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whatsverstappeningnow · 6 days ago

Text

how f1 drivers react

when they want you back after you break up with them (part two to this fic)

drivers mentioned: MV33, LN4, OP81, AA23, CS55, CL16, LH44, GR63

max verstappen

Weeks pass in painful silence. For days after the sudden breakup, Max tried to call, to text, to contact you. But the longer you ignored him, thinking it was for the best, the more it hurt. Eventually, the phone calls stopped, and the texts too. Your world descended into self-inflicted silence and loneliness.

You knew it would be hard without him, but the loneliness was worse than you could have ever imagined. It settled deep in your bones, carved into your soul and invaded every aspect of your life. Every moment of silence was a reminder of what you had given up.

Every second of silence was a reminder of how alone you were.

Friends tried to comfort you, tried to tell you that you had made the right choice. But in the middle of the night, with nothing but the cold emptiness of your apartment to hold you, you could only spiral into darker thoughts: you had done the wrong thing. But it was too late. What was done was done. Max had stopped calling, moved on likely. You needed to as well.

You couldn't bring yourself to watch his races. You told yourself that it was for the better. You needed to let go completely. It was the only way you could move on and build a life without Max.

But when you see him again, finally, it’s not at a race. It's not some flashy paddock media day or high-stakes press event, things you used to loathe and love so much. It’s on your doorstep, hoodie pulled up, eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion.

“I keep waiting for you. Every night. I keep thinking you'll call, you'll turn up at my house. You never do,” he says quietly, holding your gaze for the first time in forever. “Look me in the eye and say it again. Tell me our love isn't worth it. Tell me you don't love me anymore. C'mon. Tell me to leave and I will.”

You open your mouth to reply, not even sure what you could possibly say in response beyond what you'd already said that infamous night, but Max just holds up one hand to quiet you. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his phone and taps it a few times before a sound starts to play out of it quietly.

It's you.

Your voice echoes back to you, happy, laughing, talking about something stupid. You hadn't realized he’d saved it. You're not sure why he would until the sound of you hanging up echoes around you both.

I'll talk to you later, ok? Bye Maxie. I love you!

“That’s the last time you said you loved me,” he says, voice low, pure exhaustion dripping from his words. “And I’velistened to it every single night.”

Tears sting your eyes and threaten to fall. Max finally steps closer but still doesn't reach out for you.

“I haven’t driven better. I'm getting worse, I'm making stupid mistakes. I haven’t focused more. I’ve just... missed you. Every day. Every night. You think you were holding me back? I'm scared every time I drive, scared of winning and still going home alone. Scared of doing well and you thinking that it proves you right when I know I'm fucking miserable. I'msorry I told you to leave. I shouldn't have... fuck, I'm just scared, and tired, and I want you. Please.”

Behind him, thundering clouds threaten to erupt and pour down over the city. Dark storms brew with forbearing gloom.

“You want to protect me? You want to make me a better driver? Then stay. Let me love you again. Because losing you has nearly fucking destroyed me."

His hands finally reach out for yours, holding them tightly. His hands are cold, but you find that you don't mind. You need to feel him so desperately that you're willing to endure the torture of the weather on your fingertips. Within you, a deep desire to keep Max warm and safe resurfaces with renewed conviction.

“You are the only thing I’ve ever wanted outside of racing. Please. I love you. I've only ever loved you.”

Despite the tears welling in your eyes, a small smile spreads across your face.

"It's cold. Come inside." You whisper the words, tugging slightly on his hands.

"Only... only if you mean this. I can't come inside if you're just going to turn me away again."

Swallowing guilt, swallowing your hurt and fears, swallowing everything you thought was right that turned out to be so wrong, you say, "Come inside, Max. Please."

Love you think, is the sound of Max closing the door behind him and knowing he is here to stay.

lando norris

You know you shouldn't watch it, but when the clip comes up on your instagram you can't help but pause and watch. It's instinct: you see Lando, you watch. Despite everything, all you said, all that happened and tore you two apart, you still care deeply for him.

It’s a post-race interview. Lando’s just gotten a podium, according to the video's caption anyway. He looks as he always does after a tough drive: hair stuck to his forehead from sweat, eyes wide, adrenaline high as he slowly calms down and takes deep breaths inwards. His smile is wide, until the journalist makes a passing comment...

"Must be nice having all the distractions out of the way now."

Something shifts in his expression. It’s barely a flicker, but if you know him—really know him—you can see it. You know what the interviewer means, the media, the sprint, the free practices, quali, it's all out of the way now. He only has to think about starting P1 tomorrow. All the distractions are gone. Almost all the opsticals of the week have been passed. But the joke doesn’t land. His smile falters, then falls completely. His eyes are hollow with want, tinged with a hint of fear.

And then he says it.

“Not all distractions are bad.”

The interviewer laughs, confused, asks him to elaborate, and he seems all too happy to comply. But he keeps going. The world around you seems stuck, you can't take your eyes away from the screen. If you listened carefully, you swear you can hear your life caving in around you.

“Sometimes the things everyone else thinks are a distraction are actually what keeps you grounded. What keeps you… you.”

He looks down, clears his throat, doesn’t continue. What's said is said. When he finally looks up again, staring into the camera lens, it feels like he is looking right at you. His eyes meet yours for the first time in weeks, even if it's just through the screen. The familiarity of his gaze burns. Your heart cracks. You miss him. God, you miss you.

The video cuts off and you are stuck again in the quiet abyss of your empty apartment. Everything is quiet again. But later that night, you get a text.

I didn’t mean to say that. but I meant it.

Before you can question yourself, second guess your instincts, you reply.

congrats on P1 I didn't see quali but I saw the interview

Then, after a moment of consideration, you add:

I miss you too, btw

It's a few minutes of dead silence, eerie uncomfortable nothingness, before he responds again.

can i call you? please

You think of his words earlier, of the way he looked as you walked out of his life and shattered all you had built together. You call him without thinking of the alternative.

"Hey," his voice rings out through your speaker.

"Hi."

There’s a pause. The kind that aches. You can hear his breath, unsteady, shallow, like he’s been holding it since the second your name lit up his screen.

“I didn’t think you’d reply,” he admits quietly.

“You didn’t leave much room not to,” you say, your voice almost a whisper. “You're not the only one who feels alone right now, Lando.”

“I know I can’t take back how I made you feel," he murmurs, "I just… I need you to know none of this, none of the podiums, none of the wins, means anything when I’m not coming home to you.”

Your throat tightens. You try to swallow it down, but his words eat at the fear in your heart...

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” you say softly. “Giving you space. Taking myself out of the equation. I didn’t want to be the reason you—”

“You were never the problem,” he cuts in, firm but gentle. “You were the only thing that made the rest of it bearable.”

Another pause. This one is softer. He exhales.

“I want to fix this. I don’t care how long it takes.”

And maybe you should hesitate. Maybe you should ask for more time, time to think it over. But you’ve already spent weeks apart, feeling the ache of a life half-lived. And now, hearing his voice, hearing the tremble he’s trying to hide, something in you unclenches.

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” He sounds like he doesn’t quite believe it.

You smile, a little cracked, a little shaky, but real for the first time in days. “Yeah. Win your race, Lan, then come home to me.”

oscar piastri

The past few weeks had dragged by you in a dull, confusing haze. The sun felt dimmer, the rain less harsh, the breeze not so calming. Everything was just... off. You knew adjusting to being alone again would be difficult, but you never imagined it would feel like this. So helpless, so cold.

Without Oscar, someone you relied upon and loved so completely, your life felt empty. You spent your days going through the motions. You woke up, ate, slept, worked. It all felt so monotone. It was impossible to do something without wondering where you would be if you were still with Oscar.

A seed of doubt planted itself in your mind. Maybe, just maybe, you think, you were wrong. Maybe things would have been better if you were still together. But you cut the sapling before it could grow into a full thought.

Dwelling on the past was killing you. Dwelling on the past was leaving you tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix, but the kind that left you feeling nothing at all. Heaviness hung in your bones.

Sleep seemed to abandon you these days, leaving you alone in the moonlight hours. The howl of the wind was your only companion in the night.

It’s past midnight when your phone buzzes. With nothing better to do, and no inclining that sleep would find you anytime soon, you reach for it from where it is charging on your bedside table.

Oscar's name stares back at you through the bright light of your phone, blinding you momentarily in the darkness of your bedroom.

You hesitate before opening it, his name on the screen still does something awful to your chest. Memories of past late night calls, tired giggles and intimate words, swirl around you in a haze of regret. But, to your unexpected surprise, it’s not a text. It’s a voice note.

You press play. The second you hear his voice, the pounding in your heart seems to double in speed. And yet, the comforting familiar sound also puts you completely at ease.

Hey. Sorry, I know it’s late where you are. I shouldn't— I know— I just got back from dinner with the team. Everyone was laughing about something, and I almost turned to tell you about it. As if you would be there, next to me.

He exhales sharply, so suddenly that it shocks you out of the trance you're in. Hearing his voice again, speaking directly to you, feels like a delusion after all this time. There’s silence for a few seconds, just the quiet rustle of fabric, the unmistakable sound of him rubbing his hands against his clothes that way he always does when he’s nervous.

You can imagine it as if he’s standing right in front of you. But you know that if he was here, standing close and looking you in the eyes, you wouldn’t know what to say, how to act, to look him in the eyes and not admit all the regrets you’d been having.

Missing him feels like longing for a lost childhood toy, something you remember so fondly and yet is so resolutely out of reach. But loving him is something you can never let go of.

It’s stupid, I know. It's been weeks. We haven't even talked once since. I know. I should know better. But I just… I don’t think I’ve gone one day without reaching for my phone to text you, call you. And I haven’t sent anything, 'cause I didn't want to hurt you more than I already have. But tonight it kind of hit me that maybe I should. Text you, I mean. Reach out. So, I guess that's what I'm trying to do. I don't even know if you'll listen to this. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. I should have fought harder. Should have told you more often how much you mean to me, how much you still mean to me. You were never a distraction. You were my balance. My constant. My love.

You wouldn't hear me then, but I have to make you hear me now. I love you. I love you. I'll say it as many times as you need to believe it again. And I miss you. Every day. I just want to try again. Please, let me show you how much I need you, how much I love you.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling. When the recording stops, you drag the audio back to the beginning and listen through it again. Over and over, you replay the section where he tells you he loves you.

He sounds just as truthful, just as honest, as the first night he said it to you. The night he held you so close, kissed you so slow and carefully that you wanted to melt into the floor and never touch anyone but him ever again. The night you felt whole, and loved, and so at peace with your life. The night you had remembered over and over through the past few weeks with a longing dread. Suddenly, yet slowly, in small thoughts, then all at once, it feels like you have no option but one.

You don’t text him back. No.

You press call. He picks up immediately.

carlos sainz

You probably should have expected this, should have seen it coming from a mile away. Carlos is not one to let something, or rather someone, he loves slip through his fingers like spring water. He's built his life around the people he cares about, painstakingly carved out a space for each of them in his chaotic, fast-paced life… he wouldn't let you think so lowly of yourself for long.

It’s only been a few weeks, but it’s felt like a lifetime.

You open the door of your apartment, dressed in pyjamas and an oversized hoodie that was likely his, once upon a time, to find him standing there. Hair slightly messy. Hoodie zipped halfway.

His eyes drift over you, slowly, taking every inch of your appearance. It doesn’t feel crude though, or intrusive, his gaze is so familiar, so kind, it fills your heart with joy just to be seen by him again. A small pit of guilt sinks in your stomach, you are the reason you haven’t seen him. This was your choice, after all, one you made for him.

He holds a takeout bag in one hand, your favourite food from the place you always used to order from together when it rained. It was the food that comforted you in your worst moments and excited you when you were feeling your best.

You haven’t seen him in weeks. Yet here he was.

He offers the bag, holding it out in one hand while the other settles on his hip. But he doesn’t move closer. He looks stuck in place, unsure of what moves to make and yet so confident in his presence at your front door.

“I’m not here to fix anything. Not if you don’t want me to,” he says softly, a tone of admittance colouring his words. “I just thought… you probably haven’t eaten. You always forget when you are stressed, or tired.”

You take it. Hands brush. He pulls away first. You find yourself immediately missing his touch.

Carlos looks down, then back up, eyes dark and earnest.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think. And I’ve been telling myself to let you go if that’s what you need, what you really want. But I also know you pushed me away thinking it was helping me. That it was the unselfish thing.”

He pauses, breathes deeply as if centring himself. He speaks with a tone that tells you he has been thinking of the right words to say for days, and is still afraid of driving you away.

“But cariño… you were the thing keeping me sane. I didn’t need saving from you. I needed saving with you. I need you to save me. Every day I need you to save me.”

You bite your lip and look down at the bag. The familiar smell fills your nostrils.

“My house is so empty,” you admit, and it feels like exposing the deepest part of your soul. “I’ve still been watching you drive. You’re doing well. I’m happy for you.”

“I’m driving well, maybe. But I’m not happy, cariño. You have known me long enough to know that is the truth.”

You can’t find it in your to meet his eyes, he keeps speaking anyway.

“I’m not driving well because you are gone. I’m driving well despite it. Because my life is nothing but racing now and I am miserable. Every day I think of you. There is no one else for me, and you must let me show you again. Without you... without you I am no one. You make me whole.”

His words are sweet, and so painfully honest that they burn into your heart.

“I’ve missed you. More than I should. Even though I feel like I shouldn’t. I want you to become everything you’ve ever dreamed of. But watching you do that without me…” you trail off, unable to explain the hurt you have inflicted on yourself by forcing him to go. Doing this, this conversation, out in the open feels too exposed. You want to tell him you love him in the comfort of your home. The home you want to share again.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask it in a hushed whisper, like saying it loud will frighten him away again

He smiles faintly. “Only if you want me to stay this time.”

“Will you? Please? I think... I think we need to talk.”

His smile is soft, understanding, filled with hope, “Of course, my love.”

That night, he holds you close. He doesn't leave, you don't ask him to.

alex albon

You don’t pick up the first time he calls.

Or the second.

But the third? You answer.

“…Hey,” he says, voice gentle and soft, but cautious. He's holding something back. Like he is afraid of scaring you off.

You don’t say anything at first. Just breathe. Just listen. You half expect him to hang up, regret his decision to contact you and disappear again. After all, you were the one who walked away, who could blame him for holding onto resentment and anger and just... hanging up?

The,n quietly, you say, “Alex.” His name feels like the only thing you could possibly say.

He lets the silence stretch out. It doesn’t feel awkward, just heavy. Shared. Weighted with everything that’s been left unsaid for too long. Everything you didn't explain that day, everything you struggled to say. The silence reminds you not of the emptiness of your apartment, but of the comforting quiet of lying in each other's arms. Everything, even silence, feels better with him around. Even if it's just his voice.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he says, finally. “Not really. I’m not calling to change your mind. I just—” He sighs, shaky and unsure. “I just wanted you to know I think about you. Still. Every day.”

You close your eyes and press your forehead to your knee, trying too hard to not let your thoughts spiral away from you. You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, and your heart somewhere between breaking and blooming at the sound of his voice.

“I’ve been driving ok, not great, not badly,” he continues. “Doing the media stuff. Smiling for the cameras. Saying the right things when they ask. Everyone keeps saying I look happy.”

Happy, just like you wanted him to be. That's the reason you did all of this. For him. To help him, even if it hurt your soul to do it.

There’s a pause. Then a quiet, dry chuckle.

“But I’m faking it. All of it.”

Your breath catches, stuck in your throat. No.

“I catch myself thinking about you in the stupidest moments,” he says, softer now. “Like... I’ll be walking out of the paddock and I’ll reach for my phone to text you something dumb. Just muscle memory. Or I’ll hear a song you used to sing in the shower and it’ll hit me like I’ve run out of road.”

You stay quiet, swallowing hard and fiddling with your jumper sleeves. Against your better instincts to run, to hang up and hide yourself from the truth that maybe breaking up wasn't saving him, you stay.

“You remember how you used to tease me for holding my breath when I’m nervous?” he says, voice roughening just a little, like he's holding in a hollow laugh that is bubbling in his chest. “Like, properly holding it—like I’m underwater?”

You smile, just a little. Of course, you remember.

"Yeah..."

“I keep catching myself doing it again. A lot. I didn’t even realise until Carlos pointed it out during a sim session... said I looked like I was about to pass out.”

Another small pause.

“Anyway,” he says, trying to collect himself. “If this is really what you want, I'm not here to yell at you. But I need you to know. I just... I hope you’re okay. I really do. But if you’re not, if there’s ever a day you want to talk, about anything, bout everything.... I'm here. I'm always here”

You don't hang up.

"I'm sorry," you whisper into the phone. "I ruined this. All of this."

"No, baby, no. Please don't apologise. You were doing what you thought was right." His voice cracks a little, rushed and urgent, like he’s terrified you’ll disappear again.

“I miss you,” you say. Simple. Honest. Like breathing.

“I miss you so much it makes my chest hurt,” he says. "I know I can’t go back in time, but I want to move forward. With you. If there’s any part of you that wants that too…”

You wipe your eyes again and sit up straighter.

“I want that,” you whisper. “I’m scared. But I want that.” And that's all it takes.

charles leclerc

After weeks of moping around your apartment, mourning your own decisions and cursing yourself, your friends had put their feet down and ordered you to have a night out. Something to take your mind off of him. Despite the fact that you had no desire to go out, you agreed. More for their peace of mind than your own.

You're dressed in your favourite dress, make-up done, hair perfectly in place. At any other point in your life, you would feel beautiful, but for some reason, you don't feel much of anything at all. From the second you enter the party, some rooftop bar event your friends had heard of through word of mouth, you want to go home. But you don't want to let them down, so you try and stick it out, try to pretend you feel ok.

Time passes by you, and it's hours before you notice it. Notice him. Because of course he is here. Why wouldn't he be?

Charles walks through the dancing crowd and it's like the sea parts for him, people move effortlessly out of his way despite the lack of room on the dance floor. His eyes scan the room and then, as if on instinct, they land on you.

He walks over without any dramatics, but there is a speed in his step. He's afraid if he's too slow you'll disappear into the crowd again. He's barely a metre away when he starts speaking. You can only just hear his voice over the booming music, but the heartbreak in his voice is unmistakable.

“Every time I win, I wish you were there. Every time I lose, I need you.”

You inhale sharply. He's suddenly right in front of you. He looks down at you with tired, hurting eyes.

“You said you didn’t want to hold me back. But love doesn’t hold me back—it grounds me. Keeps me from getting lost in all of this. Cheri, how could you ever believe your love was hurting me? Without it, I am nothing.”

You’re frozen in place, drink in hand, heart in your throat. You thought this night couldn’t possibly get worse... you never imagined it might get better. You never thought you'd get the chance to explain yourself to him again.

“Charles…” you say, barely audible, unsure if he even hears it over the bassline of the song thumping through the bar the screams of joy that pervade around the room, the sound of dancing feet shaking the building.

But he does. Of course he does.

“I know I should have said something earlier,” he continues, closer now, lips practically against your cheek so you can hear him clearly. His hands hold yours, keeping you close with a grounding grasp. His eyes flick briefly to your friends standing behind you, watching from the edge of the crowd, unsure whether to swoop in and save you or stay back and let this moment unfold. You hope they stay away, you couldn't stand to lose this moment because of well-meaning friends. His gaze returns to yours, and it’s the same one you’ve seen a hundred times before.

“But I wanted to give you space. I thought… if I gave you time, you’d come back when you were ready.”

You laugh softly, but there’s no humour in it. “I wasn’t going to come back.”

“I know,” he says, voice strained and tired. “That’s why I’m here. One of my friends saw you in the crowd, I had to come. I'm sorry. I had to try one last time.”

The music shifts suddenly to something slower, softer. You glance over your shoulder as the crowd shifts to accommodate the new rhythm, but Charles doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. He only sees you. The rest of the room fades into the background for him.

“I didn’t think I deserved you,” you admit. “I didn’t think I could watch you go out there every weekend, chasing something so dangerous and demanding, and not become the thing that dragged you down.”

“You were never the weight,” he says, without hesitation. “You were the anchor. There’s a difference.”

You don’t speak for a moment, letting his words settle over the noise, the lights, the blur of people around you. You’ve imagined this moment a hundred ways over the past few weeks, some louder, some messier, but none quite like this. There is something so soft about this, despite the noise.

“You look beautiful,” he adds quietly. “But you don’t look like yourself.”

That’s what undoes you. That sentence. The gentle truth in it.

“I haven’t felt like myself.”

“Then let me take you home.”

“Charles—”

“Not like that,” he says gently, quick to clarify. “Not unless you want that. I just… I want to talk. Or sit in silence. Or be there while you fall asleep on the couch watching something terrible. I don’t care what it is, just... let me come with you this time.”

You look at him, really look. And for the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest loosens, just a little.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s go home.”

lewis hamilton

You’re alone on a walk, one headphone in and hands stuffed into the pocket of your hoodie, desperately trying to shield yourself from the cold wind of the mid-afternoon, when a familiar voice calls your name. The sound of the voice, so comfortingly recognisable, causes you to stumble over your own feet. He's here.

It's Lewis. Hoodie on, hood up, looking just as surprised as you feel seeing him out in the world. He stops a few steps away from you. The distance feels like a gorge you could fall into if you take a wrong step. The fall would go on for ages, you can't risk slipping now.

“I’ve been writing, texting you, then deleting it all before I send it,” he says quietly. “Trying to find the right words to say. Honestly, I don't think they exist. Every time I think I've figured out what to say, it just feels wrong.”

You just stare, hands fidgeting in your pocket as you feel stuck to the concrete sidewalk.

"I'm sorry. I know you probably want me to walk away, but if I don't say this now, in person, I never will."

Before you can stop yourself, you say softly, "I never want you to walk away, Lew." The truth of your own words surprises you. Lewis can only smile slightly at the sudden interjection. But he knows, just as well as you do, that you didn't leave him because you fell out of love. It was fear that drove you away.

“I thought I could prove something by letting you go. That I could be strong. But the truth is, I’ve felt lost without you.”

"Lew—"

“I miss you,” he adds, and it’s almost a whisper. “God, I miss you so much. I've stayed up at night just thinking about what you said. I can't believe I let you believe all those things about yourself. I can't believe I didn't fight harder to prove how much I love you.”

You stare at him. This is the version of him that you always knew. The one who cares so deeply, it scares him. The one who never walks away unless he thinks he has to.

“You could’ve sent any of those texts,” you manage to say, voice uneven and slow. “I probably would’ve answered, no matter what you said.”

“I didn’t want to reach for you until I knew I could be what you needed. You need someone who can show you that you aren't a burden. You need someone who can prove how loved you are. You deserve perfection.”

You let the silence linger a beat longer. Then you take a slow, steady step forward.

“I didn’t need perfect,” you say. “I just needed you.”

Lewis reaches out, gently, finally closing the gap between the two of you. “Let’s start again. Somewhere quiet. Just us.”

You nod before your voice catches up.

george russell

It’s been raining all day, light, misty showers that make the city feel cold. The world is sad, you want to say to your friends, but you don't think they'd understand what you mean. Maybe you just mean you are sad. But even that feels wrong.

You’ve left the windows open just a crack, a small sliver of room to let in the crisp storm air as you curl up on the couch. There's a cup of tea in your hand that's slowly going cold, but you don't drink it. It's more for the company than for taste. The TV plays something you aren’t watching. It's just background noise to keep your thoughts from drifting back to him.

It’s been weeks. Long enough that you’ve memorized the silence his missing presence has left behind. You miss him, but it was all for good reason.

You don’t hear the footsteps outside your apartment, you don’t hear his car as it arrives at your building. But when the doorbell rings, something deep inside you seizes up.

You freeze.

You haven’t seen George in weeks. But when you open the door, he’s there, suitcase by his side, hair messy, expression shaken. You realise suddenly that he must have come straight from the airport. His race ended only 15 hours ago. He's come straight to you.

“I’m not here to argue,” he says softly. “I just want to talk. Please.”

Against your better instincts, you hold the door open and step aside, welcoming him in in silence. He walks in slowly. His eyes scan your apartment like he doesn't recognise it, like he hasn't been there a hundred times before. Seeing him feel so out of place feels like a punch to the gut. It's a reminder of what you said to him, the way you pushed him away so suddenly, so cruelly.

Eventually, after a moment of quiet contemplation and awkward insection, he sits on your couch, wringing his hands in his lap. When he speaks, finally, his voice holds with it a tone of practised care. He's been thinking about what to say for days, you're sure of it.

“You said I needed to focus. That I needed to be selfish.”

He looks up.

“Well, this is me being selfish. I need you to hear me, let me speak before you turn me away again. Please."

You swallow the lump in your throat and settle yourself down across from him on the couch. You keep a bit of distance from him, not trusting yourself to be able to not fall apart if you sit within arm's reach. You missed him more than words could explain, but you owed him the chance to speak. You know you do.

After a deep breath, long and slow, he starts to speak again.

"I need you. Not just the good parts. I want the hard days. The fears. The panic at 2 am. I want all of it. I’ve spent every day since you left wondering if I could’ve... should've... done more. So here I am. Doing more.”

You press your hands into the couch cushion beneath you to stop them from shaking, trying desperately to listen to every intonation and shake of his voice, as if you could uncover every thought he's had for the past few weeks if you just listen close enough.

You aren’t sure what to say. You thought you were protecting him by leaving, giving him an out to finally focus. But now, here he is, telling you the absence of you is the only thing that’s really hurt him. The truth hurts more than your fears ever did.

“I kept thinking… maybe if I just left you alone, gave you time and space, you’d feel free again. Feel more like yourself again. ” His voice dips. “But I think about you constantly. Every second since you walked away. And I don’t feel free... I feel hollow. And you're right, I should be more selfish with my career, my life. So this is me being selfish about what I want: I want you. I want you next to me all the time. Every day. Every night.”

He swallows, hard. Like saying all he's feeling out loud is hurting him. But he keeps going despite it.

“If you don’t want this anymore, truly don't, not because of what you think is best for my career, for me, but because you don't want it, I’ll go. But I had to try. I had to tell you that you weren’t a distraction. You were my calm in the chaos. You still are.”

You stare at him, heart caught in your throat and eyes glued to his sombre gaze. Your voice breaks when you speak.

“I've missed you so much, George.”

His shoulders sag with relief. “I know I'm not perfect. I know I wasn’t always good at balancing it all. But I never stopped loving you. That has never changed. Not for a second.”

He shifts, adjusting his posture sat upright on your couch. After a moment's hesitation, he asks, “Can I hold you?”

When you nod he moves slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll wake you from some fragile dream. But when his arms wrap around you, it’s like the weight of everything you've ever feared has finally lifted off your shoulder.

You melt into him.

And for the first time in weeks, you breathe easy.

taglist: @fastandcurious16 @coolpeanutchaos @hangingwiththestars

-> ree here! I'm sorry for the length inconsitancy and any mistakes! I tried to just do what felt right for each set up and I have editted this very sleep deprived from uni study... send help for my incoming essay due dates i am avoiding by writing imagines instead...

1K notes · View notes

suliigwp · 20 days ago

Text

FLUENT IN LOVE

PART TWO OF - GAME OF HEARTS

Charles Leclerc x reader

SULI:part two! Everything that is written like this is a flashback, soft-broken Charles I'm a whore for, this is so much better than the last one guys what even was that, this still feels rushed though sorry🙏 Tumblr is a bitch I can't write in pace it's glitching so much

warnings: swearing, suggestive content, smoking, vomiting, google translate french

It’s been three weeks.

Three weeks since Charles told her to leave.

Three weeks since she walked out of his life with red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands.

Three weeks since the weight of her absence started pressing into his every day like a bruise he can’t stop touching.

She took her stuff. Left the key in the plant pot like he asked. Didn’t fight him after that call.

But Charles sees her everywhere.

In the empty space on his bathroom counter. In the way his closet suddenly has room. In the silence of his flat, no music humming in the background, no soft laugh when he says something sarcastic under his breath.

He keeps checking her socials.

Every night.

She’s quiet. Too quiet. Which only makes it worse. He tells no one that he misses her. Except Carlos, who caught him staring at her contact one night.

"You're gonna call her?" His teammate asked.

Charles didn't know how to answer, he wanted to call, yell, scream, ask for answers, why she did it, why she didn't tell him if it started to become real. He's still staring at her contact, her name put between red hearts and a picture of her laughing, he can still hear it.

He turns off his phone and straightens up on the couch.

"I can't."

Carlos placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a firm squeeze.

"Don't carry this weight alone man,"

He continued to talk, but Charles could not hear him. No one understood. No one. He lived her, fuck he loved her so much, it feels like a giant put has opened up in his heart and he can't understand what he can do to close it up.

...

She was going to tell him. She swore to herself she would. The plan was set. Dinner at his. Soft music. Wine. She even practiced the words in the mirror. But then that friend—the one who knew—came up to her at the worst possible moment. Cornered her.

Told her she was pathetic for dragging it out. Called her a coward. Told her Charles deserved better.

And she agreed. She left shaking, nails dug into her palms.

By the time she got to his place, something inside her had already cracked.

He opened the door with that stupid, soft smile.

“Hey. You okay?”

She didn’t answer. She just kissed his neck. Tugged him back inside.

Her hands were frantic. Her eyes didn’t meet his.

She was angry—at herself, at the world, at the truth—and he thought maybe she just needed closeness. Comfort.

So he let it happen.

He let her push him back onto the bed. Let her tear at his shirt like she was trying to erase the guilt with her fingertips.

But something felt off.

She didn’t kiss him.

Not once.

She kissed his jaw. His throat. His chest. But never his lips.

And God—he needed her lips.

He cupped her face, breathless beneath her, voice trembling. “Please. I… I can’t finish if you don’t kiss me.”

She froze above him. He looked at her like she was his whole world. She looked back at him like she wasn’t worthy of even existing in it.

Because in her mind, his mouth was sacred. And hers had lied. Had deceived him. So she couldn’t do it.

But he begged again. Whispered her name. Pulled her down and kissed her first.

And it broke her.

The kiss was soft. Desperate. Tears ran down her face without warning, salty between their mouths.

He tasted them. He stilled. He pulled away, face twisted in concern, still inside her.

“Are you crying?”

She shook her head and kissed him harder. Don’t ask, don’t stop, don’t think— She needed to lose herself. To drown in him.

He didn’t question it again. He just held her, kissed her, murmured how much he loved her against her throat. And the whole time, her heart was screaming:

You shouldn’t.

He woke up slowly.

It was early. The Monaco light filtered in pale through the curtains, casting soft gold over her bare back.

She was lying on her side, facing away from him, breathing shallow.

Still. Too still.

“…Bébé?”

No response. He scooted closer, pressing his chest to her spine, arm around her waist.

She tensed—just for a second—but he felt it.

He kissed her shoulder anyway. Gentle.

Worshipping.

Because last night had been... strange. Raw.

Almost desperate.

She’d touched him like she was running out of time. Like she was trying to burn the memory of him into her skin.

And she cried. She said she wasn’t. Lied to his face with her tears still on his mouth.

But he didn’t press. Didn’t want to ruin whatever that moment had been for her.

Still, something about it sat wrong in his chest.

She hadn't kissed him until he begged. And even then—it felt like her lips were saying goodbye.

She stirred beside him now, turning slightly, eyes cracked open but avoiding his.

“You okay?” He whispered out gently.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

Her voice was hoarse. Her hand found his on her stomach and held it there, like she was afraid to let it go.

He smiled. Kissed her temple. “You were… intense last night.”

That made her stiffen again. Just barely. “Not that I’m complaining. I just… you didn’t kiss me. At first. Felt like you were mad at me.”

She laughed—dry, hollow. “Mad at myself, maybe.”

“For what?” His brows furrow.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to face him and kissed his chin, then buried her face in his chest like a child hiding from a storm.

He held her closer. Still, that tiny voice in his head whispered:

“Something’s wrong.”

But he told himself it was nothing. Told himself she was just tired, or overwhelmed, or in her feelings the way people sometimes get when things get serious. And it was serious. At least for him.

So he whispered against her hair. “Don’t scare me like that again, okay? I don’t like seeing you cry.”

She nodded against him.

...

It’s the kind of night Monaco loves—luxury dressed up as elegance. The chandelier lights are low and golden, glinting off champagne flutes and glossy red nails. The rooftop venue overlooks the bay, the air scented faintly with salt, gardenias, and too much cologne. Laughter floats through the air like smoke—empty and practiced.

Charles hates these events. He’s here out of obligation—shake hands, smile, maybe charm a few sponsors. He hasn’t touched his drink. His tie feels too tight. He hasn’t slept well in weeks.

He’s talking to someone—he doesn’t remember who. A sponsor’s son, maybe. Or a PR exec. The words are just noise until the room tilts.

She walks in.

It’s not dramatic. She isn’t announced, she doesn’t do anything to draw attention. But he feels her before he sees her. The same way a storm shifts the air before the first drop hits the ground.

His eyes find her without meaning to.

She’s in a black dress—long, sleek, elegant. It dips low in the back, her hair swept into something soft and understated, the way he used to like it. A glass is placed in her hand and she accepts it with a nod, her posture straight, face unreadable. She glows in this space—like she belongs here. But Charles knows better. She hated these kinds of nights.

She hasn’t seen him yet. Or maybe she has and she’s pretending not to. He couldn’t blame her.

Still, he can’t look away.

He feels everything all at once—grief, longing, fury at himself, at her. That echoing ache that’s lived in his chest since the night it ended.

Then it happens—her eyes shift.

They land on him like a gut-punch. He goes still.

Her expression doesn’t change at first. She’s still mid-conversation with someone else, still holding her drink just so. But Charles sees it. The small freeze. The tension in her shoulders. Her mouth parts, breath catching almost imperceptibly.

He’s sure he looks worse. The bruises under his eyes feel obvious. He’s thinner. Worn around the edges. He told himself he’d be fine. He isn’t.

Neither of them moves.

The world blurs around them—flashes of jewelry, crystal, conversation. He only sees her. And her eyes, wide and flickering with something he can’t place. Hope? Regret? Wreckage?

Then, after an eternal moment, she looks away.

It’s the smallest thing. But it slices through him like glass.

She doesn’t turn around and run. She doesn’t come toward him. She simply tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, turns back to her conversation, and pretends like nothing happened.

He wants to go to her. He wants to demand to know why she left. To tell her he’s still not over her, that she ruined every night since. That he still sleeps on the side of the bed he left for her.

Instead, he just breathes.

Because this is what they are now—strangers with too much history and not enough words.

She doesn’t hear him come out at first. She’s lighting a cigarette with trembling fingers on the balcony, trying to pretend she hasn’t been watching him the whole night from across the room.

But then the sliding door creaks. And there he is.

Charles.

His jaw is clenched, his eyes a mess of unshed tears and something deeper—something darker. Rage. Hurt. Betrayal that’s been brewing and boiling and eating away at his insides.

She opens her mouth—she doesn’t know what to say, but she knows she has to say something.

He cuts her off.

“You played me.”

The words slice.

She exhales slowly, not facing him yet. “It didn’t mean anything. Not the—”

“Don’t,” he spits. “Don’t you dare stand there and try to tell me it didn’t mean anything.”

“I meant the bet, Charles,” she turns now, voice sharper. “I didn’t expect you to be who you are. I didn’t expect to feel anything.”

“And that makes it better?” His voice cracks halfway through. “That you accidentally fell for me while I was just a fucking joke?”

She swallows. “You weren’t a joke.”

He laughs. Bitter, broken. “You told people it would be fun to see if you could get me to fall for you. You sat there and smiled while your friend watched us like it was a fucking experiment.”

Tears prick her eyes, but his are already falling. He swipes at them roughly like they offend him. His chest heaves.

“You kissed me like it meant something,” he whispers, then louder—accusing, “You looked at me like I was safe.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You don’t get to say that!” he explodes, voice ragged now, the tears coming faster. “You don’t get to mean it after. You don’t get to break me and then realize you care.”

She’s shaking now. “Charles—”

His hand goes to his mouth, trembling, and then to his chest like he can’t breathe properly. He turns, paces once, twice—he looks like he’s drowning. And then—

He bends over the railing, retching.

She stumbles forward instinctively, but stops herself. He wouldn’t want her touching him now.

When he straightens again, he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, face pale, tears still falling silently down flushed cheeks.

“I hate that it still hurts,” he says hoarsely. “I hate that even after everything, I’d still take your calls. Still look for your face in every fucking crowd.”

She tries to speak, but he lifts a hand—don’t. He can’t take more.

“You ruined me,” he whispers.

Then he walks past her. Not a glance. Not this time.

The door shuts softly behind him, but the echo is brutal.

He doesn't even remember how he got to the car. Just the numbness in his hands, the taste of bile in his throat, and the way the world blurred behind a haze of tears as he yanked the door open.

The engine growls to life, but it’s the only thing steady in him. His foot slams the pedal harder than it should—he just needs to move. Needs to get the hell away from her, from the balcony, from the smell of her perfume clinging to his jacket. He drives like he's trying to outrun the sound of her voice in his head, but it’s no use. Every stoplight is an echo. Every turn, a memory.

You kissed me like it meant something.

It did. That’s what’s killing him.

By the time he gets home, his vision is swimming. The second the front door closes behind him, he sinks to the floor, back against the wall. The silence is deafening—he’s breathing like he just ran a marathon, chest tight, shirt damp from tears and sweat and the fallout of everything he didn’t want to believe.

He claws at his collar like it’s choking him. Pulls his dress shirt off. Then sits there in the hallway, fingers laced into his hair, shaking.

He tries to breathe.

He lets out a sound—a choked sob, more raw and broken than anything he's ever let himself feel.

He trusted her.

He fucking loved her.

It had been a quiet evening, the kind where the light outside stretched gold across the countertops and the windows were slightly cracked for the breeze. Charles had just arrived back in Monaco, sun-kissed and a little jet-lagged, but with this unmistakable lightness about him. He couldn’t stop smiling—not really. Not even when he tried.

His mother noticed, of course. She always did.

He was cutting tomatoes by the sink, sleeves rolled up, hair messy, when she leaned against the doorway with a knowing smile.

“You’re glowing.”

He glanced up. “Am I?”

She hummed. “You’ve been like this since you landed. Is there something you want to tell me?”

He shook his head, but that smile—that crooked, lopsided grin—betrayed him.

She narrowed her eyes. “Ah. There is someone.”

Charles laughed softly, cheeks going pink. “Maybe.”

“Well?” she asked, stepping into the kitchen. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

He leaned back against the counter, towel in one hand. “She’s… not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

His mother raised her brows, amused. “That’s a big statement, Charles.”

He nodded slowly, smile softening. “She’s sharp. Sarcastic. So smart it’s scary sometimes. And she doesn’t care about any of this—racing, the attention. She sees through it all.”

His mother watched him quietly for a moment.

“I think she might be the one,” he said, barely above a whisper.

She blinked. “Already?”

Charles let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Yeah. She is.”

And the way he said it—so certain, so sure, like he'd finally found something that made sense in a world full of noise—made his mother’s chest ache a little.

She smiled gently, caressing her son's pinked cheek as he looks down at his shoes like a teenager .“Then don’t let her go.”

...

The door clicks softly behind him as Charles steps inside, wiping at his eyes quickly, trying to seem composed even though he knows he probably looks wrecked.

“Charles?” his mother calls from the kitchen, hearing the keys hit the bowl. “You’re here early. Weren't you supposed to come at six?"

He forces a breath and drags a hand through his hair, walking in to find her stirring a pot on the stove. The scent of garlic and tomato fills the room—warm, familiar, grounding.

“Yeah,” he says, voice hoarse. “Didn’t feel like staying out.”

She turns and studies him for a moment, eyes narrowing. “You’re pale.”

“I’m tired.”

“You’ve been crying.”

He exhales a dry laugh and looks away. “I’m fine, maman.”

She doesn't press, just nods once and gestures to the table. “Sit. Eat.”

He obeys, pulling out a chair as she sets a plate in front of him. The clink of cutlery fills the silence for a while, and he eats mechanically, like it’s the only thing tethering him to the moment.

And then, like a cruel trick from memory, she smiles softly and says, “How’s that girl you told me about? The one from London. The translator.”

His fork pauses halfway to his mouth. His chest tightens. He swallows hard.

His mother doesn’t notice his shift—just keeps talking as she pours him a glass of water. “You were so lit up about her. I haven’t seen you like that in a long time.”

He remembers it all too clearly now. Just a few months ago—walking into this kitchen, heart full, eyes bright, words tumbling out of him before she even asked. Telling his maman how smart she was. How she challenged him. How she kissed him like she meant it. How he thought—maybe—this was different.

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes now, silently.

“Charles?” his mother says gently, sensing the change in the air.

He lowers his hands. “It’s… over.”

She sits down across from him quietly.

He laughs under his breath, bitter. “You’d think I’d know better.”

She says nothing for a moment. Then, very softly, “Did she hurt you?

He looks down at his plate. At the glass of water. Anywhere but at her.

“Yes.”

...

Charles had started to dream memories.

It's like his own consciousness was mocking him. He avoided sleeping in general.

It was late — almost midnight. He hadn’t expected anything. He told her not to plan a thing. That he just wanted to sleep through the day and forget he was another year older.

But when he stepped into his apartment after a long day at the factory, there it was — dim lighting, the scent of something warm in the kitchen, and her.

She had changed the sheets on his bed to the ones she knew he liked most — soft, clean cotton with that scent of lavender she always used. On the counter was a tiny, handmade cake, uneven and tilted to the side. The frosting looked like it had fought back.

But it wasn’t the cake that gutted him. It was the envelope resting beside it. Inside wasn’t just a card — it was a letter. A full letter, handwritten. Pages and pages.

About how proud she was of him. How she saw every moment he held himself together for everyone else. How she loved the way he looked when he was focused. How she noticed the small things — like how he tapped his fingers before a race, how he always remembered the names of every crew member.

How she hoped he’d let himself be soft that night. Let himself rest.

At the end of the letter, she wrote:

“You don’t need to be anything more than Charles tonight. Not the driver, not the name, not the pressure. Just you. And that’s enough. Happy birthday, my love.”

He had kissed her like he’d never get the chance again. That night, she’d curled up in his arms, her hand splayed over his ribs. He had whispered thank you into her neck over and over again until he fell asleep.

That kept him up all night, tears staining his pillows, facing away from her side of his bed.

...

Charles sat slouched on the floor of his apartment, back against the wall, hoodie bunched around his neck, eyes red and tired. There was a cup of untouched tea on the coffee table—long since cold—and a rain of unread messages on his phone. He hadn’t been to the gym. He hadn’t touched his sim. Just existing felt like more than enough.

Carlos walked in without knocking. He didn’t need to. He’d used the spare key Charles had given him over a year ago—the one meant for convenience, for late-night FIFA sessions or pre-race pasta dinners.

Now, it felt like a lifeline.

“You look like shit,” Carlos said plainly, tossing his bag onto the couch.

Charles didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Carlos sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and crouched in front of him. “Mate. You can’t keep doing this. You’re gonna end up in the hospital again.”

Charles blinked slowly. His voice was hoarse. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You haven’t eaten in what, two days? You haven’t left the house except to throw up in a carpark because someone played a song that reminded you of her.”

Charles flinched.

Carlos’ voice softened, but only slightly. “Look, I know it hurts. I know what she did was fucked up. But you have to get a grip. This… this isn’t healing. This is drowning.”

Charles’ fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. “You didn’t see her, Carlos. After everything, I still—” His voice cracked. “I still want to call her when something good happens.”

Carlos sat down beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “That’s normal. That’s human. But you don’t call someone who broke your heart for comfort. You don’t let someone like that take more from you than they already have.”

Silence.

“You’re getting sick over her, mate,” Carlos added, more gently now. “Every time something reminds you of her, you spiral. That’s not love anymore. That’s grief.”

Charles didn’t respond. His throat was tight.

Carlos nudged his arm. “I’m not saying forget her. But you need to fight for yourself now. She’s not coming to save you.”

Charles’s eyes brimmed with tears again—he tried to hold them back, jaw clenched—but a few slipped anyway. Carlos didn’t point it out. He just stayed there, steady and quiet, while Charles finally let himself fall apart for real.

Carlos is refusing to leave.

Charles had spent most of the day half-curled on the couch, TV on but silent, the volume a murmur beneath the weight in his chest. He hadn’t eaten. Barely moved. The phone sat face down on the table, vibrating now and then—mostly Carlos, once or twice Arthur. He didn’t check.

By the time Carlos let himself in using the spare key—unapologetic and determined—Charles looked up only briefly, hollow-eyed.

“I’m not going anywhere until you shower and come out,” Carlos said, arms crossed.

“I’m not in the mood.”

“You haven’t been in the mood for weeks,” Carlos shot back, softer than his words sounded. “Come on. Just a couple hours. We won’t go anywhere loud.”

Charles exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his face. He didn’t agree, not out loud. But ten minutes later, he was in the shower, forehead pressed to the tile, breathing in steam and trying to remember what it was like to feel normal.

The bar wasn’t new. It was their usual place in Monaco—nothing flashy, dimly lit, tucked away near the marina. Comfortable. Familiar. The kind of place where no one asked questions and everyone knew to leave them alone.

Pierre was already there, arms thrown dramatically as he narrated something half-true and wildly exaggerated. Lando had flown in earlier and was leaned back in his chair, sipping a beer and grinning at Max, who looked like he’d been dragged out against his will but was now begrudgingly enjoying himself.

They cheered when Charles walked in.

He offered a smile, small and tired but real.

Carlos ordered for them. No alcohol for Charles—not tonight. Just water, a couple of snacks he wouldn’t touch. The others were careful, subtle in how they talked around her name, tiptoeing over the wreckage they all knew too well.

At one point, Pierre asked about the gym, and Charles shrugged. “Trying. Not sleeping much.”

Lando muttered something about melatonin. Max offered him some weird herbal remedy from Austria. They laughed when Charles made a face. The night moved slowly, gently.

But eventually… something loosened.

Charles played a game of pool. Let Pierre make fun of his form. He lost spectacularly and actually rolled his eyes when Carlos fist-pumped like he’d won a championship. The corners of his mouth tilted up more easily now.

They ordered food. He ate a little. Talked a little more.

When the group began to thin, people heading out in pairs, Charles wandered to the terrace alone. The air was crisp against his skin, the sea black and infinite just beyond the lights. His hands rested on the railing. He exhaled, chest rising and falling like maybe—for once—it wasn’t going to collapse under the pressure.

Carlos found him a few minutes later, wordless at first.

He handed Charles a bottle of water and leaned against the rail beside him. For a long moment, they just stood there, silence stretching comfortably between them.

And then:

“She still in your head?” Carlos asked, voice low.

Charles didn’t answer right away.

He didn’t need to.

“Yeah,” he said eventually. “Always."

Carlos nodded, like that was the answer he expected.

“You’ll be alright,” he said after a beat. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it now.”

Charles didn’t respond. His throat tightened again. But this time, he didn’t look away.

“I think she broke me,” he murmured. “Not just because of what she did. Because I actually thought she might be it.”

Carlos turned, really looking at him. “Then you’ll get there again. Not tonight, maybe not for a while. But you will.”

Charles swallowed. Nodded once, barely.

Carlos clinked their water bottles together. “To surviving.”

Charles gave a quiet laugh. “Barely.”

“But still.”

He didn’t feel whole yet—not even close—but in that moment, under the stars, with the sound of waves in the distance and friends nearby, Charles realized something: he was still here. Still showing up. Still breathing through it.

And maybe… that was enough for now.

...

It wasn’t grand.

She didn’t want it to be—not when it came to him. Not anymore.

After everything, she knew gestures and apologies wouldn’t be enough. Still, silence wasn’t either. So she sent something small. Meant it as a beginning. A first step.

It arrived at his Monaco apartment on a quiet afternoon. With a signature and a date - three months before it all fell apart. A writing—pencil on soft cream paper— It's in French. His heart banged against his chest...

"Je t’écris ces mots parce que c’est la seule chose que je sais encore faire sans te regarder et me briser.

Je ne sais pas quand tout a changé. Peut-être que c’était dans ta voiture quand tu m’as regardée comme si j’étais douce, alors que je me suis toujours vue comme dure. Peut-être que c’était quand tu m’as parlé de ta mère, de tes souvenirs, et que tu m’as laissé entrer dans des pièces de toi que personne ne voit.

Tu es devenu un refuge sans que je m’en rende compte. Tu es devenu une habitude. Un battement. Un silence dans le bruit.

Et je t’ai trahi.

Pas avec mes mains. Pas avec mon corps. Mais avec mon passé. Avec ma lâcheté. Avec quelque chose que j’aurais dû arrêter dès le premier instant. Mais je ne l’ai pas fait. Je t’ai regardé tomber, et j’ai laissé faire.

Et pourtant, je t’ai aimé.

D’une manière désordonnée. D’une manière abîmée. Mais réelle. Tellement réelle que j’en perds les mots.

Je ne t’écris pas pour que tu me pardonnes. Je t’écris parce que je t’aime assez pour vouloir que tu saches la vérité. Tu mérites de savoir. Tu mérites tout ce que je n’ai pas su te donne.

Tu m’as changée.

Tu as planté des fleurs dans un désert, et même si elles ne poussent plus, je te promets que le sol s’en souvient.

Je t’aime. C’est peut-être trop tard. Mais c’est vrai."

"I’m writing you this because it’s the only thing I still know how to do without looking at you and breaking.

I don’t know when everything changed. Maybe it was in your car, when you looked at me like I was soft—when I’ve only ever seen myself as sharp edges. Maybe it was when you spoke to me about your mother, your memories, and let me into parts of you no one ever sees.

You became a refuge before I even realized. You became a habit. A heartbeat. A silence in the noise.

And I betrayed you.

Not with my hands. Not with my body. But with my past. With my cowardice. With something I should’ve stopped from the very beginning. But I didn’t. I watched you fall, and I let it happen.

And still, I loved you.

In a messy way. In a broken way. But real. So real that I lose the words.

I’m not writing this to ask for your forgiveness. I’m writing it because I love you enough to want you to know the truth. You deserve to know. You deserve everything I didn’t know how to give you.

You changed me.

You planted flowers in a desert, and even if they don’t bloom anymore—I promise you, the soil remembers.

I love you. Maybe it’s too late. But it’s true."

He stared at the envelope for what felt like forever. The note resting on his kitchen counter. Motionless. His throat went dry.

Then the shaking started.

His fingers first. Then his knees. It built slowly, then all at once. He couldn’t breathe. His ribs were clenching, his mouth gone sour, chest caught somewhere between rage and grief.

He backed away from the table.

Then bolted.

He barely made it to the bathroom, his hands trembling so hard he fumbled with the door. His knees hit tile. He threw up hard, once, then again, breath ragged, forehead to cold porcelain.

The note still sat where he left it.

Untouched. Innocent. Soft.

But it split something inside him wide open.

Why now?

He wanted to scream it. To claw it out of his chest.

Why after all this time—why when he had tried to heal, when he had fought every instinct to miss her, when he had tried to stitch his life back together—did she come back now?

Because he knew her. Knew she wouldn’t do this lightly. Which meant she meant it. Meant everything.

And it still hurt like hell.

...

It had been a quiet week.

The kind where the air felt lighter, his appetite was back, and he didn’t wake up every morning with a dull ache in his chest.

He’d started sleeping through the night again, training properly, even cracking jokes during meetings. Everyone noticed it.

He wasn’t fully healed—maybe he never would be—but for the first time in a while, he felt like himself.

And with that came the question that had been simmering in the background. The one he kept trying to ignore.

What if she really meant it?

What if she’s changed?

What if I let her try?

He didn’t want to decide alone. Not this time. So he asked the people who knew him best.

Carlos was the first.

They were lounging on the balcony of Charles’ apartment after a gym session, watching the late Monaco sun blur into the sea.

They sat side by side in silence, the sea glittering in the distance. Charles sipped slowly from a glass of water, the cool breeze tugging at the collar of his shirt. His body was tired from the workout, but it was the kind of tired that felt good, like he’d earned it.

Carlos leaned back, squinting into the sun. “You’ve been quiet,” he said.

Charles hummed. “Just thinking.”

“About her?”

There was no point denying it. Charles gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

Carlos didn’t respond at first, just rubbed his jaw and sat with it. Then, “She texted you again?”

“She did. A few times. I didn’t reply. She called, too. I ignored it. But…” Charles paused, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass. “I saw her. Not long ago. We... I just... We talked...”

Carlos raised a brow. “And?”

“And I didn’t feel hate. I wanted to. But it was just… quiet. I don’t know what that means.”

Carlos sat forward, elbows on his knees. “Look, man. You loved her. Like, deeply. And she wrecked you. I won’t lie. I hated what she did to you. Watching you get sick again? Hearing your voice break when you said her name?”

Charles’s jaw clenched.

“But—” Carlos softened, “I’ve seen how you were with her. You let her in in a way you don’t let anyone in. She saw you. And part of me wonders if… maybe she’s the only one who really has.”

Charles didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

“So if she’s really sorry—and I mean truly—then maybe it’s not about what she deserves. Maybe it’s about what you’re still willing to risk.”

Charles looked out at the horizon. “And if I get hurt again?”

Carlos shrugged. “Then I’ll be here. To drag your sorry ass back from rock bottom again. And I'll send Rebecca to take care of her.”

They shared a weak laugh. A real one.

Next was his little brother.

The kitchen smelled like basil and garlic. Arthur was chopping vegetables with dramatic flair while Charles stirred a pot.

“You’re cutting those like you’re in a cooking show,” Charles teased.

Arthur grinned. “I like a little drama.”

Charles smiled, but it faded after a beat.

Arthur noticed. “Okay. Spill.”

Charles took a deep breath, stirring slower. “Do you remember when I told you about her? Back when it first started?”

Arthur nodded. “You wouldn’t shut up about her. Even when you tried to play it cool, you were lit up, bro. It was annoying.”

“I think I’m still in love with her.”

Arthur dropped the knife.

“Still?! After everything?!”

“I know how it sounds,” Charles said quickly. “But she’s been trying to reach out. And I can’t stop thinking about her. Not like I used to. It’s different now. I don’t hate her. I just… miss her.”

Arthur stared at him. “You mean to tell me that after she lied to your face, made you sick with guilt and anger, you’re still thinking about taking her back?”

Charles exhaled, defeated. “I don’t know what I’m thinking. That’s why I’m asking.”

Arthur shook his head, but there was no malice in it. “I hated her for what she did to you. But I remember what you looked like when you were with her. You were whole. And not just happy—settled. Like you’d found what you’d been searching for.”

Charles’s throat tightened.

“So yeah,” Arthur said, lowering his voice, “if she’s really changed—if you believe that—then maybe she is worth the risk.”

Then came the hardest conversation.

His mother poured the tea delicately, her hands practiced. The scent of chamomile filled the room.

Charles watched her for a while before speaking.

“Maman,” he said softly.

“Yes, mon cœur?”

“Do you remember her?”

She looked up from her cup. “Of course I do.”

“I mean… really remember her? What she was like?”

His mother studied him carefully, then set her cup down. “I remember how she made you laugh. I remember you humming in the kitchen while waiting for her to wake up. You cooked for her, didn’t you?”

He smiled faintly. “She always burned her toast.”

“I remember,” his mother said, her voice warm, “that you looked at her like she hung the stars.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment.

“She hurt me, Maman,” Charles said quietly. “Badly. But… I keep thinking about her. About what we had. And I wonder if maybe it’s not over. If maybe I should let her explain.”

His mother reached across the table and took his hand.

“I am your mother. I watched you break, Charles. It killed me. But I also saw how deeply you loved. That kind of love doesn’t just disappear.”

He swallowed hard, blinking quickly.

“If she is sorry,” she said, voice soft and certain, “and if you still love her… then you must ask yourself not what she did—but who she is now. People grow. Sometimes pain is the soil.”

Charles looked down at their hands.

“She was the one, wasn’t she?” his mother whispered.

“Yeah,” Charles said. “She still is.”

“If she’s sorry,” his mother said gently, “and you still love her… then don’t let pride decide for you.”

...

He almost misses it.

It’s early evening, and he’s coming home from the track—exhausted, hoodie over his head, sunglasses on, trying to stay anonymous in his own city. The building concierge catches him just as he’s stepping into the elevator.

“Monsieur Leclerc—ah, excuse me, someone left this for you this morning.”

A flat envelope. Cream paper, his name handwritten in a familiar curve. No return address, but his stomach tightens. He doesn’t need one.

He takes it with trembling fingers.

Back in his apartment, he ignores it for hours. It sits on his kitchen counter like it’s ticking. He showers, changes, pours a glass of wine, tries not to look at it—but it calls to him.

Finally, at midnight, he opens it.

It’s a letter. Handwritten, multiple pages, in ink slightly smudged in places like maybe she cried while writing it. The top corner is folded neatly, just like she used to do when she left him notes.

"Charles,

I don’t know if you’ll read this. I don’t even know if I should be writing it. But I’ve been selfish for so long, and I think I owe you something real—not to win you back, not to fix what I broke, but because the silence between us is screaming and I can’t pretend anymore.

I loved you before I realized it. I think that’s why I ruined it—I didn’t know what to do with something so good. I let people in who had no business standing between us. I didn’t protect what we had. I let myself become someone who didn’t deserve you.

I think about the way you looked at me when you laughed. That soft kind of awe like I’d done something magic by just existing. I think about how warm your hands were. How you always let me sleep in on your side of the bed. How you used to trace letters on my back when I couldn’t fall asleep.

You were so good to me.

I broke that. I know I did. And I would undo it if I could. But since I can’t, I’ll say this:

I’m trying to be better. I’ve cut people out. I’m showing up for myself the way you used to show up for me. And I’m sorry. For all of it.

If this is the last thing I ever get to say to you, let it be this—

You were my favorite moment in the world. I hope someday you’ll think of me kindly, even if you never forgive me.

—Yours, Y/N"

He stares at the pages for a long time. Doesn’t move. Just breathes her words in like smoke.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, he sits down. Really sits.

His chest aches. He hates how her voice still sounds in his head, how real it feels. He hates that it’s easier to be angry than it is to miss her. But now—this?

This ruins that armor. Shatters it.

Because maybe she’s still selfish. Maybe it’s too late. Maybe trust isn’t something that can grow back.

But maybe…

Maybe if I let her...

He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding something in since the moment she left.

And he picks up the letter again.

The flat was quiet—too quiet.

Charles sat on the floor of his living room, legs bent, back against the couch. His head tilted back, resting against the cushion. A cup of tea he hadn’t touched sat lukewarm on the coffee table.

The letter she'd written sat beside it. Emotional in a way she never let herself be out loud.

He hadn’t touched it in two days.

His phone buzzed again—another message he wouldn't open.

He closed his eyes.

And then, her voice came back to him—not from the videos, not from the calls, but from that night. A quiet, fragile moment she’d let him into, months ago. Something he hadn’t thought about in a long time.

They had been lying in his bed, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows across her bare shoulder as she stared up at the ceiling, one of his fingers drawing lazy shapes on her spine.

“Do you ever think people are just… broken in a way that can’t be fixed?” she had asked. Her voice had been steady. But something about how still she lay told him it cost her to ask it.

He remembered frowning, brushing her hair from her face. “I think people get hurt,” he’d said. “But I think most can heal.”

She turned her head just slightly toward him. “Even if they push people away? Even if they… test them on purpose?"

His hand paused on her back.

She took a breath. “When I was seventeen, I told someone something important. I trusted them. And they used it to humiliate me. Everything I had said. Twisted. Laughed at. My friends turned on me. My father didn’t believe me. And I learned really fast that opening your mouth is just an invitation to be gutted.”

He had gone still. She had never told him this.

“I stopped telling people anything after that,” she whispered. “Stopped trusting them. And then I met you. And I thought… maybe I can give him a little. Just enough. Maybe he’ll stay.”

He had held her tighter that night. Kissed her forehead. Told her she never had to give more than she wanted to.

Now, sitting in silence, the memory punched him in the chest.

He had forgotten. Or maybe he hadn’t let himself remember.

All this time, he’d been thinking about what she did—what she lied about, what she hid, the pain she caused. But now…

Maybe she had been testing him. Pushing, sabotaging, trying to see when he’d leave. Maybe she believed he would. That everyone eventually did.

And he had.

He’d walked away.

The air felt heavy now, pressing on his chest.

She had been fighting ghosts while he’d been demanding clarity. She had been trying to protect herself in the only way she knew how.

He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes.

God. She really was terrified of love.

He reached for a pen.

...

He doesn't tell anyone about what he's about to do- maybe because he's terrified, or maybe he's not ready to face all the disappointed faces.

He starts it three times before he gets it right. Rips up the first two.

“I don’t know what this is supposed to be.

I’ve been angry. And hurt. But mostly I’ve just been missing you. Missing what it felt like when everything was easy between us. Before I started questioning every word you said, every smile, every memory.

I think I’m tired of punishing both of us.

I’m not saying I forgive you yet. I’m not saying I can forget what happened. But if you still feel what I feel — if even a part of you meant what you wrote — then maybe we don’t have to keep pretending this is over.

You know where to find me. I’ll wait. Once.”

He folds it, puts it in an envelope with her name on it.

He leaves it at the front desk of the building that is all too familiar.

Then he goes home, tosses his phone aside, and sits on the balcony. Waiting. Quietly, painfully, hoping.

She’s been quiet lately.

Not the kind of quiet that means peace — but the kind that stretches too long, echoes off the walls of her apartment. The kind of quiet that makes her hear things she’s trying to forget: his laugh, the way he used to knock gently before coming in, the rustle of his jacket as he draped it over her couch.

Since everything fell apart, she hasn’t been sleeping well. Or eating properly. She plays the piano sometimes, but even that feels hollow. Her days feel like waiting rooms.

That evening, she’s coming home later than usual. The sky is that dull gray that never quite becomes sunset. She’s tired. Her heels click up the steps to her apartment building, and she’s just nodding a tired hello to the man at the front desk when he calls out.

“Miss,” he says, holding up a plain envelope. “This was left for you earlier today. No return address.”

She frowns, hesitates. “Who left it?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t say. Just asked me to make sure it got to you.”

Something about the way it’s written — her name in that familiar, slanted handwriting — makes her heart jump.

She takes it with both hands, murmurs a thank you, and rides the elevator up with shaking fingers.

She doesn’t even make it inside.

Still standing outside her apartment door, she tears open the envelope. Her eyes scan the letter once, then again. Her breath catches.

She can barely read the last few lines through the tears stinging her lashes.

You know where to find me. I’ll wait. Once.

The letter crumples slightly in her hand as she grips it.

And then she runs.

Down the hall. Back into the elevator.

She doesn’t know what she’ll say. Doesn’t know how it will go.

But she knows exactly where he’ll be.

And for the first time in weeks, her heart is pounding for a different reason — hope.

She’s not thinking straight, not thinking at all.

She’s running through Monaco’s dusky streets in her flats, the same ones she changed into after work, clutching the letter like it might slip away if she lets go.

She knows where he’ll be. There’s only one place it could be — the little overlook at the top of the hill, the one that stares out over the marina, quiet and hidden. He took her there once, months ago, when the world felt weightless and full of maybe.

She takes the stairs two at a time, lungs burning. Her hair’s a mess. Her heart is a war drum in her chest.

The moment she rounds the last corner, she sees him.

Leaning against the railing, hands in his pockets, head down. Just… waiting. Like he said he would.

She stops, breath catching.

It’s only when he lifts his head — slowly, like he knew she’d be there, like he didn’t want to hope but did anyway — that she starts walking again.

Their eyes meet.

No words at first.

Just silence.

He blinks, jaw clenching, like he doesn’t quite believe she came. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

She walks straight into him. Doesn’t stop. Wraps her arms around his middle and buries her face in his chest.

“im so sorry” she says, her voice thick.

And he catches her like instinct — like he’d been hoping for it, like he needed to feel it to believe it. He exhales shakily, holding her like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “I’m still so mad,” he says softly, “but I still… God, I missed you.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I know. And I’m sorry. For real this time. No games, no lies. Just… me.”

His arms don’t just wrap around her — they clutch her. One arm around her shoulders, the other around her back, squeezing her like she might vanish again if he loosens his grip. His face tips down into her hair, and she can feel the tremble in his breath.

Eventually, he pulls back just enough to cup her face in both hands. His thumbs brush her cheeks, eyes scanning every part of her — the tremble in her mouth, the tears drying along her lashes, the desperate flicker behind her gaze.

Then his lips find hers — slow, aching, like he’s relearning the shape of her. The kiss is deep, full of everything they’ve been too scared to say. Her fingers tangle in his shirt. His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her flush against him like he can’t let her go — not again.

Like forgiveness might live somewhere between their mouths.

When they finally pull back, forehead to forehead, he whispers, “Don’t run from me again.”

She nods, breathless.

And high above the glowing marina, in the soft hush of Monaco night, something fragile begins to heal.

next part - KEEPS GETTING BETTER

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 months ago

Text

i knew we'd be fine

for @steddiesongfics using 18 by one direction as inspiration

rated e | 3104 words | cw: temporary breakup | tags: modern au, high school sweethearts, break-up, second chances, getting back together, chance meetings, time skip, semi-public sex (the door is open they don't get caught), hand jobs, love confessions

also on ao3

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

May 21st, 2018

“Eddie!” Steve crashes into his bedroom, dropping his backpack on the floor.

Eddie looks up from the exam in his hand. He failed. Again.

Steve’s excited, clearly passed all his exams. He never had any doubts. Steve works hard, studies for the tests he knows will be difficult. Does extra credit when he doesn’t do as well as he hoped to.

Eddie gets by in most classes, but pre-calculus was sent from hell specifically to torture him. This is his second year failing it, and it’s his second year being kept behind because of it.

The worst part is that he did try this time. He actually studied with Steve, and maintained a C average for most of the year. This last quarter was tough though, and he needed a B on the exam to pass the class. He stares at the 68 in big red marker on the front.

It’s not enough. He’s not enough.

“Eddie?” Steve’s voice is quieter now, and he sits next to Eddie on the bed, taking the paper out of his hand. “You didn’t pass.”

He sounds shocked, a little disappointed, maybe even a bit mad.

“Nope. Looks like another senior year for me,” Eddie says, voice shaking. He’s managed to keep from crying for the last hour, but he’s not sure how much longer he can hold off. “Third time’s the charm, right?”

Steve sets the paper down next to him and turns to Eddie, tears in his eyes.

“I got into UIC.”

Eddie’s heart drops to his stomach and his stomach drops out of his body.

They both knew Eddie wasn’t going to college. Everyone knew that. Steve was, though. He wanted to be a teacher, and he’d be a damn good one. Eddie was gonna follow him to college, find a job at a record store in Chicago, play his music when he could.

He was gonna fall asleep holding Steve every night, and one day, they’d get married, even though Steve deserves better than Eddie and always will. Maybe Eddie’d make it just big enough that he could make good money but still be around to start a family, adopt a couple kids to keep them busy and keep their house full of love.

That was their plan.

Eddie ruined their plan.

“Congrats, baby. That’s amazing. I knew you’d do it,” Eddie says, and he does mean it, even if his voice doesn’t quite show it. “You’re gonna do so great.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m not going.”

“What do you mean? Of course you are.”

Eddie knows what Steve’s doing. He’s sacrificing because he thinks it will help, but it’ll just make Eddie feel worse, and Steve’s parents would never allow him to not go to college because of his loser boyfriend.

“I’m not going without you,” Steve’s voice breaks.

Eddie’s heart does, too, especially when he realizes what he’ll have to do.

He loves Steve so much. He has to remind himself of that as he ruins everything even more. It’s for the best.

As he breaks Steve’s heart, and ruins their future, and hurts himself in the process, he has to keep reminding himself that letting Steve go is the best thing to do. He’d never forgive himself for holding him back.

Steve leaves, tears still running down his face.

Eddie cries until he passes out and hopes he makes it through another fucking year at Hawkins High.

****

May 10th, 2024

Eddie throws his keys on the counter, wipes his forehead. The AC unit in the window is useless, and the summer heat hasn’t even really started yet. The record store’s AC is broken and the owner is trying to find a cheap fix to get through this summer while he saves up, but hasn’t had much luck. Wayne’s supposed to come take a look next week because he’s sick of hearing Eddie complain over the phone.

He pulls a beer from the fridge and pulls his phone from his pocket.

Robin texted him a selfie from last night, her birthday outing in Boston that looks like it was pretty fun. He lets her know her present is on the way, which it decidedly is not, but it will be when his paycheck hits his account on Friday.

Wayne sent him a text with his bus info so he can be there to pick him up from the station. The old man still refuses to fly, even though it would be so much faster and easier to do it. He gives a thumbs up and says he’ll call him tomorrow, just like he does every Wednesday night.

Gareth sent him a link to an open mic night not too far from his apartment with a question mark. It might be nice to get on stage. He’s only done a few open mic nights this year, and the stage is calling him. He tells him he’s in, but only if Jeff makes the trip, too. Frankie’s too far, or he’d insist on him coming.

They all still get together once a year, usually here in Chicago, but sometimes at Frankie’s place in New York if they can swing it.

A loud bang from the hall makes him jump, nearly dropping his beer and his phone on the floor. He’s used to apartment living, random loud noises are common above and below him. But he’s home early today, and most of the people in his building work regular 9-5 jobs.

He sets his drink and phone on the counter and goes to check through the peephole in the door.

A man is struggling to shove a couch through the door across the hall. It looks just a little too wide to fit, but the man is still trying to push it through.

Eddie should ignore it, finish his beer, shower, and maybe heat up the frozen pizza he’s been thinking about all day. He closed the shop last night and opened it this morning. He’s running on barely four hours of sleep and a Mountain Dew that gave him heartburn instead of energy.

He opens his door and steps into the hall.

“Not sure that’s gonna fit, dude,” he says to the man half-buried in a too-large couch.

The man freezes. Eddie can’t help but stare at the man’s ass. He’s having a hell of a dry spell, close to a year. Even before that he can’t remember the last time he was this intrigued by a dude’s ass.

The man stands up and turns and Eddie’s heart drops much like it did the last time he saw this man.

“Eddie?” Steve’s eyes are huge as he steps closer, seemingly forgetting that he was in the process of moving a couch into an apartment.

“Steve?” Eddie asks, scared to move at all.

He’s seen Steve in some pictures, of course. It’s hard not to when they share Robin like divorced parents share their only child. He’s always in the background, though, a little blurry or turned away just enough that Eddie can’t see his features.

“Do you live here?” Steve asks, which is probably a dumb question considering he just walked out of an apartment in this building, but he’s too busy staring at him to care.

“Yeah. Uh…do you?” Eddie asks, equally dumb.

“As of yesterday, yeah,” Steve hasn’t blinked since he turned and Eddie’s pretty sure he hasn’t either. That can’t be good for anyone, especially not people with glasses. Steve’s wearing glasses. Eddie’s brain stops working immediately at the realization. “I didn’t know you lived in Chicago.”

Which has to be a lie. There’s no way Robin hasn’t mentioned it at some point, especially because she’s visited him a handful of times over the last couple of years. Gareth’s even sort-of friends with him, and he’s terrible at keeping secrets. Not that it’s a secret, but. Well, he just assumed that Steve wouldn’t care what he’s up to.

“Moved here in 2022. Wayne wanted to buy his ma’s old house in Kentucky before it went to some ungrateful flippers or whatever and I didn’t find any reason to stay without him there.” Eddie shrugs. “Gareth’s in school here so he put the good word in at a record shop for a job and found this place for me.”

“Does he live with you?” Steve’s so close, Eddie could touch him. He won’t. But he could.

“No, no. This is just a studio. Can’t afford a two bedroom, even with rent sharing. He lives on campus until he graduates next May, so maybe then we can find a place. I dunno, he’s pretty serious with a girl so maybe not,” Eddie shrugs again. Why can’t he control his fucking shoulders? “Anyways! I figured you’d be in Boston!”

Steve frowns. “Why would I be in Boston?”

“Robin’s birthday?” Eddie didn’t imagine the text she sent, right? She went out last night to celebrate.

“Oh!” Steve laughs. “Yeah, I had to move, so I’m heading out there in a couple weeks to celebrate. My old landlord was a cunt and wouldn’t let me push it by three days.”

“Was it Darla?” Darla has a hell of a reputation in this area of Chicago. She owns four buildings, refuses to be bought out by corporations, and doesn’t let anyone get away with anything. Her buildings are nice, but she’s not. Eddie couldn’t afford them even if he wanted to, and he’s a little glad he can’t.

“Yep,” Steve gives an awkward half-smile. “If I’d known about her before signing the lease, I probably wouldn’t have.”

“Ah well, you’re out of it now. Daryl’s pretty cool here. He’s a bit slow to fix stuff, but he’s doing his best. Helped me out a few months ago when I was a few days late on rent,” Eddie shrugs again. Jesus, his back’s gonna be sore soon. “I’m surprised she didn’t convince you to move to Boston.”

Steve laughs. “She tried. Even sent me a few listings in her building. But I couldn’t turn down the job offer here.”

Eddie nods like he understands, like he knows what the hell Steve is even talking about. He doesn’t. He knows Steve graduated because Wayne went to his graduation, but that’s really all he knows. It’s all he’s allowed himself to know.

“Well!” Eddie claps his hands together. He’s suddenly even more exhausted and barely holding it together. “Best of luck. I don’t think that couch is gonna fit, though.”

“Oh,” Steve looks back over his shoulder at the couch as if he just remembered he was doing something before Eddie interrupted. “Right. Well, who needs a couch anyway, right?”

Eddie snorts. He feels his heart twinge in his chest. Steve was always so good at making him laugh, even when he was feeling like absolute shit. Apparently, it’s a gift he’s kept all these years.

“You could tilt it at an angle?” Eddie suggests. He’s not sure it’ll work, but he doesn’t wanna leave with nothing to offer. Not like last time.

“I tried. Couldn’t get a good enough grip to push it through.”

“I can try to help.”

Surprisingly, it does work. It’s not easy, and still takes them nearly ten minutes, but it gets through.

“Guess you live here permanently now,” Eddie huffs as he tries to catch his breath.

“At least my couch does,” Steve agrees with a small smile.

Eddie used to do everything to see Steve smile, anything at all. He finds he’d still do anything.

“Thanks for your help,” Steve continues. He’s so close. How’d he even get this close? “Probably would’ve just sent it back downstairs and let someone take it from the curb if you didn’t help.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Yeah, no problem. I guess I’ll be seeing you around?”

Steve nods once. He’s still so close.

Eddie wants to touch him, wants to reach out and see if he feels the same. If his hair is still soft, if his hips are still hard but he still has a pudge at his belly, if his nipples are still more sensitive than his dick.

He’s not brave, never has been. Not when it matters most.

But Steve is, Steve was always brave. He came out to his parents even though they were likely to disown him, insisted on it because he didn’t want to keep Eddie a secret. He came out at school even though the basketball team made homophobic jokes constantly because he knew he didn’t want to hide who he was. He applied for a college his parents didn’t think was good enough because they had the best education program that wasn’t completely across the country. He visited Wayne still, even after Eddie broke his heart.

Steve touches his cheek, leans in.

When their lips meet, it’s hesitant. Not even their first kiss was this delicate.

Eddie shivers as Steve pulls away. He doesn’t go far, but Eddie tugs him in by his waist so he can’t go any further.

They’re both smiling, practically glowing.

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.”

He pushes Steve down on the couch, kissing hard enough to taste blood. They’re both hungry, starved, and desperate to touch every inch of each other. He’s straddling Steve’s thighs, trying not to think about how much thicker they feel under him. He’s already hard, going 0-100 faster than he ever has before. Steve’s clearly not far behind, moaning into his mouth as his hips push up for friction.

Eddie bites his bottom lip and pulls away, but Steve forces his mouth to his neck. Eddie is willing to go wherever Steve wants him to.

“Need to close the door,” Steve pants.

“Just be quick,” Eddie says against his neck.

“But, neighbors.”

“No one’s here.”

Steve laughs, bunches his neck up. Eddie’s hit with something that feels a lot like the love he used to feel for this man. Back when they were both barely teenagers, back when they didn’t know how to explain to others that they were in love and it wasn’t just some stupid high school fling. Back when they first kissed, and their first kiss led to their first hand jobs, and then they had their first time together on Steve’s 17th birthday.

He knew what made Steve tick then, he knew exactly how to make Steve smile and laugh and moan. They were barely adults when he broke both their hearts, and he still isn’t sure he’s recovered from it.

“Hey,” Steve says, and it makes Eddie pull his face back to look at him. He’s smiling, soft and gentle, and his hands have gone light against his skin, no longer digging into his muscles and bones and very being. “We’re here, right?”

Eddie answers with a kiss, a gentle press of his lips against Steve’s, a silent agreement that somehow, some way, they are here. The universe threw them back at each other because it couldn’t accept a world where they weren’t together.

“Are you getting psychological?” Steve asks.

Eddie beams, kisses him again because he knows Steve knows the right word. He went to college, learned a lot of big words. Eddie’s pretty sure he always knew them anyway.

“I suppose I am,” Eddie replies.

His hand drops to his jeans and unbuttons them, wraps a hand around himself. Steve knocks his hand away and takes over and it’s far better than when they were teenagers, so much better than when they were still learning how to stop being embarrassed about what they liked and wanted.

He’s been with a few guys since, nothing more than casual hookups, but it was enough to learn that he’s good at this. He knows what he’s doing, he’s confident. He likes making people feel good, he learned that with Steve first.

But Steve has always been a giver, generous in bed and out of it. He’s glad that hasn’t changed.

Steve remembers him, somehow gets the rhythm and pressure just right to have him on the edge in less than a minute. He’s whimpering, bucking up into his touch.

“You too,” he gets out before he comes. “Let me touch you. Been so long.”

Steve’s somehow thicker than he remembers, though maybe he’s just lost in the moment or his memory isn’t as good as he thought it was. Hard to lose the memory when Steve’s been the one he always goes back to in his mind when he’s alone at night, trying to take the edge off with spit and his right hand.

They work each other up, edge each other so it doesn’t have to end. They’re kissing lazily while their hands work faster, then slower, occasionally squeezing drops of precum from the tip of their cocks. They’re sweating and making small noises that echo in the emptiness of Steve’s still mostly empty apartment. The door naturally closed most of the way, a small gap still visible, but neither of them care.

“Come with me.” Steve doesn’t wait for him to respond, just twists his grip so that Eddie has no choice but to come all over them both. Steve follows within seconds.

They’re breathing heavy, both of them shaking as they come down.

Steve brings his fingers to his lips, licks the cum off of them, leans his head back like he’s savoring the taste and the adrenaline high. Eddie watches him, can’t believe he gets to see Steve like this again.

He doesn’t want it to end.

“Did you really not know I was here?” Eddie asks quietly, not wanting to completely ruin the moment.

“I really didn’t,” Steve says without opening his eyes or lifting his head up. “Think it’s a sign?”

Eddie kisses his jaw, curling his head against his neck when Steve wraps his arms around him to hold him close.

“Pretty sure the universe knew we’d get here,” Eddie answers.

He’s not really one for believing in miracles or higher powers of any kind, but it’s hard to ignore this.

“I knew I’d find you again,” Steve admits.

“Could’ve asked Robin and saved us a lot of time,” Eddie teases.

Steve pokes his cheek, but he laughs. As long as he laughs, as long as Eddie can make him laugh, he thinks they’ll be fine.

“Still love you, you know?” Steve asks after another minute of silence. “Don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you just as much as I did when we were teenagers.”

“Good.”

“Good?” Steve’s smirking, he can tell.

“Yeah. Loving you alone was a little pathetic.”

Steve kisses the top of his head. “At least we can be pathetic together.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie events #steddie song fics #steve harrington x eddie munson #second chances #temporary break up #getting back together

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bengals-barnesbabe · 10 months ago

Text

There’s Something You Should Know

Pair: Dad!Joe Burrow x OC , Dad!Joe Burrow x ExFianćee!Reader

Desc: Joe’s new girlfriend is in for a big surprise when she drops by unexpectedly.

TW: Jealousy, Toxic Gf, talks of divorce, childhood trauma

a/n: just a little idea I had and worked on for 2 weeks :)

Main Masterlist

WC: 4.9k

┊┊┊┊ ➶ 𓆉｡˚ ✧

August weekends are some of Joe’s favorites, not because he goes out with friends or showers his girlfriend with the attention she desires. No, he loves days like this. Days where his living room doesn’t stay clean for more than a few hours, mornings filled with cute giggles and sticky-syrupy little fingers, and nights controlled by a little girl with beautiful hazel brown eyes and a head full of dark tight curls, who picks the same bedtime story every night. These are his favorite moments.

Like now as he picks up the pink and purple lego sets off his living room floor while his little girl is off playing with some other toys in her playroom. From down the hall, he can hear all the make-believe scenarios the stuffies are going through. Currently, Who Dey the tiger and Joey the kangaroo were shopping for skirts but there was only one pink sparkly one left, it was a heavy debacle that Joe couldn't help but chuckle at while putting away the rest of the legos.

Elliana, or Ellie for short, is the no doubt most important person (albeit little person) in his life. From the day she was born, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his little girl. Now at 4 years old, the bubbly and charismatic girl is taking in some of his interests, hence the immense collection of Lego sets that decorate his home. Sure this hobby came back to bite him in the rear when he would fall to victim of said legos by stepping on them, but the time they spent together just playing around was worth all the lego injuries in the world. But they also have house slippers now, to protect both of their feet.

Joe moved to tidy up the kitchen after double checking that all legos were in their rightful spots, not that he was actually going to count every single lego. To prepare for his 4 day weekend with Ellie, he made sure to restock on all her favorite meals and snacks but also ingredients to make the Bengals-themed cookies that she hadn’t stop talking about since she saw them on a commercial for a grocery store they don’t even have in Ohio. Joe wasn’t much of a baker, he only began cooking real meals when Ellie started staying over for multiple nights. Give him a box of Kraft Mac N Cheese and some dino nuggets and he’d turn it gourmet for his daughter, but for now that’s as far as he could go. So he called in reinforcements for this mission.

*ding dong*

His saving grace, Ja’Marr Chase. Joe was forever grateful to have a best friend that loved and cared for his daughter like she was his own. Ja’Marr was a great uncle and Ellie thought so too.

“Daddy, daddy! It’s Uncle Marr, he’s here to make cookies!” He smiles as the squeaky voiced girl comes running down the hall. Before she passes the kitchen, he sneakily pulls her into his arms before she could notice him. “Daddy!”

“What did I say about running in the house? I know you’re excited but you might fall and hurt yourself and that would make daddy really sad.” He lightly scolds bending down to her height.

“I’m sorry daddy. No more running.” Ellie cutely nods and places her small hands on his cheeks to lift his faux frown. A grin quickly returns to his face and he kisses her forehead.

“That’s my good girl, how about you go wash your hands so you and Uncle Marr can get started?” Her face beams as she wraps her arms around his neck. He returns the hug almost as tightly to take in the warm sense of comfort that having her in his arms brings. His arms could probably wrap around the young girl twice, but the contentment of having her little ones squeezing onto him so tightly is a feelings he never wants to forget. When she finally lets go, she kisses his cheek then skips down the hall in her fluffy pink slippers.

The door bell ringing again brings Joe back to his full height, but his brows furrow when he doesn’t hear his friend do his usual call out. ‘He’s probably on the phone.’ He thinks walking over to front door. He opens the door wide with a smile to greet one of his best friends, but gets replaced with his eyes widening and mouth dropping in shock.

“Hi babe!”

Joe blinks then narrows the door’s opening to only fit half his body. “What are you doing here?” He asks the woman he’s been seeing for 6 months.

“I thought we could spend some time together. I know you said you’d be busy this weekend, but you’re busy every weekend. But since you’re actually home, we could watch a movie or something.” She smiles trying to peak inside. “Are you going to invite me in?”

Joe can hear the faucet in the first floor bathroom turn off and another car pull into his driveway. He looks behind him and zeroes in on every detail in his house that screams ‘this is my little princess’ castle’ then turns back to his curious girlfriend. “Um, now’s not a great time Kate.”

The short brunette’s jaw clenches and just as she’s about to respond, Ja’Marr walks up behind her. “Wow- so what, Saturdays are for the boys?” She barks. Actually they’re for the girls, little girls.

“Kate-

Loud giggles erupt from behind him. “UNCLE MARR! Daddy he’s right there I see him!”

His teammate breaks out in a smile and waves to Ellie. “Hey babygirl.” Ja’Marr excuses himself from behind the woman and Joe lets him in the house.

Kate stands in front of him now dumbfounded. “You have a daughter?”

When Joe met Katelyn, he hadn’t had a long term girlfriend in a while, not since you. So he didn’t have to introduce anyone to his daughter. His team already knew her, his friends were great with her and she had a mom and dad who would do anything for her. Joe didn’t even feel like dating after your engagement ended two years ago. He had some hookups here and there, but getting into a relationship was not on his mind. Funnily that’s how this ‘relationship’ started, she was just someone he could call and was cool about it. Then he took her out to dinner to test the waters and half a year later he’s here.

When you broke up, you and Joe agreed not introduce your daughter to anybody without the other’s consent. You both wanted to make sure that she was your priority and her safety always came first. Then Joe implemented the rule to not introduce Elliana to romantic interests until at least 9 months into the relationship, he said it was him being protective but it was also so he didn’t have to see you without anyone else until it was serious. You also didn’t broadcast your daughter to the world like other parents, so not many knew that he did have a daughter unless they watched his every move.

So long story short, Katelyn did not know.

“We should talk.” He said as she shoved his body to the side and stomped into his home. “I guess I deserve that.” He shook his head and shut the door.

Thankfully, the kitchen and the living room were a decent distance from each other so when she plopped down on the farthest end of the sofa, he could relax knowing Ellie wouldn’t hear any distinct words the woman might start throwing his way. Kate sat facing the blank tv screen, he took the spot in front of her so he could still see some of the movements in the kitchen through a wall cut out.

“Listen Kate.”

“No me first.” She cuts him off with a hand in front of his face. He just nods and allows her to speak. “Why didn’t you tell me? Is she actually yours? Where’s her mother? How come no one knows about her? Why didn’t you fucking tell me? I thought I was your girlfriend, do I mean nothing to you? Who keeps this kind of giant fucking secret? Fucking talk!” She huffs.

“I was letting you go off- whatever. Yes, Elliana is mine. She just looks exactly like her mother” He mumbles the last part, combing his fingers through his hair, a nervous tick he’s had since he was little.

“She’s 4 and I have dual custody over her, so I mostly get her during the weekends. I didn’t tell you because her mother and I have an arrangement and I would have to talk to her about it first. Her mom lives here- well not here here, she lives in the city. You know I don’t like the attention the spotlight gives so it was easy for us to decide to leave her out of it as much as possible. I guess was going to tell you at some point.”

“What do you mean, you guess? I’m your girlfriend! Don’t you think I have the right to know that the guy I’m seeing has a kid?” She crosses her arms red faced.

“Calm down, we haven’t been seeing each other that long. We were never that serious.”

“Of course not, every time I want to spend time with you there’s a new excuse. Oh you have a game, or practice that evidently takes all fucking day. Maybe you’re hiding me because there’s someone else.”

“I promise the only other girl in my life right now is my daughter. And everything you just said is a valid excuse, I have a job and child that require all my attention.”

“Why can’t she just stay with her mother? Do you have this stupid arrangement so she can come by and give you what you’ve been missing? I bet you’ve been fucking her this whole time.”

Joe scoffs, her words starting to make his blood boil. “Katelyn, what do you not understand about us co-parenting our daughter? I barely have time to spend with you, so what makes you think I have time to cheat? If you have a problem with me being a father, then you should leave.”

“I don’t have a problem with you being a dad, I have a problem with you not talking about your ex. What, was she so special that it hurts to talk about her? Was she the one, Joe? What exactly is your relationship like with her now?”

“I told you, we co parent. There’s nothing going on with me and her mother, that’s all in the past. Can we stop talking about her now, she’s not going to just pop up out of nowhere?” He rolls his eyes.

“I’m not convinced, you’d only hide her if there was still something between you.”

“Yea her name is Elliana, the four year old making cookies in my kitchen right now.”

Before Katelyn can come back with another complaint, the doorbell rings, again. Joe sighs and looks out the window to see another very familiar car. Spoke too soon Joe.

He opens the door to see another one of his close teammates and the very woman he was just talking about.

“Tee, Y/n what are you doing here?” His eyes lazily flicker between the pair and you send him a sheepish smile.

“Oh you know, we were just in the neighborhood.” Tee nods very nonchalantly. You nudge his side with a chuckle.

“I got a 911 call from Ellie, she said there was an emergency.”

“Really?” He starts to pat down his pockets and realizes his phone is missing. He turns around and spots a smiling little girl with two long braids neatly done with purple bows in her hair. “Ellie…”

“Yes daddy.”

“Did you call mommy with my phone without telling me?”

“Yep!”

You stop the laugh from bursting out your mouth when he sends you a pointed look. Taking that as a sign to go ‘confront’ your daughter. “Elliana why did you call me saying there was an emergency?

“There is an emergency momma! Uncle Jay is eating all the cookies!” Ja’Marr turns around shocked at his little partner.

“Ellie, what did I tell you about snitches?”

“Snitches get stitches.” She relays matter factly. Joe shakes his head in confusion because clearly he wasn’t aware she knew about snitches yet. While you chuckle and run in to snatch up your girl.

“Ellie what did I tell you about taking advice from Uncle J?” You ask placing her on the counter.

“You said to tell you when he teaches me something new. He just did momma, see I told you!”

“Wow, Joe see what your friends have done to my sweet little girl.” She giggles wrapping her arms around your neck.

“They’re your friends too. How is it my fault, I had no idea?”

“There’s your answer.” You smirk. “Now Ms. Ellie Dae Burrow, is there any other emergency I need to know about?”

Freeing herself from your grasp she nods her head. “We don’t know how to ice cookies mommy.” Then takes your face in her hands and turns you towards the powdered sugar mess next to her baking buddy.

“Ellie, did you touch the cookies before touching mommy’s face?”

“Um yes?”

“Did you wash your hands after touching the cookies?” The young girl looks at her flour caked hands curiously.

“No mommy.”

“Remember what I said about touching your toys with dirty hands?” Ellie nods her head. “Well that goes for people too, cause now I’m covered in flour.”

“Oh, sorry mommy. I’ll go wash my hands now.”

You go off to get washed up then Ellie returns to the kitchen to continue helping with the cookies while you join Joe in the living room.

“I hope you guys didn’t have anything planned, Ellie clearly has a mind of her own.” Joe jokes with the couple.

“Not much, we were just going to pick up some lunch and maybe catch a movie.” Tee shrugs.

“That’s what we were going to do, how funny.” Kate perks up with hidden mischief in her eyes. This is when you realize you have no clue where this woman came from nor who she is.

“Joe?”

“Oh how rude of me. I’m Katelyn, Joe’s girlfriend and I assume you’re his baby mama.” She fake smiles holding her hand out.

The eyes of the men in the room widen at her bold choice of words. You smirk and shake the woman’s hand. “Yep, that’s me. The mother of his only child, you must know how great of a dad he is right? Whenever he has any time off, he’s always picking her up or coming over to see her. Truly father of the decade and she isn’t even 5 yet.”

Tee sits next the father hiding his face in his hands and chuckles. “I bet this isn’t how you wanted this to go.” He whispers to him. Joe just groans in his hands.

“Well, you should have a seat.” Kate invites.

“Oh I will, thank you for the hospitality in the house that my ex fiance asked me my opinion on over a year ago.” You grin and sit on the other side of Tee.

Katelyn’s kind demeanor shifts with a fake smile wide on her cheeks as she sits next to Joe. “So why’d you break up?”

“We are not starting here!” Joe’s eyes go wide and he straightens up. “Ask anything else please.”

“Joseph, your girlfriend wants to know why we’re not married right now. Why don’t you tell her?” You say forgetting how the whole thing happened for a bit. Thankfully those cherished memories come floating back to your mind and you hoped he decided to change the subject to cover your mishap.

“You just met, aren’t you supposed to be doing the making sure she’s safe for Ellie to be around thing?” You let out a muted sigh before replying.

“Oh please, and you haven’t?”

“No.” He mutters.

Your face hardens as you kiss your teth. “You let this woman around my daughter without screening her first? Joseph what the hell?”

He throws his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t think it was going to last this long, I wasn’t thinking about it.”

“Then why is she here?” You question turning your body completely towards him.

“Your guess is as good as mine!”

Katelyn scoffs, “excuse me, I’m sitting right here!”

“Unfortunately we see that too. How long have you been together anyway?” You hope that their explanation has to do with the restrictions you came up with to keep your daughter safe.

“7 mont-

“6 months- They say at the same time.

“Damn, this is awkward. I’m gonna go.” Tee announces. “I’ll text you.” Then he leaves.

“Looks like that didn’t last, maybe that’s why Joe left you. You attract drama everywhere you go.” Joe grimaces at her just wanting her to stop talking.

“Oh no hun, I left him. Not like it’s any of your damn business cause you don’t know me or him that well either. But let me guess, he told you he was busy but you showed up anyway hoping he’d let you in and give you whatever you want. I wouldn’t stress about him not making enough time for you, there’s a lot of worst ways he could be treating you. Just remember that at the end of the day, I’m that little girl’s mom and he’s her dad. I’ll always have a key in the door, when you won’t even get to see the open house.” Then you got up and went to the kitchen. Joe watched in amusement as Katelyn seethed. Then peaked behind him to catch a glimpse of you and your daughter baking together.

“You need to talk to her, she needs to know that I’m your future and she needs to make room.” Joe rolls his eyes.

“She’s right. They’re my past, present and my future. You were just a distraction and now I don’t need you anymore. I’m going to have to ask you need to leave my daughter’s house.”

She shakes her head. “Joe, we can have our own family. You don’t need them. I can do that for you.”

“Katelyn I want them, not you. It’s time for you to go.” He stands and walks over to the door.

“You’re going to miss me and regret this, but I wont open the door for you. When you want me back I’ll have someone way better than you. Please don’t do this, don’t break up with me.” Rolling his eyes at the quick change in behavior he unlocks the door for her.

“Joey, I thought we were having fun. You don’t want to throw that away do you?” She asks as a final strand of hope glistens in her eyes.

Joe sighs, “it was fun, but I’d rather play with flower shop legos and bake cookies.”

“Fuck you Joe!” She stomps out with expletives shooting from her mouth.

⍣ ೋ

“Daddy was your friend crying because you hurt her feelings?” Ellie asks with frosting covering her mouth when he arrives in the kitchen. He picks her up and kisses her sugary cheeks.

“No bub, she hurt her own feelings.”

“Joey hurt my feelings when left to join the circus.” She pouts talking about her stuffie and licking her sticky fingers.

“Are you eating the icing before we can put it on the cookies?” He asks the orange dye covered girl.

“Nyooo.” She chuckles.

“What are we going to do with you?”

“Mommy said we’re all going to the park to feed the ducks.” She smiles. You turn around with wide eyes and an amused smirk, halting your current task of making more orange frosting.

“I did not say that. Ellie Dae why are you telling your father stories?”

“I think she wants to go feed the ducks.” Ja’Marr snorts while eating some of the cookie dough.

“Uncle Marrrr, you can’t eat more cookies! It’s for the ducks.”

“Ellie ducks don’t eat cookies.” Joe chuckles putting her on a part of the counter that’s not covered in sugar.

“Kaia said they do.” Your daughter yawns mentioning your next door neighbor’s teenage daughter that likes to babysit her.

“Well you’re going to have to ask Kaia where she found the cookies made for ducks.” Glancing over at the oven clock you hum realizing its 2pm. Naptime. Looking back over at your ex, you watch him wrap his arms around your daughter as her eyelids struggle to stay open. “Joe.” You whisper. He looks up at you then the time and nods.

“Come on babygirl, let’s go upstairs.” She whines as he lifts her, but still wraps her arms around his neck.

“But daddy, I’m not tired. Cookies.” She yawns laying her head on his chest. He smiles and kisses her head.

“I promise the cookies will be there when you wake up, and maybe we’ll even take some to the ducks.” You can’t help but smile as the pair climb the staircase up to her room. You always knew Joe would be a great father, especially when the you were surprised by the idea of having a baby so young and so early in your relationship. But he only stepped up in ways you couldn't have imagined, watching him become a father felt like one of life’s greatest privileges. It’s one of the things you love loved about him. Joe’s caring nature was unlike any other, in those 4 years together you’d never felt so loved and cherished by anyone like him.

Turning around to go back to your icing duties, you’re faced with a smirking Ja’Marr Chase. “What?”

“You’re ridiculous.” He chuckles setting a timer for the cookies that you now notice are in the oven.

“I don’t understand.”

“You look at him the same way he looks at you, which is the exact same way when you were engaged. You just need to put the ring back on and plan the damn wedding at this point. I mean he broke up with his fling for you.”

You just shake your head at his nonsense, there was no way you and Joe would ever get back together after how it ended- after how you ended it. “No, I’m with Tee. They just had a mild disagreement, the second Ellie comes home with me he’ll be calling her back over.”

“You’re fucking with me right?” He scoffs. “You and Tee are not together.”

“How would you know?”

“He texted me the minute you got here. The only reason you two were out together was because we’re all still friends. Don’t try and bullshit me. You’ve been trying to make Joe jealous for weeks.”

“I have not, lower your voice. If you think he would ever take me back after the shit I said that night, then you’re delusional. I already fucked up with Joe.”

“But you want him to though.” He tilts his head with a soft smile. “I bet you still have the ring on you.” Your eyes go straight to the floor.

“You didn’t give it back because he wouldn’t take it. You can’t put it away because of who it reminds you of and you won’t sell it because you still care. In fact Ellie said you put it on a necklace and kept it in the smallest pocket of your purse.” When you look up, he’s somehow produced the same ring Joe proposed to you with on that beach date when Ellie was 8 months old.

“She really is a little blabber mouth.” You sniffle taking the chain.

“She’s smart and a thief. She showed it to me after you went to go clean your face. She knows how much it means to you and whether she understands it or not, she wants her mom and dad back together.”

“Oh please, this is the same little girl that wants to feed ducks sugar cookies.”

“All I’m saying is you should think about why you’re still carrying that nice ass ring around and talk to him. Alright I’m gonna head out, you got this right?” You nod and share a friendly hug.

“Remember what I said.” He says as the front door opens then shuts.

You lean over the counter with your hands on your face and let out a groan. There’s no possible way for Joe to ever take you back. You don’t even know why you still carry the ring around, but somehow leaving the house without it makes you feel untethered to reality.

“I doubt the cookies are that bad.” You gasp startled by the man leaning on the entryway to the kitchen.

“Goodness, Joe.” Your right hand covers your eyes while still clutching the gold chain.

“Wow,” you drop your hand remembering what you were holding. “That’s something I haven’t seen in a while.”

“Yea- um. I was having it cleaned.” You bite the inside of your lip, then replace it with a pout when his face tells you he knows the full story. “Joe-

“Put it on.”

“Listen- wait what?”

You want to believe he’s joking, but the look in his eyes is all seriousness. “I want you to put the ring back on.”

“I can’t, not after the way I ended things. It wouldn’t be right.”

“You can, because I want you to. I need you to put the ring on.”

“Joe there’s something you should know.”

He sighs and takes the chain from you. “I know you and Tee hooked up once, I’m still debating on if I need to sucker punch him for it.” Then unclasps the chain and releases the 7 karat diamond into his hand. “I know that we spent the last 2 years trying to forget everything that went down between us only to remind each other every weekend when Ellie is dropped off.” He begins to fiddle with the ring between his fingers. “I also know that nothing you said that night was true.”

You gulp locking eyes with the man you’ve always wanted to call your husband. “Joe.”

“On April 10th, your mom called you and said ‘never get married’ because she had finalized her divorce with your father after spending 25 years in an unhappy marriage, that without a doubt gave you enough trauma in itself. April 11th, I came home from a night out where I drank way too much and reminded you of a part of your childhood you tried to run away from, which is something I’m extremely sorry for. April 12th, we spent the entire day arguing about the dumbest shit because I couldn’t see the pain you were harboring. Then you said ‘I can’t spend the rest of my life with a man that doesn’t care how he comes home to his family. I won’t let you run me into the mud like he did to her, I want to be happy. I can’t marry you.’ And took your ring off.” You couldn’t stop the tears from falling down your face as he recalls the last night you spent together as a couple. A night you’ve regretted since it happened.

“Joey, don’t let me do this to you. You don’t deserve this, you could do so much better better than a damaged bitch with trust issues.” With one hand he wipes your tears and with the other he takes your left hand. “Joe think about this.”

“I think there’s something you should know.” He repeats your words with a more lighthearted tone, then gets down on one knee.

‘There’s no way, no way. Nope, he’s not doing this.’ You echo to yourself while shaking your head.

“I spent two years thinking about this. Two years driving back and forth so we could have equal time with our little girl. Two years of wondering if I’d ever have you back in my arms the way I dream of at night. Even spent one in this house thinking about how hollow it feels without you living in it. I bought it for you, so we could raise our family here together. I know this probably won’t top the first one and I don’t have a new ring yet.” He winks causing another wave of tears to fall, this time happy tears.

“I can’t see myself happier with anyone except this damaged woman in front of me with trust issues. Shit I’m not that happy now, cause every time I look in our little girl’s eyes all I see is her beautiful mother. She’s a constant reminder of the woman I miss more than anything. I thought we could do this co-parenting thing and stay friends so Ellie could have a happy childhood, but I spend more time with you than I do without you. I don’t want to wake up with anyone else in my bed that isn’t the woman right in front of me. And I’m thanking Elliana for bringing you here, because I need you. I want you back more than anything in the world.”

His voice starts to tremble. “I’d step on a million legos for you, bake and burn a thousand dinners for you, miss hundreds of games for you- fucking anything. Anything you want, it’s yours. Just say yes.”

You can feel the way your heart breaks for him, just proving how much you don’t deserve him. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

You can’t look him in the eye and break him again. You try to suck in the sob but there’s no use.

“I’m pregnant with Tee’s baby.”

SIKE

i'm sorry that was childish, don’t hate me lol here’s the real ending

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ

“I can’t,” You giggle when his pout deepens. “You haven’t asked the question yet.”

A bright smile breaks out on his face as he sighs in relief. “You need to stop scaring me. Y/n Y/l/n, will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes I’ll marry you, Joey. I'll marry you a hundred times if I have to.” You beam as he slips the ring back in its rightful spot then stands and pulls you into the most passionate kiss.

After two years, you’re back in the arms you love, felt the most comfortable and cherished in. You feel so lucky to have found a man, a fiance so caring, thoughtful, and understanding. Lucky that every time you pushed him away, he just pulled you in harder. And you can’t wait to finally marry him and give him everything he’s ever wanted. Including a bigger family.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

so any critiques, comments, concerns. i'm open to any and everything🫶🏾 oh and don't forget to reblog for more :)

622 notes · View notes

kasagia · 9 months ago

Text

imgonnagetyouback

Pairing: Benny Cross x fem!ex-girlfiriend! reader Summary: After your rather stormy breakup, Benny decides he can't live without you. He'll get you back. At any cost. Even if he has to force you over his motorcycle and take you far out of town. Taglist for Benny: @aleemendoza2425-blog Benny Cross' Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist P.S. I accept requests for Benny if you want to read sth specific with our boy 😊

Even if it's handcuffed I'm leaving here with you Bygones will be bygone eras Fading into gray We broke all the pieces, but still want to play the game I told my friends I hate you but I love you just the same Pick your poison, babe I'm poison either way... Whether I'm gonna be your wife or Gonna smash up your bike I haven't decided yet But I'm gonna get you back - "imgonnagetyouback" Taylor Swift

“What the hell is he doing here?” You ask angrily, looking out your office window as you see your ex’s Harley parked next to your car.

"Maybe he forgot something from you. Did you give him all his stuff back?" Your friend asks, putting the papers into a folder.

"No. I gathered all four of his shirts and two pairs of pants and made myself a campfire behind the house." You huff angrily, closing the blinds so you wouldn't have to watch the blue-eyed Vandal leaning against your car.

"So what does he want? From what you've told me, your relationship ended in a hell of a bad way, and he was a world-class asshole." You tremble at the mere memory of your breakup with Benny.

You and he met at one of the Vandals' bar. You happened to go there for a drink with your girls; he noticed you and started talking with you. He was flirting with you the whole night and tried to take you with him for a ride on his bike. The first time you turned him down. Then he tracked down where you lived and showed up at your door, offering a ride to your work.

You should have seen a red flag then. But you were too stupid and infatuated by him enough to think it was romantic.

As time went on, he took you to Vandals meetings more and more often. And it was fun. Until you had to bail him out of arrest, pick him up from the hospital, and wait forever for him at home, wondering if he'd be sleeping next to you in bed or at the police station.

And one day, when he ended up in the hospital after some guys beat him up for wearing Vandal's colours, you broke. You begged him to stop while he was still alive and well (which was doubtful considering the doctors were still debating whether to cut off his foot); you literally knelt by his bed and cried like a baby while all he cared about was whether he could keep riding.

But that wasn't the worst. The worst was that every time you argued, he threatened to leave, to disappear, that it would be best for you if he left you alone. And at first you begged him, terrified, to stay, but over time you started to react to those words... more aggressively.

Then you decided you were fed up with living with the wandering cat he was and broke up with him. Roughly. Stormily. Your neighbours heard more than one of your arguments, and the whole street saw you throwing his stuff out the window and finally throwing rocks at him as he rode away on his beloved Harley. On second thought, maybe you were both two big damn red carpets.

"I don't want to know. Will you take me home? The last thing I want today is to meet that son of a bitch."

You sigh, dragging the papers to your desk. You grab your black blazer and throw it on over your white shirt. You adjust your black pencil skirt and grab your purse to follow your friend.

You took the job as a secretary right after breaking up with Benny. You quit your old job not wanting him to know where you worked, but apparently Vandal had his ways. You wonder if choosing another job wasn't a slap in the face for Benny. Choosing such a boring and ordinary job would piss him off even more and prove that you really aren't made for each other.

Just like Benny, you could be hellishly mean.

"What the hell?" Your friend asks as you exit out the back and her car isn't in the parking lot. But there is another Vandal with his motorcycle.

"Johnny." You greet him and walk over to him, crossing your arms. Your friend is hot on your heels. "What are you doing here?"

"Kiddo said you two have a problem in your relationship."

"We don't have any relationship, so there is no problem between us. But apparently, my friend lost her car. Can you help her?" You ask him, furious with Benny for not acknowledging your breakup.

"Y/N... you know that I don't like to get involved in the shit that's not mine, but this kid has been going crazy for a month now. He's been doing even worse shitty things than before, and I can't tell you how many times we've picked him up from jail in the past few fucking weeks. If you ever cared about him, talk to him. He's becoming wildly unpredictable. Even for me."

You bite your lip at his words. You know perfectly well what Benny is like, or rather what he was like before he met you. Thanks to you, he stopped riding so fast and carefree, ended up in the hospital much less often, and even obeyed the speed limit when you were with him on his bike.

You can only imagine what he's been up to in your absence and to what extent, since Johnny took an interest and came to you to talk about it.

"Don't manipulate me, Johnny. You know damn well he deserved it. Now you know what I had to deal with throughout this whole fucking relationship." You reply dryly, not wanting to fall for the Vandals' sweet words again.

You loved them like family, but sometimes you have to cut yourself off from them to save your sanity. And you desperately needed some time to yourself and a break from all of Benny's antics.

"Well... I know Benny isn't easy, but he really is a good kid. Carrot and stick. That's what he needs. And for the sake of your lady-buddy's car and your friendship... maybe you should go and have a few words with him."

"Screw you." You growl, rolling your eyes, and walk away from them. "What are you waiting for?! Take her to this fucking car!" You shout, walking back to the main building to exit through the main entrance.

Johnny puts your friend on his bike, and all you can do is give her an apologetic look as he takes her to where they moved her car. You don't even want to know how they did it.

You sigh as you walk through the office and stand in front of the main exit doors. You glance at your watch and walk out of the building with your heart in your mouth.

You walk down the sidewalk with the other people from work who have just left. Benny's blue irises land on you immediately. He straightens up, stopping leaning against your car and throwing away a cigarette he was smoking. He looks at you expectantly. You nod at him and pretend to walk in his direction.

You cross the street on the crosswalk, but instead of turning right towards the parking lot, you run as hard as you can to the left towards the bus stop.

"Y/N!" Benny shouts after you, and a moment later, you hear the thud of his combat boots against the pavement as he runs after you.

The bus pulls up to the stop, and you run inside. Luckily, the driver closes the doors before Benny can get to them. He bangs on the glass, shouting your name and some curse words, but you can't hear him clearly as the bus starts moving.

You breathe a sigh of relief and wipe your sweaty forehead. This time you did it. You just hoped your friend would get her car back before Benny went to Johnny and complained to him that you ran away.

But for now, you're happy that you managed to outsmart your ex.

The next morning you cautiously peer out from behind your front door, searching for a head of blonde hair. Even though you couldn't see any Vandal's motorcycle through the window, you wanted to be sure that none would suddenly pop out from nowhere.

You sigh with relief, not seeing anything suspicious.

You open the door wider, but something is blocking you. On your way out, you notice a huge bouquet of your favourite flowers. You pick it up and examine it carefully, but you don't see any note or card. But you do see a necklace.

The flowers are tied with a fucking necklace. The necklace Benny gave you at the beginning of your relationship with his initials carved into the back of the silver heart. (One of the guys worked at a jeweler's and did it for him for practically free through a connection or something.) The necklace you threw in his face when you broke up with him.

Furious, you want to throw the flowers in the trash. Instead, you decide to put the necklace in your pocket and walk to work. On the way, you pass a school and hand the bouquet to the first girl you see. At least she was happy because of those damn flowers.

As you continue your walk, you see a motorcyclist in the distance. You tense up and quicken your pace, praying that it's not a Vandal, but apparently you're out of luck today.

"Y/N?! How long have we not seen each other?!" Danny screams as he rides to you. You sigh as his bike blocks the entire sidewalk and force a smile.

"Probably ages ago. How you doing?"

"Great. Can I give you a ride somewhere? Where's Benny? Shouldn't he be the one hauling your ass to work?" He asks, already taking out a helmet for you. You reluctantly accept it and climb behind him on the bike.

"We broke up." You inform him, knowing full well that he's been away from the Vandals lately due to studies and his photography stuff.

"Oh shit. He must be devastated then." He comments and starts the engine. You hold on to him as he drives you to the address you gave him.

The drive takes a few minutes. Luckily, your car is still parked outside the building, and you don't see any parked bikes.

"Thanks. Danny? Can you give this to Benny? You probably will see him sooner than me." You say and hand him the necklace. He nods and drives away, leaving you alone.

You approach your car and curse, seeing the lock placed on the wheel. Not a police lock. A lock that the Vandals often put on and took off in exchange for small money. A small tag was attached to it. It had the date and time written on it—probably their next meeting that they wanted you to join in exchange for taking the damn thing off your car.

"Bad day?"

You flinch and turn around, surprised by someone's presence. You sigh with relief when you see only Mike—an accountant from the company you worked for.

"Bad week. Plus, it looks like I'm grounded." You say and kick your leg against the wheel of your car.

"Yeah, I recognise that. My friend had to pay them like $100 to get that damn thing off. He was rushing to some meeting and couldn't wait for the police and similar stuff. I can get someone to take it off for you."

"I'm afraid I don't have enough money." You sigh, mentally preparing yourself for a weekend with the Vandals. In Benny's company. Talking to him. You already feel sick.

"For free. Friend of mine owns me a little favour."

"Seriously?" You ask, shocked. He nervously rubs the back of his neck with his hands and nods, giving you an uncertain smile.

"Yeah, no problem. And before he will do it... do you mind if we both go to lunch? I mean... you don't have to if you don't want to..."

"You know... I would actually like that." You interrupt him with a smirk, seeing him stuttering, unable to finish his sentence as he blushes.

"Really?" You almost giggle at his incredulous question and the gleam of happiness in his eyes. You nod with a huge, genuine smile, practically forgetting why you agreed to this date in the first place. "So... in four hours at the exit?"

"I will be waiting." With a smile, you leave him behind and enter the office. Maybe this day wasn't such a tragedy after all...

Benny was drinking beer with Johnny and Danny at a table in their favourite bar. The Vandals were circling him like vultures, just waiting for a little sensation and gossiping about his breakup with you.

"It must be hard for you, man. We all saw how much you loved her. Like a Catholic loves a goddamn God."

"Too bad she can't see it." Benny mumbles, lighting a cigarette. His one hand plays with the necklace he left on your doorstep this morning, which you gave to Denny. Benny gave you his fucking heart, and you still rejected it. He had to try harder. He had to talk to you first.

"Hey Benny-boy? How are you? Are you still getting over your breakup with your girlfriend? Do you love her that much? Come on, come with us. We'll race to the brothel, and you'll forget about this bitch in a second." Some Vandal walks up to him and pats him on the back.

"Benny no..." Johnny is interrupted by the crash of Vandal's jaw as Benny's fist hits him.

A second later, a beer bottle shatters over the head of a bleeding man on the floor, and Johnny and Danny try to pull him away from the guy. The entire club boos and cheers for the fight, but the guys quickly drag Benny outside.

"What the hell?! You can love her, but damn, don't be such a girl and react at each shitty comment!" Johnny yells at him and hits him in the chest with his hands. Benny huffs indignantly and puts his hands in his pockets to stop himself from hitting him.

"I hate her!" He growls furiously and plays with the necklace in his pants' pocket.

"And love her just the same, huh?" Danny asks and gives Benny a cigarette.

Benny doesn't answer. He smokes furiously, trying to clear his head, but all he can think about is you. Your scent, your taste, the softness of your body, the shudder of your breath beneath him, the way you clenched your hands around his shirt across his stomach when you rode with him on his bike, the way you pressed yourself against him and snuggled up to him every chance you got... fuck, he missed you. More than he previously thought he would be.

"Benny?! I saw your girl with some man in a suit! At that one of those Italian restaurants on the corner of Main Street. You know, the shitty one for rich people. You should do something about this." One of the bikers rides up and informs him, then rides away before Benny can say anything.

"Kid, don't…" Johnny tries to stop him, but Benny is already on his motorcycle. He starts it and rides as fast as he can, ignoring the shouts behind him.

All Benny could think about was how he was going to beat up the guy who dared to touch you. You were his girlfriend. You were one of the Vandals. You might have been on a break, but that didn't give any man the right to hit on you. Not when you had Benny and Benny had you.

It was simple logic. Nobody messes with the Vandals and their girls.

Benny sped through the city, not stopping at red lights. It wasn't until he was at a restaurant that he stopped his Harley.

He didn't turn off the engine, though. He was staring intently through the restaurant windows and checking out each customer until his eyes landed on you and some shit in a suit who had the nerve to get your attention.

Benny tugged on the handle, causing his bike's engine to roar furiously—like a guard dog giving a warning before it attacks. He increased the engine's roar until your eyes met his.

A cold shiver ran through him as you threw him one of your angry looks, and he felt hurt when you ignored him and continued to talk with the man sitting in front of you and gave him one of your most wonderful smiles. Fuck it. The guy wouldn't be able to walk when Benny got to him.

Benny reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pack of Marlboro, and lights his cigarette. He holds it to his mouth with one hand while the other continues to crank the handle of the engine, so that the roar of the engine drowns out any conversation you might have had with the man in front of you.

He smirks as you and the guy in front of you stare in his direction. He holds a cigarette between his plush lips and waves at you, causing an irritated frown to form on your forehead.

Benny can't help but feel a strange bile rising in his throat as he looks at the two of you. You were on a date with a guy who was clearly the opposite of Benny. He wonders if this is what you really want—a boring guy with a boring job and a tonne of money who could build you a house with a fucking white picket fence and drive you to work in his Cooper car and the kids to preschool. It makes him sick to think that you could be anyone else, that you could have anyone else's children, that you could be married to some guy in a suit and live the life of a fucking decent 1950s shitty family.

Benny knew perfectly well that he couldn't give you what this guy could provide you. He couldn't even afford a date at a restaurant like that.

However, it didn't change the fact that he loved you so damn much.

"Hey! Biker dude, leave Y/N alone!" A guy in a suit comes out of the restaurant and yells at him. Benny calmly finishes his cigarette and throws it on the ground, staring silently at the man in front of him. "Did you hear me, degenerate? Get out of here!" The guy pushes him, hitting his chest. For Benny, that's enough.

He lands the first punch with his right fist, landing perfectly on his opponent's cheek. The next punch sends blood pouring from the man's nose onto his snow-white shirt. But for Benny, it's not enough.

He throws the guy to the ground, and the two begin to fight in earnest. Benny, however, has a much greater advantage and motivation as he takes out all his anger on the guy below him. He only snaps out of this strange trance when someone's hands pull him away from the bleeding man below him.

"What the fuck was that, Benny?! You almost killed him!" You yell at him angrily, pulling your hands away from him as quickly as you can. Benny says nothing, staring at you silently as he processes what he just did. Several other motorcycles pull up in front of the restaurant, with Johnny in the lead.

"Let's go, kid! Before the police arrive."

Benny stares at you, not quite wanting to leave before he explains why he beat up your date. But he stops himself the moment he sees the fear and disgust in your eyes. It hurts Benny more than any punch he could have taken. He clenches his jaw and walks to his bike. He starts the engine and gives you one last long look, then lowers his head in shame as he joins the other Vandals.

Your hair flutters in the wind as you watch the Vandals drive away. You run over to Mike and wait with him until the ambulance arrives. But you don't follow him to the hospital. You have more important things to take care of in the city.

With trembling hands, you knock on the door. You wait patiently outside, considering the pros and cons, but before you can chicken out and leave, Betty opens the door for you.

"Y/N? This is quite a surprise."

"Can I come in? I need to talk to you." The woman makes room for you and lets you in. You greet her and Johnny's daughters, who are watching a cartoon on TV, and you go with her to the kitchen, where you can talk in peace. "It's about Benny."

"I expected it. You know, we were all very surprised when you broke up. We were convinced that a week longer and the boy would start looking for an engagement ring for you."

"Benny and marriage? Not in this lifetime, I guess." You scoff and sit down at the small kitchen island with a smile, thanking her for the coffee she made you. "He fucking almost beat my date to death today. He's acting crazy. Johnny tells me he's been like this since I broke up with him, but we both know he was like this long before we even met. What the hell am I supposed to do, Betty? Get out of town? Out of America? Vandals have expanded all over the states, and most of them aren't the same old club they used to be."

"I know. Believe me, I know best." Silence falls between you after her words. You nod, understanding perfectly that she of you had the most right to worry. You sigh, running your hand through your hair. "Y/N... I'll give you some advice. If you don't care about him that much... if you think you can forget and move on, then save yourself. Run away wherever you want, as far away from him as possible, and forget. But if you can't... then stay and talk some sense into him before it's too late to save him."

"Save him? You know perfectly well he won't abandon the Vandals."

"Like you said, they're not the same Vandals they used to be. They've changed. Johnny sees it. Benny sees it. And they both still fool themselves, but when some shit happens, it finally gets to them. And believe me, Benny loves his bike and freedom, but the Vandals aren't his family anymore. You are." You fall silent at her words, processing everything she said. You nod and sigh, taking a cigarette out of the pack in your pocket. "We smoke outside." She admonishes you. You laugh quietly and raise your hands in surrender.

"All right. Thanks for everything, Betty." You sigh as you leave the house. You light a cigarette and walk across town to the Vandals' bar. You have to finish everything you had to finish with Benny. You couldn't just leave town without a word. There's no telling what the Vandal would do if you suddenly disappeared.

You throw your cigarette into the bin and take a few calming breaths as you approach the biker's bar. Their engines are already roaring, and some of them, probably the young and new ones, eye you warily as you enter.

You look around the bar and frown, unable to find Benny. You walk further in, pushing through the sea of people and sitting at the head table where Johnny sits with his most important men.

"Hello there. Where is Benny?" You ask them, taking the beer from Johnny. The man raises an eyebrow at you and watches as you take a sip.

"I thought you didn't want to talk to him?"

"I have to. I'm leaving town soon. I'd rather tell that to that ticking bomb." Johnny nods, fully realising what you mean. You see Cockroach get up from the table and go to the phone. You try to listen in on the conversation, but Johnny effectively talks you over and drowns out any conversation the man was having at the bar.

"When are you coming back?" He asks, but you don't answer. You take a sip of beer and tap your finger on the neck of the bottle. "I see. The kid won't be happy, you know that?"

"We are no longer together." You snap back, trying your best to maintain your relatively indifferent attitude. "Besides, after the shit he did today, he only proved that I can't stay here anymore."

"He went for a ride. He'll probably be at the lake. Or on the streets breaking a few traffic laws. You know him."

"Too well." You nod and stand up from the table. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Cockroach exit the bar and get on his bike. You frown and shake your head. They're not your problem anymore. "Tell him I'm looking for him. When you will see him."

"Sure." He agrees and nods. You nod back and turn to leave the bar. You scan the place one last time, knowing full well that you'll probably never set foot in it again.

Your heart clenches as you remember all the times you spent here. Both the good and the bad. Shortly after you broke up with Benny, you cursed this building. You'd rather see it burn down, along with all the Vandals that reminded you of what you'd lost.

You try to hold back the tears that are welling up in your eyes as you involuntarily recall your first meeting with Benny. The pool table is still in the same spot. How easy it would have been for you not to have looked that damned way and not fallen for the charm of those blue irises and the exposed muscles of his arms. How much disappointment and heartbreak you would have avoided if you had never entered that bar. And as much as you despised and hated that place, you loved it and the people in it for a long time and fiercely. And one of them in particular.

But how much more tragedy and sadness could you endure? How long could you live in fear and uncertainty in a relationship that was supposed to bring you only happiness and those good thrills?

Benny wanted to be free. So you will give him that freedom.

"Y/N!" Johnny calls after you before you leave. You sigh and turn to him, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Take care of yourself."

"You too." You nod at him and leave the bar.

You leave everything behind. And you feel like a piece of you is dying in the flames of time and the cry of your tormented heart..

Surprisingly, it doesn't take you long to pack. Nor does it take you long to get off work. Two days later, you're standing in the hallway of your house, ready to hand over the keys to your cousin, who's supposed to be selling it.

You stare at the picture Danny took of you and Benny when you were sitting at one of the biker picnics. Benny and you were leaning against his bike. He had his arm over your shoulder and was staring at you with loving puppy eyes while you smiled at the camera.

You sigh, putting the photo into your wallet and impatiently waiting for your cousin.

Just then, there's a knock on your door. You sigh and open it. You freeze, completely shocked, when you see Benny there.

"I didn't hear your bike."

"I parked down the street. So you don't get scared and run away." He says, still leaning against your door frame.

"I'm not scared of you." You huff indignantly, looking at the scratches on his face. You frown, not remembering him getting any injuries from Mike.

"I had an accident."

"Of course you had." You snort, crossing your arms over your chest. You see his jaw quiver slightly, but he just continues to stare at you with those stupid blue eyes of his, like you're the only girl in the world. "I'm leaving." You inform him, swallowing hard and waiting for his reaction. He drops his gaze to your hands and nods.

"I can see that." He says, nodding at the large travel backpack behind you.

"I won't come back." You inform him, carefully observing his reaction to it. Of course, he doesn't show anything. His face is stony as he looks at you, and his facial muscles don't even move as he doesn't reveal a single emotion to you.

"You won't come back." He repeats, not moving an inch from his spot by your door. You clench your teeth in irritation, to which he just smiles. And oh, that damn smile of his...

"That's it. You can go. You always said you'd be the one to leave. Too bad I had to be the one with the balls to do it." You say angrily, ready for him to turn around and walk to his bike, but all he does is continue to stare at you. You shake your head and push past him when you see your cousin.

You ignore Benny as you sort out the details with your cousin. You grab your backpack and walk him back to his car. You say goodbye to him and watch the car drive away. As you turn to go to the bus stop, you bump into Benny's chest.

"Sorry. I didn't see you." You say, quickly pulling away from him and trying to suppress your blush after your hands were briefly on his chest. The damn thing still had some well-trained muscles.

"Give you a lift?" He asks you seemingly innocently and puts his hands in his pockets. His gaze burns you, making your blush stay on your cheeks a little longer.

"Where are you going?" You ask as you both walk in the same direction. You don't feel like going with him, but you're not going to tell him that yet. You know he'll think of anything to make you get on that fucking bike with him.

"Florida." At those words, you freeze and stand still. You swallow and look at him for a long moment as you remember how you once begged him to go to his cousin in Florida and start a new life there. Then he chose his bike. And you chose yourself.

"To your cousin?" You ask carefully, resuming your walk.

"He hired me at his car workshop." Benny nods, walking glued to your side with his hands clasped behind him.

You feel strangely at ease talking to him. You're out of the habit of it. Of having him so close to you, of feeling the warmth of his body close to yours, of his intoxicating scent, of having his hypnotising irises focused on you and of listening to that raspy voice of his.

You missed him.

"You will have a job?" You ask, shocked. You can't imagine a free spirit like Benny finding a permanent job with set hours. "Well... that's good for you. I guess." You comment as you both walk. Suddenly he steps in front of you and stops. You sigh when you see his bike parked exactly two steps away from you. Fuck, you let that son of a bitch lead you to his bike.

"Are you getting in?" He asks, nodding at his bike. And as much as you want to say yes, you know it'll be bad for both you and him.

You shouldn't be together. Or at least you didn't think so. Even though you loved him so damn much.

"I will buy a train ticket." You politely decline his offer. You expect him to nod silently, get on your bike, and ride off into the sunset forever, but he still stands firmly in front of you, blocking your path.

"Where to?" He asks and looks at you suspiciously, as if he knew perfectly well that you didn't know where you were going yet. You only knew that it was definitely far from Benny.

"You don't need to know." You growl stubbornly, trying to get past him and finally move on.

But Benny won't let you. Before you can register any movement, he moves quickly and takes your hands. He wraps them tightly around his waist, and suddenly you hear a metallic click and something cold and heavy being placed on your forearms. Handcuffs. Bloody handcuffs.

"Benny!!" You growl at him angrily and struggle as he walks towards his bike. "Where the hell did you get handcuffs from?"

"Cockroach." He answers shortly and sits down, making you have to follow his lead. He fucking kidnaps you.

"Benny... let me go!" You scream, trying to punch him in the stomach, but the handcuffs are so short and far enough away from your wrists that all you can do is hold on tight as he prepares to ride.

"Even if it's handcuffed, I'm leaving here with you." He tells you calmly, and you stare at him in disbelief. What the fuck?

"Don't joke! Benny!" Either he ignores your screams (which is most likely) or he doesn't hear them because at that very moment he starts the engine of his Harley.

So all you can do is sit behind him, holding on tight as he drives who knows where. Amazingly, he stops at red lights and doesn't go over the speed limit. It's only when he gets to the highway that he drives a little faster than the speed limit, but not enough to be considered dangerous driving.

You rest your cheek against his back in defeat as you realise there is absolutely no way out of this. Not if you want to stay alive. You can feel him relax a little as he rides forward, and you are not trying to fight with him. You sigh, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to rest behind him for a moment, revelling in the feeling of freedom as you whizzed through the air on his bike.

Fuck, you missed it.

The only break you get is a stop at a motel when the fuel runs out and the cold night starts to set in. Benny rents you a room (which is surprising because you were always the one paying) at the motel and leaves you there while he goes to fill up his Harley.

You think about escaping, but:

1. Benny took away the keys and locked you up there.

2. He made sure to rent a room on the highest floor of this damn building.

3. You were too tired and hungry after the ride to come up with some plan.

That's why you lay on the bed and wait for him to come back. Hopefully with food. It would be nice to eat something before you will kill him.

As if on cue, the keys turn in the door, and Benny steps inside. In his hand he has a large paper bag, which he places on the bed opposite you in an apologetic gesture of sacrifice for his sins. He can go to hell. Him and his damn puppy eyes.

"What is it?"

"Burgers. Took it for you. Your favourite." He says and makes sure he's locked the door. He puts the key in the keyhole and goes to the window.

He looks at his bike and takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He lights one and looks outside, not sparing you a single glance.

"Where's your jacket?" You ask, seeing as he's not wearing his Vandals' colours. It was weird seeing him in just a T-shirt.

"On a bike in the trunk. I don't know if they'd let me here wearing that."

"You never took it off." You say shocked and raise your eyebrows at him. "You will be cold without it." You notice and take the food out of the bag. You don't eat yet, wondering if you should leave him some, if he even ate anything before he came here.

"I was cold without you." He answers quickly without even thinking much about what he's saying. You see his cheeks redden slightly as he realises he said it out loud. "Eat." He clears his throat and takes a drag on his cigarette. You sigh and start eating. You hum, savouring the delicious food, and you swear you hear him chuckle quietly from his spot by the window. Big bastard.

"Where we going?" You ask him before biting into your burger. You frown as grease leaks onto your fingers. You lick them, unconsciously teasing Benny as he... imagines what your lips wrapped around just as perfectly as they now were wrapped around your fingers. He clears his throat, seeing that you’ve caught him staring at you.

"Florida. I want to show you something." You eat in silence, wondering what he wants to show you that makes him literally chain you to himself and drag you out of town.

"And then?" You can't stand it anymore and finally ask, curious about his future plans and how long he actually wants to keep you with him.

"And then you will decide."

"Decide what? Do I want the fur handcuffs or the regular metal ones?" You snap at him, irritated.

Your sharp mockery makes him throw his cigarette out the window, and his gaze lingers there, as if he were ashamed of what he had done. On the other hand, you didn't give him much of an exit or opportunity to talk normally. You wanted to leave—just like he had promised so many times that he would do. So why did he stubbornly want to keep you if he had never cared?

Benny wasn't one for words. He was sparing with his thoughts and emotions. And for a while, his actions spoke loud enough of his devotion to you. For a while. Then your honeymoon phase wore off, and you were annoyed that he never verbally confirmed to you what his eyes had told you so many times as he held you close by the fire at night at one of the Vandals meetings.

On this particular night, some famous actress that the guys were crazy about was coming to town. Half of them got on their bikes halfway through the party and wanted Benny to join them in hunting her down and taking a picture with her. They even bribed Danny to go with them and take their stupid pictures.

"Come on, Benny. You're not coming with us? I remember you were the one who hung her poster in the club so you could get a good view of her from the pool table." One of the guys was convincing Benny, who was currently lying on the grass and resting his head on your lap, practically forcing you to comb your hands through his blonde locks.

"I have a much better view here!" He shouts at them, not even turning his head in their direction. His blue eyes never leave your face. You blush a little, ducking your head and closing your eyes as you try to ignore the whistles and teasing from the boys at his response.

A moment later, Benny props himself up on his elbows and steals the most delightful, mind-numbing kiss. You cup his cheek in your hand and let yourself sink into the feeling of his soft lips against yours, letting out a quiet sigh when he tangles his hand in your hair and presses you against the trunk of the tree behind you. You ignore the cheering Vandals put on and completely immerse yourself in your little bubble with Benny.

Everyone had their poison. For Benny, it was cigarettes and his Harley. For you, it was him. And back then it didn't bother you one bit.

"I... if you want to go you can. I won't stop you." Benny mumbles under his breath, pulling you from your thoughts. You shake your head, snorting, and set the bag of food on the nightstand next to your bed.

"Thank you so much that you provide me with my basic human rights!" You growl at him angrily, reminding him about those stupid handcuffs.

"You didn't even want to give me a chance to explain myself to you. And you know perfectly well that I never ask for anything or expect anything in return. I... I didn't see any other way to get to you. And I'm not going to apologise for that."

You roll your eyes at him, irritated. But you can't say you don't see the reasoning behind his actions. But the prospect of being dragged around by him deeply offends your innate feminism.

Seeing that you have nothing to add to the matter, he closes the window. He walks over to you and grabs the blanket off the bed. You frown as he sits down in the armchair, clearly intending to sleep there. And you don't like the fact that even though you had him in the same room, you won't be able to have his arms wrapped around you. Especially since it's so damn cold in this motel.

"Come here. You will get sick by sitting near this window. It is cold outside, and they don't even heat the room." You grumble and make room for him on the bed, hoping that you don't have to tell him the real reason you want him next to you to get him in the same bed with you.

"I will be fine." He speaks carelessly and reaches into his pocket for another cigarette.

"Benjamin Cross." You growl at him, which finally gets his full attention. "Get your fucking ass here." Benny rolls his eyes but obediently stands up. He takes off his shoes and lies down next to you in bed.

He covers you with an extra blanket and leaves an absurd amount of space between you that you honestly hate. But you won't make the first move and throw yourself into his arms. Not after he kidnapped you. But... could it really be considered kidnapping if you partly wanted it and you didn't really have anywhere else to be?

You sigh, tossing and turning in your bed as you try to find a slightly comfortable sleeping position. But it's impossible to fall asleep with Benny so close to you when you are not even able to touch him. Especially when his warmth and scent reach you, assaulting you and every ounce of restraint and self-control you had.

"What's the matter with you?" Benny asks as you toss and turn in frustration once again.

"Nothing."

Benny knows that tone. All too well. So he hesitantly moves closer to you and experimentally places a hand on your waist. When you don't push away from him, he gently pulls you toward him and tightens his hold, pressing his chest against your back. You sigh and press your lips to his forearm, rubbing your nose against the tattooed skin.

Benny doesn't comment on that. That's something you like about him. That even when you do completely absurd things, he doesn't comment on it, doesn't deny it, just stands by you in silence. Just like now.

You take his hand in yours and squeeze it so hard that his rings dig into it. But you don't care. It's nice to finally have him this close.

Benny rests his chin on your shoulder and runs his nose against your temple. His beard gently tickles you, but you do nothing about it. It's been a long time since you've had this feeling of him close to you. You turn in his arms and snuggle into him.

Benny gently strokes your back with his hand, holding you close to him without a word as you revel in his scent. For a moment you forget why you should be mad at him and stay as far away from him as possible. So when his lips fall to your forehead and he presses a long kiss there, you grab his chin and steal the kiss from him.

His full, plump lips feel wonderful against yours and caress you nicely. You moan when you can finally taste his lips on yours again, and you remember how much you've missed this feeling. His hand roams over you, and you let him touch you wherever he wants. Benny, on the other hand, is confused. One moment you're yelling at him and you're angry, and the next you want him close to you and you kiss him like there's no tomorrow. It's a nice change. But Benny is afraid of how long it will last. Of how much longer will you want him? And will you want to leave again?

For now, he had you back in his arms. And he wanted to savour that feeling. And he will give you a goddamn reason to stay.

He cups your cheek in his hand and deepens the kiss. His tongue explores your mouth again, as if learning you all over again, before wrapping his tongue around yours. You sigh as his hand slides teasingly from your cheek, down your neck, over the valley of your breasts, and to the hem of your jeans.

"Benny..." You sigh as his cold fingers touch the skin of your stomach after he unbuttons your jeans TOO slowly.

"Do you want me to stop?" Benny almost chuckles at how fast and furious your head is shaking. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your bottom lip bitten in a desperate attempt to keep from making any sound as he gently brushes his fingers over your folds. The motel walls were thin after all. "Open your eyes for me, my little rascal, and say the words. After this, there will be no turning back."

You don't even think about turning back. You don't think about leaving him. You only think about how wonderful it is to have him by your side again, how wonderful his hands feel on you, and how much you want to kiss his stupid mouth until you both have enough breath. And that's exactly what you do.

With that form of agreement from you, his fingers gently delve into your folds, exploring previously familiar territory and teasing you unintentionally as he tries to appreciate every little second he has with you.

Sex with Benny was like that. Unique, intense, a long marathon. Because, as he said, you never know when it's the last time. Although you always prayed that it would never be the last time and that he and you will both live to experience another of your hot sessions.

For now, God listened to a sinner like you...

You almost scream as he digs his long fingers into you up to his knuckles. His rings rub against the entrance of your cunt, the even colder than his fingers metal is making you shiver. Benny kisses and nibbles your neck, leaving a trail of hickies from your lips to your collarbone.

His fingers slide in and out, pushing against that sweet spot inside you that makes you scream his name. His rings push through and enter your vagina, and you can see them glistening with your arousal. And it's fucking hot. As hot as Benny's hard manhood pressing against your thigh.

You dig your nails into his neck and moan into his ear as his thumbs is pressing your swollen clit, working with all his might to bring you to the edge of your orgasm.

You bite your lip, trying to muffle your moans and cries of pleasure so everyone in the motel doesn't hear you, but Benny won't have any of that. He kisses you hungrily and pulls his hand away from you completely. You gasp, lifting your hips and seeking his hand, but he doesn't resume his ministrations until a soft moan escapes your kiss-swollen lips.

"Such a good little desprate girl for me. You take my fingers so damn well now, wrapping your tight unused walls around them, and before when you were scandalously empty, you were a nasty little brat. I shouldn't reward you for running away from me, you know, my sweetest?" He mumbles in your ear with his hoarse voice, still refusing you the touch of his sinfully long fingers.

The tears in your eyes fall freely onto the pillow as you try to gather the last remnants of logical thought to somehow prove yourself to him, because you know you won't come if you just grind against him desperately in the hopes that he'll finally give you more.

"Please Benny… I… oh… I won't leave… I won't leave.."

You tangle your hand in his hair and tug on it, to which he lets out a soft growl from his plump lips. In punishment, he gently nips your collarbone, adding another hickey to the collection, as he thankfully pushes his fingers deep into your velvety wet and eager walls again and tries to bring you immense pleasure.

And it doesn't take him very long. A few thrusts of his fingers, kisses scattered across your neck, collarbone, and cleavage, and you're falling apart beneath him. Your brain is a useless mush as you come from the mere ministrations of his fingers and the dirty words he whispers in your ear. You're drunk on Benny, on the feel of his fingers inside you, his weight on you, and the burning marks his lips leave on your skin.

You lick your lips in anticipation for him to strip down so you can get to the main part, but he just flops onto his side next to you, ignoring the obvious hard soreness in his pants, and wraps his arms around you tightly, pulling you against his chest.

"I missed it." He whispers, kissing your knuckles. You feel his grip on your hand tighten, but he doesn’t move to taste you on his fingers. He simply places your joined hands on his chest, his other hand wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer.

You know this is the closest you'll get to an admission of guilt and an apology from him. So you accept it and gently snuggle into him.

"Good night, Benny." You whisper into his neck. He shivers.

Goosebumps appear on the skin of his neck, but he doesn't move. You just lie there, cuddled up to each other, and he presses a long kiss to the top of your head. You feel fulfilled, satisfied, happy,

He lies under you politely, ignoring his discomfort, and you know that this is some kind of sick punishment for himself. Yet you do nothing to stop it. He has to realise that he can't just take you on his bike and take you to hell knows where. He needs to realise that he can't be such a free spirit anymore if he really wants you. That he can't keep doing the shit he did with the Vandals.

Even if you're happy with how things turned out after he dargged you out of the town.

And when the next day he takes you to Florida and shows you the old family home that he inherited from his deceased father and says that he would love to burn this place down in the past, but now he wants to keep it and renovate it for you if you agree to stay with him as his wife, you know you can't stay mad at him forever. Especially not after he slides one of his rings off his finger and places it securely on yours in a silent promise and understanding between you.

You whether gonna be his wife or gonna smash up his bike, (you haven't decided yet) but in the end you gonna finally make him yours and only yours.

After all, he didn't get you back just for you to leave him again. You will stay with each other until the very end. Even if it would destroy you.

#benny cross x reader #benny cross #the bikeriders #benny the bikeriders #austin butler benny #oneshot #benny cross x y/n #benny x reader #angst #fluff #smut #actually obsessive #fools in love #jealousy #getting back together #exes #exes to lovers #inspired by taylor swift #kind of kidnapping

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typicalopposite · 3 months ago

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never letting you go (again)

based on this post

The room is dark. The air inside is thick and hot, and it stinks like sex, sweat, and rash… very impulsive… decisions. But more importantly it smells like Tommy— Buck tightens his arms around the softly snoring body he’s clinging to, pulling him closer, and happily breathes him in. He can still hear the echoes of love confessions he thinks should have never taken this long to be made— shouldn’t have taken the risk of never getting to be said at all… it had been such a close call. But… they have been made now. That’s all that matters.

Buck’s eyelids feel heavy.

He is exhausted, but he’s not ready— or willing— to sleep. Not yet. Not when he finally has Tommy back; he’s really here, in his arms… after telling Buck he has loved him since before they broke up. How does he sleep with that knowledge?! Tommy let’s out another snore, shifts to tuck himself further into Buck’s embrace, and mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep, before resettling. Buck laughs. Even exhausted, he feels like he is on cloud nine– he feels relieved, content, and just unbelievably happy again… finally.

He somehow manages to press himself even closer against Tommy’s back and brings his arm up from where it is draped over Tommy’s waist, to align with the bend of his arm. He can feel himself slipping… each blink spacing out more and more with the last; and if he can’t stay awake to make sure Tommy won’t disappear in the night… he must do something else to ensure that he stays put. So he wraps his hand around Tommy’s wrist, holding him securely… so he can’t get away again.

Before Buck finally falls asleep he presses one more kiss to the back of Tommy’s neck and mumbles out an “I love you,” smiling when Tommy mumbles one back.

Tommy wakes up feeling more rested than he has in at least four months.

He keeps his eyes closed for a moment and just takes in everything he can feel: the sunlight coming through the window… warm on his face, the a/c blowing down on him from the vent above the bed, the comforter wrapped around them, the hot breath puffing out against the back of his neck…

The hand gripping his wrist for dear life.

Tommy cracks his eyes open just enough to look at where he is being held. Evan is practically plastered to his body, but there is something grounding about how he is holding his wrist. Tight– not tight enough to hurt, but to clearly have a purpose. It doesn’t feel possessive, it feels desperate. Like he is making sure Tommy doesn’t run away again, and that simple gesture is the eye-opening thing Tommy has ever experienced. He gives his arm a small tug, and smiles when– even still fast asleep– Evan’s grip tightens.

He closes his eyes and falls back asleep, feeling secure in the arms of the man he loves, who loves him too– who he wishes he would have let love him sooner.

Tommy’s teasing voice is what finally wakes Buck up the next day. “Baby, I’m gonna need this back eventually…” he says, deep and scratchy like he always sounds when he first wakes up, and it’s distracting enough Buck doesn’t catch what Tommy’s is saying until he feels him tug against his grip.

“Oh– Oh, s- sorry,” Buck says, hesitating a second before finally releasing Tommy’s wrist. He sits up and stretches and tries to ignore how Tommy is still staring at him, and the embarrassment that he actually held him— literally gripping him tight— the whole night, and then got caught. “So— So are you hungry? O- Or are you going to head out… or—”

He is cut off by Tommy’s hand cupping his cheek. He pulls him into a soft tender kiss; it speaks volumes before he even can break away to say, “I’m not going anywhere, Evan… Not this time.”

Buck hates the way he still feels unsure, and how Tommy seems to pick up on it immediately. He gives him that look— the one he claims to have no idea he’s doing and teases Buck is imagining. The one that says trust me, okay? Buck wants to. He tries to. He will. He will eventually, at least. “G- Good… that’s— that’s good,” he finally says, resting his forehead against Tommy’s, stealing another kiss… and then another, and another… “So— Yes to breakfast, then?”

“It’s almost noon, Evan…” Tommy laughs.

“Brunch then…”

Tommy smiles. His face scrunches and the crinkles around his nose and eyes deepen just like Buck had remembered and missed so much. “Brunch sounds perfect.” He presses a kiss to Buck's forehead and Buck sighs at the realization that he has been craving that gentleness for so long.

“Can we just… lay here a little longer first?” He wants to stay in this moment— with Tommy here… really here… in his bed with him— before he can move forward and trust it to not just slip away again.

Tommy’s eyes soften; knowingly. “Of course,” he says, and lays back into the pillows, grabbing Buck by the wrist and pulling him down with him.

#bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy ficlet #getting back together

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hairmetal666 · 1 year ago

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TW for internalized homophobia and related bad decisions

Steve is 12 and he thinks about finding his soulmate all the time.

You're supposed to find them through touch; your life together will flash in front of your eyes. They're rare, though, soulmates. So rare that most people never find theirs. So rare that some people say they're made up.

Steve wants to be one of the lucky few. He wants it to be a true, unbreakable bond, a love he gets to have forever.

He wonders if he'll find his soulmate at school. He's popular, he thinks. Tommy would say they were popular. But Tommy's definition of popular mostly has to do with the number of kids he can get away with being mean to, and that's not really Steve's deal. Tommy is like a prey animal, the way he can find weaknesses.

There's a new boy at school. Steve doesn't know his name, but they have English together. He's too thin, with huge brown eyes, and all his clothes are too big. His head's been inexpertly shaved and he never looks anybody in the eye. It's only a matter of time before he catches Tommy's interest, and Steve wishes he could stop it somehow, but he's never been good at going against Tommy.

The day comes, of course. They're standing in the hall, the new boy walking towards them, head down, as always. Tommy nudges Steve says, "What a loser."

And Steve shrugs, starts to ask Tommy about football, if the Colts can make the Super Bowl, but the boy is nearing and Tommy is cackling.

"Watch this." Tommy sticks his foot out.

The boy doesn't react fast enough. He falls forward with a bitten off yelp, and Steve moves without really thinking, only knows he can't stand to see him fall. He catches the new kid beneath his armpits, Steve's thumbs brushing the soft skin his arms.

The world around him falls away at the touch.

---

He's sitting on the floor in the band room, Eddie--the boy's name is Eddie--next to him. Eddie's hair is a little longer and Steve's in a green polo he doesn't recognize, and he's never been in the band room in his life. They're leaning into each other and laughing and Eddie's so beautiful.

---

They're in the woods--Skull Rock, Steve thinks. Eddie's hair is curled and frizzed around his chin, and he's laughing, his cheeks pink, his dimples prominent. He tries to pull his hair in front of his face, but it's not long enough yet to reach. Steve is overwhelmed, wants to kiss him so bad. He's never had to wait to kiss someone, or been unsure, or--

He wants to kiss Eddie.

So, he does.

It's hard, desperate, not the first kiss Steve expected, but then they've been waiting for so long.

---

Steve stands in the hallway of Hawkins High. He's wearing a striped, beige short-sleeved polo, and flirting with Nancy Wheeler.

He likes Nancy, she's pretty and smart and fun. And it's easy. He can hold her hand. Can introduce her to his parents. Can take her on dates and kiss her in public.

She bats her big blue eyes at him, and he can't help but kiss her.

He pulls away gently, brushing his thumb against her cheek, and when he looks down the hall, Eddie is there, frozen. His mouth is wide, his eyes glassy.

Steve thinks the way his heart stutters must be what dying feels like.

---

He's sitting on his diving board, facing away from the pool. He smokes a cigarette and there's a bat studded with nails at his feet, what the fuck. Music thuds, shrieks and laughter seep into the cool night air.

He should be playing the gracious host. He should be having a good time. Instead, his eyes search the woods and he taps another smoke out of the pack.

"Harrington?" The voice makes him jump, hand flexing around the bat handle. "It's freezing out. What are you doing?"

He recognizes the voice now, doesn't turn, doesn't respond, can't stand to see another person he let down; another person who could call him bullshit and be 100% correct.

"Do you not have a jacket? C'mon, man."

Something warm settles over his shoulders, and he inadvertently breathes in weed and leather and cedar. He squeezes his eyes shut, like that will make the comforting, familiar scent go away. He'll have to move to shrug off the jacket, though, which would mean acknowledging Eddie's presence.

"Can you at least say something, Harrington? You're freaking me out."

"I'm fine, Ed--Eddie." The nickname falls from his lips too easily. He doesn't miss how Eddie flinches.

His hair is long now, down to his shoulders, brittle looking in the cold. He's wearing a t-shirt and worn flannel, arms wrapped around his chest for warmth now that his jacket is draped over Steve's shoulders.

Steve is an idiot. He's such an idiot. Chasing after Nancy when Eddie is--

"I'm sorry," he says. He turns to face his soulmate, then. "I'm sorry about Nancy, I--"

Eddie jerks back like he's been hit. "Fuck you, Harrington," he snarls.

---

He sits in the back of an ambulance, eyes swollen shut, face throbbing. He's wearing a sailor suit for inexplicable reasons, which is almost more upsetting than the ambulance. He smells like puke and something toxically sweet.

A girl is with him, one he doesn't recognize, but he feels deeply, instinctively protective of her. He holds her shaking shoulders tight, tries to whisper comfort to her through his busted and bleeding mouth.

He's pretty sure he has a concussion.

"Steve!" Someone screams over the sounds of the EMTs and firefighters, of the building burning and collapsing behind them.

Eddie bursts through the gathered onlookers and past the ring of police cars enclosing them. He's falling into the ambulance before Steve has a chance to react.

"Sweetheart," Eddie sobs. He tries to cup Steve's face, but his fingers flutter around the damage. "Sweetheart, oh my god. I came as soon as I heard. Are you--what can I--"

Steve stares at him--his hair falling from its messy bun, his cutoff Metallica tee, concern and love leaking from those brown, brown eyes--and bursts into tears.

---

They sit on the roof of his house, sharing a joint back and forth. It's chilly, bordering on cold, winter just on the horizon. They're laughing, leaning into each other, and Steve is--he's happy. Elated. Could float away with it.

Robin--Robin-- is in the bathroom, or maybe in the kitchen for snacks, and it's just them for now. They're looking at each other, smiles wide, eyes bright.

They're taking it slow. Steve knows it's important, after what he did. They talked about it, his abandoning of Eddie for Nancy, chasing what his dad told him was normal and expected.

He doesn't want to cross any boundaries, wants to do this right. How Eddie deserves. But they're leaning into each other and they're smiling, and he's so in love. Intoxicated with it, lost.

In the end, he doesn't know who makes the first move, just that they're kissing and it's like coming home.

---

He's in a building, a shed or something. It's musty and dirty, smells like oil and gasoline and a building left closed up too long. Eddie's in his arms and he's talking through hiccuping sobs.

"I didn't save her, Steve. I didn't help. I just left her there! She was broken in pieces and I--I--"

Steve holds him close, tight, squeezes his eyes closed to stop his own tears from falling. He never wanted this for Eddie, never wanted him involved. Thought he could protect him from all of Hawkins's terrible things.

They aren't alone. Robin is there, coming up to hold Eddie too, plus a redheaded girl and curly haired boy he doesn't recognize.

"We'll figure this out, Eddie." The boy promises.

"We won't let anyone hurt you. We know you didn't murder Chrissy," the girl says.

---

Steve is in a world he doesn't understand, and Eddie is his arms. Eddie is in his arms, and there's blood everywhere. He's not awake, he's not--his heart beat is soft and slow, too slow, and his breathing stutters, and Steve can't--

"Baby, stay with me." He begs as he runs across the dead and rotting landscape. "Eddie, please. Wake up, okay? Wake up for me. I need to--I need to know that you're alright."

Eddie stays limp in his arms.

"Please," he begs. "You can't leave me. We promised, remember? We promised we'd be together forever. The rest of our lives. Me and You. Our six little nuggets. You promised."

The portal back to Hawkins is less than a dozen feet away, he's so close. Eddie gasps to consciousness, but his eyes are still hazy.

"Hi, sweetheart," he mumbles.

"Hey, hi, you're doing so good. We're almost out, okay? We're almost out and we'll get you to the hospital."

Eddie reaches out a weak hand, touches the edge of Steve's jaw. "Love you, Stevie," he whispers. "Glad you were mine."

He goes still in Steve's hold.

---

The images come faster now--

A hospital room at Hawkins General, Eddie hooked to machines. Steve holds hands with an older man. They wait in terrified silence

Eddie propped in a bed, a bunch of kids around him, Steve and Robin at his side. His eyes keep sliding to Steve, like he's making sure Steve's real, that he's still there

Their bodies tangled together in a bedroom Steve doesn't recognize

Steve down on one knee in a marble room lit only by black and red candles, Eddie standing in front of him

Hand-in-hand on a cliffside overlooking the ocean. The Chief of Police, Jim Hopper, stands in front of them with tears in his eyes and a beaming smile on his face

In a big, green yard behind a cozy little house. A little boy with Eddie's eyes and curls riding on his shoulders. Eddie sprinting around with a tiny girl giggling after him, perfect imitation of the King Steve hair-do on her tiny head

In a park, surrounded by family and friends. Steve has a little bit of a paunch and wears glasses. Eddie's hair streams around his shoulders, going grey at the temples. There's a banner strung between trees proclaiming 'Happy 20th Steve and Eddie!' They're surrounded by everyone they love and it's perfect

---

The images flash too fast for Steve to catalog after that, seconds-long glimpses of a shared future, and then he's back in his body in the hallway of Hawkins Middle, still holding too tight onto Eddie's arms.

Eddie rears back, face pale and terrified, and Steve is too shocked to do anything but let him go.

Tommy's yelling, but Steve only has eyes for his soulmate, who scrambles to his feet and throws himself down the hall away from them.

"What the hell, Harrington? Why'd you catch him? That was about to be funny as hell! I bet he'd have broken his nose--you ruined it!"

Steve isn't listening. He's trying to hold on to the memories of their life together, the ones that are already fading.

The last thing he remembers is that, sometime in the not-too-distant future, he'll find his way to the band room, Eddie Munson, and the rest of their lives.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #soulmate au #fluff #angst #angst with a happy ending #childhood sweethearts #canon divergent au #everyone lives/nobody dies #glimpses of the future #getting together #break up #getting back together #first kiss #brief stancy #platonic stobin

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wikiangela · 1 month ago

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loved you then, now I intend to love you even more (I'm never gonna let you go)

rated: M word count: 3.9k

summary: Buck and Tommy get the morning after kitchen counter make-out they deserve.

[read on Ao3]

"Hey," Buck reluctantly pulls away, cups Tommy's face in his hands, eyes scanning his face, "last night was great, and I- I don't want to assume, this doesn't have to change anything-" "Why not?" Tommy tilts his head, seemingly confident, unwavering, but Buck can see the hesitation and worry in his eyes. The fear of getting hurt again. He can recognize it now. Or maybe Tommy's just letting him see it this time. "Are you saying- does this mean what I think it means?" He asks, voice shaky and hopeful, and Tommy grins. "What are you doing on Saturday?" He bumps his nose against Buck's.

[read on Ao3]

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ivyyisbored22 · 5 months ago

Text

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Read part one: 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 to understand the story...

Synopsis: Young and successful, Stray Kids are dominating the world with their ongoing tour. While the other members have moved on and found their own happiness, Chan remains trapped in the bittersweet memories of your love and the pain of your breakup.

A few years later when you attend their concert at the front row, fate decides to bring back the world it once shattered.

Content Warnings: Second chance. Tears, mention of alcohol, hurt, comfort, getting back together.

Note: This is the part two, the idea which won in this poll I posted. Sorry that it took so long to be uploaded ^^;

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count:4.4k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

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The wind brushed strands of hair on your face, the surrounding bustling with excitement, chatters and giggling as you stood in front of the enormous stadium, large enough to fit over eighty thousand people.

“Ah I'm gonna see Stray Kids for the first time!” An excited fan smiled and exclaimed, posing in front of the stadium doors with their SKZOO plushie and lightstick.

Others were making their way inside, dressed in gorgeous outfits, everyone equally excited to see the eight idols dominate the stage.

You watched as everyone made their way in, yet you stood in front of the stadium, your heart torn between deciding if you should go inside or just turn back and go to the airport.

It's been five years.

Five years since you last saw him. In front of you. His dimpled smile, Australian accent, killing eyes that you once fell for.

And you still are. Even after all this time.

“Are you lost?” A voice startled you. You turned around to see a security guard looking at you curiously, you've been standing without a movement for quite some time.

“Oh no, I—” you stuttered but then showed your phone to the guard.

He took a look at your screen, front row, and pointed you in the direction towards the VIP entrance. "You're right this way," the guard said with a polite nod, stepping aside to let you through.

Your feet felt heavy as you took slow, deliberate steps toward the entrance, the distant thumping of the bass from inside the stadium reverberating through your chest.

Your grip tightened around your phone, knuckles turning white as your emotions warred within you. Excitement, anxiety, and something deeper, an ache that never quite healed.

As you entered the stadium, the roar of the crowd swallowed you whole. The stage was massive, glowing in a spectrum of colors that danced across the eager faces of thousands of fans.

You took your seat in the front row, surrounded by a sea of lightsticks waving in unison, creating an ocean of pulsating red.

In the backstage, the eight RockStars were preparing to get on stage. Felix and I.N were fixing their earpieces and straightening their outfits, Lee Know and Changbin helping each other rehearse their lines but mostly just joking around.

Seungmin was fixing the chords of his guitar while Han did a quick facetime with his girlfriend back home and Hyunjin was being sneaky with his girlfriend somewhere backstage.

And there was Bang Chan. His eyes drifted across the bustling backstage area, his members were thriving, finding happiness in ways he once imagined for himself.

Chan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was happy for them—genuinely. Like the best leader he always was.

Amidst the excitement and anticipation of another sold-out show, he couldn’t ignore the emptiness that still lingered in his heart.

"Hyung," Felix’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. "You good?"

Chan blinked and nodded quickly, forcing a reassuring smile. "Yeah, yeah. Just thinking. Let's kill the stage.”

Felix studied him for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but decided not to press further and bumped fists with him. "You know we always do.”

“Boys! It's time!” Chan called out, the members gathered one by one, forming a circle and putting their hands in front.

“Step out! We are STRAY KIDS!”

They chanted in unison and prepared to get on stage. A montage of their journey played on the enormous screens, and cheers erupted as the lights dimmed.

The opening VCR ended, and the members took the stage one by one, their energy electrifying the atmosphere. You watched as Han and Hyunjin emerged first, followed by Felix, Seungmin, Lee Know, I.N, Changbin.

And then… Bang Chan.

He walked onto the stage with the same effortless charisma that once made your world revolve around him. Your heart pounded behind your chest, he looked almost the same as he did five years ago but now more stronger and powerful.

True to the name of their tour, the eight stars indeed dominated the stage with their energetic music, dance and performance, the crowd erupting in waves of cheers and screams.

The setlist carried on, the members pouring their souls into every performance, when Chan's gaze swept over the front row and landed on you, everything shifted.

Time froze in that instant, only the locked space between you and Chan floating in the air. Your heart clenched as his eyes widened, refusing to believe that it was indeed you in front of him tonight.

The girl he once had to let go because loving you had come at a cost too heavy to bear.

Chan’s breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, he forgot where he was. The thundering bass, the flashing lights, the deafening cheers—all of it faded into the background. It was just you. Standing there.

Looking up at him with those same eyes that once held his entire world.

Distressing nights crashed into his mind.

The brown liquid stung and burned when it made its way down his throat. It was strong and bitter, like chewing and swallowing medicine.

Only three glasses of whiskey and that reached the limit. It didn't do anything to numb the pain and the fire burning in his chest.

Han and Changbin watched their friend struggling to cope after his break up with you. Han got up from the couch and silently moved the bottle and glass away from Chan whose head had fallen back on his desk chair.

“Chan Hyung..." Han’s voice had been soft yet firm, like he was talking to a fragile child. “This isn’t the way to deal with it.”

Chan’s head lolled to the side, his bloodshot eyes meeting Han’s concerned gaze. “Then what is?” he rasped, his voice cracking from shouting into the void earlier.

“What do I do, Han? Tell me, because every time I close my eyes, I see her walking out of that door. Every time I breathe, it feels like she’s still here, but she’s not. She’s gone.”

After you left, Chan was grieving the entire night, unable to work or do anything at all. He had promised to not contact you again but impulsivity led him to go to your apartment only to find out that you had moved out without a single trace. His friends tried to contact you through social media, but everything related to you had vanished overnight, as if nothing about you ever existed, crushing his soul in and out.

Changbin had sighed heavily, gently placing his hand on Chan's shoulder. “Hyung, you know we’re here for you, right? But killing yourself like this, drinking until you pass out, it’s not going to bring her back.”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” Chan had snapped, his voice hoarse with frustration and heartbreak. For the first time YEARS Chan raised his voice that made Changbin and Han flinch.

“I let her go. I had to, for the group, for the fans, for everything that wasn’t her. And now...” His voice broke. “Now, I don’t even know who I am without her.”

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of the studio equipment. Han had stepped closer, his expression pained but resolute.

“Then find yourself again, Hyung. Please. It’ll hurt, but you have to. For us, for the fans and for her. But we know that one day you'll reunite again…”

That night had been a turning point. He had thrown himself into his work with relentless fervour, using the music to drown out the noise of his heartbreak.

But no matter how many songs he wrote, how many hours he spent producing, he could never erase the phantom of you.

Now, five years later, that phantom was standing right in front of him, flesh and bone and as breathtaking as ever

His fingers curled tightly around the mic, knuckles white, but years of performing instinct kicked in. He forced himself to move, to sing, to dance—but it wasn’t the same anymore.

Every step felt heavier, every lyric hit closer to home, and every glance at you chipped away at the careful walls he’d built around his heart.

“You okay?” Lee Know mouthed between the choreography, nudging him subtly.

Chan could only nod, blinking hard to refocus. His body was working on its own, but his heart and mind wandered elsewhere.

While maintaining professionalism and his usual banter on stage along with the members, interacting with fans, every now and then he took a glance at you, who continued to watch him with nothing but pride filled in your eyes at how far he has come.

One part of your heart was happy that he still remembered you even if the both of you can never be together again, and another part of it ached at the past feelings and the shattering heartbreak.

Your grip tightened around the lightstick in your hand. Chan saw the way your chest rose and fell unevenly, saw the way your lips pressed together as if holding back tears.

With their final act, for a long time Chan's gaze only glued to your row, wrapping up their show for the night.

One by one Stray Kids bid their goodbyes and began disappearing into the darkness. The crowd erupted into cheers, some were emotional, others wore a huge smile on their faces for having the best night of their lives.

While you remained not knowing how to feel.

Not knowing if you should feel happy for finally having the courage to attend a concert and see Chan after so many years or hold your heart that's in pieces and go back home knowing that's the final you're giving yourself to ever see him again.

With a low exhale, you turned away to the exit when the same security guard who helped you inside stopped in front of you.

“Can I help you?” You asked, feeling slightly intimidated by his tall figure.

“Wear this,” he handed you a black mask, “and come with me.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you stared at the black mask in your hand. “I—I'm sorry, but what is this for?” you asked, your voice cautious.

The guard remained impassive, his gaze steady but not unkind. “You’ll know soon enough. Just put it on and follow me.”

Hesitation gripped you. You swallowed hard, your heart was still racing from the concert, from Chan’s lingering gaze that felt like it was reaching deep into your soul.

Should you run away? But something in the guard’s gaze said that it could be something you might not expect, so reluctantly, you slipped the mask over your face, tugging it securely behind your ears before nodding at the guard.

Without another word, he turned and led you through a side passage that veered away from the exiting crowd.

The further you walked, the louder your heartbeat became, echoing in your ears like the remnants of a song you weren’t ready to let go of.

The corridor was dimly lit, the hum of staff members and distant voices filling the space. It smelled of sweat, stage fog, and something unmistakably nostalgic.

You were led past a heavy curtain, and suddenly, the guard stopped. “Wait here,” he said firmly before disappearing behind a door, leaving you standing in what looked like the backstage area.

You blinked, taking in the chaotic but empty space around you—rows of clothing racks, half-empty water bottles scattered across tables, a faint hum of music still reverberating through the walls.

As you turned around, you caught the sight of two guys, standing frozen in place like they had just seen a ghost. You recognised them instantly (well obviously), memories flooding back when you were like your own little friend group.

Han’s mouth fell unhinged while Hyunjin's eyes threatened to pop out of his sockets.

Your heart raced like a freight train, swallowing hard you smiled. “Uh…hi?”

“No way.” Han was the first to recover, shaking his head with a bewildered chuckle. “Are we dreaming? Is she actually here?” He nudged Hyunjin hard enough to make him stumble. “Dude, say something.”

Hyunjin’s lips parted, his gaze scanning you like he was trying to piece together an impossible puzzle.

Slowly the other members appeared one after another, gathering before you, like a long-lost family reunion frozen in time. Each of them stood there, wide-eyed, their expressions shifting from disbelief to cautious joy.

Your chest tightened, emotions welling up at the sight of them all together again. Memories hit you like waves—late-night hangouts, inside jokes, and the way they always made you feel like you belonged.

“I…” you started, your voice faltering under their weighty stares. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

Han’s smile faded slightly, his eyes softening. “Yeah, no kidding,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “You just—poof. Gone.”

Hyunjin finally found his voice, quieter than before. “We looked for you, you know? But you disappeared without a trace.”

You swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at you. “I had to. I... I couldn't stay.”

Before anyone could respond, a familiar face cut through the air, appearing behind Changbin. The moment you saw him, your heart clenched so tightly it hurt. Air was knocked out of your lungs.

Chan stepped into view, his breath hitching with a soft smile the second his eyes locked onto yours.

“Hey my love,” he breathed, barely above a whisper, yet it echoed through the silence like a deafening confession.

You bit your lip as your chin wobbled, tears gushing up your eyes, so close to falling. You stood rooted to the spot, your pulse pounding in your ears. His dark eyes swept over you, lingering on every familiar detail as if he was afraid that you’d disappear again if he blinked.

Chan walked towards you, the sound of his boots echoing off the walls, each step feeling like a lifetime as he closed the distance between you.

You touched your elbow, hoping it would hold you from falling on the floor, your breathing increased with every passing second.

“Let's give them a moment…” you faintly heard Felix tell the others, you could see them disappearing but nothing could be registered other than Chan who stood in front of you.

Present and achingly real.

Tears blurred your vision, the moment you blinked they rolled down your cheeks. Chan hesitated for a fraction of a second, his hand twitching as if unsure whether to touch you or not.

But then, without another thought, he cupped your cheek so gently, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled.

Words were stuck in your throat. Time was frozen. A longing warmth engulfed you. You leaned into his touch instinctively, your hands trembling as they reached up to hold his wrist.

A shaky breath left your lips as you held onto him, trying to soak in the warmth you had been deprived of for so long. Chan smiled softly and pulled you into his arms holding you tightly against his chest, as if afraid you might slip away again.

Your eyes widened, then closed, your hands gripping his back, hugging him back equally tightly.

Held back sobs broke free, you choked as you let your tears fall and soak his top, holding onto Chan unwilling to let him go.

Chan held the back of your head, not speaking a word but his throat was tight, holding back his emotions biting the lower lip, his eyes shut but lashes brimming with tears.

His arms tightened around you, his grip was desperate, his heart hammering against your ear, a silent confession of everything he never got to say.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, his voice raw and heavy with years of unsaid words. “I’m so…so sorry.”

You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, pressing your face deeper into his chest. “Don’t,” you managed to croak out between your sobs.

Your body shook with quiet sobs against him, your fists clutching the fabric of his top as if it could hold together the pieces of your shattered heart.

"I missed you," you choked out, the confession slipping through your tears.

"I never wanted to let you go," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. "I didn't have a choice... they—"

"I know," you whispered, cutting him off, your voice raw with pain.

You remembered that devastating evening when you walked out of his apartment, closing the door behind you and heard a loud crash soon after. With every ounce left in your body you walked away, refusing to look back.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes, those same dark, expressive eyes you fell in love with, were bloodshot and glassy with unshed tears. You could see everything in them. The pain. The regret. The love that never faded.

“I left that day,” you continued, your voice trembling, “telling you my heart belonged to you… yours to love and yours to break.” Your lips wobbled, fresh tears slipping down. “And it still does, Chan. Even after all this time.”

Chan’s face contorted in anguish, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks again, trying to wipe away years of pain. "I never wanted to break you," he whispered. “I'm so sorry for hurting you my love, I'm so fucking sorry…”

You swallowed hard, your eyes searching his. "Did you ever move on?"

Chan shook his head instantly, his grip on you tightening. “No,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours. “I tried, but...how could I? You were everywhere. In my music, in my dreams, in every damn thing I did.”

He laughed bitterly, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I wrote songs about you... but I couldn't say your name. I couldn't even let them know who they were really about."

You sniffled, a small, broken smile tugging at your lips, your fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair. Chan let out a choked laugh, pulling you even closer.

Silence stretched between you, the weight of the years apart pressing down, but in this moment, none of it mattered. It was just you and him, tangled in a mess of heartbreak and longing.

Your hand cupped his face, his skin was hot under your palm, he leaned in, soaking your touch, as if this was the first time in five years he could finally let his feelings out.

Your heart pounded against your chest, but you whispered, "I don't know what happens now.”

Chan opened his eyes, brushing a strand of hair being your ear, a desperate kind of hope in his gaze.

"We try," he said softly. "If you'll let me...we try again. I don't care what it takes, sweetheart. I lost you once, and I can't do it again.”

The scars never healed and wounds were still fresh. Could you do it again? Could you believe in him? Let yourself fall back into the world you once built together, knowing how easily it could shatter all over again?

His gaze was searching yours, silently pleading for an answer. But he could see it, the fear etched across your face, the hesitation flickering in your eyes.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice laced with understanding. “I know you’re afraid. I am too.” He leaned in closer, his forehead brushing against yours. “But I swear, I won’t let you get hurt again. I won't let you go.”

Your lips parted, a shuddering breath escaping, but before you could say anything, Chan’s mouth crashed with yours.

You froze, eyes widened, but you melted into him in a heartbeat, letting his tongue slip past your lips and kiss you fiercely.

Love, hurt, fear, anger, desperation.

His hand held your neck as your fingers snaked through his hair, teeth against teeth, breaths colliding, there was no room to breathe.

You gasped against his mouth, the tears slipping between your lips, but neither of you pulled away. The kiss deepened, urgent and unrelenting, you both were trying to make up for all the lost time, for all the moments you could have had but were cruelly stolen from you.

Finally, when air became an undeniable necessity, Chan pulled back, his breath ragged and hot against you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “For everything. For letting them take you away from me. I should have fought harder. I should have—”

You silenced him with a soft brush of your fingers against his lips, shaking your head as fresh tears welled up. “We both got hurt, Chan,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“But I always hoped that one day I could find my way back to you.”

You played a trembling smile that made Chan’s breath catch, his dark eyes glistening with a mix of relief and longing.

The weight of what felt like an eternity of lost years pressed heavily between you both. You remembered the nights you spent staring at the empty space beside you, wondering if he missed you as much as you missed him.

And now, standing in front of him, you saw it, the same ache, the same yearning in his eyes. He missed you just as much, refusing to move on and playing a smile on his face that was convincing enough to make everyone think he was fine.

But only the ones who knew, knew that he wasn't.

Chan's fingers intertwined with yours, his forehead pressing on yours as he exhaled a long breath, living in the moment.

“Can we try again?” His breath ghosted over your skin, his voice so raw and filled with a quiet desperation that it made your chest tighten painfully.

Your lips parted, your pulse hammering in your ears. “What if we end up breaking all over again?” The vulnerability in your voice made his brows furrow, his eyes searching yours with a tenderness that almost unraveled you.

His thumb traced soothing circles over your knuckles. “Then we’ll piece ourselves back together,” he said softly, his voice steady yet laced with the same fear you held.

You swallowed hard, staring into his eyes—the eyes you had once memorized, the eyes that haunted your dreams every night. “I’m still scared,” you admitted, voice shaking.

Chan let out a breathy chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “I’m scared too, sweetheart,” he whispered.

“But I’d rather be scared with you than be without you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and he was quick to catch it with his thumb, his touch lingering against your skin. “I’ve missed you,” he breathed, his voice cracking.

“I missed you too, Channie. Every single day.”

Chan bit his lip smiling yet his eyes held a wave of fresh tears, his dimple deepening, that same dimple that made your heart flutter in the best way possible.

“Will you stay with me?” He asked for the third time, hope still lingering across his features, refusing to give up.

He fought himself, blamed himself, hated himself for letting you slip away from him that easily.

But now he was determined to win you back no matter the cost. Because sometimes the heart remembers what the mind tries to forget. And love has a way of finding its way back, even through the wreckage.

A shiver ran down your spine, voices in your mind screaming for you to not fall for false hope even though your heart begged you to not let him go.

Your fingers reached up, tracing the curve of his cheek, a ghost of a smile tugging at your lips despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

Chan watched you curiously and cautiously, you closed your eyes, his presence grounding you, anchoring you to a reality that felt both terrifying and beautiful.

And in that moment, despite the fears clawing at your soul, you nodded—slowly, hesitantly—but it was enough.

His hug engulfed you again, letting out a shaky sob but traced with a low laugh, relief washing over him, finally giving the chance to forgive himself.

“Thank you,” he breathed, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

And you stood there, wrapped in his embrace, a real, genuine smile playing on your lips for the first time, letting yourself get lost in the world you once walked out from.

Bang!

The loud sound of the popper tube made both your hearts threaten to jump out of your throats, pieces of shiny gold and silver confetti swirling around you in a cascade of shimmering light.

You gasped, instinctively gripping onto Chan’s top as laughter erupted from behind you. The guys stood there, grinning like a bunch of mischievous kids, their faces full of warmth and excitement.

Felix, holding the empty confetti popper, yelled “Surprise!” breaking the emotional tension with his infectious, sunshine energy.

You blinked, feeling the weight of the moment give way to laughter as Hyunjin threw his arms in the air. “Finally! I was starting to think you two would just stare at each other forever.”

Chan let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head, his arm securely wrapped around your waist and the other hand rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced down at you, his eyes warm and radiant.

A small giggle escaped your lips as you wiped the tears away, feeling the love, the warmth of the people who once felt like family. Changbin walked up, his usual tough exterior melting as he patted Chan on the shoulder.

“Don’t mess it up this time.”

“I won’t,” Chan said firmly and his gaze locked with yours. “Not again.”

Felix bounced over, wrapping both you and Chan in a sudden hug, his voice soft but full of emotion. “You have no idea how much we’ve missed you,” he murmured. “It hasn’t been the same without you.”

“I missed you all too,” you whispered, your heart swelling.

Chan’s fingers tightened around your waist, grounding you in the moment. He leaned in, his voice low and meant only for you. “So… are you staying?”

You gazed up at him, the memories of your love flashing behind your eyes. The late-night conversations, the way he used to hold you when the world felt too heavy, the way you were destined to find your way back to each other, no matter what.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded, a soft smile breaking across your lips. “Yeah, Channie. I’m staying.”

A loud cheer erupted from the guys, Felix jumping up and down with I.N, Han dramatically fake-crying into Hyunjin’s shoulder, Lee Know nodding, draping his arm around Changbin's shoulder, showing a thumbs up at Chan, while Seungmin simply smirked, satisfied.

Chan’s eyes shone with something you hadn’t seen in a long time, pure, unfiltered happiness. He cupped your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“We’re gonna make it work this time. I promise.”

You smiled looking up at Chan and leaned your head against his body, his lips brushing against your hair.

Just because something didn't work out the first time, doesn't mean it can't be even better the second time around.

And sometimes, the love that got away is the same love that comes back to stay.

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

289 notes · View notes

champagnetommy · 4 months ago

Text

ever thought of calling (when you had a few?)

Post break-up, Buck gets drunk and calls Tommy to pick him up. Tommy shows up every time. post-break up, fix-it 3.8k words

Buck didn’t mean to drink so much. He’d been out with Hen and Karen and when they called it a night, he had decided to follow some new friends to another club, to keep the night going. He didn’t want to be left alone in the loft with his thoughts, not tonight.

The club is fun, thumping bass vibrates through his body as he moves among the throng of people. Then, shots start going around and he rapidly starts feeling dizzy and too-hot, too-much.

He ignores the people calling his name, as he pushes through and out of the sweaty, suffocating masses. The fresh air is a relief to his overwhelmed senses and overheated body, and he doesn’t think twice about dropping down to sit on the curb. He can’t call Maddie to pick him up, or Chim or anyone from the 118. They’d all fuss over him, shoot him worried glances and probably stage an intervention— and he really doesn’t need that right now.

He should order an Uber. He should. He will.

And then, he remembers the first time Tommy had picked him up, when he’d been all giggly and tipsy, after a late night with Chim and Hen. Tommy was just coming off a shift and Buck felt terrible for calling, but Tommy only smiled at him, so tenderly and told him, “I’ll always come for you, any day, any time. Always.”

Before he knows it, Buck’s dialing Tommy’s number and his heart races, as he waits in suspense for Tommy to answer— if he even will. The seconds feels like hours and he’s about to hang up when Tommy picks up.

“Evan?” He sounds sleepy and tired, but it’s music to Buck’s ears. He’d only been left with the ghost of his voice these past few months.

“Hello?”

“S- sorry. Um, I don’t really know where I am and I- this is dumb, I’ll just—”

“No, don’t go. Are you okay? Do you need help?” Concern bleeds through Tommy’s voice and it makes Buck’s heart ache in his chest. A pang goes through the cavity in his ribcage, where Tommy is still lodged.

“ ‘M okay, just drunk.”

“Do you need me to call someone for you? Maddie?”

Buck bites the inside of his cheek. “No, please don’t. She’s pregnant and I don’t want to worry her. Do you think.. can you pick me up? Please?” His voice grows small, bracing himself for rejection.

“Evan, it’s late, I don’t know if—”

There it is, the sting.

“It’s fine, forget I said anything.”

“I’ll be there. Send me your location?”

Buck sighs, eyes teary with relief.

“Thank you, Tommy.”

“Of course.”