#i will forever draw him with tousled hair

[missydior]

prince of monaco ౨ৎ

♡: following his victory at the monaco grand prix, charles comes home late, back to you, drunk on moët champagne & love.

notes: charles leclerc/reader, established relationship, suggestive content, alcohol, humour, fluff, baths, nudity but no explicit details or sexual activity.

a/n: more cha content out of my own indulgence <3 i wrote this at 11pm & it's a little ridiculous but this is also me projecting my manifestations for him to win his home grand prix this weekend. love you all mwah ᥫ᭡

The sweet aroma of your Miss Dior: Eau de Parfum in damask rose and incense against pink peonies, clean linen sheets mussed about the inviting embrace of the bed, café au lait from a drained mug on the nightstand beside sweet-smelling lilies, and white, lace stockings abandoned and draped over the velvet loveseat.

Charles' claim of 1st at the Monaco Grand Prix was most blessing, and the perfect excuse for a long night of a plentiful of Moët & Chandon champagne, honorary chants, and celebratory reverie: announcing him the 'prince' of his beloved home, a victory he has been yearning for, since forever.

You had remained with him through the week, watching and admiring through every practice session from your usual seat, enjoying luncheon together and laughing over the usual lovey-dovey or noncommittal subjects as a means to distract him from his nerves before qualifying – the kind of thing he doesn't admit to but you know is only human – and your never-leaving gaze throughout the Grand Prix itself.

Until you got to watch from below with love hearts in your eyes when he stood on that podium, in his true and most divine stature whilst the crowds called for him and the Monégasque anthem resonated like the music of the heavens.

Now, it is quiet in the apartment you both call home, all minimalist but comfortable interior in a palette of white, créme, beige and hints of colour against the décor that define it as yours: the polished trophies before the white-varnished piano, heavy and velvet curtains stirring lazily about closed balconies of their rocaille-esque motifs, the abandoned sweater forgotten on the sofa, your rose crocheting yarn on the coffee table beside a copy of last month's Vogue.

Peaceful and content, stood before the ornate mirror in the en-suite of polished marble and quiet luxury, humming some gentle and absent tune to yourself as you comb your hair – dressed down to the comfortable, white gossamer silk of your négligée – whilst the only tune that resounds being the hushed television down the hall.

It is only a minute later that you are interrupted from your daydreaming by the sound of the mahogany front door as it draws open and closed. The familiar clink of keys set down on the oak furniture in the foyer, shuffled footfalls a little less balanced than usual, quickly silenced against the sound of a familiar voice like melting caramel on the subtle, slurring song of inebriation.

"Chérie?"

Hair comb set down on the neat counter beside the porcelain embellished basin, you absently gnaw at your lower-lip whilst silent feet wander the parquestry of the flooring through the flat in your approach to the source of your boyfriend's return, tucking a hair behind your ear, "Charles, I'm–"

The words are lost on the edge of your tongue the second you emerge from the bedroom's suite, down past the plush sitting area to be met by the sight of him where the corridor joins the rest of the homely setting.

"Bonsoir, bébé."

Even when he is slightly hair-tousled with damp, brunet strays falling about his forehead and the linen of his shirt slightly wrinkled, Charles is a handsome man, devastatingly so; the kind of beautiful that renders the air from your lungs a little even when you hold back light laughter at him now.

From his posture, an effort of an elegant curve to his physique like he is trying to be some suave, pretty flirt from those old, romance comedies you watch, where one elbow is propped against the wood arch of the threshold – the only thing evidently holding him upright – whilst his flushed cheeks strain a little on a dimpled, lazy and contagious smile.

"Hello, Charles."

"Ma belle, I missed you, I'm home," With something close to a brief pout and an attempt at a wink, the man lets his lovely eyes dance down and along your own figure in a lingering admiration and a slow, drawn-out smirk that looks both laughable and far-too-endearing, lithe fingers absently adjusting his loosened shirt collar as you come closer.

"I can see that," In response, you try not to appear amused though it is perceptible on the curve by the corner of your sweet mouth when his eyes follow the subtle shift of your hips as you draw forward until your arms fold around his midriff, breathing him in: champagne and cologne, hints of warm amber and rosewood. "You're drunk."

His arm falls around your shoulder comfortably as he sways against you, kissing the crown of your head like a useless reassurance when he murmurs a lieu of words in the thickened curl of his accent, "Non, ça va, je–"

"Charles." Your face shifts with a look, the both of you stumbling a little backwards where his weight almost has you falling on the edge of a floral rug, a hushed, noncommittal sound close to a chuckle falling from the man as he buries his face into the side of your neck with the punctuation of an open-mouth kiss.

"D'accord, d'accord."

"Stupid," You mutter affectionately, rolling your eyes fondly despite knowing all too well what has him so distracted, the warmth of his mouth and the gentle rasp of his five o'clock shadow tickling the underside of your jaw and the sensitivity there, a purr reverberating from the back of his throat as a response.

"Are you hungry– would you like anything?"

"Just you, chérie, I want to..." The Monégasque trails off momentarily like he is disputing internally with his own dialogue, lightly calloused palms feeling the curve of your waist through pale silk before pausing at your derrière absently – tracing his tongue against the edge of pearlescent teeth – as the two of you move further through the sitting room, his voice a whisper, "Je veux te baiser, mon ange."

With a blush dusting the edges of your cheekbones at the obscène words, you offer a half-apologetic smile whilst stroking back his tousled hair, "How about we get dressed down and settled first, at least?"

Initially, he seems reluctant to offer any hint of acquiescence but he eventually nods a little with a vague sound of acknowledgement, fingertips still feeling over your figure as you walk the path together before reaching the bathroom, the door falling shut gently.

Even when the reality of the presence has you accepting tonight shall be long, the man is undoubtedly his most entertaining and equally sweet as romanticised prophecies when he is intoxicated.

"Mm," It is the only indication you are given when Charles' touch falls upon the lace edges of your négligée, drawing it down the curve of your shoulder slowly as he traces the shell of your ear with his mouth, "You're wearing my favourite."

A soft laugh leaves the depth of your chest – a hushed affirmative sound in reply – before his hands come to cradle either side of your jaw tenderly whilst his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek, the kiss that follows his gentle persuasion more loving, his lips parted softly.

Just as quickly as the almost peaceful, drawn-out intimacy begins, it ends when he gives some hushed, breathless sound of sheer enjoyment whilst his hips absently meets yours until you feel the edge of the basin behind, a palm splaying over his chest just enough to encourage him from pausing.

"We can have a nice bath first and then I might consider your suggestion, monsieur," You offer gently in hushed humour, undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt whilst sealing your sentence with a chaste kiss near his chin.

"I'd much rather have you."

"So romantic," Muttering the words quietly, your nose brushes the bridge of his own fractionally where you see the slight glaze of liquor in his eyes, like gentle moss and warm oak, his mouth shifting almost proudly with momentarily met gazes.

"Only for you, mon cœur, I could write you sonnets of love, la mélodie de tes yeux–"

"Okay, Romeo Montague, how about you wash first?"

The initial hope had only been to coax him into the warmth of the bath waters amongst a touch lavender oil that threatens to lull him further into quiet and peace, wash his hair from your seat and prevent the possibility of any difficulty, though clothes are mutually forgotten on the marble floors and small, white-cotton rug when he guilts you into joining him.

"Charles," A whisper of his name though the cadence of your voice lacks the intent of reproach, bodies close together as he guides you into a comfortable situation about his lap whilst you work nimble fingers through his dampened hair slowly, hoping to distract him from anything but washing and settling down from the dizziness of too much alcohol.

"You smell nice," He mumbles indulgently against your shoulder, tracing a kiss on the jut of your collarbone in the dreamy lull of his voice as though lost in the figments of his own thoughts, "Like les fleurs..."

"And you smell like a bottle of Moët."

The man offers a lowered tune of disagreement, a palm idly stroking the curve of your thigh and down the inside of your knee beneath the warm water as you lather the product through his tresses, holding back a smile when he responds drunkenly like some smitten, hopeless lover of the poets:

"Non, c'est seulement le parfum des nuages."

It is the kind of sweet words that would usually have your cheeks warming or laughing like some conjured image of him in your mind, rifling through books of poetry because you cannot fathom him thinking of such phrases alone, though the moment his lips find the curve of your throat and the sensitive area beneath your jaw, it is harder not to succumb to the gentle temptation and let him have his way, a sigh falling from you.

"What are you doing?"

"Loving you." He says the words so easily, like it is the simplest, most natural truth he could ever admit, the warmth and wetness of his mouth trailing the lines of your throat and across the arch of your shoulders.

"You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously in love with you," He sounds proud of himself. Then, he is guiding the two of you, bodies pressed flush against one another as you are moved back, the weight of him familiar and the pressure of his mouth meeting yours slowly, "Let me love you, s'il vous plaît, ma chérie."

There are the smallest fragments of his soul and the secrets of his heart within the way his body moves, the gentle touch and the softness, the vulnerability and the passion even in the humour of his intoxicated mannerisms; how he makes love and the manner he holds you after, and there is an undeniable and irrefutable trust you hold for him alone.

a/n: i apologise. this came straight from the recesses of my tired & dreamy mind but i wanted to share, sending love ᡣ𐭩

© missydior

[raspberriesoda]

w.c 0.8k | fluff

[ 3:38am ] around the twenty-fifth minute of attempting to calm your heartbeat back into a normal pace, you feel that staring at the wall of the bedroom has started to become overly boring, considering it hadn’t been very exciting initially. unfortunately, it wasn't doing a great job of clearing your mind either. you let out a defeated sigh into the dead bedroom air when you glance at the time, noticing it almost couldn’t be farther from morning. your head falls frustratedly into the plush of the pillow you clutch against your chest.

just then you feel jeno shift around in the sheets, and you let your eyes find him. his lips part in a gentle snore, head tilted to the side with an arm draped above it between the headboard and his tousled black hair. his position on his back allows you to see his chest rise and fall with his docile breathing; he looks so peaceful that your heart swells. you don’t want to disturb him, but you’ve exhausted your options. the cup of tea you’d made in hopes of relief grows cold on your bedside table, and every time you close your eyes you feel dizzy.

so you lay back from your crisscrossed position, shuffling a little closer to your snoozing boyfriend.

“jeno,” you breathe. nothing.

“jenooo,” you whisper again, a little louder this time, tapping softly on his chest. jeno’s lips just close in a ‘hm’ sound, the hand that’s not tangled in his bed head sliding up from his stomach to bump your hand. your nose scrunches up in a silent laugh.

you press a feathery kiss to his jaw in a gentle attempt to wake him. his eyebrows draw together and he groans sleepily as you gradually pull him from his slumber.

“are you awake?” you tease. a lazy smile pulls on jeno’s lips as he reaches up to rub his eye, and he chuckles.

“mmno, fast asleep,” he answers hoarsely. you let your head fall, resting in the crook of jeno’s neck, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend’s waist to squeeze him in a hug. jeno hums, running his fingers up and down your side under the hem of your shirt.

jeno turns his head to look at you, his sweet, sleepy eyes meeting your puffy ones. when he notices that you’ve been crying, he brings his hand up to run his thumb across your cheek. you lean into his touch.

“what's wrong, baby?”

a twinge of embarrassment pricks at you, and you swallow. “bad dream. m’sorry,” you mutter against his skin.

“don’t be sorry, pretty girl. you know you can always wake me up if you need me,” he gives you a drowsy smile, pressing a kiss to your pouty lips. “tell me about it, get it off your chest.”

jeno pulls the blanket up and rests it atop the both of you, your two bodies snuggling into one. his hands dip under to lightly trace shapes into your back, head heavy on his pillow and his eyelids droopy. you rest your head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat, steady and rhythmic like a metronome. it puts you a little more at ease.

jeno listens to every word as you describe what had happened in your dream; every odd plotline that made no sense when taken from snippets in your head and put into a somewhat cohesive sentence, but he hummed every so often to let you know he was following along.

“i know it sounds stupid, but it just-“ you gulp, feeling a bit nervous saying that a silly dream made you so uneasy.

“its not stupid,” jeno stops you. “a dream like that would freak me out, too.” his arms snake tighter around your waist to pull you in closer to him. “but im right here. nothing can hurt you as long as i love you.” his calming voice is muffled by your hair as he peppers kisses along your forehead. “and i’ll love you forever.”

a moment of quiet passes. not the aching, strangling quiet from after you’d first woken up, but a much more peaceful type of quiet.

“i think i’m dreaming now,” jeno muses after a while. you blink up at him, confused.

“there’s an angel right in front of me,” a drowsy grin pulls on jeno’s lips.

you can’t help the small blush that blooms on your cheeks, and you smirk.

“are you flirting with me?”

“me? flirting? with an angel? i could never,” jeno feigns innocence, all the while his smile says otherwise.

“go back to bed,” you roll your eyes, pushing jeno’s face away graciously. he just chuckles into your palm, pressing a sweet kiss to it.

“you first,” jeno hums happily, letting you nuzzle back into him. soon enough, jeno’s warmth lulls you back to sleep once again, his words still in your mind keeping the bad dreams at bay.

[abibliophobiaa]

falling like the stars, falling in love

eddie Munson x f!reader. unrequited steve harrington x reader. unrequited eddie munson x nancy wheeler. steve harrington x nancy wheeler.

summary: you’re fifteen when you fall in love with your best friend, and twenty-one when it all falls apart. eddie munson is there to pick up the pieces of your heart, and you’re there to gather his. but both of you get more than you ever bargained for when your silly friends with benefits arrangement becomes complicated. but such is the nature of love. (15k words).

warnings: 18+, smut, loss of virginity (r), friends with benefits, codependent (maybe toxic) relationships, angst, unrequited love, heartbreak, second chance romance, drinking, mentions of recreational smoking…but i promise a happy ending.

——

The sun shines the next morning.

There’s comfort in knowing it always does, even if the day that came before was one of the hardest you ever faced.

A new page, a turning point, and maybe a new beginning.

It’s all you hope for.

You lean against the wooden beams of the lake house, overlooking Lover’s Lake. Birds chirp in the trees, leaves shift to and fro, the water ripples and shudders, a child giggles near the dock, a mother calls out to another running in the grass.

A blanket covers your form, the chill of the morning air spreading gooseflesh along your arms.

Your body aches in places, a lovely kind of ache. An ache from his fingers along your skin, his lips at your mouth, his hips between your thighs.

An ache from being loved thoroughly.

A living, breathing, comforting thing.

“Are you okay?”

It’s a soft whisper against your ear. You hum gently as he draws nearer.

His hands circle your waist. Your fingers brush over the backs of his forearms. Familiar.

The heat of his chest rests at your back. Your body slumps into his, a new comfort to be found there.

His chest is still bare, hair still a mess. But when you turn in his arms and take him in you find you like it. Tousled and unkempt by your hands, his eyes peering down at yours soft and sweet and warm.

Uniquely him. You love those eyes. Could spend forever falling into them. A long time, a lifetime, but spending it beside him is the greatest gift you could ever long for.

And the greatest gift you’ve ever received.

The answer isn’t simple.

Then again, none of this has ever been.

——

It starts when you’re fifteen.

Silly teenagers with nothing but dreams and fantasies.

No thoughts or cares in the world, other than what clothes to wear, what part time job you want to work, who you’re interested in and who likes you back.

Silliness.

Triviality that, if you look back on it now, wish you could get back.

Steve Harrington is perfect. He’s your best friend. The first person you met when you moved to Hawkins at nine years of age. He’s charming and on the school baseball and basketball teams.

He’s liked by most, but to him you are special.

Best friends, in the way that always brings a smile to your face because you know it’s the forever kind.

Permanent in the way the scar on your knee is, from the day you and Steve raced across the pool yard after hours, outrunning Hopper, and you’d cut it when hopping the fence in your efforts to get away.

You’re fifteen and Steve’s body is changing a bit. He’s fuller than you remember, honed by hours of working out, of skin tanned from endless hours in the summer sun. He’s always been handsome, but that summer he just seemed different.

You’re fifteen and you’re reading a book, left propped open between the circle of your thighs as he calls your name and you lift yourself up to sit, taking in the boy treading water in the pool.

His hair is a wet mess. Little droplets clinging to the ends of his hair, his long lashes. He’s grinning at you — a pearly white smile that has your heart twirling in your chest.

You shove it away, because it has been doing that for months now. It’s a new side effect with him. A sickness you’ve never felt before. Some might call it love, and you groan, shoving your finger in your mouth when your friends tease you about it because ‘he’s my best friend’ and ‘that’ll never happen.’

But you don’t know what else to call that annoying fluttery feeling in your belly when he draws near. Nor can you stop the pitter patter of your heart when he looks your way.

It’s inconvenient, troubling, and it’s a crush.

A silly crush that’ll go away. These things always do.

Don’t they?

And maybe that’s a foolish thought. You certainly think so when he teases you to come on in. Warns that the water is warm.

You hesitate on the hem of your tee shirt. You don’t know why, because he’s seen you in bathing suits before, but lately even this feels different. You want him to look at you the way he looks at the girls at school, and yet you also don’t want him to look at all, because if he looks he might see all your imperfections. Might see something he doesn’t like, and for some reason you hate that even more.

Because you want him to like you, to like all of you, to want you in the way you know you want him.

You’re fifteen and you’re swimming in a pool with your best friend. Your boy who also happens to be your friend. Never a boyfriend.

Never that.

You’re fifteen and you splutter out how you turned down a date with Brendan Abbott because, “I’ve never been kissed.”

“Really?” Steve asks, and he sounds genuinely surprised. And before you can even question the curiosity in his voice, he adds, “I just mean…you’re pretty. I bet loads of guys want to kiss you.”

Not the one that matters, though, you think to yourself.

Steve’s kissed dozens of girls, you know. You know because he’s told you, his cheeks staining a pretty pink. He always goes pink like that, and you always smile back, despite that odd pain that wedges its way between your ribs.

Heartache you think, but again, you’ll never put a name to it.

“I could kiss you, you know?” he suggests. And he’s red again in the face, quickly spluttering, “I mean, your first kiss should be with someone special, right?”

Steve’s the most special.

So you’re fifteen and he’s wading over to you in the pool. He cups your cheek and looks you in the eye. There’s a heartbeat and he’s kissing you. Soft, sweet, simple. It doesn’t linger long. Doesn’t give you enough time to feel like fireworks are exploding in the sky. But it’s enough to set something into motion.

Something terrible, really.

Because you’re fifteen and you’re in love — and maybe you’ll always be.

——

You’re nineteen when you meet Eddie.

A glass bottle to the man you love’s throat. He’s there in an instant, terror in his eyes, and you shriek at the suddenness of it. His eyes flash and you recognize him.

You had…a class before with him.

Can’t recall which.

You know him, of course.

Everyone knows Eddie Munson. Maybe not for all good reasons — and at this moment, it’s the worst reason. Because you’ve been looking for him for hours, trying to figure out what in the hell happened to Chrissy.

He looks like a deer in headlights. A terrified human searching for comfort when the world has grown cold.

He recalls what he saw.

Her body, broken. The way she hovered up on the ceiling. The way her eyes were ripped from her body. It’s gruesome and horrible and you curl a hand around his forearm when you notice he’s trembling. A shiver that only someone who has seen death head on knows. You’d seen it before, when Billy died the summer before that.

So you offer him that. A hand for comfort, as he recounts the worst day of his life, and you realize the newest worst day of yours.

It ends up being a long few days. You spend them hoping you’ll all get out alive, and in the process you find a friend in him. He’s charismatic and frenetic, he’s funny and he’s dramatic and he’s handsome in a rugged way that Steve isn’t.

And he notices the way you stare at Steve. Offers you a hand of comfort as you all trek into the Upside Down. You take it, and it feels like a new friendship.

Neither of you speaks, but it feels like an understanding.

——

At twenty, Steve’s halfway in love with Nancy all over again. You’re used to this. Steve has fallen in love with what feels like all of Hawkins — all except you. Neither of you speaks about that. You’ll never bring it up to him, can’t fathom the idea of shattering years of friendship.

But there’s something different about this time. The way he talks about her and how things are going. He’s dreaming of his future. Talking about kids. His Winnebago. About a future that suddenly seems like it’s hurtling towards you, while you’re seemingly stuck in place in the past.

It chokes you. The idea of him and her. Her and him and their six children he tells you about. Traveling all around the world, making memories, starting a new life.

He never talks like this and it terrifies you.

“I’m sure he’s just being his usual self,” Robin says, “diving in and hoping he doesn’t sink. You know how things were with him and Nancy before.”

“This feels different, Rob.” You huff and you whine and she offers you another beer and a look of sympathy you know means she’s really just doing her best.

There are few people in this world who know how deep your feelings run for your best friend. Those quite literally being her and Eddie Munson. And you plan on keeping it that way until the day you die.

Even so, it still hurts the next weekend when you’re all over Eddie’s new government funded apartment for a game night. Nancy gets up to leave and Steve offers to drive her home. And though you offer to clean the dishes for Eddie in the kitchen, it’s not an innocent offer by any means, because you watch them through the curtains.

Don’t know why you do. It stings. Burns in your eyes fiercely as you watch him lean down to kiss her. Watch how his hand slides down her back and into the pocket of her jeans, the way their bodies fit together like they’re made to, how he holds her close like she’s everything to him. Just like he’s everything to you.

“You’re only screwing over yourself by doing that,” Eddie murmurs from behind you, a dish towel hanging over his shoulder. He holds out a hand as you swipe at the tears gathering on your cheeks, and you hand him a plate to dry down.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huff, sponge running over the glass. “Plus you’re one to talk.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He shakes his head with a scoff, moving around you to put a plate away.

“I don’t?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

“No.”

There’s a day you remember vividly. All of you at Lover’s Lake. You, freshly out of the water after Steve tackled you off the dock at the end of your family’s lake home and the two of you ended up splashing at one another for an hour.

He sat by Nancy around the fire after and you opened the screen door to find Eddie leaning over the back porch railing with a beer in his hand. He watched her like one would watch a movie. Her every move, each smile that curled her lips, holding onto her every word like he might memorize them all. The lilt, the cadence, the tone.

In a moment, you recalled all the times you’d seen them together prior. His best friend, he proclaimed. And maybe it was in the way Steve was your best friend. The other half of your soul. Your person. But you also saw the hurt reflected there in Eddie’s gaze whenever she stared at Steve.

Because while Eddie always stared at Nancy, Nancy always stared at Steve.

“It sucks when you’re always looking at them, but they never look at you back,” you laugh miserably, handing him a glass cup, back in his kitchen, “right?”

He looks away.

He doesn’t speak after that.

Good, you think.

Conversation over.

——

It carries on like that.

Pining.

Wanting.

Waiting.

Loving him while you watch him love another.

But you suppose it’s not all bad — that there is some solace in this world you’re destined to walk.

There’s comfort in the kids. In watching them flourish. In your friendships. There are milestones. When you graduate from your community college program and move into your first apartment. Steve, with a ball cap on his head, arms toned as they hug your boxes. Eddie behind him, his hair pulled back into a ponytail.

They’ve grown closer over time, best of friends who scare similar scars. Kindred, in a sick sort of way they never should have been, simply because sometimes the world is cruel.

Eddie looks at you and you look at him and there’s a smolder of something between you, a promise for when everyone else heads home for the night.

That’s a newer development, too.

This…pseudo relationship with Eddie. A space between being together and not. In knowing each other’s bodies in a way that most friends don’t.

And maybe it’s wrong. The way you twine together some nights like vines. Him stumbling through the door after the sun goes down over Hawkins — because no one knows about this secret dalliance — and rushing across your living room to grasp your face in his hands. To kiss you soundly and drag you down onto the floor, ridding you of your clothes, your underwear, his mouth seeking your center like he’s starving for air.

You’re not really sure when it starts.

Sure, there’s always been an attraction there, but it’s always been something you don’t really dwell on, because Steve is the true paramour of your affection.

And you see the way Eddie watches Nancy.

Right?

But Eddie is kind and loving and he adores you in a way that feels sort of like running toward a cliff and jumping without a parachute.

You always know he’ll catch you. Don’t really know when he became that person for you. The one who you trust wholly and completely.

Yet if you think really hard about it, you’d say it started on your twenty-first birthday. After a strong drink and plenty of dancing at the bar. Steve grabbed your hand and twirled you around. Swayed and bobbed to the music and you grabbed his hand and tugged him outside. And maybe it was the little bit of alcohol you consumed and liquid courage granted by it, but you pushed him up against the side of a lamppost and kissed him.

When you think about it now, you want to cry, but in the moment it felt right.

He spluttered and gasped and you knew you’d made a mistake. Watched the way sadness creeped into his eyes, the awareness dawning on him.

Someone barked out a laugh, yourself maybe. Him. You weren’t sure. But it sounded disbelieving. Years and years of unspoken words spilled out like ink onto a blank sheet of paper. Left there to rot. And he stared — stared at you with a hurt in his eyes that ripped you down the middle. Because you knew he couldn’t return it, knew in an instant that he didn’t love you in the way that you wanted him to.

Not in the way that he loved Nancy.

Nancy. Perfect Nancy with the perfect hair and the perfect mind and the perfect life. Nancy, who was beautiful and stunning and wonderful and inspiring — and why wouldn’t someone love her? She was your friend, a good one at that, and a girl that any guy would want to be with.

Nancy, who you knew was the one meant for Steve, even if admitting that to yourself felt like a knife wedging its way into your gut.

“Honey…” he trailed and his voice broke. An aching, shattering thing that mimicked what was going on inside your chest.

Tiny, little shards. Little ruby glitter in the cavity that once housed a beating organ.

“It’s silly, right?” You laughed again. A hollow sound. A grieved cry that had Steve reaching for your forearm, trying to hold you together. “I've loved you since I was fifteen.”

“You’re drunk…”

“I’m not,” you argued. If anything, you felt stone cold sober now.

It didn’t change anything. Didn’t make it any less true. Maybe it was how Steve coped with it. Blaming it on too many drinks, emotions running high, your lives changing at a rate neither of you saw coming.

“Is everything okay out here?” Eddie stood on the sidewalk, watching from a distance, ready to step in if he needed to.

He did that often. Sought you out. Made sure you were okay. Watched your back as you watched his. There was always an awareness there that both of you held toward one another. An unspoken thing. Special still.

“Just…a moment?” Steve asked, and Eddie looked your way. Waited until you nodded it was, in fact, okay before he slipped back inside the bar and left you alone with your heartbreak. “You’re my best friend. I love you, but I —”

“Don’t love me, love me,” you finished for him.

Felt your lip wobbling, felt Steve’s arms as they wrapped around you, tugged you into a solid chest. You heaved out a loud sob, the kind that had him clutching you tighter, one hand at the back of your head to keep your forehead pressed into the hollow of his throat. Kept you hidden as you weeped, just like he knew you preferred it.

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the night. Kind of left it like there, open in the air, the understanding that you loved him and he didn’t love you, and it hurt every time you thought about it — every time you reminded yourself that you’d worn your heart on your sleeve and watched it fall to the ground.

Everyone left in separate cars. Robin with her girlfriend, Steve with Nancy, Jonathan with Argyle, leaving you to clamber on into Eddie’s car. Both of you had sobered up enough, dawning clarity breaking like the sunrise.

Eddie turned to you when you pulled up to your parent’s house. Looked at you with a sympathy that made you draw the hoodie you pulled on over your dress closer to your body, wanting to shrink away from him. Make yourself smaller, if only to hide from the emotions warring in your mind.

“Did something happen tonight?” He asked, his voice soft.

You tugged at a stray lint on your thigh, rolled it between your fingers, shrugged a bit. “I kissed Steve.”

“Shit,” he breathed out, unbuckling his seatbelt. Leaned back into his seat, finger running through his hair.

“And then I told him I loved him,” you added, head shaking as you laughed pitifully.

His head shifted on the headrest, eyes taking in your downturned lips. “I take it that didn’t go well?”

Another huff of a laugh. “He said ‘I love you, but…’”

“Fuck,” he said, hand reaching over the center console to rest on your thigh. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

He always called you sweetheart. You noticed he called things he held dear to his heart that. His guitar, Max, El, Erica. Nancy. Robin. And most recently, you. So it shouldn’t have warmed your heart, but it did. Twisted something low in your belly, a warm, unfurling sort of thing.

The next words spilled out of you in a rush. Set into motion the course of the next several years. “Do you want to come upstairs? You’ll have to be quiet. I just…don’t want to be alone.”

“I—I…yeah?”

The offer was to talk. To find comfort in another human. Because you hadn’t even thought about sex. Hadn’t had sex in your twenty-one years. Not because you were holding onto your virginity or anything, but because you just hadn’t felt comfortable enough yet to do so. And it wasn’t like you invited him up there for that. It started out innocently enough. Him following closely behind you through your home, slipping up your stairs, fingers laced together. An anticipation hummed in your blood, a tremble of uncertainty in the way he stood there in your bedroom, not moving from the door once you closed it behind the two of you. He seemed so large in your childhood bedroom. Hair a mess on his head, in the way it always was, charmingly so. His hands slipped into his tight jeans, the gesture making his black tee stretch taut over his chest.

A dress still clung to your body after you removed your jacket. Something flowing and pretty that you picked out with Robin the week before. It suddenly felt sticky and tight on your body, and with a nervous glance, Eddie caught your hint and turned around to face the door. Tapped his fingers against his thigh as you undressed and slipped on something more comfortable. A simple pair of sweatpants and an oversized tee shirt.

“You can sit on my bed, you know?” You had sat back down against the headboard, the wood littered with endless pillows and a stuffed penguin that Steve had gotten you at a fair one summer.

In a fearful effort to rid yourself of the evidence of your stuffed friend, you lifted it in your hand and raised an arm to toss it into your closet when Eddie launched himself down onto your mattress with a thump and snatched it out of your grip.

“I don’t sleep with that, or anything…” Heat flooded your cheeks, because why did you care if he knew you actually did sleep with the silly thing, if only to keep the nightmares from the Upside Down away?

“It’s cute,” he murmured to himself, ringed fingers tight around the black and white toy. Sounded genuine and you didn’t doubt him; never did, truly. “Got a name for it?”

“Pip the Penguin,” you said quietly, so quietly.

“I like it…” Suddenly, he changed his voice, warping it into something an octave higher than his usual tone. Bopped the fluffy creature against your forehead, making you laugh. Pretended to talk with the thing and said, “Mr. Pip the Penguin wants you to turn that frown upside down. Because you’re so fucking beautiful when you smile.”

“Pip the Penguin doesn’t curse,” you admonished, plucking him from Eddie’s hands and placing him onto your bedside table. And then, softer still, “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Always,” he promised, and you rolled over onto your side to look at him, to really take in your best friend’s features. “I’m sorry your birthday is shot to hell.”

“It’s not,” you admitted, reaching over to run your fingers along the rings flush against his knuckles, “I’m spending it with you.”

“For what it’s worth,” he said, holding your hand in his and pausing your movements, thumb running across your skin, “you’re great and deserve the world. Anyone who can’t see that is kind of an idiot. Sorry, Harrington.”

You level him with a ‘you’re kidding me’ look.

“I’m serious,” he added, smiling a bit. “I mean, you play guitar like a beast. I don't know many girls who do that. Definitely metal. You’re fun to be around, really cool, definitely would smoke with.”

You had. Numerous times. “Eddie.”

“Maybe a little bit of a shit driver —”

“Eddie!” You shrieked a giggle, clutching his hand tighter.

“I said 'a little bit’” he teased, pushing back a hair that fell into your eyes. “Did you forget that time I had to try and shove your car out of the mud?”

“Yeah, but it was you who told me to turn onto that side road in that rain storm.”

“It was still a fun day, though.”

You sat in your car for hours, rain splattering against the window, waiting for a tow truck. The boy beside you, hair wet from the rain, his shirt clinging to his body. His chest rising and falling with the effort, the cloudy sky and the way he reminded you of sunshine even still. Remembered the way he looked at you, all soft around the edges, that little dimple in his cheek. So handsome it had made your chest ache with it — kind of like how it was then.

“It was,” you agreed softly.

Neither of you slept that night in your bedroom. Instead you talked until the sun started to rise over Hawkins, a quiet something glimmering in the spaces between the two of you. It didn’t have a name yet, no wings to give it flight, but there was something new there nonetheless. You talked about everything and nothing. Dreams, wants, fears. Silly thoughts that sprang to life in your mind, and he was a perfect listener — nodded and laughed and was wholly engaged in you, and you in him.

And you don’t think about Steve once, the ache of rejection dulling to a sweet nothingness.

“Wanna watch a movie?” It was asked after some time, when the nervousness of where you wanted the rest of your morning to go creeped in after your parents called upstairs that they were headed off to work, leaving you alone with the boy they didn’t know was in your bed.

He held you like that. On your bed, arms around your waist from behind as colors flashed across the television screen. Both of you were quiet for a long time. No words said, nothing to say really, until you rolled back over and looked up into his umber eyes. Wondered what it would be like to kiss him. You didn’t have to wonder for long, though; he leaned in, nudged his nose against yours, cupped your cheek. Asked you if ‘this was okay.’ A nod, and you sank into the mattress at that first brush of his mouth over yours, at the way your heart fluttered, something sparkly and beautiful flashing behind your eyes. He held you like that, kissing your lips, your jaw, your neck. Fingers tentatively explored as you sighed and hummed against him, over the slope of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, the line of your collarbone. And then, with a gentle touch, he brushed a thumb along your ribcage, beneath a breast.

Testing, asking for permission.

“I didn’t come up here to hook up,” he said, but it was muffled by your lips against his, an eagerness drowning out his words.

“I know.”

“I…do really think you’re beautiful.” You tugged at the hem of his shirt, helped him pull it up and over his head. Ran your fingers along the scars there. “Fuck, I — you’re my best friend and I —”

“I want this,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss a line across his pecs. “Do you want this?”

Could feel that he did. Could feel it against your thigh, the thick heat of him through denim, straining against his belt and zipper. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” A kiss. “Yes, Eddie.” Another kiss.

He tugged off your top. You slipped off your sweats. He ran calloused fingers along your abdomen, over the slope of your breasts, teased at sensitive flesh. Watched as your head rolled to the side and a sigh spilled from you, feelings you’d never felt settling low in your belly. You liked it, liked the intensity in how he looked at you when he lowered himself down your abdomen, kissing your skin. Liked the desire aimed wholly at you in his eyes as he eased your thong down your thighs and tossed them toward your closet. Felt a thrill at the stare locked on the place only your fingers had ever ventured before this night, like he’d discovered hidden treasure.

“Eddie?” A nervous whispered breath.

He climbed back up your body hastily, thumbed at the worry line creasing your forehead. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I’ve never…you’re my…” You swallowed as something like understanding passed over his features.

His forehead dropped against yours, deep breaths spilling from his nose, hand holding the curve of your cheek. “Are you sure? I want you to be one thousand percent sure. Your first time…it should —”

Your hand slid up over his stomach, over the rapid thrum of his heart. “Yes, Eddie. One hundred thousand percent sure.”

He leaned over you with a laugh to turn Pip the Penguin around, facing the lamp. “Can’t have him seeing this. Feels like someone is watching.”

And you laughed, just like you always did with him. Just as you did when he slipped out of his boxers and nearly tripped getting out of them, tumbling forward onto your bed, just as you did when he crawled back up your body and blew a raspberry into your neck to ease the worried lines between your brow when you finally saw him bare for the first time. Something so foreign and yet exhilarating to you. Watching his nervous hands, the way he hovered over your body, the gravity of the moment finally hitting you. He readied you with gentle fingers, with a sort of pleasure that you’d only previously known by your own hand, and yet felt so differently when it was someone else’s inside of you.

Later, as you gasped and shook within his arms in the aftershocks of your orgasm, you watched him roll on a condom with blissful, hazy eyes. Clasped your hand in his as he pressed it down into your pillow, not without kissing the back of it first.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much, okay?” he asked, and you felt him there, pushing in just the slightest bit, face pinched in concentration.

Eyes widened at the feeling, so foreign and yet not wholly unpleasant.

Just…different.

“Is this okay?” He pulled out a little, pushed in. Pulled out, pushed in a little further each time.

And then, when he reached the point where it seemed your body wouldn’t allow him to go any further, you gasped and Eddie’s hips stilled immediately.

“Shit,” he breathed, dropping onto his elbows, searching your face worriedly, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shook your head. “No, no…you can keep going. Just go s-slow.”

His fingers rubbed along your cheek. “Gotta relax, sweetheart.” You tried to do exactly that. Smiled to yourself as he distracted you with kisses along your jaw, fingers gripping into your hips, little circles along your thigh curled around his hip.

“Can you just, like…” You chewed on your bottom lip, the burning growing sharper with each slow movement of him within you. “Push all the way in.”

“It’ll hurt,” he said, wincing at the thought of hurting you.

“Only for a second. Please,” you leaned up to kiss him soundly, nuzzling his nose as you added, “I want to feel all of you, Eddie.”

As he warned…it hurt, a fullness you’d never felt before. Stole your breath. He wiped your tears away, whispering ‘sorry’ after sorry into your kiss-bitten lips. There was a brief moment where you jokingly teased that you worried if he’d actually fit, even voiced it to him as he shook with laughter into your neck at what he took as a compliment. Because laughter seemed to be a theme between the two of you. You giggled with him, breath hitching when your muscles loosened and he sank in all the way, your body connected with his in an unfamiliar and yet wonderful all at the same time.

That first time was awkward, giggly, and yet perfect all the same. Your bodies coming together in an unhurried rhythm that maybe ended too soon because he spluttered out that you felt too good — a pretty praise that had you preening, and then pleading when he rolled his hips in a way that had you seeing stars, cresting a wave, the crash of your second orgasm stealing your breath away.

Now, it’s a little different.

In your apartment, your back against your new kitchen cabinets, your boy expertly licking at you like he might die if he doesn’t watch you crumble for the third time that afternoon.

First, when Steve and Robin finally left for the afternoon and he had you up against the door, your cheek against the frame, his name a mantra on your lips, his forehead at the back of your head as he filled you deliciously from behind. The second time, you barely made it onto your new bed — frame still on backorder — before he had you on your back, with you scoring marks down his shoulders. Knowing how to draw out your pleasure, to ramp it up – knowing your body in a way no one else ever has.

So different from the people you were a year ago, and yet still trying to pretend that the ties between you don’t grow more confusing with each and every passing day.

——

You’re twenty two and Steve has some news for you. And it’s never the kind of news one wants to hear from the man they’ve been in love with for nearly ten years.

“I’m going to ask Nance to marry me.”

“That’s great!” You blurt it out. You don’t even know why, because it’s a lie, just like the countless other things you have said to save face in front of him. “Really — Steve, that’s incredible! I’m so happy for you. How do you think you’ll go about asking her?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Turns out, it’s happening at Enzo’s the next week. Surrounded by all your best friends. Eddie sits at your right, watching as Steve gets down on one knee. As Nancy cries softly and accepts — as Steve slides a ring up onto her knuckle, thumb brushing against the back of her sparkling solitaire diamond.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt quite like you thought it might. There’s an ache, sure. A feeling of loss that you always feel when it comes to Steve. Though when you turn your head and look at Eddie, and he squeezes your hand in his, there’s peace there.

That’s a newer development. Just as him staying over for days on end is, leaving things of his in your drawers, using your shower. You’re best friends who sleep together and spend all their extra time together, and yet there’s this limbo of where you are and if this is ever going anywhere that neither of you seems keen on opening up to talk about.

Steve finds you later that night, standing outside overlooking the restaurant’s garden. A freshly filled champagne flute rests in your hand. Eddie is inside with Robin, Nancy and the rest of your friends, laughing at the bar where you left them. But out here the world seems quieter. The stars twinkle brighter. Hawkins seems to rest, even though there’s a disquiet in your mind.

“That was a beautiful proposal,” you tell him, turning to rest your back against the railing. He joins you there, elbow leaning onto the metal, his own glass filled with an amber liquid shifting as he moves to get comfortable. “Really. I’m so proud of you guys. You deserve all the happiness in the world after all the hell we’ve been through as a group.”

“You’re in the wedding party, you know?” he chuckles, and you never doubted it. “You and Robin kind of both have to share the title of ‘best man.’”

“As long as we have matching outfits, I’m in,” you giggle airily, head tilting back to look up at the sky.

“You’re in your head a bit,” Steve says, like he knows, because he does.

He knows everything about you.

Except for one thing.

“I’m okay,” you lie, taking a sip of your drink, “just been a long night. We’re getting older, you know? I can’t party like we used to.”

He narrows his eyes, because you’re twenty two and full of shit.

“So it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact you and Eddie are seeing each other?”

“We’re not.”

Not a lie. ‘Seeing’ would imply that your relationship is going somewhere. What you and Eddie have been doing…what you are doing…it has no beginning and no end, but there’s an awareness that at any point either of you might meet someone else and move on.

Lately that thought hurts. Not sure what to do with that.

“Okay…having sex then.”

“Why do you have to say it like that?” You grimace. “It’s weird coming from you.”

“Oh, like we haven't discussed my sex life in thorough detail –”

“Yeah, and I can tell you, as someone who has lived through it, that wasn’t fun either.”

He continues, ignoring you, “Gotta say, kind of feels shitty that you didn’t tell me about it.”

“There’s nothing to ‘tell,’” you say, shifting to look at him. “We hooked up…and then kept hooking up. We hook up, it’s what we do. It’s all we do, actually. I mean, not all we do. We have to breathe and eat sometimes, and we are also friends –”

“Friends who f –”

“Steve Harrington, enough out of you, you child.” There’s a bite to your tone, but no bark. He smirks at you, a cheeky, proud-looking thing that would have made you mourn years ago, but makes you feel a little smug now. Maybe time truly does heal wounds. “How do you even know?”

“When Nancy and I were over at your place last weekend, we realized I forgot my jacket and I, uh, heard you guys.”

Horror seeps into your blood. You wish the ground would open up right now. Swallow you whole. Wish a black hole would suck you up, never to be seen again. “I could have been doing a workout video.”

He grins, and you contemplate shoving him over the railing, but Hopper’s inside and you don’t really feel like facing jail time for murdering your best friend on what should be the happiest day of his life. “Do you always moan Eddie’s name during your workouts?”

Cheeks burning, you splutter, “Maybe I do.”

“So how long has this been going on?” Steve asks, choosing to once again ignore your attempts at redirecting the conversation.

“My twenty-first birthday. We went back to my place,” you tell him, quickly amending, “technically it was the next day. We…talked the whole night. It felt right.”

It was the perfect first time, you decided long ago now. And then that second time, after you’d both passed out, and you climbed on top of him, asking him to show you what he liked, before you ended up skipping your college classes in favor of spending the whole day exploring each other’s bodies.

“That was a…shit day,” he says, and it sounds sad. You never talk about that day. After you told him you loved him, it was almost like both of you had an unspoken agreement in place to just never breathe life into it again. Hearing him acknowledge it now…you don’t really know how you feel about it. “I’m sorry for that, again. I just –”

“It’s in the past,” you reassure him, offering a smile. “We can’t help who we fall in love with.” You know that now.

“So he met Pip the Penguin?”

You shove him. “Yes, he did. And we’ve sort of been – doing this ever since.”

“You love him,” Steve says, like it’s not even a question. At your arched brows, he repeats, “You love him.”

It’s a silly notion, you want to tell him earnestly. Though the more you think on it, the more you can see his words have some merit. For years Steve’s been the object of your affection, and suddenly his relationship with Nancy hurts less, you can be around him without feeling like there’s a raw, bleeding wound in your chest. You always accredited it to getting used to knowing this isn’t something that’s going to change. Yet as you picture Eddie's face in your mind, a coy smile tugs at your lips.

Steve grins. “See?”

“How do you know?” Disbelief imbues your words. It can’t be this simple, can it? To simplify the feelings with the word ‘love.’ An emotion that seems so big and so scary.

“I know what you look like when you’re in love,” he says, mouth tugging southward a bit over how he knows. He makes his way over to the door leading inside, needing to get back to his party. His eyes are soft. “It doesn’t take a scientist to define the way you look at him.”

He leaves you with your thoughts.

You nearly crumble with the weight of them.

——

Eddie’s not himself. You spend the day with Steve and Nancy, working on wedding planning. At one point, the guys end up stumbling into the bridal boutique where Nancy’s standing on a pedestal in a beautiful gown, her veil a billowing sprawl of lace behind her. She’s gorgeous, not that you ever doubted she would make a beautiful bride.

Later that night, Eddie fucks you like he’s trying to forget. Fingers curled tight around your wrists, no words of affection pouring from him, not like they usually do. He’s quiet and when he spills into you, you roll over onto your side and cry.

He tries to console you. A hand splays over your bicep, his mouth at your shoulder. He hadn’t even bothered to undress you tenderly like he usually does. It had been frantic and hurried and it feels like you’re an exposed nerve now, the pain throbbing in your chest.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” It’s another new thing. A nickname for when you’re alone. A term of endearment you wish he would just take back now.

“I feel like you weren’t even here just now. Toward the end,” you whimper, rolling over, lip wobbling.

“No no no,” he coos, kissing along your brow, trying to soak up the blood seeping from your invisible wounds, “hey — hey, baby, I —”

“You were trying to forget.” You tug your blankets up around your shoulders, covering yourself.

“It was a hard day —”

“But I’m right here!” you cry out, launching yourself out of the bed, eyes burning as you whirl on him. “I’m right here. I’ve been here. We’re…this isn’t right, Eddie. It hasn’t been for a long time. Can’t you see that? You just fucked me because you saw Nancy in a wedding dress.”

“That’s not —”

“I think we need to stop this.” His mouth settles into a firm line, eyes rounding as the words slam down on him like a ton of bricks. “Put a pin in it. Call it. Give it a time of death. I just can’t do this anymore. It’s changed for me. It’s not ‘just sex’ anymore.”

“It’s never been ‘just sex’ with us,” he argues.

Eddie climbs out of bed. Tugs on his boxers, tries to console you with soothing hands on your arms. Resolute in your decision, you take a step back, head shaking a bit.

“I’m…” A pause.

After your conversation with Steve some months ago now, you really took the time to think about his words. The realization you’ve fallen in love with Eddie slowly over time. The man who weaved his way into your life so seamlessly on a day you needed him the most.

Eddie, who snores beside you in bed most nights and wakes you with endless kisses along your cheeks, because he wants you to smile first thing every morning. Eddie, who always forgets to separate his lights from his darks every time he does his laundry, so you started doing yours together. Eddie, who you spend every Friday night on your couch with, a pizza and a joint between you, punctuated by soft kisses and endless cuddling as you watch your favorite movies together. He’s become a staple in everyday life; a constant, a rock, an anchor.

You can’t quite pinpoint when it happened. When friendship changed into something more, but it had, and you couldn’t stop the free fall once you were on the edge of the cliff.

This love is also painful too. It’s knowing for a long time the two of you used sex as a way to run from your problems. Had relied on one another to find solace. It’s realizing that, though you want nothing more than to curl your arms around his waist and hold him for the rest of the night, that’s actually the last thing either of you need right now.

“I think you should stay at your apartment tonight,” you tell him, your voice a little hollow. Cold. Eyes downcast. “I think we need some time to cool off, and I think we need to do it separately.”

Eddie swallows thickly. His voice breaks as he chokes out, “Yeah…okay.”

“I love you,” you tell him, stare him straight in the eye as you do so. His breath shudders out of him. “And I think you love me too, but I don’t want you to say it back. I want you to say it when you can fully mean it. But I can’t do this…half version of love I’m getting now. I want the full thing, we both deserve the full thing.”

He tips your chin up. Kisses you. The first tears spill from your eyes, and when you open your eyes, there are tears in his eyes too.

“Fuck,” he rasps, folding his arms around your waist, holding you close as you both break.

Never really together, and yet it’s the worst break up. It cleaves you right down the middle. Leaves you in two pieces, where one belongs to Eddie and you don’t know that you’ll ever get it back. The man wound so deeply in your veins now he’ll likely remain there forever.

You want him to be — just not now.

Not in this capacity, not like this.

You want that earth shattering, ground shaking, immeasurable kind of love. The kind that extends beyond stars and space. Love that transcends time and follows you even in death at the end of it all.

You’d rather have all of Eddie instead of this, even if it means losing him for now.

There’s that saying, albeit cliche, that if something is meant for you, you need to let it go. If it comes back, it was always yours.

In actuality it’s scary — letting him go.

But you trust it’s the right thing. Trust that it’s the best thing for the health of what’s already here, even when every atom and cell in your body wants to fight against what it innately knows is best for it.

Eddie opens his mouth to speak. Thinks better of the words he’s going to say. Instead kisses you on the forehead three times.

I. Love. You.

“I’ll —” He stumbles over the words. Know that he means to say ‘I’ll see you soon,’ but neither of you knows if that’s true.

Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes you simply need to lean up on your toes and kiss him for what might very well be the last time. Tears spill down your cheeks and his. Little fractures. Glittering reminders of beautiful memories made in the time spent together.

He packs a bag and hikes his things over his shoulder. Exits the door you’ve watched him walk in so many times that the thought of never seeing him pass through again makes you want to shatter all over again.

And when he blows you a final kiss on the way out, you do.

——

“So you…ended things?”

Steve tries to understand, your head in his lap, heart in your throat as you bleed love all over your living room floor. It hasn’t stopped since Eddie left. Since you picked up the phone and dialed a number you’d never forget and sobbed out a broken, “Steve.”

There are no words needed to be said. In the background you hear the rustle of keys, and then he’s at your doorstep fifteen minutes later, ready with his arms open for you to fall into. And now you’re here.

He lets you cry. He lets you sob against the pillow on his lap until your eyes are puffy and you’re reduced to hiccuped breaths. Doesn’t judge you for it, offers comfort, understands. He lost Nancy for a while, too. Gets it.

“Staying together in the way we are now isn’t healthy,” you tell him, woodenly, “it’d kill us. I love him, and I know he loves me, but this is what we need right now. Time and space and — and I already miss him so much and it hurts, Steve.”

“Kind of like a limb torn off, right?”

“Maybe not that dramatic?”

“Heart ripped out then?” he amends, huffing a laugh.

“Yeah,” you sob, “that.”

“Hey?” He whispers, and you lift yourself up to look at him. Crumple all over again as he coos, “Honey,” pulling you into his arms. “I know it doesn’t look like it right now, but it’s going to get better, okay?”

“Promise?”

He drops a kiss to the crown of your head. “I promise.”

Everything feels like it’s ending. But one day turns into two, and then two into three. Suddenly it’s a week, and then a month, and without him, the earth turns. The leaves change. The sun rises and falls every day. The ground withers as winter comes and passes, and the flowers bloom in spring. Without him, children still giggle in the park as you rush along on a run. You meet up with friends, deflect advances from men and women at bars — tell them you’re taken, don’t know why — try to live. Try to heal because it’s what you promised Eddie you would do.

Life continues, you miss Eddie because you’ll always miss him, but you don’t see him.

For seven months.

Nancy and Steve make it happen. Coordinate your schedules in a way that allows you both the time you need.

The night before the wedding, after the wedding rehearsal dinner, you invite everyone back to your family’s lake house. You took it for the weekend, just to have some time away after what you’re sure is to be a busy weekend. Wanted to catch up on some reading, wake up to the familiar sounds of birds chirping and the water gurgling.

Eddie stares at you from across the living room, beer in his hand. Watches you like one would watch a show and it has your heart twirling, stomach churning, fingers twitching around the stem of your wine glass.

It’s fleeting. A brief moment before Nancy asks Eddie to help her with something in the other room, and he rushes after her. Robin leans back against the pillows she’s piled up against the couch, her girlfriend, Vickie, beside her, both eying you curiously, “What’s that all about?”

“Nothing,” you mutter absently, sipping at your champagne.

“They used to hook up,” Steve explains, shrugging. “But then they fooled around and fell in love. Just like the song. You know how it goes, ‘fooled around and fell in loveeee.’”

“Steve!”

“What? You were going to tell her in a second. I could see it on your face.”

You blanch. “I mean, yes. But you didn’t have to just spill it out there for the whole world to hear.” You swallow. “Yes, we…were together for a bit but then I ended things. It's been over seven months now.”

“Wow,” Robin breathes out, throwing back the rest of her drink, “so, uh, the smoldering looks Eddie is throwing your way?”

“They’re not smoldering looks,” you argue, cheeks burning, “and if there are, it’s probably just because this is the first time we’ve seen each other in months.”

“Can’t believe none of you assholes told me about this,” Robin huffs out, head shaking. “Does Nancy know?”

“Eddie is her best friend,” Steve says flatly.

“So yes,” Robin concedes. “You’re going to give me grays.”

“You’re only twenty three,” you remind her, and Vickie pins you with a ‘just let her be dramatic’ sort of look.

“I’m just — my best friend was in love with my other best friend. And now the same best friend is sleeping with my other best friend. And those best friends are now acting like a bunch of idiots because they can’t get their shit together and just fall in love and I’m supposed to act like this is all normal?! Just casual, typical Friday night conversation before my other best friend’s wedding to my other best friend —”

“That was…not at all confusing. Nope,” Steve mumbles. Vickie smacks his arm, because there’s a shuffle by the door and Nancy and Eddie appear once more, another log for the crackling fire perched in Eddie’s elbow.

The chatter in the room dissolves after that, as Steve and Nancy make their way upstairs to the room they’re taking for the night. Robin and Vickie have the guest room, leaving you with a decision to make, stopping back into the living room after everyone says goodnight to find Eddie sitting there, watching the fire.

“So…we have one bed free,” you begin.

“It’s yours.”

“You’re a guest,” you remind him, stepping further into the room.

He doesn’t look your way, but you can see orange flames dancing in the reflection of his beautifully dark eyes.

“I want you to have it,” he says, finally turning to face you. Breath hitches in the back of your throat, your body’s normal response when he’s near, clearly not dulled with the passing of time.

“Okay.” You give a curt nod. “Here, let me grab you a blanket.”

He’s quiet. So unlike the man you spent over a year with. Regards you carefully as you move about the room, ducking down to grab a blanket from a basket near the fireplace. Your hand outstretches to pass the blanket to him, his fingers touching yours. It’s a lingering sort of thing. His fingers warm against yours, the barest of brushes of his knuckles across your skin. Electricity dances in your veins.

Then it’s over as quickly as it comes, the blanket thrown over his thighs, his eyes on your face.

“Sorry I missed your birthday," he says.

It was the worst birthday you had in years.

A laugh. “Sorry I missed yours.”

You heard all about it from Steve, but couldn’t bring yourself to go at the time.

He swallows, throat bobs with effort. “You didn’t bring a date for the wedding?”

No, and you hadn’t dated anyone since him either. Tried and failed here and there, blind dates friends set up, but they never went anywhere.

“Neither did you,” you state, as a matter of factly.

Unless she’s hiding somewhere else, and you feel your heart kick anxiously up at the notion.

“Just me,” he says, exhaling deeply.

You thank the heavens, or whoever will listen, for this tiny blessing.

He smiles, and it’s that favorite smile of his. The one where his dimples pop and his face brightens. The one reserved for those many nights you spent inside with him, laughing until the early hours of the morning, both needing to go to work the next day, yet neither finding it in yourselves to care.

“Look at us.”

“Yeah.” Your hand rubs up and down your arm, feet shifting awkwardly beneath you.

“You look…” His eyes trail over your features with a familiar fondness within those dark depths. “You look really good. Happy.”

“I am good…and happy,” you tell him, nodding. “You…you look good, too. I should, uh, head up for bed.”

His head dips, and then dips again rapidly. “Right.” Clears his throat. “Yeah – ah, early morning tomorrow.”

“Yup,” you pop the ‘p.’

There’s a pause in the conversation. A moment where neither of you moves. You know you don’t want to. Want to remain right here. You also know better. There were words said months ago, words with intention behind them. The need for both of you to get better, to get to a place where you’re ready for whatever this thing is between the two of you.

You’re ready, have been for a while now, but Eddie…

As you finally start to trek backwards, maintaining eye contact with the man who still holds your heart, he whispers, “I’m glad you didn’t bring a date.”

“Me too, Eddie,” you admit quietly, biting at your bottom lip. “Maybe it’s selfish, but…me too.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He’s beautiful like this. Dark eyes on yours, hair a wavy mess around his shoulders, strands loose from his ponytail. Soft, in a way that makes you want to climb onto the sofa beside him and let him hold you, erasing all the memories lost. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Breathless, you feel completely and utterly breathless under this spell. “Goodnight, Ed. See you in the morning.”

And you’re gone. Slipping up the stairs to your bedroom, closing the door behind you, and placing a hand over the organ clanging away behind your ribcage. With an exhale, you rush into the bathroom and flick the light on. Your features illuminate in the mirror. Eyes wide, chest heaving, looking a little out of sorts. Your cheeks burn with the whisper of his touch, mind whirling at the meaning behind his glances, the timbre of his words.

Steve might be the first person you loved.

Your first kiss.

But Eddie is the first person you can say without a doubt in your mind you are in love with.

Even now, with seven months of time between you – and you don’t think anything will change that.

——

The wedding ceremony is a beautiful thing. Flowing, floral archway. A church that looks like something out of a postcard. Little mosaic windows, a gorgeous sprawling ceiling with high beams. Everyone they love is here. Family and friends made along the way. The kids, with their beaming smiles and not so childlike faces any longer.

Steve and Nancy recite their vows to one another, the words sounding muffled in your ears, because for the first time in your life the boy you’ve been looking at is finally looking right back at you.

Eddie, in a black suit, smiling over at you. Hands folded in front of himself as Steve and Nancy declare their everlasting love in a room filled with their loved ones. The feeling of his hand on your arm as he walked you down the aisle like a brand that lingers on your skin. Can feel it even now, the way his fingers would feel should they grace your cheek. Had leaned into that caress so many times, seeking the comfort of him.

You don’t even know why, but you smile back, thinking of one of your favorite days with him before everything had gone to hell.

You wanted, very badly actually, to hook up that night. He’d brought a backpack with him, intended to stay for the weekend. But when he walked into your apartment, a spare key on his keyring, he found you holed up on the couch, grumbling about how your weekend plans were ruined.

“They’re not ruined,” Eddie chuckled, dropping down onto the couch beside you. “You act like I’m this insatiable man.”

“You can be –”

“Hi pot, meet kettle.” You glared half heartedly. “Plus you’re a very active participant, and you benefit from it in the form of plentiful orgasms, so quit your yapping,” he teased, catching a little wince, the furrow between your brows. “No dice? What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“Period cramps,” you grumbled out, pulling your blanket up higher on your form. “You don’t have to stay. I’m not going to be much company like this.”

“One, I always like hanging out with you. You’re my best friend, you dork.” He flicked your nose, grinning when you wrinkled it in response. “Two, let me run to the supermarket real quick, okay?”

“Why?” Your head tilted to the side.

“Going to grab us some food so I can cook dinner,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, “and some things for my girl. Gotta take care of her, right?”

His girl. His girl. He’d never said that before, and something about it felt perfectly wonderful and also a little bit like a lie. You wanted it to be true, though. Realized you hadn’t wanted something so fiercely like that in a long, long time. Didn’t know what to do with those emotions, so you dropped back down onto your mountain of pillows and watched as Eddie quickly slipped out of your apartment in a flurry of black leather and curly hair, and slammed the door behind him.

He returned a half hour later with a bag of treats. Your favorite chips, candy, some popcorn. He got started on spaghetti and requested you pick out a movie. Oddly domestic for two people who usually spent most nights tangled in bedsheets.

Later, after your belly was full and the movie was playing on the television screen, Eddie tugged you against his chest and dragged a hand along your lower back, thumb pushing with perfect pressure at the base of your spine to alleviate some of the ache there.

“Is this good?” he asked, voice quiet.

“Perfect, honestly,” you hummed, head nuzzling further into his chest.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, don’t know who fell asleep first, but when you woke up it was to Eddie’s body curled around yours, his arms slung around your abdomen.

Wanting to do something special for him, you quietly extricated yourself out from within the tangle of his arms. Flicked on your kitchen light and started throwing some things together for pancakes. Your oversized tee shirt fluttered against your thighs as you worked, bare legs covered only up to the knee by your crew socks. At some point as you hummed along to the softly playing radio, Eddie appeared behind you, arms around your waist, his chest at your spine.

“Morning,” he muttered, pressing a loud kiss to your cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay now,” you said, leaning your head over your shoulder to look at him. He trailed the backs of his fingers across the highest point of your cheek. Kissed you slowly, softly, sweetly. “Hmm. What was that for?”

“Didn’t get one yesterday.”

And it shouldn’t have made your heart stutter. It shouldn’t have made a liquid heat pool in your belly. Because the arrangement had always been the two of you being best friends who sought shelter in each other.

You kissed him again. “Better?”

He grinned, twirling you in his arms, hand catching yours. “Nope,” he chuckled, drawing you in closer as ‘My Girl’ spilled out of the radio speaker, “but if you dance with me I might be able to forgive you.”

In the morning light you did just that. He whirled you around and brought you back into the circle of his arms. Looped an arm around your waist to hold you close, your face against the curve of his chest, his chin resting on the crown of your head as he gently hummed along. ‘Well I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way? My girl, my girl, my girl. Talkin’ about my girl, my girl.’

Eventually the pancakes burned, the room filled with smoke, and the fire alarm went off. You laughed about it, fell to the ground in a fit of giggles, your thighs over his lap as you both foregone breakfast in favor of eating ice cream out of a carton.

It felt normal. A little too normal.

Now you only look over to him fondly as Steve and Nancy’s vows draw to a close. Wish, as they walk back out the double doors at the end of the aisle once they’re officially husband and wife, for more stolen moments like that.

——

“Hey,” Steve’s voice calls from the end of the hallway, just as you slip out of the powder room. “I’ve been looking for you. They're doing the couple’s dance next.”

You let out an incredulous laugh. “I think you forget I’m single these days.” You pause, rushing over to grab at his tie, askew around his neck. Nimble fingers reach up to grasp at it, working the fabric back into proper place. “You go on ahead. It’s your special day.”

“I promised a friend I’d get you onto the dance floor for one dance,” he says, curling a hand around the back of your wrist. With a frown, he adds, “Just one dance, please? He gets all dramatic and pouty when he doesn’t get his way.”

“Go figure, so do you!” He narrows his eyes as you add, “no wonder you’re best friends.”

“I’m choosing to ignore you,” he says, suddenly — albeit dramatically — glum.

“Today is your wedding day,” you remind him, sliding your palm down to wrap around his hand, “you shouldn’t be worried about me.”

“Yeah, but remember when I decided you were my best friend at ten years old? I said I’d protect and love you forever —”

“We were kids,” you laugh, shaking your head, “we said a lot of things we knew nothing about.”

“Hey.” His hand frees itself from yours, only for both to rest on either side of your cheeks. Tears, unbidden, start to burn on your lower lash line, threatening to spill out. “You are my best friend. And I want you to be happy. It’s been seven months. Hear him out, see what he has to say, and don’t let this day pass by without at least giving things a chance.”

“Why, Steve?”

“Because I married my person today,” he says, brushing away a tear as it glides down your cheek, “and I think he could be yours. Look at me, okay? Look at you — too pretty to be crying right now. I love you.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

Would love him forever. That kind of friendship never fades, never dwindles, never dies.

A different type of love than the one you once loved him with, because that spot was always meant for Eddie, even if you hadn’t always known it.

“One dance?”

“One dance,” you agree, curling your arm through the loop of his elbow he leaves open for you to take.

The reception hall is glowing in a pale blue. All around couples start to litter the dance floor. Bodies close together, heads bent low, hushes of whispers between partners shared only for their ears. Steve halts you as you step out into the crowd, and it’s then that the world seems to stop. There, at the edge of the floor, stands Eddie with his hands in his pockets. His tie is a little loose around his throat, the top button of his shirt open, revealing a hint of the tattoos he got to help cover some of the scarring there. And then you catch the tilt of his lips, the dimple in his cheek, the way he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the room.

“Go…” Steve gives you a little nudge and joins his new wife.

On shaky legs, you start to walk. One foot after another, after another. One two, one two. You count each footfall, and can feel the thump-thump of your heart, as every step brings you closer to him. Finally, the tips of your heeled shoes meet his leather ones.

Your head lifts, eyes catching him in the dim lighting. “Hi,” you whisper.

“Hey,” he says back, unsure of where to put his hands, one raising to touch your shoulder before he thinks better of it.

“I’ve been told I owe you a dance,” you say, fighting back the silly smile that threatens to grow on your lips.

“Got worried,” he confesses, a tentative hand curling around your back, pressing against the middle to pull you in close.

Your body brushes him, and it feels like coming home after a long day. It feels like your whole soul exhales. Feels right. “Why?”

“Thought you might stand me up,” he chuckles, your head resting against his shoulder, “and then I’d look like the only idiot alone on the dance floor.”

“Look, Eddie, I —” you say, just as he says, “I missed you so damn much, sweetheart.”

There it is. The wonder, the questions you’ve yet to ask, uncovered in one sentence. The confirmation that everything you’ve been feeling, every longing moment, has been mutual.

“That day in your kitchen,” he says, quiet enough only you can hear, “when we danced like this was that first moment for me.”

“What moment?” You blink up at him nervously.

“When I realized how completely and utterly fucked I was because I lo — liked you more than I ever realized,” he admits, a little sheepishly, “although pretty sure it was before that. Look — when we broke up —”

“Eddie,” you interrupt, heart hammering away wildly like little hummingbird wings, “I don’t think a wedding is the best place to discuss this. And I want to discuss it, don’t get me wrong, I just think we should…keep things normal for our friends. It’s their day.”

“It’s been seven months,” he reminds you.

As if you could ever forget, as if there isn’t an ‘Eddie’ shaped indent forever etched into your comforter that you’ve stared at for every day since he walked out your door.

“And I’ve thought about you every single day for each of them,” he says, and it nearly breaks you all over again when you catch the longing in his voice.

“I know,” you say, a little hoarsely, “I have too.”

His lip twitches at that, hopefulness replacing the forlorn look on his beautiful face. Everything in you screams to lean up and kiss him, to put to rest the disquiet in your soul, but you refrain. Focus solely instead on the emcee as he announces the bouquet toss.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you tell him, shrugging softly. “You’ll call me? Tonight?”

Eddie grimaces. Nods. “Sure. Yeah.”

Walking backwards, you flash him a wave, trying to not inwardly wince at your last words to the man. ‘You’ll call me?’ There’s little time to linger, as girls gather around on the dance floor and Nancy turns away from the crowd, her back to your group. Steve looks on at Eddie’s side, the two laughing jovially as Nancy launches the bouquet over her head and into the sea of women.

It happens in slow motion. You think it does, at least. An elbow digs into your ribs here, a knee bumps yours there, a shoulder bashes yours, and, without even realizing it, the flowers thump into your chest. Robin’s shaking your shoulder, laughing in your ear as Nancy rushes over to wrap you in a hug. Steve’s grinning and elbowing Eddie, who is turning a shade of red you’re pretty sure a tomato would envy.

It’s just a silly tradition, you think.

Doesn’t mean anything. So you grab onto Nancy and Robin, pull them back onto the dance floor, and pretend you don’t wish deep down it did.

——

Your keys drop into a bowl near the coat rack. Your jacket is pushed up onto a hook, still wet from the rain that’s starting to fall over Hawkins. Feet aching, you kick those off at the doorway, breathing a deep breath at the instantaneous relief. With a sigh, you slip into the kitchen and hit the light switch, as well as the back light, and suddenly the wide open windows to the sliding door leading to the lake are illuminated. Your eyes trail over the water rippling in the distance. The moon is a perfect circle in the sky, the twinkly lights your parents had wrapped around an umbrella outside like little fireflies in the night, even on a dreary evening.

Another sigh and you slip over to the counter, grabbing a bottle opener. An unopened red wine bottle sits idly on the counter, and you snatch a glass from a cabinet above, pouring a generous cup.

You’ve barely enough time to take in that first decadent sip when the doorbell rings, filling the home. Eyes flick to the clock against the wall, read that it’s nearly eleven now. Maybe the neighbor’s dog got free again? Wouldn’t be the first time.

Another ring.

“One second!” you shout into the open air, placing your glass down on the counter to rush down the hall.

Through the peephole you see him. Hair stuck to his forehead and slicked to his leather jacket. His shirt is nearly seethrough. Droplets of water cascade down the tense lines of his face, his forehead.

“Eddie?” you ask as you tug the door open, head cocked to the side. “What are y —”

“I’ll call?” He sounds pitiful. A hoarse sound tugged from deep within his chest, like his words have been raked over glass.

You…there are no words. “Yeah, Eddie. It’s when a person picks up the phone, dials a number, and the other person answers. Generally they carry on a conversation after, if we are getting technical here.”

He shakes his head and water flicks from the ends of his wet strands of hair with the movement. “Since when are we the kind of people who do that? We’re the kind of people who just barge right into places. I show up at your place, you show up at mine. We eat each other’s food, share everything. Hell, I had a key to your apartment. I’d stop on my way back from the shop to shower because you always lived closer to there than my apartment. Gotta say, I miss that. And fuck — I miss you, sweetheart.”

He’s shivering now as you ask, “What are you doing, Eddie?”

He lets out an incredulous laugh, looking to the sky, exasperated. “Standing here in the pouring rain trying to tell the girl that I love…that I’m in love with her and that I want to be with her. For real this time.” He pauses, arms curling around himself. “And I’m, like, really cold right now and I wanted to have this conversation inside but here I am, trying to make a grand gesture.”

“I thought you weren’t a grand gesture guy.” You’re joking, but there are tears burning in your eyes at his words.

“I’m a grand gesture kind of guy for you. Only you.” His teeth chatter, “Fuck, sweetheart —”

“Oh,” you jolt, tugging the door open wider, “come in. I’m so sorry.”

It’s instant. As soon as the door shuts behind him, and he’s standing there sopping wet on your rug, his hands find your face and draw your mouth to his, claiming your lips in a searing kiss.

A kiss that starts off tentatively. Light. Teasing. Gentle brushes of skin passing over yours. Relearning each other, as if you’d ever forget him. As if you’d ever forget the mintiness on his tongue, the smokiness in his kiss. As if you’d forget the way he always loops an arm around your lower back to tug you in closer, bringing you flush against him, wanting to always be near.

But it’s not enough, you decide, as you work at the buttons on his shirt. Each one pops out slowly, fingers tripping over themselves, a puddle already forming on the ground beneath you. Once he’s free, you tug his undershirt out from his dark pants, fingers roaming over the soft of his stomach, the line of hair disappearing beneath his pants that has him circling your wrists with his fingers to pause you in your ministrations.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he whispers against your ear, brushing featherlight kiss after featherlight kiss to your throat. “I want to take my time with you.”

“You love me?” you ask him, humming into his mouth as he walks you backward into the living room, barely making it to the couch before you’re clambering up onto his lap, dress riding up on your thighs.

“I love you,” he says, kissing your cheek. “I love you.” He kisses your other cheek. “I love you.” He kisses your forehead. “I love you,” and finally, your lips.

Your face crumples with his words, tears stinging your eyes. His thumbs come up to brush at the ones that slip down your cheeks, voice a coo when he says, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I’m happy,” you whimper out, “I missed you. Every day, I missed you.”

“You’re stuck with me now,” he chuckles, and you laugh along with him, liking the way that sounds, “I’m moving my things back into your dresser as we speak.”

“Promise?”

He sobers then. Lips turning downward, the wrinkle on his forehead more pronounced, his hands curling around yours and giving a squeeze. “I’m sorry. For that last day. I…my head was all over the place at the time. I was trying to figure out how I felt about you and clearly had some feelings still that I needed to work through with Nancy. But you — you didn’t deserve that.”

When you shake your head, he continues, “It hadn’t been ‘just sex’ for me for a long time. I mean, I made up excuses to see you whenever I could. Maybe I didn’t realize what was going on, but I just wanted to be around you all the time. And when I wasn’t able to see you and just…be with you…it wasn’t easy. But I know it’s what we needed and I’m ready now. I just want us, for real this time. I want to hang out at your apartment, do all that stupid couple shit that I can only see myself doing with you. I want you to yell at me when I leave the damn toilet seat up. I want to brush my teeth with you before bed and hold you every night. I want to do this with you, be with you in the way we should have been all along, if you’ll let me.”

“Yes,” you kiss him, long and lingering, breathing him in as he does the same. “I want it all with you, Eddie. I love you…I love you so much.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever get used to you saying that,” he says, staring up at you wondrously.

“I’ll remind you everyday, don’t worry,” you tell him with a giggle, sliding your hands up and over his shoulders, along the curve of his jaw. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Eddie makes love to you for the first time that night.

A slow, gentle thing.

His body crowds over yours, hands map out every line of your body, memorizing every detail he’s gone without for months. Kisses along every inch of you he can, whispering praises into your skin. When he pushes inside for that first time, your breath rushes out of you in a strained gasp as your body readjusts to seven months without him, mouth dropping open with a whine when he bottoms out.

It’s slow. His hips rolling against yours, body cradling you close, thumb finding your clit to bring you up and over the edge, trembling beneath him with a cry of his name.

That first time feels like a sorry.

The second, he pulls you into the shower, washing every inch of your body. The remnants of the wedding and him still on your skin. He’s sweet, all soft, fluttery kisses against your lips and shoulders, your spine, your thighs when he gets down onto his knees to glide the washcloth along them.

His mouth finds you in the shower, your head rolling back against tile, fingers tangling in his hair as he props a thigh over his shoulder to keep you open for him.

When you finish, you pull him back up to your lips, smothering his own moan with a kiss as you cup him in hand and help to guide him into you.

That time feels like a promise. The steady rhythm of his hips, the fierceness of his love, the strength of his arms as he holds you, his eyes locked on yours as you both bask in the euphoria of closeness.

The third happens somewhere around the time the sun begins to rise again over Hawkins, the rainstorm from the night before a wispy memory. Thighs slot over Eddie’s hips, his hands sliding up and over your breasts, teasing as you roll over him, the drag of him and the soft moans spilling from the man beneath you spurring you on.

That third time, as he flips you over onto your back and moves inside you so slowly, hands and eyes locked with yours — that one feels like a new beginning, a turning page.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the dawning realization. Tears he brushes away with sweet kisses, whispering, “I know, I know,” into your shoulder as he comes apart at the edges, your own release shattering through you like a bolt of lightning. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You sleep intermittently. Both of you. The house is yours for the weekend, so you make the most of it. Lips coming together, bodies joining after soft sighs turn into eager movements of hands beneath covers. Over and over, like you can’t get enough — and you won’t get enough.

Somewhere around dinner time the next evening, you traipse out of bed with Eddie still sprawled out on his stomach, long tee shirt dancing along your thighs. Sock clad feet excitedly slide across wooden floors, fingers curling around the refrigerator door to pull out a bottle of champagne. As the cork pops, Eddie appears in the doorway, a white tank top covering his body, sweats hanging low on his hips. A tattooed arm comes up to rest there, the muscle of his bicep straining with the movement.

“Hi,” he whispers. Pauses, making a little camera with his hands, pretending to snap a photo.

“What was that?” you giggle airily, pouring two glasses, offering one to him.

“Just looked so damn beautiful, sweetheart,” he leans down to kiss your forehead, “sunset behind you, your smile.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle with those on his free hand. “How about I order us a pizza? I’m starving.”

You eat in comfortable silence, the bottle of champagne slipping away as the hours do. Everything feels saccharine and wonderful, perfectly warm, as he later tugs your hand on the way downstairs, deciding on a game of pool before heading back up to watch a movie together.

Eddie makes his way over to the record player in the corner. As the music fills the room, the lyrics to “The Way You Do the Things You Do,” meet your ears, a silly smile sliding across your lips.

“Are you a secret romantic?” you tease, snatching a pool cue from a rack.

“Only for you,” he muses, catching the one you throw his way as he starts to rack the balls. “I like this record, though. Reminds me of you.”

You lean over the table to break, not missing the way his eyes trail your backside as you do so. Balls scatter, a solid sinking into a pocket. “So…you’ll move in?”

“Is that your way of asking?” he chuckles, moving around the table to make a shot, knocking another ball of yours in.

“Well…” You bite at your lip, focusing on your next shot. Sink one of his. “My place is closer to your job. It’s bigger. You’ve basically lived there before…”

“You don't think it’s too soon?”

Your mouth pops open, wincing as he sinks another one of your balls. “I mean, I didn’t think. I just feel like —”

“I’m kidding, baby,” he swoops down to kiss your temple, “Told you last night you’re not getting rid of me. I want to do things right this time.”

You sip your glass a bit, relishing the bubbles that spring to life in your belly, sure many of which are thanks to the man staring at you the way he is.

“Your turn,” he says, gesturing toward your cue.

The next song plays on the record, and you once again lean forward, watching Eddie’s gaze in the mirror hanging across the way as he slips up from behind you, curling an arm low around your belly, kissing your neck.

Heat coils low, then lower still. “You’re —” A quiet sigh spills out of you, his lips toying with the space beneath your ear. “…distracting me.”

As he moves out from behind you, lining up his next shot, you snatch his pack of cigarettes free from his pocket. His eyes lock on yours as you pluck one free, holding it between two fingers, drawing it up to pursed lips. Dark eyes lock with yours as the tip glows red, watching you draw in slowly. As you exhale he snatches it from you, bringing it to his mouth.

And maybe you lean over again, backside poking out a little bit too far than it needs to, but the effect is him curling his arms around your hips, dragging your back flush against his chest as you reach up to take the cigarette back from him. Like that, you feel every inch of his body. Each dip and curve of a broad torso, the corded muscles in his arms from working with his hands for hours all day. Hands you know to be skilled, not only with your body, but with cars and his music. And he’s warm — like a damn near furnace, breath tantalizingly sweet against your ear as he kisses you softly there.

“Fuuuck me,” you sigh out as his fingers start to draw lazy circles around the tops of your thighs, dragging higher until they disappear beneath your shirt and toy at the hem of your panties, teasing, slowly swaying to “My Girl” once it starts.

“Always so wet for me, baby,” he purrs, nipping and sucking a line at your neck. He’s hard where he rests at your ass, and the urge to touch him has you reaching behind your back, cupping him through his sweats.

Eddie groans and you’re suddenly spun around, the cigarette stamped out on an ash tray behind you, your glass of champagne nearly knocked over. His hand grasps one of yours, his other loops low around your back, bodies swaying to and fro to the music, lyrics interrupted by the sounds of your lips meeting his. And it’s perfect: moonlight spilling in through a darkened window, your shirt dancing around your thighs, his heart beating in tandem with yours. You’re not sure when, or how, it happens. One moment you’re swaying with him, arms around his neck, keeping him in close. The next, you’re on your back, balls scattering around you on the table, his mouth clashing fiercely with yours.

You shove his sweatpants down, and he tugs at your panties. He’s bare beneath, and as soon as your underwear is tossed somewhere else in the room, he’s crawling up your body, the hot underside of his cock sliding through already slick folds, coating himself in your wetness.

“Eddie,” you let out a breathy whimper, the friction of him against you perfect and yet not enough all the same, “Eddie, please. I want you inside me.”

His eyes are on yours as he grips himself in hand, gliding his glistening pink tip along your center, asking, "You want me like this baby? Tell me.”

“Please. Please, I want it all, Eddie.”

“Look at us,” he whispers, and you watch that moment, that forever splendid moment where he buries himself inside you, closer to you than anyone has ever been or will be. “Jesus…” He grinds out through clenched teeth, pulling out slowly before pushing all the way back in, “You always feel so good. You feel like mine.”

“I love you.” You pant into his neck, clawing at his back as he picks up his pace, “Always loved you.”

You’ve said it a thousand times now. Watched every time as pure and unadulterated peace fell across his features. But now Eddie only holds you, whispering the sentiment back into your skin as his body drives yours further up the pool table, imbuing every roll of his hips, every thrust, with the emotions overflowing in his chest. You can feel it, the depth of it. The way he loves you, the trust between you, the promise he’ll always keep you safe and close.

You can only bask in it.

——

“Are you okay?”

He asks you again, as you stand outside that next morning, a blanket wrapped around your form.

The answer isn’t simple.

Then again, none of this has ever been. Not with Eddie. But you suppose that’s what makes it your favorite love story.

Because it’s yours. Because it’s messy and it’s different and it’s yours. Because you started off as two friends, maybe in the wrong place, in love with the wrong people at the wrong time when you first met years ago.

Or — perhaps, the right time, because in the end you’re here. With him. With thoughts of the future, plans for what happens when you head out later for your apartment.

To the place where you’ll start the newest chapter with him once and for all.

“I’m perfect,” you tell him, lowering down onto the swinging chair against the side of the home. Your fingers tangle with his, your body slumping over his chest as he gets comfortable against the cushions. He holds you like that as you trace patterns into his skin, trace over scars, over tattoos. “I’m going to miss the lake house, but I can’t wait to go home.”

“I know.” He drops a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers brushing against your spine. “Me too.”

A comfortable silence drapes over you as you watch the sun creep higher along the sky. As you listen to the birds chirping, the chatter of children. Later, it’s the ruckus of people launching themselves into the water, people fishing and boasting of their catches. And at night, as you and Eddie make one last fire and share a glass of wine, fireflies drifting around your head, you allow yourself to imagine a life where forever looks like this.

A life with your first real, honest, true love.

Someone who stares right back at you as you grin at him over the lip of your glass, who leans over and kisses you just to whisper he loves you into your lips one more time.

In a year from now you’ll be back, you in a flurry of pretty tulle and him in a tux, newly Mr. and Mrs. Munson, but for now you smile to yourself, ready to watch the next chapter unfold.

——

this is the first thing i have written this long in months after having the worst few months of my life. so happy to finally hit post on this one. i hope you enjoy, maybe leave a comment or a reblog. would mean the world to me. 💕

[devotion-disorder]

hello! big fan of kuuya. i get a little shy about posting about yandere things on any of my mains, so i resurrected an old account for the sake of sending you this. i struggled a little drawing his hair but i had fun colouring it - i hope i did him some justice ☆彡 i like that he is so so tired and struggling. on a more headcanon basis, i like the idea of him being bad at tying his own tie. i just think that would be cute. (i am restraining myself from rambling about headcanons, so please take this image now instead)

first of all,

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THERE HE IS............M'BOY MY PATHETIC WET CAT................. YOU HAVE DONE MORE THAN JUSTICE I HAVE REASON TO SUSPECT THAT YOU🫵🫵 HAVE SNUCK INTO HIS ROOM AND TOOK A PHOTO OF HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and your art style is SO LOVELY!!!!!!!!!!!!! the muted colours are perfect for this sickly pathetic boye!!!!!!!!!!!! his mussy tousled hair!!!!! i could look at this forever WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

but on another note, headcanon is now CANON *slams gavel*

you are absolutely right that he fucking sucks at tying ties. somebody please help him

[lxndonorris]

the day after - Carlando

Lando Norris x Carlos Sainz Theme: Fluff (light touching) it's the day after the Australia GP and Carlos is spending the morning in bed with Lando x word count: 1325 taglist: @game-set-canet open for requests of either ships or reader fics, feel free to ask :)

The golden rays of dawn filter through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the plush hotel room where Lando and Carlos lie entwined in each other's arms. The afterath of the Australian Grand Prix still lingers in the air, the taste of champagne and victory sweet on their lips.

Carlos stretches, his hazel eyes fluttering open to meet Lando's gaze. A soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he takes in the sight of his beloved, his heart swelling with affection.

Lando, wearing Carlos's Ferrari shirt, looks back at him with adoration, his fingers tracing lazy circles on Carlos's bare chest.

"Morning, champ," Lando murmurs, his voice husky with sleep but laced with tenderness.

"Morning, my love," Carlos replies, his voice filled with warmth as he presses a gentle kiss to Lando's forehead.

The events of the previous day flood back to them—the adrenaline-pumping race, the electrifying atmosphere of standing together on the podium, celebrating their victories side by side. Carlos's triumphant win, with Lando right by his side, has been a moment they will cherish forever.

But amidst the glitz and glamour of the Grand Prix, there is a quieter, more intimate celebration that unfolds behind closed doors—the celebration of their love, a love that few knew existed.

As Carlos shifts, a twinge of pain shoots through his abdomen, a reminder of the surgery he had undergone just two weeks prior. His appendix removal has been a setback, but Lando has been there every step of the way, offering unwavering support and care.

Lando's touch is gentle as he traces his fingers over the faint scar on Carlos's abdomen, his lips pressing soft kisses along the path. Carlos sighs contentedly, reveling in the warmth of Lando's affection and grateful for his unwavering presence.

"You should be resting," Lando murmurs, concern lacing his words as he gazes into Carlos's eyes.

"I am resting," Carlos replies with a playful grin, his fingers tangling in Lando's tousled hair. "With you here, it doesn't hurt at all."

Lando's gaze is filled with warmth and adoration as he looks into Carlos's eyes, marveling at the depth of emotion he finds there. He traces the lines of Carlos's face with his fingertips, committing every curve and contour to memory, as if trying to capture the essence of his beloved.

Carlos, in turn, drinks in the sight of Lando, his heart swelling with love at the tenderness he sees reflected in those beautiful brown eyes.

"I must excuse myself." Lando reluctantly peels himself from the warmth of the bed to attend to nature's call. "You just stay there," he smiles, pointing at Carlos still lying in bed.

Carlos smiles, unable to help but admire the sight before him. The way Lando's black underwear hugs his frame, accentuating every inch, sends a surge of desire corusing through Carlos's veins. The red Ferrari shirt suits him, the fabric draping over his frame in all the right places.

With a playful swagger in his step, Lando makes his way to the bathroom, the soft fabric of the shirt billowing around him as he moves. He can't deny the rush of satisfaction that washes over him, knowing that he looks good in Carlos's clothes.

Carlos's gaze lingers appreciatively on Lando's form, taking in the sight of his boyfriend strolling around inside his hotel room, wearing his clothes.

As Lando disappears into the bathroom, Carlos can't suppress the grin that spreads across his face. He feels a rush of affection for his boyfriend, marveling at the effortless charm and magnetic presence that draw him in time and time again.

When Lando returns, shirtless and exuding confidence, Carlos's breath catches in his throat. The sight of Lando's exposed torso—the play of muscles beneath taut skin—is one to behold.

Carlos's heart beats faster as he watches Lando approach, his longing evident in the warmth of his gaze.

Without a word but a knowing smirk playing on his lips, Lando slips back into bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he nestles against Carlos's side. He wraps his arms around Lando, pulling him close in a tender embrace. The warmth of their bodies pressed together, the steady rhythm of their breaths syncing in perfect harmony.

With a soft smile, Carlos runs his fingers gently through his boyfriend's hair before he brushes a kiss against his temple, his heart overflowing with love.

"You know," Carlos breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. "I love seeing you in my clothes. But to be fair, you look just as fine without them."

Lando's cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and pelasure at Carlos's words, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leans into the touch, his heart fluttering at the sincerity in Carlos's voice.

"Thanks, Carlos," Lando replies, his own voice filled with affection.

"But." Carlos's fingertips dance lightly along Lando's jawline, tracing the contours with a feather-light touch. His gaze softens with love as he leans in closer, his breath mingling with Lando's as he speaks.

"I miss your stubble," Carlos murmurs, his voice tingling with longing. "It made you look so rough, so mature."

A soft chuckle escapes Lando's lips as he meets Carlos's gaze, his heart swelling with love at the tender admission. He tilts his head slightly, leaning in to his boyfriend's touch as he savors the warmth of their closeness.

"I'll grow it back just for you." Lando breathes deeply; his voice laces with playfulness as he brushes his lips against Carlos's fingertips. "Anything to make you happy."

Lando's fingers trail softly over Carlos' chest as he smiles happily. A tender warmth spreads between them, their connection deepening with each gentle stroke.

Their tender moment is interrupted by a soft knock on the door, signaling the arrival of room service. With a reluctant sigh, Lando extricates himself from Carlos's embrace and makes his way to the door, pulling on a pair of shorts as he goes.

Returning to the bed, Lando sets the tray of breakfast delicacies on the bedside table, his eyes lighting up with excitement. Croissants, fresh fruit, and steaming cups of coffee await them—a feast fit for Grand Prix winners and podium sitters.

While enjoying their breakfast together, Lando can't help but feel a surge of affection for his beloved. With a tender smile, Lando offers Carlos a perfectly buttered croissant, atching with satisfaction as his eyes light up with delight. The sweetness of the pastry melting on Carlos's tongue, a small but meaningful gesture of love and devotion.

Next comes the fruit, each piece carefully selected and lovingly offered to Carlos. Lando revels in the simple pleasure of deeding his boyfriend, his heart swelling with pride at the sight of Carlos enjoying the breakfast.

"Thank you, love." Carlos smiles warmly, leaning forward to kiss his boyfriend.

With their stomachs content and hearts full, Lando and Carlos melt into each other's embrace once more, their bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.

As Lando's hands trace patterns across Carlos's chest, a sense of peace settles over them, enveloping them in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy.

Wrapped in each other's arms, they revel in the simple pleasure of being together, their chuckles mingling with the soft rustle of sheets and the rhythmic beating of their hearts.

Lando's touch is gentle yet possessive as he explores every curve and contour of Carlos's body, his fingertips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. With every soft stroke he elicits a soft growl out of Carlos's throat.

"Feels good, huh?" Lando purrs playfully, already knowing the answer.

Carlos sighs lowly again, his breath mingling with Lando's as he nuzzles closer, seeking refuge in the safety of their embrace. "So good." He breathes against Lando's skin, sending shivers down his back. With each caress, he feels the weight of the world lift from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of belonging that only Lando could provide.

[thatdammchickennugget]

Love Is Embarrassing - Part Eight

>> when are all my excuses of learning my lessons gonna start to feel sad? <<

pairing - theodore nott x fem! reader

summary - when you agree to help Theo out with a bet, you learn that maybe the bad boy isn't actually that bad

warnings - a little angsty, jealous!theo, mention of y/n

wordcount - 3.7k

a/n - okay, I finally managed to finish this last chapter. thank you so much to everyone who is still reading and commenting, even though it took me months to wrap this up. I love and appreciate you 💕

series masterlist

The fluorescent lights of the grocery store cast a bright glow over the aisles, illuminating the colorful array of products lining the shelves. Theo strolled through the store, while you sat in the cart, snacks and essentials piled high around you.

The grocery store aisles became their battleground as they playfully bantered over the best candy for their movie night. With each turn down a new aisle, the debate intensified. Theo's arguments for the tangy delight of sour candies clashed with your unwavering devotion to the sweet satisfaction of chocolate. 

Your banter echoed through the grocery store aisles, drawing amused glances from other shoppers. You grinned mischievously from your perch in the cart, throwing playful jabs at Theo's taste in candy while he retaliated with mock indignation.

As you rounded the corner into the snack aisle, a familiar voice called out, interrupting your lively debate. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Y/n!"

You turned to see a young man standing before you, a wide smile spread across his face. He was tall and lanky, with tousled red hair that seemed to defy gravity, and a pair of bright blue eyes that sparkled with warmth and familiarity. It took you a moment to recognise who was talking to you. He was someone you used to go to school with, a friendly face from your hometown that you hadn't seen in years. You remembered his mother used to be friends with yours and wondered if they still talked.

"Jake! Wow, it's been forever," you exclaimed, genuinely pleased to see him.

Theo's expression shifted imperceptibly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he observed the exchange between you and Jake. He remained silent, pushing the cart forward as you engaged in conversation with your old friend.

"Hey, yeah, it really has," Jake replied with a grin, his eyes scanning over Theo before returning to you. "Looks like you've got some company." 

You nodded, gesturing toward the tall boy behind you. "Yeah, this is Theo. He's a friend from college. We’re visiting for the holidays." 

"Nice to meet you, Theo," Jake said, extending a hand. 

Theo shook it with a polite smile, though you couldn't help but notice the slight tensing of his jaw. "Likewise." 

"So, what brings you guys to the grocery store?" Jake asked, falling into step beside the cart as you continued down the aisle. 

"We're stocking up for a movie night," you explained, reaching for a bag of popcorn on the shelf. "Trying to decide on the best snacks." 

Jake chuckled. "Ah, the eternal struggle. Sweet or savory?" 

"Exactly," you agreed. "We've been debating it all afternoon." 

"Well, if you ask me, you can't go wrong with a good mix of both," Jake suggested, grabbing a bag of chips from the shelf. "Cover all your bases, you know?" 

You laughed, nodding in agreement as you took the bag from his hands, stashing down at your feet. "That's true."

As you caught up with Jake, sharing stories and reminiscing about the past, Theo's demeanor became increasingly guarded. He made casual remarks, joining in the conversation, but there was a subtle tension in his voice that betrayed his unease.

You couldn't help but notice the shift in Theo's demeanor, sensing the underlying tension beneath his attempts to appear unaffected. Despite his efforts to hide it, his jealousy simmered just beneath the surface, evident in the way he subtly tightened his grip on the cart handle. You assumed he was growing tired of being in the store and wanted to go home.

"So, Y/n, it's been ages since we hung out," Jake said, his tone filled with enthusiasm as he glanced between you and Theo. "Mind if I crash your movie night?" 

You hesitated, exchanging a quick glance with Theo before responding. "Uh, well, my mom wouldn't really be a fan of that...Danny hasn’t been feeling well and she doesn’t really want the house to be even fuller, you know." 

Theo's grip on the cart tightened slightly, a subtle indication of his discomfort with the idea. You could sense his unease, and while you didn't want to upset him, you also didn't want to leave Jake hanging. "But we should definitely catch up sometime this week," you continued, offering Jake a friendly smile. "How about we grab coffee or something?" 

Jake's expression brightened at the suggestion, seemingly unfazed by the rejection of the movie night invitation. "That sounds great! I'll shoot you a text and we'll figure out a time." 

"Sounds like a plan," you agreed, relieved that Jake was understanding. 

Jake bid you farewell with a friendly wave before heading off to finish his own shopping. As he disappeared around the corner, you turned your attention back to Theo, who had fallen unusually quiet. "Hey, you okay?" you asked, noticing the tension in his shoulders. 

Theo shrugged, his gaze fixed on the items lining the shelves. "Yeah, just tired, I guess." 

You frowned, not entirely convinced by his response. "Are you sure? You seemed a little... off back there." 

He forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm fine, really. Let's just finish up here and head home." 

Deciding not to press the issue further for now, you nodded, though a sense of unease lingered in the back of your mind. Theo's sudden change in demeanor had caught you off guard, and while you wanted to believe his explanation, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was bothering him.

●・○・●・○・●

Later that night, as you settled in for movie night, the tension between you and Theo remained palpable. He had taken a seat next to Danny, much to your little brother's excitement, leaving you to occupy the spot on the other side of the couch. You tried to brush off the unease gnawing at you, attributing it to Theo's earlier mood and hoping that he would warm up as the evening progressed.

Throughout the movie, Theo seemed distant, his attention focused solely on the screen. You caught glimpses of his profile in the dim glow of the television, his features drawn and unreadable. Despite your attempts to engage him in conversation or share a joke, he remained reserved, his responses curt and unenthusiastic.

As the movie played on, the atmosphere in the room grew increasingly strained. You stole glances at Theo, hoping for some sign that he was feeling better, but he remained aloof, his gaze fixed on the screen.

"That girl reminds me so much of Pansy," you reached around Danny and nudged him gently, trying to draw him into the moment.

He offered a half-hearted chuckle in response, but his eyes never left the television. Your heart sank further at his lack of engagement, the distance between you feeling more pronounced than ever.

When your mom suggested playing a game after the movie, you saw an opportunity to break the tension. "That sounds like fun, doesn't it?" you glanced over at Theo, hoping for a spark of enthusiasm.

But he shook his head, his expression apologetic. "I think I'm gonna call it a night, actually. I'm feeling pretty tired."

Disappointment washed over you as you watched him stand up and make his way towards the stairs. "Oh, okay. Well, goodnight, then," you forced a smile, trying to hide the hurt in your voice.

"Night," Theo replied softly, his tone devoid of its usual warmth as he disappeared upstairs.

After the game ended, you made your way upstairs, feeling a heavy weight in your chest. The events of the evening lingered in your mind, leaving you with a sense of unease that refused to dissipate.

Entering your room, you found Theo already lying in bed, his back turned towards you. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Quietly, you slipped under the covers, careful not to disturb him. Tentatively, you reached out to him, your fingers lightly brushing against his back as they had the night before.

To your surprise, he recoiled at your touch, pushing your hand away before shifting further away from you. The rejection stung, a sharp pang of hurt piercing through your chest as you withdrew your hand, feeling the distance between you grow even wider.

Heart heavy with disappointment and confusion, you lay there in silence. Eventually, exhaustion overtook you, and you drifted off to sleep, the ache of unspoken words weighing heavily on your mind.

●・○・●・○・●

The next morning, you awoke to find Theo's side of the bed empty, a cold reminder of the distance that had grown between you overnight. Pushing aside the covers, you reluctantly dragged yourself out of bed, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of your stomach.

Descending the stairs, you followed the sound of soft conversation to the living room, where you found Theo seated beside your mother, a smile gracing his features as they engaged in lively conversation. Your mother sat in her favorite armchair, her knitting needles in her hands, while Theo held the yarn for her, his expression one of genuine warmth.

You stood there for a moment, watching the scene unfold before you, a wave of conflicting emotions washing over you. Confusion battled with longing, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of envy at the easy camaraderie between Theo and your mother. You couldn’t figure out why he was suddenly acting so cold towards you, all of it reminding you of those last weeks you shared with Grady.

As you observed them, a sudden realization dawned upon you, crystal clear and undeniable. It hit you with the force of a revelation, leaving you breathless and reeling. In that moment, you understood the depth of your feelings for Theo, the profound connection that had blossomed between you, unnoticed and unspoken.

You had fallen for him, deeply and irrevocably, in a way you had never imagined possible. The realization was both exhilarating and terrifying, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within you as you grappled with the newfound truth.

Caught in the whirlwind of emotions, you barely noticed your mother's gaze turning toward you, her warm smile inviting you to join them. You hesitated for a moment, uncertain whether you were ready to face Theo right now.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she greeted you, her voice soft and comforting. "Come join us."

With a small nod, you crossed the room to take a seat beside Theo, trying to ignore the chasm of distance that seemed to have grown between you overnight. His smile faltered slightly as you approached, and the view felt like a kick to your stomach.

"Morning," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced at the boy beside you, searching for any sign of the warmth that had usually filled his gaze when looking at you.

He met your eyes briefly before turning his attention back to your mother, his smile returning, albeit slightly forced. "Morning, trouble."

Despite the tension lingering in the air, your mother seemed oblivious to it. She continued to chat animatedly, her happy voice filling the room.

As the conversation lulled, you seized the opportunity to broach the subject of spending the day together. "Hey, do you want to do anything today?" you asked tentatively, nudging the side of his leg with yours. 

He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "Actually, I'll be pretty busy today," he replied, his tone carefully neutral. "Your mom and I have been talking about some things she's been procrastinating on fixing around the house, and I promised her I'd do some of it today."

You couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at his response, though you tried to mask it with a supportive smile. "That's sweet of you," you said softly. "Do you need any help?"

He shook his head, his gaze flickering briefly to meet yours. "Thanks, but I think I'd rather do it alone," he said, his tone gentle but firm.

You swallowed back the hurt that threatened to rise in your throat, forcing a smile as you nodded in understanding. "Okay, just let me know if you change your mind," you replied, though the words felt hollow on your tongue.

Sitting there, the realization of your feelings for him weighing heavily on your mind, you found yourself contemplating your next move. Your mind drifted back to Jake and the casual invitation you had extended to catch up over coffee. 

With Theo occupied for the day, the prospect of spending time with an old friend seemed more appealing than ever.Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you scrolled through your contacts until you found Jake's number. With a hesitant finger hovering over the screen, you debated whether to send the text.

"Since you're going to be busy today, I might text Jake and see if he wants to hang out. Is that okay?"

Theo's expression shifted slightly, a hint of surprise flickering in his eyes before he shook his head. "Yeah, that sounds fine.”

You sighed inwardly, feeling a twinge of disappointment at Theo's response, but you nodded, trying to hide any trace of your feelings. "Alright, I'll let you get to it then," you said, forcing a smile.

Walking back upstairs and entering your room, you sank onto the edge of the bed, the familiar comfort of the space offering little solace. Resting your head in your hands, you allowed yourself a moment of vulnerability, the realization of your feelings for Theo crashing over you like a tidal wave.

●・○・●・○・●

As you stepped into the quiet house, the familiar creak of the front door seemed to echo in the silence. The subdued atmosphere enveloped you like a heavy blanket, casting a pall over your spirits as you made your way to the kitchen.

There, you found Theo sitting alone at the table, a steaming mug of hot chocolate cradled in his hands. The soft glow of the overhead light illuminated his features, casting shadows across his face that seemed to deepen the lines of tension etched there.

"Hey," you greeted him softly, your voice breaking the stillness of the room.

He looked up, his gaze meeting yours briefly before flicking away. "Hey," he replied, his tone guarded.

Sensing the tension in the air, you hesitated for a moment before taking a seat opposite him at the table. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy.

Finally, unable to bear the weight of the silence any longer, you spoke up. "I just got back from hanging out with Jake," you said, trying to keep your tone light despite the undercurrent of unease.

Theo's grip on his mug tightened slightly, though he maintained his composure. "Oh, did you have fun?" he asked, his words laced with a hint of passive-aggression.

You bristled at the tone of his question, sensing the underlying tension beneath his seemingly casual inquiry. "Yeah, it was nice," you replied carefully, not wanting to escalate the situation.

Theo's lips twitched into a tight smile, though his eyes betrayed the turmoil swirling within him. "Good to know," he muttered, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

The atmosphere in the kitchen grew increasingly strained. You wanted to reach out to him, to bridge the gap between you, but you didn't know where to begin. As you tried to come up with something else to say, your body froze when you heard him scoff.

The noise cut through the tense silence like a knife, leaving you feeling like you'd been slapped. The suddenness of it startled you, and you couldn't help but recoil slightly, a mixture of confusion and hurt flashing across your features.

"What?" you demanded, your voice sharper than intended as you searched his face for any hint of an explanation.

Theo hesitated, his gaze darting away from yours as if seeking refuge in the shadows of the room. "Nothing," he muttered, his tone defensive. "Forget it."

But you couldn't forget it, couldn't shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong between you. "No, I won't forget it," you insisted, your voice rising with each word as you stood up from your chair to round the table. "You've been acting weird since yesterday, and I don’t know what happened. Tell me what's going on, Theo."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might refuse to answer. But then, with a heavy sigh, he relented, his words dripping with frustration. "Fine, you want to know what's going on? I'll tell you. I'm tired of this."

Theo's words hung in the air like a heavy cloud. You stood there, staring at him, waiting for him to continue, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Tired of what?" you prompted, your voice barely above a whisper, though it carried the weight of a thousand unanswered questions.

His gaze met yours, and for a moment, you saw the storm raging behind his eyes. "Tired of pretending," he replied, his voice low and filled with bitterness. "Tired of pretending that you're mine when you're not."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you reeling with disbelief. "What do you mean?" you demanded, your voice rising in pitch as you struggled to comprehend his words.

Theo stood up from his chair, his movements tense and controlled. "You know exactly what I mean," he shot back, his frustration boiling over into anger. "You keep stringing me along, making me think that there's something between us when there's not."

His accusations cut deep, slicing through the fragile facade of your relationship and leaving you exposed and vulnerable. "That's not fair," you protested, your voice trembling. "I've never tried to lead you on, Theo. I care about you more than anything."

"Then why do you keep pushing me away? Why do you keep going from being all over me when we’re alone to introducing me as your ‘friend’" he countered, his voice rising with each word as he took a step closer to you, his eyes burning with intensity. "Why do you keep pretending like there's nothing between us when we both know that's not true?"

"I'm not pretending," you insisted, your voice cracking as you met his gaze head-on. "I'm just... scared."

Theo's expression softened slightly at your words, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "Scared of what?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

"Scared of losing you," you admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "Scared of ruining what we have because I'm too afraid to admit how much you mean to me."

Theo's anger seemed to evaporate in an instant, replaced by a raw vulnerability that mirrored your own. "I'm scared too," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached out to take your hand in his. "Scared of letting you go because I'm too afraid to admit that I love you."

In that moment, time seemed to stand still as you and Theo stood there, locked in each other's gaze, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air between you. The tension that had once divided you now seemed to dissolve, leaving only the raw vulnerability of your shared emotions.

Without a word, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around Theo in a tight embrace. He responded eagerly, pulling you close as if he never wanted to let you go.

"I love you," you whispered against his chest, the words spilling forth from your heart without hesitation.

Theo pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that took your breath away. "I love you too," he replied, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and longing.

Without another word, Theo cupped your face gently in his hands, his touch tender and reassuring. His thumbs brushed lightly against your cheeks, tracing the curve of your jawline as if committing every detail of your face to memory. You leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his hands against your skin.

Drawing you closer, Theo's arms enveloped you, pulling you flush against his chest. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in the space between you.

With a gentle tilt of his head, Theo closed the remaining distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the pent-up emotions, all the longing, and all the unspoken words that had lingered between you.

As the kiss deepened, you melted into Theo's embrace, your hands finding their way to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair. His arms tightened around you, holding you close as if he never wanted to let you go.

Lost in the sweetness of the moment, you felt as if the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. Every brush of Theo's lips against yours sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burned with an intensity you had never known.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, you found yourselves lost in each other's gaze once more, jumping at the sound of a voice clearing behind you, bringing you back out of your stupor.

Turning around, you found your mother standing in the doorway, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she observed the scene before her, the tension that had filled the room moments ago now replaced with an air of affection.

"I've been wondering when you two would finally make it official," she teased, her voice filled with amusement.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but you couldn't help but smile at her playful tone. "Alright, let me do this right this time," you said, gesturing to the boy beside you. "Mom, this is Theo. My boyfriend."

Your mother's smirk widened into a knowing grin as she glanced between you and Theo. "Well, it's about time," she chuckled. With a final wink in your direction, she turned and retreated from the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone again.

You turned back to Theo, a sense of warmth spreading through your chest. "Well, was that better?" you joked, a hint of relief in your voice.

Theo chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his hands found your waist again. "Perfect.” With a playful grin, he pulled you into another sweet kiss.

Series Taglist - @moony-artemis @solutopia @rubyliquor @zucchinimalfoy @ryswritingrecord @ahead-fullofdreams @wolfstar-jpg @kennedy-brooke @iwishigotswallowed @thesecretmansion @dakotali @keira-kaz2y5 @ash-tarte @agent-tempest @l--absinthe @s0kovianwitch @5moremin @lafrone @automaticduckjellyfish @burns-in-the-sun @loveu-always @empath-bunny @ktz-bb @hermionelove @rachelnicolee @football1921 @stargirlv0id @weasleyreidstyles @always-reading @x-kermit-x

(can only tag this many people so the rest will be in the comments! <3)

Masterlist

Requesting Guidelines

Get Added To The Taglist

[nvoirs]

I fricken love how you write!! I don’t read normally but been getting into these Leon x f!reader fics because.. well… I am more into the angst as in injured and bleeding. I was wondering if you were willing to write one?? I have been drawing scenes from fics I have asked for as practice to drawing Leon💖💖💖💖

Thank you so much for liking the way I write hehe I do appreciate It a lot! Has not been proofread I'll do that when I get home x

There was to much blood, It covered your hands, your torso and Leon's hands. Being shot in the stomach was unexpected knowing the fact you had a bulletproof vest on. But to your guessing, the one you were wearing was slightly faulty.

The pain was excruciating and you were becoming light headed by the second. Leon's voice just a mere whisper like that of an angel. You just admired his pretty face. The way his dark hair shone in the bedazzling light, and his sapphire orbs were just to die for. Realisation hit you that you were not going to make it. You wouldn't be able to live a life with Leon, marry Leon, start a family with Leon. You internally cried when you thought about Leon sitting by your grave everyday, but one day he'd leave forever, leave you behind and never look back. He'd probably find another beautiful woman to settle down with. Marry her and have his children with her. It was a selfish thought but you couldn't help it.

Salty tears pricked at your lash line as you quietly sobbed. "Hey! Don't cry baby your going to be fine, listen to me."

Leon cupped your frail face in his rough hands, years of practice with an assort of weapons but they felt at home to you. He teared of a piece of his t-shirt he was wearing underneath and began pressing on your bullet wound. You wailed in pain, and gripped his arm tightly.

Whispering under your breath, Leon couldn't hear so he leaned in closer to hear your beloved request. "Leon forget It, you can't save me I'm losing to much blood."

Leon looked at you shocked, one hand still pressing against your gaping wound the other clasping your sweaty, clammy one.

"Are you crazy?" His voice was surprisingly quiet, he sounded scared. Leon S. Kennedy never sounded scared, he was the bravest person you knew, fighting bioweapon after bioweapon the DSO's golden boy that everyone looked up to. That's why you fell for him, the love of your life you loved him to bits and you didn't want to leave him alone in this cruel, god forsaken world.

"Leon please." You pleaded. Your warm blood trickled down Leon's trembling hands the rag he made fully soaked in your crimson blood.

"Please kiss me one last time." Leon stared at you tears silently falling down his cheeks but he complied. Leaning down to your collapsed body and pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. You could feel the scratch of his stubble, and you couldn't help but smile within the kiss. Even through all the pain, Leon was still a remedy to you. You felt the pain ease when he kissed you.

"I fucking love you, you aren't dying." His gruff voice was one of sorrow. He already knew he couldn't save you. Medics were arriving on the scene soon, but they were to late. By the time they had arrived Leon held your body in silence, dried blood covering his hands his eyes puffy and raw from crying so much.

"You're to late."

Leon did attend your funeral but he was an absolute mess. A flask of alcohol clutched in his hand, you hated when he drank telling him of saying he'd hurt his liver. But you, you'd hurt his heart the vital organ that beated just for you. His face red and raw from crying privately, but no one said anything. Leon was mourning you, his tousled, unkempt hair a mess on his head and he had gone days without shaving.

After everyone had left the service Leon sat in front of your grave and just spoke. "I bought the house we were going to live in." He swallowed thickly as if he was expecting an answer. He imagined what you would have said, "I'm so happy for you Leon." He blinked twice when he imagined your voice in his ears. It was like you were really here sat beside him head on his shoulder.

Leon didn't really believe in God, he was never the religious type. But now that you were gone he just knew a place called heaven is where you live now. You would have sought it out like the angel you were, and he closed his eyes as he imagined you living peacefully up there. You adorned a long white dress, and you smiled and waved at him when you caught each others eyes.

"Yeah thanks." His small smile would be a start to his journey to heal.

[doe-writes-stuff]

You'd left. Off to take care of a personal matter in the west. Alone. With no way of knowing how long you'd be gone, or even if you'd come back at all, you'd parted on...strained terms. Despite the odds against ever seeing you again, Daryl made sure to keep a light on for you.

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Slight angst, reader is described to have a female relative (relation not specified). Strong language, 18+ explicit sexual content, mixture of rough sex and slow body worship. Set during first half of season 9, but doesn't follow strict canon timeline or events.

"I should come with you."

"Daryl...you can't." You'd said, regret and guilt dripping from each word forced out of your mouth but doing your best to remain firm. They stung, but you didn't take them back. Didn't try to sugarcoat it. This wasn't easy on you, and no matter how much he understood why, it still hurt to hear. Watching you with your bag already packed hurt worse. "Rick needs you, Judith and Carol, and everyone else. It should just be me."

His head had shaken slowly. "They'll manage just fine without me for awhile."

"This could all be some pointless goose chase, and I...I feel bad enough even deciding to go, like I'm abandoning all of you, but..." He can see it, the way your eyes shine with unshed tears and the determination behind them to not let them fall. You hated crying. He knew that. "I need to do this. I need to know. She might still be out there."

"Don't mean you gotta do it alone, Y/N."

"I can't ask that of you."

"Don't have to."

"Daryl-"

"I mean it." He pushes, tone a bit more pressing than before. He shifts closer, drawing your eyes towards his own. He reaches down and takes your hands in his own, thumb idly brushing along your knuckles in comfort. "Goin' out there by yourself ain't safe. Ain't smart, neither. Need someone to have your back. Can't do things alone no more, you know that."

You're silent, worrying your lip beneath your teeth. He can't quite read the expression in your face, in your eyes. Your thoughts are too muddled, swirling with indecision and a plethora of emotions all vying for dominance. Terse seconds pass, silence between you, but eventually you've seem to come to a decision. His heart settles a little, satisfied that he'd made his case. Your head ducks down momentarily, which he takes as acceptance.

Daryl nods. "I'll tell Rick in the mornin' that we're leaving, maybe see if I can pack some extra provisions from the pantry. Doubt it'll take much convincin'. I brought back half that shit anyway."

The only response he gets is a small, slow nod. But it's agreement enough for him, and he pulls you into his arms. It's instinct now to relax under his protective embrace, allowing your fears and your guilts to fall away, if only for a moment. They'd come back in full when you next awoke.

"Come sleep." He mutters against your hair, feeling the way his lips press a kiss onto the crown of your head. Your eyes close. "We'll figure it out in the morning."

Your fingers clench against the back of his shirt, head buried into his chest. He's warm, the beat of his heart a comforting sound. One you know you'll be without for a long while. You make sure to breathe in his scent, filling your senses and making your decision all the harder to enforce.

And so you don't resist when he guides you back to bed, and you savor the way his hands feel on your skin. Devotion and love spill from his lips and yours. And when you lay beside him, listening to his even breathing as he falls asleep amongst the tousled covers, you try burning this memory into your head forever.

'Don't come looking for me.' 'I hope you can understand. I hope you can forgive me.' 'If it'd been Merle, wouldn't you feel the same?' 'I'm sorry. I will always love you, no matter what, no matter how long. Even if...I don't make it.'

Daryl stares down at the messily-scrawled note folded on his nightstand. He'd read at least 3 times by now, but had barely paid attention to the past few, the words blurring together. Noting the dried tear-stains on the edges, he feels a hollowness creep into his chest. It's as you say in your letter. Had it been Merle, all those years ago back at the prison, he'd have done the same.

He understands. He wished he didn't.

It would make it all easier to hate you. But he can't bring himself to.

The beginning days are the hardest. Your absence is a blatant, empty spot in his daily routine. He'd turn to say something to you, only for you to not be there. He'd stop by the house after hunts and scavenge missions to see you, only to remember the lights would be off and you'd not be home.

Each instance of forgetting, just for a split second, that you'd left sticks another proverbial knife in his chest and twists. They bring back the moment of discovering you'd left him behind all over again. It stung. It twisted the hilt a little bit more, digs the blade in a little deeper. It fucking sucked, each and every time.

Daryl had an excellent poker face, but even the others were beginning to notice how much it was affecting him. It was a lesson in patience, the amount of times he'd been asked if he was alright in those first few weeks after you'd left. Most of them he'd been able to field off with a gruff 'Just fine.' Others saw past the facade.

Rick had a good sense of things, and he knew Daryl well enough by now that his words often didn't tell the whole story when it came to those pesky internal 'feelings.' He'd asked him along on more scavenge runs, just to get him out of Alexandria. But of course, not one to pry too much into Daryl's business, he didn't ask the questions the hunter knew was hanging off the tip of his tongue.

Carol was one of them too, unsurprisingly. Half the time he thought she could read his mind. She made trips to Alexandria more often, popping over with pretty weak reasons for visiting from the Kingdom. She hovered, appearing at the most unpredictable of times. It didn't take a genius to know why. When Daryl least expected her, she'd be there with an offer to go hunt together. To go take care of Judith so Michonne and Rick could get out for awhile and spend some time beyond the walls.

It helped. He appreciated that Rick and Carol never pried. Rather, they were just...there. A companion to fill the long silences he found himself left with during the day. A distraction when he needed it most, since even solo outings past the walls were often filled with thoughts of you. Having someone else there eased the hurt, and muffled the many negative thoughts that clouded his mind in his moments of solitude.

Weeks stretched, and you were still gone. No means of communication meant Daryl was left to wonder about what you were doing, where you were, and if you were still even alive at all. It didn't get easier with time, the ache in his chest, the missing piece in his life. It just became familiar, and so he worked around it. Sidestepping it each and every morning until it was a constant numbness he had trained himself to ignore.

It was frightening, how easy it seemed to be. How easily he could seem to live without you around. Once upon a time, that didn't sound so feasible.

He felt guilty. He felt bitter.

He hoped you were doing ok.

Daryl didn't talk about you anymore. Not to others. And nowadays, Judith only occasionally brought up your name, asking where Aunt Y/N was, and when you'd be home. He was usually able to dodge an answer by offering to play a game.

There'd come a day when he couldn't get away with doing that, but...well, the time for that hadn't yet passed.

At some point, he'd quit counting the days. That didn't mean Daryl stopped missing you--he certainly still did. But the endless pull towards someone out there past the gates, miles and miles away, wasn't quite so strong. Whether it was a sign of him moving on, or just growing to accept the fact that you'd left...he still couldn't tell.

He didn't want to look into it all that much anyway.

Daryl hadn't heard anyone approaching as he stood smoking on the porch of his home. The wind was strong, and the neighbor's makeshift wind chimes had covered the sound.

"Borrow a smoke?"

His head whips back to see Rosita sauntering her way up to his home, arms crossed and hair tied back in a pony tail. He straightens, reaching up to the inside pocket of his vest to grab the pack of cigarettes as she stops a few feet away. Shaking one out, he hands it to her. After a flick of his lighter, the end begins to smoke and she takes a long drag.

"Thanks."

Daryl only hums in reply, standing there on this windy night, looking out towards the gated and walled entrance of Alexandria.

For several minutes, neither of them speak, enjoying their cigarette in companionable silence. Daryl wondered why Rosita was out so late, but figured maybe she just couldn't sleep.

Eventually, the minutes and lack of conversation gets to her, and she gives a quiet laugh, gesturing towards the door to Daryl's home. "You know you leave that lamp on every night in this front room?"

Daryl glances back, but only shakes his head. "I know."

"Drives Mrs. Beckett crazy." Rosita continues, flicking the ashes off of her cigarette, head nodding towards the house across from his. "Likes to bitch about how you're wasting electricity, or how she can't sleep because she knows it's on. It's like she can't talk about anything else."

"The grid can handle one fuckin' lamp." He mutters without further explanation, giving a shrug.

"I've told her that. So's Eugene, for what good that did." Rosita says with an amused smile, side-eyeing the hunter as she sucked down the last of her cigarette. She tosses it to the ground and digs it into the wood of the porch with her shoe. "Won't stop her from complaining about it, though."

He doesn't bother responding to that. Frankly, he didn't give a shit what Mrs. Beckett thought or wanted. He barely knew the old woman anyway.

"Why do you leave it on, anyway?"

This time, he doesn't say anything, just continues looking out towards the wall. He knows she's smart, that his silence speaks louder than any explanation would. Rosita figures it out quickly, and hums her understanding after a moment.

Another long pause settles, before she shifts in place and watches Daryl's closely when she speaks next. "I got talking with Eugene the other day."

Daryl had a feeling where this conversation was going--a place he didn't really want it to go--but obliged her clear bait anyway. "And?"

"Figured it was about 40 days to Cheyenne, on foot one way." She said carefully, not wanting to push too far, but hoping he still recognized she was worried about him. "35 if she pushed, and much less than that if she rigged a car."

Daryl knew what she was getting at, but still played dumb anyway. "So?"

Rosita saw right through him, but pointed out what they both knew despite that. "Daryl...it's been 6 months."

He straightened, agitation making him fidget, his jaw set tightly. "Don't mean a damn thing."

"Look, I'm all for holding out hope, but...at some point it's time to let go. How likely is it that she's still-"

"Think I'll turn in. Wind's gonna bring a storm tonight." He interrupted suddenly, not daring to look her in the face as he said his goodbye. "Best get headin' home."

He heard her sigh, and that tension in the air made it seem like she was about to say more. But in the end, she took the hint and descended the steps of his porch, footsteps heard walking down the sidewalk towards her own house.

For 8 months and 13 days, you'd been gone. And yet still, as you walked up that road towards the imposing walls of Alexandria, you felt like it was only yesterday that you'd snuck out the gates before the sun had come up.

The pack was heavy on your shoulders; not from supplies, but the weariness of a long journey. Of burdens and the weight of your decisions and actions. They settled, making your bones ache. But you felt lighter and lighter the closer you got to home.

Home. How you'd missed it so much.

And you'd missed him, too. Daryl had never left your mind. Not once.

Maybe the seasons had changed, but you recognized each abandoned car leading up to the Alexandria Safe Zone, even the particularly gnarled trees off to the side of the road. Little waypoints and landmarks that you'd memorized and passed by hundreds of times before. Now, each one seemed to propel your feet that little bit further, encouraging you to keep going.

Almost there.

And when those gates finally did come into view at the end of the road, you nearly cried. That feeling of relief as it washed over you was...immeasurable. Palpable and freeing. You couldn't begin to describe just how much it affected you.

There were, of course, look-outs at the gate for signs of approaching danger. And while you would've appreciated having been recognized after so many months away, you supposed that would have been too much to ask for.

"That's far enough!" The person on watch called, pointing a gun in your direction. From this distance, you couldn't tell who it might have been. "State your name and business!"

"My name's Y/N." You say, holding your hands out to make it clear you weren't holding onto a weapon. Your knife is clearly visible in its small sheath at your hip, but you weren't actively reaching for it. "I've been gone for a long time, but this is my home."

"Right." The person says with doubt clear in their tone. "As if I'd just believe you."

"I want to talk to Rick Grimes, then." You say calmly, smiling when the barrel of their gun lowered just a fraction. You felt a little silly having to name-drop some of the most influential members of the community, but whatever made them believe you, you supposed. "Or Daryl Dixon, or Michonne-"

"Alright, alright, hang on a second." They cried from the tower, lowering the gun and holding up a walkie talkie to their mouth. They spoke too low to hear, but you gathered they were calling into one of the three people you'd just mentioned.

You don't have to wait long, before a commotion on the other side of the gate alerts you to someone's approach. They call for the gate to open. Your heart soars, waiting to see a familiar face.

The metal gate slides open, and a man steps out cautiously. He's a bit rounder in the belly than you remembered--the benefits of safety in the end of days--and the full beard is new. But there's no mistaking the way he walks, and the way his eyes take you in when he steps past the gate's threshold.

A smile's broken out over your face as the two of you walk closer, until finally you embrace Rick with a tight hug, laughing at the reunion. If there was still any doubt that you were indeed a citizen of Alexandria, it was now dashed.

"About time you came home." He says in a rasp, patting his hand against your back in a comforting gesture. "It's been too long."

"I know. I'm sorry." You admit, guilt and regret coloring your voice. "I shouldn't have left."

You pull away, but Rick gets a good look at you and pats your shoulder with his hand. "You felt you had to. It's family. I understand."

You nod, on the verge of tears, but somehow managing to keep composed. "You're family too. Lost sight of that for a little while, I guess."

Rick waves you inside, giving a wave to the look-out at the on watch as a sign that everything was fine. You enter the walls for the first time in 8 months, admiring everything new and all that had stayed the same.

"How's Judith?" You ask.

"Growin' bigger every day. Can hardly believe she's already three." Rick smiles fondly, shaking his head. Then, he turns to look at you. "She asks for you, sometimes. Wonders where you've been."

The thought of seeing the youngest Grimes was appealing, though you were still weary from your travels. You probably didn't have the necessary energy to meet with her just yet.

"I'll see her once I've settled in." You promise, and Rick nods.

"It can wait 'til tomorrow. I'll let the others know you're back in the meantime."

Rick spends the next few minutes filling you in on all that you'd missed while on your trip. You're thankful to hear that most of it was minor little things. At least you hadn't missed another damn war, or anyone you loved dying. That would have been a lot to bear.

As you get closer to Daryl's home, Rick seems to remember something, and hesitates.

"Forgot to mention...Daryl's out on a hunt." He admits, no doubt crushing your hopes of reuniting with your partner that day. "Not sure when he'll be back, honestly, but I reckon he wouldn't mind if you were to stay in his home now that you're back. As I recall, you practically lived there anyway before you left."

Your laugh away the slight embarrassment at his observation, and the amusement is quite evident in his face. "Yeah, I guess that's true..."

"He'll be happy to see you." Rick states simply, stopping just outside Daryl's home as you approach.

"I hope so." You say, sudden doubt creeping in. You grimace a little, stopping at the stoop of the porch. "We didn't exactly...part on great terms. At least...I think so."

Rick reaches out and pats your shoulder again. "I won't lie, he took it hard. But I'm sure he'll make his peace with it, now that you're back. Love has a way of helping you sort things out."

And with that, he gives your shoulder a squeeze, before leaving you at the door to Daryl's home.

Something compels you to just take it all in. It was just like you remembered it being. A lamp stood lit behind the curtains in the front window. Strange...why leave the lights on when he wasn't home?

Stepping inside is a surreal mix of second nature and unknown territory. Daryl hadn't really changed anything in the interior; the couch and side tables and other trinkets around his home were exactly where you'd remembered them to be. But the atmosphere felt so...different. A little hollow.

Were you even still welcome here? You hoped so...

You deposit your pack next to the side table in the hallway, your usual spot for stuff after a run. Old habits, you thought to yourself. You'd put it back where it really went later on, but for now it would do. Your shoes went along with it, bare feet feeling blissfully unburdened without them on. Socked feet pad slowly throughout his home.

It's all just as you remembered, and your clothes are even still in the drawers in the bedroom. You figure that's a good sign, and change into something much more comfortable after a long-desired shower. The water is blissful on your skin, washing away the dirt of your traveling.

As you dry yourself and dress, you can't help but bury your nose in one of Daryl's shirts, reveling in the scent of safety and comfort. And while you may be missing the man himself, for now this would tide you over enough until his return.

With no pressing matters, and no clue as to what to even do now that you'd come home, you decide that a nap was much-needed. It may only be the afternoon, but the miles behind you were starting to make themselves known, lulling your eyelids heavier with fatigue.

You crash on the couch in a heap, falling asleep easier than you had in months.

Daryl didn't understand the knowing smile that Rick had given him upon returning to Alexandria late that night. Not to mention it was strange that Rick chose such a late hour to take watch. Not thinking much of it, he entered the gates and drove towards his home.

The rumble of his bike faded as he shut the engine off, popping the kickstand and standing from the bike. After a long two days of hunting with nothing to show for it, he was happy at the prospect of a nice, long sleep.

The house was dark, save for the light still on in the window, but he paid it no mind, closing the door and shrugging off his pack. He passed by the hallway side-table, setting it beside the other that was sitting by-

His steps halted, eyes swinging down to rivet themselves on something that was so incredibly familiar and yet so out of place. At first, it hadn't even registered that something was amiss. The sight of a pack here was so ingrained, that nothing had jumped out at him. But now...

He hadn't left that there. He didn't even own a backpack like that. But he recognized it all the same. And beside it...

Shoes.

A noise further into the house caught his attention. The spill of lights from the kitchen told him someone was there. He'd been certain to turn off all the lights before he'd left for his hunt.

And while a tiny sliver of his brain thought to suspect something malicious was going on--visitors didn't typically stop by at 2 in the morning--the hope that soared in his chest overpowered it.

It felt like the air was yanked from out of his lungs as he stopped just outside the kitchen entryway. There you stood, swaying back and forth to whatever music you were listening to in your headphones, the makings of a sandwich out before you. You faced away from him, unaware of his presence.

Daryl let out a stuttered breath as he ran a hand down his face, a swirl of different emotions welling in his chest. He was...pissed, actually. You'd left him behind all those months ago, lied to him to do it. All of the old anger bubbled and surfaced at the sight of you. He was hurt, wondering how you could have gone through with going off on your own, leaving your fellow survivors in your rearview.

At some point, he'd thought long and hard about exactly what he was going to say to you, should he get the chance. He'd known precisely all the bitter and spited words he'd want to throw into your face, telling you exactly what you'd put him through all this time.

He couldn't recall a damn single word of it now.

And despite how the wound had been ripped open seeing you in the flesh after all this time, despite the anger that raged and threatened to speak the venom that had once consumed him...he was too relieved to see you alive, safe, and in one piece to bother channeling that anger.

At the end of the day, you'd still come back. You'd come home. To him.

Instead, just below the relief of your return, rising steadily and with such intensity he hadn't anticipated, was a desire he hadn't felt for so long. How many nights had he lay awake, recalling memories of the softness of your body, the touch of your fingers on his skin? And now that he had you here...

His feet carry him forward before he can really think about what he was doing.

It's the movement in your peripheral vision that makes you look sharply up at him, startled but the sudden presence of someone else. You hadn't anticipated being interrupted during your midnight snack.

But he's here. He's there, getting closer by the second. You yank your headphones out, holding out a hand. You probably should have rehearsed what you'd say to him beforehand, to try easing the hurt and betrayal he must feel.

"Daryl, I'm sorry...I-"

You can't manage anything after that, given his lips smash to yours in a bruising and long-overdue kiss. Shock sets in for a single second, a mumbled grunt swallowed by his mouth, but then leaning into his embrace as his arms wrap around you, pulling you in, was instinctive. You fall into that familiar, safe feeling, wondering if perhaps this was always how your eventual reunion would have turned out. Daryl was always a man of action rather than words, anyway. The time for apologies could come later.

You can hardly breathe, locked in his arms, at his mercy. He kisses you like he never thought he'd ever get to again. And maybe for the longest time, that's exactly what he'd thought. A pang of guilt stabs you through the heart, realizing the sort of pain you'd caused him by leaving, but Daryl doesn't give you the chance to dwell on it, teeth slowly dragging back along your bottom lip and pulling a whine from your throat.

And, god, how desperate you sounded...it made him groan. That sound haunted him for weeks on end. How could you so easily rile him up like this? You leave for months, and all it takes is a pretty little noise to get his blood boiling with need. Fuck if he wasn't just as desperate for you, too...

He couldn't stop himself. Like a recovering addict caving, going back to his fix, his hands touch you any place he can reach, rough palms smoothing over your curves. The clothes in the way is annoying, confining. Part of him wants to yank and tear them away from you, but another side wants to try calming himself down, taking this first time together again slow. It had been so long, he didn't want to fuck up the first chance he could.

Your mind is a hazy fog of sudden lust, so much so you barely register the way he's reached down to lift you by your thighs and wrap you around his waist. His strength has you dizzy, drunk off of his scent and his warmth and the way his fingers dug into the skin on the back of your thighs. It made you tighten your legs around his waist, the sensation of him walking you somewhere else secondary to the way you did what little you could to grind yourself against the crotch of his jeans.

You wouldn't have been able to answer if later asked how you managed to get to the bedroom so quickly. One second you'd been in the kitchen, and the next you were being slammed onto the comforter by your back, Daryl's large and corded frame practically smothering you in the best way.

Your head tilting back with a pleased sigh, Daryl takes the opportunity to latch onto the exposed skin of your neck, intent to leave a mark. The thought of something permanent on you, from him--a sign of some sort that he couldn't put into words at the moment--felt important. And by the way you were moaning as he gave the flesh a rough suck, you seemed to agree.

One hand trails under and up his shirt, taking advantage of the closeness to explore the body you'd gone so long without once more. The familiar texture of scars in all the places you remembered. Muscles like gentle ridges under your fingers. They trail along his nipples, stroking in appreciation and pulling a surprised grunt from him, before frustration kicks in and you hastily tug the shirt up so he could take it off.

It's discarded somewhere behind you, and thus begins the frantic undressing of each other, heavy, panting breaths making it clear just how much neither of you were able to slow down now that you'd started. There'd never been a greater need to eliminate all barriers between you than now. As soon as his jeans and underwear are low enough to expose his hard length, your hand takes hold of it, giving him several loving pumps.

His curse is stuttered, wavering. Barely more than a huff of air released as the tension between you grows steadily. Daryl wastes no time in reaching for your wet cunt, two fingers plunging in without preamble. Your back arches up, wanting more. A keening noise escapes you, and hearing it just spurs him to start a fast and demanding pace as he fucks you with them.

The wet sounds they produce are obscene, but your head is nearly bursting with how damn good it all feels. You're a moaning mess, trying desperately to keep up with your own ministration of his cock, wrists working back and forth a little faster. His hips thrust into your hand instinctively, seeking more friction, a faster pace, something more. And while you know Daryl typically tries to keep quiet in the midst of sex, he just can't help the groans this time around.

Maneuvering your leg around his waist, you draw his hips closer to where you need him, lifting your own to brush your wetness against his hardened shaft, tantalizing and teasing. The time for foreplay was over, at least in your mind. Heart pounding a painful beat in your chest, you can't imagine waiting any further to feel him fill you entirely.

Daryl's fingers retreat from your wetness, and although their absence makes you groan, the press of his tip is more than enough to sate your once more.

Strangely, he doesn't immediately thrust in, rather pulling his head back enough to just...look at you. You look back, silent. One hand, still wet from your own arousal, trails delicately over your nakedness, over the curve of your hips and the sides of your breasts, as if reassuring himself that you were real. Or perhaps taking the opportunity to relish in having you underneath him once more. The jarring contrast to the frantic pace you'd both just been exhibiting has you blinking, struck silent.

But the moment is over almost as soon as it began, cut short by the jerking of Daryl's hips, sheathing himself fully to the hilt in one smooth motion. A mixture between a gasp and a whimper is jolted from your throat, the pleasure catching you entirely off guard. You barely have time to wrap both legs around his waist before he's setting a steady pace, his own ragged breath exhaled onto your shoulder.

He fucked you rough, sparing no time in reminding you of just how much pleasure you'd missed out on all these months. The familiar yet forgotten sensation of his cock stroking your inner walls had you crying out, overwhelmed, wanting more. Your nails dig into his skin, scratching and clawing when the pain only spurns him on faster.

You're mesmerized by the flexing of the muscles in his arms, hands planted on either side of your head on the comforter, fisting the fabric between his fingers as he pistons his cock deep inside of you. And when your eyes follow the arms up and peer into his face, his expression is a mixture of frustration and adoration the likes of which you had fantasized about during your many lonely nights.

Anger flowed like water behind his eyes, recognizable even now, but it never lasted long. Always overshadowed by such relief, such love, that you began to wonder if you'd ever seen it at all. Talking would come later. Right now, you both just needed him to fuck you until you couldn't stand up.

You weren't destined to last long. The time away meant that your orgasm built up much quicker than you would have hoped or expected. It just felt too good, having him atop you, inside of you, surrounding you this way. All you could see and breathe was Daryl, and that alone had your legs tensing around his hips in unspoken warning of your impending orgasm. With a responding groan, he understands, putting further effort into the snap of his hips, plunging even deeper than before.

When you cum, it's like white-hot frost crackling over your senses. Inch by inch, you feel yourself shudder, letting the peak of your pleasure overtake you until you're seeing black dots at the edge of your vision. Your limbs lock around Daryl like a vice, making it more difficult for him to move as you ride along the bliss. He grunts, unable to do much more than rut against you, chasing his own release in any way he can.

As the most of the orgasm passes, Daryl shifts and uses his hands to pry your legs apart, keeping them wide as he frantically thrusts, ragged breathing giving away just how close he was. You're a twitching heap beneath him, letting him seek that edge with your body, accepting the overstimulation in stride. When it nearly proves too much to bear anymore, he's stuttering a moan and slowing his hips down remarkably, chest heaving when he finally meets you over that crest.

Lazy thrusts work the both of you through your climaxes, and the rough and unrelenting pace that had been there just moments before slowed to a much more relaxed one. As Daryl caught his breath, he lowered his mouth to your skin, shaking hands caressing the sweaty skin he could reach, peppering kisses on your stomach and sternum.

You lack the breath to speak, and simply let all of your inner feelings shine through the gentle gaze you give him, tentatively reaching a hand up to glide your fingers through his hair. He always used to love when you did that, and it seemed that was still the case. His eyes closed in content at your touch, and he lowers his head to rest upon your chest.

Eventually, after dozens of minutes simply laying there, basking in the aftermath of your reunion, you summon the forethought to recognize you should probably clean up after your passionate fuck. The heat was slowly dying away, the house's draft that never seemed to go away chilling the sweat upon your skin. However, when you try to move, Daryl makes an effort to put a stop to it, leaning more heavily into you.

"Not yet" He mumbles gravely, not opening his eyes. You huff a breath, the corner of your mouth lifting in amusement.

"Daryl, we're all sticky and sweaty."

"Just...stay here." He says, eyes finally cracking open to peer into your own. And try as you might, you're at the mercy of the heartbreakingly pained gaze he directs at you. The vulnerability. The hurt. Months of uncertainty and guilt and anger stirred up into that one look, pleading for you to understand that he just needs you here. Right here, and nowhere else.

The amusement shifts into something gentler, and you give an affirmative nod, trailing one finger down his cheek. "Ok."

[heavens-moonlight]

𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 | 𝟬𝟯 : 𝗙𝗜𝗡𝗘 𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦

𝟬𝟮 : 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗨𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗟𝗬 𝗘𝗙𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 | 𝟬𝟰 : 𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗠𝗦𝗢𝗡

Author’s Note: I took a longer break writing my thesis than I initially thought but hope that this chapter more than makes up for it! Until next time! ♡

With a faraway buzzing resounding in your ears, you gradually become aware of your surroundings. As you tentatively open your eyes, a wave of disorientation sweeps over, leaving you feeling as though you're drowning on air. The distant memories from the previous night hazily blend together like blood diluted in water and your subconscious' defense imprisons the events in obscurity. Panic clutches at your chest as you struggle to piece together the fragments of your current reality.

Your fingers search blindly for your phone and find it lying haphazardly next to you. With unsteady fingers, you bring the device to your lap, your face hovering over the screen. Even in the blackened reflection, you observe the mirror image of yourself, startled by the disheveled appearance staring back: tousled hair, bleary eyes, and a pallid complexion to only amplify your unease. As you attempt to regain your broken senses, a deep-seated yearning for clarity burns within you, setting aflame the naivety and innocence of yesterday when you existed in ignorant bliss.

Body heavy and sluggish, your limbs are anything but in your control. Everything seemed foreign: the room, the suffocating silence, and even your own self.

What could you trust when there was not a single thing to ground you to the present?

You reflexively flinch as a hand caresses the side of your face, fingers running down your cheek and following the curve of your neck, and you automatically swivel your head to the right, finally exhaling on a shaky breath as you register it as Jun-Hee's touch. Instinctively, you lean into the warmth, his gaze tethering you and his presence, a safe haven.

"You're still here with me," you whisper out.

"I'll always be here," he replies, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "For as long as you need me."

"Then, can I ask for forever?"

Jun-Hee's eyes soften, imperceptibly sad at the uncertainty of being able to keep his word. He nods anyway, determination in his eyes to see it through to the end. "Just say the word. I'll come running to you." His hand cradles the back of your head as he pulls you gently toward him, arms circling around you to draw you into a comforting hug, holding tightly as if he's afraid to let go. "It's a promise I intend on keeping. Forever."

Over his shoulder, you see the rest of your classmates scattered on the floor, lying in unnatural positions. One by one, everyone begins to wake up, the action of their movements suspended in slow motion.

You sit up properly beside Jun-Hee, back pressed against the solid wall keeping you upright as the cold of the plaster seeps through your clothes to your skin underneath like ice has hardened in your veins. Wanting to find even an ounce of comfort, you hug your knees tightly to your chest but your fingers tremble all the same and you resort to balling your hands rigidly, fisting the fabric of your skirt until your nails dig crescents into the palms of your hands.

The action doesn't go unnoticed by Jun-Hee who slides his hand over and uncurls your fingers to replace them with his own, entwining the digits. When you look up, he gives your hand a squeeze and the faintest of smiles he can muster in reassurance.

You two sit side by side without saying another word as the others continue to come to, pressed so close against one another that you can feel the rise and fall of each other's respirations.

"What happened?" Jung-Won murmurs.

"I don't know..." Yoon-Seo gets up into a sitting position and wraps her arms around herself, eyes glossed over beneath sweat-soaked brows.

"Yool..." Eun-Ha cries from the opposite side of the room before she can even get his full name out.

The previous night's events come reeling back in full force and you feel bile rise in your throat as you bite your lips to keep it from quivering, the gravity of the situation settling upon the group.

You watch Yoon-Seo sway on her feet as she makes a dash toward the hole in the broken window, looking down at the ground. As her breath audibly catches in her throat, you squeeze your eyes tight, shutting it against the onslaught of a vivid array of images your mind conjures up of a lifeless body, twisted and mangled beyond recognition. The imagery of it alone is so gruesome, so chillingly permanent, that you can feel the lingering touch of death permeating around in the air, fingertips reaching out for the nape of your neck, and it sends an icy tendril down your spine. Feeling goosebumps crawl its way onto your skin, your eyes open again with a shuddering breath just in time to see Yoon-Seo staggering back to her original position as far away from the sight as possible, mortified beyond consolation.

In the midst of everything, the announcement ceases to quiet.

[ ʜᴇᴏ ʏᴏᴏʟ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴄɪᴠɪʟɪᴀɴ.

ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀsᴛ ᴠᴏᴛᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏʟɪᴄᴇ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ sᴋɪʟʟ. ᴄʜᴏɪ ᴊᴜ-ᴡᴏɴ ᴡᴀs ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀғɪᴀ. ʜɪs ʀᴏʟᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴍᴀғɪᴀ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ.

ᴀʟʟ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄɪᴘᴀɴᴛs, ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪғʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀs ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇɢɪɴ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠᴏᴛᴇs. ]

Woo-Ram abruptly springs to his feet and points to the ceiling, crazed. "This fucking broadcast. Who's in charge of it? Why is it even on?!" he shrieks in anger mixed with trepidation.

As calm as one can be in such a situation, Hyun-Ho gathers a small group to explore and find clues in the turn of strange events. "The studio's on the second floor. Let's go see if we can figure this out."

At the sound of a scream coming from the bathroom, you and Yoon-Seo meet one another's eyes and run in its direction without a second thought. Jun-Hee is forced to let go of your hand but he rushes after you in haste.

Upon entering, Da-Bum is retreating in stunned silence from the stalls, attempting to crawl under the sinks. Kyung-Jun throws his leg out and kicks at Da-Bum like a stray dog, a look of utter disgust on his face. It seemed like no matter what the latter did, it would always be wrong.

Empathizing with him, you go over and angle a hand down. You two weren't particularly close, but Jun-Hee and Yoon-Seo were always there to help in his time of need and you felt bad for him regardless. Da-Bum can't hide his surprise as he gingerly accepts your hand and gets up, though he still stays as plastered to the sink counter as he can without becoming one with it.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I—I'm fine," he stutters. "Thanks." His attempt at a smile comes out more like a grimace, but it's genuine. You return a slight nod, curious as to what kind of fault Kyung-Jun keeps finding to use as leverage and lord it over Da-Bum that it has reduced him to nothing but pure meekness. 

Your lips draw into a thin line when you turn around to see Kyung-Jun pester Jun-Hee, shoving him forward so hard he stumbles. "Banjang." The formality of the title comes out with more spite than respect. "You open the door."

Seeing Jun-Hee hesitate, you reach for his hand without a word and hold his gaze, not in view of anyone. "I'll do it." You don't wait for his objection before stepping forward and swinging the stall door open with no hesitation.

"What the fuck..." Kyung-Jun curses. "How are you not even the least bit scared?"

"My parents were surgeons. I've seen enough blood flowing to fill oceans."

"Yeah...let's not mess with her..." You hear Jin-Ha mumble in the background before a thwack follows, most likely Kyung-Jun having slapped him behind the head as he usually does.

As the stall divider creaks inward on its hinges, out drafts a thick musty stench, causing those congregated closest to you to gag and recoil in horror. The soft ceiling lights suddenly flicker overhead, briefly casting eerie shadows across the bloodstained tiles, and in that fleeting moment before bright white washes out crimson red, you spot a figure hunched over with their back facing towards you in the farthest corner of the stall.

The rest jump away in terror as the body slumps forward, revealing a mutilated head attached to a face frozen in a hauntingly peaceful expression of sleep, never to awaken again. Hiccupped and punctuated gasps give way to deafening silence as you and your classmates realize that this discovery only confirms the unleashing of something far more sinister than you could have ever imagined.

Yoon-Seo goes to kneel down beside you and the two of you inspect Ju-Won's lifeless body propped carelessly in the far corner. Everyone protests vehemently as you decide to touch Ju-Won but you go ahead with it anyway, first putting a finger beneath his nose to see if he's still breathing and then proceeding to check his carotid artery, knowing you'd find it pulseless. "He's dead..." you confirm monotonously, pulling your fingers away from Ju-Won's stiff, cold neck, completely detached and feeling more miserable by the second.

"It's the mafia game," Da-Bum voices, everyone's attention turning to him. "A real game of murderers versus survivors." Silence falls upon the group at the possibility of a playground game escalating to this extent. "What if we all wind up dead too?" he ends his revelation, much quieter this time.

Kyung-Jun yanks him by the collar of his uniform, threatening him to say another word. "Shut your mouth before I shut it for you, idiot. Who says we're going to die, huh?!"

"Cut it out!" Jun-Hee shoves Kyung-Jun backward, berating. "Do you think now is the appropriate time to pick a fight?"

Yoon-Seo's arm comes into the corner of your vision and before you can stop her, she's already swiped at the still wet blood on the floor.

"You don't even have gloves. We could've used a paper towel to soak it up," you say in surprise.

"It's alright. I don't mind." Yoon-Seo even goes as far as smearing the blood back and forth between the pads of her fingers, the liquid tracking over the lines etched in her skin.

"Birds of a feather sure do flock together," So-Mi says condescendingly, scoffing under her breath.

"We could say the same about you and your lackeys," Jung-Won rebukes.

"This b—"

"The blood has yet to dry," Yoon-Seo cuts in, ignoring So-Mi entirely.

"He hasn't been dead for long then," you conclude, Yoon-Seo nodding in agreement.

"What now?" Kyung-Jun asks, eyeing in revulsion as Yoon-Seo doubles over and begins to dry heave, turning away from the corpse and the stall altogether. You pat her on the back consolingly, knowing the average person without prior exposure to cadavers can't stomach the sight.

"First, we need to find a way out of here. Tell the others that we're leaving and we're not coming back." Jung-Won helps Yoon-Seo up as Jun-Hee turns around to grab your hand and hoists you to your feet after voicing his decision, everyone beelining for the building's front.

The entrance doors open against harsh midday sunlight, air humid and warm with the sunbeams just as dazzlingly bright as they were on your way here and you can't help but lament the loss of its splendor. Where once you observed it slanting across Jun-Hee's face resting in peaceful slumber, devastatingly beautiful, now it only spotlights the fear on his face, eyes dull even in the onslaught of sunlight, tragically devastated.

You stare blankly across to the dense woods in front, its darkness a stark contrast to your side of the curb and find fear gnawing at your insides, terror clawing at your mind. The once peaceful surrounding you stepped foot into now brings with it a sense of premonition of a malevolent presence watching your group's every move with ill-intent.

Shaking yourself out of the stupor and spiraling negative thoughts, you zone in on Jun-Hee's voice as he addresses everyone, pointing down the road to the left. "I saw a gas station over that way yesterday. We can try walking there."

You and Jun-Hee step forward slowly, hand-in-hand, falling in matching steps in order to survey the surroundings. The same couldn't be said of the others, desperate and frenzied in their exit. He makes sure to always be on your outer side, no matter which direction you guys were facing, making it his priority to protect you.

The group barely makes it halfway past the courtyard before an alarm blears, ear-aching and soul-crushing.

[ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴜɴᴅᴀʀɪᴇs. ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ sᴛᴀʏ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪᴄɪɴɪᴛʏ. ]

"We're not allowed to leave," you say nearly inaudibly, despondently, raising a shaky figure towards white lines drawn in chalk. "These lines..."

Not for the first time since the morning, the air is thick with futility and it lies heavy on your chest, your attempted escape seemingly thwarted at every turn by an unseen force. As everyone frantically searches for a way out, the group's dejectedness grows with each precious passing moment at the realization of being trapped in the grip of something far beyond human understanding. Shadows lurk menacingly in the spaces between the leaves on the trees and you feel as though the wind brushing past them bring whispers of dread echoing through the currents of air. You all knew with a sinking feeling that if you didn't find a way to break free soon, you may never make it out alive.

Jun-Hee immediately informs the group of your dreadful discovery, trying to remain composed. "Everyone, listen up. Don't move any further and wait here for a moment."

"What for?!" Lee Sang-Hwan argues.

"We've been warned!" Jun-Hee yells back with the same amount of frustration he receives.

"I could care less! This is all bullshit anyway!" Sang-Hwan throws his hands up in the air, peeved. "What nonsense are we believing in? If we stay, we're certain to die. I'd rather take my chances of being alive and choose to leave, then."

As Sang-Hwan strides by, you tug on his arm as hard as you can and he momentarily stops. "If you go, you're not choosing to live. You're choosing to die, Sang-Hwan," you beg, tears already beginning to well in your eyes.

He considers you for a minute before avoiding your eyes to wave you off and it's clear the conversation is over. It leaves you consumed by regret as he yanks his arm free, sending you stumbling. Jun-Hee steadies you, watching in dismay as Sang-Hwan jumps down the curb and lands with both feet outside the white lines.

"You fucking idiot!" Kyung-Jun berates in the background, opposed to the less than reasonable choice even with his history of rash behavior.

"This can't be happening," you whisper to yourself in disbelief, on the verge of collapse as Kim Hyun-Seok follows suit, neither of the two taking heed of the game's warning.

[ ғᴏʀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜʟᴇs, ʟᴇᴇ sᴀɴɢ-ʜᴡᴀɴ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ. ғᴏʀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜʟᴇs, ᴋɪᴍ ʜʏᴜɴ-sᴇᴏᴋ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴇxᴇᴄᴜᴛᴇᴅ. ]

"I should've tried harder to stop them..." Jun-Hee squeezes your hand so firmly you start to lose feeling in your fingers, but it ceases to matter. Feeling numb is a thousand, a million, times better than the sight you're forced to witness in the moment.

Helplessly, everyone can only stare at the gruesome scene playing out a few feet away in the desolate street.

Just as Yool had shown last night, both Sang-Hwan's and Hyun-Seok's eyes roll to the back of their heads until only the whites are visible.

The two, running forward seemingly possessed, suddenly stop only momentarily to turn back around to stand facing one another, the murky white depths of their eyes filled with hidden madness. Their figures riddled with malice abruptly charge full speed at one another with no intent to stop and all intent to collide.

In a macabre ritual, they begin to speed up in unison, their footsteps growing louder in fervor as they build up momentum, soles stomping against the ground. With a sickening thud, their skulls crash with a bone-crushing force, the sound reverberating in your ears, unceasing.

The gut-wrenching sound of flesh separating from bone continues on as no one dares to stop them for fear of the same gruesome fate, yet not having the heart to dare to watch. In their nightmarish embrace unable to control their own bodies from being compelled by some unseen influence, the brutal force exponentially growing with each repeated hit, every sickening impact sending blood spattering to the ground in patterns you would soon not forget.

Neither of the two were ever the wiser to seek to break free from the twisted and morbid dance of agony and death, a chamber of nightmares of horrific proportions succumbing to unknown urges driving them towards mutual self-destruction, a descent into darkness and despair that knew no bounds.

As you fall to the ground, you take Jun-Hee down with you, your hands still locked tight. You hit the scorching hot pavement below you with a thump, the sound paralleling the two boys' heads coming into contact with one another, blood immediately spilling upon impact and staining their once pristine white shirts.

You can't drown out the gasps, the cries, and the screams piercing straight to your heart, fully aware that you all had unwittingly become part of this deathly game, no more than human sacrifices.

At long last, Sang-Hwan falls listlessly backward, the first to have trespassed and disobeyed the rules, and now the first one to go.

Just when you think it's over, an unsatisfied Hyun-Seok in a possessed manner wields the largest and sharpest rock nearby above his head only to slam it down against his own skull until brain matter rains down onto the ground around him.

You close your eyes tight, unable to bear witness to the final harshest blow delivered. As the last drop of your tears fall to the ground, droplets soaked in blood, swimming in the sight of the event ingrained behind your eyes, so too does Hyun-Seok.

How could the suffering of death be salvation for the living?

The aftermath is painful, silence enveloping the remaining students like thick fog in the early morning, no end in sight.

You're staring straight forward absentmindedly, head devoid of thoughts.

"AISH!" Startled by Seung-Bin's outburst, you flinch as he slams his phone onto the ground, cursing at it in every way.

Why Da-Bun has to grovel and pick up the phone to return it to the bully, you'll never understand. Especially even more so when Seung-Bin merely snatches it back aggressively, no word of thanks.

Mi-Na is the first to speak up. "What do we do now? Will we all die if we stay here?"

"Our teacher will be back soon. Let's wait a little more." Jun-Hee's expression is entirely blank, his words coming out like a tape recorder, the lines memorized and playing back in an endless loop. You're not sure whether it reassures the others, but it doesn't seem like Jun-Hee has strong hopes for that possibility either.

"No one's coming!" Ji-Soo gets out between tears. "How much longer must we be around dead bodies?" She stamps her feet angrily against the floor, hiccupping at every word due to her crying. "I can't stand it."

Stepping up, Eun-Ha retorts back exasperatedly, "Can you not call them bodies? They were people we knew...our very own classmates."

"Were—" Ji-Soo emphasizes heartlessly. "They were people we knew, but are dead now. What else am I to call them?"

You close your eyes and lean against the stair railing, a headache coming on. Fighting isn't the solution to getting out but the others seem to believe it is. Even Kyung-Jun hasn't said a word, unusually quiet and not confrontational for once.

"Jun-Hee, will you do something? We need to go home!" Ji-Soo continues, throwing all responsibility onto his already heavy shoulders, slumped over with burden.

"Will you shut up and stop running your mouth?" Eun-Chan spits out through gritted teeth. "How can you say that after seeing what happened to those earlier when trying to leave?" He looks her dead in the eyes, taunting. "Go on your own, then. See what happens. Just know no one will save you from the consequences you bring upon yourself."

Yu-Jun has to physically restrain his girlfriend before she makes a bigger scene than she's already doing. "So-Mi," he begins tiredly. "Don't you know when the teacher will be back?"

In the faintest voice you've ever heard from her, she replies while chewing on her nails. "How can I when I don't know how to contact him?"

With all at a loss for what to say or ask, Yoon-Seo suddenly staggers upstairs, tripping in the process as she hurries away. Immediately, you, Jung-Won, and Jun-Hee follow after her without question.

Climbing the emergency exit stairs takes you all to the roof overlooking the entirety of the building and surrounding foliage.

"Yoon-Seo, what are you doing?" You watch as she holds her phone up to the air as high as her arm can reach.

"Testing it, just in case." Finding service a lost cause after a few minutes, she turns back. "What did the broadcast say? That we must stay within the boundary?"

"The game must take place within the boundaries..." Jung-Won repeats swiftly, akin to a rehearsed line she's familiarized herself with.

"What if that boundary—" Yoon-Seo points directly down in front of her, leaning over the roof's barrier, "—is indicated by that line? The announcement came on when we tried to cross it earlier."

"We're not allowed to step foot past it as that counts against us and is the equivalent of our whole body being out of the game," you state.

"Then how far and wide does this line go?" Yoon-Seo makes way to the opposite end, facing the back of the building this time.

"It doesn't look very wide since it was drawn in chalk," Jun-Hee adds.

Jung-Won studies the basketball court and allocated sports area. "Which is the actual line here, though? Can't we leave if there's a line break?"

"We won't know until we try," Yoon-Seo settles, the four of you making it your mission to figure out some sort of solution and loophole in the game.

After multiple near missteps and walking the fine line between safety and danger in testing the limits of the borders, your small group manages to come up with a loose plan and present it to the others who haven't yet budged an inch away from the lobby since you've been gone.

Jun-Hee leads the explanation, pointing at a map stuck to a random whiteboard you found earlier. "There's a mountain at the end of the trail and a village. We just have to find people and ask for help."

Jin-Ha brings up a point everyone else is either too scared to ask about or too scared of the answer. "That sounds too simple. What if we try and end up dead too? What then?"

Joo-Young crosses her arms, visibly uncomfortable. "He's right. Isn't it too dangerous?"

"It's annoying to just wait. It won't hurt to give it a shot." You would've given Kyung-Jun the benefit of the doubt as to why he was being so accepting of your group's ideas all of a sudden, but of course, he would never sacrifice himself for anybody's sake. "But do we all have to go? That's so inefficient." It's not hard to read between the lines at what he's implying.

"Yeah, we can't all go," Jun-Hee agrees calmly. "I'll go on my own."

You whip your head toward him. This wasn't what you discussed earlier. "I'm volunteering, then."

"But—"

You shoot Jun-Hee a look that leaves no room for argument, near impossible for him to change your mind. "I'm not letting you shoulder all the responsibility."

"I'll come with," So-Mi interjects. Any other situation you would've scorned her for inviting herself when no one wants her there, but you reluctantly allow her presence this time and this time only.

"Me too," Yoon-Seo says with conviction, turning to you.

"No, stay here." You pat her on the arm. "I don't think the mountain trail will be good for you."

"It's a rough hike," Jun-Hee concurs. "I also think you should sit this one out."

"They're both right, Yoon-Seo," Jung-Won reasons. "You'll become a liability if you end up lagging behind. Let's stay here together."

"I can't develop the plan and then make my best friends do the hard work for me." Yoon-Seo as always, is too kind and selfless.

So-Mi on the other hand, drags Woo-Ram into the center of the circle on a whim amidst ongoing discussion.

"Why me?!"

"You're not volunteering. You're volun-told." So-Mi doesn't give him a chance to decline. "Na-Hee, Ji-Soo, and Yu-Jun, you'll all come with, right?"

"No," Ji-Su says resolutely, the only one of So-Mi's friends with a backbone.

Yu-Jun looks more relieved than apologetic with his girlfriend's choice. "I won't either if she's not."

"Where's your sense of loyalty?" So-Mi glares at both of them in turn.

"Don't ask for what you don't have either," Jung-Won chimes in, raising an eyebrow at So-Mi.

Eye twitching but not replying, So-Mi turns to Na-Hee beside her, wanting to coerce her into participation. "You won't come, then?" Na-Hee's silence is as good of an answer as any.

Hyun-Ho parts the crowd as him and Dong-Hyun flank either side of you and Jun-Hee. "This is an interesting mix. Barely brains and no muscles. You lot are too weak to hike a mountain. We'll go too." You roll your eyes fondly at his over-confidence, but deep down you know he's only coming because you can't stay still, a penchant for getting into danger.

Na-Hee belatedly steps forward, tucking her hair behind her ear and dragging her foot on the ground. Everyone looks at her oddly, surprised by her sudden joining and abrupt change in decision. "I'll go as well."

You belatedly wonder if everyone has pure intentions for going or merely with ulterior motives to tag along because of someone they harbored feelings for.

Despite Yeon-Woo and Eun-Chan trying to prevent Eun-Ha from leaving, she brushes them off, allowing them to stay in her stead. She's the last to round out the rag-tag group, sending you a meek smile that you return in full.

Everyone else waits anxiously as the hiking group disperses to prepare supplies. Jung-Won and Yoon-Seo trail you like twin shadows, their nervousness skyrocketing the closer it is to dispatch time.

To Hyun-Ho's and Dong-Hyun's annoyance, you pester them to help you carry the hiking gear you saw the first night in the gym when Yool was digging through the storage room, surmising it would prove useful should a situation arise for it.

When it comes time to depart, Yoon-Seo hugs you tight before she does the same to Jun-Hee. "Safe trip guys. Please all come back to us."

You smile reassuringly at her. "I promise."

Yoon-Seo nods, and with that, her and Jung-Won send you off with light waves, your small group splitting for the very first time in a long time.

The hike itself is a lot rougher and steeper than you had previously imagined, especially when it's high noon out. Jun-Hee is in charge of leading the way, the paper booklet Yoon-Seo had kept in her possession now in his hands. He looks exhausted, simultaneously trying to upkeep the group's morale, sanity, and safety. Even if you weren't biased, you didn't think anyone else in the class was better suited to be the leader.

Everyone stops at the foot of a particularly tall dirt hill, rocks protruding out randomly in various spots.

"This looks like it'd be easy to slip on." You look around for the area that seems sturdiest.

"Be careful," Hyun-Ho reminds, pointing a little to your right where there's a divot in the soil. How it got there, you have no idea. It didn't seem like anyone tried navigating this area before. "I think you should climb the middle of the slope. Even if it's the highest, the sides are holding it together."

You nod, digging the toe of your heel into the dirt and are wary not to lean with too much force forward or backward so that you don't lose your balance.

Most of the others have scaled the slope already, but both Hyun-Ho and Dong-Hyun decidedly stay behind in case anyone falls or trips. The two of them watch you carefully, eyes focused on your feet.

To your left, So-Mi is also starting to climb while Na-Hee stands further in the back, observing.

Jun-Hee sticks a hand down and it stops in between you and So-Mi.

"Thank—" So-Mi begins, mistakenly thinking he was going to help her.

He moves it slightly to the right, his palm having faced you the whole time. You look up and meet his earnest eyes, head nodding at you. When your hand finally rests in his, he grips it strongly but tenderly as Hyun-Ho and Dong-Hyun give your feet a little boost from below, pushing you over and onto the slope with ease. Even though you could manage just fine on your own, the actions of the three boys warm your heart.

A permanent scowl rests upon So-Mi's visage as she sends you a glare, seemingly wanting nothing more than to throw rocks at you but in a show of effort to save face, she reaches out to Woo-Ran instead who has no choice but to come to her aid.

Dong-Hyun climbs up soon after, Na-Hee trailing his steps with Hyun-Ho watching below. As soon as you peer over to watch, she slips with a yelp.

"Are you alright?!" Hyun-Ho scurries over and looks at the state of her ankle, already turning red at the site. He gazes upward at you, his worry etched into the crease of his brows. "I think she sprained it."

"Can you try bending it slightly to check whether she'll be able to continue?" you suggest, sliding back down the slope, Jun-Hee following close behind.

Hyun-Ho has only encircled Na-Hee's ankle and yet she makes a sound of great pain, wincing at his touch. "Na-Hee can't walk like this." He turns to you, eyes clouded over with unease.

"Luckily a first aid kit was packed last minute." Jun-Hee turns around so you can unzip his backpack and grab the supplies. "We should put a splint on her ankle."

Hyun-Ho agrees and helps you dig through the container for anything that can be used as a makeshift bind.

"She should've been careful," So-Mi voices the obvious, not in the least bit supportive. "Na-Hee, will you be okay?" she asks, more out of obligation than care.

Na-Hee makes an ambiguous noise of agreement but doesn't turn around to look at So-Mi.

"We don't have the right materials for a splint, but let's try wrapping her ankle as tight as we can so there's better support when she moves and it won't hurt as much."

You work in taping up her ankle with Hyun-Ho holding it steady for you, Jun-Hee looking on proudly and fondly at you, smiling to himself.

Hyun-Ho sighs as Na-Hee still isn't able to bear much weight on her injured leg. "Maybe we should just head back."

"No," So-Mi hurriedly contests, standing akimbo above. "Let's keep up a bit more. It's a waste to come all the way here and then head back without achieving anything."

Dong-Hyun adds in, much nicer than So-Mi. "We should keep going only if her pain is bearable."

"The walk back will be just as tiring," you say to Na-Hee as you pack up the first aid kit and return it to Jun-Hee for safekeeping. "It's your call whether you think the rest of the distance is doable."

She peers over at Hyun-Ho then to you, looking indecisive. On one hand, it would be a waste of effort and all the help she received to turn the excursion useless. On the other, she would only slow the group down, prolonging the expedition.

Before she has time to decide, So-Mi chimes in, her tone taking on more of an annoyed lilt. "If you're okay then let's keep going just a little more. Tell us when you can't push any further."

Na-Hee doesn't bother responding to her this time around.

"I can rest here with you and then we can continue on if you need a break. Are you well enough to go with the rest? I don't mind either option," Hyun-Ho says kindly. You watch their interaction and can easily see how much he cares for her.

"Na-Hee's fine," So-Mi resolves all on her own, brushing her hands against one another to get the dirt and grime off before fixing her hair. "Try to keep up," she orders. "Hyun-Ho, you're in charge of her." After giving her command, she turns and leaves without a backwards glance, continuing on the trail with Woo-Ram and Eun-Ha in tow. Only Dong-Hyun stays back with you and the rest.

"Are you sure?" You pat her shoulder. "You know you don't have to follow everything So-Mi says if you don't think it's right," you voice out sincerely.

Na-Hee's eyes flit back and forth between your own, wide and understanding the double meaning. "I'm choosing to go along because I want to this time." She pulls your hand down from her shoulder and holds it between her own. "Thank you, Seol-Hwa."

"Then we should catch up with the others," Jun-Hee concludes as Hyun-Ho supports Na-Hee along, you bringing up the rear.

The walk resolutely refuses to ease up, but once you finally reach signposts, Dong-Hyun regains his energy and drags you by the wrist, suddenly excited at the prospect of perchance leaving this hell.

Hyun-Ho and Na-Hee remain trailing behind at their own leisurely pace, slowly but surely making progress while Jun-Hee has split off with the main group at Woo-Ram's call.

Dong-Hyun draws you back every time you so much as make eye contact with a white line, and you can't help but shake your head, equal parts exasperated and endeared. "Dong-Hyun, there's more than a two-foot radius between my shoes and the borders."

"Better safe than sorry." He grabs your hand this time around as the trail becomes more curved and the lines less apparent. "If you lose so much as a fingernail, I'll lose my eyes to Hyun-Ho and Jun-Hee."

You tilt your chin down and fix him with a look of disbelief. "Be serious. They wouldn't really do that to you."

He clucks his tongue. "You don't know the half of it. They both really care about you. In different ways of course, but they're crazily protective."

"And you're not?" You elbow him in the side.

"Of course, I am. Hyun-Ho considers you like a sister, and since he's my best friend, you're automatically also my sister. We'd do anything for you."

"That's very sweet and I feel the same way about you all," you say sincerely, giving his hand a squeeze as the two of you look around and inspect the topmost wooden sign.

"Dammit!" Dong-Hyun curses angrily, kicking the pike. "It's blocked."

Eyes trailing to where he's pointing, sure enough, you've met a dead end.

Somehow, So-Mi has branched off and followed after you and Dong-Hyun, noticing the group's newfound predicament. He's nice enough to hand over his trekking pole to her, seeing the sorry state of her appearance, worn and haggard. "Over there—" she juts her head to the left, "—looks more open than here. Maybe there's a path?"

Dong-Hyun swivels to you. "Let's try." He leads you by the hand to explore the area So-Mi alluded to as she tails closely behind.

The spot turns out to be by the edge of a cliff, ominously overlooking rocky waters.

You grip his hand tighter and with your other, stab your trekking pole deeper into the ground for stability, the slope here a straight descent off the cliffside.

"It's hard to discern if there's a line here or not..." Dong-Hyun crouches down, inspecting the markings.

"Take a closer look," So-Mi instigates, but doesn't step another foot forward.

"I can't tell for sure but it looks like there is," you tell Dong-Hyun, trying to pull him back from going further. You tap his shoulder and he turns around, eyeing the trekking pole you hand to him.

"No, you keep it." He tries to push it back toward you but you take his hand and wrap it securely around the pole.

"Take a look in front." You turn his head directly downhill toward the threatening oddly shaped tree trunk, a singular sharp branch protruding from it. "If you so much as slip an inch, it'll be the end. Better to be safe than sorry, right?" Repeating his words from earlier back to him does the trick and he shoots you a crooked smile, finally accepting the pole due to your insistence. You decide to sit directly onto the dirt path shortly after, giving you more balance and a better center of gravity than if you were standing. Beside you is a chopped tree stump, small enough that you can wrap an arm around to hold you steady.

"I don't think there's a line," So-Mi pipes in, standing directly behind you.

When did she come so close?

"Really?" Dong-Hyun questions naively, using a twig to dig around the marks. "Then I think we can go."

"No, wait!" you shout, trying to reach out for him at the same time that So-Mi pretends to slip and bumps into him.

"AHH!" Dong-Hyun screams, having slid within a centimeter of the white line.

[ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴜɴᴅᴀʀɪᴇs. ]

"Dong-Hyun!" Your heart is in your throat as you watch him hang haphazardly onto the pole you gave him mere moments ago, staked deeply into the ground.

So-Mi turns to you instead, attempting to ascent uphill to escape the grave and unforgivable sin she had deliberately committed.

You hear a loud gasp above, seeing Eun-Ha watching the scene unfold in its entirety in front of her, not believing her own eyes at So-Mi's vile actions.

Keeping your right arm around the base of the trunk you were holding onto since earlier, you scoot further down the hill and extend your left hand toward Dong-Hyun, nearly sitting in a split position facing the tree stump. "Grab my hand!"

"I can't!" Dong-Hyun resists. "I'll pull you down with me!" His head and neck are red, straining with effort. You know with the hill's slope and both of your downward positions that gravity isn't in your favor.

"I don't care!" you shout. "I have to at least try." Tears come to your eyes but you force them back, a lump already forming in your throat. "I'm not letting you go like this, Dong-Hyun!" He looks at you helplessly. "We don't have time!" you plead, begging for him to reconsider as more and more dirt scatter down from your foot digging into the ground.

"That's your bad knee. I can't let you do this, Seol-Hwa!"

You gaze down momentarily at your left leg, the scar from your past gymnastics injury long since faded but not truly gone. Determined, you reach out your hand for the last time and manage to grab Dong-Hyun's fingers, clinging on for dear life to a rock embedded in the dirt. Your knee is protesting and so is the rest of your body, but you weren't going to let any of your friends die on your watch if you could help it. "Grab on!" You tighten your hold and Dong-Hyun finally gets to his senses, using all his might to climb back up without jeopardizing you.

The two of you manage to scoot a few inches up before So-Mi starts peddling her feet beside you, sending you further downhill with every scuffle of her heel.

Your heart pounds in your ears as your arm slowly loosens around the tree trunk, hold slackening immensely. You feel your strength nearly giving in, the pins and needles sensation not leaving your fingertips. Dong-Hyun groans below from the exertion of keeping his leg from going outside the barely there line while simultaneously not compromising your position.

In the wake of hanging on by a thread, the notification vibrates unremittingly in your pocket and you can so clearly imagine the blaring of the alarms.

It sounds a lot like a death toll.

"Seol-Hwa, just let me go and save yourself," Dong-Hyun says with finality, beginning to withdraw his fingers away from yours.

"I won't!" you cry out, scrabbling for him as he starts to drift away from you like sand sifting through an outstretched palm.

You close your eyes as your arm eventually gives out and you can no longer feel Dong-Hyun's touch, preparing yourself for the announcement of execution.

But it doesn't come.

You have half a mind to see through a haze of tears Hyun-Ho's form crawling headfirst with his stomach plastered against the hill in order to pull Dong-Hyun back up with the others holding his legs steady.

Only then do you register fingers girdling your wrist tightly, Jun-Hee's strong grip around your forearm as Eun-Ha hangs onto him from atop the slope, both with steadfast looks on their faces.

Jun-Hee grits his teeth and with one last tug, he takes you up to stand on even ground, Hyun-Ho plopping Dong-Hyun down beside you, body limp and passed out due to shock.

Your legs give out, immediately reducing you to a disturbed heap on the ground, eyes unfocused with your hand placed against your chest, pounding, finding it hard to breathe, your heart seemingly existing outside your body.

The silence that settles upon the group is mournful, as if there was truly something to grieve after all.

In a half crouch, Jun-Hee settles before you, reaching out tentatively to cup your face, afraid of your reaction in the aftereffects of having been at death's door. He lowers his head to peer into your bloodshot eyes, and it isn't until then that you realizing the extent of his trembling fingers, lips quivering and breathing ragged. The look of unmistakable utter concern is etched deeply onto his face as he regards you, not daring to speak a word. This time, his eyes can't hide the anger, confusion, and downright fear.

"Seol-Hwa…" he utters, low and soft, torn to see your appearance. He's holding back tears, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as his eyes flick over your face, the set of his jaw tense unlike you've ever seen before.

Hearing your name tumbling from Jun-Hee's lips brings you back to the reality you zoned out from and the teardrops you suspended all this time on the rims of your eyes sting from the effort, blurring your vision and gradually distorting the image of him in front of you. When the first tear falls, the subsequent ones follow, and you're unable to stop it.

In one motion, you throw your arms around Jun-Hee, and cling onto him tightly, crying uncontrollably into the crook of his neck, defenses dropped.

He presses his cheek against the side of your face, one hand holding the back of your head tenderly and the other arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Pulling you ever closer to him, Jun-Hee inhales deeply as you're back in his arms again, safe and sound. He dips his head into the line of your shoulder, tucking your head underneath his chin and sits quietly, consoling you with his presence and finds his own comfort in yours.

"I'm sorry I came so late but I'm here now. I'll always be here to save you."

𝟬𝟮 : 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗨𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗟𝗬 𝗘𝗙𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 | 𝟬𝟰 : 𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗠𝗦𝗢𝗡

© 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟’ 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨, 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

[hprewetts]

an angsty blurb or one shot with Remus dc what about🩷

i'm so sorry it took me a few days omg, i'm the world's slowest writer. that said, tysm for leaving a request<333 i hope i was enough, i used "you" because it comes more naturally to me but if someone wants third person they can say so and i'll try to suffice. i'm still very new to writing this format of fics but i appreciate the trust, here we go :)

This is not a tragedy

summary: you ask remus to get married after james and lily announce their engagement. his answer does not surprise you. 571 words. pairing: remus lupin x reader tags: non committed remus lupin, angst no comfort, open ending, break up (sort of), use of "you" for reader

"Let's do it," you say, "let's get married."

The air is cold against your cheeks once you step onto the balcony. Your breath comes out in white clouds of smoke, drawing trails of mist that disappear against the winds of winter. The words, too, come out slowly from your mouth.

Remus is smoking a cigarette, leaning onto the veranda. James, Sirius, Lily and Peter left a while ago. It's just you two now.

You wait, expectant. The snow rages outside your little flat. It rages inside you, too.

"We want to do it while we can," James had explained at the table, holding onto Lily's hands. The gesture had you breathless for a moment, painfully aware of how much you are missing. "We might not survive the war, the time for living is now."

And you had thought he had been right, at the time. James and Lily wanted to die without regrets and, in a way, their wedding itself was a defiance against the war.

You can not subdue us, it said, you cannot scare us. A pureblood and a muggleborn would be joined in marriage in the middle of the world's greatest attempt to stop exactly that. There is some sort of irony about it that sits quite right.

It's less romantic to you, really. Your love is but a mundane feeling.

James and Lily are larger than life in contrast; their union a symbol of something rebellious, their love alive against all odds.

You feel a little selfish, after giving it some thought, because the only thing you want is Remus to yourself. But perhaps just loving is enough, during these times of terror.

Remus inhales, then slowly lets out a puff of smoke. You just stare, trying to remember this moment. The way his tousled hair sits against his forehead, that scar on his nose you've always been so fond, the way his scars shine against the moonlight. You try to remember, treasure this instant so it won't be lost forever, knowing that you'll lose him.

"I'm sorry," Remus says without meeting your gaze. It's something quiet and small, you can't bring yourself to blame him. "But I can't."

The blow comes quietly, making your chest hurt. You can't say this is groundbreaking, that the world shatters around you because it does not. You held a little hope that he'd say yes, that his love for you would be stronger than whatever it is he's fighting back.

But it does not.

You were always an outsider, a stranger in your own relationship. Remus had always hidden something from you, something big, that you should have known. He disappeared, for days on end, and would never tell you where. When you asked about his scars, he'd lie, his innermost worries, he'd never tell. Remus never let you see him whole, but you thought he would, with time and patience, and that was your mistake.

You were just never that kind of couple.

"I'm sorry," Remus says again.

"I know," you whisper.

"I love you," he repeats.

"I know," you say back.

You try to remember this moment, record it on your memory, but even as he stands before you, the details have already started escaping your memory.

Remus Lupin was never and would never be yours. But you've known that for so long it might as well not hurt at all.

Except it does. It really, really does.

[strangelittlestories]

[cw: briefly appearance of a homophobic characer who uses a slur]

He looked like sunlight.

I'd never seen hair that colour before, that bright mix of platinum and and sunflower. I'd had a few beers by that point, and when I saw him across the dance floor I thought he was on fire.

The bar wasn't anything special. It was grimy, like I liked it, the dance floor had less room to move than some prison cells I'd been in (and considerably more sticky). I figured I'd have a drink, have a dance, have a fight, then have *another* drink from one of these drab buggers.

But there he was, lighting up the night. And I swear I'd never known the meaning of the word effulgent until I saw him.

“Mate, your hair, it’s…” I was slurring,

“It’s great, isn’t it? It’s called Platinum Blonde. Like the movie?”

“The Jean Harlow film?” I’d actually seen that flick back in the ‘30s. It made me have hitherto unexplored feelings about blondes. “She was biteable…”

“I know, right?” He nods at me and smiles and I want him doing that forever.

“Bloody right.”

“You’ve got a cute accent…”

When we left the bar, we didn’t just go to some convenient alley where I would drain him dry and move on. No, tonight was special. And maybe it was the cheap whiskey or maybe pollution or maybe it was him, but the night air shimmered as we passed. The streetlamps flickered wherever we walked, as they knew they could never be as bright as *him*.

We ended up at a late night drug store. He guided me through the brightly coloured packages like he was an alchemist and I was his precious student. I’d never had much time for that mystical shite like some of my type, but this was the kind of neon magic I could get behind.

“This one.” He said, fingers caressing a cardboard package on which a woman with a dazzling smile modelled even more dazzling locks.

“What the bloody hell is Clairol? Is that this bird’s name?”

“Nah, it’s the name of the brand, man. Bringing platinum to the masses.” He had one hand in my hair, tousling the mousy strands and I was incredibly aware of his pulse roaring through his veins. “Spinning straw into gold…”

He was still playing with my hair when we got to the checkout. The clerk gave us a look like he wanted to say something. I was feeling peckish by then, so I just licked my lips at him and pressed myself a bit closer against the living star next to me.

“Fucking fags.” I didn’t really give a bugger, but I saw my star’s face fall. Not much, just enough to make him burn a little less brightly.

Then my hand was around the clerk’s throat and he was choking.

The star didn’t say anything, he just put one firm hand on my arm. Gently. I don’t know why, but I lessened my grip.

“Apologise.” I said it slowly and carefully, drawing out every syllable, letting myself feel the word taut in the air.

He mumbled something that was close enough to sorry to make no odds.

We went back to his place.

I’d never had someone wash my hair before. It was a bit like what being bitten felt like. It felt vulnerable. Transformative.

And after we’d washed the chemicals out, I stood there and I looked in the mirror and … of course, there was no-one looking back at me. But the way *he* looked at me, I bloody well felt like a new man.

His hands were in my hair again. I smiled at him. We fell onto the bed with our hands tangled in each other.

I waited until the sun came up before I did it.

But as the first rays began to creep round the curtains and sting my eyes, I bit hard and drank deep.

And he tasted like sunlight.

[countrymusiclover]

7 - The Waring Battlefield

Part 8

The Last Velaryon

Tag list @rise-my-angel @cdragons

A Few Weeks Later

The tent flap got pushed opened revealing Chezney coming inside my tent. She was wearing a light blue cloak over a darker blue dress. She had her hair loose and two pieces pinned up. “Haelesa. Let’s go exploring.”

“We’re in a war camp, Chez. I don’t think that’d be a good idea.” Sitting upright on the edge of the bed in the tent. I was in a red lion tunic and trousers having my hair completely loose falling down my shoulders.

She put a hand on her hip scowling at me. “We can’t remain in our tents forever. So I’m going with or without you.” Her hair got thrown once she spun around on her feet leaving me until I briefly decided to follow her regardless.

Jaime and I had only spoken briefly since his father had put him in charge of the Lannister army. I took great appreciation in the fact that he had allowed us to come along with him for whatever reason I wasn’t sure yet. My assumption was to hide the fact that I was still a maiden and not soon to be with child. This concept was a lovely thought, I still had doubts that was his plan. Chezney and I had our cloaks tightly around us walking through the camp until I saw there was an escape hole and most of the camp was busy preparing for the wounded coming in and the new soldiers going out. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and be able to see some of the battle.”

“Haven’t you seen the battle plans?” My best friend asked me.

“Believe me. I’ve attempted but wasn’t allowed in. Now keep your head and voice down and follow me. Quickly now.” I warned her to hurry as quickly as possible. Throwing my cloak hood upwards to shield my head bolting towards the entrance before anyone could catch us and she met up with me.

Stumbling into the side of a large tree slightly on the hill side my vision could see the flat battlefield of Stark and Lannister men running straight towards the other. Weapons drawn from all sides and the red blood scattered across the grass. “This might be a bad idea. What if Jaime gets killed or captured?”

“Aren’t you the same person who told me repeatedly that he’s the best swordsman in the seven kingdoms. He’ll probably be fine.” I glared at my best friend turning my attention back on the battle before us.

We remained watching for awhile sitting on the ground until Chezney heard some twigs snapping behind us. “What was that?”

“It’s probably nothing. Just a squirrel or something.”

She began panicking. “No. I heard something, Hael’s.”

“You’re being ridiculous. We are in the middle of a forest. There’s tons of different noises and things out there.”

Chezney got to her feet frantically looking behind us. “You don’t think they would send out scots to come capture some people from the Lannister camp would you?”

“Do I look like a battlefield expert to you? Now pay attention we don’t want to miss them - seven hells they have Jaime!” I instantly saw some men manage to grab Jaime and manage to shove him into the mud. "Jaime!”

“Haelesa! They’ve got me.” Chezney suddenly screamed with someone dragging her away from me.

“Chezney, let her go - ugh!” Reaching for my sword I attempted to draw it out and attack whoever it was until someone began shoving their rough hands on me. I thrashed around feeling someone shove their hands over my mouth. Whoever my holder was they managed to shove a bag over my head and bound my hands in metal restraints.

The person holding me dropped my body into some mud speaking to whoever was in charge of this. "I found two girls watching the battle from the treeline. One wears the Lannister cloak." The hood is yanked off my head tousling my hair around and in front of my eyes where I have to blink a few times before my vision clears. Another guard dropped Jaime beside me where I see he has cuts of blood and dirt on his hair and in his golden hair.

"By the time they knew what was happening, it had already happened." Blinking my eyes a few times I recognized my brother's voice following his movements to see him standing beside my mother wearing full armor. "Haelesa. Chezney, what are you doing here?"

Jaime tilted his head interrupting our conversation before I could reply. "Lady Stark. I'd offer you my sword, but I seem to have lost it." I could hear his breathing was uneven from the fight.

"It's not your sword I want. Give me my daughters back. Give me my husband." Lady Stark spat towards him eyeing me while I was still chained on my knees.

Jaime dropped his gaze to the mud slumping his shoulders. "I've lost them too, I'm afraid."

“We simply wanted to watch the battle, Lady Stark. We never thought we’d get captured even though I told you something was watching us.” Chezney snapped at me on her knees locked in chains just as Jaime and I were in the moment.

Rolling my eyes I met Lady Stark’s eyes. “Not the time, Chezney!”

“My lady wife just couldn’t bear the thought of being away from me.." Jaime teased her with a smirk as I gave him a death glare, he wasn’t helping the situation. Neither of them were.

Robb knitted his brows together looking like he might try and kill the lion right at his feet. He rested a hand tightly on the handle of his sword angered for a reason I couldn’t place. “Robb, please don’t hurt me and Chezney. He asked us to accompany him but we weren’t meaning to spy I swear.” I exclaimed holding up my bond wrists pleading that he would release me.

"What are we going to do with them?” Lady Stark eyed her eldest son.

Theon Greyjoy suggested staring down at him while he still held onto the rope connected to my chains. "Kill him, Robb. Send his head to his father. He cut down 10 of our men...you saw him."

"He's more use to us alive than dead." Robb trailed off drawing his sword walking over and cut the chains off my wrists.

Knitting my brows together I was taken back by what he had just done. I suspected I would have been a prisoner just like the Lannister lion at my side. “You’re letting me go?”

“You and your friend, yes.” Robb moved a step over sliding the restraints off of Chezney too. He offers me his freehand, bright eyes pouring down into mine so gently. "Take my hand. I’m not going to hurt you, Haelesa.”

Lady Stark tugs me away from Jaime looping my arm through hers speaking to the guards holding him. "Take him away and put him in irons."

"We could end this war right now, boy, save thousands of lives. You fight for the Starks, I fight for the Lannisters. Swords or lances, teeth, nails ... choose your weapon and let's end this here and now." Jaime leaned forward attempting to persuade my brother before the men locked him away in chains.

Robb stands beside my side putting his sword back in its holder. "If we do it your way, Kingslayer, you'd win. We're not doing it your way." He snarled down to my husband watching the guards drag him off towards the cells

Chezney asked the young one once his men had dispersed and his mother had gone along with them. “So you aren’t going to put us away in chains?”

“No, this war is not between you and Haelesa.” He explained gesturing his head in the direction of his camp and some tents that they had set up. “Come with me. I’ll show you to my tent and we can have one made up for the two of you to share.”

The three of us walked through the camp stopping outside of a tent before a man with a completely white beard came over in our direction addressing him. “Lord Stark?”

“Lord Umber, please inform some men that I need a new tent to be pitched up for Lady Haelesa and her friend Chezney. They will be staying in our camp now.” Robb gestured between the two of us.

The elderly lord nodded, walking off. “Of course, my lord.”

“Thank, Lord Stark.” I curtseye to the young wolf and Chezney did the same addressing him.

Shifting my attention to the young wolf I sent him a half smile joyed to see him after months of being apart. He was different than the last time. He now was working on growing a nice stubble on his chin and his natural curls were a lot more curly. “I thought we made an arrangement, Haelesa.”

“My apologies, Robb.” I felt my face turning red missing the way my name sounded coming from his lips.

Chezney nudged my arm pulling us from our comfortable silence that had fallen between me and the young lord. “Hey I’m getting hungry. We should look for some food.”

“Uh yes. There should be some food being prepared for the evening.” Robb shakes his head pulling himself from his daze. His gaze lowered down to our still interested hands before he finally separated from me. “I'll see you later, Haelesa.”

Chezney wisseled for my attention seeing as I hadn't moved away from him. There was a comfortable feeling that I could sense between me and Robb. A comfort that I hadn't felt with Jaime since I had met him. “Robb, I…Could I see you later if you've got time?”

“Absolutely.” He answered me back with a half smile. Nodding my head I spun on my feet looping my arm with my best friend, feeling a bright smile grace my lips.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[writing-good-vibes]

Bestie! Can I please have number 4 from the steamy prompts for your valentine's day drabbles? I'm thinking an expansion on or a similar scenario to the thing with the waitress in Dirty Domestic Bliss. Definitely a post-Michael!Corey but you can decide if you want it to be cunningmyers!Corey or a distinct iteration. Thank you, happy Valentine's Day! <3

bestie, thank you for the req !! ahh the way i'm kinda kicking my legs, twirling my hair that you brought up dirty domestic bliss 😈 it's not necessary to read that story first, but this is the (un)official sequel. i hope you enjoy because this spiralled !! 💗

WARNING for corey x f!reader, smut, flirting, a tiny little bit of angst because i couldn't resist, and the fact this is technically set in the cunningmyers au (but michael only makes an appearance emotionally lol). 2.5K word count.

🍓very cute divider by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more 🍓

taglist: @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

You finish wiping down the counter after a very, very busy night. Valentine's day always brings in more customers, even to the roadside diner you have no hope of leaving anytime soon.

You're on shift for the next four hours alone, but you're thankful that it should be a quieter from now on, with most couples heading back home to relieve their babysitters or to make the most of the rest of their night in the comfort of their own beds. All that remain are stragglers and harmless ne'er-do-wells who have nowhere better to be at this hour.

Around 1 am, you hear the bell over the door jingle and you look up from the counter to see a young man walking in.

If anyone saw the intensity of your doubletake, you would have been mortified.

He sits at a booth towards the back of the diner, but in clear view of the door. He's polite when you go over to take his extensive order -- a coffee with creamer and sugar, a club sandwich, side of fries, a plate of bacon and eggs, with hash browns if you have any -- and thanks you earnestly when you bring out his food.

He keeps to himself, and you'd almost be able to forget he was there while you served the couple of other patrons, if it weren't for how striking he was. Dark hair, tousled but naturally curly, and even darker eyes. Eyes that look almost black even under the harsh halogen lights. He holds his cutlery tightly with broad, bruised hands.

He ate like he was starving; you'd seen plenty of men with eyes bigger than their stomachs, but he seemingly wasn't one of them. All of his plates are cleaned when you take them back to the kitchen.

The reserved atmosphere between you makes you question if this is really the same guy. He has to be, right? The possibility of someone else like him was slim to none, with his curly hair that you desperately want to pull on again, his broad, handsome features that you could stare at forever and never get bored of, and his Levi's jeans that hug him in all the right places.

Returning to his table, you ask, "Can I tempt you with dessert?"

"I think you can. What would you recommend?"

"The cheesecake is my favourite, but I'm biased because I make the strawberry drizzle for it." You lean your hip against his table,

"Strawberry? I normally pick chocolate."

"We have a great chocolate cake too?" you suggest instead.

"No, let's try strawberry. I'll have a slice of cheesecake, please."

"Sure thing," you smile. When you turn back to the counter, you glance over your shoulder, catch him watching you. The sway of your hips is unintentional, should anyone ask.

You draw a few love hearts in strawberry sauce around the edge of the plate. There's something wrong with me, you think, but you don't get a new plate.

He turns the plate slowly once you put it down in front of him, considers each strawberry heart. Then his eyes turn up to you, and it's almost like those strawberry hearts are reflected in his dark, dangerous eyes. "Would you sit with me? Please?"

"I'm working," you smile, but still you linger at his table, waiting for him to convince you.

"I'm sure they won't mind," he says, nodding towards the other weary patrons, nursing steaming coffees, filling in crosswords with blotchy pens, or reading the sports pages.

No one gave you a second glance as you slid into the booth across from him.

You watch while he eats, his pretty pink lips closing around each bite. There's a comfortable silence between one, one that you could get entirely used to, if given the chance.

"It's nice to see you again," he smiles around the food in his mouth. You'd rather get used to his voice though.

Breaking into a grin, "I thought it was you!"

"I've been thinking about you," he half-drawls "Every day since I last saw you."

The last time you saw him was a couple of months ago -- six, maybe? -- sat at what might of been this very same booth. He was just as bruised and timelessly rugged as he is now, and you remembered him being with a another man -- older, more weathered, but rugged in the same sort of way. This guy, your guy, had ordered for the both of them, and seemed relieved to find his companion where he left him after your back alley escapade.

"This is really good," he compliments. "And it's your favourite, right? Have some," He offers you a piece of cheesecake on his fork, smeared with extra strawberry sauce that had dripped down onto the plate.

You open your mouth, lips closing around the fork just where his lips -- his soft, pink lips -- had been, and take the bite from him. You chew slowly. Even without the strawberry sauce you labour over making in the kitchen, the cheesecake really is good.

He watches you closely, and you find that you don't mind at all. He's not like other men, whose stares bore into you because they want to take something from you. No, no he looks at you like he wants you to take something from him.

The palm of his heavy-knuckled hand, the one that isn't still holding his fork, feels rough against your skin when he catches your chin; the pad of his thumb is slightly weathered when he swipes it over the corner of your mouth, catching a stray spot of strawberry drizzle. Pulling his hand back, you watch him -- his eye contact never wavering -- as he sucks his thumb into his mouth, licking it clean.

"When do you get off?" His question catches you off-guard, startling you from your fleeting thoughts of his lips and tongue and hands.

"Um," you try and remember your shift. "4 am." You glance at the clock on the wall and silent curse. Still two hours to go and there's no way he's going to wait for you, why would he? This perfect stranger with his split knuckles and pretty lips and --

"I think you deserve a break, don't you?"

You don't think this is like last time. This won't a quick smoke break endeavour. "I still have --," you're about to gesture at the other customers, but when you turn around, you find the diner empty. You hadn't even noticed them leave, you'd been so caught up with...

Shit. "I don't even know your name."

"Corey," he answers, and his accent swells stronger on his name than you'd noticed during the rest of your conversation.

You give your own name in return, giggling because you can't quite believe any of this is real. Because a beautiful boy walked into your diner and made you fall for him, and you never even thought to tell him your name.

Corey stands from the booth, not quiet as smoothly as you think he might of wanted to because his hip catches on the edge of the table. You're not surprised, he's built like a bull, all broad shoulders, broad hips, broad hands that trailing along the table top as he walks past. Even so, he wanders to the door, flips the open sign to closed and twists the lock.

The backroom is pretty small, the table has been wobbly for as long as you've been working there and no doubt for longer, and you distantly register that you never closed the door behind you, so you have a mostly-clear view into the diner, all the way to the locked front door, but you don't really have time to think about any of that. The only thought your mind can conjure up is please!

Corey is somewhere under your sunshine-yellow skirt, there's a sharp sting at your hip when he snaps the elastic of your panties against your skin, then his teeth biting so gently at the flesh of your thighs that they could be kisses instead. Desperate to see his face, you pull your skirt up to your waist and moan involuntarily at the sight of him, flushed and focused, between your legs.

His eyes glint impossibly dark, pupils blown wide, and he doesn't stop look at you. Reaching down, you twist your fingers through his tangle of curls, making him moan into your heat.

When he kisses you, he tastes just like you remembered, like cigarettes and something distinctly boyish, but now he has the sweetness of strawberries on his lips, like chapstick, and on his tongue there's the heady taste of your own arousal.

Corey's cock is pretty and pink just like the rest of him. (How can even his cock be pretty?) Grazing your entrance slowly, you angle your hips to encourage him, tightening your legs around his hips to pull him in.

"Is this okay?" he asks, tip pushing just enough to make you clench on him. His rumbling voice right by your ear makes you shiver, with anticipation, with need, with downright desperation.

"I've been thinking about you too," you say in lieu of any other answer. "Every night since I last saw you. Wanting to see you so bad."

Sinking it your wetness, Corey groans, sounding almost surprised. You clench around him to draw out the sound, louder and longer, until he makes himself pull back out, only so he can thrust back into you. The table rocks beneath you precariously, Corey's thrusts making it shudder an inch across the bubbling lino.

Corey's as good as you expected and even better; he's heavy on top of you, covering your torso with his, until there's nothing between you. His smell all around you, and you hope it seeps into your skin, taints you forever with the smell of the storm that he carries with him. His lips pressing wet open-mouthed kisses anywhere he can reach, along the soft line of your jaw and scattered on your neck, trickling down, down, down as he unbuttons your yellow shirt.

And his pretty cock isn't just for show; heavy inside of you, coated in the wet mess between your legs, hitting just the right spot to make you squirm and clench and rock your hips up against Corey's, his auburnish hair providing the most delicious, burning friction on your clit.

The tinny radio in the main diner is barely audible in the break room over the sounds you both make. Every thrust drawing a breath, or a groan, or a moan. Corey starts low in his throat, a rasp of a groan always on his lips, until he gets closer, and high little breaths spill out of him like he's going to cry if he doesn't finish right now.

You pull up your panties and catch Corey following your hands along your curves. He seems... cuter, somehow. Before he was a powerhouse of confidence, every bit the All-American rogue you daydream about walking through your diner doors. But now he's more modest; bashful as he tucks himself away.

The shift in personality brings your confidence back, and as the endorphins hums pleasantly under your skin, you feel like you did back then; taking a chance on hoping a pretty boy might make out you by the dumpsters.

You smile slyly at him as you straighten out your uniform, lip caught between your teeth. There's a string of hickies around your collar, you can feel them already. You want to poke and prod at them to stop them fading.

"I gotta go," he mumbles, doing up his fly and buckling his tarnished-silver belt buckle.

There's a long pause between the two of you. Uncertainty.

"Sure," you say. You chew your lip as you head back out to the diner, with Corey following behind. "So, um... will I see you around again?"

Corey shrugs, seeming genuinely unsure, "Maybe, maybe not. We might have to leave soon or... I'll see."

You decide not to push him on it, and there's too many reasons, too many different situations and scenarios for you to even start speculating on what might make him so skittish about sticking around. The thought forces an ache through your chest anyway.

"Well," you force a smile. "Whenever you come back, I'll be here waiting with a slice of cheesecake for you."

His smile lights up his whole face, tugging up one corner of his mouth and then the other in a dimpled grin.

Corey pays in cash and another kiss, before walking out of your life as if he didn't just ruin it.

You could recognise him anywhere. Anywhere, any place, any time. You'd recognise Corey by the sound of his boots on the lino, or by the smell of his cigarette breath, by the accent that cradles his words, or by the bruises that paint storms across his sunset skin.

He walks through the door, bell jingling cheerily at his arrival, and sits at a booth towards the back of the diner, shrugging his leather jacket off.

It'd be embarrassing how much his reappearance disarms you, if your mind could think of anything other than how you need to keep your promise.

There's a plate in your hand, a slice of cheesecake covered in strawberry drizzle sits pretty in the centre. You hardly remember crossing the diner; Corey's dark eyes watch the way your sunshine-yellow uniform hugs your hips as you walk.

Sliding into his booth, you place the cheesecake in front of him and press a fork into his scarred palm.

Pretty pink lips pull up into a broad grin that he almost bites back before giving in; his smile is glorious on his bruised face. His knuckles are split. His throat is ringed with yellowing bruises that shift when he swallows.

Your hand finds his on the table top. "Welcome back."

He eats slowly, even though you can tell he's hungry. After this, you'll fix him all the food he wants, plates upon plates of it until you're sure he's happy and well-fed.

"You in town for long?" This time, goes unsaid.

Corey's smile falters, his dark eyes reminding you that you probably can't even begin to imagine what it is he does, and where he goes and how he lives his life outside of the witching hours you spend with him in your diner.

"Yeah," he says, boyish smile returning. "I think I am."

on the topic of restaurant sex, you should also read [warnings apply]:

good boy by ghost (@/ghostwriterforghosts). corey and reader go out for dinner and he is very, very fun to tease.

[clambuoyance]

HI HELLO I JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT YOU ARE SUPER DUPER COOL AND YOUR ART MAKES ME HAPPY STIM !!!!!!!! Literally love seeing your posts, sometimes i come back just to look at em <33333

Do you have any specific hcs you wanna drop about the ninja? I love hearing design interpretations ppl are always so creative !!

HIIII THANK YOU SO MUCHHH 🥹😖💜💜

Sorry it took me forever to get to this but Um here random things in my brain when I draw them…my hcs r ever changing and I’m sorry my handwriting is so illegible

In summary:

Jay- round oval features, freckles that became more prominent post s8, grew out his curly hair post s8, wears a scarf, has heterochromia, eyebrow slit is probably from an invention gone wrong in the junkyard, I think he’s wasian and like maybe his mom was Korean

Zane- long rectangular features but still soft w angles here n there, icy blue eyes, undercut and showing robot form more post s8, blasian bc dr julien was blasian and idk I think the whole gang is partly asian

Kai- supppper sharp triangle features, sharp spiky hair that gets softer post s8 bc he uses a diff gel or stops using gel idk idk, somehow got a scar before s8, other eyebrow notch is bc of a blacksmith burn, half Chinese half Puerto Rican and this is mostly bc of movie Kai yelling fuego lol

Nya- opposite features of Kai so she is very round in comparison, bobcut and bangs then grows out hair into a tiny ponytail for s8, side bangs are supposed to be like…tear dropped shaped or remind you of wavy water idk idk like how Kai is supposed to remind u of fire

Cole- blocky square face, swoops big long hair, but ties it up and uses a headband post s8, still has a ghost scar which sometimes he switches which side his bangs are on if he wants to show it off or not, Um i have two friends one who hcs him as Filipino and the other as Indian and I like both a lot T-T

Lloyd- tousled short hair and he has dark hair roots (The more he grows it out the more depressed he is /j). I hc he’s both Chinese and Japanese but mmm idk I’m not set on anything

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Weekly Rituals

After Scotland is swept out to sea, England is taken by some kindly villagers to the sea every week; It is equal parts to grieve, as much as it is to ensure that he does not fear the sea.

‘’It’ll be okay, lad.’’ Sighed the sea, as it lapped patiently against the boat, in his brother’s voice.

The sky was drawn across the horizon like a woollen shawl, and the wind ran icy-fingers through his  hair. The wood creaked beneath the white of his knuckles - England’s eyes drawn and as miserable as oysters; watery, grey and dire. The miserable soul huddled at the end of the boat simply looking wretchedly towards the waning land - as they were both slowly swallowed up by the sea and sky (two halves of a jaw closing around them). Gulls wheeled overhead, lazy and lofty as they skimmed the bobbing waves with raucous cries, England propping his chin in the palm of his hand as they continued to sail through this world of blue, grey and white. A net strewn out from the side of the boat, lazily gathering reams of silvery fish that moved in sinuous, almost-hypnotising motion; The rivers had been dwindling lately, and England’s taste of fish was beginning to become increasingly confined to midday daydreams of carp and trout. ‘’Ælfric…’’ He whined plaintively, swaying from side-to-side as the boat rocked in the sea’s drifting motion, salt clinging to his cheeks. ‘’...I want to…I need to go back. Please.’’ They had been hunting for oysters and mussels and whelks, for samphire. And now…

The fisherman looked on solemnly, as the cliffs slipped further and further away. ‘’It’ll be okay. Just…’’ He sucked in a draw of air between his crooked teeth, as his passenger whined from the bow, a weariness set deep into the furrows of his face. ‘’...Just keep looking at the sea, Edmund.’’ It had only been a few weeks since the boy’s brother had been lost, swallowed in the night by pitch-dark waters. They weren’t farmers, not since the fields had been burned. ‘’Isn’t it beautiful, lad? Keep looking, it’s important.’’ A pale-white sun pierced the clouds, lifting the early morning drizzle from the surface of the waters, revealing a mosaic of greens and blues. ‘’Keep-’’ 

England squeezed his eyes shut, trembling. ‘’Take me back, Ælfric’’ Puffs of sea-spray tousled his hair, and the boat slowly took on a more brotherly motion (perched on Scotland’s shoulders, as they walked by the river - swaying lightly from side to side, the sunlight golden on their cheeks). ‘’Please.’’ England clenched his fists, nails digging into the soft palms of his hands, as the sea continued to roll the boat gently from side to side (his brother - walking again, telling him about the lines upon lines of neatly arranged soldiers he had faced down; Silver swords and brassy confidence) Most likely a story, some fib Scotland had told him to make him seem cooler - but, England missed those right now, with a stone-heavy ache in his ribs. ‘’I need to go back-!’’ 

An unexpected sob caught England in the chest, like knuckles meeting his heart.

‘’You can’t hide away from the sea forever-’’ Ælfric began with a grave frown, the keel of the boat cutting through the waves like a knife through butter, a silvery trail unspooling from behind them both. ‘’-Come on, Edmund.’’ The fisherman tutted, watching the young boy’s face shift from weariness to a bitter frustration as the sea sighed around them. ‘’It’s always going to be a part of your life, you’ve got to be able to face it.’’ Salt clung to peppery hair as the fisherman adjusted the rudder, turning the boat in a slow, lazy arc towards the pale, northern sun as it drifted by. ‘’Edm-’’ 

 England’s eyes flashed like a burning field, embers sparking in the green of his iris. ‘’I’m not hiding.’’ He hissed sharply, teeth bared in a snarl. His sister had told him, clutching the back of his shirt as she squeezed him tight, that they weren’t like other people. England had asked her what she had meant, but the woman had simply gone very quiet (a dragon, retreating to its lonely cave with a hiss of red scales). He hoped that it was something good - something that would keep the breath in his brother’s lungs a little longer. ‘’I need to find him!’’ He spat, nose wrinkled with fury. 

The fisherman regarded him with sad, grey eyes. ‘’He’s not there anymore, lad. He’s dead.’’ The sea burbled in agreement, dark swirls of malevolent green and white sending the boat drifting across the choppy waves. ‘’He’s dead.’’ The man repeated once more, frustrated strain making his words creak like age-old wood. ‘’Stop shouting at me. You’ll rock the boat.’’ Ælfric drew in a weary, impatient breath as Edmund’s expression contorted into anguish, then into anger. ‘’Calm down.’’ A strain crept into his voice, impatient (a sudden swell of wind that pulled the air from beneath a bird’s wings; England froze, transfixed and trembling with ire). ‘’Sit down. Calm down.’’ Look at the sea. 

[juyeoniemyhoney]

edge of desire

Perhaps it is time to tell your best friend that you're in love with him. It might not go well, but there is an edge to desire, and you might just be standing right in front of it.

pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader

genre: ANGST, maybe fluff?, pining, silly little thing i wrote because music gets me in my feels

warnings: none

word count: 2239 words

honey's notes: I write too much Wonwoo fluff...... it's time for pain!!!!!!!!! also i havent written anything that i've liked this much in a while... finally feeling talented again hehe

-

“Who was your first love?”

You suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, not completely expecting Wonwoo to spring such a loaded question on you.

You contemplate for a while, really dig deep to answer his question as best as you can, but it all is for naught as you decide to lie instead.

“I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone before, Wonwoo,” you finally say after a long pause. With his head heavy against your lap, Wonwoo seems displeased with your answer. You quickly try to appease him with more explanation.

“I think I’ve liked many people before—,” you pause, gulp down the words that attempt to crawl its way out of your throat, light on its paws like a leopard ready to pounce. “—but to me, love is more of a choice than something that just happens, you know?”

Wonwoo remains silent, his lack of words so telling of his desire for you to continue speaking. A breeze sweeps past the two of you and you feel the metal park bench sear your skin as the setting sun beats against your back. The warm breeze tousles Wonwoo’s hair, wisps of black falling over his closed eyes and ghosting his long eyelashes. You almost burrow your fingers deep into the soft strands, the sight of it too enticing for you to resist but somehow, you manage to pull yourself from your daze and clench your fist around your shirt instead.

Perhaps if you weren’t lying to him you would feel more comfortable to run your fingers through his hair like you usually do.

“Okay," he says pointedly, though you know he doesn't mean to be sharp. "Then have you chosen to love anyone before?” Wonwoo corrects himself and presses as gently as he can. Suspicions rise within you as to why he is suddenly so curious about who you have loved before. You almost allow your poor heart to hope again, to believe that maybe this curiosity stems from love itself, a love that Wonwoo holds for you.

“You. I will always choose to love you,” is what you burn to say. The words scratch at your throat, nails digging into flesh and drawing blood in its attempt to escape from the tip of your tongue. Your lips, however, are relentless and stubborn.

“I’ve never really thought about it, Wonwoo,” is the lame answer you decide on. Eyes dropping from the sky to his closed eyelids. In your fragmented mind, you imagine Wonwoo’s eyes, all the colours coming together slowly and easily as you paint them in your head, almost lifting your hands to follow the brush strokes against a canvas that you have perfected again and again when Wonwoo’s eyes plagued your mind in the middle of the night and all you could do was paint them over and over and over again.

“Think about it now,” Wonwoo supplies, opening his eyes to look straight into yours. He springs up from your lap, eager and curious in the way he always is around you and you swear, you almost let the words slip past the cage of your mouth.

The thing about Wonwoo and you is that if you were to ever tell him that you’ve been in love with him since forever, he wouldn’t take it well. The two of you have grown up together after all and the man has established what he likes in a partner over and over again (which, you regret to admit, is the complete opposite of you).

The other thing is that Wonwoo knows everyone who has come and gone from your life. He knows your every feeling, sometimes even before you know you’re feeling that way. So, lying really is out of the options. Not that you had options to begin with.

“Why don’t you tell me about your first love first, Wonwoo? Maybe then, I’ll be more encouraged.”

Wonwoo sends you a lame look, eyes narrowed in a faux glare for turning his question on him. You laugh and reach to ruffle his hair but catch yourself halfway and settle on patting his shoulder instead.

“Okay, fine.” He sits up and faces the lake before you, shoulder brushing up against yours as he leans back against the bench. If you tilt your head a little bit to the right, your head will be on his shoulder and you curse him for sitting so close to you when there is still so much space on the bench. You keep your eyes on the glittering lake and try to ignore the way his arm feels pressed up against your own.

“I know this is crazy to say but I think my first love was Jieun,” Wonwoo answers with a sheepish smile, eyes dropping from the lake to his twiddling fingers, then back up to look at you when you don’t say anything.

You meet his eyes and feel yourself break a little inside when the setting sun meets his irises and sets them ablaze, the usual dark brown lighting up to a mesmerising shade of amber that you memorise and pray you remember to paint later.

“Why do you say so, Woo?” you ask despite yourself. You cringe at your use of his nickname, something you had decided to haphazardly add in an attempt to seem unfazed by his confession. You wish it had been you. You always wish it was you.

“I don’t know,” he deflects. But he does know and it is so evident in the eager way he parts his lips to speak about her, in the way he readjusts himself in his seat, a habit of his you have ingrained in your brain along with everything else that has to do with him.

“I mean— she was my first girlfriend. So, I guess she was the first person I chose to love,” he continues. “I chose to put myself out there, despite the fact that I had, like a hundred percent chance of being rejected. But I think choosing to bare your soul to that person is the first step in loving, if that even makes sense.”

Wonwoo’s words silence you. You contemplate all of the times you had worked up the courage to tell him, only to chicken out and keep your feelings to yourself. You were always so afraid of losing him you guess you didn’t realise you were invalidating your love for him, and in turn, his love for you.

Because Wonwoo would understand, he of all people wouldn’t shut you out and shun you away just because he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. In fact, Wonwoo would feel bad for not feeling the same way as you. Because he’s Wonwoo, so fiercely kind and compassionate, so understanding and warm and loving, the one and only person who was able to shake up your rock-hard heart and melt it down into easy and pliable, the one person who was able to make you fall in love.

“Okay, now it’s your turn—“

“You,” you say without hesitation, fuelled by his words and your realisation. Wonwoo turns to you in confusion first before he finally gets it, mouth previously ajar to express his confusion zipping shut as soon as he realises.

You don’t look at him, eyes trained on the lake and the small ripples in water the fish make when their little fins break the surface tension. But you feel his eyes bore into you, gaze soft and already apologetic and you exhale harshly at the thought of Wonwoo feeling sorry for not realising how you’ve been feeling for the past six years.

“But I don’t think you’re my first love. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve loved anyone other than you, Wonwoo," you say, baring your heart and soul to the one man you have ever loved, to the one man you will continue to love forever.

"I don't even know when it started," you continue when Wonwoo remains unnervingly silent. "Maybe it was when we ran in the rain hand in hand when we were twelve. Or maybe, it was when you started dating Jieun and I cried for two weeks. All I know is, one way or another, I began choosing you over everything."

The words leave your lips like a bird that has been caged for aeons. And perhaps, it is a horrible thing; to be left empty and to never be filled again, the cage door broken by the tenacity of the bird, by its thirst for freedom and its razor sharp claws. But at the same time, isn't it such a good thing? To not have to clench your teeth so tightly anymore, to be able to walk around without the substantial weight of your feelings weighing you down like a thousand kilograms against your chest.

"And I know I'm totally not your type. Believe me, I'm well-versed in exactly what you look for in a partner. I've spent hours, years, forever, trying to be exactly what you want, trying to be someone I'm not. And I know you're going to reject me and our friendship isn't ever going to be the same ever again and it'll be so weird now. But I just—"

You catch yourself midsentence, not quite sure what to say as every single feeling you've ever felt bubbles up inside your stomach and fills your lung cavity, the feelings so suffocating, you almost think that if you dived into that lake you might be able to breathe better than you are breathing right now.

"Just?" Wonwoo prompts quietly, the first thing he's said since you started pouring your heart out to him. His voice is meek, almost afraid that anything he says will set you off, his eyes wide in observation, gaze guarded, expression like nothing you have seen on Wonwoo before.

"I just thought I owed you this much, that I'd explode if I didn't tell you," you finally manage to get out, though your voice gets caught in your throat in a way that has you running laps in your head, that has your palms sweating and your eyes watering.

You quickly blink away your tears and look up to anticipate Wonwoo's answer. You aren't surprised to find that he's already looking at you and for the first time in forever, you can't tell what Wonwoo is thinking or feeling.

Wonwoo doesn't really say anything, not verbally at least. But he continues to look at you, eyes studying you so intently you feel your neck warm and your cheeks burn. His silence unnerves you. Wonwoo has always been a man of few words so you have gotten used to his silences, but that was when you were well-versed in reading him, when you knew what every small quirk of his brow meant, what he was feeling with every lilt of the corner of his lips.

Perhaps that is why you are caught off guard when he finally speaks, jumping so far out of your skin it makes Wonwoo jump too.

"I love you, Y/N," is how Wonwoo begins his sentence. And you'd never thought you'd hear those two words in the same sentence come from his mouth; your name and love uttered so vulnerably your pulse stutters.

"But just," he pauses, the calm before the storm, the screaming in your head is so loud, it deafens. "not in that way, you know? I'm sorry."

Your heart breaks all over again at his apology. You stand up to leave, the hand that finds your wrist begs you to stay. You don't want him to see you like this. But you don't have anyone else to go to. The person you find the most comfort in is breaking your heart because you let him.

Wonwoo tugs on your arm and you comply silently, feeling a lump as big as your heart form in your throat. You force your tears down, force the tsunami of feelings down, down, down so deep inside you, you pray you forget about it and it disappears forever.

Wonwoo tugs your arm one more time, and you, so overwhelmed with your feelings as always, allow him to tuck your head under his chin, allow him to guide your arms around his waist, allow him to engulf you in his arms, allow him to comfort you just one more time before you lose the one relationship you cherished.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whispers against the crown of your head, his own voice breaking. He doesn't want to hurt you. He wishes he could say yes, wishes he could overwhelm you with joy by just saying those three words and meaning it in exactly the way you want. Maybe he can. Wonwoo doesn't know. He just knows he never ever wants to be the cause of your tears again.

Wonwoo's endless apologies push you off the edge of desire and when he envelopes you in his arms, it feels like you are thrown into the ocean, your back breaking the surface tension of the water. A thousand things flood your mind, your insecurities like a tsunami against your chest, the thoughts so suffocating you almost think your lungs are filling with water. His warm skin meets your own like the rolling waves, his breath against your neck, a hot breeze. Like this, you finally know what it means to love the sea as a drowned person.