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postracehair · 7 months ago

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gold rush

max verstappen x reader | 2.4k

max verstappen stands across the room from you at someone else's party. he's not yours, but he could be.

cw: cursing, perhaps overly introspective, allusions to sex, kissing, semi-established relationship without commitment, confessions, being desperately in love with max

a/n: this is a little different from my usual style. i...wrote it in two parts while wine drunk and yearny and listening to gold rush by taylor swift on repeat. it's a lethal combo for a girl, let me tell you. posting in honor of today's qatar win. i really like this one. please be nice to me. <3

It's torture.

Standing here across the room, glass in hand, watching.

He just looks so fucking good.

"Fuck me," you mutter. Some deep, animalistic urge tells you to bite clean through the rim of your wine glass. Chew on the shards until they're sand and swallow them easy as anything. It would probably be less painful than what you're currently doing.

Watching.

The object of your scrutiny straightens almost imperceptibly. A minuscule lengthening of his spine invisible to anyone who isn't examining his every move. For someone who is watched more often than not, you're surprised he feels your eyes on him.

But he does.

Max Verstappen turns away from his conversation partner slightly, a barely there shift of his chin to glance around the room. Blue eyes like the fucking ocean or some other cliche you can't think of right now. His focus face, you've called it. That got him to laugh, once, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes driving your heart into a frenzy.

Evaluating, cataloging. Looking for the racing line and finding -- you.

Leaning back on the wall not ten yards from him, wine glass in hand.

You're going to heat it up with your palm holding it like that, he'd told you once. You have to hold the stem.

They teach you that in Monaco? you'd teased.

Flirtations. One of a hundred, a thousand. Nothing memorable for him, you tell yourself. Each conversation an axis-shifting event for you.

It's embarrassing, actually. To want someone this much. To be one of millions.

But you know. You know how he looks in an empty room, how he mutters to himself when he folds his laundry, how he straightens his shoes against the wall of every hotel room.

You know him.

Maybe that's why this is dangerous. You've got ammo, you've got evidence. You know that Max Verstappen is like the rest of the world. A boy who wanted desperately turned into a man who has everything. And still wants.

Is that what binds us all together? The depth of our longing?

Max finds your gaze and holds it. The girl he's talking to -- pretty, smart. You know her peripherally -- keeps speaking, hand not holding her drink waving in the air, eyes focusing somewhere above his hairline.

Lots of people make this mistake. It's all in his eyes, if you can stand to look at them. Everything he's feeling. A challange that, once met, melts into an open door. He'll show you everything if you just step over the threshold, invited or not. Sometimes all we want is someone to bang on the door when we're already in bed. Make us get up, come downstairs. There you are. I was waiting for you.

The eyes tell you everything. You take a long sip of your wine and he watches, jaw ticking. He didn't shave today. The light stubble makes him look older, though you know his heart. Fluttering like a boy's, yearning like a child's. He wants just like you do. If only you knew what and just how much.

I don't know what comes next, he said. His head in your lap, hair soft and golden between your fingers. What else is there?

So much, you said. You traced the line of his nose with the pad of your thumb. That's the best thing about it.

About what?

Life.

There is a world in which you came to this party together. Distant, fuzzy. You mussed his hair with your hands after begging him to leave the gel on the shelf. He kissed off your lipstick before you made it out the door. The steady beat of his heart under your palm in the doorway, a sure reminder of the dip he makes in the universe. Your center, always orbiting around him.

Reality is louder. More crowded, smells like champagne and burnt pastry. It's a room full of people where you can only look at one. Where he's looking back.

You jerk your chin towards the back hallway, the one the leads to the bathroom only the girls go to in pairs. To debrief, to prepare. A secret from the hostess meant for moments of reprieve. At the very least, you'll need one of those.

It you're lucky, one of those will come to you on two legs and stormy eyes.

Could you be imagining it? Wouldn't be the first time you lived in your head a little too long. But -- fuck. The dreams you've had. The way you've looked at your life and slotted him into it. It's almost too easy, a game with no stakes. But the buy in is steep, nonrefundable. How you got here is irrelevant. You have to pay up.

You wind your way through laughing people, velvet dresses and barely buttoned shirts. Sparkly eye shadow and satin bows, well-wishes and chaste kisses. 'Tis the damn season, indeed.

The hallway is quiet. No one in the bathroom, the door hanging open, light off. You lean back on the wall, glass loose in your fingers. Eyes closed, wondering if you'll wake up somewhere else. Somewhere you want less, somewhere your blood isn't singing, isn't begging you to get closer to him.

"You look nice," Max says. Your lips curve into a smile, a smirk, a grimace. Are they not all the same around him? Teeth showing, muscles out of control. He bypasses all of your sense, worms his way into your bloodstream with just a word.

"Thanks," you manage. Eyes open, now, and fuck, you feel it. Right in the chest, like a punch that digs beneath your ribs and takes its pound of flesh.

Max looks good. You saw it from across the room but here, in front of you, you can see it more clearly.

There's something about him. A boyishness that remains around the eyes, the mouth. Hopeful mischief, maybe. Eternal youth, promise, faith.

God. This would all be so much easier if you weren't in love with him.

He studies you. Takes his time, gaze tracing the lines of your face. Your brows, your lashes. Nose, lips. Lips. His eyes stop there.

"You were staring," he says. Never one to back down from a challenge. Never one to let you off easy. It's a compliment, the way he drags you to the ring. Keep up with me, he's saying. Make it interesting.

"Yeah," you say, slowly. It drips out of your mouth, lingers in the air between you. "You look good."

His eyes flash. You're meeting his expectations. Always hard to live up to those, when the standard he holds himself to is so damn high. He expects you to climb up that mountain, too. If only to show that you're wiling to. That he's worth it. That you want to.

And he does look good. Max values honesty above most things, but his cheeks flush all the same. It's pretty, not that you'd tell him that. Maybe one more glass of wine and you would. It's not an original thought, far from it, but you reach for him all the same, liquid courage loading the barrel and cocking the gun.

You cup his cheek, thumb pressing to the corner of his mouth. Like a marionette with his strings cut, he sighs. You breath with him, leaning in. Everything else fades away, the world turning around the place where his skin touches yours. Palm on his stubbled cheek, eyes locked like you're moored to each other.

This is why you haven't let him go. Because it's like this. It's insane.

And Max knows it.

"What are we doing?" he whispers. His throat bobs and he looks unsure. Not an expression you've seen on him very often, but maybe that's the punchline.

This matters to him. Maybe as much as it matters to you. He leans into your palm and the fingers of one hand curl around your hips, pressing hard enough to bruise. He carefully tugs your wine glass from your grip and sets it on the thin table in the hall before crowding you agains the wall.

"I don't know," you whisper back. You're close enough that he must feel your breath on this lips. It's inexplicable, this feeling -- you should know. You've tried.

He reorients everything, you've said over and over again. It's like I'm seeing the world for the first time, but with him in it.

His breath is hot on your lips. "I need you," he says. "I --" He swallows. Pupils swelling, mouth set. You half expect him to pull on a racing suit and get in the car.

"Max," you manage. It's not a surprise, not really, but it stings the way that only the things you want can. "I--

"Nothing else is like this," he says, sounding more sure than you've ever heard. "No matter what, or who, it's not like this. I'm always thinking of you."

Something inside you crumples. Your very bones, maybe. Your heart, surely. He can't just say these things.

"Don't say if it you don't mean it," you manage. Your throat is thick, tears resting just behind your eyes. It makes sense to no one else, this love. This passion, this soul tie.

"I mean it," he says, voice steady. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask this of you, but I am. I'm asking."

Love me. Stick by me. Tell me you feel it, too.

You close your eyes again, but what appears behind your lids is no less than what's actually happening to you. This is the stuff of dreams, the deepest part of your heart that beats his name.

"I don't know how to do this," you whisper. His lips drag from your pulse point to your ear.

"Me neither," he replies. "But we have to try."

"I've wanted you for so long," you gasp. His fingers have snuck under the hem of your shirt, nails scratching up and down your back. "Max--"

Your name is a prayer on his tongue, a blessing, a benediction. A plea. You've never felt so safe as when he is at your altar.

"Let's go," he says. "Let's get out of here."

The where doesn't matter. The how, the why, the when. It doesn't matter.

Sometimes, things just happen the way they are supposed to. Lovers unite, reunite, and love. Is that not enough?

"Bet you say that to all the girls."

Your voice is hoarse, ragged. The opposite of his well-honed determination, his tunnel vision. You wanted this, didn't you? But you're stalling. Having and wanting are different.

"No," Max says. "Hey, look at me."

For all your talk, you keep doing anything he asks. It's so easy. You are so safe in his hands, even if they burn.

He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth and you open your eyes. Despite the drinks you watched him down they're clear. Ablaze with certainty.

"Max," you whisper. His nostrils flare.

"Just you," he says. "You have me. Just you."

He does this thing, when he's away. You bought him a keychain -- a lion, of course -- on a whim. Figured he'd throw it in a drawer somewhere and forget about it. But then he sent you a photo from a country you've never been to, holding up his keys, the lion dangling in the sunlight.

You get photos from all around the world, now.

Maybe...maybe, you can believe him. Maybe you can take. Maybe dreams can bleed into waking.

What else is there to do? His jaw ticks, lips parted as he exhales. You feel it, warm and shaky. That won't do.

The kiss doesn't surprise him. It's inevitable, a corner he's driven in his sleep, the finish line that always waits for him. Max always knows where he is going and maybe he knew you were on the way here, too.

And god, does he know how to kiss you. You're the one who leans in but he takes the wheel quickly, one hand pressing into your lower back under your shirt and the other dragging up your ribs to settle on your jaw. He licks into your mouth like there's a secret to find, like he can peel back your layers and find your heart in his palms, beating in time with his.

Nights in his bed, slow mornings watching him wake. Phone calls just to hear you breathe, texts and gifts and hints that, if you'd just say so, this could be more. This could be it.

But he's waited. You realize he's waited for you.

"You have me," you say, pulling away with a gasp. His lips chase yours, hovering so close that every word makes them brush. Your hands are woven in his hair, noses pressed together. Almost one person. "Max," you breathe. "You have me."

There are a thousand ways this could go wrong. Even if your world orbits around him, even if his heart is magnetized to yours, a star in the sky always pointing north -- reality is not so kind. It will be hard. No one will understand. People will want what you have, what you will hold dear for the rest of your life.

But it doesn't matter. Because Max -- a world champion, a boy who wanted who became a man who had everything -- is holding you. He smiles so wide it spreads to you, two smiles pressed together in the dim light of someone else's party.

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay, let's go."

He kisses you once more, sloppy, teeth clacking, and grabs your hand. Out of the hall, through the party, barely a word for anyone else. Everybody wants you, you told him once. Hm, he'd said. I don't know about that.

But he gleams. He shines, flushed cheeks and bright eyes as he looks back to check that you're still there. Squeezing your hand in his, a man on a mission. Following that racing line all the way home, all eyes on him. But he knows where he's going.

Out of the party and onto the quiet street, breath floating up and away in excited puffs. Under the streetlight Max looks ethereal. Beautiful, boyish, in love. He's a dream come to life.

Your dream. Looking back at you like he's thinking the same.

He says your name like he's been looking everywhere and finally found you. Reaching the end of the road, throwing the door open and falling to his knees. An answer. The answer.

He kisses you on the empty street. You fall, and fall, and fall.

Together.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #mv33 x reader #mv33 #f1 fanfic #my writing #fic: gold rush

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nathanbatemanfucker · 2 months ago

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Let Me Go (No Puedo) Pt. II

summary: sam makes the mistake of thinking you two have everything under control.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!wilson!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, eventual smut, forbidden romance, brother’s best friend, canon typical mention of violence and weapons

wc: 2,918

an: eeeep, i love this series so im glad it won the poll. things get a little more…yearny here, lots of pining and what could be! hope u guys like it 🫶🏾

let me go (no puedo) masterlist

Sam makes the mistake of thinking you two have everything under control. That nothing could ever possibly happen between you– or perhaps he was just feeling desperate enough to need you to pitch in for the first time in years.

When he’d first started in this superhero business, he leaned on you a lot. There was so much pressure, being the wingman of Captain America. Being Falcon. Sam relied on you to help him gather intel and keep him company during stakeouts. Eventually, with Sam’s guidance and the hypervigilance ingrained in you from your chaotic household, you got pretty good at recon.

Sam’s arms are crossed against his chest, his expression grave. “Can you handle it? Be professional, man. She’s my sister.”

Joaquin remembers the day your hands brushed, the hours-long phone call the two of you had over a month ago– then he lets those things go for the moment. For just this moment he could forget the feelings for you budding in his heart.

“Sam, I said I’m good. You can trust me with this, c’mon man we need the recon.”

“Fine but if you so much as breathe on her, Joaquin.”

Joaquin opens his mouth to reassure Sam again but their conversation is interrupted by your knocking on the door. Even if he wanted to, Sam couldn’t back out after flying you to Virginia from Louisiana.

“Best behavior.”

Joaquin dramatically draws a cross over his heart. “Cruz, Cruz, que se vaya el diablo y que venga Jesús.”

Sam’s smile is genuine when he opens the door to greet you. “Hey, youngin’, you ready?��

“Don’t youngin’ me like you didn’t beg me to come here,” You grumble playfully stepping inside.

“Hey, chica,” Joaquin murmurs with feigned disinterest as he makes his way back to his desk.

You notice that change right away. You aren’t sure if it's for Sam’s sake or if Joaquin has decided to put more space between the two of you. To move on. Either way, there's a twinge of disappointment that pulls at your heart. You ignore it.

“Joaquin.” You give him a small nod, trying your best to smile like everything is normal before turning to Sam. “So give me more details.”

Sam is quiet as he takes in your interaction. It's harmless enough– no flirting on Joaquin’s end, no lingering glances or strange inflections in tone. Maybe he really had snuffed out whatever connection was brewing between you two. For a split second, he feels guilty taking away the possibility of happiness. Though he’d never admit it to him, he loved Joaquin. But Sam loved you more and the last thing he wanted to see was one of you get hurt by the hand of the other.

“Earth to Sammy,” You sing, waving a hand in front of his face.

That snaps him out of it and he glares at you over his shoulders as he makes his way to the table. “I hate it when you call me that.”

“That’s why I do it,” You remind him with a grin. Joining him at the table you look down at maps and blueprints strewn about. “Now, what’s this?”

“This is where I need you both. You,” Sam points at Joaquin and beckons him over. “There’s an art crawl tonight. Lotta people, good cover. I got a tip somebody’s been making illegal firearm deals in broad daylight under the guise of art. I need someone who can blend in.” His eyes flick between you and Joaquin. “Think you two can handle that without making my life harder?”

“Think you can handle not backseat driving the whole thing?” You retort, offended.

Sam just rolls his eyes at you before he starts to scan the papers in front of him, mapping a trail for the two of you to follow.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, if I talked to you like that, you’d have me on the ground.”

“You don’t have little sister privileges, Joaquin.”

“I feel like I should get little Falcon privileges or something.”

“Yeah right. Can you two knuckleheads focus, I’m trying to show you paths in and out. I want you to have options in case things go sideways.”

“You assured me that they wouldn’t.”

“Redwing says there’s only a 14% chance that things go to shit. But even if they do, you’ll have access to backup,” Sam reassures you but it’s just not enough.

You go quiet, crossing your arms protectively against your chest. 14% isn’t bad but it isn’t the number you wanted to hear. You loved your job, loved working with the kids, and helping them connect with their semblance of control through building something. The idea of not seeing them again over some routine illegal firearms makes your blood hot.

Joaquin notices the shift in your body language immediately. He can’t help it, and he draws closer, lowly asking, “Que es, querida?”

You plan to just glance over at him, but his gaze is too intense when your eyes meet. You get stuck there like a bee in honey. “Solo quiero volver con mis niños.”

His eyes soften. He wants to reach out for you, flexing his fingers before he shoves his hands in his pockets to curb the desire. “You will. I won’t let anything happen to you, lo prometo.”

“No he won’t, because there will be no distractions,” Sam says firmly— both of you know exactly what he means, and Joaquin takes a step away from you in response. “Let’s get y’all strapped up.”

The tension fizzles between the three of you as Sam gets you prepared. It’s been a couple of years since you held a gun other than a hunting rifle but it’s like riding a bike, especially when there are civilians to protect.

You frown a little, not liking how quickly you’ve slid back into that thought pattern. You and your life deserve protection too. Sam chose this life, Joaquin, too, but you? You didn’t want to have to fight for anything anymore. You wanted quiet and simple.

“I got something for you. Lil’ surprise.”

You narrow your eyes at Sam. “Trying to butter me up?”

“Do I get a surprise?” Joaquin chimes.

Sam rolls his eyes. “No blockhead, this is your job.”

“Hey, people get raises all the time,” Joaquin mumbles, pouting.

“This is all you,” Sam says to you, removing a case from the arsenal, and setting it on a nearby table.

You open the case eagerly, mouth dropping open as your fingers trace the contrasting metal and custom leather accents. There’s something engraved into the side.

“Holy shit, you got me a custom P238 Legion and that…my adoption date? Sam,” You pull him into a hug, one he readily returns.

“You always talked about it when we were younger, l l figured I owe it to you now.”

Joaquin knew that you were adopted but looking at the date it wasn’t until you were a teenager. He wants to know more about your story, even as he sees how close you and Sam are. He doesn’t want to fuck up a family…but he doesn’t think he can let you go either.

—

“So how’ve you been? Any more bad days?” Joaquin asks as you amble down the tent-lined path.

Sam was right, it's crowded, bodies packed like sardines. A great cover— not only for you and Joaquin but for the target too.

You glance at him a little dodgily, gripping the lemonade in your hand a little tighter. You both have encrypted earpieces in case you get separated and they’re connected to the same network as Redwing.

Joaquin clocks your hesitancy immediately. “Sam’s halfway across the country by now and he’s got things to focus on. It’s just you and me, hermosa.”

You and Joaquin and the droves of people in this park. It feels easier to be more open with him when there’s so much to pay attention to.

Keeping your gaze forward to focus on the task at hand you say, “A few, but none as bad as the day we talked. It's been fine enough. What about you– get enough time to grab a drink or watch a movie?”

“Glad to hear you’re seeing better days. Nothing on the social front for me yet, unless you include Sam.”

“He’s too grumpy to be included. Did you tell him about–”

“No. I wouldn’t do that to you. Look, querida, there’s something here. I think we both know that and–”

He’s cut off by a heavily tattooed woman with blunt blonde hair. “Interested in looking over our inventory? I imagine a man like you would appreciate the delicate silhouettes my pieces offer.”

“No, I’m–”

You interject, “Sure, we’d love to take a look.”

The woman’s eyes are sharp even as she smiles at you and welcomes the both of you in. You don’t care what she thinks, as long as you can blend in. It would be suspicious if the two of you didn’t peruse the art and goods at all, especially to anyone who’s here undercover too.

“What was that?” Joaquin whispers, the warmth of his breath ghosting your ear.

“It would be weird if all we did was walk around and look at people. Don’t wanna draw attention.”

He hums in agreement before turning to look at a canvas, his eyes going a little wide. Now that you’ve stepped further into the tent you realize exactly why the woman singled out Joaquin.

The silhouettes she mentioned are nude portraits…of herself. She was flirting with him and at the end of the day, you couldn’t blame her.

She materializes out of nowhere, standing distinctly between you and Joaquin as she addresses him. “See anything you like?”

“It's all one of a kind. A dedicated practice I imagine,” He answers noncommittally before snaking around her to stand beside you. To your surprise, he takes your hand pulling you flush against him. “Que piensas, mi amor?”

You clear your throat, not fully trusting your voice with the way your mouth has gone dry. “Couldn’t agree more.”

The woman is immediately disinterested once it’s clear that you and Joaquin are together. She’s cordial, thanking you for your time and telling you where you can find her if either of you is interested in a piece.

“Let’s keep moving,” Joaquin urges once she’s gone.

He doesn’t let go of your hand as he leads you out of the tent to the main path again. You don’t let go either— you don’t want to. It should be a reflex to pull away, a reminder to keep that space between you both. But his grip is warm and steady, and for once, you let yourself take comfort in it.

“That was a sweet little piece Sam got you. What’s the story?”

“I used to help him on recon when he first started. I was his woman in the chair and I always wanted a P238 Legion. I mean it’s gorgeous, sleek, compact. Not much more I could want especially since he customized it for me,” You don’t mean to ramble but you do.

Joaquin smiles as he listens to your answer, enjoying the sight of you so excited. It makes him reluctant to ask his next question, but he just wants to know more about you. “You said the numbers were your adoption date?”

“The official one anyway, yeah,” You train your eyes on a display of delicately decorated ceramic bowls, your tone light. He doesn’t need the whole story—nobody does.

The paperwork was just a formality by then, the Wilsons had already felt like home. But the time before that? There was no reason to dig into the years that built your nightmares.

“You would’ve been a teenager by then.”

“Adoption takes time,” You say, unsure why he’s restating things the both of you already know.

“Mmm. No fue fácil, I bet.”

“Oh— well, no it wasn’t. Not at first, but eventually my parents stopped noticing I was gone. I lived with the Wilsons full time since I was 12, the legal process is just a bitch.”

“I’m sorry, hermosa.”

“It was a long time ago. And it came with perks.”

“Perks?”

“Growing up in an environment like the one I did…some people in your line of work have to develop and hone their attention skills. Those skills were how I survived. How else would I know the wind is blowing south or how distinct your footsteps are from everyone else’s?”

“You’ve been keeping track of that even as we talk?” He asks in disbelief.

“I have to…had to. I also know you weren’t, because you totally would’ve made a corny joke about the penis vases we passed.”

Joaquin glances over his shoulder, scanning. “There were penis vases?”

“No, but I love how excited you got,” You tease.

“You got jokes, querida. You’re definitely a Wilson,” He squeezes your hand playfully where it’s still interlocked with his.

Joaquin doesn’t know how much his words mean to you. You’d always wanted a place to belong and when you found the Wilson’s you wanted nothing more than to belong to them.

“Was that the only perk?”

“Sort of. Like I said, being good at this sort of thing had Sam dragging me along and he paid me for it. It’s how I got my first set of power tools so I could finally woodwork on our family property.”

“What’s that about? The woodworking passion?”

Just like that fateful night when you answered the phone, you and Joaquin fall into a comfortable rhythm of conversation. It’s easy with him, even when it shouldn’t be. The more time you spend together, the more dangerous this ease feels—like you could forget why this can’t happen.

The two of you look cozy, hand and hand, browsing the tents, stopping for cheese fries, and re-upping on lemonade. Eventually, you make it to the picnic tables sitting down to get a better angle to watch the crowds.

Before you know it, the sun has dipped low, and the amount of people meandering around drops significantly. It’s clear that whatever target Sam was hoping for didn’t show.

“Sam’s gonna be disappointed,” You say worriedly on the walk back to the car.

“I’m not,” Joaquin murmurs, pausing briefly to grab your hand again.

Your heart flutters at his words, at his strong hand around yours and you try to joke all the meaning away. “Yeah me either, I mean free flight, free gun, free food—“

Joaquin gives you a look of feigned offense. “And I’m just here, huh?”

You laugh, leaning into him playfully, “Oh, right you. You’re pretty cool I guess.”

He opens your door for you, and though he joins you in laughter his voice is wistful when he responds. “Yeah, you too.”

The simmer of longing in his voice isn’t lost on you, and you hesitate, looking at him with some sort of apology on your tongue. What would an apology really do? Give him (and yourself) false hope? Soothe an ache that can never be remedied? So you press your lips together, sliding into the seat with a soft thank you.

The armory is quiet when you and Joaquin step inside, the fluorescent lights buzzing low overhead. The mission wasn’t a failure, but it wasn’t a success either. No target, no major leads—just a long day spent chasing a ghost through a crowded venue. A practically perfect day spent together that leaves you swirling and pining for things you cannot have.

You set your empty lemonade cup down on Sam’s desk, fingers lingering on the rim before finally letting go. Joaquin stands beside you, hands on his hips, watching you like he’s debating something.

“You should stay,” he says.

You glance at him. “We both know that’s not a good idea.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want you to.” His voice is low and steady—heated in a way that makes your belly flip.

You exhale, shaking your head. “Joaquin…”

But before you can say more, he reaches for you. Not in a desperate way or a way that forces anything. You can tell by his gentle grip that he gives you a choice to stop him but how could you— his sincerity makes it impossible not to let him. His arms come around you, warm and solid, anchoring you to the moment, to him.

You let yourself sink into him, just for a second. Let yourself pretend it’s normal because it truly feels that way. That this—whatever this is festering between you and Joaquin—is something you can hold onto. His cologne is spiced, his chest firm beneath your cheek.

Before it can go too far— become something more, not only in your mind but in your heart, you press a hand against his chest and whisper, “Joaquin… debes soltarme.”

Figuratively. Literally.

He doesn’t for several moments, but eventually, his hands loosen at your back, fingers trailing down your arms reverently before he breaks contact.

“No sé si puedo,” he murmurs.

And it’s not just a smooth-talking line, not one of his flirty quips. You can feel in the charged air between you that it’s the truth. You can hear it in the way his voice dips, in the way he looks at you like he’s trying to memorize something.

Your throat tightens. You can’t afford to let that truth settle.

So you take one step back. And then another. Another and another, and when you finally turn, heading for the door, you can’t look back. You know he’s still watching.

> pt. iii

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earthlyangelbby · 2 months ago

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In Bloom SFW for now ;) its def going somewhere 5.4k College Student-Teacher!Eddie x Innocent Plus Sized!Reader This is like an introductory chapter its fluffy!! and very yearny. Part 2

Summary: College Student-Teacher!Eddie x Innocent Plus Sized!Reader who is overcoming the strict hyper religious upbringing in a college states away where you're finally away from your strict family. Eddie is teaching a one on one classes during the school week for an hour at a time to earn credit toward his Guitar Teaching Mastery. You get sign up to be a "student" for his program. You earn extra credit toward your degree for participating.

TW: Mentions of religious trauma (brief), Hints at body image issues, and so much fluff and tension!!!!!!!

You hesitate at the door, gripping your bag. Signing up for an extra credit class was one thing, but a one-on-one lesson with a male teacher? Your parents would lose their minds if they knew. You tug at your brown skirt that barely skims your knees and adjust your white blouse, feeling scandalous compared to the ankle-length dresses you grew up wearing.

Inside, you're surprised to find a young man tossing a hacky sack into the air. With wild hair, ripped jeans, and tattoos running up his forearm.

When he notices you, he smiles. "Hey there."

"Um, this is the guitar lesson with Mr. Munson, right? I thought it was supposed to be one-on-one?"

He extends his hand. "It is. I'm Mr. Munson. Well, Eddie. Just call me Eddie."

You shake his hand hesitantly, noticing the calluses on his fingers.

He doesn't look like a student teacher at all.

You grimace, "Eddie. Sorry, you... Don't look like a teacher."

"You mean teachers don't dress this good?" he jokes, feigning offense.

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that—"

He cuts you off with a chuckle. "Relax, Sweetheart. I'm just messing with you."

Eddie smirks while nodding, tapping his fingers against the chair. "Alright, let's see... I think I can guess where you're from."

You raise a brow. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah. I'm thinking... somewhere peaches grow." He nods to himself. "If I'm right, I'm gonna call you peach."

Your face scrunches up. "Uh, no. I'm from where tulip poplars grow." You pause, watching for recognition. "Same state as the home of country music."

Eddie narrows his eyes before a slow grin spreads across his face. "Tennessee?"

You nod.

He studies you for a moment, then smiles. "Tulip. That's it. You're Tulip now."

You shake your head, biting your lip to keep from laughing. "Oh, really? Just like that?"

"Yep. It suits you." Eddie's eyes sparkle with mischief. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling.

"So," Eddie starts, tilting his head, "do you play anything already, or are we starting from scratch?"

You nod. "Piano, a little. I can read music, and I sing, but I don't think that's necessary for guitar."

Eddie's eyes light up. "Piano? Fancy. And you sing? That's almost too tempting."

You laugh softly. "It is?"

Eddie smirks while nodding, and he taps his fingers against the chair. "Alright, let's move on to what kind of music you're into."

When he asks about your music taste, you hesitate. "Well... I only just started listening to non-worship music this past summer. My aunt let me borrow some cassettes."

"Yeah? What'd you get?"

"Madonna, Blondie, Whitney Houston, Led Zeppelin. Those were the ones she had."

At the mention of Led Zeppelin, Eddie sits up straighter. "Oh, hell yeah. Now that I can work with."

When he learns you grew up only listening to worship music, he's fascinated. You explain how you're figuring things out, mentioning the church haunted house that depicted teens who drank or had sex going to hell after car crashes.

"Damn, that's messed up," Eddie says, laughing. "I bet your mom called dancing evil, too?"

You can't help but touch his arm briefly as you laugh and agree.

After the lesson, Eddie offers to walk you back to your dorm since it's getting dark. "I think I'm gonna make this a regular thing," he says. "Walking you back after lessons."

Before heading to your dorm, he makes a detour to his van and gives you a Walkman with three cassette tapes. "Here's your homework, Tulip. Consider this lesson one in your 'Breaking Out of Being Sheltered' course."

Over the next few weeks, a rhythm develops. Eddie's touches linger when he repositions your grip on the guitar or corrects your posture. "You're still too tense, Tulip," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "You gotta loosen up."

His cassette tapes became a ritual; each lesson starts with discussing what you liked. You tell him Pink Floyd feels hypnotic and that you've been humming Led Zeppelin's "Going to California" all week.

The moments between you shift subtly, his arm over the back of your chair, his fingers skimming down your forearm, his hand settling briefly on your knee when you get frustrated.

His teasing becomes more intentional. When you fumble a chord, he nudges your knee with his own. "C'mon, Tulip, don't tell me you're getting nervous on me now."

"I'm not nervous," you insist, despite your heated face.

"Uh-huh," he drawls. "You sure? 'Cause you look like you're thinking real hard about something that ain't the guitar."

He always walks you back to your dorm, lingering at your door frame. "Gotta say, Tulip, I never thought guitar lessons would be this much fun," he says one night, smirking.

"Because I'm such a great student?"

"Nah," he replies. "It's 'cause I get to mess with you." His grin falters for a moment. "Haven't had much reason to smile lately, before these lessons started."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Later , your roommate Paisley interrogates you. "You're telling me he walks you back to the dorm every single time and you're not dating or at least hooking up?"

"We are not dating," you mumble. “Or hooking up!”

"Does he still adjust your hands on the guitar like you're made of glass?"

You nod.

"And does he still put his hand on your knee when you get nervous?"

You remember the warmth of his palm through your tights just two nights ago.

"This is excruciating," Paisley groans. "You two are living in a slow-burn romance novel." She flops onto her bed, hugging her sociology textbook to her chest. " You're killing me with this pace babe."

"I'm sorry!" you say, and it comes out much more defensive than you wanted. "He's my teac-"

She sits up suddenly, cutting you off. "And don't give me that 'he's my teacher' line again. He's a grad student, for God's sake, and it's just an extracurricular guitar class."

You sit bug-eyed as she is way too invested in your love life.

She pulls out a flower patterned purple sundress from your drawer. "Wear this. It's Friday. No curfew. Eight lessons in, he should be asking you out by now."

"He's already in this," she says gently. "He just hasn't said it yet."

As Paisley heads out, she announces, "I'm locking the door when I leave. I'm giving y'all the shove you need. If he wants to stand around talking all night again, he's gonna have to take you somewhere."

"Fine," you huff out with an eye roll, sort of enjoying the sister-like relationship you have with Paisley.

You look at yourself in the mirror, it's just a regular summer dress, but you feel like enough.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You ease the music room door open and slip inside.

Eddie's already there, bent over his guitar, one boot hooked on the rung of the chair, hair half-tied up in that careless way that shouldn't work on anyone but somehow does on him. He looks up when he hears the creak of the hinges.

"Hey, Tulip," he says, voice easy. Then his eyes catch on your dress, and something shifts in his expression, just slightly.

You glance down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious. It's not a fancy dress, not even new, just cotton, soft from wear, with small purple flowers scattered across it. Paisley pulled it from your drawer that morning.

Eddie nods slowly. "That dress suits you."

You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. "Oh. Um. Uhh. Thank you."

He grins a little wider, like he sees more than you meant to give away. "Those little purple flowers are pretty. Kind of... soft-looking. Like you."

You duck your head, busying yourself with pulling your guitar from its case. "It's just something I had."

"Well, it's working for you," he says, almost offhand, but there's something warm in his tone. He lets the moment linger for a beat, then claps his hands once. "Alright, let's see if you remember G major or if we're starting from square one."

You manage a smile, sitting down across from him. "I practiced."

"Show me."

You settle in, trying to focus on the fretboard instead of how aware you are of his knee just inches from yours. He watches your fingers closely, leaning forward to adjust your hand, painfully slow, fingers guiding yours like he's done a dozen times now. Still, the warmth of his touch makes your breath catch.

"Loosen up here," he murmurs, brushing your wrist, then your shoulder. "You're still holding tension like you're about to duel the guitar to the death."

"I don't mean to," you say, trying to laugh it off. "It's just... harder than piano."

"You'll get it." His voice is softer now, more sure. "You already are."

The lesson moves forward. Slow and steady. He corrects your posture with a quiet "There you go," taps his boot in time while you play, his focus so intent it makes your stomach flutter. The quiet between you is easy now, broken only by chords and occasional teasing.

You're adjusting the strap on your guitar when he leans back in his chair, stretches, then glances at you sideways.

"So... you got plans tonight?"

The question slips in casually, but your fingers freeze on the buckle.

"I uh- N-no," you say, carefully. "Nothing.. No plans."

He nods once, like he expected that. Then his tone goes lighter, almost like he's trying not to spook you. "You should come with me."

You blink. "Where?"

Eddie shrugs. "Nowhere fancy. Just… out. Not far. Let the night decide."

You hesitate, thumb brushing the edge of your dress.

"Nothing weird," he adds quickly. "Promise. No sketchy places."

You smile, small but genuine. "Alright. Let's go."

"Yeah?" His grin kicks up a notch. "Good. That's real good."

He stands, slinging his guitar onto his back. "C'mon, Tulip. Let's go see what kind of trouble we can find."

Eddie walks you to his van, hands stuffed in his pockets like he's trying to look casual about it, but he opens the passenger door for you like it's second nature. The door creaks when he swings it wide, and you hesitate only a second before climbing in, smoothing your dress as you settle into the cracked leather seat.

He runs around to the driver's side and climbs in, the engine rumbling to life beneath you. Music fuzzes in through the speakers something with a low bass and a slow pulse. The night air slips through a crack in the window, carrying the scent of leaves and exhaust.

The drive is quiet at first. The roads get darker fast once you leave campus. Less and less streetlights, more tree-lined stretches with nothing but shadows and telephone poles. You stare out the window, watching them flick by.

Eddie glances at you as he turns the wheel with one hand. "You hungry?"

You nod. "Yeah. A little."

He smiles, like that's the answer he wanted. "Alright."

A few seconds pass. Then, "Are you afraid of the dark?"

You look over at him. His face is just visible in the low dash light. "No."

He whistles, impressed. "Braver than me."

You give a small smile and trace a finger along your knee. "It's just dark."

Eddie chuckles. "That's what all the horror movie girls say right before they get axed in the woods."

You roll your eyes, but your grin sticks.

He taps the wheel. "How late do you stay up?"

"Usually around eleven," you say, then glance at him. "Why?"

Eddie hums. "What if we stayed out a little later tonight?"

You blink, but your heart skips a little. "There's no curfew on Fridays."

"That's what I’m talking about sweetheart," he says, flashing you a grin. "Freedom."

He pulls into a gravel lot, the headlights sweeping across a squat little building glowing with faded neon. Sonic flickers in red and yellow above a row of ordering windows, but there's no dining room, just a few covered spots where cars are parked, windows down, food trays balanced on half-open doors.

You lean forward slightly, peering through the windshield. "There's nowhere to sit."

Eddie kills the engine and throws an arm across the back of your seat to look at you properly. "Nope. That's the point. Just you, me, and whatever's on the radio."

He smirks. "Come on. You trust me, right?"

You hesitate for half a second, then nod.

"Good," he says, already reaching for the handle. "Let's eat then.."

You shift in your seat while Eddie leans out the window to place the order. You hadn't even really looked at the menu. You only shrug. "I'll eat whatever. Doesn't matter."

It comes out a little too fast, a little too flat, and you hate how practiced it sounds. You'd done that since you were a kid pretending you could take or leave food, like indifference could somehow shrink you. Make you easier to overlook. More acceptable.

Eddie doesn't press. Just grins. "Dangerous words to say to a guy like me. I could order liver and onions." But he doesn’t.

"Two double cheeseburger combos," he says, then adds, "and a large fry to split. Oh! and uhh two cherry Coke floats."

You glance at him when he pulls back in. "I've never had one of those."

He raises his eyebrows. "You're in for it. Float initiation, Tulip."

Within minutes, a teenager in a greasy apron skates up and hooks the tray onto Eddie's window. Burgers, fries in a paper boat, two cherry Coke floats crowned with melting towers of whipped cream.

Eddie rubs his hands together like he's about to perform a magic trick. "God, this place is a total grease bucket. Everything tastes like it got dunked in butter and heaven."

You laugh quietly, watching him tear into his burger with enthusiasm, like it's the best thing he's eaten in his life.

He's already halfway done when he glances over at you and narrows his eyes. "Why aren't you eating?"

You shrug again, lips barely brushing the straw of your float. "I will. Just… not starving."

Eddie doesn't buy it. "You haven't touched a single fry."

Before you can respond, he plucks two from the boat, holds them up to your lips. "Open."

Your brows rise. "Seriously?"

He nods, expression completely serious, like this is a sacred ritual. "C'mon. It's not real until you get salt under your fingernails."

You hesitate just for a breath, then open your mouth. He slides the fries in, victorious.

"See? Life-changing," he declares.

You chew, not meeting his eyes, but you smile anyway. The fries are crisp and salty and stupidly good.

When you glance over again, you notice a smear of ketchup high on his cheek and mustard clinging to the corner of his mouth.

"You've got… stuff on your face," you say, reaching vaguely in the air.

Eddie looks at you with faux seriousness. "If you didn't eat little baby bites like a bird, you would too."

You cover your mouth with a hand, trying not to snort.

"You calling me messy?" he asks, mouth still half full.

"You're wearing half your dinner."

"And yet," he says, taking another huge bite, "I feel no shame."

You shake your head, hiding your grin in your float. The cherry syrup fizzes on your tongue sweeter than you expected, weirdly perfect with the ice cream and the sharpness of the cola. You take another sip, just to hide the way your heart feels louder than usual.

The van smells like ketchup, salt, and the cherry syrup in your floats. You're still finishing the last bit of your burger when a low hum of distortion slides into the air. Its familiar and hazy. That unmistakable guitar riff. Crimson and Clover.

Eddie doesn't miss a beat. He straightens up in his seat, turns toward you with mock drama and a slow grin. And then holding his straw like a microphone he croons, in a purposefully gravelly Joan Jett voice:

"Ahhh… now I don't hardly know her…"

You giggle, but then he leans a little closer, one arm slung casually behind your seat, his voice dropping an octave not serious, not quite but not entirely teasing either.

"But I think I could love her…"

Your breath catches slightly. He's still smiling, still doing the bit, but his eyes hold your gaze for a beat too long. There's a flicker in them something that makes your stomach flutter and your fingers press into the waxy edge of your burger wrapper.

"Crimson and clooova…" he drawls, nodding slightly to the rhythm. You laugh again to fill the space, nudging his arm with your shoulder like you're brushing the moment away. "You're ridiculous."

He turns back to face the windshield, grinning. "Ridiculously talented. That's what you meant."

"You're not even in key."

"I'm in spirit," he says, flicking a fry at you.

You catch it midair, and his eyebrows shoot up like you've just pulled off a magic trick. "Okay, Tulip. If the music thing doesn't work out, you've got a future in fry stunts."

You don't say anything, just smile and take a sip of your float, heart still thudding a little too fast from the way he sang that line. Silly and sweet, but… almost like he meant it.

You finish up and Eddie clears the trash out of the van. “Next stop is somewhere dark” and he gives you a big smile as he pulls out of the parking lot and back onto the main road. ⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The lock clicks open under Eddie's hand. He shoots you a conspiratorial grin, his silhouette cast in the amber glow spilling from a corner lamp. "Welcome to Retrogroove After Dark," he murmurs, holding the door wide. "Where the real music happens."

You hesitate on the threshold, fingers curling into the hem of your sundress. The air inside is cool after the warmth of the diner, and goosebumps bloom across your bare arms. You rub them absently, hoping he doesn't notice.

Five hours ago, you were fumbling through chord changes in your lesson. Two hours ago, he'd asked, casual as anything, if you wanted to grab dinner. One hour ago, you were parked watching him dip fries into his cherry Coke float in the front seat of his van.

Now you're sneaking into a record shop.

I shouldn't be here. A small voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like your mother reminds you that good girls don't sneak into darkened stores after closing with men who have tattoos.

Eddie closes the door behind you with a soft click, flipping the lock. "Tulip," he says with that lazy grin, "Mr. Patterson gave me keys. If he didn't want me using the shop after hours, he shouldn't have trusted a guy with a permanent record in detention."

"You don't have a permanent record," you say.

He raises a brow. "You don't know that."

You can't help the smile tugging at your lips as he crosses the room and flicks on another moody lamp, flooding a section of cassette racks with soft light. The rest of the store stays shadowed, intimate. Safe.

"This is your assignment," Eddie says, turning to you and pulling a blank cassette from his jacket pocket. He tosses it gently into your hands. "Five songs. Tell me a story."

You catch the cassette, surprised by how steady your hands aren't. "What kind of story?"

"That's up to you," he says, stepping closer. "Make it about who you are. Who you were. Who you want to be. Just… don't make it boring." His smile softens, eyes flicking across your face. "I don't think you're capable of that anyway."

You glance down, suddenly too warm despite the chill. "I should be studying."

"This is studying," Eddie insists, stepping around you to reach for a tape. His hand lands lightly on your waist as he passes, a casual touch that lingers a little longer than it should. "Music appreciation, church girl."

You roll your eyes, trying to hide the way your breath hitches. He disappears down an aisle, voice echoing lightly between the shelves. "Winner gets bragging rights. And maybe a song dedication."

The two of you move through the store like magnets caught in orbit. He drifts from section to section, running his fingers over the cassettes like they're familiar lovers. You try to focus, but your eyes keep sliding back to him. When you finally reach the classic rock section, he's already crouched in front of the lower shelves, flipping through tapes.

"Led Zeppelin?" he asks without looking up. "Very 'girl on the edge of a personal awakening.' Respect."

You nudge him with your knee. "Shut up."

He smirks up at you. "Make me."

You step past him, the narrow aisle forcing you close. His hand grazes the back of your thigh. Maybe by accident, maybe not. Either way, it leaves a trail of heat in its wake.

He picks up a Joan Jett cassette, studying the cover. "Too obvious?"

"She's cool," you say. "But you already sang that to me tonight."

Eddie tilts his head. "That was tonight? Damn. Time flies when you're being a dumbass in a van."

You smirk. "You’re not a dumbass. Well….." as you laugh.

"You liked it," he says, holding your gaze a second too long. "You were smiling."

You were. You still are.

You drift again, fingers brushing along cassette spines. You find Creedence Clearwater Revival. Youfreeze, memories of your dad's garage, him humming along while pretending not to be listening. You trace the label with your thumb.

"Your dad's music, right?" Eddie's voice is soft again, closer than you realized. He's beside you now, his shoulder brushing yours, like he just appeared there without warning.

You nod, surprised he remembers.

He takes the tape gently from your hand, turning it over, then gives it back, his fingers brushing yours. The contact lingers, warm and deliberate.

"I like knowing your secrets," he says.

Your breath catches. You don't look away.

He eventually steps back, but the space between you feels altered now. Tighter. Charged even.

"Better hurry, Tulip," he says, forcing his tone back to light. "Clock's ticking."

You move slower after that, lingering near him more often than necessary. He reaches over you to pull a tape from the shelf, his chest brushing your back. You pass behind him deliberately, your hand gliding across the small of his back. Each little contact feels like a game neither of you is fully admitting you're playing.

When you both finish, arms full of tapes, he nods toward the back corner.

"This way," he says, voice low. "I know where the real magic happens."

He leads you past old amps and instrument stands to a corner where a pair of worn bean bags sit beneath another warm, humming lamp. There's a stereo between them and stacks of cracked jewel cases nearby.

Eddie flops into one of the chairs like he owns the place, patting the spot beside him. "C'mon, Tulip. Time to reveal your soul."

You ease into the bean bag beside him, sinking lower than you meant to. Your shoulder bumps his. Neither of you moves.

"You ever seen one made in real time?" he asks, loading the blank into the dual deck with exaggerated care.

You shake your head. "I thought it just... copied over. Like magic."

He shoots you a grin. "That's one way to put it. Mixtape alchemy. You gotta have the right ingredients in the right order or it won't hit right. It's more like a spell than science."

You smile, watching his fingers move confidently over the buttons. "So you're a wizard now?"

He smirks. "I prefer sorcerer. Or warlock. Eddie the Enchanter has a nice ring."

You roll your eyes, but your chest feels warm. The tape begins to roll.

Soul revealing time:

1. Going to California – Led Zeppelin (You)

Because I like stories about chasing dreams.

A hazy guitar line trickles out, golden and wistful. You glance at him, nervous. "I just... liked the feeling. Like she's chasing something, even if she doesn't know what." You glance down at your hands. "I never really had dreams before. Not my own, anyway. Just the ones my parents had for me."

Eddie doesn't tease. He just nods, one knee bouncing slightly, like he gets it.

2. Crimson and Clover – Joan Jett (Eddie)

Soft like Tulip.

When this one starts, Eddie does his little bit again—sings a few words into his straw with exaggerated passion, eyes on you, grin lazy. "Crimson and clooover..."

You snort. "You're such a dork."

"Dork with taste," he retorts.

But you notice the way his voice softens just a bit at the chorus. Like he's remembering the moment earlier. Like it wasn't just a bit.

3. Midnight Special – Creedence (You)

Reminds me of quiet nights and secretly listening to music with dad.

You say it softly, and Eddie doesn't laugh or ask anything. He just leans back a little further, nodding to the beat, and lets it play out.

"You've got that CCR soul," he murmurs. "Didn't know you had it in you."

4. Just What I Needed – The Cars (Eddie)

You’ve got that energy I can't resist.

The intro hits, Eddie's grin is instant. He nods along, then glances your way. "Okay, tell me this doesn't just strut."

You smile, tilting your head. "It does. It's confident. Like it knows it's cool."

He points at you. "Exactly. Total power move. But under all that? Kind of a softie."

"Like someone I know?" you tease.

Eddie just smirks, leaning back so his knee brushes yours. "Maybe."

5. Rhiannon – Fleetwood Mac (You)

Something mysterious about it... fits the mood.

You lean your head back and close your eyes as it starts. "It sounds like wind. Or dreams."

Eddie watches you with something unreadable in his face. "You'd be dangerous with a tambourine."

You peek one eye open. "Yeah?"

He smirks. "Definitely."

6. Wild Side – Mötley Crüe (Eddie)

Because Tulip’s got a little wild in her.

The riff kicks in hard, and you sit up a little. You don't recognize it at first. Fast, brash, a little blasphemous. The lyrics are... something. Something that makes your ears go pink the longer it plays. Eddie watches the realization bloom across your face.

He tries to look innocent but fails completely. "Had to," he says, voice warm. "You've got the wild side now."

You scoff softly. "Do I?"

He leans just a little closer, eyes gleaming. "Mhm. My girl with a wild side. Not just a little church girl anymore."

The words settle over you like a spark catching kindling. Your face burns, but you don't pull away. Not even a little.

"You make it sound like I'm a whole new person," you mutter, trying to hide your smile.

Eddie's smile sharpens. "You're just getting started."

7. Bad Boy Boogie – AC/DC

It's perfect for a bit of mischief. Like Eddie.

By now, your knees are resting against each other. Just barely touching, warm through the denim. Eddie's pinky brushes yours every so often and doesn't move.

"This one's catchy," he says, then glances sideways at you. "Am I the bad boy?"

You smirk. "You put this one on the purple tape. It's catchy but... yeah. You're the only bad boy I know."

He chuckles, pleased, and the sound settles warm in your chest.

You nudge him with your knee. "You're saying I'm predictable?"

"I'm saying you've got good taste in trouble."

8. I Think We're Alone Now – Tiffany (Eddie)

Sometimes, the best moments are just between us.

You recognize this one right away, and for a second it's like being in your room again with a cassette Eddie left you, playing it late at night, your heart beating too fast.

He watches you closely. "This one's just fun."

You know it's more than that, but you don't say it.

9. Rebel Rebel – David Bowie (You)

Because Eddie being a little rebellious is fun.

When you cue it up, you try not to smirk. "This one reminded me of you."

Eddie raises a brow. "Oh yeah?"

You nod, faux-serious. "You've got that Bowie kind of strut."

He puts a hand to his heart. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

10. Thank You – Led Zeppelin (Eddie)

Just a little appreciation for good company.

He doesn't say anything when he hits play. He just leans back, closer this time, shoulder brushing yours. You let it happen.

And maybe it's the warmth, or the music, or just Eddie being Eddie. But it's hard not to imagine what it'd be like if he did move closer still. If you did.

But neither of you do.

Not yet.

The tape clicks off, and Eddie finally breaks the quiet. "That," he says, "is a masterpiece."

You look at him, smile softly and small and way too hopeful. "Yeah. Kinda is."

Eddie pops the finished tape out of the deck and slides it into a case with the kind of care people usually reserve for something priceless. Before he hands it to you, he scrawls something across the label in black ink.

You lean in to read it and laugh softly.

Tulip & Eddie's First Mixtape

Complete with a wonky little smiley face drawn next to it.

"Very official," you say, trying to sound nonchalant, even though your heart's doing a weird little somersault.

Eddie grins and taps the label with his pen. "Gotta mark the moment. First of many, hopefully."

You pretend not to hear that last part, but your cheeks go warm.

He glances at the clock on the stereo and whistles. "Christ. one-thirty?"

"What?" You sit up. "No way."

He holds his hands up. "Time flies when you're building audio masterpieces."

You're still blinking at the clock, like that could possibly be right, when Eddie starts sliding the cassettes into the "go-back" bin, patting them like old friends. Outside, the night is quiet and thick with summer air. Eddie unlocks the van and swings the passenger door open for you with a dramatic flourish. "Your chariot awaits, m'lady."

You snort and climb in. "You're so extra."

He shrugs as he circles to the driver's side. "Extra charming."

As the van rumbles to life, the newly made mixtape hums through the speakers. Led Zeppelin filters through the warm dark as street lights blur by the windows. The drive is filled with dumb jokes and half-sung lyrics, the kind of light, effortless chatter that feels like it could stretch on forever.

You're still laughing about Eddie's terrible David Bowie impression when he pulls up to the dorms. Before you can even reach for the handle, he hops out and jogs around to open your door.

"How gentlemanly," you say, a little breathless.

He bows, low and goofy. "Only the best."

You step out, and he falls into step beside you. Your dorm hallway glows in the distance, and your footsteps echo softly on the walkway.

"Seriously," Eddie says after a moment. "Thanks for hanging out tonight. This was... the most fun I've had in a while."

You look at him and catch a softness there, less smirk, more real. "Me too," you say, quieter than you meant to.

By the time you reach your door, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. There's a long beat where neither of you moves. He's standing close, his eyes on yours. You feel your heart drumming up into your throat.

He's going to kiss me. Runs through your mind as you take in his pretty brown eyes.

But then he just smiles, a little awkwardly. "Goodnight, Tulip." Then he steps to the side and then he's walking away.

You swallow your disappointment and manage a nod. "uh- Night, Eddie."

You turn toward the door, heart stuttering, and then………..

"No. Wait," It sounds a bit desperate.

You freeze, spinning back just as Eddie jogs back to you. He's out of breath, grinning in that reckless way that always makes your knees a little weak.

"Almost forgot something."

And before you can say anything, he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. His hands find yours and squeeze. The kiss is gentle. Warm. His lips are slightly chapped but soft. Enough to make your chest ache.

He pulls back eyes on yours, hands still in yours as he rubs little circles, "Goodnight," he says again, voice soft this time. "For real this time."

"Goodnight." It comes out squeaky and you hate that. But he smiles and backs away slowly, walking backward for a few steps until your hands fall apart then he turns to walk away.

You immediately go inside and press your back to close the door. Breathless and soaking it in.

Sorry I know I posted about this one in February and its May now. My life totally and completely changed and I haven't had that much time but I should have more now! I promise it'll get better!! this is just the very needed intro :) thanks for reading!! Taglist: @paleidiot @ali-r3n @ilovecowboysyouknowthat @spookybabey @exploding-bonbon @am0iur @taniamunson

@emxxblog @api0calisse @twihard08 @shadowhuntyi

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #earthlyangelbbywrites #In Bloom #College!Eddie Munson #xInnocentReader #Christianity #Eddie munson flirt #divider by cafekitsune #continue reading #Divider by anitalenia #Eddie munson x virgin!reader #Eddie munson x innocent!reader #eddie munson x plus size reader

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solaurous · 26 days ago

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the air seemed tense ; too tense for a moment as their gazes met & mingled. many unspoken emotions seemed to hang between them like A MISTY WALL. 'tis why she fell silent, muscles in fight / flight mode before words of n broke touko out of it. their expression was WARM despite all that hath happened almost yearning as they seemed to gaze 'pon oneself. touko understood all too well. throat THICK with unsaid words, a pitiful desire to swing back into cheerful old - self's response to them, she put one hand on her hip & let out a not very ' lady like ' snort. her mother would SCOLD her softly for such a noise, but it was just them. they had seen her worst & her best alike. there was nothing to HIDE besides words burried deep within soul. not everything would be spoken into existence, the luxury of syllables & acknowledging things one she would not allow every emotion to have. it was called being CAREFUL with one's heart / soul.

despite the obvious anxiety between them, N's request was SO THEM that it made touko's heart feel lighter & smile spread across rosy lips / cheeks. ❛ of course . i do have tools . . ❜ she replied tenderly, voice calmer than past one. handing them a bag filled with fossil tools she's bought herself some years ago while traveling, the trainer couldn't help but study them. ❛ traveled a lot ? ❜ mere murmur, tone almost frightened she dared to ask as CURIOSITY won. there was much more touko desired to hear & learn about when it came to him. ❛ i hope you had fun. the world's big . . & diverse. ❜ lashes flutter as her gaze drops, almost shy. there was a dusty color on apple round's / freckles embraced by warmth.

were it not for his companion’s yips in warning her presence would have gone unnoticed, even after the definitive lull of her voice had filtered in his direction—— much too engrossed with the picking &͟. prodding of a fossil under foot, each miniscule rousing of dirt inching closer &͟. closer to that of the preserved omanyte. it is gradual, the way his focus is far removed from the remains set in stone, the turn of head tentative whilst he recuperates his psyche, pushes himself off his knees &͟. unto feet without much of an inkling of effort—— clearly practiced, evidently accustomed / cannoli growls ‘fore him, as a barrier between him &͟. the 'stranger' across from them both, facial expression irate &͟. exasperated, ‘til recognition overcomes her in one fell swoop &͟. she stills, abruptly. ( she knows this person. they both know her—— the revelation that sets his expression ablaze would be comical were it not so pitiful / much like a shelter dog bestowed with false hope of a future never to be brought to fruition. just as pathetic. )

❝ you, ❞ a hard swallow, the ingestion of all his absurd thoughts &͟. sentiments &͟. finally, a smile, seasoned &͟. poised, as if he’d just seen her the day before &͟. not what must have felt like eons ago. ❝ care to help me get this fossil out of the ground? ❞

#midokai #˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹ ic: touko/hilda.#🌸 – (touko/hilda) verse: ambitious fire that burned brightly but dimmed – a quiet inferno.#AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! HERE WE GO #im so sof rn and sobbing awpoesjrfiofeghji #im gonna perish like thanos snap or smth over them tbfh #i HOPE THIS IS OKAY !!! I MADE IT SO YEARNY LMAO #im totally not a sucker for yearny stuff nOOOOOOOOOO----#i need to make you a tag of some sorts depending where this goes oejfiosejfoi

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zeebee3 · 6 months ago

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Queen, I read almost all your recs and wanted to thank you.💙😍 I liked that most of them featured the breeding kink (I didn't want children before but now I might be reconsidering hehehehe).

If you could suggest more, I wouldn't be mad.😳🙏

Woohoo, so happy you read and enjoyed so many of them!! Your wish is my command--always happy to rec fics 😍

Again, in no particular order...

Dramione

She Will by Undertheglow. Draco/Hermione, written in future tense and poetic as HELL while still being scorching hot. I adore this one.

Dépaysement by Setissma. If you haven't read this OH MY GOD you're in for a treat. I can't be eloquent about how much I love it. It has it all (fake marriage, forced domesticity, tension and smut and feeelingggsssssss) and I can't be chill about it.

One Whole by SaffronGin. Don't be intimidated by the chapter count, they are delicious little bites. This fic is a JOURNEY in every sense and I had the best time following it as a WIP. In fact, I need to do reread now that it's complete--keeping the tab open!

The Unintended Consequences of Purposive Action by ellieauthor. When an accidental bit of roleplay has unintended consequences 🤭 Everything Ellie writes is whip-smart and banter-rich, and this is a peak example of it.

The Delivery Clause by ThornedHuntress. You've heard of arranged marriages, well the hot new thing is an arranged pregnancy. Enjoyyyy!

A Tentacular Spectacular by Sugarquilling. Hermione fucks the giant squid while Draco watches. I mean...idk what else to say about it (except read it, it's glorious)

We Fell In Love In October by ohthedrarry. This is a socmed AU (textfic) and dkfjsldfjskdfjl I just love it

CHESS CLUB by Ivy_and_right. Another textfic. Draco has a virginity kink, and Hermione is a virgin. Again, idk what else to say about it except that you will stay up all night reading it

icebreaker by ninepiecesofcrait. Nine really outdid herself with this one guys. PHEW BOY. Ginny gives Hermione a sex toy as a not-so-joking joke, but oops it's wrapped identically to Draco's gift. Guess which one he takes home. Guess what he decides to set to rights 🤗

For I Have Sinned by spicyxpisces and Stars_in_motion. Priest!Draco, devout!Hermione. We're not going to talk about how many times I've read this one. Join me in the soft-and-gentle edging depravity 🙏

atonement by takenbytheview. You know that scene in Atonement, when he writes That Letter then gives her the wrong one? Yeah. That. That but Dramione; That but somehow BETTER than it's ever been 🫠🫠🫠

Not Dramione

I Did Something Bad by charingfae. Tom Riddle/Hermione, with time travel and tension and the most toxic flirting you've ever seen. I think about this one all the time.

Voussoir by setissma. Look, I'm just gonna out myself as a die-hard Setissma fangirl. Just go through their backlog and read everything--do it do it! This is a Draco/Harry/Hermione triad fic, and reading it makes me both yearny and calm (as with basically everything else Setissma writes does).

Hydra by setissma. Omg weird, another Setissma? How'd that get in here? Pansy/Harry. READ IT READ IT READ IT. These are the characterizations I would die to be able to write.

Hopefully you find more fics to enjoy from here! And don't forget to kudos and, even more meaningful, comment so the writers know you enjoyed them too. It really does make all the difference 🥰🫶

#hp fanfiction #hp fic #ao3 fanfic #dramione #read on ao3 #tomione #hansy #fic recs #dramionarry

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caldera1000-7 · 3 months ago

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Okay...I don't know how long this will turn out but I've stumbled across some few things I've seen before said by others and it got me thinking again. I haven't really written out these thoughts so I'll write it here. While a lot of the time its easy to imagine Atsushi going on his way to be like Oda (the somewhat best example in BSD of living a meaningful life.) I think, just like many probably also have, that Akutagawa will be going down Oda's path and possibly even continuing/succeeding where Oda left off. These characters have a lot of parallels. But BSD in general has many MANY parallels... Projection...opposites, similarities, 2 sides of the same coins- well BSD always has a lot of things going on with characters. Noticably the duo generation thing with Mori and Fukuzawa, to Dazai and Chuuya to Akutagawa and Atsushi. But way more ties in than just them, we have Kyouka and Odasaku too, though not in any of the main duos - they impacted a lot or also show us a lot about the projection and the character changing. So as I was saying its easy to assume Atsushi may take down the Oda path with his seemingly good path of saving people. But despite that Akutagawa has many similarities/parallels to Odasaku and may be going down the same path, and maybe even succeed before death. "People live to save themselves."

Forgetting the hilarious faces of them in this moment. Ahem.

Lets start with some basics, I will try and keep this as short as well...whatever I consider short. Both were orphans, raised as killers somewhat, told their only value was in their strength and abilities. And both, despite everything, came to value life more than anything else, Oda went away from that path of killing. Akutagawa went with his promise of 6 months without killing. In beast and possibly the main universe too as a child Akutagawa went to kill those who killed his friends and harmed his sister claiming to "teach them the value of a life." Akutagawa is a very complicated yet also very simple character... I will still get to the talk about how the Rashomon effect could be seen in Akutagawa's character writing or other characters perceptions but thats for next time. Things people would note immediately are Akutagawa's seemingly no care for killing, for death, or for even his own injuries/illness. Thiss could be recklessness, this could be determination, it could be both. But that determination to continue, those goals to go forward... They must of all started somewhere. Its true he was a product of the environment he grew up in, he was the beast that lurked soundlessly as the world watched on but didn't care. A true stray dog... And no matter what "mentor" in the beast universe being Oda and in the mainline universe being Dazai - there is no real leash or ownership on this dog, as repetitive as it was in beast and now, Akutagawa really has always been going on his own paths in both universes with a fierce determination to meet his goal. He is always known as a wild dog, or a beast. And its true that time before dazai shot him thrice in the head he did kill the people Dazai wanted to interrogate (not excusing but still mentioning.) Now how could someone who kills so easily teach someone the value of a life? The same could be asked for Dazai, how could someone who didn't have much of a reason to live at the time give someone else a reason to live? Well he did, and at the time it seems the things he did in the mafia with his ability or missions kept him there, the risk of it all, and he put the same for Akutagawa. Akutagawa seeing this as saving, taking this example and wanting to give others a worth to their life or a reason for living (this already shows how much he values it, probably because he doesn't have much time left or had much years going for him in the first place...) but he did the same to Kyouka, saying both their abilities were for killing and killing would give them value. And he even says Kyouka had the same eyes as he once did, yearning for death, and full of darkness. But that changed, they both found someone to guide them, they both found an organization they can belong in. He was even glad for Kyouka, despite them being on such different paths now. He even once said to Hawthorne that dying in the name of love sounds like something noble/beautiful during the Cannibalism arc. So there definitely is much more to him than just killing, rivalry, jealousy, and dazai. His value in lives, him wanting to see and bring value to lives, and try going forward with his own. It is true Mori said once Dazai reminded him of himself. And Dazai possibly saw himself back then in Akutagawa (lost and wanting a reason to live), and Akutagawa saw himself in Kyouka. Akutagawa could see a mirror image/flipped version of himself or his past self in Atsushi which is why he called understanding him disgusting. And Oda probably also saw a bit of himself in Dazai.

So getting more to the point of Oda SakuNOSUKE and Akutagawa RyuuNOSUKE.

Both began as emotionless (and became like killers). No passion, no cruelty—just empty vessels, defined only by their ability to kill. Oda was a hitman with dead eyes. Akutagawa was a slum orphan with nothing but Rashoumon. They weren’t sadistic. They weren’t righteous. They killed because it was the only thing they were good at. And because, in a world that treated them like they were worth nothing, it gave them something that felt like value, especially for Akutagawa since someone showed him that way and made use of him/his ability.

(“I’ve been working alone as an assassin for as long as I can remember,” he began. “I’ve never wanted friends or a boss... but seeing a martial artist like you compromise your principles to save one of your men... It makes me kinda jealous. He must be the happiest guy in the world to have you as a boss.” - Light Novel 3 of Bungo Stray Dogs the Untold Origins of the Detective Agency. And yes, the manga adaption made me feel like going back to make some Oda references from the original LN.)

But that kind of existence is just survival, not living. It’s why no matter how strong they became, they never felt like enough. They both felt hollow, watching others form bonds they couldn’t have. Oda envied Fukuzawa’s loyalty and bond to others/a certain lolipop eating child. Akutagawa envied Atsushi, who was nurtured and cared for in ways he never was, despite both being so similar in more ways than one and even kind of in background/abuse/being orphans. That jealousy wasn’t just bitterness—it was recognition. They wanted something more. They just didn’t know what. And in Akutagawa's case he grew and kept growing, the more questions he asked got answered, the more the paths became clear to him, the more he could respect atsushi and see the true value in life not just his own but of others, and its worth in protecting. The real turning point for both wasn’t just strength; it was connection. Oda met Natsume. Akutagawa met Dazai. And for the first time, they saw another way to live.

That’s why, despite being one of the deadliest people in the series, Akutagawa might be the one who values life the most. It seems contradictory—he kills without hesitation—but that’s the paradox of his character I suppose. He knows what it’s like to have life treated as worthless, and that’s exactly why he fights so hard to prove that it isn’t. That slum-born kids lives that were taken weren't meaningless. That he isn’t meaningless. (I'm listening to his character song while writing this so I may unknowingly make references.) Oda’s arc ends in somewhat of a tragedy, even if he managed to give Dazai the push/advice he needed. When he lost his orphan children, he gave up. He told Dazai to live, but in the end, he couldn’t follow his own advice it seems. But Akutagawa? He’s still fighting. He’s still trying to prove his existence matters. A true stray dog, fighting his way through. Although its possible he may die at the end and possibly Dazai could too, I've been led to believe that he may end up fulfilling what Odasaku had wanted to show in a life with meaning, with value.

From here it was made even more obvious, or rather suspicious, and this path Akutagawa will be going down may actually be one of the best character developments for me. Oda told Dazai to keep living. But Akutagawa, in his own way, embodies that lesson even more than Dazai does. He is still living, still struggling, still starving for meaning like the stray dog he is. And that’s why, in the end, Akutagawa—not really Atsushi—is the true inheritor of Oda’s will. Or so I think. ....And I thought I'd end it there, BUT I don't want to make another separate post continuing this really... (I still might though.)

“People live to save themselves. You will understand that at the moment of your own death.” Oda chose to die for someone else, rather than living for himself. While that’s a tragic choice it’s also a bad choice with consequences, because now there’s nobody around to help Dazai and Akutagawa who also appeared in light novel two and who both needed him to some extent. However... Second chances don't usually occur in life, especially if you used one version/ending of your life saving another. Living to save yourself...living to give yourself a reason. Not for someone else, but for what you decide right?

Their lives are parallels but they’re also exact opposites. Akutagawa starts out by losing every orphan he was trying to take care of. Oda finishes his life when he loses the orphans who he was trying to raise and protect. Well besides diving too deep. Akutagawa in his very complicated still yet to be explained Knightly form... Seems to be protecting a child. In beast we see how well (through the suffering still and besides that training scene) he actually has been able to take care of those kids, or even in the mainline one he has always protected or defended the kids around him and his sister. Although in many senses both Akutagawa and Atsushi can be called selfish as I've said many times before and in previous things. They both have some very selfless elements and learn more on that too...leading to this parallel of Atsushi and Akutagawa, causing him to regain his memories from the one completely self sacrificing and selfless thing he's done. I've read an analysis theory again recently that I saw before, of Akutagawa and The Spiders Thread by Linkspooky (I think? Need to re-check) and it seems in a way Atsushi is that one spared spider but possibly also Aya, and I want to see how this all plays out.

Dazai may of just gotten the idea of helping Aku on this path after that no killing promise, or maybe he had a thought of it when he met/got to know Atsushi (because theres no way he could of predicted the future since that time in the woods but I get he means that since then Dazai hasn't given up his promise of helping Akutagawa live a meaningful life.)

Image dump as usual to get others and my own thoughts running.

Whether its a complicated bram-akutagawa situation or anything else Asagiri might explain this with along with his memory loss, these words are interesting nonetheless.

And yes, I won't shut up about his eyes. As much as I love Harukawa's art I do very much hope that Atsushi and Akutagawa's baby face moments kind of lessen with time, but I still love it anyways.

With how crazy things are currently, it may be a while till we get out answers or see further just how much Akutagawa grew/will act after all the events that has happened. Theres no way things can just go back to "normal" and have him being obsessed over his recognition with Dazai and wanting to kill Atsushi completely after this. Maybe they'll still have the death battle as promised and it will end up like in beast where the one lets the other go until next time or something. But in this growth competition or the little "I can't get behind Akutagawa now" that came outta nowhere from Atsushi or rather his own admiration or seeing just how strong Akutgawa is when he never recognised it himself because of Dazai. But now as it seems in a complicated knight form or not Ryuu has gone quite ahead, and now its time for lil Sushi to catch up.

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