was the initial thought, yeah,” You nodded. “I know Robin is going home for the summer, and same thing with Vickie too. But, I mean, if you wanna invite some of the band guys that’s fine.”

“No, just you and me is good,” Eddie smiled back, and after seeing him look so sad for the past few minutes, it felt like a breath of fresh air to see him look at least a little happier now. The breakup was a shitty situation— in Eddie’s eyes, shitty probably sounded like an understatement— but things didn’t have to stay that way.

This road trip would be a good thing, a healing thing in more ways than one— a summer of him moving on and things going back to the way they were for you two. You were best friends after all, and you had a feeling that even he could admit that things had become somewhat different between the two of you for the past year and a half. He had Chrissy, and in more recent months, you’d become really close to Robin and Vickie.

Now things would be back to just you and him for the time being, which was something that felt as if it hadn’t happened in forever. Before this moment in the diner, you remembered that the last time it was just you and him hanging out was three weeks ago in your single dorm room after his band had a gig at a local bar.

You missed him, you were realizing now, you had missed him a lot. And it wasn’t the part of you that had feelings for him, which had been locked away in a metaphorical box and buried, that missed him— in this moment that was, for obvious reasons, the farthest thing from your mind. Instead, it was the part of you that just saw him as your best friend that had missed him like crazy, and you wondered if he’d been feeling the same way too.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Spring Semester 2018

It was almost over.

Weeks passed until the countdown went to single digits; eight to be exact. Eight days until you were going to Steve’s family wedding in Mexico, and then when you got back from that, you and him would be “broken up.”

It hadn’t worked— at least, still not yet. There was no sudden declaration of love from Eddie that you’d been expecting to happen, as per Steve’s thoughts, and the words didn’t fall from his lips in a much less dramatic way either. Little moments with Eddie, ones that felt like both nothing and everything, continued on and proceeded to confuse you just as much as they made you feel okay.

Even this moment, sitting out on the metal steps of Eddie’s fire escape and smoking weed in the middle of a random Thursday, felt like a solid mix of everything and nothing.

“Isn’t it kind of weird?” He asked as he passed the joint back over to you. “You’ve barely been together a month.”

“I mean it’s not really normal, but I don’t think it’s necessarily weird,” You said with a shrug as you took only a quick hit because you were already comfortably high. You weren’t entirely sure why Eddie was harping on this Mexico thing now when he’d known about it for the past two weeks at this point. “And it’s for a wedding, so it’s not like an actual vacation.”

He shrugged halfheartedly. “I know that we didn’t have any specific plans set for spring break, but I still just expected to spend it with you.”

“We still can spend most of it together. I leave after my last class that Friday and then I come back on Tuesday,” You told him, doing a basic explanation of the information that you had found out only a little over a week ago when you were slightly filled in on the itinerary. You and Steve would get there Friday, Saturday and Sunday would be filled with random “family” activities (that Steve promised he’d try his hardest to get you both out of), the actual wedding was on Monday, and the early morning flight Steve’s parents got for you on Tuesday was the same as Steve’s. “So, for most of the week, I’ll get to be here with you and everyone else.”

“I guess…” Eddie trailed off and it seemed as if he was going to say something more, but he didn’t.

If it wasn’t for the weed making your mind a bit cloudy and a lot less rational, you probably would’ve let the conversation end there and simply shifted it to something else. But, because of that, you couldn't.

You nudged him lightly with your shoulder. “What are you thinking?”

He was quiet only for a second. “I think I finally get it.”

Hearing him say that didn’t do anything to wash away any of your confusion. “Get what?”

“Okay, my head is moving in a ton of different directions right now, so bear with me here,” Eddie said and you simply nodded, having no idea where he was going with what he was saying. “When me and Chrissy were dating did you ever get jealous?”

You didn’t say anything at first, and you also didn’t say anything for the next few long moments. You let his question sit in the cool air because you couldn’t figure out how to respond to it. Your mind considered telling the truth, and it also considered simply telling some other lying excuse that you’d become so good at making up over the past few years.

More than anything, though, you wanted to know why he was asking that question in the first place and where the hell this conversation was even going.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie abruptly said, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I know that was such a random question to ask.”

“I don’t think I really get what you mean by it,” You finally spoke. That response was only a partial lie because you understood the question itself completely, but you really didn’t understand where it had come from.

“I don’t know. I just think that I’ve been feeling kinda jealous lately about you and Steve, so if you had ever felt the same way when I was dating Chrissy I get it completely now. I really miss you and I’ve missed moments like these when it’s just you and me, which have felt pretty rare lately,” He told you as he stubbed out what was left of the joint with his shoe and all you could do right then was look down at it. “And I know exactly how selfish that makes me sound, and I also know that I kind of have no right to feel that way because I did the same thing to you. But, yeah, I don’t know, that’s just how I’ve been feeling.”

It was a lot of information to process at once. At first, the only thing you were able to focus on was the fact that he was rambling, which felt surprising to you because he was never a rambler like you were. And then his rambled words were making sense in your head and you realized that maybe this was it. It wasn’t the blatant “profession of love” that you thought would suddenly happen one day over the past month, but it felt pretty close to it and you were finally willing to ask the question that would settle everything.

This didn’t necessarily feel like a “now or never” type of moment, but you weren’t sure if you’d get an opening like this one in the next few days before the fake dating expiration date finally hit. And you also didn’t know if you would feel this way again, if you’d get this same tiny burst of courage that you had at this moment.

“Do you think that means something else?” You were asking before your sudden confidence could wear off and you became left feeling nervous and overthinking everything once again.

“Like what?”

“Like, you like me or something? More than just as a friend?” You couldn’t look at him as the questions fell from your lips— you couldn’t. Because you knew that this was it, whatever his answer was would tell you exactly what you had wanted to know and what you had endlessly wondered about for the past few years. Even when he and Chrissy were happily dating and your feelings for him were buried down and pushed far away, there was still the smallest part of you that wondered at times; hopelessly wondered.

Whatever happened in this moment and whatever his answer ended up being, you’d be fine with it, you decided. You’d force yourself to be fine with it. Because there’d really be no other option.

“No, no, of course not. We’re just friends, I know that,” Eddie answered with a shake of his head. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation or uncertainty in his answer. You could hear how honest he was being with you right then almost too clearly. “I honestly think that if something was gonna, or was supposed to happen, between us it would’ve happened already. I know that we’re just meant to be best friends.”

You simply stayed quiet as his words washed over you and you made yourself accept them exactly for what they were.

You expected to feel devastated— you waited for the feeling to hit you, actually. But, it didn’t.

Surprisingly, this indirect rejection wasn’t as horrible as you’d built it up in your head to be. Maybe it was the weed or maybe you were just in shock. But, either way, you were finally realizing that Eddie was so fucking right.

He was your best friend and you now knew that that wasn’t going to change. You suddenly became so certain about it.

“You’re right,” You finally said, your voice was soft and quiet, and you were kind of over talking but you still continued. “It would’ve happened already.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna try to break you and Steve up or something; he seems like a good boyfriend. I just miss my best friend sometimes. A lot of the time, actually,” Eddie told you. “But, I am glad that you’re happy with him.”

At this point, you considered just telling him everything. That Steve wasn’t really your boyfriend, that the entire thing had been some abrupt idea suggested on the sidewalk adjacent to a movie theater parking lot, that you’d been lying for the last month. Because all of it meant absolutely nothing now and it ended up being for nothing; just like a part of you had expected it would be.

Or maybe it had actually been the right thing to do because even though it didn’t give you the answer that you wanted, this stupid grand scheme did give you the answer that you needed to know. That was probably true, but you still quickly found yourself feeling a lot more embarrassed than you’d ever want to admit. Embarrassed for wanting to do this fake dating thing in the first place, and even more embarrassed for really believing that it could actually work.

You decided against using this moment to be honest with Eddie. Mainly because you just wanted the conversation to change entirely. So you shifted the subject and started talking about watching a movie on his couch and ordering in some food because you were starting to feel hungry. Eddie let the conversation change and agreed to get food, suggesting a burger place that was sort of close and was always good.

You were pretty sure that you’d never want to tell him the truth about everything. Right then, all you wanted was for spring break to come and end so that what you and Steve were doing could be over and you could forget that any of it had ever happened in the first place.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

next part!

taglist (lmk if you want to be added or taken off<333); @eddiernunson , @loulouloueh , @the-aster , @blckburd , @totally-bogus-timelady , @yujyujj , @irhdifartzamfyaa , @mochminnie , @munsonssweets , @blckbrrybasket , @xprloki , @definitionwanderlust , @dwcode , @sun-fiower-seed , @keerysfolklore , @damon-loves-pie , @lodeddiperrodrick , @bisexual-and-intellectual , @munsonburn3r , @negomi123 , @khena , @facexthexsunshine , @seatbacksandtraytables

(if your user is crossed out it means i can’t tag you</3)

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #bestfriend!eddie munson #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington series #steve harrington angst #stranger things fic #stranger things series #stranger things imagine

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thelightsandtheroses · 3 months

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6. baby, if your love is in trouble

Frankie Morales x female reader | let's get lost chapter 6

Summary: You and Frankie aren’t together anymore but you’re in a good place. However, spending a week together for your mutual friends’ wedding on a luxury resort might challenge that slightly and realising you’re still in love with your ex is a sure-fire recipe for disaster … Tropes: it was always you, getting back with the ex, beach!Frankie (you know *that* photoshoot) miscommunication, only one bed, good parent Frankie Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of alcohol, some difficult conversations and some kissing(you’ll have to keep reading to know which order that is), allusions to TF canon events, brief discussions or references to addiction recovery, lolabee typical flangst. Word Count: 4.4k Notes: The next chapter is the last full one (there may be an epilogue) so we are very close to the end now. Thank you so much for all your patience and love with this fic, I cannot tell you how much it means to me. Also this chapter is dedicated to @undercoverpena because her art for this fic (and our chat about it afterwards) really reminded me why I love this fic and helped get me out of a little block I had, even if she made me cry (in a good way, honest) - ily jo!

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Time is strange on vacation. The time leading up to it drags, every second feels like an hour, every hour feels like a day. It’s exhausting and draining which only makes you need the break more. Time seems to pass normally - well, almost normally - at the start of a vacation. It's usually somewhere around day two, when the post travel fatigue finally abates, that time changes again. It goes too fast, so just as you finally start to feel relaxed, it’s almost over.

You know the end is coming. Soon Benny and Lia’s wedding will be over, soon you’ll be on a flight home and then you and Frankie will go your separate ways. Back to an empty house that’s haunted by what could have been, to a job that you don’t know if you love, to a life you feel like is existence when it could be so much more.

You don’t want to leave here, not when you and Frankie feel so unresolved.

There are memories of the day before in every inch of this hotel room. The bed that Frankie took you apart so expertly on, the bathroom counter he kissed you against in a way that makes kissing feel like a small world. You remember it was good before, but not like that.

Love.

You still love Frankie. It’s not an easy epiphany; it’s messy and painful and raw. That’s love though. It’s a dangerous yet fragile emotion.

You love Frankie. Did you ever truly stop? When you hated him, when you were furious and your relationship was nothing but scorched earth, it was always more from heartbreak than hatred.

There’s part of you that wants to scream triumphantly, to run into his arms and declare it to the world. It wants to live in this vacation bubble fantasy forever.

You’re a parent though and Clara changes everything. You both need her to have stability in her world, to be able to have her parents as a strong foundation. You’re sensible and scarred and oh so reliable now.

Love isn’t pragmatic, it’s wild.

This morning you questioned if it was enough, if the love could be enough between the two of you to repair those wounds and fill between the holes of your breakup, of Will’s wedding, of the lost trust and bitterness on every side.

“You look serious,” Lia says, a nervous expression covering her face as she sips her drink.

You blink, shaking your head like it can shake away the gremlins in your mind. “Sorry, I was a million miles away.”

The sun warms your skin as you look out at the bright blue around you. Sparking, azure contrasts with the bright white of the catamaran. There’s music playing softly by the bar, light chatter around you and a sense of peacefulness.

“How are you feeling? Are you ready for tomorrow?” you ask, focusing on Lia - definitely not Frankie.

No, you’re definitely not paying attention to Frankie who is just in your eyeline and is wearing a suitably loud shirt that’s completely unbuttoned, allowing a peek of his tanned skin, the faint hints of hair below his navel racing down to -

You jolt at the sudden reminder of what you were doing just a couple of hours ago. The feeling of his skin against yours, the weight of his body that was so welcome. He looks relaxed though, a bottle of soda in his hand, head tilted back as he laughs.

Is it just you who’s panicking? No, no, you don’t think it is. You notice how he looks away just for a moment, the way his free hand is tapping against his leg nervously, the feeling that if you look away maybe he’ll steal a glance at you too.

You hear your name and look back at Lia, even more guilt rising. This, this is exactly what you wanted to avoid.

“Did you and Frankie have an argument?”

“What?”

“Well, you seem out of it and I caught you looking at him just now and … I thought things were better?” You hear the unspoken words ‘please don’t ruin this, please don’t ruin my wedding too’.

“We’re fine,” you say, “Good. It’s all good.”

“I know it must be awkward sharing with him, but you’ve nearly made it through the whole break!”

“Honestly, Lia, we’re fine. Good. Yeah, it’s not a thing.”

“I just - I’m very intuitive, I can feel tension when you two look at each other.” It’s the other type of tension, you think. The type of tension when just a few hours ago he was inside of you, where he was tracing kisses along your jawline. It’s the type of tension that only happens when after that you panic and make everything worse.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Frankie and I are -”

“Fine?” Lia squeezes your arm. “Just, just don’t let it fester.”

You want to tell her everything, you desperately crave her advice. You want to sip a cocktail and giggle with her about what happened, have her console your panic. This vacation isn’t about you though. It’s for her, for her and Benny. So your anxieties and secrets will have to fester, it’s the only way.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing … relax Santi.”

“I’m not fucking relaxed when …” Santi says something you can’t hear. You shift nervously, aware that you’ve walked into something you shouldn’t be hearing. You just needed a break for a moment and you had no idea they were here though. You just wanted to get another drink.

“I was there, I remember.”

“Just, she’s not gonna ….” You need to get closer so you can hear more.

You edge just a little closer, feeling the condensation around the soda bottle as you lean just a little more so you can make out their words. You feel guilty but it’s a chance to finally understand where Frankie is in all this, especially after what’s happened today. It’s probably wrong to admit, but this feels like a litmus test of where this all could possibly end up, if there really is hope.

“She’s the mother of my child, Santi, she’s the person I love.” Frankie is so firm, so quietly assertive and matter of fact about this it takes your breath away.

He loves you. He still loves you and for the first time, maybe it does feel like enough. The warmth surges through your body and you smile to yourself.

“Love?” Santi spits. “After Will’s wedding? After that breakup? You might forget it was my sofa you crashed on, but I saw it all, Frankie.” And there’s the reality crush you were waiting for.

“I was high, I was high and it was a shit night for everyone and I’m sorry about that. It’s the past though. You’ve all gotta stop talking about it, stop waiting for her to react. It’s not right, Santi, not for her and not for me.”

“It’s not you, it’s-”

“She’s on eggshells, and so am I. We’re so scared of being the ones who wreck another - you have no idea what’s in her head. The pressure -” You watch how Frankie runs a hand through his hair, how he leans against the wall of the cabin.

He gets it, you think, he actually understands what’s happening for you and how you feel.

“Must be a lot for you.”

“Not just me, like I said.”

“Okay, I hear you.”

“Good.”

“You know, the way you’re being, it’s like you’re …” Santi pauses and looks at Frankie seriously “Frankie, oh shit. Oh shit. You two fucked?”

You freeze - how has Santi worked it out? Will everyone else now? The tension twists your stomach into knots. Is it that obvious?

“Don’t, Santi.”

“I warned you, I freaking told you that sharing a room was a bad idea.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever..”

“So, what now? Are you getting back together?”

“I don’t know. It’s not just up to me, right? It’s not that simple. Besides, it only happened today - it’s not been, we haven’t even had a chance to figure it out yet.“

“Oh, you slut, Frankie,” Santi teases affectionately. “So, I don’t even know what to say, bro. But you say you love her; she looks at you like … I don’t know. Sounds like you’re overcomplicating it. Isn’t it that simple?”

“There’s Clara - I can’t bring her down, bro, I just can’t be that fucking guy.” You watch as Frankie wipes his eyes roughly and wish you were closer to him so you could squeeze his arm and reassure him. You hadn’t realised he was worried about the same thing as you.

You hear your name being called and immediately cringe as Frankie looks around, a slightly startled expression on his face. Santi doesn’t say anything but he squeezes Frankie’s shoulders as he walks away.

He sees you standing there and just shakes his head a little - it’s not angry, it’s almost affectionate in fact. “You two are gonna be the fucking death of me, I swear,” he says in a whisper.

You don’t reply, you just wait because you know Frankie’s going to find you in a moment..

“How much of that did you hear?” Frankie asks when he spots you. He runs one hand in his hair and leans slightly against the door jamb. His eyes are downcast, avoiding you and you want to see them, to know what he’s thinking.

“Nothing.” It’s a terrible lie, the sort of tone Clara uses when she sneaks cookies or candy.

He says your name, draws it out teasingly as he cups your face to meet his eyes. He’s so warm, radiating body heat and ease. Comfort. It’s a pleasant warmth that eases your knotted stomach.

“I may have heard something about you being a slut,” you tease,” “And that maybe you’re worried about messing it all up too.”

“You didn’t know that?”

“I have been having my own existential crisis if you hadn’t noticed!”

“Yeah, your brain whirs pretty loud when those happen.”

“I’m always whirring,” you say.

He pulls you closer, one hand resting casually on your hip and he’s close enough you can smell the sea-salt on his skin, the slight ghost of his cologne and suncream too. You look at the hand on your skin, follow every detail of it up until you meet you his eyes. You catalogue every detail on the way; a mix of freckles, sun-stained skin and muscle, the stubble that just hours ago was on you, memories of it against your thighs intrude your soliloquy.

”I - I didn’t mean to make things awkward with you and Santi. I didn’t realise he … he had such a problem, with us, I mean. With me.”

“He doesn’t. Not really,” Frankie says softly, “How would Lia initially react? Santi is the one I went to after we broke up and maybe - maybe it’s hard for him to look at some of the triggers for back then. It’s not an excuse, I was - you know I relapsed before Clara, but it wasn’t bad then, it wasn’t as bad. It was just a few times and I was in meetings and dealing with it and then - then well, you remember what happened.”

“Oh.” You remember Frankie’s ashen face when he returned from Colombia. You’d been furious with him - exhausted from sleepless nights with Clara and an aching, terrifying fear that you were going about your life when Frankie was lying dead somewhere. It had been a catalyst for your relationships end, of course, but what it really did was light a spark for Frankie’s addiction. You wondered for a long time if Frankie ever came back to you or if he’d died like Tom, just in a less invisible way.

He’s back now though. He’s here.

He’s here.

You lean into him, kissing him lightly on the lips. A confirmation of the moment, of the feeling between the two of you. A reminder that you’re here too.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

“You heard that? I - if you want the truth, I never stopped. I’m not sure I could ever stop being in love with you,” Frankie admits.

“I’m scared of this, of what happens if it goes wrong again.”

“Then at least we tried, right? At least we know, because this limbo isn’t right either, baby. I think - I think we can do it this time. I’m clean and I don’t want to go to back, not when it risks Clara, not when it risks you. I don’t like the me back then.”

“I definitely got a lot wrong too.”

“We’ve got this.”

Frankie pulls you tightly against him, one hand entwined in yours as meets your lips again briefly.

“You and me?” you say, more as a question than a statement.

“You and me,” he repeats.

“We tell them after the wedding, we’re not taking over another wedding, Frankie.”

“That works for me.”

He kisses you again, deepening the kiss, as the two of you pour all the words you want to say but that get stuck in your throat into this moment. He spins you against the wall of the boat, moves his hand down from your shoulder to your chest, to the edge of your swimsuit and although he’s barely touching you, it immediately sends heat and shivers to your stomach. Frankie’s always had an effect on you, always been able to tease those sounds and crescendos of pleasure that seemed so far away before.

There’s something about his smile when he notices the effect he has on you. The hint of surprise in his eyes combine with a steely confidence, a slight cockiness that he is the one causing this, that you’re responding to him.

He moans into your mouth as you pull him closer against you yet, wanting to move somewhere else, somewhere you can be alone.

You stumble slightly and Frankie grabs your arm, places the other on the wall to steady yourselves. A tangle of limbs and the two of you smile. His phone falls out of his pocket, the sound echoing around you.

“Shit,” he says quietly.

You both spring apart and look around nervously. Close, so close. You wait for the voices, for one of your friends to call you or worse, to come over.

“We should -”

“Yeah, yeah. Uh - we should.”

You lean back against the wall and shut your eyes, willing your heart rate to slow down, letting the adrenaline burn off.

She’s the person I love.

Maybe, just maybe you were wrong earlier. Perhaps love is enough.

The rehearsal dinner is an informal affair. Lia and Benny deliberately opted for an earlier dinner time so that Clara could be part of it and have already said they’re eschewing as much of the formality for the rehearsal as they can.

It’s considerate and thoughtful and you’re so glad you’ve been able to make this wedding trip work as a family vacation too.

Of course, in practice, scheduling the dinner for just a couple of hours after getting back from the boat trip is far more stressful than they may have anticipated. Especially with a toddler.

“I wanted to stay in kids club,” she cries to Frankie, face screwed up with tears and arms folded.

“I know, baby, but you’ll get to go after the wedding.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No, tomorrow’s Uncle Benny and Aunt Lia’s wedding.”

“This isn’t fair,” she cries, “we were making puppets!”

Frankie looks up at you helplessly. You’re half-dressed, your dress unzipped and no-makeup yet, your hair still damp from the shower.

“Clara, we need to get ready for dinner now,” he says steadily.

“Daddy’s right, Clara, it’s time.”

“No.”

“Clara,” Frankie says, a hint of firmness slowly coming through in his voice. He looks exhausted but he’s meeting your daughter’s eyes, trying to gently assert that she needs to get moving. “It’s time to get ready now. You will get to go to the kids’ club again, but not right now. Now, we’re going to dinner and when we get back, you can watch one episode of your show before bed, okay?”

”Okay.” Clara had clearly forgotten she’d already negotiated that episode of her show earlier in the morning.

Frankie smiles at you as Clara toddles over to you, ready to comply.

“Need a hand?” he asks, pointing at the zip.

“Sure.”

Your eyes watch Clara carefully choosing between two pairs of shoes as Frankie comes up behind you, touches the back of your shoulder before he glides the zip up and gently kisses the side of your neck.

“Frankie.”

“She’s not looking,” he says in a low voice, “and that fucking dress always destroys me.”

You smile, “I know.”

“Why, are you planning to seduce me?”

”Maybe, haven’t decided yet. Play your cards right and perhaps you’ll see….”

Frankie laughs, low and with genuine happiness. He claps his hands together lightly as he moves over to Clara.

”C’mon, princesa, let’s get this show on the road.”

The dinner was a success and now everyone is milling around the bar, enjoying the sunset and each fleeting moment of this vacation.

Clara's on Frankie's hip as he talks to Will and Benny, one of his arms on Benny's shoulder as they all laugh.

You could get used to this again.

You're still at the table, having spent most of the dinner talking with Lia who is now working the rest of the party.

You take a sip of the dregs of your drink and shut your eyes, letting the moment sink in.

There's the sound of a chair being pulled next to you.

You open your eyes to see Sophie sititng next to you. She's wearing a stunning dress that seems to match the sunset and her makeup is immaculate as ever. You don't feel self conscious though, don't feel the usually creeping doubts rising.

You feel a little different actually. Maybe it's relaxing, maybe it's the vacation, maybe it's hope.

Sophie looks at you carefully and lowers her wine glass. “I know you are a good friend to Lia and that you care about Benny.”

“Of course.”

She leans closer to you, a subtle hint of alcohol and fruity cocktails radiating around her. “I also know that despite what you say, you and Frankie - you aren’t over. You still want to be with him. Everyone knows he’s not over you. I’ve seen your face this week.”

“What are you saying Soph?”

“If you two want to figure things out, to see if there’s something still there, then you guys do that. You’re both adults.”

“I’m sensing a but here.”

“I love you both. I do. It’s just you and Frankie are like storms. You’re beautiful and powerful and sometimes a little inspiring too. You endure and you survive, but you leave wreckage in your wake. Wreckage and destruction no-one wants on their wedding day. Trust me. I lived it with you that day.”

You burn with shame as her words land. The memories of Sophie and Will’s wedding feel like an albatross around your neck, something that can never be forgotten or erased.

You’re sick of it - it makes you think your friends will never truly support you and Frankie reconciling, despite Sophia’s words. If they’ll always be watching, guarded and waiting for the chaos or storm, then how can you and Frankie ever relax.

“What are you saying?” you ask in a low voice.

“I’m saying that this is Benny and Lia’s moment. I’m saying that I can’t - I can’t sit by and watch them go through what I - what we … you know what I’m saying. Not while you and Frankie are in a vacation bubble that isn’t - it isn’t real,”

“Things are different. We’re both different. Frankie’s clean now too.”

“I know, and I can’t pretend I know how it felt for you that day, or the ones that led up to it. I know you’ve been through a lot too. I just - Benny’s like my little brother and I know Will can’t say this to you, but we’re all worried. So, I’m going to be the bad guy, but it’s out of love, I promise. I promise. I love you both so much, and I love Benny and Lia too.”

“It wouldn’t be like that. It wouldn’t - that was a - we hit rock bottom, but it wouldn’t happen again.”

“You can’t know that,” Sophie says simply, “So I am begging you, please don’t pull us all back into that storm. Think of Clara.”

The final punch meets its target.

You feel deflated, completely and utterly deflated. You avert your gaze to the paved stones beneath your feet, blink back tears.

In a way, Sophie’s right. You can never know it won’t happen again, that’s love though, right? You have known for years that they saw you and Frankie’s demise as wreckage they were pulled into, that you two became the problem friends as you both lashed out after the breakup, trying to retain control of the uncontrollable in the only way you knew how. You knew this deep down.

It hurts though. It is agonising to realise that every one of your anxieties and fears here was correct, that your friends still treat you with kid gloves, that you and Frankie will always be the problem couple. Even if you get back together, even if it’s perfect, everyone will be waiting for the storm to hit.

“Oh no, I’ve overstepped, I’m sorry. I - I - I’ve drunk too much. Ignore me. Wine makes me funky,” Sophie says, looking panicked.

If it’s a fight, if love is truly a battle, then you need people in your corner. You need to know that the people you love are rooting for you as well, that there is a support network. You require someone to encourage the two of you as things get tough, as you do battle against your anxieties, Frankie’s demons and anything else life throws at you and to know they won’t judge either of you.

It’s clear now that your friends are not in your corner though. Instead, they view you and Frankie as adversaries, not allies, and they’re always waiting cautiously for the next round of hits to land.

How do you try again if no one else really wants you to? If they all think the worst?

You ruined Sophie’s wedding. What on earth makes you think you deserve a happy ending with Frankie after that?

You needed Sophi’s buy-in, you needed her support. You hadn’t realised that until now, but it’s clear. You knew it the moment Sophie started speaking to you. There’s an anxious and scared version of you that requires your friends’ validation, their support that trying all over again is a good thing, that it won’t fuck up your daughter, or your friendships all over again.

Without this, you’re at sea without a buoy, without a lighthouse. You’re floundering in the dark in a lifejacket and rapidly realising hope alone won’t get you to land.

“I need to go,” you say, brushing Sophie’s hand of your arm and heading down towards the beach.

You walk across the sand nervously. You’re hoping the sea will have answers, will calm you down. The sound of waves lapping in and out is like someone soothing you, saying it’s going to be okay.

You sit down rest your head against your knees. You just need a minute, to let it out.

So you do, you finally let yourself break.

Several minutes later, you hear footsteps behind you and a concerned voice saying your name,

You look over to see Frankie. His top three buttons are unbuttoned and his brow is furrowed as he takes in your general demeanour.

“Where’s Clara?” you sniffle.

“Lia’s taking her back to our room, and we’ll meet her there. She also said she needs an early night with the wedding tomorrow. Hey, hey what’s - what’s wrong?”

“I think we’ve made a terrible mistake, Frankie, I’m so sorry,” you manage to say before you burst into tears. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Frankie pales, sinking next to you. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think any of our friends want us to get back together - how can they all be wrong?”

“Santi isn’t all our friends. I told you he’s projecting his own shit.”

“It’s not just Santi!”

“Who said something? What the fuck did they say? This is our relationship, okay? It’s not theirs. They don’t have a say.”

“When we ruined their wedding, they do.”

“So, it’s Will or Sophie. What did they say? I’m going to fucking -”

“And storm into the rehearsal dinner and prove their point, yell at Sophie? Cause a scene and have tonight go down as yet another of our disasters?”

“You’re crying. Sophie had no right to -”

“I’ve had wine, it’s fine. It’s just hot and I’m worried about going home and - I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s a reality check. I hadn’t realised. I thought they’d be happy for us, but perhaps they can’t be.”

“They’ll see,” he says desperately, “we’ll show them it’s real. That it’s different this time.”

“Frankie, I need to know, what happens when we go back?” you ask.

He sits down beside you and takes your hand. “I want to say something smooth, talk you through how I’m going to woo you, and I am going to woo you, tell you that it’s all going to be great.”

“Good start.”

“I can’t promise that though, not right now. Not knowing what you’ve just said. I want to think our friends will be happy for us, but they might not be. Or they might be cautious. It’s us though, it’s you and me. I know that this vacation has reminded me of how much I lost, how much I want every day back with you and Clara.”

“If our friends aren’t supporting us, how do we even carry on? What do we do? Do we cut everyone we love -”

“No.”

“So what then, Frankie?” You barely recognise your voice between your sobs and the way it’s so shrill, so desperate. You had finally made peace with your decision, finally thought that maybe this was all going to be okay. That there was a future outside of this vacation bubble.

Frankie is silent for a moment. You feel how he’s rubbing your back, soothing you as you purge your emotions.

“You forgave me, right?” he says softly after a moment.

“What?”

“For the relapse, for the mess I put us all through, for not talking to you. It took time, it took months, but you did, right?”

You nod.

“Maybe it’s like that for them. And if it’s not, we’ll show ‘em either way. I just - I’ve only just got you back. Please, don’t go anywhere yet. We won’t tell them, not until we’re home, until we’re sure. That way it can’t affect us, can’t bring us down when we’re trying. Don’t give up on us because of Sophie’s drunken idiocy. Please.” He pulls you tighter to him, one arm wrapped around and the other hand reaching to wipe away tears on the side closest to him. His hands are warm, radiating comfort and peace as you feel so adrift.

Maybe he’s the rock, maybe he’s the buoy. Perhaps that is what you are to each other as well?

You laugh, an ugly half-sobbing sound. “Okay, okay, I won’t. I promise.”

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