#light mention of body dysmorphia

[limehaspassed]

Perfectection

(Leon Kennedy x Chubby F!Reader)

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In which Leon Kennedy shows you everything he loves about you. <3

Inspired by my pookie bear, I love you and thank you for feeding into my obsession. Love you @illaxeem

CW: NSFW ,, Voyeurism ,, Cunnilingus ,, Mirror Sex ,, Hair Pulling ,, Praise Kink (briefly mentioned) ,, Light Mention of Body Dysmorphia ,, Body Praise

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It was later on in the night when you finally got the chance to sit down, your day spent cleaning and rearranging things to your liking. You had been unhappy with the state of the house for a while so you decided to change it up. Now, after twelve hours of moving things around, you were finally done. You were beyond sure that you pulled a few muscles in the process.

For a while, you sat on the couch and rested your eyes, that was until you heard a key in the door. Immediately you jumped up, excited to show your boyfriend what you had done while he was at work. When he left earlier that morning, he had noticed you cleaning, he hadn’t noticed your plans of moving everything this way and that.

“Welcome home, dear.” You greeted as Leon walked through the entryway, the door closing behind him.

He gave a sluggish smile, he was also in the same state as you, exhausted. You gave him a soft smile and helped him slip his jacket off, hanging it on the coat rack. He was quick to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close, nestling his head in the crook of your neck. You chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

“You alright?” You asked quietly, a slight hum to your voice.

Leon nodded against you. “Yeah. How was your day without me?” He asked in return, a slight tease to his voice. He knew that you didn’t like to be separated from him.

“Actually, it was rather pleasant, I got so much done. Do you want to see?” You replied to Leon’s surprise. You were always quick to complain about him working too much and not spending enough time with you during the day, yet now you aren’t complaining, in fact you almost seem thankful.

“Sure, show me what you did.” He let go of you, standing up straight. He wore a soft smile, his eyes warm and sleepy.

You grabbed his hand and led him to the living room. “Look.” You said, motioning to a completely rearranged living room, nothing was left untouched, even the small plants that were arranged on the coffee table.

“Oh.”

“Do you not like it?” Your face fell a bit.

“No, no. I like it, I just wasn’t expecting that. How’d you move all of that? I know for sure that the couch is heavy, I was the one that had to bring it in here.” He was confused on how you did this all on your own. You weren’t weak, he knew that, but you certainly weren’t as strong as him, you didn’t have the same training he did.

You chuckled again and punched his shoulder lightly. “I’ve been working out.”

“When?”

“What? Do you want to work out with me? I’m sure you would love to see that.” You ask teasingly.

“If you’re offering.” He replied bluntly.

You give a quick laugh and walk towards the kitchen and dining room, expecting him to follow. He did.

“Now, what would my big, strong cop like for dinner?” You asked, turning to look at him with a wink.

He chuckled at your tone and shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you would like. I’m not in the mood for anything specific.” He explains, taking a seat at the table. He leaned back into the chair with a sigh, closing his eyes.

“Alright. How about turkey wraps?” You asked to which he hummed in response.

You started making them quietly, you didn’t want to disturb Leon. His job was oftentimes loud and all he wanted when he got home was peace and quiet. You respected this and always tried your best to remain quiet, keeping your voice soft and low. He never said anything about this but you knew he appreciated it.

It didn’t take long for dinner to be made. You plated the wraps and walked over to the table, setting one down in front of Leon and one in front of where you sat. You took your seat and waited for Leon to open his eyes before eating. When he opened them, he flashed you a gentle smile and began eating, you did the same.

“So what did you have for lunch?” He asked casually.

“Oh. I forgot to eat lunch.” You replied hesitantly.

Leon looked up at you, his eyes serious. “You have to eat lunch babe, it’s unhealthy not too.”

“I know, I was just distracted. I swear, nothing else made me not eat.” You explained to which Leon calmed down a bit.

“Just try to eat something for me tomorrow alright. I’ll be home tomorrow so I can make you up something good.” He offered.

You nodded and continued eating.

It had always been like this with the two of you, he was always watching out over you, making sure you ate. Before you met him, you would often skip meals for one reason or another, but when you got with him, he was always pushing you to eat when mealtime came around. He wouldn’t force it onto you but he would try his best to gently coerce you into eating. You appreciated the way he would look out for you but sometimes, you wished he would let it slide. Only sometimes, that was when you let your insecurities get the best of you.

Dinner came and went and soon it was time for bed. Leon had already laid down while you were in the bathroom, getting ready for bed.

You were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at your stomach and thighs. You couldn’t help but think about lunch today, the lunch you didn’t eat. You felt guilty for not eating but you felt dirty for eating dinner. There was no balance. The pudge of your stomach testified to your feelings. You hated your stomach and thighs, how much bigger they were than everyone else’s, you wanted them to be smaller but you didn’t want to stop eating, you didn’t want to let Leon down.

You were trapped within a box of constant obsession, obsession with being skinny and obsession with gratifying Leon. You didn’t which to choose, you wanted both of them, you needed both of them. You felt as though without one obsession the next one wouldn’t exist. You couldn’t pick between them.

You sighed and looked away, pulling your shirt outwards a bit. You went to grab a different one, one that wasn’t as tight when you noticed Leon standing behind you, staring at you through the mirror.

“You alright?” He asks.

You nod and walk over to him, he was leaning against the doorway. “I just need to grab a different shirt.” You explain.

“Why? I like this one.” He says, placing his hands on your hips.

“Don’t say that when you don’t mean it.” You replied, removing his hands from your hips.

He smiled at you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close against him. “And how would you know what I like and don’t like?” He asks curiously.

“Because it makes my stomach look big.” You reply, looking away. You felt bad for thinking this way but it was the truth, there was no hiding it.

“Where?” He asks, tilting your head to look back up at him. He leans forward and presses his forehead agaisnt yours. “I don’t see anything wrong with you.” He whispers, his breath fanning across your face like a warm blanket.

You meet him with anxious eyes, your thoughts were getting the better of you again. “But-“

“Nope. No but’s” He interrupts you, placing a finger over your lips to silence you. He reaches down and places his hands on the sides of your stomachs. “You’re beautiful. You know that right? If I had to choose who was the most beautiful girl in the world, I would choose you. You want to know why?”

You nod slowly, not sure if you want to know or not. You were scared that he might turn this around and go the other direction with it.

He slides his hands down to you hips and pulls you even closer. “Let me show you what all I like about you. Come here.”

He pulls you over to the standing mirror in the corner of y’all’s bedroom. He places you in the center of it and has you look at yourself in the mirror. You try to look away but he grabs your chin, as gentle as he can, and holds you there. He then takes his other hand runs it over your body, his touch is featherlight, it tickles and leaves a trail of heat in its wake.

He runs his hand up your shirt, letting it rest on your stomach. He smiles lovingly at you in the mirror. “You want to know why I like your stomach so much dear?” He asks you, his voice a low whisper, it sends chills down your spine.

“Why?”

“Because it’s a perfect place to rest my head an it will carry our future children. You’ll be such a good mother, I hope you know that.” His voice holds a fondness you rarely hear, it causes your heart to swell and a blush to spread across your cheeks.

He chuckles at this reaction and runs his hand down to your thighs. He gently squeezes one as he speaks. “You wanna know why I like your thighs so much?” He asks, his voice takes on a more darker tone, one that’s more lustful. “It’s because they feel so nice around my head.”

“Oh.” You say breathlessly. You blush at this, wanting to look away, to hide your embarrassment, but you can’t. You can only look at him. There’s a part of you that’s enjoying this a bit too much.

He leans his head down and kisses your neck softly, using his teeth and tongue to tease the sensitive skin. You gasp at the touch and move your head as much as you can in his grip, giving him further access. His free hand slips between your thighs, reaching upward.

You squirm under his touch. He smiles at you in the mirror and moves his hand further up and rubs against you. You gasp and grab his arm. You squeeze your thighs together under his touch.

“Relax.” He whispers against your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin. He is staring at you through the mirror, his eyes are intense, focused, and filled with desire.

You swallow hard and stare back at him with timid eyes. You weren’t a stranger to this attention but something about this was different, it felt all too much. It felt so real and open, you didn’t like looking at yourself but at the same time, it turned you on in a way you couldn’t describe.

You stare at him for a minute before slowly relaxing your legs, allowing him to continue. He continues and your grip on his arm tightens.

“Let me show you how beautiful you are.” His voice is just below a whisper, barely audible.

A shiver runs down your spine at his voice and you lean against him, closing your eyes. His hand continues to run against you for a bit until he pulls it away, moving it upwards towards your neck.

“Open your eyes.” It was more of a demand than a request.

You opened them and he smiled as he looked at you. His hand delicately ran across your neck before he leaned down and placed soft kisses along the sensitive skin. She let out a breathy moan, a small, timid sound, embarrassment was flooding through her. He smiled at this and pulled away, looking up at you in the mirror.

“Do you know why I like your neck? It’s because you get so flustered when I kiss it. Like this.” He leans down and kisses your neck again, this time with more fervor than before.

Your face turns red at the mention of you being flustered, you’re embarrassed over being called out. This whole process was calling you out and you couldn’t tune him out, he was too close to you, you were enjoying far too much.

He drops his hand, keeping the one on jaw in the same position, slightly tightening his grip. He leans forward and places a kiss to the back of your jaw, just under your ear. He nibbles on the skin, causing another moan to escape your mouth.

“Oh those noises of yours are so divine, my love.” He whispers against your ear, his breath tickling your skin.

Your eyes go wide but not because he complimented you, no because of how turned on you were by his praise. It struck a chord with you, a chord you didn’t know existed until now.

Leon then readjusted his grip on your jaw, tilting your head up slightly. “You know what I like about your jaw? It’s a perfect spot to place my lips. It’s also perfect for grabbing.” He explained in a low voice, his lips so close to your ear that it almost felt like he was kissing it.

You watched him through the mirror as he trailed a hand over your hip, his eyes connecting with yours. He was smiling, always he was smiling at you. God, you wished you could marry that smile already.

He then let go of your jaw for a moment, reaching down and grabbing the hem of your shirt with both hands, he pulled it over your head, letting it fall towards the floor afterwards. He then reaches up and grabs both of your breasts.

“You know why I like your boobs?” He asks, gently massaging them. “It’s because they’re the perfect place to lay my head, plus they fit so perfectly in my hands. It's like they were made for me and only me.” A hint of possessiveness enters his voice as he says this, a glint of dominance clear in his eyes.

You lean back against him, relaxing into his touch. That is until he drops his hands, stepping away from you for a minute. He smiles at you through the mirror, a wicked and twisted smile, one sure to turn your stomach with anxiety.

“Turn to face me and lay on your back.” He demanded gently, his smile softening slightly as he noticed your anxious attitude.

You did as told, looking up at him confused as to what he had in mind. He sits on his knees at the end of your feet and leans over you. He takes his hand and tilts your head back until you could see yourself in the mirror, your view upside down now.

“Don’t look away and don’t close your eyes.” He commands, kissing your chin before moving back to an upright position.

Taking the fabric of your pants in hand, he tugs them down, pulling them all the way off and tossing them to the side. He does the same thing with your underwear, exposing the cold air to your lower regions.

You try your best not to look away as he turns to look back at you, his smile ever so present.

“You look so beautiful, my love. I hope you’ll be able to see just how beautiful you really are.” He speaks softly, his thumb caressing your inner thigh. He then spreads your thighs apart and wraps them around his neck as he leans down, pressing a warm kiss against you.

You gasp, his eyes flickering up to capture yours for a second before he runs his tongue against you, causing a low moan to escape you. He takes a moment to enjoy your moan, savoring the sound before continuing, running his tongue along your clit.

You clench your hands as he continues to run his tongue against your clit, your mouth hanging open as you moan. Your eyes stared at the top of his head, his hair falling in front of his face. You reached down and grabbed it, intertwining it between your fingers. It was soft and cool, contradicting the heat that was your body.

Leon takes his hand and presses two fingers inside of you, stroking you in tandem with his tongue. You hands tighten on his hair and you can hear him groan, something that only adds to your excitement , to your enjoyment.

Leon continues, lavashing you with his touches until it feels all too much, bringing you right to edge. Your core is burning, your heart beating out of your chest, and your throat slightly sore from moaning so much. God, you swear you could see constellations as his tongue only continued to pleasure you, that was until he stopped, pulling away from you completely.

A whine emitted from your mouth involuntarily, coming out as an impulse as you were denied your orgasm. He looked at you in the mirror and smiled.

“Next time, I’m recording that sweet voice of yours.” He says as he leans back over you, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. “Now, get on your hands and knees, facing the mirror, please.”

Your face went red at his words, you were always embarrassed with this position, far more embarrassed about than any other position the two of you have tried. However, despite your embarrassment, you did as told, sitting up and facing the mirror, supporting yourself from your hands and knees.

His smile grew as he watched you, a lustful look overtaking his eyes, desire was written all over his face.

He placed his hands on your hips and positioned himself behind you. He leaned over you again, placing kisses all along your back. You watch him, your cheeks burning hot. The mirror, the position, the constant kissing, and constant praise was all too overstimulating your brain, emotions swirling left and right. It was too much, you couldn’t handle it all.

He positioned himself behind you and slowly pushed himself in, giving you time to adjust. He starts at a slow pace, a rhythmically and constantly pleasing pace. He’s watching you, his eyes staring directly into yours. You go to look away but he grabs you by the hair and pulls your head back up, you gasp at the sudden movement.

Your eyes met his again as he quickened his pace, pushing into you at a faster pace, one that causes you to moan and whine. You were already denied an orgasm once, now everything felt all so sensitive and alive, every little movement of his was driving you crazy.

He angles himself, hitting in the exact spot that sends you flying over the edge, constellations forming in front of you. You could see Cassiopeia and Orian, all handcrafted by Leon, made perfectly for you. It isn’t long until you feel that heat flood back to your core, your body twitching and convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over you.

You could hear him groaning, his hand tightening around your hair, eliciting a moan in response. You never knew that his hands in your hair would be so hot. You never knew watching yourself being railed would be so exciting.

Second after glorious second goes by and you soon feel yourself reaching your climax, you look up at Leon, he’s already watching you. His eyebrows are scrunched together in concentration, it’s almost cute.

“Fuck, Leon, I think…” Your words are interrupted by your own moan, his thrusts reaching even deeper now. Your hands curl into fists and every muscle in your body contracts as Leon quickened his pace, his thrusts more frenzied and pleasure driven.

It isn’t long until you’re pushed over that edge, your eyes closing as your orgasm hits you hard. You can feel him cum inside you shortly after, riding you through your high. Your muscles relax and you can feel your legs about to give out.

“Leon.” You breathlessly whisper his name, opening your eyes to look back up at him.

“Yes, my love?”

“We should do that again sometime.”

He chuckles and pulls out of you, running a hand along your back. You sit down on your knees as he comes to sit behind you, his arms wrapping around you warmly. He places a kiss on your temple before leaning his nose against your hair, breathing you in.

“I love you, beautiful. I love you so much.”

You smile and lean back against him. “I love you too, dear.”

“Now would you like to head to bed or watch a movie in our freshly rearranged living room?” He asks, a slight tease to his voice.

Your smile grows and you close your eyes again, enjoying being so close to him. “Whatever works best for you.”

They ended up going for the movie, however neither of them got to watch it, they both passed out on the couch a few minutes into the film.

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Thank you for reading loves 🖤

#leon kennedy #resident evil leon #re4 leon #resident evil #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy smut #voyerurism #mirror #cunniligus #hair pulling kink #briefly mentioned #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #body praise #light mention of body dysmorphia #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fic

[wonryllis]

daddy issues, my little girl (m) | park jongseong.

﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ぃ ────𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹,

preview. you had always had daddy issues, for as long as you could remember. so when jay came along with his caring nature, how could you possibly keep your feelings at bay? not to forget, your roses of love have wilted long before you even knew what love meant but jay, he’s here at your doorstep with a watering can. will you be able to refuse?

or where, new neighbor dr jay park is asked to babysit you over the week. ironically the only man you have ever had a crush on. you are so determined to put aside the feelings but jay makes things so much harder. he is way too sweet and caring and you are way too pessimistic and insecure. how is it going to work with you gravitating towards him in inadvertence and jay welcoming your presence with candor radiance? especially with all of your buried issues coming to life more than ever. false hopes and reserved secrets, reluctant truths and feelings that linger deep. he is right there, two doors away to reach. so why is it that love still feels so far?

meet the cast. daddy park jongseong(jay) with his doll fem!reader

genre. neighbour to lovers, age gap (like 7 years), romance, SMUT MDNI!!, comfort angst, fluff, happy ending, doctor(might change that)!jay with his precious girl. jay literally always at his girl's beck and call, he cares about you a lottttt trope. the "i know you can do it, but let me do it for you" trope. kinda ddlg concept idk? he's like your pillar, comfort person and just everything you have ever needed. practically your dream man come to life. subject to additions later on.

word count. 18-19k so far, est around 35k revamp + second installment.

warnings. DARK THEMES: hints of: daddy issues, attachment anxiety, inferiority complex, abandonment issues, depression, childhood emotional neglect, philophobia, insomnia, social anxiety, hints at emotional/psychological abuse, gaslighting, hints at being suicidal, people pleaser syndrome, mommy issues, thantophobia, atelophobia, atychiphobia, pistanthrophobia, avoidant personality disorder, body dysmorphia. more could be added on release and nsfw warnings will be mentioned in full fic.

theme song. daddy issues by the neighborhood and future by red velvet. on the side you can listen to: love letter by bolbbalgan4, adore you by harry styles, pacify her by melanie martinez, cool kids by echosmith, your existence by wonstein, teenage dreams by katy perry ..

RELEASING. TBD, progress ! 57%

"i’m home!” slipping off your converse, you put the pair inside the shoe cabinet near the entrance and close the wooden door in a sigh before trudging in. the lights in the living room are dimmed, something your parents would never do. it catches you a tad bit off guard but nevertheless you try not to think too much. considering the silence surrounding you they most definitely are out for work and as usual forgot to turn off the lights. with cautious steps you walk futher inside, with all intention to sneak in a pack of chips from the kitchen like a thief even though at this point you’ve practically come to the conclusion you’re home alone, but one can never be too careful.

a cat like shriek leaves you when your eyes land on the back of a figure sitting on the couch, your phone almost slipping through the grasp of your fingers as your eyes widen in shock. startled, your heart more or less stopping in a screeching brake for a split second.

the man visibly flinches at the sound of your voice,“who are you?!-” standing up and turning around to face you,“jay?”

“god y/n, you’re gonna make me deaf,” he complains, face contorting into a tender, teasing expression; a small smile gracing his lips as he walks around the couch and leans against the top of the backrest. you watch as he looks at you, so softly that it makes you wonder, has anyone ever in your entire life looked at you like that? a look radiating such gentleness. maybe not, not until now that is.

“you got home early today, i thought you’d be out for two more hours?” his brows raise in a questioning manner as his gaze shifts to go over the time showing on your living room clock.

“uh, well i was working on a project the last few days but i finished it yesterday so,” you speak unsure if you should even be telling him this instead of asking what he’s doing in here.

“oh okay, that’s good,” taking off his overcoat he walks into the kitchen, folding up his dress shirt’s sleeves on the way,“what do you want for lunch then? do you want to eat takeout? or should i cook you something? you must be hungry,” he takes out a bottle of cold water from the fridge and pours in a glass for you, sliding the cup on the countertop towards you as you approach the space in hesitant and confused steps.

his questions dumbfound you, leaving your brain at a loss, still dazed from his presence before you,“what? why are you asking me that? and what are you doing in my house?” you ask, looking completely clueless when jay turns to look at you expecting it to be some kind of a sarcastic remark. but the lost look in your eyes has him surrendering even if it does turn out to be some joke.

“taking care of you,” jay smiles, straightening his posture in an upright position and moving closer to the counter across which you stand,“technically, babysitting,”

“babysitting? me? but,” it baffles you, is this some prank or are you supposed to know something you don’t? your mind’s mechanical gears slow down, friction arising in between them. you don’t remember anything regarding or relating to the term babysitting. there’s no way he’s serious.. right?

“doll, didn’t your parents tell you they’re gonna be out on a business trip for a week? they asked me to look after you while they’re gone,” what.

yes these past few days when you couldn’t catch a hidden, one-sided glimpse of him in the elevator you did feel weird. and you definitely did subconsciously wish to run across him again, even though you were on a mission to avoid him, but this; this is not what you would’ve liked, this is not what you wanted. this is far from what you can handle, what your messed up self can accept.

“no?” the look on your face has jay almost spilling a laugh, the way your features contort to a whiny crying expression. how cute. he thinks.

“that’s okay, now you know,” trying to imitate you, he scrushes up his nose in a slight pout, reaching out to pat your head twice. and there goes your heart. you never thought you’d like head pats this much, you only remember getting them twice from your father but it felt different. it used to annoy you because he would mess up your hair but the way jay caressed your head it felt you had accomplished something, so gentle and careful yet still close to a ruffle.

taglist ( open. ) @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @lheebra @boyfhee @defnotfertilizedtoesw @brownsugarbaybee @skylaly @sparklovespink @luvyouchuu @ming-h0e @cha0thicpisces @butterflywonie @kgneptun @haechansbbg @m3chigo @wonsbaer @woncine @eneiyri @siyen @wonyoungsvirus @heesquared @enhafim22 @velvtcherie @ineedsomezzz @simjyunnie @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @wonkifangirl @sweetwonieee @luvnicho @fakeuwus @sunpov @notevenheretbh1 @kaykay11sworld @saurxcream @shawnyle @monstaxdirtywonk @wannieepisod @woozixo @sophi-ee @rikiwaify-blog @fluerz @iselltulips @belowbun @yunjinsbbg @enhasnuggles @enhaswirlds @enhastolemyheart @jooniesbears-blog

#( 🩰 ) 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥! #enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen oneshots #enhypen jay imagines #enhypen jay smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen scenarios #enhypen heeseung imagines #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen sunghoon imagines #enhypen sunghoon smut #enhypen jake imagines #enhypen jake smut #enhypen x you #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen jay x reader #enhypen drabbles #enhypen headcanons #enhypen reactions

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

eddie wakes up with a red string tied from his finger to yours, no idea where he got it, and no idea how to tell you that you're caught on the end of it. soulmate!au. fem!reader, 16k.

content warnings mentioned issues with self image, implied body dysmorphia, reader is insecure/a touch shy, alcohol, a short kiss after one character has been drinking, weed mentioned but not used by eddie or reader. please read with care! requested here ♡

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Eddie remembers the party in flashes. The feeling of his thick-soled creepers caught on the floor, wings in fly paper. Someone's headphones cracking like a wishbone between two hands and a fist fight in the backyard. Your hair touching some degenerate's cheek as they leaned down to kiss you, and the shudder that ran through you as you opened your mouth. Beer. Beer, cheap wine, another beer. 

While he realises the beer may be fogging his memory, none of the fractures explain the piece of string tied to the marriage finger on his left hand.

He stands in the tiny trailer bathroom with his back against the door, the hustle and bustle of his Uncle Wayne's morning routine filtering through the flimsy door. It bends under his weight. Anymore pushing and it'll fly off the hinges.

The string withstands reasoning. Eddie wasn't particularly alarmed when he couldn't slide it off of his finger that morning, half-falling out of bed and desperate for the bathroom. He figured himself the victim of an elaborate prank, toppling out of bed to follow the red string where it stood taut. He chased it to the door and gave up when he realised that it disappeared down the dark stretch of road leading out of the Hills. 

Panic set in somewhere between peeing and a pair of scissors falling apart around the string in the kitchen. Like even the touch of the string was an insult, uncuttable. 

From there he tried yanking, buttering, slicing. The butter made his fingers greasy and the knife went dull. To the touch, the string is thin. Twelve pieces of strand like doubled embroidery thread, plain cotton to the eye, maybe polyester if the minimal iridescent shine is a clue. He can spread it out between his fingers and thumb, he just can't cut it off.

"Eddie, what the fuck did you do?" 

Eddie winces and drops his hand from his eyes. The string slides down the doorway where it's trapped with a light shushing.  

"What?" Eddie shouts back to Wayne. 

"Don't what me, son! Come here." 

Eddie groans and hangs his head. Pissed, he scrounges through the laundry for a shirt that's in acceptable condition and attempts to put it on but the insufferable string refuses to play nice. It bends, snags, and Eddie can't find a way to get it off —he has to pull the string toward him, pleased if sceptical to find that despite its taut nature, it will allow him enough length to get an arm through his sleeve. 

"What the fuck," he mutters, looking at the mirror in disbelief. The purple-yellow bruise haunting the hollow of his right eye has shrunk since last night, to his relief. Upon reflection, Eddie doesn't think it'll draw much attention. 

The string doubles back on itself, a red line up the length of his arm to his armpit where it disappears into the sleeve. From there, it snakes down his stomach to pull out from the bottom hem. 

If whoever has the other end of the string decides to pull, his shirt will rise up. Awesome. Really great. He's a fucking streaker.

"Edward Albert Munson, if you don't get in here!" 

"Wayne," Eddie says, pushing open the bathroom door with a suffering sigh, "what do you want me to say? I can't get the fucking thing off'a me." 

Wayne is thoroughly unimpressed where he stands in the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest and gaze on the countertop by the sink. 

Eddie's confused at first, complaint dying on his lips as he remembers the mess he made in a mad dash for freedom half an hour ago. Butter shines yellow and melted on a small plate, the broken scissors tossed frustratedly aside, a useless knife in similar fashion at the bottom of the sink. 

"What the fuck, Eds?" Wayne asks.

Eddie holds up his hand. "I don't know!" he says, exasperated, eyebrows halfway up his forehead. "I woke up with it, I can't get rid of it." 

Wayne's turn to be confused. But, like his newphew's, his confusion doesn't last long. "What happened to your eye?" 

"The string?" Eddie asks, waving his red string around for emphasis. Bruises are commonplace, were nearly normal the summer between nine and tenth grade, this weird magic string is anything but. 

"That what kids are calling shiners?"  Wayne asks, taking Eddie's face in a rough hand. "At least say you got one in too." 

"I don't remember." 

"You don't remember?" Wayne asks, a mixture of unimpressed and horrified. 

"No, I…" He bats Wayne's hand away, giving his tired-faced uncle an abashed smile. "It's fine, Wayne. I was at Gareth's last night." 

"Ah, well that explains it. What does your bruise have to do with the state of my kitchen? You try cutting it off?" 

Eddie turns from Wayne to grab the scissors and knife. He wraps both in paper towel until the sharps (or not so sharps) are covered and tosses them in the trash, scrounging for a bottle of bleach under the sink to wipe away his buttery mess. "You're focused on the wrong disaster, Wayne. Like, I tried following the string out the door and it's a half a mile long. I'm gonna follow it in the van." 

"Is this, like, a trend? Speaking in tongues to get out of trouble?" 

"What are you confused about?" Eddie asks, spinning back to hold his hand in Wayne's face. 

Wayne doesn't look like Eddie, he's not so dark in the hair or eyes, and he obviously doesn't look like Eddie's mom, but the smile he gives him now was one Eddie's mom wore all the time, enduringly fond. Wayne takes Eddie's hand, turning his nephew's palm this way and that as the string slithers against pale knuckles. It almost writhes. 

"What am I supposed to be seeing?" 

"That's not funny." 

"I'm not joking." 

"Wayne," Eddie says, his shirt rising as he pulls on the string to catch the light. It shines in a way that isn't normal, too many colours like the scale of a deep sea fish. "This!" 

"Right… I can't see whatever it is you're seeing. How hard did you get hit? Jesus, I asked you to stop getting yourself in these messes, you could get seriously hurt."

Wayne doesn't waste another second looking through Eddie's string. The weight of a long shift rests between his shoulders, abates as he brings the chipped rim of a Garfield mug to his lips. Eddie swears the chubby cat is mocking him, cruel eyes smirking at his misfortune.

"Unbelievable," Eddie mutters, ditching the whole scene in search of his dingy black sneakers. 

Wayne chuckles and opens the cabinet where they keep their cookies and coffee cakes, calling, "You want breakfast?" 

"No! I have delusions to attend to. Need anything while I'm out?" 

"A new pair of scissors."

Eddie pretends to stab himself in the eye by the front door, over and over. His frustration calms. He slips into loose laced sneakers and grabs his jacket where it's hanging on the coat rack, digging for his keys.  He elbows the door ajar, and doesn't notice his van isn't in the driveway until he's standing at the bottom of the porch steps, flabbergasted. 

"Did you wanna borrow the sierra?" Wayne asks from the door. 

Garfield looks on in silent judgement. 

Wayne generously lends Eddie the sierra. He's relieved when he shuts the door on his string and it behaves like regular old string (which is to say, it doesn't buckle the metal), but then he tries to grab the steering wheel and his finger almost pulls from the socket, stopped by the string. His relief ends. 

"Fuck fuck fuck," he says, opening the door, gathering some string and closing it again. Righted, he pulls his shirt back down his torso and starts the car. 

Eddie's hoping he can follow the string to its beginning, but at this point he's sure he got his shit rocked hard enough to forget being hexed by a devious yet loveable warlock —the string can't be a real string. It doesn't tangle around the wheels of the car as he drives over the faint line of it leading from Forest Hills into Hawkins' town centre, it just vanishes, like Eddie's winding it around a bobbin. 

He takes the first exit on the traffic circle reluctantly, away from the string and toward Gareth's house, where Eddie assumes he left his beloved van. He can't believe how wasted he must have been, and now that he's accepted the string as an irksome constant but prioritised it below van retrieval, the hangover he should definitely have rears a head. His stomach hurts, his eyes are sand, you were fucking kissing somebody else last night— 

Eddie might throw up. He rolls down the window and sticks his head as far out of it as he can justify while driving. The roads are quiet, a late morning in Hawkins pockmarked by the burr of lawn mowers chewing up perfect lawns and the spray of illegal sprinklers. The sun emerges slowly and then all at once, licking his naked arms with the promise of sunburn should he continue the day unprotected. Eddie never seems to tan. He hates the sun, anyway, the glare of it bouncing off of the road in a blinding dotted line. He unfolds the visor over his seat.

Needless to say, he's in a shitty mood when he finally gets to Gareth's house, spying his van wedged in the driveway between a miscellaneous ford and a buick.

Hungover, too hot, trying not to panic about the red string choking his knuckle. It can't seem to decide on how tight or loose it's going to sit. It tightens as he climbs out of the sierra, loosens as he walks toward his van. 

"Hey, gorgeous," he says, patting her freshly lacquered body with love. She's all jet black now, rust buffed and wheels shiny. 

There are bikes crowded against the house wall like toppled dominoes. The window shades are closed but the door is wide open the hinges, the sharp smell of booze wafting out into the sun. Give it enough time and Eddie's sure the sun'll bake all the milling bodies into a brand new smell. 

"Hey, man," Jamison greets, sitting on the kitchen counter and unfairly put together considering the bottle of sours he demolished alone last night, "you survived." 

Gareth is face down at the table next to a plate of cold toast, jelly congealed. Jeff stands by the patio door smoking a cigarette that smells exciting, and Macy stands doing the dishes at the sink.

"Got the girl doing the dishes. Classy," Eddie says.

Macy drops the sponge she's using into the water, soap bubbles dripping from her fingers. "Thanks for offering." 

He relents. The mess they've made —and it is generous to call it a mess, more apt might be an explosion, or a weather event— is extensive. Pizza boxes upturned, tomato sauce and stringy cheese smashed into the fridge like a modern art piece you'd see at MOMA. Eddie wouldn't put it past drunk or high him to have done it, declaring some statement of pretentious high horsery, so he doesn't comment on it. If it was him, he doesn't wanna know. 

"Some party," Jeff says through smoke. 

Eddie pulls the stopper out of the sink to let the water drain. He doesn't roll like that. "What the fuck happened?" 

Gareth rouses at Eddie's question, said as it is with vigour, and remembers his toast. He takes a bite and turns in his seat to blink blearily at Eddie. For a second, Eddie kids himself into thinking his friend can see the string currently spilling water onto the floor like a tightwire. 

"You lost your shit and wrecked my house, you stupid bastard." 

Eddie looks to Jamison, as if to say, that true?

Jamison pushes a long arm behind his back and stretches. "Y/N was hooking up with Cory Wilson and you took it like a champ, in my opinion. We had a good time." 

"She hooked up with Wilson?" he asks, dread pooling in his stomach. The string shudders as you had, Eddie remembers, your chin tilted up and your eyes closing into sweet dark lines, painted lashes squeezed together. 

"She took you home," Macy says, muffled, a hair tie between her lips. She lets the thin blonde strands of her hair fall back to her shoulders. "She didn't stay the night?" 

"That would've been kind of sick," Jeff says. 

"He could barely walk," Jamison agrees. "Okay, I'm lying. You were fine." 

"I figured she'd have to stay, the way you were begging her. Ditch Wilson, baby, he doesn't know you like I know you. We can make it work, just say you'll stop seeing him." 

Eddie drops a plate in the sink with a splintering crush. The answering roar of laughter tells him what he hadn't had breath to ask. No, he didn't really say any of that shit. 

"You were drunk, not stupid," Jeff says.

"Not that stupid," Jamison corrects. 

Eddie frowns down at the broken plate in the sink for a breather. Nerves abated, total loserdom escaped for another day, he holds his damp hand up in the air.  "Any of you fuckers seeing this?" 

"Get a new tattoo?" Macy asks. 

He shakes his hand, the string (still caught in his sleeve, line like a bright vein up his arm) shaking. "You don't see it?"

"Your artist is gonna be pissed, they hate cheaters." 

Eddie sighs. "Can someone pass me the trash can?" 

They clean the house together in fits and starts, all nauseous, all wishing they'd had the sense to have a chill get together, just the five of them. Gareth declares his home a no go scene for the rest of summer and Eddie doesn't bother offering, nobody wants a party at the trailer park. Seeing the disco ball missing a rainbow lense under the stairs, a jumbo box of popcorn sprayed over the entire downstairs bathroom, and poor Manny Gomez cup-locked where he snoozes on the Persian rug in the lounge, Eddie wouldn't agree to host a party ever, even if he lived in one of the rich kid cribs like Harrington. It takes hours to put it right.

The longer he cleans the looser the string becomes. It drops to the floor (seemingly done with no regard to the laws of physics, having magicked itself out of his sleeve at a point, unnoticed) and trips him up as he walks downstairs. Eddie led a one man search party for Gareth's pet fish who some idiot transferred to the bathtub. The fish flops around at the turbulence of his trip inside of a temporary cup, but Eddie manages to return the poor thing to its tank uninjured.  

"It's fucking sick," he says, crouching down to follow the fish as it reacclimates. Its big black eyes are like sequins set in orange glitter, scales glistening, a shimmering of purple and teal blues kissing its underbelly as it swims. "You're a beautiful creature. I'm sorry somebody tried to evict you, babe." 

"He's a boy." 

"Yeah, and he's a babe." Eddie bites his tongue. 

You bend at the waist. With the shades still drawn, the brunt of the light entering the room is from your left, and the right side, the side closest to Eddie, is lit blue by the fish tank. You smile gently at the goldfish puttering around between artificial seaweed, an expression that grabs Eddie by the intestines. You feel his gaze, turning your face ever so slightly to his. 

"Don't look as nice without makeup, I know," you murmur. 

You're dressed differently today, stripped back in one way and more beautiful all the others, bare-skinned, no makeup or glitters to hide behind. Eddie remembers every detail of what you were wearing last night, the details stamped into his temporal lobe (before he drank his weight in other peoples booze). Black tights that shimmered slick oil as you moved and a tiny dress to boot. You're not a small girl, thighs there and grabbable and so un-grabbed, and when you bent down Eddie's shamefaced to say he followed the line. He loved how you looked last night, loves how you express yourself, but he craves how you are now, the lesser seen side of the same coin.

"You look nice." He cringes, his reflection in the fish tank glass a horror. Eddie never actually managed to shower this morning. If he doesn't smell like pale ale it'll be a miracle. "You do. At least one of us showered." 

"I'm surprised you're alive," you say with a fond smile. Eddie never takes your insults to heart because you never say them to hurt. You're easygoing. You're light incarnate. "I haven't seen you drink that much since graduation." 

"Macy says you took me home." He stands at full height. You follow suit. 

"Kicking and screaming. You told me you were going to drink every drop of Mr. Lashlee's bourbon or die trying, and you tried." 

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks. He can be volatile when he's intoxicated, like a fish out of water. 

You gesture to his cheek. "Hurt yourself. You were freaking out and your hand kicked back. I didn't think it would bruise. Does it hurt awful?" 

Your sympathy melts him. Eddie shakes his head, lying through his teeth, "I can barely feel it." 

Your hoodie drowns you, your jeans not as oversized but hiding the feats of your thighs from view. He can't say he's not disappointed, though it's cute on you, your jeans rolled at the ends to showcase mildly mismatched crew socks and a pair of converse, their rubber shiny with newness besides a small sharpie heart on the left toe. Trapped beneath them is Eddie's string. 

He tugs it out. You show no sign of feeling it as the string snaps upward like an elastic and stops short. It goes stiff as a stick, tied from the knuckle of his marriage finger and leading…

To the knuckle of yours. 

Like matching rings.

Eddie thinks, Sure. If I'm delusional, of course it's something to do with you. 

"Don't suppose you can see it?" he asks, pulling against the string. The red band expands to accommodate you, rather than tug you inward. It has a mind of its own, apparently, listening to Eddie only on occasion. 

"The bruise?" you ask, confused. "It's hard not to see. But it's not too bad. You could buy some powder for it if it bothers you, but I think it makes you seem cool." 

"I don't seem cool?" 

You smile as though you're sharing a joke. If you are, Eddie hasn't heard it before. 

It's weird, crushing on someone. He can't remember feeling this way growing up, spending sun-soaked days at playgrounds and parking lots and the pool, wet to the knees, you and your friends sitting under the shade of the umbrellas. The first time he saw you there, in your bikini bottoms and your big white t-shirt bent over a book, he didn't feel any sudden revelation. No spark. No pulled string. He thought you were pretty without bragging about it and he met you not long after that at a nondescript barbecue. Then he stopped hanging out with his middle school friends and flunked two years. He forgot you existed. And now he knows you again, he feels more and more of himself bending and twisting trying to be what you want him to be, or what he thinks you want, at least. If you want Wilson, he can be Wilson. Eddie can kiss like a fish and wear too much cologne, he can sell out and cut his hair to the ears. 

Well, maybe not that far. I still want to be me, he thinks, eyes on your hands and the string stretched between them. The red seems darker now, onyx hued, ropey as blood. 

"What are you doing here?" Eddie forces out. Not surprised, you and Macy are close enough that you've formed friendships with the whole gang of merry misfits, but wondering if his string has pulled you here. Does he have any say? 

"I thought I'd help with the aftermath, see if anybody wanted to get burgers, the works." 

Eddie catches a flicker of nervousness in your stance, the half-step backwards you take when his shoe nears your own. The string loosens.

He doesn't have any intention of making you uncomfortable. He probably smells like a dumpster, he wouldn't blame you for needing space. And if who you were kissing last night is indicative of who you'll be sidling up to again in the future, Eddie has low hopes for you both. 

"Burgers?" Manny groans from the floor. 

You turn slowly on one heel. "Hello, Manny," you say, angling your head to line up with his. "Someone's drawn on you." 

"What did they draw?" Manny asks, rubbing his smeared face sluggishly. 

You look to Eddie for guidance. The reality of Manny's tagging is embarrassing. 

"It's a dick, I'm afraid." Eddie offers Manny a hand. "With disproportionate, uh, baubles." 

"But I'm sure Benny won't care," you say.

—

Benny makes Manny wear a baseball cap pulled down low, because This is a family establishment, Man. Every time you see the thick-lined drawing on his cheek you smile and feel awful for it, but luckily Manny seems to be taking the joke well. 

If you'd fallen asleep at the party last night and woke up with a semi-permanent tattoo of similar calibre you'd be too mortified to bother leaving the house until it was gone. You're not thrilled with your appearance as it is. Any cruel additions would have you housebound. 

Guilty, you take a bite of your burger to hide your smile. Eddie's already clocked it, generous enough to pretend he hasn't noticed, and Macy finds it funnier than you do, so she's yet to notice your amusement. The rest of the boys are making ornaments out of plastic straws. Gareth is shit, Jamison better, but Jeff takes the cake with a three layer birthday cake, candles included. It strains to break as he adds another candle. His bloodshot eyes show no signs of anxiety. 

Manny grabs a napkin and knocks your ice tea. The cup sloshes but doesn't spill, ice cubes clinking and beads of condensation racing down the sides of your glass. You pick it up to feel the cold. Lately you've been morose. The cold, any sensation, can put distance between you and the heavy for a while, but there's no cure. And now you've gone and let Cory Wilson of all people kiss you for the simple fact that he wanted to. 

He's the first person who's ever wanted to kiss you. 

But you don't want him to kiss you again, and you're not sure how you manage it. Do you have to tell him you're not interested? Probably not, it was just a stupid kiss. He dipped down, his lips hot, his smell nice if overpowering, and it was right for a while, it was what you wanted, but then his hand dropped down rather than up, searching for something to take rather than something to hold. 

It's not how you pictured it. 

"You okay?" 

You raise your eyes, ice tea in hand. Eddie splits his attention between you and a basket of crispy crinkle cut fries loaded with cheese and bacon bits. He's nonchalant, his shoe tapping into yours as he leans forward for another bite. He chews, and he waits for you to answer. 

"I'm alright. Thinking about work." Bad lie. "Gareth said you got a new tattoo?" 

"Nope. I've been thinking about getting a new one to fill the gap under my puppeteer," he says, extending his arm to show you it in the light, the ridge and weave of his veins stark against his white skin. They're especially fierce leading down to his wrist, as is the small notch on the outermost side. You reach out to touch it without thinking, fingertip rubbing carefully over the bump. 

Eddie pushes his arm closer. "I want something here." He draws a half circle with his opposite pinky in the empty space. "But I can't think of what I want. Sometimes you go to the shop and they have a bunch of flash sheets and you like one of them enough to get it, right? I don't know."

It means a lot to you that he'd let you touch him without asking. You should've asked. 

He should've asked you, but he was drunk. You're not sure he was thinking straight. 

You sit back in your seat and finish your iced tea, feeling the cold slide down into your chest. You shiver at the feeling. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Eddie asks. 

"Why wouldn't she be okay, Munson?" Manny asks. 

"Quiet, dickhead." 

Manny snorts, grabbing a greedy handful of Eddie's fries as punishment for a low blow. Eddie couldn't care less, clearly, his focus on you and your moping. You step into a sweeter smiling version of yourself that you save for times like this. 

"You know I work for Deenie DIY?" you ask. 

"Of course I know that," Eddie says, and not in the way people do sometimes where they assume you're insulting their intelligence, but the nice way. Like knowing where you work is easy information to carry.

He's the nicest of his friends, which is a credit to him; they aren't a bad bunch.

"So, I have this coworker that keeps bringing soup to work, and she swears that someone is syphoning off a couple of spoonfuls before lunch every day…" 

Eddie listens to your story with a weird expression. You bumble through the twists and turns of the world's stupidest fable, how she blamed a bunch of different people and now no one likes her, and the soup was getting warmed up by the fridge lights —it was her own fault. He listens, he smiles and nods and offers commentary that's funnier than the original story, the entire time with a downturn to his lips. You hate seeing him like that, but you don't know what to say. 

Plates left streaked with ketchup and mayo, glasses dotted by greasy prints and lip smackers, you and your friends tip as generously as twenty-somethings can afford and decide to head back to Gareth's for a couple of hours. It's barely past noon on a Saturday in late July. Nobody has to work for at least thirty six hours. You pile into two cars, arguing about what tape to play for the ten minute drive. Eddie ends up in the seat beside you somehow, and he doesn't shy away when the car takes a bend and you lean into his side. 

He puts his arm behind your shoulder. "Sorry," he says.

"It's okay." 

You lift your head. The memory of his face hovering close to yours, the sweet smell of cheap cherry wine on his breath, his hand clumsy with drink but kind as it climbed your back, your dress thin enough to catch your death, thin enough to feel like he was touching bare skin. Sorry, he'd said, you're just so fucking beautiful. 

"I gotta take my uncle's car back. Wouldn't do me a solid and come with?" he asks. 

— 

You follow Eddie in the van. He can see you in his rear view mirror, your hands on his steering wheel, the window down and the breeze ruffling your hood. 

Jeff was too high to drive and Eddie wouldn't trust Jamison to drive a moped. Gareth can't drive and okay, Macy can, she's good, but Eddie chose you for a reason. The string tied between your hands clings from door to door. 

Eddie pulls the sierra into the driveway in front of the trailer, holding two fingers up to you as he hops out and jogs up the steps. Two minutes.

"Wayne? Brought the car back." 

"How's your bruise, Eds?" 

Wayne's laying on the couch with a blanket over his legs, coffee cup swapped for a plate of cookies and a bag of chips. Eddie leans on the doorway, Wayne's keys on his finger. The string bobs back through the door, as if to say, Hey, she's over here, dipshit.

"It's fine, what are you eating? Did you have breakfast after I went?" 

"Yeah I had breakfast, I'm a grown man." Punctuated by the crunch of potato chips. "It's lunch time. This is my lunch." 

"Let me make you a pot pie or something." 

Wayne waves him off. "You're going back out. Who's in the van?" 

"That's Y/N." 

Wayne smiles knowingly. "Ah, is it?" He stands up with remarkable speed putting his plate of cookies on the table. He ducks down to peek through the window, and you must see him or wave, Wayne waving back. "Make her come say hi." 

"I won't be making her say shit." 

"She was nice last night." 

Eddie cringes, having forgotten you were his saviour. "Do I wanna know what you said?" 

"I said you were an idiot and an embarrassment, and that your safe return deserved a reward. You should invite her over for dinner." 

"No, because that's, like, a couples thing. Come and meet my parents," Eddie says, shoulders jumping, hands up in jazz hands, "laugh at my baby photos." 

"I don't have many of those. Got a bunch of you when you were fourteen and deep in the glam rock obsession." 

He used to say Eddie could wear whatever he wanted and paint his face a hundred different colours as long as Wayne got to take a picture. 

"Great, I'll invite her, and you can show her your nice album of reasons not to date me." 

"Son, why don't you just ask her to dinner? Worked in my day." 

"You're not even old. And I was going to," Eddie whines, rubbing the flat of his forehead ineffectually. "Then she was kissing this idiot Cory Wilson last night. I blew it. Lost my chance."

"I still think you should ask her for dinner. Any sense about her and she'll say yes." 

It's one of those reassurances your mom says to you when you're down on your luck. Handsomest guy in the world, how could anybody say no to that face? 

"Maybe I'll ask her." Eddie smiles nervously. "We're gonna go hang out, cool? You going to Dean's?" 

"None of your business. Yeah, I'm going to Dean's, just to help him fix his hand saw. I'll be back before six. See you then?" 

Eddie tosses Wayne the sierra keys. "See you. Don't drink too much." 

"Ironic, Edward!" 

Eddie leaves the trailer feeling vaguely hopeful about you; maybe Wayne's right. Kissing somebody doesn't mean you're married, but the window of opportunity to let his feelings be known is getting smaller the longer he waits. And seeing you standing against the grate of the van with your hands in your pockets, slice of your calves peeking out between your socks and jeans, big sleeves on your hoodie falling up one arm, he doesn't know if he can wait anymore. 

"Hey, would you wanna get out of here?" he asks. "Like, ditch Gareth's for a bit?"

"And do what?" 

The string shortens as he closes the gap between you. He twists it around his finger. It's tied to you —it must be a sign. (Or he's imagining it and he has, like, a paralytic brain worm eating its way across his eyeballs.) 

"I don't know, hit the goodwill? I have somewhere between twelve and sixteen dollars with your name on it if you're interested." He tries not to shrug, can't help it. "Only if you want." 

"Yeah. I want to." You worry your lip. "I'm not dressed to go out." 

"Are you kidding? You look fine. You look good." 

You rub your wrists together, grimacing. 

Eddie can roll with the punches. "Or you could go home and change first?"

"Would that be okay?" 

Eddie's glad for offering to witness the spectacle of your bedroom. The string seems to hate him but love you, giving you space all the way here and yanking him like a bad dog when he strays too far. You change behind your closet door and it forms hearts at your feet, unperturbed by the mountain of rejected shirts and skirts. 

Eddie lounges in a bean bag by the door, taking in your belongings as he waits. You've crafts on your desk, little origami cranes made of paper you've painted with watercolour. Phthalo blue and alizarin crimson foiled with short, skinny strokes of gold etching. Intricate and simple, time and care poured into each sheet. 

"Are you sure I'm okay by here?" Eddie asks. 

"Can you see me?" 

"No." Eddie can see shelves of books with creased spines, your made bed and all your mismatched sheets, the candles on your window sill —moonlight meadow, half-burned and sun-bleached; candied sweetheart, untouched; white lily and freesia, a double wick with only one melted tunnel—, and the soot stain unfurling like a soft-edged flower around the curtain pole. "Can't see anything." 

"Then don't worry." 

The sun ticks higher into the sky as an hour stretches into a second since you left Gareth's together. Eddie likes his room, his dense kingdom of the stuff that make him him, but he likes yours for the quiet. He can picture you sitting cross legged on your bed with a book in your lap, your back arched uncomfortably forward, a day old drink of water on the ceramic coaster with tiny bubbles clinging to the sides of the glass. He thinks he'd like that, to sit here and watch you, listening to one of your CDs, the string between you bouncing with each turn of a page. 

Eddie pulls on the string experimentally. Determined to fuck with him, it becomes a tauter thread, and the momentum of his tug tips you over. Your hand follows the line and the sudden slip pulls you into view without a shirt. Eddie flinches and looks as far away from you as he can. 

You laugh to yourself, but the sound is bitter, like burning coffee grounds on the tongue. 

"Is everything good with you?"  

You and Eddie are friends. Not great ones, but enough to have been able to ask you to ditch the others. There have been hundreds of seconds alone, the two of you sitting together at tables edged by arcade machines, diner booths, bowling alley benches, waiting for the others to get back, and those are moments where Eddie found time to fall in love with you. The string must be a manifestation or those seconds, threads of time tied together that join you forever, even if you can't see them. They're there. Eddie cares about you and it makes his throat hurt to hear your unhappy sounds; you have a morosity to you that he isn't heartless enough to ignore. He doesn't want to. 

Everybody has an unseen misery weighing them down. Eddie needs to find a way to hold yours for you. Just for a bit, however long you need. 

Unless Cory Wilson is going to take that mantle. Maybe that's why you're sighing; Eddie would be pretty upset if he had to remember being kissed by Wilson. He was already upset about it, and Wilson didn't kiss him. 

"Hey," Eddie says, peering between his fingers. With you definitely out of sight, he lifts his head. "Seriously, are you good?" 

"I don't know what to wear, that's all. Sorry for taking so long." 

"We could sit here till tomorrow and that would be cool. We don't even have to go, but you don't have to stress about what you're wearing. It's goodwill." 

"I always get stressed about what I'm wearing." 

"Is that a girl thing?" 

You toss a pretty flowered dress over the closet door. It slinks under its own weight and puddles on the floor. "I've always been like this, I get too focused on looking nice, it winds me up." 

"You always look nice." 

Your laugh says you certainly don't believe him. "Thanks, Eddie." 

"I'm not just saying it to make you feel better. You'd look nice in a potato sack." 

"Like Marilyn Monroe." 

"Who?" 

You appear in a sliver, naked arm linked to an unseen but unignorable naked chest, your face over your shoulder and a beatific silkiness to your smile. "You know who she is. Happy Birthday mister president? Blonde, with her beauty mark." You tap your top lip with your pinky. 

"Oh, right. Did she wear sacks often?" 

"Someone said she was beautiful because her clothes were designer and made to fit, so she did a photoshoot in a potato sack to prove she was beautiful." 

"You could totally do that." 

"It's not other people I need to convince." You retreat behind your closet door again, your voice half as clear as you confess, "I think… I've always been like this. I look in the mirror and I don't even know who I'm seeing. She doesn't feel like me." 

Eddie's ridiculous sitting on a beanbag while you bare your heart. He swears in his head and climbs onto tired legs, his hangover beating like a dull knife between his eyes for a moment while he gets used to standing. 

You take his silence for something else. "Sorry, ignore me. It's weird." 

"That's not weird. It's not." He tries to say what he means and not the first words that come into his head. "You know, I used to feel that way. Growing up, in junior high, I felt like such a poser. Even when I started being myself, I didn't feel authentic. Does that… is that similar?" 

"I guess so. How did you make it stop?" 

"Okay, this is gonna sound bad, but my mom died." Eddie twists a ring around his knuckle, the string tangling between fingers. "And I didn't care for a while. And then I got older." 

"I'm sorry," you murmur. 

"It's okay. I didn't say it for sympathy. That's just what happened." Eddie sits gingerly on the end of your bed. He doesn't want to intimidate you —after all, you're a young woman alone with him in a state of undress. A vulnerable young woman, if you're as upset as you're beginning to sound. "I'm trying to make you feel better with the worst personal anecdote ever." 

"You don't have to make me feel better. I shouldn't have brought it up, I don't…" 

"You can tell me anything," he says. 

You appear again, this time fully clothed. Black skirt to your knees —the sickest skirt you've ever worn— and a thin gauzy camisole, you look beautiful, and insanely uncomfortable. "Really?" you ask, hands wringing.

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. I promise." 

"Well. Last night," —Eddie sees flashing lights, the carbon bubbles in a spilled beer— "I let somebody kiss me."

He knows. It's agony. Eddie waits for you to continue with an open expression despite the feeling your confession inspires; he assumes this is what a knife to the eye feels like, the willing horror of letting you use it. 

"Nobody's ever wanted to kiss me before, so I let him. And I'm shit scared that I'm never gonna recognise myself in the mirror, so I'll keep letting him kiss me." You wring your hands meanly. "Sorry, I know I sound like a bad movie. Why is talking about your feelings this awkward?" 

"That was your first kiss, last night?" 

It's not the right question. You wince visibly. "I know, I'm in my twenties, it's embarrassing." 

"No, that's–" Eddie sighs. "That's not what I meant." What did he mean? Fuck, I wish it could've been me, and Jesus, that doesn't make a lick of fucking sense. You aren't right, for starters, Cory Wilson isn't the first person who's ever wanted to kiss you, he's just the bastard that got lucky enough to have you reciprocate. "Wait, was it okay? Did he corner you?" 

You sit on the end of the bed with a small smile. "No. He didn't pressure me." 

"Was it what you wanted?" 

"Not really… I guess I don't know what I want." 

Is that rejection, or is he self-absorbed? Should he take the hint, or is he just another guy making it about himself? Eddie leans back into your bed to escape the heartbreak of being close to you, the string anchoring his hand in place as he tries to scratch his chest. 

"It's not embarrassing to get your first kiss in your twenties," he says, eyes roving over the lines of a small paper butterfly, black cardstock like ink against your white ceiling. "That's what your twenties are for." 

"Don't bother, I know exactly how you lost your virginity." 

Eddie scrunches his eyes shut, can't stop himself from smiling as his wry voice scratches out, "Listen, everyone knows how I lost my virginity, but that's not the point." 

"You'd think a seventeen year old would make marginally better decisions." You're teasing, not shaming, your smile playful. 

"No, you wouldn't. Seventeen year olds are stupid. I thought I knew what I wanted at seventeen and now I'm twenty three and the only thing I know for sure is that I don't know a thing. The point of being twenty is doing shit for the first time. It's our first time being grown ups." 

"That's wise," you say. 

"Fuck off." 

You lay down beside him. The string whips like a ribbon in the wind before falling into the shape of a heart again, clearly pleased to have you near. 

"It's not embarrassing," Eddie says quietly. "But when you get your second kiss, I think you should save it for someone you want to kiss. Don't just let someone have it because you're not sure of yourself." 

"That's a nice sentiment, Eddie, but I already gave it away." 

He swallows his surprise, a tiny spike of agony. "How was that one?" 

"I'm not sure about it. I don't think it counted." 

"Do I wanna know?" 

"I'm not sure about that, either." 

"Was it Wilson?" he asks. 

You turn your cheek into the bedsheets. He can hear the fabric brushing your skin, turns ever so slightly to meet you, a few inches all it would take to breathe the same air. 

"Eddie," you say, very, very softly. 

His heart eases into his mouth a beat at a time until it's thrumming between his ears. 

"Yeah?" he asks, his tone a twin. 

"I think I need to cancel our plans." 

It's not what he's expecting you to say. 

—

There's a black velvet jacket dotted with embroidered stars hidden under your bed, their silver thread like cosmic dust. Music pounds the floor and shakes the house's foundations, seeping down into Macy's damp basement one rippling riff at a time, the bass of it deep in Eddie's chest, but he can't stop thinking about your jacket. Did you know it was there? 

The string tied to his marriage finger grows restless the longer you and Eddie are apart, bouncing like a shockwave whenever he thinks your name. In fact, all it takes is the idea of you, the slightest memory of your smile, your hands, the way you tell stories to the group with your shoulders turned to him like he's there alone, and the string flinches. 

"Are you okay?" Manny asks. 

Eddie drags his way up the couch. "Hey, Man. You got the dick off your face. That's great." 

Manny lifts his cheek. "Had to steal some of my mom's make-up. Can't tell, huh?" 

The colour match is dubious, now he's mentioned it. Eddie doesn't have the heart to tell him, flopping back into the crisp, cracked leather seat beneath him. A circle of his face is sticky where it clings to the couch. It's among the worst feelings of this earthly plane, grim as ice cream dripping down your hand on a hot day, or perpetually gutting heartbreak like he suffers now. 

"I think I'm seeing things," Eddie says. 

"Jeff has stuff for that." 

Eddie groans loudly. With the way he feels it's not melodrama. Just pure human anguish. He groans again when nothing changes, fisting his hair in two aching hands. He's clenched and unclenched his hands for hours all day, trying to force the hurt away from his chest, chasing breathlessness to the tips of his fingers. Pins burn his palms. 

He knew in the back of his mind that you weren't going to want to date him. Realistically you have options, even if you think you don't, and his being your only option wouldn't inspire romance anyways. Being someone's last resort isn't love. None of it was love, you aren't in love, but Eddie thinks he could've been. He was halfway there, falling, whatever the poets might say —Eddie wants you. Wants to do stupid shit with you. He can picture the scene like he has before, that first bouquet of flowers, lilies with big white petals and purple sunspots. The cellophane would crinkle in trembling hands pressed to his chest, their stems leaking dew into his hardly worn button up. He'd pass them to you with more confidence than he feels and tell you that you're pretty. You're always pretty. 

He's not pretty, he's barely funny. He was stupid for thinking you'd like him too. 

The string is pale pink. Eddie loops it around his finger thoughtlessly, worsening the sting of pins and needles. 

There were times… 

He clutches his chest. The nausea he's feeling can't be understated.

There were times when you could've been in love with him, he thinks. Splitting a cigarette you had no business splitting on the steps of Jeff's porch, your vanilla chapstick softening the filter. Holding his hand for support as you made the hike down to the lake, your fingers curled around his like you worried you might hurt him. In the passenger seat of his van on the way to your house, laughing as he sang along to a Van Halen guitar solo. You could've been in love with him. 

But Eddie didn't ask you out. He didn't do what Wayne said, because goodwill is not dinner, and now you're probably happily sequestered in Wilson's BMW. He jumped the wrong gun and he blew it. 

"Seriously, Munson, are you good?" 

"Peachy." Eddie holds up the sign of the horns, pinky and index finger up, thumb holding his marriage and middle finger down, face buried in an old cushion. 

"Let me go get you a joint." 

"I gave it up." 

"Dude. Pizza it is." 

Eddie waits for Manny to leave before he turns onto his back. Last night in the shower after a knowing shoulder squeeze from his Uncle and a frankly overflowing bowl of microwave spaghetti, he pressed his forehead to the tile and let it all ache. He might have cried or water may have streamed from his hair, he genuinely doesn't know, but he knows he's in danger of another round of the same if he keeps thinking about you. 

He's a big boy. He can cope with your decision. 

"Eddie, what are you doing?" 

Eddie sits up with a handful of clicks. "Robin?" 

"Hey," Robin says, "whaddya know, I followed the smell of sadness and rejection and here you are." 

She's dressed fancy, her hair in a rare updo, faux pearls dangling from her ears to kiss the collar of a leather jacket. "Shit, you're so cool, Buckley." 

"Thanks. You okay?" Robin asks, sitting on the arm of the couch. 

Eddie's stomach churns as her perfume reaches him, the sweet, subtle smell of vanilla under white musk. He leans his face against the starched denim of her jeans. "Who told you?" he mumbles.

"Steve. Who else?" Robin pats his head. "But Jeff told him. And I was talking about your bruise." 

Eddie waves off her concern. "Where is Steve in my hour of need?" 

"Smoking a not secret cigarette with Jeff," she says, a melodic cadence to her usual light rasp. 

"I wouldn't risk Jeff's cigarettes." 

She snorts a laugh, "Steve would risk his life for a cigarette. He loves to say that quitting was easy, but he drinks half a beer and starts gasping like a fish." Robin mimes Steve's apparent desperation, to Eddie's delight.

She smiles as his laughter peters out, tilting her head to the side. "So… was it bad?" 

"I don't know." He rubs his eyes. "The last time I got rejected was in senior year, and it was– I didn't even like her, you know, thought she was pretty, but this is different." 

"Sorry, Eddie," she says, pushing her bottom lip up into her top one, a bubbled pout that betrays how out of her depth she feels. 

Eddie isn't trying to make it awkward. "That's okay. I liked her, she doesn't like me, it's cool." The string flails. The music from upstairs gets louder. "What the fuck is happening? I thought Macy said it was a quiet one." 

Robin and Eddie start up the basement stairs to the main body of the house. The air is warmer and thicker, the faint smell of hotdogs and burgers grilling in the backyard filtering inside through the patio doors. "You know," Eddie says, glaring at the sudden crowd, "there's an atari down there." 

"Sorry, I think I'll have to keep my idiot out of trouble." Robin points at Steve near the stereo with Jeff, the two of them laughing hard enough to bruise as they mess with the pitch of the music. "Steve! You'll go deaf in your good ear if you don't stop!" 

"What?" Steve shouts. 

Robin rushes over to drag him away from the stereo. Eddie doesn't want to be your best friend, but if it was a friendship like Steve and Robin's he would consider himself lucky to have it, smiling as she wraps her arms around his chest from behind and pulls him away, sniffing at him, her nose wrinkled as she gives a reprimand too low for Eddie to catch. "I'm serious," she says as they grow closer, weaving around the living room coffee table and retreating back into the slim hallway leading to the basement stairs, "where are your earplugs?" 

"In the car, Rob. I'm fine, I promise." 

"Sure. Alright, Eddie, would you keep him away from the stereo?" Robin shoves Steve toward him. "Thanks so much." 

"I'm not high," Steve says as soon as she's gone. 

"While that's uber convincing, honeybear, I don't care if you are," Eddie says lightly. "Not a cop. Wanna go get a burger?" 

They move away from the living room and into the kitchen, where Steve nearly trips over the door jam and Eddie forgets for the first time in days how awful he feels. 

He sits Steve down at the glass table next to Macy herself and a younger friend of Manny's. Jamison and Gareth stand at the grill arguing about who's doing what, but Jamison proves to be the better grillmaster and the better friend, dropping two burgers on paper plates in front of them not more than twenty seconds after they've sat down. "For you, my poor little Munson," he says, smacking the ketchup and mayonnaise down between them. "Eat up." 

"I can't get the cap off," Steve complains, welding a bottle of mayonnaise at him like a dagger. 

Eddie sighs. Steve is definitely high. "You know Jeff doesn't smoke plain rolled cigarettes, right? Like, you knew it was weed?" 

"Whaaaat?" Steve asks exaggeratedly. "Open my mayonnaise." 

"Plausible deniability," Eddie says. "I like it." 

He finds that taking care of Steve is a good distraction, but there's only so much care a grown man needs, high or not, and Eddie's gaze is pulled to the string. It's impossible to stop thinking about you on the other end of it. He tries not to look at the string at all, but he can't, being as permanently tied to his finger as it is. What's worse is seeing people tread on it. The colour fades slowly, once a strong red, now a meek pink. At this rate it'll be bone white by the end of the night, like a vein with no supply. Maybe that's how this ends. You stay kissing Cory Wilson and the string dies. 

As he thinks it, the string tightens. The pink turns rosy, turns healthy, red as a rose, vice-like on his finger. Eddie knows without knowing that you're near. He could've guessed without the string's shifting, your presence the antonym of sixth-sense chills. He turns back toward the house and catches a glimpse of you as you walk past the patio door in your black velvet jacket, those tiny sparse stars like needlepoints from this far away and glinting as you turn to let Robin pass. 

"Holy fuck!" Robin mouths, Steve's earplugs in a small pouch meant for coins in hand as she speed walks down the short path to the table. "She's here!" 

"I can see that." 

Robin sits on the chair next to Steve's. He passes her the last half of his burger and takes the earplugs from an outstretched hand, shaking them from their pouch. You'd never look at him like this with mayonnaise on his top lip, thigh to thigh with loser-sweetheart Robin Buckley, and think he'd be violent. He isn't, truly, his hearing loss the result of getting his ass handed to him hard, and the motivation of a pacifist who wears ear defenders to the movies. 

"You're gonna have to speak up," Steve says, pushing the plugs in. 

"Yeah, man." He doesn't have much to say anyhow. His stomach is curled in knots, the string a tightrope without walkers between him and you in the kitchen. You're talking to someone, walking one way before rushing the other. "What the fuck?" Eddie asks, sitting up. 

Macy stands as somebody gasps. Eddie's quick to follow, Gareth jumping back out of Jamison's reach as the grillmaster swings a long pronged fork his way. "What?" he asks cluelessly. 

Eddie follows the string to you, stepping over the patio doorjam and into the cacophony of the kitchen. Blaring rock music vibrates through Eddie's worn shoes, but it doesn't occlude the vehemence of Cory Wilson's slurring. "I should've known," he hisses. 

Eddie would stand in front of you, he should, he's going to, but he doesn't and he can't fathom why. He's glued to the spot as you defend, "I didn't know. And I didn't do it on purpose." 

"Are you fucking with me?" 

"No." You sound startled rather than scared, but the cagey way you've moved back and the curl of your hands into fists says otherwise. "No, I didn't kiss you to–" 

"To what? Guess it doesn't make a difference. I should've known. Two guys in one night's a good night for a girl like you, huh?" 

You flinch away. It could be the pull of the string or the panic on your lips as you struggle to speak, or maybe Eddie's done being a coward who half-asses his life even if you're not gonna kiss him like he wishes you would, whatever it is, it has him standing in front of you unafraid. 

Cory Wilson is rough. Eyes bloodshot, evil on tequila sliders from the sugary brown stain on his collar, he takes one look at Eddie and starts laughing. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, a girl like her? Why don't you explain it?" Eddie asks, his voice burnt, almost acrid in his own mouth. "What, you plant one on her and you think it's alright to talk to her like that?" 

"Eddie," you say. 

He reaches back gently, his fingertips brushing your abdomen. 

"You're a fucking classless act, Wilson, you always have been. You don't talk to her like that." 

"Why don't you stay out of it, freak?" 

"Dude," Jamison says. "No way. Get the fuck out of here." 

"You can't stay out of it, can you? It makes sense now I'm seeing it," Cory rails. 

This is so teenaged angst and Eddie's over it. You'll have to forgive him but he's feeling territorial. This is Macy's house, they're your friends, and Cory was a dick before he kissed you. "This is embarrassing, dude," Eddie says over the island, meeting Cory's eyes straight on. "Don't do this shit." 

"It was you, right?" Cory asks, nodding, mind made up already. He peers around Eddie's shoulder to stare at you incredulously. "Him?" 

"It doesn't matter!" you insist, stepping forward. "Why does it matter? I said no, I don't wanna go home with you, I'm sorry, I told you more than you needed to know because I thought it would help you get it, and I'm sorry I let you kiss me! I'm sorry, I thought it was best to be honest with you." 

Eddie's thinking you don't have to say sorry for anything. Cory's thinking about the milling crowd of young adults haunting the corners of the kitchen and pressed in from the hallway, rounding the island with his chest puffed up. 

"It was Munson, wasn't it?" 

You take a step back into Eddie. "It's fine," he says to you quickly, because coward or not he'd never let someone hit you, but you're pushing him behind you. You're protecting him. 

"Yes, it was Eddie!" you say. "So what? It has nothing to do with you."  

Macy cuts in, all red hair and glare. "Okay, enough. Cory, you have to leave, man. You can't yell at girls in my kitchen because they don't want to sleep with you." 

Eddie stares at the back of your head. 

Did you kiss him? That second kiss, that was with him?

"You kissed me?" he asks quietly. 

Your lips part as you look at him from over your shoulder. Macy and Jamison argue with a red-faced Cory, Steve asks Robin what someone just said and Robin shouts the answer, but Eddie couldn't tell you what anyone's truly saying if you paid him to, his attention on the pillow of your bottom lip and searching upwards as you exhale. 

"Eddie, you kissed me." Your eyes are soft, the starts of your brows hooked together. "You really don't remember?" 

"I kissed you? When?" He grabs your arm, pulling you toward him. "At Gareth's place?" 

"I took you home," —you drop your chin, a new panic about you as your voice drops, waning, tenuous as spider silk— "you were wasted, you'd been drinking Macy's wine and Mr. Lashlee's bourbon and I didn't mean for it to happen. I wasn't trying to get you to kiss me, Eddie, I just asked why you were upset." 

"What did I say?" 

"You said that I was beautiful. That you wanted to kiss me, and then you did." 

Sorry, he'd said, you're just so fucking beautiful. 

"And then you freaked out like you'd been laced about string between your fingers. I took you to your room and told Wayne you ate a bunch of hotdogs on the turn." You won't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. I never meant for it to go that far." 

A glass smashes. Eddie takes your hand, pulling you away from the scene and through a curious crowd to the back door. He closes the patio doors behind you and half jogs you down past the smoking barbecue and all its leftovers, chairs pulled out haphazard from the garden table and food discarded. 

He has to be quick, he doesn't know how much time he has before everyone comes flooding back out of the house.

You're strangely timid, shame having sewn your brows together. "Eddie, I'm sorry," you say, your hand wriggling weakly in his to be let go. He lets it fall.

"Sweetheart, stop. Just stop. I'm the one who's sorry… I think I–" He sighs, you're so fucking beautiful on loop in the back of his mind. "I remember. I know I made a move. You didn't do anything wrong." 

"I should've stepped away faster. I wasn't expecting you to kiss me." 

"I shouldn't have kissed you." 

"It was just a peck, Eddie. It's okay, 'cos it's not that I don't want you to kiss me ever, but you were drunk. I should have–" 

"You didn't do anything wrong," he insists, cutting you off before you can criminalise yourself with a vehement shake of the head. "But that's– that's–" He chokes on his question. "What did I say about the string?" 

"The string?" you ask, and fuck! Fuck, you look beautiful now, beautiful still as the night moves forward and the day's last lazy dregs of sunlight dapple your skin through the hanging branches of the surrounding sycamores. You stuff your hands in your pockets and pull your jacket around your tummy to hide from the cold, the string tugging with you. Your eyes are wide with confusion. "You wouldn't stop talking about it. That's when you hit yourself, your bruise?" 

"After I kissed you, or before?" 

"After, but… why does it…" 

"I'm going to sound crazy." 

You laugh softly. "No different than usual, then." 

Eddie opens his hand and holds it out for yours. The string on his finger is loose but not long, moreso when you give him your hand. "I know you can't see it, I get that it's ridiculous, but there's a string tied from my third finger to yours. This red piece of thread like my nanna would use. I woke up yesterday morning and it was there. I thought maybe I was going crazy, because I like you," —he swallows air, no idea why this is so hard— "and I saw you kissing that loser and I figured it was some quasi manifestation of how much I want to be near you, like torture, but it was after I kissed you. It appeared after I kissed you." 

"So we're connected by a string?" you ask slowly. 

Eddie's genuinely ecstatic that you'd even entertain it. "Yes!" 

"Show me," you say. 

"I can't." 

"Well, where is it?" 

The string is tight as a wire again. Eddie runs his finger along it, hoping that'll help. You can't see the string but you can see the ease with which he follows it, how his finger slides from one end to the other seamlessly. Inspired suddenly by the memory of your bedroom, Eddie grabs the string near the middle and pulls. 

The string deigns to do his bidding, yanking your hand forward. 

You pull it back instinctively. "Is that a trick?"  

"There's a string. I've been losing my mind trying to show people, I tried to cut it off. It's impenetrable." Eddie stamps down his excitement in the face of your less enthusiastic frown. "It runs from me to you." 

You rub your marriage finger, the string a strong and shimmering crimson at your touch. "I can't feel it, but you pulled me." Your eyes are shiny. "Eddie, you like me?"

"Yeah, I do." He can't believe he's admitted to it out loud. No escaping it. Of the two secrets he just told you, it's the least terrifying. He wants to say more and he wishes he could take it all back, your confusion tangible in the lines of your frown, your gloss-sticky lips drawn thinner. 

He's interrupted. 

"Hey, Y/N!" Macy calls, slipping through the doors, Robin on her heels. "You okay?" 

Eddie steps back from you guiltily. 

"I'm fine! I'm fine, Mace, I was trying to let him down easy and I kept saying the wrong thing." You drop your hand out of the air. "I'm sorry." 

"Hey, it's okay, I don't care. I don't want people yelling at you, that's all." She spies on Eddie out of the corner of her eye. 

"I'm not yelling at her," he defends. 

"Yeah? You should both come back inside, then. Have a drink. That's why you're here, right?" 

She smiles until Eddie realises, defeated, that she's not gonna leave you alone out here with him. That's fine, he's glad people are looking out for you, but fuck is it annoying. He's finally told you about the stupid impossible string that links you together and you almost believed him, he could see it, and worse, his confession lays at your feet unanswered. 

Macy pulls Eddie back by the t-shirt as you walk on ahead, where you're quickly commandeered by a concerned Harrington, a chocolate milkshake in his hand that he instantly attempts to share. "Eddie," Macy says, jaw dropped in emphasis, "you kissed?" 

He covers his eyes with his hands, palm out, solid rings digging into his eyelids. "Not really," he says, a pounding headache emerging between his eyes. "No. I guess not." 

—

Hawkins library smells musty with disuse. Dust motes swim between beams of light shining down through dirty windows, an aged yellow colour painting the pages of the book splayed in front of you. You'd originally retreated into Hawkins library in the pursuit of one thing alone: resolute, guaranteed solitude. You'd considered disconnecting your phone, but your address isn't a secret. The only sure fire way to be alone was to leave, and to hide. 

No twenty-two year old Hawkinite spends their Sunday mornings at the library. You'd carried a litre bottle of water and a tupperware of sandwiches into the recesses of the old building and dropped into a creaky desk bright and early. For a blessed, blissful half an hour, you set your cheek to cold wood and closed your eyes, content to be unreachable. 

It's not that you don't want to see people. Not that you don't want to see Eddie. You don't want to be seen. Not today. 

Some mornings you wake up and feel wrong. You can shower, dress in new clothes, wear makeup and nice shoes and pretty bangles, but none of it makes any difference to your poor self-esteem. You figured every woman feels this way —what is there to love in a world that advertises solutions to problems you didn't know you had until they printed it in magazines? But it's been getting worse. 

Now you're lonely enough to let acquaintances kiss you for the simple reason that they want to, and insecure enough to attribute that want to a specific motive, but Eddie said he kissed you because he thinks that you're beautiful. Because he likes you. Because a string runs from his hand to yours that can't be severed. 

The latter feels as mythological as the former. 

It's a mess. You've asked a thousand questions. Would the situation be cleaner if you rejected Cory? Did Eddie kiss you because he realised he could, that you'd let him do it? Cruel. Not his style, and mean to think of him, but a worry nonetheless. From there the questions broaden, immature in root. Does Eddie actually like you? Would he be your boyfriend? Does he want that, do you want that, is he okay? Was he high last night? Was he ill? 

You flick through tomes with sweat thumbprints pressed deep into the corners and sides, scanning mildly then feverishly for an answer. Love myths, old legends, everything the librarian can give you on fantastical sweethearts —soulmates.

Eddie thinks that there's a string tied from his finger to yours to torture him as a link to what he wants, but can't have. 

It doesn't make much sense. Eddie Munson could have you if he asked nicely enough. 

That might be the problem. He's never asked anything of you. Eddie's a giver, constantly, a thousand little gifts. Your hair is nice like that. Do you want to sit here? You'll get the next one, but he never lets you get the next one. 

His very best gift was small. Waiting for Gareth to bring the car around and hiding from the early summer rain under the Hideout's short veranda, you and Eddie sitting on a cold wall, his jacket underneath you as he insisted to stop you from catching a chill. You remember thinking he was pretty even with his hair in his eyes, his cheeks hollowed in concentration. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, offering a glimpse of a guitar pick tucked inside of the plastic photo window. "This is my best kept secret, okay? Don't go spreading it around," he'd said from the corner of his mouth, deft fingers folding the length of a receipt into a square. He tore the excess, leaving himself with an incredibly small scrap to start with. From there he made the paper crane swiftly, folding neat corners and twisting the snout, placing the finished craft on your stocking-clad knee. "Here." 

"How did you do that?" you asked, awed. 

He made you a square of your own, shuffled closer to you on the wall, the heat of his hands near yours to correct you and his patient demonstration booting your heart into overdrive. You remembered every step of his origami even weeks later, folds of paper brushed by the soft memory of his fingertips on the back of your hand, accidental touches, and the smell of him, so close. 

Those paper cranes in your room, tens of them sewn like popcorn strings at christmas… 

You shake the thought from your head and close the book. Maybe you do like Eddie. Maybe you have all along (tenuously, waiting to get let down, and thinking there wasn't a chance in hell he could ever like you back). And now he likes you back? 

This obsessive retrospection is bad for your head. Sighing, you stand from the desk you've monopolised and stretch your arms over your head, taking a breath to peer down at your fruitless investigation. The string is in his head. He punched himself pretty hard the night you took him home —he's reeling from the after effects of booze and a mild concussion, no doubt. His mind is playing tricks on him. As far as you're concerned, there's no string. (But your hand moved when he pulled. But you want it to be real.) 

You pull the books to your chest and ferry them back to the lonely shelf they came from toward the back of the aisles near the audiobook stand. 

Fuck, you think to yourself, kneeling by the mythology section to begin putting your books back in a vaguely organised manner. Your reading provided no answers, and you're starting to worry it's none of the scenarios you'd contemplated, but a mean-spirited joke. What would Eddie ever want with me? you think, neatening the edges of the books slowly. 

Realising you like him, his chaste kiss, the red string, it's a lot to take in. You aren't sure what you believe, but you'd love to believe Eddie, in both of his confessions. 

You're standing and dusting your knees when you see it, a small cloth bound book shoved between encyclopaedias on the shelf above. It's more like a personal notebook than a novel. You reach for it on a whim. The cover is selenite white, slightly coruscating in the light and broken only by the weighted lines of Chinese characters painted with the bristle of a squirrel mop brush. You trace the last of the characters mindlessly, the English translation beneath it reading, Chinese Folk Mythology. 

You open the book to the first page, blank; the second, the titular; and the third, contents. You flick through creation myths and cosmology, defeated before you've even begun. You really want Eddie to be telling the truth about this —if he is, it means he's telling the truth about liking you, puts real feelings behind his tipsy kiss. 

The first and last burst of colour stops you short. 

The red thread of fate. 

A red line furls from one corner of the page to the second page opposite, shot through phrases, your eyes catching fast on choice words. Invisible to the mortal eye. Marriage of two souls. Tangled, knotted, but never broken. Fate. 

You sit on your knees on the floor of the library, the pages spread flat under your hands and their minute trembling. 

— 

Eddie checks his hair in the rearview mirror again. "Loser," he says, looking himself straight in the eye. Then he smiles with teeth, kicks open the driver's side door, and drops out of the van with a crushed bouquet of flowers held to his chest. 

Today's been a nightmare. Between you (always you, his only thought of the growing mess he's made) and Wayne, he's been flayed. 

"Your room is a pigsty, Eds, I'm not happy," his uncle had said, glaring at him over the lip of his coffee mug. Garfield absent and replaced by genial Odie, Eddie still felt abjectly judged. 

"I've been busy!" Eddie defended, too worried to eat and instead working his way through five pieces of nicotine gum at once, his jaw aching with each magnanimous chew. 

"Yeah, busy turning down shifts and spending all your money on burgers and beer." 

"I'm way too old for this," he said through gum bubbles. 

"Exactly! Too old to need reminding. If we get bugs I'm kicking you out." 

Wayne would never kick Eddie out, but that wasn't the point. "Wayne, I'm having a crisis. Could you have, like, a modicum of compassion for me? Your only nephew? In his time of need?" He clutched his chest. "Christ, man." 

Wayne leaned backwards in his chair to fish the trash bags from a miscellaneous drawer. "This is compassion. Don't be gross." 

His room was chaos rather than gross, knick-knacks in their wrong places and two hampers worth of laundry piled behind the door. The whole time he cleaned, he debated if it was appropriate to call you, and when he finally bit the bullet and picked up the phone you didn't answer. That's fine, except he called Robin (who was predictably nursing a rumpled Harrington back to health but had enough wherewithal to ask for the hot gossip), Macy (who told him to leave you alone if he was causing trouble), Gareth (who laughed), and Shauna (fucking Shauna) in search of you, and nobody knew where you were.

It got to the point where he couldn't not check on you. Couldn't stay stuck in the narrative anymore of your will we won't we. It hurt his chest too much, a real anxiety with claws to match. He hit Bradley's for a bouquet but the flowers they had were wilted slim pickings, and then he raced to the bakery before he thought about it too much and left empty handed. 

Imagine buying a girl baked goods for her to reject you. Eddie in the rain with his paper bag of croissants and dying flowers. 

He couldn't find you through the phone, but he has a secret weapon: the string that leads from him to you tied tight to his finger, a compass without magnets. He followed it in the van to this secluded spot overlooking Hawkins town, and knew he was in the right place when he found your car parked on the hill. 

His palms clam on the way up, pine needles crushed to mulch under his cons. Dirt crusts their white toes and puddle water splashes over the tongues, seeping into his socks. The rain slows to a pittering that beads down the arms of his jacket and along the ridge of one finger, welled cold at the line of a titanium ring. 

The string is trodden and dirty on the ground. Eddie toes at it as he goes, the thread red but not taut, leaving you closer than he expects you to be, perched on a picnic table with an umbrella held loosely on one shoulder. 

"Hey," he says, tensing as you tense, softening his voice appropriately. "If you don't wanna see me I understand, and I'll leave, but I wanna talk to you… If that's cool." 

You peer down at the umbrella handle under your fingers. "Sure, Eddie. You don't have to leave." He counts his lucky stars, more when he sits on the bench beside you and you ask, "Are those for me?" 

He fights through nerves, flowers squeezed to death in his grip. "They're for you. I had to buy a couple of bunches. These are the best of the worst." He offers you the flowers, cellophane crinkled in his hand, not half what he pictured but somehow better for being real. "I'm sorry." 

"Don't say sorry for giving me flowers," you murmur in your way, not mindless but small. Not tentative, just careful. 

"I'm not sorry for giving you flowers, I'm sorry that they're wilting. I wanted to get you a bunch from Leaven, you know, impress you even if it was too late. I'm sorry for a lot of things, actually. Mostly kissing you without asking first." He doesn't mean to say it like that— oh woe is me. "I want to be honest with you," he confesses, quieter. "Stuff feels weird and awful." 

"I know what you mean," you say. 

"But talking to you isn't like that. Talking to you is..." He scratched his neck sheepishly. "This is going way worse than I pictured." 

"Yeah. Yeah, it's pretty bad." Your voice is calm against his awkward panic. You aren't ridiculing him, the opposite. You're in the same terrified boat. It's reassuring at least to know he's not alone. 

You put your hand out without turning his way. Eddie stares at it with another gasping round of chest pain but takes it swiftly in both hands, too much. Why are you this fucking weird? he asks himself. 

"I think I believe you." 

Eddie bites the inside of his lip. Your hand is marginally smaller in his, softer by yards, and easy to pet at your admission. He feels this bone deep longing to stroke the back of it and he does, the side of his thumb tracing the faint indentation of bones beneath your skin with the care of someone handling a more delicate artefact, the string shortening, shortening, until it's all but disappeared. You're hardier than a rough hand-hold, he's wanted to do this for so, so long. 

"About what?" he asks. The string? Or his affection?

"About the string." You struggle with the flowers and the umbrella in your other hand but make no attempt to take the first back from his grip. 

He waits for you to say more, seconds turning to minutes, his palm growing sweaty in yours. Eddie wants to be cool like a rockstar who knows you want him and doesn't care, and he wants to be sweet and gentle and give you the respect you deserve, but mostly he wants to make it out of this conversation with you at his side. He's not sure how to do it, but holding your hand as you want him to is a start. 

"I have to ask you something," you say finally, as though the words have been dragged from the root of you. "This string… this isn't all a joke, is it? That would be– that would be sick. If it's not real." 

"No!" Eddie interrupts. "It's not a joke, I get if you think I'm crazy but I'm not trying to mess you around–" 

"I don't think you're crazy. This whole situation is crazy. It doesn't make sense." 

"But you believe me?" he asks. What he's really asking is Would you believe me, please? He's so tired of being alone with this. 

"I found this book at the library." Your hand livens in his, your fingers pushing between his to twine together solidly. "Talking about the red thread of fate. There's a myth that people who are destined to get married have an invisible string tied from their fingers. It gets bigger and smaller, and you can't cut it no matter how hard you try, but I still didn't know if I believed you. You could've read the same book." 

Didn't know. Past tense. "What changed your mind?" 

"How would you know where I was if you were lying? We're twenty minutes outside of town." 

"I could be a stalker." 

"Do you want me to believe you?" you ask with a laugh. 

"Of course I do," he says warmly, spurred by your laughter, pulling your arm bodily into his and encouraging you closer. "You don't have to believe that we're destined to be together, but the string is real." 

"And you like me." 

Eddie's turn to laugh. "I do, yeah. So much it's embarrassing." 

"Everybody knows but me?" 

"Kind of." 

"Oh." You lay your cheek against his shoulder. Almost like you're testing his limits to see if you're allowed. 

Rain dots lightly on his jacket arm, the chill of the weather sudden and obvious. He covers your wrist with his hand to hide you from it, knowing he should offer to take you somewhere warmer but needing to stretch this moment, his chest alleviated of anxiety pangs for the first time in almost a week. 

"You really think I'm pretty?" you ask quietly. 

Eddie stares at the top of your head. "You're the sweetest thing I've ever seen. Even if you don't believe it yourself, you're beautiful." 

It's not that Eddie thinks you're going to cry but you come apart, slow fissures in the last of your strength. He takes the bouquet from you to lay on the table behind and closes your umbrella, letting the drizzling rain kiss the tops of both your heads. You look as nervous as he feels. "Come here," he says, desperate for you to feel better. "C'mere." 

You sew your arms under his as he wraps his around your shoulders, the string stretching so as not to hurt you. Your voice comes rushed and low, honesty now that you're no longer face to face, "I like you too, Eddie. Ever since you made me that paper crane, I think." 

He rubs your back. "You don't have to sound upset about it," he teases, trying to rescue you from tears. He'd hate to see you cry. 

"This has all been such a mess." 

He hugs you harder. "I know. I promise I'll make it up." 

"But it's not your fault." 

"Maybe, but that's kind of the point of being with someone. Looking after each other, cleaning up messes. I want to." 

"You're with me," you repeat carefully. 

Eddie pulls back, taking your face into his hand. The string lines your cheek like a teardrop curved down the slope of it. He strokes the red thread gently with his thumb. "I want to be. You think that could work? Us?" 

Your fingers curl into the crook of his elbow. You nod into his touch. "If this isn't a trick."  

"It's not a trick. I'm in love with you," —he wants to lean in, and he can't, not yet, not while a fraction of you still thinks he couldn't want you sincerely— "everything about you. I think I have been for a while." 

"In love…" you murmur into yourself. 

You lean forward slowly, stilted, and when Eddie leans in to meet you your eyes flutter closed. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thinks. He might have kissed you before but he doesn't remember it anymore than a phantom, a ghost, the echo of a memory. He remembers what he said and the blooming pain of his hand kicking back into his eye a thousand times clearer than how your lips felt, he has no idea what you like, where to put his hands—

You kiss him first. You lean in, and you kiss him gingerly, waiting for an impending cruelty or rejection that's never going to come. He keeps it gentle, holding his breath as the tip of his nose slides across yours and his head tilts to allow better access, a proper, full kiss. 

For someone who hasn't had very many, you're a good kisser. A little too still. Eddie sees no harm in it, moving back a millimetre to wade in again immediately, his left hand rising to join the right on your warming face and prompting you into a braver reciprocation. 

He smiles at the feeling of your bottom lip pressed against the seam of his mouth. His jacket sleeve creaks as your grip tightens. 

It's a lovely kiss, even if it's tenuously taken. It's everything. For a while the rain doesn't matter, steams off of him, but it must fall too harshly for you to ignore, peeling away from him, so, so carefully. He meets your softened gaze with a similar expression. For once, you seem completely present, and better, your smile is real. 

"Was that okay?" he asks, sliding his hands down the lines of your neck, feeling for nothing in particular. Feeling to feel, wanting to learn every hill and bow of you. 

"It was better than the first two," you say, an endearingly bashful answer.  

"That's not difficult. One was from a wet-nosed, mouth-breathing imbecile and the other one was from Cory Wilson." 

You laugh without restraint, a full-bodied sound that echoes down his arms. "I think you mixed that up," you say nicely. 

Flirting! Eddie could burst into tears. "You think? How about slimy, frizzy loser?" His hand lives a life of its own, squeezing your shoulder as he suggests, "Desperate and unobsequious uggo?" 

Raindrops catch your forehead as you tip your head back briefly, laughter bubbling on your lips, your relief a palpable saccharine. "In what world are you an uggo?" 

"What, do you like me or something?" He takes another kiss, lips lingering, longing for just a few more seconds. "Notice how you didn't disagree with 'desperate'? 'Unobsequious'?" he murmurs, a quarter inch from your mouth. 

"You're not desperate," you murmur back, almost inaudible under the patter of rain. 

"But?" 

"But I don't think unobsequious is a word." 

"No?" he asks, kissing you again. The awkwardness is gone, replaced by a melding need. "You don't think so?" 

"No," you defend. He can hear your fondness. 

Eddie presses a tight kiss hard enough to feel the impression of your teeth over your lips before tearing himself away. Kissing you isn't a tenth of what he wants from you; there's a lot to tell you. He needs to start now. 

Your lips part as though you've a question to ask, too, but you bring a distracted hand to his hair. "Your hair's getting curlier in the rain. It's…" 

You falter. 

"I'm drowned, huh?" he asks. 

You try to say no. Your hand wavers shy of a coil, listless, "No way," you whisper, eyes on your hand now, on your marriage finger and the red string playing at your knuckle, shimmering with a fish-scale sparkle as you pinch it between your thumb and forefinger on the opposite hand. "I can see it." 

"You can see it?" Eddie asks, leaping onto his feet. 

Your face is transformed, infinitely, impossibly prettier by your beaming smile as you clamber to stand in front of him, stretching the string between your bodies experimentally. "I can see it!" 

"You can see it?" he asks, vaulting his weight into you, his arms working around your back in a squeeze. 

You pull your arm up between you both and twist your wrist this way and that, the string following your whims as you lean back in the circle of his arms. Your eyes flicker between him and the string, as though you're working out which one is an illusion. Eddie and the string are both real. 

"We're really soulmates."

Eddie doesn't know if he believes in soulmates, but he believes in the hopeful colour to your voice as you say it, and the tacky skin of your cheek as he leans in for your fifth kiss, your sixth, each one better than the last. 

If his soulmate were going to be someone, he'd want nothing more than for it to be you. 

—

"Come on! We're so late!" 

Steve detaches himself from the frankly killer novel in his lap to turn, his sunglasses casting you and Eddie in a sepia tone as he drags you bodily down the path to their picnic spot. You giggle girlishly at Eddie's telling off and the bodily nature of his pushing, flopped like a fish out of water in his arms. 

"I'm hurrying, Eds, you're just faster than me." 

Eddie pretends to drop you, to your roaring delight, your laugh echoing across the park and drawing the eyes of Steve's summer club. 

"Here comes happy and happier," Robin groans. 

"You wanted them to date," Steve says, turning to his best friend where she lays on the blanket beside him, his jacket a pillow under her neck. "You have sleep in your eyes." 

"I'm tired," she defends, struggling into a sitting position. She wipes her eyes with the bottoms of her palms, mean, words stretched with a yawn as she continues, "Please tell me Eddie has the basket." 

"Nope," Max says, slamming down on her knees next to Robin, her jeans already grass-stained. 

"Y/N has it," Lucas clarifies, sitting down with them in similar fashion. 

Steve's daunted by them when they're together, but he leaves his commentary at an unintelligible curse word, his head tipped back in annoyance. They're constantly pulling the carpet from under him, practically manufacturing flaws to tease him about, Max whip-smart and Lucas loyal to a fault. 

Still, he likes them. 

More than he likes Dustin when the curly-haired boy sits down next to Steve and takes his hat off. "Feel how sweaty this is getting." 

"Rather not, dude." 

Eddie speaks, closer now, and Steve misses the words but not the tone of them. Dripping, almost sleazy affection, the kind that knows what it is unabashedly. You stand on toes to kiss the highest point of his cheek as quickly as you can, your hand on his trap.

"Hey!" Eddie shouts to their turned head, waving a hand of rings, calluses and bandaids. "You guys look like meerkats." 

His cheeks are rosy red with blush despite the moderate temperatures today, the sun set to come out in an hour or two when the cloud cover moves. Said meerkats make room for you on the picnic blanket, where you share the bounty of your basket, sandwiches and cut fruit. "There are chips in the car," you say. 

"You cut up fruit?" Robin asks. 

"Eddie did. I watched." 

"And ate the best cuts," Eddie says proudly, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to drown you in a hug. You slink an arm begins him to hug him in return, your face pressed with delight to the curve of his neck. "As is her right." 

"Don't be disgusting!" Mike calls, a baseball bat in unconfident hands.

"You sure you know how to use that thing?" Eddie calls back. "Lucas, I thought you were helping him, man? Help him!"

"Some people are beyond help." 

"Shut up, Dustin." 

Despite an abundance of company and a ton of shit to do, you and Eddie are distracted by one another, and Steve isn't stupid enough to not get why. They didn't see you both for a week, and then you emerged from your self-imposed quarantine as grossly in love with one another as Steve has ever seen two people be. Like, maybe the happiest couple ever. In some loud ways but mostly quiet ones, hands held, fond cheek kisses to say hello, these weird paper birds you make for each other whenever there's a scrap of paper left lying around. Eddie's doing it now, having stolen the sticky note Steve was using as a bookmark to craft a teeny tiny crane, Steve, their called cranes. One second it's a pink diamond and the next he's performing an intricate twist, four last folds, and placing the finished product on your knee. 

Steve's sort of jealous, but you guys are too in love, honestly. It's nice if you're in it but too intimate if you aren't (nothing maliciously done, of course), so he rounds up the troops for the first round of baseball to give you guys some privacy. 

If he's expecting you two to start French kissing when he leaves, he's not correct. He wouldn't know it, back turned to you as he takes first bat, knees bent and waiting for Erica to serve, but you guys talk. Talk talk talk. Eddie can talk for Indiana and you listen in your way, wryly amused, promising any minute now that you're gonna get up and spread out on the field.

"Is this a bad idea, sports? What if it beheads someone?" 

"It knows how to behave," Eddie assuages, hand on the blanket next to your thighs, turned toward you, effectively locking you in. "We don't wanna get that involved. You look too good right now to ruin."

Nothing can fix the insecurities you hold instantly, but knowing someone wants to kiss you regularly has helped. Eddie's constant compliments have done even better. He's easy about it, no fuss, no bravado, praise said like fact. Come here, pretty girl, I got a present for you. Hey, gorgeous. You should do my hair, yours always looks so good. And the photos —he has a disposable in the glove box, and insists on taking photos of you when you're especially happy. Now that he's your guy, that's often. 

"You're saying I wouldn't look good if I sweat this off?" you ask, gesturing to your face and your makeup. 

"I know you'd look good." He dips down for a kiss, as if daring you to suggest otherwise. It's a touch rough, twice as devoted. Things are heady for a time, the two of you stealing another short moment to add to the list, your kiss made of twin smiles.  "Maybe we can use it to our advantage," he suggests, pulling back to stroke your cheek. 

"The string?" you ask. 

Eddie steals a last quick peck before his hand climbs onto your leg, giving your denim-clad thigh a pat. "We'll use it to trip people up. Come on, it'll be fun. We'll get Harrington flat on his ass," he says, clambering onto sure footing.

"No way," you say, leaning back to see him, your hand nudging aside a plate of sandwiches. You shield your eyes from the sun as it comes out, sunlight like spun gold spilling down your arm. "I'm not helping you hurt your friends." 

"What, those guys? They're just my D&D subs." 

You shake your head at him in disapproval. 

"I'm kidding!" he says, reaching down for your hands. "Get up, sweetheart, we'll only trip someone if we need to win. Stop fighting me, you know it's useless. I always win." 

"You cheat," you sigh, letting him help you onto your feet. 

"I cheat," he agrees, kissing your cheek, then the opposite, before holding them in both hands and leaning in. "I love how you sound when you know you're losing–" 

"Shut up–" 

"You get all breathless," he says, his face drifting closer, and closer, "all shy on me." 

"If I knew you were gonna try and embarrass me this much I never would've said yes to being your girlfriend," you say, half-glaring at him with a wave of affection brimming behind your poor acting. 

"Really?" he asks. His voice is low, a little rough. 

"No. But you have to stop, okay?" You laugh, nudging him in the stomach with your knuckles. "I wanna play baseball." 

Steve waves Eddie over from home base to field on his team while you join Max, Robin, and Lucas in line to bat. "This isn't enough people for baseball," Eddie says, crushing emerald green bluegrass beneath his shoes. The rainfall last week made for lush vegetation. 

"Yeah, which is why you were supposed to invite more people," Steve quips. 

"I was busy." Eddie rolls his shoulders. "We don't need more people to win. We got this." 

"We do not got this! And no going easy on Y/N, okay? I don't care if you're together, we need to play to win. Loser's buying the winner's pizza and I just got Sheila out of the shop."  

"Are you kidding?" Eddie asks, stretching his arm behind his head, his eyes across the field where you laugh at Robin's side. "Obviously I'm not going easy on her. Why would you think that?" 

"Seriously? This is the worst honeymoon phase I've ever seen. I figured you guys wouldn't even be able to play on different teams, like, major separation anxiety." 

Eddie does this thing with his hand, his thumb plucking an invisible string. "I don't need to worry, man. I know exactly where she is." 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, especially if you got all the way to the end! hope you enjoyed ♥

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4

[wildheartsalwaysburn]

OP men taking care of their SO

Gn!Reader (I tried)

Characters: Trafalgar Law, Eustass Kid, Sanji, Bartolomeo, Corazon

CW: mentions of ED (starving, vomiting, overexercising), bad body image/body dysmorphia, cursing, SH, slight nsfw for Kid

Notes: I'm in a terrible mental state rn, kinda relapsing. OP hyperfixation fixes stuff so I decided to write some HC how they would act when noticing their SO is struggling with an ED.

Trafalgar Law

he had a bad feeling about your eating habits a while ago

noticing you rush to the bathroom after every meal and "showering" excessively

but didn't mention cuz he knows to leave people alone (he's the same tbh)

it hit him during the monthly physical examination

he listens to your heartbeat and notice it being really low

"y/n, would you step on the scale?" he asks in a cold but also concerned tone

as he notices you getting anxious when standing in front of that thing, he sighs and puts a hand reassuring on your shoulder

"it's ok. I'm here. Just step on it, please." his voice still concerned but warm and soft

he looks at the low numbers in shock and takes you carefully from the scale before you can see the numbers

"y/n-ya. What's wrong?" he'll take your cold hands and sits right in front of you

if you break out in tears, he'll just sit there and hug you tightly, til you calm down by yourself

if you stay cold and stubborn, he'll get annoyed but also takes care of you

either way, you talk a lot and will make a rehab plan, he'll watch over you as much as he can

he won't miss a moment to show you how much he loves and cares for you

"you're the most beautiful soul I know, y/n-ya."

"I know it hurts, but I cannot lose someone I love dearly, again."

"We get through this, ok?"

all in all, he's a doctor and acts like one, but he'll support you whenever needed

Eustass Kid

he notice during working out together

the last times you'd been skipping meals and even alcohol, working out without him even in the middle of the night

first he thought you'd simply want to get stronger than him and teases you daily

but on that day you've overdone yourself, your body can't take it anymore and you get dizzy and weak all of a sudden, letting the weights fall down with a thud

"y/n?! Fucking seriously?" he first yells at you (rule: never let weights fall down)

you sink on your knees, mumbling sth like you'd be fine

"Fine my ass!" he swears and lifts you up to carry you to his room

"what the hell are you thinking?!" he's clearly pissed

he'll put on his too big warm clothes and coat, still staring at you angrily

forces you to drink water and hot tea, he still stares at you

"so what the fuck is wrong with you, y/n?" angry, annoyed tone

when you start to cry, he's overwhelmed and feels bad not being able to help, so he just sits there and pets your head

when you glance back and pout/get angry you'll get into a fight and storms out throwing the door

just to come back and hug you tightly after finally understanding

his soft side comes out when you tell him you feel weak and ugly and fat

he laughs: "stupid girl/boy! you're the strongest pirate I know! and the sexiest! besides me"

if you don't or don't smile enough (which will be most likely the case), he'll just tower over you and wrap you up in his arms, roaming with his hands over your body and repeat how amazing you are

he'll get overprotective, remind you to eat enough through the day (sometimes forces you to)

He makes you different playlists to lift up your mood

also he'll seek help from Killer from time to time (but won't tell you)

Sanji

He’ll notice when you stop joining to cook in the kitchen

Notices your rapid weight loss really quickly

Sits down next to you, lights up a ciggy and asks worried what’s wrong

Poor boy thinks it’s his fault

Eventually he’ll tear up and just hug you, telling you how much he loves you

“You can tell me everything, ma chère!”

You instantly felt understood and tell him

He’ll look at you in shock, not understanding how such a beautiful person can think of themselves like that

“But you are the most beautiful woman/man, I know, y/n-swan”

He cups your face and gazes into your eyes before kissing you softly

“We get through this, together. I promise.”

And he’ll make it true. He’s the most supportive boyfriend

Forehead kisses, reassuring soft hugs and touches, always keeping an eye on you

Spa Days, telling you every second how much he loves and adores you, would never force you but beg you to try his food at least

Makes the most delicious looking meals

Reads all about EDs so he won’t accidentally hurt you even more

Will hold you in his arms when you’re freezing or crying

Hides the scale

All in all the perfect man

Bartolomeo

He’ll notice when following you to the bathroom after dinner

Already had a bad gut feeling about your bruised up and red hands

He holds them all the time so he knows their appearance by heart

“Y/n-chan? Are you ok? I’m here for you! Are you sick?”

Music plays from inside and the tab runs

When you came out after minutes, eyes swollen and red, hands wet and even redder than before you’ll earn a concerned look

“Don’t tell me you’re fine, y/n-chan.”

Weirdly sniffs and notices the smell of vomit

Eyes in shock and starts crying

“No no no no my dearest y/n-chan!! Please don’t tell me it’s true!”

Wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace, crying his eyes out

Overdramatic as fuck

Eventually taking your weak body to a quiet room, cleans your face and gives you something to drink

Will listen to each of your words really carefully to understand

Always pleasing you, always bring you water and tea, will not force but desperately beg to you eat something

Will accompany you to the bathroom any time, watching that you don’t hurt yourself anymore

Around you 24/7, will provoke and beat up everyone just trying to say something bad about you

Literally overprotective l, like a guard dog

Will try to lift your mood by telling stupid jokes and stories, tattle about Law and other “not cool non strawhats”, showing off his collection

Proud as hell every time he’ll make you laugh and forget that illness for a second

Corazon/ Rosinante Donquixote

He’ll notice when picking you up as usual

“Y/n, you’re so tiny?!”

Shocked at first and lifts you even higher

Can’t believe you’re that light, you’ve always been to him, but now it’s different

Immediately throws you over his shoulder, covering you with his warm feather coat

“We’re going to a doctor, no back talk.”

His tone is stern but also warm and caring

Carries you to different doctors and hospitals, always holding your hand or thigh to show you he’s there

Will yell at anyone who says that can’t treat you

Throws literal tantrums at some doctors for being “incapable”

Will end up trying to fix and heal you himself

Showers you in love and care, eg bringing you water, tea, let’s you borrow his lighter to fidget with (even lend you his cigarettes if you smoke)

Will always smile at you and be more clumsy on purpose to make you laugh again

Will cook for you, whatever you want, burns it a few times by accident

Let’s you wear his clothes, when you feel bad about your body

Or wraps you up in them to get you warm

Will be extremely careful when touching, hugging or lifting you up

Afraid he’ll break you

Will inform himself about EDs to make the best of it

Never leaves your side, towering above or behind you, so no one can hurt you

Even lends you hit hat from time to time if he can’t be around for a moment, so you won’t feel alone

Gets sentimental when you sleep and he drinks, petting your head, sits right next to you talking about how beautiful and amazing you are

"I love you so much! You deserve everything in this world, my heart!"

#one piece #eustasscaptainkid #captain kid #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #bartolomeo #op bartolomeo #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #sanji x reader #kid x reader #one piece x reader #eustass kid x reader #corazon one piece #corazon #donquixote rosinante #corazon x reader #rosinante x reader #op headcanons #hc

[sh1-n0bu]

scara’s electro mark on the back of his neck would totally be an erogeneous/sensitive spot and no one can change my mind<3

✿ 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨, 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨 ✿

characters: scaramouche/wanderer x nb!reader

warnings: fluff, light angst, reverse comfort, takes place after scara’s defeat, slight body dysmorphia and mentions of self harm, soft scara🥹

notes: honestly same tho. and as someone who has a very sensitive neck, i absolutely know how he would feel like lmao

scaramouche hated the mark.

it’s hideous, disgusting, wrongly shaped to signify his failure as a puppet, the reason for him to get disregarded but moreover an eternal reminder of his mo- no. his creator.

wanderer hated the mark on the back of his neck.

no matter what happens, he always tries to keep in hidden, away from prying curious eyes. buried deep under layers upon layers of clothes to at least pretend that the mark is non-existent.

sometimes he would even end up clawing, scratching or even cutting at the small part on the back of his neck as if trying to cut out the electro symbol, carved deeply into his flesh since his creation. but the bloody marks, bruises and scars would end up healing faster than than normal due to him being a puppet of a god.

never leaving a scar. never leaving a mark. just the damned, cursed motherfucking purple electro symbol left behind. shining proudly and perfectly as if trying to mock him.

and this time it was no different. the young puppet sitting on the edge of your shared bed with a frown and a glare. hands twitching, waiting, wanting, wishing to reach out and claw at the symbol again.

taking a deep breath in and letting it out after a while, wanderer slightly shook his head. no. he shouldn’t harm himself any further. you would be sad once you find his neck angry, bleeding red with scratch marks and dried blood under his fingernails. he would hate to make you sad.

letting out a heavy sigh, the young man laid down on the bed, facing away from you- feeling ashamed about thinking of harming himself and breaking your promise.

sucking in a short breath, jolting harshly when arms came to wrap around his middle suddenly, pulling his smaller frame closer to cuddle with his back to your chest.

wanderer loved this feeling. being wrapped securely around you, feeling your warmth seep into his own cold skin, warming his body, warming his heart. the feeling of your heartbeat thrumming in a repeated rhythmic way against your ribcages, the feeling of the thumps against your chest soothing his pain, easing his own non-existent empty heart, pouring into the hollowness of his chest and filling it to the brim with your own.

wanderer loves you.

but sometimes he can’t help but scowl at you- more of a pouting- when you lean down and place a small peck against his electro symbol. face flushing in embarrassment, eyes narrowing back at you in a faux anger- a poor attempt to hide the small glimmer in his eyes- pouted lips twitching to try and control his muscles from forming a smile.

fortunately he always loses in this silent battle between you two. letting out a huff with mutterings of “you’re so clingy” or “you’re hopeless” slipping out from his lips which is already starting to curve up into a smile.

yes, the puppet loves you. hopelessly so.

shuddering with a suppressed groan when the short man felt your lips against the back of his neck once again, pressing on the electro symbol. a quiet, poorly attempted muffled chuckle falling from his mouth when you continue to press kisses against his neck, one hand coming up to rest on your hair- slightly tussling them in the process.

“yours. not hers” when wanderer heard that phrase muttered from you, he felt himself softly smiling. eyes crinkling upwards, lips forming a smile with his cheeks turning even more red.

yes. wanderer loves you so.

#nobu.writes #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact x reader fluff #genshin impact x you fluff #genshin x reader fluff #genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x you fluff #scaramouche x reader fluff #wanderer x reader #wanderer x y/n #genshin drabbles #genshin fluff

[userlando]

Reader w bestie lando feeling down bc he’s surrounded by more conventionally attractive girlies/people because of his profile and him listing all the positive qualities and things that he likes about them except he lets slip saying he LOVES it about them n getting all flustered stuttering and then confessing years of longing my HEART can’t handle this pls add ur thoughts vulnerable lan is my kryptonite

oh my god please 😭😭

reassurance (1492 words) best friend lando/fem!reader confessing feelings

please beware that this can have allusions/mentions of body dysmorphia, reader being insecure and self-conscious about how she looks. nothing too major, but it may trigger someone!

The both of you are standing by the kitchen counter, it’s late and Max is sleeping upstairs, oblivious to what’s going on outside his bedroom door. It had been a long night of drinking with half the grid and their respective partners, buying out a VIP section and ordering buckets of icy drinks.

It was at two a.m. that your social battery died out and so did Lando’s. You didn’t think a person could be so happy as he got when he glanced your way and caught you surreptitiously hiding a yawn behind your hand, asking if you were ready to head out. He’d only had one drink, so he drove the both of you back to his and Max’s place.

The kitchen had become your refuge, only one small lamp being the source of light as you got comfortable by the counter. Lando had, as suspected, sought out Max’s stash of snacks, ignoring your halfhearted protests because the last time he’d raided the pantry, his best friend had gotten so pissed that he’d locked it.

Normally, you would’ve joined him in the drunken snacking, giggling and carrying a stupid conversation that usually went in the direction of weird-ville, ending with ‘what type of worm would you be, if you could choose one?’

But tonight, you were staring dubiously at the bag of Walkers and packet of Hobnobs, all kinds of self-conscious thoughts swirling in your mind. You thought of earlier that night, when you’d trashed the dress you had in mind because it didn’t look right on you. You thought of how you’d gone for jeans, immediately regretting it when you arrived at the club and spotted the girls in short skirts and gorgeous dresses that looked like it was moulded for them. It was difficult to not feel some kind of way when everyone around you looked like they’d just stepped off the runway.

“You alright, peach?” Lando’s voice cut through your thoughts and you glanced up at him, hanging over the counter and chewing loudly on biscuits.

You grimaced at the nickname, one that you really hadn’t had many feelings about until recently. It had started as a joke, being photographed walking the paddock with Lando during an obscure weekend and Lando had giggled so hard that he turned red, almost losing consciousness as he read a tweet someone had posted about you.

ass so fat it looks like a peach

It had been funny, and Lando never really let it go. He’d started calling you peach ironically, until it stuck and replaced your name entirely.

But now you weren’t so sure about the positive aspects of the nickname.

Lando made a noise in his throat, swallowing dryly around the crumbs and reaching a hand out to poke your cheek. You twisted away slightly, blowing out a breath.

“Lando!”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He demanded, sounding much like a defiant child.

You gave him a look. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, I can see you pouting.”

“I’m not—“ You caught yourself before your blood pressure reached a new high. “Shut up.”

“Peach.” He said again and you looked down from his probing eyes, staring hard at the opened packet of Hobnobs that Max would for sure notice were missing.

“I just…” You trailed off, not knowing how to express your feelings without sounding so childish. What would you say? I don’t feel beautiful. I feel like an ogre next to your friends’ girlfriends. I hate the way I look. “I’ve been feeling a bit self-conscious lately, that’s all.”

Lando didn’t say anything and you looked up, thinking that he might’ve missed your words completely but he was staring at you softly, so gentle that emotions almost clogged your throat up. You scrunched your nose, and Lando let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding because he knew what that scrunch meant. He knew that was something that you automatically did when you were close to tears.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked, and you couldn’t help but smile a little tearfully.

Leave it to Lando to never push, to always listen and never judge you when you were feeling every range of emotion. It always tugged at your heart. You truly loved him.

“I feel like a sack of potatoes when I see the girls.” You laughed wetly, reaching a hand up to wipe away at your eyes. Lando smiled when you unknowingly smeared your makeup. “They’re my friends and I don’t resent them for it, but it strikes me sometimes how we’re so different when it comes to looks.”

Lando frowned a little at that, placing a hand on top of yours. Palm against palm, pointer finger finding your pulse point on your wrist and resting it there. The way he always did.

“I like potatoes.” He murmured and you shot him a dry look. “But you’re right, you are different.”

That made you frown deeper, bottom lip sticking out in sadness and it broke Lando’s heart. He hurried to wipe under your eye with a thumb, smiling gently.

“You’re different because you’re my peach. You’re different in the way you treat people with so much kindness that it blows my mind sometimes. You’re different in the way you smile so hard that your eyes disappear, just like that.” You shielded your face behind your hand, letting out a laugh you couldn’t contain. “You treat me like me. Not like Lando, the driver. You shove me when I burp and you twist my arm when I tease you. And I love you for it. I love that you’re different, and I wouldn’t want you to be anyone else.”

You blinked at him, slowly letting his words sink in.

“You love me?” You asked, aware that he might’ve meant it platonically but Lando’s reaction made you stop breathing for a second.

His cheeks turned pink, palms flattening on the surface of the counter to push himself up, like he was trying to put a little distance between you two. You’d only ever seen him act this way a handful of times, eyes wide and a little panicked, tips of his ears red as he opened his mouth and closed it. Like finding the right words was suddenly difficult.

“I mean— I just meant…” His voice died, shrugging a little helplessly the longer you stared at him.

Your heart was going a mile a minute, not believing what you were seeing but if Lando was fumbling his words and shrugging like he was hoping you’d let it go, he was dead wrong. You were gonna grip this opportunity with both hands and hold on.

“Look,” He pulled a face, blowing out a sharp breath of air through his mouth. “If I tell you something, will you hold it against me?”

Fuck. It was happening, wasn’t it?

“Perhaps.” You answered, voice almost inaudible because you were putting all of your excess energy into not passing the fuck out.

Lando rolled his eyes, looking a little trapped all of a sudden and you hurriedly rounded the corner, smiling at him when he took a small step back the closer you got to him.

He glanced at the counter like he considered walking around it, putting the distance back between you two but you quickly grabbed his arm, prompting him to look at you.

“How long?” You asked, soft and quite frankly, a little stunned.

“What?” He asked but his eyes said it all.

“Lando.”

“Stop.” He laughed, sounding breathless and a little frustrated. “Stop saying my name like that.”

You frowned at him, tilting your head when he turned his gaze away. He still hadn’t pulled out of your hold though, not even when you palmed his left pectoral. You didn’t know if it was wishful thinking or your imagination, but there was a steady thud against your palm that felt a lot like his racing heart and it made you smile.

“Like what?”

Lando sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, letting it go with a tsk.

“Like you love me.” He said quietly.

It was like someone had reached down your throat and grabbed your heart, squeezing the blood out and popping the vessels. You almost gasped for breath, smile stretching your lips and Lando’s expression went from cautious to slightly hopeful.

“What if I do love you?” You asked.

“Then…” He trailed off when your hand travelled from his pec to his cheek, cupping it. “Then I’d say I love you. I’d say that I’ve always loved you.”

You let out a laugh, like the absurd amount of happiness blooming in your chest was too hard to contain. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, getting on your toes to hug him properly.

“Took you long enough.” You murmured against his ear and Lando squirmed, pinching your side just to hear you squeak.

It was his favourite sound in the world.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

this isn’t beta read, I wrote this in my notes app at work so I hope it’s okay 🫣 it wasn’t smut this time (sorry) but I wanted to save the juicy stuff for longer fics hehe. I hope you enjoy this xx

#zee’s asks 💌 #lando brainrot #lando norris x female reader #lando norris blurb #bff!lando #f1 blurb

[qtboni]

helloo boniiii (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) i hope ur doing okay todayyyy i saw that you hve ur reqs open and i have an idea!

the way chubby!reader is insecure of how she looks and Simon notices it and comforts her? bye sorry im like so bad at explaining but what would Simon do?

HELLO, BABI ! omg u got me there. im one of those peeps who gets so insecure easily 😔 and really, i want a husband like simon who can comfort me in bad times 😭 thank you for requesting this !!

╰﹒ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 !

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Chubby!Reader

OVERVIEW: Simon reassures your insecurities with loving words, and you are overwhelmed with emotions, as he makes you realize the beauty in yourself that you can't see.

C/W: Hurt/comfort! body image issues, insecurities, mentions of body dysmorphia, intimate partner relationship (emotional support), reader expressing emotions and processing trauma, reader struggles with feelings of self-worth.

Simon's car doors shut with a loud thud, echoing through the garage and signaling his departure. A small sense of relief washed over you, knowing that you would have the whole day to yourself.

No more needing to pretend to be okay when you weren't. You slowly made your way to the bathroom and leaned towards the mirror. As you gazed into your reflection, the harsh lights amplified every imperfection.

'I hate how I look,' you thought to yourself as you gazed into the mirror. Every day, you spent too long in the restroom, staring at your reflection, trying to figure out what was wrong with yourself.

Your shoulders were too wide, tummy too fat, and your cheeks were getting fuller by the day. It also doesn't help that your legs look so big on you and the way your thighs would touch together quite so much. You felt gross and ugly, and it seemed like nothing you did could make a difference.

You sighed as you cupped your cheeks, pretending to pull them behind your face. You longed to be slim and thin, or at the very least, pretty. But no matter how hard you tried, it seemed like you were doomed to be the ugly duckling for the rest of your life.

"Why did I let myself get this way?" you wondered.

Tears started to fall from your eyes as your self-pity reached new heights. You didn't understand why everyone else seemed to have it all figured out, while you were stuck here, hating yourself more and more each day.

You wondered if you would ever be able to accept yourself for who you are, or if you would forever be doomed to feel inferior to everyone around you. It was a painful feeling, and one that you struggled with every single day.

Your eyes slowly shifted towards the mirror in the restroom again, and you let out a heavy sigh. Without even really thinking, you started to pinch and pull at your skin. Your fingers zeroed in on your thighs and you frowned, unable to help but focus on the parts of your body that you didn't like.

Your hand then moved to your midsection, and you stared at your reflection in the mirror, feeling defeated. You wanted to look different, you wanted to look like the pretty girls in the magazines and on social media.

You wanted to be beautiful.

Tears started forming in your eyes again, and you brushed them away before your sobs could come after. You didn't want anyone to see you like this - didn't want Simon to see. You didn't want him to know how much you hated yourself. But it was a constant struggle, and one that you fought every single day.

You pinched the fat on your stomach, pulling it from side to side and watching as it jiggled.

"Why can't I just look normal?" you asked yourself, your voice cracking.

You moved on to your thighs, pinching the flesh that had been collecting there over the past few months.

"I look gross," you said to yourself, voice barely above a whisper. "I hate.. my body."

Tears started to pool in your eyes as you began to pull at your cheeks and the edges of your mouth, trying to pull them back to make yourself look thinner.

"I just can't stand looking like this," you said to yourself again and again, your voice catching in your throat.

But no matter how much you pinched and pulled, you couldn't make yourself look the way you wanted. The image in the mirror still looked like you – tired, fat, and flawed. You turned away from the mirror, feeling defeated and alone.

You wanted so badly to be able to pull the fat away and make your face look the way you wanted. In your mind's eye, you imagined how much better you would look if you could just lose a few pounds, if your stomach wasn't so rounded, if your thighs weren't so thick.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't seem to make a single inch of difference. The cycle of self-doubt and self-loathing was never-ending, and it seemed like you were doomed to remain trapped in your own head, unable to break free.

But then you looked down at the sink, and saw your reflection in the water, distorted and warped. You realized that in trying to fix your flaws, you had only made them worse. Your self-imposed torture was only making you hate yourself more.

It seemed like an eternity before you calmed down, your breathing slowing to a normal pace once again. However, you were still on the brink of tears.

What if Simon saw you like this? Would he still love you?

But you knew that Simon was more than just a pretty face. He was kind and gentle, and he accepted you for who you were, imperfections and all. As you stood in front of the mirror, you then stared at your reflection with a mix of sadness and frustration.

Your heart sank at the sound of a knock, and you quickly dried your tears. Then, your heart raced as your tried to compose yourself. You knew it was Simon – your husband, and the one person who understood you the most. You guys had been through a lot together, and you knew you could count on him to make everything better.

"I'm coming!" you called out, your voice shaky. You took a deep breath and smoothed down your clothes before making your way to the door.

As you opened it slowly, you saw Simon standing there, a sympathetic look on his face.

"Hey," Simon said softly, his voice full of compassion. He walked in and gave you a hug, as if he knew exactly what you needed. You hugged him back, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. You knew that Simon would always be there for you, no matter what.

"Hi," You let out a deep sigh and rested your head on his shoulder. "You're back early?"

Simon's warm embrace was exactly what you needed. You felt your body loosen up and your heart start to calm down as you let out another slow, deep breath.

You felt him nodded against your shoulder. "Yeah, my plans got canceled," he said softly, rubbing your back in a soothing motion.

You leaned into his embrace, humming a reply, feeling a sense of comfort. You needed this, you thought to yourself. You needed someone to remind you that you weren't alone, and that there were people in your life who cared about you – people who loved you just the way you are.

Despite your best efforts to hide your feelings, it was obvious that something was wrong. Simon squeezed your shoulder gently, as if he could sense what you were thinking. He knew that you were going through a tough time, but he also knew that you needed someone to talk to – someone who would listen and understand without judgment.

You took another breath, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. You were grateful for Simon. Grateful that he was in your life, and that he was there for you when you needed him the most.

"Is something wrong?" Simon asked, his tone soft and gentle.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. You didn't want to appear weak or needy, but you also didn't know how to hide your emotions from Simon.

"Love?"

Finally, you replied, "I'm just having a bad day. It's nothing you need to worry about."

"But.. I am worried," Simon said, his voice filled with concern. He pulled away from the hug to look at you. "You know you can tell me anything."

"I.." You sighed, feeling the weight of your insecurity and self-hatred bearing down on you. "I don't know, Simon. I just feel like I'm not good enough. Like I don't measure up."

"What do you mean?" he asked, the confusion on his face evident.

You looked down, not wanting to meet his eyes. "I, um, hate the way I look, I guess," you replied, trying to convey the depth of your dislike for yourself without stating it outright. You didn't want to burden him with the full extent of your self-loathing.

You watched as Simon's expression changed, going from confusion to concern. You sighed, knowing you had to be careful with your words. "It's just... I hate my body," you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Simon's eyes widened slightly, and you could tell he was beginning to understand.

"Oh, baby," he said softly. "You're beautiful, inside and out. I know it's hard, but try not to focus so much on how you look. There's so much more to you than that."

Simon leaned closer to you, his hand reaching out to hold your waist and the other at your chin. You looked up at Simon, grateful for his understanding and compassion.

"I know, but it's just so hard sometimes," you replied, your voice breaking again.

Simon pulled you into a hug, holding you close. "I know, love. But you're not alone. I'm here for you. You're not defined by your appearance. You're a kind, caring person, with so much to offer the world. Why'd you think I chose to marry you?"

You clung to Simon for a moment, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the love he held for you.

"My love," he continued, brushing a stray hair from your face to tuck in your ear. "You are more than enough. You are an amazing person, inside and out. I'm not just saying that. It's the truth. Understand, baby? The truth."

"I ... I can't do this," you choked as your sobs echoed the bathroom. It was all too much. It's as if you don't deserve all of his compliments to your body.

Simon took you into his arms, holding you close and rubbing your back soothingly. "Tell me, baby," he asked, his voice full of concern. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

You took a deep breath and hesitantly told him everything – about your insecurities, about how you never felt good enough, about how you hated how you looked like.

You leaned into Simon's embrace, seeking the warmth and comfort of his presence surrounding you. You close your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts and put them into words.

"It's just... I can't stop comparing myself to other people," you said finally, voice low and strained. "And every time I look at myself in the mirror, I just see all the things that are wrong with me. I can't seem to love myself, no matter how hard I try."

Simon squeezed your back, listening to you attentively.

"I know you mean well, Simon, but it's just so hard sometimes," you said, your voice still low and emotional. "I feel like everyone's always staring at me and judging me, especially when I wear something that shows off my body."

Simon's hand stroked your hair, trying to soothe your frazzled nerves. "You're beautiful, baby. And no one has the right to make you feel otherwise." He paused, his voice full of quiet intensity. "If anyone says anything to you, I'll deal with them, I promise."

Despite feeling down, you find yourself chuckling with tears in your eyes. His jokes were just so random and out of place, but you appreciated it nonetheless. Simon's voice was gentle and comforting as he pulled you closer to the hug, swaying your bodies in a slow, rhythmic motion.

"Tell me, pretty baby," he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours. "What's eating away at you?"

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your courage before you answered. "Well, it's my cheeks firstly," you said quietly, voice shaking slightly. "They're too huge.."

Simon's arms tightened around you, his voice filled with compassion. He leaned away from the hug and cupped your cheeks together. "Huge? Really, baby?" he asked.

"Yes, really..." You leaned into his embrace again, feeling the warmth of Simon and the love he held for you.

"Pretty baby," He said, cupping your cheeks again together. "I love these chubby cheeks you have. It makes you look like a hamster and god, you look so cute with them, don't you know that?"

"But everyone else has a perfect appearance," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like I'll never be able to measure up."

Simon's eyes closed for a moment, as if he were searching for the right words to say. "You don't have to compare yourself to anyone else," he said finally, his voice fierce. "You're perfect just the way you are, my love. And I'll always be here to remind you of that."

Simon then kissed both of your cheeks affectionately and you feel tears welling up in your eyes again. He asks, "Do you have any more?"

You sighed. "What about my hips and thighs?" You continued, voice shaky with insecurity. "They're too big, too curvy. I'll never be able to wear the things I want to wear."

Simon's face softened even more as he listened to your words, his eyes full of understanding.

"Sweet baby," He coos at you and carefully places both of his hands onto your waist. "Your hips and thighs are a part of you, and they're beautiful. Nobody has the right to tell you otherwise. Your curves are beautiful and I love how it fits well in my hands when I hold them to touch you."

Your tears wouldn't stop running down.

"They're my love handles from you, my love," He added and it had struck a chord in your heart. You felt a weight lifted off your shoulders. His words had been like a balm to your soul, and you leaned into his embrace more, feeling a sense of peace and comfort wash over you.

Your tears continued to fall, but they were no longer those of sadness and insecurity. They were tears of gratitude, for having found someone who truly valued and loved you for who you are – curves and all.

You looked up at Simon, your eyes shimmering with a mix of joy and gratitude. "Thank you, Si’," you whispered, sniffing as you do so.

Simon stroked your cheek gently, his eyes full of love and affection. "You're welcome, baby. Fuck, I love you so much. Don't you ever forget that, okay?"

Simon's words hit you like a ton of bricks, lifting a weight you didn't even realize was there off of your shoulders.

"I love you too, Si'." You replied and rested your head on his shoulder, softly breathing in your choked sobs.

"I just want to love myself like how you love me." You cried into his embrace, all of the pain and insecurity you'd carried with you for so long finally coming to a head.

"I believe in you, love," Simon replied, his voice filled with conviction. "You're strong and capable and beautiful, inside and out. You don't need anyone else's approval to be those things. And I promise, I'll always be here to remind you of who you truly are."

You felt his arms tighten around you, his embrace warming you from the inside out. His words of encouragement filled you with a newfound sense of confidence, and you felt a sense of hope rising within you.

As Simon's words registered with you, you felt the weight of the tears rolling down your cheeks like an onslaught. You had been carrying the burden of your insecurities for so long, and the idea of someone else understanding what you were going through, and even accepting you for who you are, made you feel like maybe there was still hope.

Simon's embrace grew even tighter as he held you, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took. You could feel the comfort and warmth exuding from his body, and it made you feel like you were at home.

"Thank you," you said, nuzzling into his neck further. "I don't know what I would do without you, Si'"

"You'll never have to find out," Simon replied, his voice full of determination. "I'll be here for you, always. You're not alone, love. We'll face your insecurities together."

With those words and a kiss to your shoulder, you felt a sense of peace and acceptance wash over yourself. You knew that, with Simon on your side, you could get through anything, even your own perceived flaws and imperfections.

You leaned into his embrace more, feeling safe and loved for the first time in what felt like forever.

A/N: what the fuck. this made me cry again holy shit this rlly hit a nerve inside. what have u done to me anon !! jk i love this <//3

and to anyone who related to this, if you're feeling insecure about your body and struggling with body image issues, it's important to remember that you are so much more than your appearance. Everyone has their own unique features and qualities that make them special and valuable. Try to focus on your positive traits, both inside and out :) Surround yourself with supportive people who see you for who you truly are and appreciate you for all that you are. Remember that it's okay to have days where you don't feel your best, but try to be gentle with yourself and give yourself time to heal and grow <//3

Remember that you are not alone, and there are people who care about you and can help you through this difficult time !! It might be helpful to seek professional help or support groups if you feel like you're struggling. Ultimately, remember that your worth as a person is not tied to your appearance or weight. You are so much more than your exterior and deserve love and kindness no matter what. <//3

#👾 — [bonnie’s wk] #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley ghost x reader #simon x reader #simon riley #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost angst #ghost fluff #ghost x you #cod fanfic #cod x reader #cod x you #cod modern warfare #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 #cod mw fanfiction #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x y/n #call of duty mw2 #cod x y/n #call of duty x reader #call of duty #ghost smut #body dysmorphia

[elliespillowprincess]

SHES MY DRUG

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pt 1

pt 2

pt 3

a/n: this is my first ever (kinda) fic so it kinda sucks and is all over the place.. rockstar/band ellie has been on my mind too much lately so yk i had to.

c/w: modern au, reader is in college (premed), biker ellie!!! smut next part!! mentions of smoking, drinking and drugs (reader and ellie), fem reader, plus size reader, insecure reader, fluff, abby is readers mean ex (abby lovers im sorry, i still love her) angst, body dysmorphia, fatphobia, race of reader not specified, TERRIBLY WRITTEN, not proofread

WHY YOU SHOULD NOT SUPPORT NEIL DRUCKMANN

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“hey did you hear about the music festival in town this weekend?” your friend, liliana, asks, making you wake up from the trance your computer put you in. you and liliana had been friends prior to college, meeting in your honors anatomy class in high school. with a similar career goal in mind, you two decided to go to the same college and become roomates. you two had been in your towns coffee shop for hours, trying to finish an assignment your biology professor gave you two.

“there’s a festival here? nobody ever comes out here.” you reply. nobody has ever done any concerts, festivals, or performances in your town. it was so small, they wouldn’t make enough profit so it just didn’t seem worth the trip. the only performances you ever saw were done by drunken men in your college bar.

“yeah! i don’t really know anyone that’s going though. it’d be nice to check out!”. she scrolls to find a post advertising the festival, with a list of who’s going. to nobody’s surprise, the list is small; 3 performers. “the tickets are only $50, we should go!!” she says whilst you’re reading the informative post. “i don’t know, lili, i mean who even are these people? is it even worth our money?” the idea of wasting your weekend at a festival, where you don’t know anyone playing, when you could be studying for finals makes you nervous.

“come onnn y/n, we can’t waste our uni years studying all the time! when we graduate, we’re gonna be swamped with med school work, might as well make the most out of the time we have!” liliana says cheerfully. sure, you could spare the hours, but you had so much on your plate. finals, work, and not even mentioning the fact you just broke up with your girlfriend of 4 years. you look at her face, she’s using puppy-dog eyes to hopefully persuade you into going. “i’ll think about it.”

you’re laying in your dorm room, back hunched over your laptop, with your hands in your hair. liliana was staying at her boyfriends house for the night, leaving you all alone. the amount of studying you’ve done in the past hours giving you a throbbing headache and double vision. you harshly close your laptop, saying “i’ll do it later.” in your head, lazily getting up to grab some advil from your medicine cabinet. you open the familiar bottle and pop a few pills into your mouth. walking to your bed, you plop down, and begin scrolling mindlessly on instagram.

then you remember what your friend was telling you about earlier, and you decide to look at your towns instagram. a new post making you curious as nothing had been posted since the fourth of july fireworks at the towns lake. you click on it, a flashy banner lighting up your screen.

GOLDWHIT GROVES FIRST EVER MUSIC FESTIVAL; FEATURING:

BEHIND THE ANGER

ELLIE WILLIAMS

DRAW MY BLOOD

THIS SATURDAY ONLY

you chuckle, finding the names of the bands amusing. one of them, however, drew your attention. the only one who was seemingly a solo performer, ellie williams. you decide to close your towns page and type the name into your search bar. your eyebrows raise at the amount of fan accounts this “ellie” has. you click on the only account with the blue verification symbol on it, her page filling your screen.

holy shit.

she was hot. like, really hot.

you click on her most recent post and it’s a video of her at one of her concerts. she’s playing an electric guitar furiously with gritted teeth. you hear girls screaming and see their hands reaching out trying to feel her. clearly, she craves all the attention so she pulls off her white wife beater, throwing it into the crowd. the screaming only intensifies as she has a douchey smile on her face. the video cuts of and you scroll through the different videos the post has, all of the same nature. you read the caption, “see you next time, dallas.” with no tags.

you open your messages app and begin typing to liliana.

you: ok maybe we should go to that festival i just stalked one of the performers and FUCKKK she’s hot

the bands have goofy names tho

“behind the anger” boy shaddup

you wait until you see the bubble appear, indicating she’s responding.

lili😦: TOLD U WE SHOULD GO! venmo me the money im buying tickets rn.

you laugh softly at her excitement to go, and open venmo, sending her $50. another message pops up.

lili😦: *photo attachment*

who were you looking at btw?

you open the message seeing the qr code for your ticket.

you: that ellie williams chick she looks like an asshole but a HOT asshole yk

i want her to play me like that guitar

gonna become a groupie😋

your tiredness takes over after texting lili for the past few hours, telling her goodnight and closing your phone.

the brightness of the morning sun wakes you up. it’s saturday, and thank GOD you had no classes today. you stay in your bed, opening tiktok. it kinda creeps you out that the first video is an edit of the girl you were gawking over last night. as the edit plays, you become even more excited for the festival later in the day. you look to the top of your screen for the time, 12:37. you partially curse yourself for letting yourself sleep in that late, getting up to brush your teeth.

lili😦: ARE U EXCITED FOR TN??

andrew is asking if he can come

smh he’s so clingy

kinda cute tho

the pinging of your phone causes you to finish brushing your teeth, spitting out the foam in your mouth and wiping your face.

you: i don’t mind

yall better not be like those concert couples

sitting on his shoulders n shit i’ll knock you off

you didn’t really mind as you’ve known andrew as long as you’ve know liliana. they’ve been together for the past six years, and you guys used to go on double dates with your ex all the time, it was like a little group.

lili😦: LMFAOOO we won’t

can we get ready tg 🥺

you have all the cute body glitter

you: sure come home whenever

you turn on the shower, grabbing a towel from the cabinet before hopping in. while washing your body, you begin thinking about what you’re gonna wear. you start to think about what ellie williams would notice you in, before laughing at yourself for being so delusional. she doesn’t know you, or care about you.

you’re just another girl.

hours had gone by, liliana and her boyfriend were hanging out at your shared apartment, pregaming and getting ready. the festival started at 4, and ended at 10. “hey y/n? where’s the-“ you walk in, and liliana is making a gawking face. “you look SO hot hello?” beaming at you. partially, you feel a little silly. you’re wearing the outfit she picked for you: a lacy cami, short black skirt, and a leather jacket. you have dark smudgey eye makeup, dark red lipstick, and star clips in your hair.

“i feel dumb.” you say, looking down and laughing at yourself. you never wore revealing clothes, being wayyyy too insecure to show yourself off this this. i mean, your boobs were spilling out of your shirt, your ass visible under your skirt, and your stomach uncovered. “shut the fuck up, you look good. we gotta leave soon- shit wait do you have pasties?”

as andrew drives the three of you to the concert, liliana in the front and you in the back, you become nervous. what if someone’s mean? what if something bad happens? what if it gets too cold? what if you start your period?

“y/n?” the calling of your name makes your head perk up. “we’re putting on that ellie chick, gotta know some of the music if you’re gonna SMASH her tonight!!” she says with a giggle. you roll your eyes as lili goes to her music app and selects her top song.

she’s my drug

the title pops up along with a photo of ellie lighting what looks like a joint. the song starts and it eases your nerves, her raspy voice over the melodic electric guitar makes a perfect combination. the excitement for the festival grows once again as the three of you near the festival.

you were kinda surprised at the amount of people that came. it looked like the entire town was there. there were a lot of unfamiliar faces wearing the bands merch. you saw a lot of girls wearing shirts with ellie williams’ tour dates on the back. “i hope the bands aren’t shit.” andrew says, laughing and getting out of the car. “at least we know one of the performers isn’t.” the three of you, out of the car, walk to the entrance. there were old-looking metal detectors that look like they were borrowed from the local police department. you all go through and have your bags checked and tickets scanned, walking towards the one and only stage.

the first band, behind the anger, got on stage. not many people were going crazy, but there were a few drunken men screaming their songs. liliana and andrew were enjoying them, but you were dying for something to drink, craving a shitty festival cocktail and a cigarette. tapping liliana on the shoulder, “hey, guys? i’ll be right back, i’m gonna grab something to drink.” you shout over the music. “alright, don’t take too long! your girlfriend should be out soon!” you roll your eyes laughing and shuffle your way out of the crowd.

walking up to the one and only vendor, you gaze on the menu. different beers, seltzers, cocktails, and liquors. “can i just cut infront of you? i gotta get up there soon.” you hear a voice behind you say. you turn around, partially offended and, holy shit.

it felt like a movie, a book, a fanfiction. what are the chances that she’s infront of you right now? you blink your eyes, not really believing what you’re seeing. nobody’s around you two besides the vendor, shocking as you’d expect girls flocking around her. it’s her. it’s ellie williams.

“excuse me?” you blurt out, not realizing how rude you sounded. i mean, you were just standing there, the only one in line, not moving. was it rude for her to ask. she kind of laughs at you, kissing her teeth. you got a good chance to look at her. she’s wearing cargo pants with a black wifebeater shirt that lifted slightly, allowing you to see what looks like abs, her tattoo covering her forearm, and her hair tied messily in a half-bun.

“i said,” she says, taking a half step towards you, “can i just cut infront of you?” you look around, dumbfounded. “no, you can’t. i’m ordering right now.” you say, matter-of-factly. you spin on your heels and order whatever shitty cocktail your eyes first land on and she chuckles at your behavior. the vendor types it into his tablet. “that’ll be $9.24. cash or card?” you open your purse, looking for the $10 bill you stuck in your purse for this exact reason. of course, like a fucking movie, it’s gone. “sorry just give me one sec.” you say, furiously looking through your purse, embarrassed.

“i got it, put it with mine. lemme get a rum coke.” the girl says flatly, slightly pushing you aside. you roll your eyes at the push and step aside, very embarrassed at the entire interaction. you grab a cigarette from your purse and attempt to light it, but the fluid is all out.

of course. how much more cliché could this get? ellie puts her card away in her wallet and shoves it into her front pocket as the vendor goes to make the two drinks. “need help?” she says, reaching her hand into her pocket and getting out a lighter, it was black and very scratched up. “these are bad for you, y’know?” she says in a cocky tone before grabbing her own and lighting it. the two of you were so far away from the rest of the crowd it that it was almost quiet.

“i’m studying to be a doctor, i know.” you say, the cigarette hanging limply between your lips still attempting to light it. “what’s a smart girl like you doing smoking and drinking then huh? you’re the one who’s supposed to tell people not to.” she says, bringing the lighter to the stick in your mouth and lighting it for you, the closeness of your face to her hands making you nervous. “pineapple cocktail and a rum coke?” you hear the vendor shout; the moment breaks and ellie pushes the lighter into her pocket before grabbing the two drinks, handing you yours before turning around and waving slightly, with the cigarette in her mouth.

“see you up there, doll.”

“bitch you will not believe what just happened” you say, finally making it back to where andrew and liliana were after having to shove through the crowd, almost spilling your drink all over yourself. “i just spoke t-“ the sound of screams interrupts your sentence and people push you and your friends forward, trying to get closer to the stage. you look up to see what is making people so eager, and see her. and holy shit, does she look good on stage. “how are we doing tonight, goldwhit grove?” she says into the mic, making the squeals of the girls around you erupt even louder, some drunkenly trying to take their shirts off before their more sober friends stop them.

after speaking into the mic for a bit about god knows what, you could barely hear her, she strums her guitar making people scream even louder. “what should we start out with?” she slurs into the mic. she looks like she’s on something, but what musician isn’t. you hear people screaming different names you haven’t heard of, before she says “she’s my drug? that’s all yall wanna hear.” she laughs before starting the song. it is her top song for a reason, it sounds phenomenal. you’re trying to enjoy your time, but the amount of people pushing you and stepping on your feet is annoying you.

after a few songs you hear her voice echo, “guys, let’s back it up a bit, you’re crushing people.” part of you wants to think she said that because she was looking at you, but you reality check yourself quickly. nobody listened, and you feel someone step on your heel for the hundredth time, finally deciding to say something.

“did you not hear her? i can barely breathe dude chill out.” you say to the drunken girl behind you. she looks angry, angry that you had the balls to speak up. she shoves you aggressively, making you bump into the person in front of you. now they’re mad at you too, for bumping into them so harshly. you try defending yourself when you feel a cold drink splashed on your chest. your final straw.

you shove your way out of the crowd, leaving behind your friends and deciding you’ll wait until ellie’s performance is over to join them again. once youre out, you make eye contact with the girl on stage. she has her head low and it almost looked like she was looking at you. you get lost on her, she’s playing so aggressively but strategically. before your imagination goes too far, you see her look around to the rest of the crowd, girls screaming when they look her direction.

you walk away, deciding to take a seat on the grass and light a cigarette while you wait. there were a lot of other people sitting around you, assuming they left for the same reason. you’re scrolling mindlessly on your phone until you hear a familiar voice.

“y/n?”

you look up, and it’s her. why the fuck did she have to be here? you were actually enjoying yourself, besides the few rude people, and she had to show up and ruin it all.

“what the fuck are you doing here abby?” you spit out. you’re furious. you haven’t spoken to her in a few weeks, and there were actually days you didn’t think about her at all. “hey, i was just trying to be nice. what are you all butt hurt about?” she says, towering over you sitting on the grass. she always made you feel small, not just physically, but mentally too. you sigh, not wanting to let her control your emotions any longer. the partially-distant sound of ellie’s guitar stopped, making it seem so much more quiet.

“you here with ava?” you spit out at her. she looks like she took that offensively, even though she was the one who cheated on you. “what’s that supposed to mean?” she says back, her tone becoming more aggressive. you push your cigarette into the grass, putting it out and standing up. “what are you wearing?” now that you’re closer, you notice her cheeks are red, and so are her eyes. she’s crossed. you know how she acts when she’s drunk, so you simply gather your things, trying to ignore the entire situation and join your friends. the people who were previously around you had gotten up to go back to the stage as ellie had gotten off.

“where are you going?” it sounds like she expects you to stay. to come running back. to cling to her. “to my friends.” you flatly state while walking away. you feel a hand grab your wrist. “i’m talking to you, y/n. it’s rude to walk away from people when they’re talking to you, y’know?” her tone is that of mockery. like you’re a child and she’s trying to teach you a lesson. “did the breakup make you gain that much weight? god i really ruined you huh?” you try to yank your hand away, “let go of me abby, seriously it’s not funny.” her grip doesn’t subside and only grows stronger, making you wince.

“she said no dude, can you not take a hint?”

you turn around and see ellie walking towards the conflict. this is so cliche. “are you a groupie now?” abby laughs at you, and as soon as she says that ellie shoves her off. as attractive as ellie was, abby was stronger. she was built, and she could take down almost anyone. “stop, this is dumb.” you say as they get close to each other. “yeah, yeah it is. don’t know why i’m getting all mad over a groupie slut. you can have her.” she says, walking out of the venue. you see a ditsy blonde girl following after her asking if she’s okay as she furiously walks, not responding to her. you try not to cry at her words, why does she still have such an effect on you?

“you okay?” you hear ellie asking you, almost forgetting she was there. “yeah- yeah. sorry about that. and thank you.” you say, extremely embarrassed while wiping your tears. she’s just looking at you. not saying anything. she didn’t know what to say.

“wanna go get a drink to cheer you up?”

that’s how you ended up in a random bar, with ellie fucking williams. after she asked you to drinks, she took you to the back stage, careful not to be spotted by any fans, where she grabbed her bags and headed for the exit. she was able to sober up before the ride home. while walking out, girls spotted her, running up and asking for her auto graph. she obliged for a few until one asked to sign her boobs, “i gotta go, girls.” her bodyguards following behind the two of you making them back off. you were expecting a van or a car, but no.

she rides a motorcycle.

she just got hotter.

lifting the seat, she tosses her bag into the large compartment, replacing the extra helmet which she handed to you. your heart was racing, you’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before. you nervously put the helmet on your head. “here, lemme help.” she says, pulling the band tightening the helmet ensuring it’s on tight, before tapping it lightly and swinging a leg over her motorcycle. she reached her bent elbow out, waiting for you to use her to help you get on. you grab onto her arm and swing your leg over, getting more comfortable.

“hold on.”

“so where’d you hear my music?” she says, babysitting another rum and coke looking at you intently. she was careful not to drink too much knowing she had to drive home. the two of you had been at the bar for two hours, just talking. a few people coming up every so often to get her autograph. “i actually just only heard about it the other day, through the festival.” you say shyly, hoping she won’t take offense. she laughs softly looking down. “i guess it’s a good thing for me huh? got another monthly listener and a pretty girl talking to me.” everything she says is so blunt, so easy.

you start to wonder how many other girls she’s charmed with the same line.

“wanna head out?” she says. “you can come back to mine- fuck, i can take you to yours. sorry, that sounded desperate.” she laughs, picking up the two helmets and your purse, handing it to you. with the bill paid, the two of you walked to her bike. she opens the door and waits for you to walk through.

“why don’t we go back to yours?” you say boldly. she looks surprised, and sets her helmet on her bike, placing yours gently on your head. she puts hers on, hops on the bike, and helps you get on.

“alrighty.”

you didn’t know how much you’d actually like being on a motorcycle. there’s so much adrenaline, she’s speeding through cars and air is whipping around the helmet. your chest is pushed tightly to her back, your hands wrapped around her waist. luckily, her wearing her helmet made it impossible for people to spot her, making it an easy ride back to her hotel, the only hotel in town. parking her bike in a designated spot, she holds her arm out allowing you to slide off easily, her following behind you. she opens up the bikes seat, grabbing her backpack, and locks it.

“we should hurry before someone spots you!” you giggle. the alcohol making you feel so light and ditsy, following her to her room like a lost puppy. she pulls the key out and unlocks it, holding the door for you and locking it after you. she tosses her things on the hotels desk as you lay down on her bed. smiling to yourself.

“what’cha smiling about pretty girl?”

you giggle, tapping the bed indicating her to lay next to you. “this doesn’t feel real” you laugh out as she crawls on the bed, “i mean, im living every gay girls dream right now, hello? i’m in a hotel with ellie *hic* williams!!” she laughs at your drunken state, reaching to the bedside mini fridge to grab a seltzer. “you’re cute, y/n”. your ears kinda perk up, not remembering when you told her your name.

“how do you know my name?” you say, squinting your eyes at her. she cracks open the can. “calm down, princess, i heard it when that dick was talking to you earlier.” you notice she becomes a little annoyed. “i’m glad i took money out of her pocket but fuck, i got douches at my show.” she takes a long drink from her can. your rose-colored glasses didn’t even care about abby right now, or how much ellie hated her from their first interaction, you just wanted more of her.

you snuggle closer to her, wanting to breathe her in. you’re on the left side of her, laying on your side as she’s on her back. the level of intimacy between the two of you makes your head spin. you guys just met. part of you feels bad that she, a fucking rockstar, probably wants more than a simple conversation and cuddling. you sit up slightly, trying to remove your shirt, “hey, what are you doing?” she says, looking confused. you’re struggling to take your shirt off, it being tight and you being drunk. “feel bad. you probably get girls eeeeveryday doin this.. know why you’s wanted m’here so- so i’ll do it.” your works are slurring and hardly making sense and you’re starting to get frustrated. partially from not being able to take off the uncomfortable shirt, and part from not wanted anything sexual now, not in this state and not when you hardly know her.

she grabs your hands and stops you, making you look at her. “hey, i don’t wanna do anything, ‘kay? we can watch a movie after i get you some clothes to change into.” you put your arms down watching her get up and get an oversized band tee. “don’know if it’ll fit, els.” you say, sadly. she turns around, waiting for you to try it on. “just try it, princess.” you try taking the shirt off again, but just can’t. you get so frustrated you start tearing up, making her turn around and help you. “m’gonna take it off okay?” you nod, lifting your arms as she helps you take your shirt off. “don’t look!!” you say, laughing and pushing her away. she turns around, laughing, “okay, okay” allowing you to put the shirt on and take your bra off from under the shirt. finally, you slip your skirt off.

“done!” you say, smiling watching her turn around as she makes eye contact with you, her face turning pink. she walks towards you, smiling down at you on the bed. “wanna watch a movie?” she asks, picking up a remote and a bag of what looks like joints, pulling one out along with the lighter in her pocket. you nod, asking “can i have one?” she closes the bag, replying “you’re way too drunk, sweetheart.” she flicks on the tv, putting on whatever shitty movie was playing on the hotel tv at the time. you both crawl under the bed, cuddling up into her. you hear a familiar click of the lighter, and the sound of the paper and weed burning. she plays with your hair, making you more and more sleepy, drifting off into a deep sleep state.

the next morning, you wake up unsure of where you are. you look around the room, its messy and there’s clothes, food, and drinks everywhere. you lift your head and look to the right and see none other, than ellie williams.

what the fuck happened last night?

#ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams fluff #eillie williams x reader #rockstar ellie #rockstar gf #ellie williams smut

[espinosaurusrexex]

The Karens of the World

BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader modern au

summary: Aunt Karen is possibly the worst person you know. So when her annual Independence Day party arrives, you try to give her as little reason to pick on you as possible. Not being single for once should cover most of the topics she complains about. So you ask your friend Bucky to play pretend.

a/n: So I tried this website @nana1000night (make sure to check out their own chats) posted about and my ideas just started overflowing. I wrote this so quick, there may be some tenses errors, but the concept was so fun, I hope you like it.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: fake dating trope, grumpy!Bucky AND protective!Bucky, bullying, a Karen (this should say it all, really), self-doubt, body dysmorphia, mentions of violence, and sooooo much fluff!

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

↑ This movie altered my brain chemistry and also he looks so good OKAY BYE!

“Don’t do that. Don’t do that now, I really need your help,” you plead with a solid stare. But Bucky just broodily stares back at you with an unfazed expression. “Just answer the question, please.”

For a moment it seems as though he‘s squinting his eyes even more at you, trying to assess whether you are kidding or not. But you aren’t. You are in desperate need of help.

“Fine,” he finally breaks.

“Yes!” You exclaim before collecting yourself. “I mean: cool, cool... So, I’ll send you the details later and we can go from there.” You are a little nervous, but that’s what stressful situations do to you. And well, today definitely categorized as one. 

“You’re a great friend, you know that, Buck? The best there is!” A desperate attempt to save the situation, but Bucky isn’t having it.

“Yeah, kid. Text me, do... whatever.” He huffs before he stands up to leave. You just wrinkle your nose at the little nickname he frequently calls you. It is stupid, but you don’t want him to call you ‘kid’. You would prefer it if he called you 'doll' or 'sweetheart' like he does all the other women. Hell, you’d even settle for your actual name, but he never calls you that. 

You watch as he walks towards the door, but before he reaches it, he turns one more time just to send another annoyed look your way. Talk about being childish.

That was a week ago. And Bucky and you did, in fact, not ‘discuss the details later’. Bucky has merely stared at your messages, cursing himself for having agreed to the stupid plan you laid upon him. But he was committed to doing it anyway and the sooner it was over, the better.

You stare at your phone in silence, the simple text from Bucky making your stomach turn over and over. 

I’ll be there.

He has written. And now there is no going back. Which is what you had planned, right? But Somehow, you are still nervous about the whole situation. 

You stand in front of the mirror while tugging on the outfit you picked out for today. It is simple and light - perfect for a summer barbecue party. But you can’t help yourself when you look at your reflection. Your aunt Karen would have something mean to say about it anyway - she always does. And if it isn’t the lack of a partner (which is a problem you have temporarily solved for the day), it will be your body or your hair, or the way you speak, or the things you pursue in life. Karen is a textbook housewife, who has nothing to do all day but organize PTA meetings and condescend to everyone who doesn’t live up to her standards. And she has invited to her annual 4th of July party in her suburban family home in New Jersey. It wouldn’t bother you that much if meeting her wouldn’t always be connected to a huge amount of self-doubt and general mental chaos. It just bothers you that Karen makes you hate the parts about yourself you have never looked at critically before. 

Your phone pings again - Bucky is here. 

He just sits in the parking lot of your apartment building, his hands clenching the steering wheel tightly, and his eyes - as always - broodily staring ahead. He’s never done anything like this - He’s never pretended to be in an actual relationship. What if something goes wrong? What if they all see through this charade? Bucky wants to help you with your little ‘family problem’, as you have called it, but at the same time, he hates the situation he finds himself in because of it.

Bucky sits up straighter when he finally sees you running out of the door and towards his muddy truck. You look pretty, even if your hair is a little tousled from the small run you just did.

“Hey,” you greet with a smile after Bucky stares for a little too long. “Nice shirt.” 

Bucky looks down on himself. He is wearing a striped short sleeve button-up that fits him very well, and you have to admit, that your eyes linger on the strip of skin revealed by the two undone buttons a little too long before they sway back to the window when you get inside his car. You feel your skin go up in flames at the thought of it again. Hopefully, this will all go well. 

He isn't used to compliments, Bucky notes as he starts the car and backs out of the parking lot. This is just a courtesy; an easy greeting from a friend - no, actually his fake girlfriend for today - to loosen up the tension both of them feel. Bucky clears his throat while making a conscious effort to look away from the woman in his car, who makes him feel kind of... nervous all of a sudden.

The car ride is silent: no music, just the humming of the engine roaring in the background as you stare out the window and watch the trees pass by. Though when Bucky finally pulls into your aunt's neighborhood, you tense up and your hands become clammy - this feels like a really stupid idea all of a sudden. 

Bucky parks the car on the street in front of your aunt’s huge house and looks at you. He raises an eyebrow upon noticing how timid you suddenly look.

Crap. Had this been your plan all along? To get him to agree to pose as your fake boyfriend, to have to face your terrible aunt?

Bucky swallows thickly when he takes in your state. “Do we really have to go in?” He asks still hopeful that you would just allow him to turn around again, but that obviously doesn’t happen. 

“Unfortunately, we do.” You sigh after taking a deep breath to mentally prepare yourself. It shouldn’t be that hard, right? Just a little white lie to get you through the day. It will be over before you know it. “Thank you again for doing this Bucky, it really means a lot.” You smile one last time and then you get out of the car. 

Bucky just watches as you walk towards the suburban home, impatiently waiting for him on the sidewalk where the driveway begins. He isn’t ready for this, but he had promised you.

❁ ❁ ❁

Your heart begins pumping in your chest when Bucky straightens up and takes your hand in his, the other hiding in his pocket. This is actually kinda nice. A squeeze of a hand then the ring of the doorbell. Two times. 

“Oh, how wonderful you finally made it!” A slender woman with a blonde bob opens the door with a wide smile: Aunt Karen. “More than fashionably late, I see.” And then her eyes wander beside you where Bucky stands tall and steady with his hand still etched in yours. “Oh my, honey, is this the boyfriend you’ve been telling me about?”

Her eyes shine and for a moment it looks as though they were to pop out of her head from the way she’s gawking at Bucky. Okay, you get it, Bucky is good-looking. No need to think about breaking up your own marriage about it. Your roll your eyes before reminding yourself that you should restrain. The day has just started and you are ready to leave again. 

Bucky looks at you uncomfortably, but your hand in his grounds him a little bit. He can’t make you deal with it alone anymore. He agreed to help you and this is - unfortunately - his mess as well now. God, he should remind himself to not be this stupid more often.

“Yes,” he swallows, “we are... uh... seeing each other.” Great job, that definitely didn’t sound forced. Bucky looks between you and your aunt for a moment, trying not to cringe at his own words. 

You just send him an apologetic look before entering the house and let Karen pull you into a tight hug. 

“Well, you have certainly gained little since the last time I saw you, I can barely fit my arms around you, honey,” Karen jokes but it hits deeper than that. “Must be that relationship weight, don’t we know it, huh?” Unbelievable, not even one minute in and she is already going at it. 

You try to ignore the anxiety pooling up in your stomach as you watch Bucky squeeze aunt Karen’s hand a little too tightly. There’s nothing wrong with you, but these comments never cease to make you hate yourself a little bit.

Bucky smiles when he notices the discomfort on Karen's face after the handshake. She silently shakes her hand out and forces a bright smile, but he thinks the message came through. So, he decides against saying something just yet.

“Come on into the yard, the guests are all there!” The blonde woman rushes and leads you through the kitchen and out onto the porch from which you have a nice view of the party. There is a buffet set up, your uncle is at the grill, talking it up with his friends and the rest of the crowd is scattered across the lawn. Some people are playing corn hole and if the hostess weren’t such a pain in the ass, you could probably enjoy this party. 

Luckily, Karen disappeared into the crowd once she greeted you, now there’s only Bucky and you.

“Thank God you’re here! I couldn’t stand talking to Grandpa Stan a minute longer. He’s all about his World War Two stories again.” An annoyed redhead approaches you from the side and your mood instantly lightens. You turn and see Tasha greet you with open arms and a playful smile. “You look nice!” She says upon seeing your expression and her smile quickly falters.

“Oh, no. What did she do this time?” She watches intensely, her hands squeezing your shoulders, but now that your cousin is here, there is no need to dwell in the state of depression Karen has put you in. 

Bucky just stays silent as he watches you interact with the redhead. He’s trying to stay off to the side, as he doesn’t really know anyone very well. He’s not a social person, which was yet another reason why this whole thing had been a bad idea from the start, but now that he has seen why you needed a fake boyfriend, he is determined to honor his role for the day. He’d do anything to make Karen feel defeated and unsupported after what he has just witnessed. Because whether he likes it or not, you are his friend, and nobody messed with his friends like that. 

A sense of protection overtakes him every time he sees Karen pass by close to the both of you, And Bucky has to restrain himself a couple too many times from laying his arm around you. 

He watches people laughing and talking from afar, his face blank from expression, his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching out to you. 

“Tasha this is Bucky.” You suddenly say and pull him closer, your arm remains around him and he is kind of glad that you officially give him permission to touch in this fake relationship. He blushes a little startled at the gesture anyway. He’s not used to it, but it's kind of nice. 

“Bucky Barnes, right? Yeah, I’ve heard my mother talk about you.” Tasha says and Bucky just rolls his eyes. “And I see you’ve met her, too.” She laughs and Bucky knows she’s an ally. “I wish you good luck for today, our family is a menace.”

“Thanks.” Bucky looks over to Karen who is mingling with her guests and a wave of disgust overcomes him. “Hopefully she won’t ruin this holiday.”

“Oh, she will. You can count on it, actually. But with time you’ll learn to deal with it. We have Karen bingo cards at every event to cross off things she does or says. It’s fun if you make it fun. Don’t let her antics bother you too much. The suburbs are the only place she has something to say and she holds on to it for dear life... I pity her most of the time.” Tasha rambles on and on and Bucky takes a liking to her with every word. He smiles and so do you. 

“Anyway, I gotta get Grandpa a beer but feel free to mingle, and,” Tasha turns to you as she grabs your hand for a brief moment, her eyes staring into yours intently. “Come find me if she gets too much, okay?”

You just nod at your cousin. Tasha is amazing and she always manages to calm you down after yet another unpleasant encounter with your aunt. God knows why she was cursed with such a pain of a mother, but Tasha makes the best out of it. 

Bucky smiles and looks at Tasha walking away. He seems to have already relaxed with her somewhat, so he tries to take her advice and ignore Karen’s antics. Maybe this won’t be so bad. 

❁ ❁ ❁

It's about 30 minutes later when you are off to talk to some other family members who haven’t seen you in a while and Bucky has decided to check out the buffet. He eats in silence, his gaze swaying over the yard - people watching. He finds comfort in it every now and then. But unfortunately, his peace isn’t lasting long. 

“So Bucky, tell me. How did you and my niece meet?” Karen appears next to him and holds out a bottle of beer to him.

Bucky is a little startled but he swallows his hot dog and uses the time to come up with a story. What would you want him to say? Some romantic crap, probably, but Bucky would much rather tell her that you met at a burn-all-Karens petition downtown. Still, he can’t completely ignore his intrusive thoughts, so he simply takes the bottle and answers with a straight face as he watches Karen's expression falter.

“In prison.” Hopefully, this would shut her up.

"Oh? You are a prison guard?” She asks with intrigue, adamant that he is still the glorious man she makes him out to be, and Bucky just sends her a knowing smile. 

“Something like that.”

The blonde bob shakes in his peripheral. “Well, it was only a matter of time until she would end up there.” Karen shrugs but Bucky feels anger bubbling inside him. 

“What do you even mean by that?” It becomes harder to control himself now. 

Your eyes move over to Bucky as you let your relative’s speech about the perfect lawn mower pass by you in a breeze. He looks slightly irritated and uncomfortable, his shoulders are tense but he’s holding up well, and Karen doesn’t seem to suspect anything. Of course she doesn’t, though, she is shallow. 

“I just can't seem to believe that an attractive and interesting man such as yourself would settle for someone so... bland.” And just like that, snobbish middle-aged white women made it to the top of his blacklist. 

Karen sips on her cocktail with a winning smile, she must have known how insecure she could make you with the confidence that radiated off of her right now. 

The paper plate in Bucky’s hand crumbles at her words. His anger is clearly written on his features, turning solid by the second. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

It just bursts out of him, he can’t stop it - it just feels right. How dare this bitch call you boring? You of all people and not him? The anger crawls up his neck with every second he has to spend close to your aunt and at one point he can’t take it anymore.

“Bingo!” Someone yells from the back of the yard, but Bucky just looks at Karen with his death stare.

“Your niece is the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. She’s smart and kind and courageous and so unbelievably goodhearted. You don’t know how lucky you are to have her in your life. And yet all you do is patronize her. The fact that you don’t see that is seriously pathetic. You are a grown woman, for god’s sake. I highly recommend that you fix your attitude or I won’t be responsible for what happens next,” he sneers into Karen's flabbergasted face. 

The whole party has gone quiet. People have stopped talking and are all turned to look at the disturbance with the potential to bring far more entertainment than anything else that they’re doing. 

You decide to intervene before something else happens. You rush towards Bucky after excusing yourself and drag him out of the yard with a solid ‘Can I talk to you, babe?’. Bucky just glares at Karen for good measure before he lets himself be led away by you. He’s tense, with his hands clenching in fists, he looks like he’s ready to strangle your aunt - as if there is a lot more at play than your feelings in his response to her. 

“I swear... that woman...” He grumbles with vicious eyes, he grinds his teeth in frustration and the muscles in his jaw pop a little. 

“I know, but... well, that’s just how she is.”

“How have you gone this long without knocking her over with a bat?” You need to refrain from laughing out loud at Bucky’s comment.

“I can’t change it. Punching her won’t help. But, hey,” you push a white paper into his hand and upon short inspection, he realizes it’s a bingo card. “We can make fun of it. New round just started.”

You hug him and push a quick kiss to his cheek before you step back and let him calm down a bit. Bucky has to smile at the card in his hand and he looks down to hide the small blush creeping over the heated spot on his cheek. His hand covers the place you kissed and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. When did he start feeling this way?

“Come on now. I want you to meet my Grandpa. I think you’ll get along well.”

❁ ❁ ❁

“Meet Stan, my grandfather.” You say once you reach the small circle of people that gathered around your grandfather. 

“Pleased to meet you, sir. My name’s Bucky Barnes.” You watch them shake hands and Stan’s eyes brighten at the additional listener.

“Pleasure to meet you, young man. Grab yourself a beer and sit down I was just about to tell the story of how a grenade ended up going off right next to me.” 

You exchange a short look with Tasha who has heard the story about as often as you have before, but when your eyes sway to Bucky, you notice the intrigue in his body language. He scrambles to sit down close to Stan with his hands folded over his knees.

“You’re telling me that you survived a grenade? A literal grenade?” Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up and it's like watching a child on Christmas Day. “You’re either tough as nails or incredibly lucky, sir.”

So, hooking Bucky up with your grandpa was a great success. He seemed to be the first person that was actually interested in Stan’s stories from the war. And while you had to not worry about Karen steering up more arguments with Bucky anymore, you watch him interact with the rest of your family with awe.

The day passes by and Bucky seems to catch a conversation with Stan every now and then. He’s interested in history and your grandfather seems like the perfect source for the answers he’s been seeking. But when the moon rises and the fireworks have died down, you decide it's time to go home. 

Bucky is talking to your grandfather again when you approach him from behind. In a weird shoot of confidence, you wrap your arms around him and place a gentle kiss on his shoulder. 

“Are you ready to go home?” You’re a little nervous but you don’t pull away, and Bucky is strangely content with the amount of physical contact he’s gotten today. Still, he tries to stuff the weird feelings in his chest away when he turns in your arms. 

“Yeah,” he looks at you with soft eyes, “I think I’m ready to go home.” But you can’t help but think that his statement holds a little more than the answer to your question. 

❁ ❁ ❁

You smile when Bucky opens the car door for you. You didn’t expect it, and it almost looks as if Bucky didn’t expect it either, but you’re not complaining. He starts the car in silence but this time, there is faint music coming from the radio. The street lights pass by the window as you look out until your apartment complex comes into view. 

Once the car is parked again, you turn around to Bucky. He makes no effort to move and it doesn’t bother you at all. It’s nice in the car. Cool from the AC and Bucky’s presence is a pleasant addition to the calm the car ride home has brought to you.

“Thank you for coming with me today. I know it wasn’t exactly what you expected and I am so sorry for my family. They are a lot... I just...” You fumble with your fingers before looking back up at him again. “I don’t think I would have survived this party without you. It really means a lot.” You finally finish and it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. 

Bucky is quiet for a while, thinking about what you have just said. He feels weird thinking about how many of these family gatherings you had to endure without anyone stepping up for you before, and he has the strong urge to just cradle you in his arms and protect you from all the Karens of the world - let nothing ever touch you like that again. He had seen your heart break a little today and he didn’t like it at all. 

His eyes avert from the windshield when he turns to you and gazes into your eyes intently. There’s a lot going on in them, but it all radiates comfort to you. And then, almost like a button has been pushed, he grabs your chin and pulls you closer, his hand running down your cheek. There’s a moment of complete standstill. Everything is zeroing in on him and then, after a beat or two, he pulls you into him and kisses you. 

It's short and it's sweet but it holds more feelings than you have ever gotten from a kiss. When he pulls back, his eyes just run over your face. He doesn’t know what just happened and neither do you. It’s like a wild dream - a good one.

“What... what was that for?” Your whisper barely reaches his ears and Bucky struggles to construct a proper sentence with the way your eyes lock with his in awe.

“I... It’s... I just... couldn’t help myself,” he confesses while still shaking out of his trance. Uh oh. What if this was a mistake? 

He attempts to pull away reluctantly, but you stop him. “No, no it’s fine,” you grab his hand and place it back on your face, “do it again, please.”

Bucky’s breath staggers when you say that and for a moment, he freezes completely. Is this really happening? And how is he feeling like this when he didn’t even see you this way when this day started? 

The grip on his wrist is gentle, but he’s glued to you. Everything, every sense of his is pulled in your direction until you completely consume him. And he lets it happen. You haul him onto another kiss and this one is even better - more passionate, more... just more. He can’t get enough of you and he wonders how he has gone so long without it - this feeling of flying when you touch him.

Your hand grabs his shoulder and your fingers push into his tender muscles. It feels good, though and Bucky strives to have you even closer. The warmth is all-consuming but he doesn’t mind in the slightest, that the night outside his car is a hundred degrees or that just an hour ago this was all pretend. It certainly isn’t anymore.

“I really like you, Bucky. I hope my family didn’t chase you away. I know that they can be a handful sometimes, but you handled them so well and-“

“Doll,” Bucky stops you and your heart skips at the nickname. His eyes are shining in the dim light falling through the windshield, but you can still see every speck of grey in the deep blue. He’s trying to convey how he feels, but he believes it’s not enough. His nose nudges yours and then he whispers softly: “I really like you, too.”

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[hueningshaped]

★ between the two of us | c.bg

▰ genre: f2l-uni au w lots of fluff and angst

▰ word count: 10.7k

▰ synopsis: you and beomgyu have to cross new checkpoints everyday it seems when it comes to your friendship, one that has overcome the barrier of being online to real life. being friends in person is hard for you but you realize you love beomgyu enough to brave your own hardships: all for the better — ft the tubatus

warnings: mild cursing, fire in building briefly mentioned, insecurities/struggles and thoughts of body/face dysmorphia, face mask use but not in covid way but in the 'words bubble up like soda pop' way, severe anxiety, burnout, some depressive thoughts, details of eating (habits), arguments, someone gets a stress induced cold, RUSHED RAMBLING

dedication: this is for the one i adore greatly, to my infinitely loved apple of my eye, @gyurecs ! i finally finished it…. never saw this coming… while there are a thousand things i could tell you, i’ll just say that i love you ! i love you so much there aren’t enough words to describe; you are the light of my life and you deserve everything you’ve ever wanted and more ! 

▰ tag list: just @tyunlatte B) my beloved

ACT I.

Nothing beat the feeling of returning to the refuge of your own dorm, free from prying eyes, annoying people, the summer heat, and in today's case, psychotic professors who want to risk your life for the sake of an exam. 

Everyday when you came home from your tiring classes, it became tradition to do chat with your online and dearest friend. It was one of the things you looked forward to everyday. Sure, you both texted every second of everyday, but just to know that you shared the same screen, got to unload and refresh, while watching some silly videos — it meant a lot to you. No matter the weather, no matter where you were on any single, given day, you always made time to do so, and so did he. 

Your dearest friend, Beomgyu. 

Back to the new twist in your day, today, you came in hot with quite a story to tell, on how the fire alarm had gone off during an exam in your biggest class but your crazed professor, in fear of having anyone possibly cheat, had made everyone remain in their seats. Everyone’s phones had been taken away, so you couldn’t even call authorities. 

Long story short, the doors were broken into by other staff, your devices were returned, your professor was suspended, a fire had actually burned the student center, and everyone received an A on the test, on the class overall, but details were still being worked out. 

Despite the craze and near-death experience, you were oddly happy, but you think it’s because you get to retell the story to your favorite person.

from: beoms

I HAVE THE CRAZIEST STORY TO TELL YOU

from: you

YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED TODAY

Your phone vibrated as soon as you sent it, making you chuckle, but the startling realization of you both texting the same thing, at the exact same time aligned a bit too coincidentally. That thought was brushed off quicker than you had even realized. It was funny that what had occurred had even happened at all. Life just liked to be silly, and you were more than thankful for the few times it chose to direct its strange happenings on anything but you.

It had roughly been three years since you’d officially befriended Beomgyu, an internet friend that you’d met over the bonding of the beloved IU on a Twitter page, then coincidentally through the comment section of some TikTok, leading to the further exploration that you were the same user that you’d previously met as. Again, all those coincidences. Happenstances. It was fate, a matter of it that was just funny, nothing serious. Just like the two of you.

Talking to each other had been the easiest thing, even now, it was one of the things you looked forward to the most. Your friendship was a serious one, but not once had you ever considered ever meeting — much too afraid of him being disgusted or scared off by the real you. Only once or twice had you seen pictures of the other, never facetimed (again, too scared to do so), but he never pressed. Disgust was a rather harsh word that you never really confirmed in your head, but it wouldn’t be a lie to say it didn’t exist with regards to you. 

He’d send videos of himself with his friends, of his beloved parrot, Toto, he’d make his brother or his parents record him doing the random-est things, of him playing a few written melodies or covers on his guitar, even on a recorder (he’s sent you videos of him playing these instrument to wish you a happy birthday), of him simply talking about his day, and it became violently apparent of how fond he was to you to the point that every time you heard that soft, tender lisp of his, sweet and winding inflections in his tone that never quite sat still, your cheeks would rise to your eyes and ache with how hard you smiled. He had been your dearest friend throughout all the years just the way you were to him. 

Throughout your friendship, Beomgyu never quite stayed in the same place: having to move around a lot, too. Despite events that would knock you and him from being able to communicate, nothing could tear your friendship. Not distance, not life-shaking events, not even homework, but you’d made it a point to study as much as you could, alongside your work, to make time to talk.

This was why you dropped your bag down in its same spot, peddling to your desk to text Beomgyu now that you’d returned safely from school. You had tripped over a few things, stubbing your foot, gaze buried deep within your phone, navigating through your newly organized home screen so that it’d look cute, and then at last, you finally accessed your messages. 

from: beoms

WHATTWAAHTHTH YOU GO FIRST

from: you

NO YOU

from: beoms

BFFR

from: you

GYU U GO FIRST

from: beoms

fine 😒you’re so rude ….jk BUT ANYWAY ITS A LOT BUT THERE WAS A FIRE AT MY SCHOOL AND MY PROF MADE US STAY IN AND WE WERE GONNA DIE I SWEAR Y/N I S2G THE LAST THING I WOULDVE SAID TO YOU WAS ‘im so hungry im gonna start chewing on my sleeve’ LIKE HUHHHHH

Your stunned silence was thick enough that it permeated through the screen. You did have your read receipts on, and Beomgyu was definitely not a fan of being left on read. It surely just must be a coincidence. Sure, some things here and there have hinted at the slightest, thinnest possibility of you and him being in the same timezone, let alone the same area, but this was just the higher powers of life arranging life in a silly way to blast coincidence. Surely, that was the case…right?

from: beoms

IM OK THO I PROMISE!!! no need to cry and sob and d word over me almost dying a fiery death at the worst place possible

Y/N? are u still there? :0

from: you

freaking beomgyu 😭 if ur going to say dying u might as well not use d word in the same sentence ur sooooo 

from: beoms

ok AND???? ur not even worried about me almost dying and the fact that the fire was bad enough it burned down our student center, ur sick!!!!!! ur going to h-e-double hockey sticks….

The more he talked, you felt like the closer you were to falling sick.

 

from: you

stop..talking….

from: beoms

HUH ???!! if u hate me jus say it 🙂 i can take it 🤧 no but fr i can take it now that my uni gave me an a for the whole class since my prof got suspended hehehehe anyways WHAT HAPPENED TO U PLS DONT TELL ME ITS A BETTER STORY THAN MINE

You laid your forehead against your cold desk, nose and mouth hanging over the floor. Every probability of every possibility didn’t seem plausible. There was no way that fate worked that way, but you had to test the waters out before you truly allowed your heart to pound right out of your chest.

from: you

beomgyu what is ur professor’s name…..

from: beoms

for why

from: you

oh thats really his name? 

from: beoms

u deserve cruel and unusual punishment btw oh and his name is dr. mathias something rey 😻 he’s got a king name and sorry Y/N can’t remember crap

You gasped once your eyes found the name of your own professor’s name on the syllabus that was loaded on a different tab. There in fine print: Dr. Mathias Flores Rey. The same person who’d jeopardized your lives over cheating…both your lives… yours and Beomgyu’s… a person you never thought you would have met at least any time soon. 

from: you

im going to need u to not freak out with me bc i already am……… but im 99.999999% sure we go the same school bc we have the same prof and we have the same class and we had the exact same thing happen to us…….. but idk maybe its just a coincidence lol hahaa could be mandela effect lol haha sorry i had to discover this sorry BEOMGYU LAUGH WITH ME PLE A SE

It was his turn to leave you on read. 

This freaked you out definitely a lot more than it should have. The logical part of your brain chided the anxious part, which was the majority, saying, ‘This is a good thing! You’ll finally be able to meet! Isn’t that what you’ve wanted?’

But the anxious part was a bit more in control. It for sure had a hand in just about every part of your brain, as it had for so long. So, rather than be able to enjoy this discovery, this wonderful surprise has made you come face to face with the struggle you’ve had your entire life.

Violent buzzes pulled you suddenly from your thoughts, breathing a bit seized but deflating as soon as your eyes you found the culprit of sound: Beomgyu’s contact name and picture taken over the entire screen with an incoming call. 

Hesitantly but with a shake of your head that whisked such delays away, one swipe and his thunderous giggle-scream filled the air of your silent room. As joyous as you felt about the potential lack of distance with your longtime online friend, a part of you felt weary. In the reflection of your screen, you could see your lips pursed, the bottom tucked between your teeth, set on peeling the skin on it. The sunshine, which had blinded you for much of the day, was hidden behind the black out curtains, tinting the world dim and gray. Just the way you felt inside.

“Hello?! Y/N, I’m so mad at you… how dare you even think for a second that you should apologize for discovering this,” you forced out a laugh in response, which in turn made his voice lower. “Is it really true, though? I-I don’t want to get my hopes up… I mean, I’m over the moon right now, but I mean-well… you know what I mean, right?” 

While a tide of doubt swirled in your mind at the possibility of him being disappointed by you, which you felt was inevitable, the exhale that drafted from your lips registered as a sigh for him.

“Y/N, you alright? I didn’t bother you, did I?” Because of the years you had behind your friendship, you knew Beomgyu well, especially what he needed. Immediately, your voice thinned out and you made sure to reassure him to the best of your abilities. 

“I’m good, Gyu. I promise you didn’t bother me. I’m… well, yeah, it’s all true unless you don’t belong to an introduction to linguistics class that meets from 12:30 to 2:15 every Monday, Wed—”

“Holy shit.”

“Wednesday, Friday, and our prof is named Dr. Mathias Flores Rey, and he’s most likely getting his doctorate taken away, then it’s not true.”

“It is true! It is true!” Beomgyu barked into the speaker incessantly, screaming then laughing loudly, which made you smile contagiously. He just had that effect. The birds chirped and the sun bled in the room from behind the curtain as you joined in laughter. Brief moments like this lowered the volume of the anxiety that pulsed through your veins. They were nice. Brief but so nice. That was what made them special.

“So, when can I meet you? You live on campus, right?” He asked, still full of excitement, and your wavering breath brought reality back to the film of your eyes. “Yeah, I do, and um…” Back and forth, your head turned to look around at the room, almost like you needed to be reminded of where you were. Of who you were.

“I’m still on campus, Y/N. That is if you wanna meet up still. I mean, it’s been a long day for both of us, so we can do this another day. No pressure.” He sang out the last word but a part of you still ached for him even if he possibly wasn’t bothered by your possible decline. Like an inkling, you felt like you needed to reassure your dear friend and always make sure his feelings were good, that his heart felt safe, and that he felt okay at the very least. None of this could even be close to a job; you loved Beomgyu dearly. He had become your close friend throughout all these years. 

He lived off campus in a shared apartment with his four other friends. Beomgyu went on to surprisingly give his exact location, disclosing his address much to your laughing shock with repeats of “Beomgyu, come on!” He went down to the apartment building and room number, giggling along with you. Back and forth of his apartment and his friends, you could feel that he was aware that you were dodging the question. 

It wasn’t too far, probably a thirty minute walk from your dorm, so you could do another day, but you also thought about the sun that was setting, the last attempts of sunlight shooting through the dips of the horizon that were soon to die down to let the dark become of the sky, and how little light would work in your favor.

“Y/N?” Beomgyu called due to lack of response to whatever he said.

“I can meet you now if that’s okay…” your heart pounded loudly in your ears, above your own voice it seemed. The person you’ve known for the past three years was soon to meet you, to see you finally, to put a face to the name, and that terrified you. 

Instantaneously, you could feel his smile through the phone. “More than okay. It’s perfect. When and where, Y/N?” 

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Now, this seemed like a bad idea. Or, an idea that was born to fail.

Walking through the park, eyes flitting from your Maps app to the unfamiliar surroundings on the one part of campus you never quite visited — mainly because it was a hang out area, lots of seating areas, and well, it would be a nice place to be to read and listen to music and just relax, but it was never empty — you couldn’t help but feel like you wanted to be sick. Your slip on shoes scraped against the concrete under your feet, a painful rhythm to the thundering of your heart. 

How long do you think you can keep doing this? Thoughts like these filter through your ears, rounding your mind as sharp as a hiss but as light as a breeze. 

Beomgyu had said he’d be waiting, messaging you with live updates of where he would be and when he would arrive, and three minutes prior to this moment, he had texted:

from: beoms

IM ALIVE I MADE IT BY MYSELF ID LIKE TO THANK MY MOM AND DAD FOR RAISING ME SO BRAVE IM A SOLDIER 💪💪

You knew what he looked like, so you knew what to look for. However, it didn’t make it less strenuous on your heart. You felt like it was going to give out, your hands trembling from around your hold on your phone. He had no idea what you looked like. That scared you.

But what scared you more was—

Unruly hair, boba-like eyes, long eyelashes, pretty lips. Even with half a glimpse, you still stopped in your tracks at the knowing of who was before you. Beomgyu.

You swear you almost dropped your phone and fled the scene, but surprisingly, your anxiety had some semblance of restraint for you. 

Beomgyu really was right in front of you, seated on a bench, feet rolling left and right on the skateboard, gazing down at his phone rather pensively like he was looking at it and not looking into it. You wanted to run off.

But your feet carried you over to him, keeping some distance between you and this very guy. Voice perked up, all functions from the surprising courage of your body, all for you to try his name, “Beomgyu?” 

He looked up immediately, blinking a few times, like he had forgotten what he was doing, and it made you worry, ready to flee and forget this whole thing had even happened, but then, things clicked. It was a visual story. 

Realization slowly became of his face, from the widening of his eyes, mouth forming an ‘o’, the skateboard nearly slipping right from under him as he scrambled to stand, and his mouth stuttered on some word that you later realized was your name. Beomgyu seemed to know you even if he had no confirmation. 

“Y/N?” He asked for the fourth time, all while you pocketed your phone to nod shyly. A joyous screech from him made you flinch as he pedaled over to you, arms opening and for a second, you were sure he was going to tackle you, until he paused just mere inches from you, the proximity making you sweat even more than you already were. So close. 

It felt like a dream. Silly to say of which you’ve had many. Of meeting, of navigating the end of the world together, of being in a zombie apocalypse together, of all the craziest scenarios your dreams can create, but there were also nightmares. Of this. Of him seeing you for the first time and being grossed out by what he sees. Of him refuting your friendship because of what you look like. 

Beomgyu’s boyish beautiful smile paralyzed you, pretty features absolutely enthralling, dark rounded eyes that were full of wonder and joy that had to look down for you, curtained by long eyelashes, grown out brown hair that you’d seen through recent pictures, and the light but generous scent of his fragrance — something like lavender, linen, musk, and some other earthy scent that you swore you’ve smelled on your mom or something like that — with sun kissed skin even in the low light of the lampposts.

Your eyes just scanned everywhere, unable to resist the canvas before you. It shocked you. It pleased you. It overwhelmed you.

“Y/N,” you heard and blinked back to the anxiety that palpitated in the pit of your belly. Your eyes locked with his, that same smile on those lips. “Is it… is it okay if I hug you? Y…you’re not sick or anything, are you?” He laughed minutely at his own question, but it was moreso out of pure glee like he was unable to believe even his own eyes. 

Beomgyu didn’t seem to care too deeply about you wearing a face mask, which steadied your heart. At least that was what you had told yourself then and there. With a quick nod, pause then head shake, and some reassurance of a lie, some distorted truth to enable the disguise, you felt like a fraud who didn’t deserve to be embraced by your best friend after so long, after having been convinced you’d never even meet. Your half-covered face just smushed against his clothes as he squeezed you tight in his arms, enveloping you in quite a bear hug. Hints of flowers, of soap, of tea, of a fresh breeze were in his clothes in his scent, something you found yourself wanting to stay forever in. How spoiled were you to let yourself be here in his arms? 

Like a bomb, your rapidly beating heart ticked faster until you were the first to pull away, lowering your head but trying to make eye contact. A shimmer was in Beomgyu’s eyes, but he still smiled. 

He always smiled. 

ACT II.

One thing about you was that you had never really showed Beomgyu how you looked, and another thing about you that you didn’t know was that it scared the crap out of him. At some point, he had even told his friends about how it worried him. One of them had even suggested calling Nev and Max from Catfish, but everything, he felt, everything about you was real. You showed pictures of other things but not one ever exhibited your face, in any shape or measure. You were real. Genuine like a priceless gem. And meeting you, well, that had only immortalized that idea. 

But, you didn’t know that. 

from: beoms 

do u think it’s too early for me to tell u that i already miss u? 

After having showered and well, cried extensively while showering, you came straight to your phone to find this text from Beomgyu. Words like this from him weren’t new; he could say the darnedest things, some of the most heartfelt pieces in between the silliest, most unserious phrases. That was how his heart was: naïve in the way a child loves but just overall so pure, tender, and intelligent. 

After your hug, you both chatted about the aftermath of the fire during your class, about your schedules, about your days ahead, and it was getting darker, so Beomgyu had walked you back with the promise of plans tomorrow.  None of it had been done as smoothly as you'd wanted: you struggled to look in each other's eyes, laughed nervously, blushed, sweat, and awkwardly sauntered away from the other when the night became of day.

from: you

absolutely not :( i miss u too 

With that commitment of hanging out tomorrow, unable to quite say no when both your hearts unraveled through and through each fired up text message, time bled into the swing of things. Bidding each other good night like you always did to bidding each other good morning, again, like you always did. 

You only had one class for this brand new day, but you met up for study group, wherein you never actually said anything, but it was easier for you to learn when it was your classmates’ talking up the lectures. 

Of course, none of the content soaked in the sponge of your mind. It was dense with its own precipitation of your preoccupation of seeing Beomgyu. Again. 

It pained you. 

Because no matter how over the moon you felt about finally existing in the same time and space of your best friend, your insecurity didn’t let you enjoy it. 

And it was one thing for you to be friends online, but to be friends in real life? Wouldn’t things change?

“Wow, since when has that guy belonged to our class? He’s really cute…” while copying a few formulas for the study group lab, whispers caught your attention, making you look up, and freeze to find Beomgyu walking as naturally as can be for someone who was clearly not a part of the class. He wore a simple blue sweater, his wired headphones loosely hanging from around his neck, backpack hanging off one shoulder, and a plain, handsome smile on his face. He looked in his element. Like he belonged in any scene. Wouldn’t it be tarnished if he came close to you?

Plans to hang out together had been made for after your study group, but here was Beomgyu, joining you halfway through, coming over to you, a grin that only got bigger and bigger, with what you noticed was a coffee in one hand. Here he was coming to sit next to you, where no one ever sat, where you’d made sure no one could ever get near. 

You simply watched him in amazement, blinking, letting your classmates whisper among themselves, and allowing him to settle beside you. The process came with a cheerful greeting of your name, passing the drink directly in your hand, rubbing your fingers as he exchanged it, shrugging off his backpack, and whipping out his phone to simply place down in front of him. He even started getting out his laptop, noisily doing so, which got even more attention. Beomgyu couldn’t help but laugh at your growing sheepishness. 

“What?” He asked like he wasn’t aware of the angelic halo that shimmered off him from his dazzling aura. He must really be loved. And he was. By you.

“Nothing…!” You whispered out between breathy giggles, making room for him, and anxiously fidgeting your hand because your body felt downright stumped to be next to him. “Here’s your drink, Y/N. Sorry, I almost took a sip out of it since it looked so good.” He nudged the drink closer to you, patting the backside of your palm to give you a sweet smile. Only reason he added emphasis was because he knew you were anxious. Hesitantly, you nodded and grabbed onto it, looking into the drink before looking back up to see he hadn’t looked away from you yet. 

“Thank you, Beomgyu. You didn’t have to get me anything. Didn’t you get anything for yourself?” Everything sounded like you were out of breath, but he shook his head, shaggy hair bouncing healthily. “No problem, Y/N. Technically, it’s not a coffee but a tea refresher, so drink up and enjoy. And I finished my tea earlier then ordered yours once I was on my way.” 

A refresher that you have loved since forever. He remembered?

“Hmm…” you hummed and tried to balance giving your attention to Beomgyu, calming down, and scarcely trying to focus on the class conversation. Beomgyu’s palm wrapped around the back of your hand and squeezed in a way that made you wiggle your fingers. 

Your eyes moved from your laptop screen to his hand on yours back up to his face. “Just breathe…” he mouthed over to you. Beomgyu was typing with the other hand on his opened up document, things that didn’t even apply to him or his major, simply for you. 

As the dullness of your anxiety drifted away, you slowly were able to think a bit easier, to narrow down the “problems”. 

You had to take off your mask to drink the tea in front of him, or else you’ll look like a jerk. That was the main concern. Secondly, you wanted to make Beomgyu happy and spend time with him. Third, you wanted to get everything written down so you could study later.

It seemed like he was helping you out with that last one, and your heart quivered with the hope that you weren’t making Beomgyu unhappy, but rather the contrary. You just had to take it off to take at least one sip to show your gratitude. Just a little sip, even. 

The study group eventually died down with documents and flash cards being distributed via your group chat, but you and Beomgyu remained. One of your classmates had even turned around to give you a wink, giggling with a ‘you think they’re gonna kiss?’ under her breath to her companion. You hoped to God he hadn’t caught that…

“You ready to go?” Beomgyu closed his laptop after having basically typed all you needed; his fingers worked fast. Deadly fast. All this time, you had waited to see this skill up close. Awed as you were, you still couldn’t think straight. You hadn’t taken one sip yet. He stretched to pop his fingers, swiveling to face you in the chair. 

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat to come back to reality, eyebrows knotting and curving with worry. “Sorry… didn’t mean to shut down on you this entire hour… And you didn’t have to meet me here. You must’ve been so bored having to type up all this nonsense.” His smile appeared relaxed but kept widening with every word of yours. 

A part of you wanted to apologize for the very obvious lack of sips to your gifted drink. But, then that meant that you’d have to apologize for your appearance. But, then that would mean he’d have to look at you. And then, that meant —

“Hey, come on already~ I told you: you don’t have to apologize for anything, Y/N. This was so much fun. I got called cute today and I got to hang out with you before the real hang out. This was like a delicious appetizer, to be honest!” You surprised yourself with a laugh, making him do the same. 

“We can get some real food right now, though if you’re — ” “No!” You slapped a palm over your mask-covered mouth, blinking in shock and apologies. Beomgyu’s eyes only spoke from his expression: another blinking stare. “S-sorry… I um, can’t stomach anything right now. We can just… do what you had planned already.”

He arched an eyebrow with a suspicious face, furrowing one eyebrow and pouting. 

“If you say so, Y/N! We… um… we don’t have to do anything if you don’t feel well though.” He was standing up now, backpack on his shoulder, brave smile on his face but he looked worried. 

“I promise I’m well enough to hang out. Just have chronic tummy ache.” You commented, moving to follow him out the door with your own packed up backpack, too preoccupied over the idea of the reality that you’re going to have to show him how you look like at some point, maybe work on makeup during time apart… 

“Wow, you’re a real warrior.” He giggled under his breath as you both walked out the building onto your next destination. 

And the drink? Long forgotten by you. 

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Sadly, you both were shy with each other. Sheepish, struggling to hold eye contact, giggling and blushing madly at the pace of conversation, at the gift of being in each other's presence. Still, despite the bumps in the road, it all came together because hanging out with Gyu felt natural very quickly. Like scarily fast.

For that day, his suggestion had been perfect! You’d gone out to the bookstore then the Music Store, where you each bought things: you, two novels, and Beomgyu, two CDs. After that, you’d gone to the fields to just sit and relax, Beomgyu whipping out a small quilt from his backpack. You’d teased him for his Mary Poppins dupe, asking where you could find one. He thought that comment was funny, evidence in his squeaky laugh echoing off the hills around you. Beomgyu had whipped out a portable CD player and gave you a headphone and silently read with you, hovering over your shoulder to read, and making you wait on him because he read very slow. At some point, though, he felt too close, perhaps at an angle where he could see in your mask, so you had slammed your book shut and moved to sit across from him to give a ‘what’s in my bag’ haul. Beomgyu seemed down for a moment after that, but before you could even ask, he was back to normal before you knew it. 

Interestingly enough, you both were new to the area; while you and he dormed in this area, it was new territory for the two of you, meaning new sights to see, new things to conquer. Really, that just allowed the two of you to start off on the same page. Though, it was beginning to look like Beomgyu had to put in the work for both of you.

He always texted first.

But, it probably wasn't that big of a deal.

The next day, you and he had to attend a meeting with everyone from your linguistics class that you’d both been emailed about the night before. Your professor had been fired, just like the student center, but rather than giving an A for the course as promised, you were instead to take the reminder of the course through a different instructor, who was much, much harder on you than that professor who’d nearly gotten you all killed. 

To fight off the blues of knowing the tough journey ahead, you and Beomgyu both ditched your second classes to go to the local amusement park, where you both ventured on nearly all the rides, ones that you’d never have gotten on by yourself. Due to being throttled around in the air, your mask had nearly flown off, but it stayed on, your fingers tightly knit on the sides. It was fun to scream at the top of your lungs with Beomgyu, who’d gripped tightly onto your hand for each and every one. You paid for Beomgyu’s turns at the stands to play games; the natural skilled guy he was won handfuls of plushies, one of them being a teddy bear that he generously gave to you. He’d insisted on giving you all his winnings, but that had been the compromise you came up with. 

It felt like a friendship that had always existed because it was. 

That night, he invited you over for dinner with his friends, but you’d turned him down. 

It seemed like, without even knowing, you were going to be doing that a lot — letting him down. It was strange because for someone who was severely anxious and strived to be self aware all the way down to the cells in their own matter, you were also hopelessly clueless. 

And judging by the way things turn out, it wasn’t the good kind. 

ACT III.

After a week of goofing off with the other, hanging around campus and off campus, things took a wide turn when your linguistics class started up again. You and Beomgyu decided that you’d arrive at the same time in order to sit with each other; you'd thought it through. Having each other was going to ensure your success. 

For a while, it worked out because you endured this god awful class together.

Life fell into a routine: going to class together, spending time together afterwards either studying or simply doing nothing, and outside of that, texting sparsely and FaceTime-ing also sparsely. Your workload with this new professor seemed borderline torturous with pop quizzes, strict deadlines on frequent and lengthy assignments, overlapping group projects, online and in-class discussions, and not to mention the extra work put in to reading and understanding the textbook and lectures, which hardly made sense when applied to the exams. It felt like Hell, and it was only less than the second half of the semester that you endured since the fire incident.

Beomgyu took the weight of the course change and all his other course work like a champ, visibly drained but cheerful as always.

Sometimes he'd bring you breakfast that he painfully knew you wouldn't eat in front of him but he secretly hoped you'd eat behind closed doors. Other times, most really, you brought him coffee, tea, snacks, and breakfast. You'd even formed your own study group with him, but due to his popularity and the overwhelming amount of classmates, you never showed up after the first time.

For midterms, you'd both barely made it out alive.

When Halloween had come around, Beomgyu had wanted to hang out with you to watch bad scary movies, but then you had a bad acne breakout and you also caught the flu, isolating yourself for an entire weekend.

When it came down to fall break, you and he were supposed to have sleepovers, but you'd declined that suggestion pretty hard. There was an awkward lull for a day or two after that, but you'd found something else to blame it on. Lying.

Right before finals, you'd helped him dye his hair. Messily and not professionally, might you add, but Beomgyu loved it. He sent you a selfie every morning after that.

You didn't hang out everyday since he needed his days in, especially with his boys (who you continued to decline meeting), just the way you did. It was a wonder to you both as to when you'd finally open up. There was no rush, so he said. So he said.

These past few months have been fun! Lonely and painful and ugly as your life may be, meeting your best friend in person definitely made everything better.

Yet, even after all this time, not once had you shown a glimpse of your face to Beomgyu. Sure, lots of good times and moments were shared between you. None of it ever involved eating. Sadly, this meant that you'd have to give up meals so as to not eat in front of him. A part of you still felt like a fraud no matter how much you tried to ignore it, because by hiding your face, you couldn't help but feel like hiding other parts of yourself that you felt were ugly. Sure, having been online friends with him for two years had led to you two being incredibly close, but even you were smart enough to see that not everything had to be shown, not even to someone you loved.

Sometimes that meant shutting them out...

It happened a lot, or rather, he was used to not receiving the usual responses, as were you for the other — only sending a thumbs up emoji every few days to make sure the other was at least alive.

He had sent you a thumbs up emoji a day after the big linguistics final, which had, in short, brutally kicked your guys' asses. Like badly. You had yet to see if you'd both passed the class.

That had been a week ago. You'd sent the thumbs up two days ago. And, well, since finals were done, you'd expected him to be back to normal. If he was going through something, wouldn't he have just told you? That's what you both did before physically meeting. It made you worry about him.

Because he hadn't double or triple or whatever texted you? No. Because he wasn't reaching out? No. You just worried. Wondered. Dreamed. About him. Was he doing okay? Was he eating well? How had the workload been on him for midterms? Did his roommates go through the same thing? Did they give him a hard time? You doubted it with the way he loved them visibly, audibly.

from: you

hey gyu sorry for the super late reply 😭 but how did finals go for u?

The longest it had ever taken Beomgyu to reply to you was eleven hours, and that had been a year ago when he had had a full blown family day, meaning he stayed up drinking with his dad, his brother, and his best friends. Today, he broke that record, and you couldn't help but worry. Worry in a bad way.

Maybe he stayed in to game the entire day. It didn't sound ridiculous since he had told you he gamed for hours and hours, and maybe as soon as his last midterm was done, that was what he wanted to do to relieve himself.

Throughout September, during the recesses of your daily routines, you and he would go over to each other's houses. When you'd gone to his, his roommates would always be gone (so as to not make you uncomfortable) and you'd watch him game, idly on his bed: sometimes watching a show on your phone, studying, or reading. Nevertheless, something about watching him game felt nostalgic. The thought of it did.

Piles and piles of 'you're selfish' flooded in your mind as you fought the urge to reach out physically. It wasn't even for your sake. You just wanted to know if he was okay considering the last time you'd seen each other, he had hardly said a word to you, only his face spoke: showing a tired, vacant expression. You had been too broken in your own way to do anything but give him a hand squeeze right before the exam that had taken three hours. Beomgyu had finished earlier than you, giving you a few tired blinks and a smile that somehow stretched to his eyes, before officially walking out the door.

You just wanted a real life thumbs up emoji. That was what you needed.

The measure to acquire such a sign took the impossible. It meant that you had to go to his apartment. Thus, why you had been standing at his front door for the past four minutes, fiddling with your sleeves and your face mask, fingers fidgeting in attempts to calm down enough to even knock. So much anxiety that you failed to pinpoint what it was stemming from. Beomgyu? Did he finally admit to hating you? Was it his friends? Is Beomgyu okay? Who would open? Would they ridicule you and laugh at you?

A couple of voices grew closer to the door until ultimately, curiosity collided with reality, and the door swung open to reveal a couple of very tall guys who simply stared down at you with soft, wide eyes.

"Um..." the tallest of them said while the other two just glanced between you and the others, making your heart thunder in your ears. Another person seemed to be behind them. "Why are you guys still standing here? Aw, waiting on me, aren't you guys? Oh." The owner of that voice parted through the other three like the sea, blinking at you. You recognized him through the one of the photos Beomgyu had sent you. Yeonjun.

He blinked at you carefully, slowly glancing down to your tapped lock screen where he saw Beomgyu's selfie. (Beomgyu did that, and who were you to have changed it?) It all came together on his face at that.

"Ah! Oh, my God, you're Y/N?! Come in, come in!" Yeonjun immediately shouted and stepped back. It was at your name that the others got it, too, making shocked expressions and overall ecstatic features. You were practically ushered with their hand waves, and you were also touched at how they backed up to make space for you. After briefly introducing themselves to you, they suddenly began whispering. You neared closer so as to get closer to their volume.

"Okay, Y/N, so happy that you're here first of all, may I just say, and anyway, we were about to go get food and come to bring it to Beomgyu. Still can't get over how you're the Y/N..."

"Focus, Soobin!"

"Shhh!"

"You shhh!"

"Y/N," Taehyun garnered your attention, speaking softly under the umbrella of Kai, who merely chuckled. You nodded, doing your best to see how this pertained to your best friend. He smiled warmly at you. "Beomgyu's been burnt out lately. He's had a cold for the past few days, but it's because he hasn't been taking care of himself. He's told us lots about you, but since he's been by himself, he's kinda refused to see anyone, and this whole time... well, we wondered if he would be open to seeing you. We never knew how to contact you."

"Maybe it's fate that you found us. Thank you for showing up." Kai whispered, closing his eyes gently for a smile. Had your mask not been on, they would have seen how hard your frown trembled your lips. Your hands by your sides formed determined fists. If the situation was different, Yeonjun thought he would have cooed.

"Did you come over to see Beomgyu?" Soobin asked, having to look down at you even crouched slightly. You fumbled in your gaze. It took so much to even speak now.

"Well, yeah," your voice worked. "He... he hadn't responded to me, and it's... easy for me to get in my own head, and I just had to see for myself. It's um, nice to finally meet you all. I'm sorry I never said yes." You bowed your head in shame, and they quietly booed, disagreed with little 'no, no, no''s.

"Please don't be sorry, Y/N. Everything happens at its own time. We are just happy you are in Beomgyu's life." Taehyun added, and something behind your eyes wished to give way, but there was more important matters at hand. So, you smiled and thanked them, mustering up the courage to be strong for your best friend.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Stress-induced colds were not new to you conceptually. You'd probably had one during midterms, but seeing someone you love go through something you have suffered by yourself with made the pain a lot more tangible.

They told you not to knock, letting you know they'd be in the living room if you or he needed anything, and you'd stepped in as you'd gotten a hold of the knob. Beomgyu was sleeping in a way that showed you he'd only dozed off due to fatigue. His head was dropped onto a pillow, cheek smushed, a controller loosely in his hand, a blanket haphazardly around his legs. His under eyes were sunken in. It looked like he formed a little nest around himself.

"Beomgyu..." You whispered once you had came to the edge of his bed, a hand running through his sweaty locks, and that was all it had taken to make his eyes flutter open, dazedly taking you in his sleep-ridden sights. "Y/N? No way..." he blinked as you tried to show a smile through your eyes.

"What-what are you doing here?" His voice was hoarse, almost two dimensional in its deep pitch. Red rimmed eyes and nostrils, flurry of tissues tossed right where your feet were, minute shivers — it was true he was suffering. You blinked a bit, playing with a frilly corner of his sheets, the ones you found a second refuge in throughout these past months. "I wanted to check on you."

"Why?" Through the thick of his sinuses, he sounded sad. You blinked, trying to decipher the true tone.

"Wh-what do you mean 'why'? Beoms — "

"Y/N, please... please don't hurt me more than you've already hurt me..." he muttered tiredly through weak coughs. He looked so frail curling in on himself. Your frown hardened, bottom lip wobbling, ready to surrender to a cry. "Huh?" This was becoming a nightmare somehow. "Beomgyu, what do you-how can I fix this? I'm-I'm lost, please..." he shivered, weakly trying to sit up but still doing it. On his own, having refused your help.

"Look. The semester's done and over with. You... you don't have to pretend anymore. I've tried my best to ignore the way I feel, but to me, with the way you just... I know you're the kindest person , but you can be really careless, you know?"

You blinked rapidly in attempts to divert the oncoming tears.

"Me?" Your pain came out a color you had never thought could bloom.

"Yeah!" He raised his voice a little. A part of you figured much of this was from the cold, but why did it answer your some of your biggest fears?

"I'm sorry, but I know we've been friends for the past two years, but why do I feel like you're becoming a stranger on purpose? I feel like you dislike me secretly. Detest me even. It hurts so much more to pretend, Y/N. Just come out and say it. I mean, you don't let me near you, it's like you're grossed out by me. I thought, I don't know, you'd noticed by now. I know you're hyperaware of lots of things, but it feels like you choose to ignore it. Like you wanna be cruel." You wanted to word vomit, deny everything, explain it all, but you could only stare at him.

"Are-are you seriously this pained by me not being comfortable with you?" Your voice shook, sniffles bundling. "You know, I'm not comfortable with anyone, not even myself."

"But, I'm not just anyone. At least I shouldn't be. You treat me as if you're constantly getting ready to leave but never do, can never get close enough, and it's fucking torture." Beomgyu spat, crossing his arms and looking at the wall.

"What point are you even trying to make? I don't-I-I don't understand it! All I hear is that you don't want me here!" You raised your own voice, too. He sat up at that to look at you. This was something you've never wanted to see: Beomgyu upset or mad with you.

"Because I don't! I'm telling you how I feel and being sensitive with you — "

"I am being sensitive with you!" "No, you are fucking not!" "You're the one who needs to be sensitive!" "You're the one — "

At this point, the argument was beyond you, and you both were just letting out steam on the other, like two windly taut kettle pots. It seemed like some petty fight that you both had no interest in even winning anymore, feeling the loss in the looks of each other's eyes.

"Get out of here, Y/N!" At that sharp yell of his, you'd flinched but remained strong, now glaring. No room for you to even kneel and cry. No room for you to show the true weak link in your already decrepit being. No room for you to try and fight for an agreement. No room for you to even defend yourself more than you already had. You didn't deserve it.

Just as you were ready to stomp out, fist shaking, lips sputtering in attempts to curb your cry, you found a little wiggle room.

One hand on the knob and you turned to see Beomgyu's shimmering eyes, his own mouth curling with a cry.

"Beomgyu," your voice was full again, even and calm. "If you knew... I think you'd understand."

"Yeah, but I don't." His wet, hoarse tone indicated his level of temperament.

"But, you will."

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Everything else followed pretty seamlessly. The walk out the apartment came out a lot easier than you thought, considering how you avoided their eyes, apologized as you sped out the door.

The ghosting part was not.

In fact, it absolutely sucked.

You didn't lose your online friend. You lost your best friend, too, even maybe four, new friends. No goodbye or anything. Sure, it was cowardly to accept fate this way.

But, it didn't matter. Hardly anything did. There was one week left for you to remain in your dorm before you'd head home for the holidays, and even then, your plan was to continue the Bella Swan New Moon-era act you had been pulling since a few days ago. Somehow not even your insecurities that had ruined your friendship with your best friend mattered. You didn't care to look in the makeup, let alone get up to take care of yourself.

Since the downfall, you'd been lying in bed all day, rotting practically, with a sitcom playing over and over again on your laptop.

There was hardly anyone on campus since everyone had left because they finished their courses early and who wanted to be out during the cusp of winter?

The year was ending. It had been an eventful past few months. The friendship having lasted nearly three years now... You had only wished for it to last longer, for it to end better though selfishly you had never once wanted it to.

On the day before the campus closed, you decided to write Beomgyu a letter, allowing him to wield the power to throw it away or read it. Even going so far as to deliver it inside his mail slot at his apartment. Inside, you apologized for every thing you could think of, including the basis of your argument, wishing him well, reassuring him in the best way you can of your love for him, and had you been born looking like someone else, perhaps you would have been able to love entirely the way he deserved.

Funnily enough, later that day, dead in the night, despite the lack of a stamp, that letter was returned to sender by Beomgyu himself, who nearly broke your door down with how hard he had been pounding. Like the freaking police...

from: beoms

OPEN THE FUCGINK DOOR RNJNJNTRN

OPENNFNNNN!!!!!! 👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍

THIS IS THE CIA!!! FBI!!!! NCIS!!!! LAW AND ORDER!!!!! CRIMINAL MINDS!!!!!! THIS IS THE PRESIDENT!!!!!!

IM SO SORRY I WAS SUCH AN ABBY LEE MILLER PLEASE IM SO SORRY I DIDNT MEAN SHIT THAT I SAID ESPECIALLY SINCE IM JU ST DUMB PLEASE OPENNENUPPPPPP

If only you could check your phone...

ACT IV.

The truth was that nothing scared you more than being seen. You were terrified, obsessed, haunted, tortured by the way you looked. It seemed silly that at this age, you could be so afflicted by such a thing, but it had been true for much of your life, even as a child.

It seemed natural to try and avoid the discovery of such an ugly sight to the one you loved. Wasn't that what love is? This was how you protected him.

"Okay, okay! I'm here! I was in the bathroom!" You hollered on your way to the door, wondering if you'd gotten in trouble with the RA.

Once you open the door, revealing a very out of breath Beomgyu whose fist was ready to have fallen back on the door but had paused as soon eye contact was made. Those round, angelic eyes just took you in. Your own did the same, but not quite as majestically. All words eluded you.

It was freezing cold outside considering his reddened nose and cheeks, sparse melted snowflakes on his long eyelashes and dyed hair.

"Y/N," Beomgyu finally voiced.

"Beomgyu," you said calmly, in the same tone as his to tease, though it didn't do much to cover your disbelief that he was here.

He threw his head back to exhale, still catching his breath, pointer finger up in the air. You almost felt bad. Worse than how you already felt.

Wordlessly, you gently pulled him inside your dorm, shutting the door behind him as he did his best to muster up to say what he had to say.

"Do you love me?" He managed, arching a thick eyebrow, and combing his hair back away from his face. His thick lips formed a pout: adorable but so concerned.

"Of course, I love you." You said like it wasn't a matter of question. He sighed, leaning against the wall.

"No, I know you love me. I'm asking if you love me love me. You know..." It was evident that he grew shy in the way he had said it: sounding so sure in the beginning but voice lowering as if he had never admitted it to himself before then. You could feel your heart pounding in your brain, in your ears, in your eyes, screaming in your pulses.

"Do you love me love me?" You couldn't help but ask, stepping over his question, which made him groan lightheartedly. "I asked first!"

That made you both grin, ignoring the heat in your faces.

Beomgyu's eyes doubted. There was always a hint of it in his pretty eyes that reflected wonder. And you'd caught it from the moment you both collided, even before through video calls. He was real. You had never known love before Beomgyu; it felt silly, immature even. It seemed foreign, but it was because it was new.

"I do." You nod through glimmering eyes, vision getting blurrier and blurrier. It was a confident answer through body language, your ever fidgeting fingers now clutched tightly in your sleeves. "I love you. I love everything about you, Beomgyu."

There it was. A shaky breath followed by a laughter wet with tears. Beomgyu even laughed with his throat, hearty and strong, looking up at the ceiling to blink away his tears.

"God, finally..." he said under his breath, and you couldn't help but laugh at that.

"I mean it," you assured, voice thinning out. "I adore you."

Beomgyu looked giddy. He kept grinning at the ground. Despite your thundering heart, a part of you relaxed at the way he just looked so happy, simply at the prospect of your love for him. The other heavier part wailed in silence at the lack of reciprocation. He had valid reasons to not —

"Y/N, will you let me tell you how I feel about you?" His sweet but gravelly voice suddenly resounded near you, now that he had taken a step closer to you. Beomgyu smiled easily, warmth radiating from his eyes. Oh, this guy liked you liked you. Your face and body was practically engulfed in flames of intense heat and sweat. Your insecurities and fears were just a cry far quieter to the disbelief of Beomgyu just being within reach. Back. Yours.

"Gyu..." you sniffled from behind your face mask, blinking away the tears that pooled and pooled. "You don't even know what I look like. You're going to change your mind." This warning you gave him secretly felt like a plea to 'please don't change your mind' and 'please don't go'. Beomgyu made you watch him wordlessly as he brought a hand to cup your jaw through your mask.

"I don't think I could change my mind even if I tried," he whispered. "But, would you let me at least take a glance of the one person I've loved for so long?"

Your hesitance was met with absolute patience. A nod accompanied by errant tears began the process of you bringing your hands to discard, Beomgyu's hands gently covering them to help you. It was a slow process that made you nearly see stars from anxious you were for him to see your face. You hid your face, looking away to breathe in and out for the sake of yourself and for Beomgyu. And when you turned to look back up, your wet, teary eyes streamed a little more with a sob from your lips.

"My God, you're so... You're just..." His eyes did not hide the way they scanned all of your face: all your imperfections, quirks in your skin or facial composition. "I'm what?" You held your breath with rapt attention, lungs and heart seized in impatience, in fear, in everything in between.

Beomgyu sighed a big one, rubbing your jaw with his thumb and lowering his face down more to yours to tell you, "you're beautiful".

He held your face in his hands as if it was fine china, admiring each and every feature with an overwhelming love in his eyes and sweet words that dripped from his mouth so easily. "I love your nose, your eyes, look at these eyelashes, I love this beauty spot right here, you are just so beautiful. I wish you knew just how lovely I find you..."

You cried and cried at that much to Beomgyu's sad "no, you're supposed to stop crying!"

He craved to meet your lips with his, to come in and truly meet the face of the one he adored the most. Just as he was slowly zooming in, after calming down enough to cease your tears, your hand cupped his own jaw to stop him.

"Not so fast, Beoms. I have to take you out on a date first." You teased, but it was an idea way within what you wanted to accomplish. He visibly lit up, a small excited squeal resonated from his throat. "Yes, please. This time, I get to to be the girl who gets taken out on dates with flowers and stuff."

Blinking away his comment, you nodded. "I don't know what that means, but sure. I've been meaning to ask you on a date, pretty boy." You blushed at the way you could just say it freely, your face in his hands, and his in yours. His eyelids fluttered at your words.

"All for me?"

"All for you. You have planned every hangout. It is the least I can do. I want you to feel just as special as you make me feel." Beomgyu nodded dreamily at that. He felt like he was on cloud 9, having to calm himself down for the date and the kiss while openly being in love with you. All for him.

ACT V.

He could not wait a second more, so the date was the very next day.

Although you had never been good at gaming, that didn't stop you from making an appointment for a slot at a PC room that served his favorite kind of food and desserts, even beer. Seeing his face light up at the realization of where you'd brought him was enough joy to have lit up the sun. He was so beautiful, and he was yours. It was in the same area as his apartment, one that now was like your second home — now that you had four, new best friends.

You both tried playing a two person game on one PC, but since you were ridiculously terrible, the date soon turned into you watching him play. Of course, he played his games with a big pout, upset at how he missed your loser skills. His teasing laugh only sealed the deal, leaving you to resume your unfair matches in his games.

Beomgyu was a real gamer. His commentary and reactions so endearing and hilarious to watch; he just possessed such contagious positive energy. You felt so happy. The date lasted hours and even after leaving the PC room, you took him to a small arcade to play some more. He helped won you a few giant prizes, sort of as pay back for one of the first times you'd hung out at an amusement park.

Once you were on the walk back, full of snacks and arcade food, stopping by for candy for a movie night with the guys, Beomgyu led you to a stop right over the bridge that you and he would take every morning to walk to that dreadful class.

"Yes?" You arched an eyebrow and jutted out your lip in confusion. Beomgyu had insisted you not wear your face mask, if you were comfortable, and with his endless praise, you did just as he had asked. It was a miracle.

He held your hand in his, locking fingers with you and his grin turning to a smirk.

"Y/N, I just wanted to thank you..." his ears burned red. You smirked in turn this time, eyes soft and tender for him. "What for, pretty boy? You're the one I should be thanking..." he giggled heartily at that, squeezing your hand.

"Y/N darling... I just wanted to thank you for having been there for me always. And for never giving up on me, and caring for me, and reassuring me all the time, and just taking me out. I feel so special and... good... when I'm with you," his shy confession made your eyes prickle. You nodded in encouragement, so he could keep going. He obliged, leaning down to press a kiss to your knuckles.

"Especially for taking me out with gaming. It really, really means a lot to me. Not-not as much as you, but... it's just that the reason I game is because I don’t have anywhere to go. All this time, I’ve been waiting for someone to invite me to go shopping together or something like that, just something. I’d look out the window and think to myself ‘wow, I really want to go out’ because the weather is so nice, but there’s no one that’s invited me to go. Even if my friends invite me out, it’s usually night time... and then, I met you." Your lips trembled into a pout. With a chuckle, Beomgyu's thumb caught your tears that were waiting to give at your bottom lashes. "I just really love you, Y/N. I'm so lucky to have you."

"I love you, Beoms." Your words came out muffled with the way you dove in to give him a bear hug, which he accepted generously.

Being in his embrace made you feel like you were a real person in a real home; it was safe. Perhaps you wouldn't be so easily free from the weight of your insecurities and he with his own doubts, but between the two of you, you would always be together, and you could always find home.

#i finally did it mwhahhah #txt imagines #txt x reader #txt scenarios #beomgyu x reader #txt angst #txt fluff #tomorrow x together imagines #tomorrow x together x reader #beomgyu imagines

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 2

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, Sam Kiszka x f!Reader (oops)

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 13.5k+

Warnings: (for this chapter) please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering: poor body image, body dysmorphia, mentions of a past eating disorder, an ill parent, (this will include descriptions of struggling to breathe due to illness & mentions of an oxygen mask) drinking, cussing, Jake is jealous? 18+ ONLY: some pretty heaving making out, (but it's not with who you think it is hehe), mentions of an erection, slight nudity, mentions of being turned on. (please let me know if i missed anything. there are a few heavy topics mentioned, & the last thing i want is for anyone to begin reading without a proper warning.)

a/n: i am so sorry this chapter took so long. i truly hope you love it & as always, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think! i love hearing from you guys. 🤍

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & being my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

Le Morte d’Arthur Masterlist

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Your morning drives to school are your absolute favorite part of the day. They serve as your singular moment of complete peace to counteract the chaos that can be expected once the day truly gets started. The serenity of the morning air calms your spirit and prepares you for whatever the day may bring. 

You’ve managed to find an alternate route to campus, one that keeps you far away from the heavy morning traffic. It adds nearly twenty minutes to your journey, but the cost of waking a little earlier each day is worth the promise of a few spare moments of quiet solitude.

The new path you’ve found leads you straight to school, and the best part– it’s an image right out of a fairy-tale. 

Trees line the unpaved road, their leaves in early autumnal splendor. Hues of orange and red greet you in their forenoon charm, catching the rays of the waking sun as they glow in bright iridescence. 

This morning, there’s a light rain shower leaving tiny droplets on your windshield. The sun still dares to peek through the gray clouds, illuminating the glittering raindrops as they gently fall to the ground. 

You’ve yet to be met with another morning traveler since you discovered this road only days ago. It feels as though you’ve found some secret passageway— a hidden spot with no name, set aside just for you.

Pure tranquility washes over your body as your foot rests on the gas pedal. 

It’s the moments like these that remind you of the beauty that still exists around you— that no matter what downfall you suffer, the earth will always be there to offer you her tiny bits of wonder to keep your feet planted firmly against her soil.

Your Firebird putters into the university parking lot, amongst the slew of shining, new vehicles with hardly an imperfection to be seen on any of them. You used to be embarrassed of your old clunker, but as time goes on you’ve learned to be grateful for it and all the places it has taken you. 

Your new staff parking spot is awaiting you, of which you are entirely grateful. After your first day, you found that the parking lots fill up rather quickly with commuter students, so having a designated spot just for you everyday has saved you a lot of grief in the mornings. Yet another wonderful perk of being an employee of the university.

The smell of roasting espresso penetrates your senses as you waltz through the doors of the campus coffee shop. You and Natalia had agreed to meet this morning before your classes to study a bit for your course on influential women in literature.

Carmen, your favorite barista greets you as you walk up to the counter. Her sincere smile is always such a pleasant addition to your mornings.

She’s the most lovely vision; her loose curls always tied in a perfect ponytail, her bangs framing the contours of her face beautifully. Her black browline glasses sitting atop her freckled nose that push up past her eyebrows when she smiles, showcasing her sweet dimples.

You’ve made the coffee shop part of your morning routine everyday, so you’re not surprised when she knows your order without you having to say anything more than “Good morning, friend!”

“Large cold brew with oat milk and extra vanilla?” she asks, already writing it on the cup with a Sharpie. 

You smile broadly. “You’re amazing, Carmen!” You hand her a ten and a five, insisting that she keep the change. She fights you a bit but realizes she’s already lost the battle.

She hands you your drink and you thank her, telling her you’ll see her tomorrow at the same time.

You choose a table close to a window so as to have a view of the gloomy, morning sky. 

Watching the raindrops race each other to the bottom of the window seal, leaving their trail as the others merge to quickly join behind them— it gives you a sense of nostalgia that takes you back to a time when things were simply…easier. 

One thing about growing up in Oklahoma— it was always raining. And much to your mom’s discontent, you were sure to be found outside right in the middle of it. 

It probably explains why you were almost always sick as a child. Frequent head colds were the norm for you. It never stopped you, though. The rain brought forth a sense of clarity for you—feeling the cold drops hitting your face was the mental reset your mind needed, and it still is to this day.

You’d always been fascinated with weather— but specifically the rain. A poem you’d fawned over in your childhood spoke of rain carrying the ghosts of the past— a sentiment you’ve held onto dearly ever since. 

That very poem is the reason you love literature. It’s the reason you’re here, to study the thing that brings you the most comfort. 

Each time it rains, you’re flooded with lovely memories…memories of the ghosts that still linger from your youth.

This is the first rain shower you’ve experienced thus far in your new home; it feels as though the earth is trying to tell you it’ll all be just fine. She’s telling you that you do belong here, that you’re right where you need to be. 

“Daydreaming much?” Natalia pulls out the chair opposite of you, sitting her usual hazelnut latte down as she takes her seat.

“Guess you could say that,” you say through a smile. “I just adore the rain.”

You each pull out your laptops and Charlotte Brontë books, catching up on your weekends with one another.

“You’ll never believe what I agreed to on Friday,” you say.

She looks at you with a smirk splayed across her glossed lips, her rose colored cheeks still wet from having just walked through the rain. 

To your surprise, she asks, “Does it have anything to do with a little medieval film project?”

“How in the hell do you know about that?” 

“My brother,” she responds. “He’s helping Josh with it. Doing set designs, costuming— it’s quite impressive, honestly. Those costumes are some of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and I’ve done theatre my entire life.” She blows air on her coffee to cool it down a bit before taking a sip, wincing from the heat as she pulls the cup away from her lips. “I knew they were searching high and low for a Guiniverre— guess I should’ve known it’d be you.” Her long, butterfly lashes flutter with a wink as she giggles.

You’re not entirely sure what to make of her last statement. You just chose to ignore it.

“He said it’ll be killing two birds with one stone— that we’ll be helping out his brother for his film class, while also having something for our project in Movack’s class.” You pause to take a deep breath, “But I am no actress. And if it’s all truly that impressive, I may prove to be a bit of a disappointment.” Your hands fall into your lap as you stare down at yourself— your body comfortably covered with your usual oversized sweater and leggings, feeling a rush of insecurities as you imagine yourself being filmed. “I’m more of a behind-the-camera type of gal, anyways.” 

You’ve fought this inner battle for as long as you can fathom— your appearance is a topic you tend to avoid. You hide behind people for photos, or offer to be the one taking them to get out of being in it altogether.

Disordered eating had been a side effect of the severe dysmorphic thoughts. But thankfully, after years of receiving help, you’re finally in a stable place in your recovery.

The thing that still lingers, though; the harsh way in which you view yourself. Specifically, your appearance. 

“You said you’ve done theatre your whole life— why aren’t you playing Guiniverre?” you ask her. “I can’t imagine they haven’t thought of you.” 

Natalia is far more fitting for this film. She carries the beauty required to take on such a role; the beauty of a lust worthy queen. Just as well, she clearly has the experience you so greatly lack. 

She scoffs as she sets down her coffee and crosses her arms. “I was not about to kiss Sam. Nope. No way. That boy is a pain in my entire ass.”

Sam?… Kissing? 

This is the first you’ve heard of any of this. 

“Wait— what?” Your reaction seems to have caught her by surprise. Her eyes become wide and her lips part as she takes in your obvious confusion. 

“Jake…didn’t tell you about that? Did he tell you anything?” She leans in closer to you, a slight look of irritation present in her honey eyes. 

“He only gave me a vague synopsis— just about the infidelity in Arthur and Guinevere's marriage.” 

You suddenly come to a harsh realization that you hadn’t even thought about until now. 

Adultery and infidelity— forbidden romance. An entire film all about said romance, of which you are a main component. Of course there will be kissing in this film, perhaps even more. 

Your stomach drops at the prospect, and you're silently cursing Jake for leaving this little tidbit out.

Of course, it isn’t entirely his fault. You should’ve guessed when he told you the focus of the film.

You’ve already agreed, and backing out now would mean you’re back to square one with a project for Movacks class. 

All you can do now— beg to be anyone but Guiniverre. 

“First off,” you question, “who on earth is Sam?”

“Sammy? He’s their baby brother. He also takes classes here— well, when he decides to show up, that is. He lives with the twins.”

You pick up your coffee, taking a large gulp to keep the caffeine running through your system. “And why do I have to kiss him again?” 

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you,” she says, huffing a laugh under her breath. “Josh has…plans.”

You cock an eyebrow at her, having a pretty good inclination about what these plans entail. You nod your head to let her know to continue.

“There will be a few…intimate scenes, between you and Sam. He’ll be playing the knight of romance and chivalry himself, our beloved Sir Lancelot.” She follows suit in taking a few swigs of her coffee now that it's cooled down a bit. “You and Sam will really get to know each other. And from what I’ve gathered about this film, the emphasis will be on Guin and Lance’s love. Arthur will have a different love interest— I think they’ve already casted her? Anyways, I doubt you and Jake will have many, if any, scenes together. At least no saucy ones. Which I’m sure you’re glad to hear.” 

You were not prepared in the slightest for intimacy. Intimacy in front of a camera— with someone you don’t know, all for the sake of someone you hardly know. Someone who’s been a massive dick to you, no less. 

But her last statement— about not having any special scenes with Jake. She’s right, mostly. It would be incredibly uncomfortable to have any scenes like that with him…right? 

But, if you're being fully honest, a small part of you is a bit…disappointed. 

You shove that thought down fast. “Uh, yeah. I’m more than thrilled to hear that. That would be awkward as fuck.” You’re doing your best to be sure she doesn’t see right through you. 

“But seriously, y/n. Those costumes…” She smiles widely, shaking her head back and forth. “ My brother did a great job finding those. They’re going to accentuate you in all the right ways.”

That is exactly what you’re afraid of. 

With your elbows on the table, you throw your face into your open palms with such force that you nearly knock your cold brew to the floor.

“Nat, I– I don’t think I can do this.”

She lightly takes your wrist in her hand, jolting you a little so you’ll lift your face. “Hey, what’s wrong? It’s just acting, love. It’s not that serious, I promise.” Her voice is so sweet and gentle, her eyes have softened and are full of quiet concern.

“I know it’s not that serious,” Out of instinct, you pull your sleeves over your hands and take your hair out from behind your ears, hiding yourself as best as you can. “I just don’t like…this,” Your hands motion to your body covered with the security of your baggy clothes. “I’ve never liked this. I mean, just how much will these costumes… accentuate me?” The thought of baring yourself even in the slightest has your stomach tumbling with somersaults. 

“Listen— I know Josh, and he will never let you do something you’re not comfortable with,” she assures, her honest smile making an appearance. “His mind is wide open and his soul is in all the right places. If there’s something you don’t like, just tell him and he’ll fix it.”

You’re racking your brain with the thought of his twin being as wonderful as she described. How could someone who shares the same DNA profile with Jake truly be that amazing?

“And stop worrying about the costumes. I can promise you, y/n, you will look sexy as hell.”

She’s doing her best to reassure you— though it’s not totally working, you act as though it is to change the subject and get started on your studies.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You frustratedly close the lid to your laptop after having nearly failed your quiz. You had set aside plenty of time this weekend to study, but with how distracted you are right now from your conversation with Natalia this morning, all the time in the world for studying wouldn’t have mattered.

And of course, it’s Movack’s class— the one you most want to excel in, the one you share with Jake. 

He closes his laptop only seconds after you. 

It’s not a fucking race, Jake.

Movack stated at the beginning of class that once you finish your quiz, you’re free to leave. You quickly pack up your things, trying to make a hasty escape before Jake to avoid any possible conversation with him. 

You’re halfway down the hall and as you’re about to turn the corner to safety, you hear, “Hey, y/n! I need to ask you something.”

Fucking hell.

You pause for a moment, dramatically rolling your eyes before you turn around to see Jake walking towards you.

He takes his sunglasses off and places them in the breast pocket of his shirt. He makes eye contact with you, a rarity for him, before he asks “Are you free on Saturday afternoon? Around 4:30?”

…what?

That is the very last thing you’d ever expect to come from his lips. 

His gaze has yet to break as he awaits your response. His deep set amber eyes are piercing right into yours. He has an almost desperate look about him— as if he’s anxious for you to reply.

Is he…asking you out? 

Your intuition tells you there’s no way, but…why else would he be asking you this?

Suddenly, your body begins to tingle. The butterflies in your tummy begin swarming. 

You don’t know what changed— perhaps agreeing to the film? Maybe he’s finally seeing you as more than a scholarly competition, maybe he’s finally seeing you. Whatever it may be, you’re not questioning it any longer. 

You’ve decided you’re completely infatuated with him, and getting to know him even better outside of this classroom sounds…wonderful.  

“Y-yeah! I don’t have anything going on. I’m totally free!” With a full toothed grin on display and perhaps a bit too much eagerness, you follow with, “Why? What did you have in mind?”

His brows then become furrowed, his slight look of desperation transforming into one that says he’s now… confused. 

“Um… okay,” His voice sounds unsure, his inflection coming off as more of a question than a statement. “I’m only asking because my brother wants to go over a read through of some of the script on Saturday…you know, for the film project.”

Oh. My. God. 

You’re mentally smacking yourself across the forehead. You want to crawl inside the deepest fucking hole on this planet and stay there with your shame. 

What is wrong with you? It’s as though you’ve completely forgotten you have a project to do with him— that that would be the only logical reason he’d ask if you were free. Obviously.

That’s why he looked desperate. Not because he wanted you to agree to some date— because he needs your help with this stupid fucking project you regretfully agreed to.

Your face (noticeably, you're sure) drops. You’re so humiliated at your response. No wonder he looked so damned confused. 

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.” You revert back to your initial irritated tone, refusing to look him in the eye now, hoping that he’ll somehow forget you were any other way. 

“He also needs you to try on the costumes, too. Make sure they’re the right size.”

The costumes. 

This couldn’t get any fucking worse. But you can’t turn him down now, given you were so quick to tell him you’re free on Saturday. 

You simply say “okay,” as you nod your head in agreement.

He takes out his notebook, writing down his address before ripping the sheet of paper out and handing it to you.

You tuck it away in your bag, bidding him a quick adieu before turning to walk far away from him.

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes. Not out of sadness, but out of mortification. Out of irritation.

Irritation with yourself, with him. And it’s not even his fault. You’re the one that jumped to ridiculous conclusions— jumped the highest you possibly could.

You feel utterly stupid. 

So fucking stupid.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Your mom looks at you in shock as you walk inside your apartment. Ridding yourself of your bags with a swift toss to the floor, you slump down next to her on the couch.

“What are you doing home so early? I thought you had class until later this afternoon,” she probed.

“Just a little tired,” you say. “Thought I’d give myself some time to rest before work.”

“This isn’t like you, y/n. What’s wrong, sweetie?”

She’s right— this isn’t like you. You normally wouldn’t even think of skipping class, your education being the most important thing to you. But, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it today.

“Kind of a long day, I guess. And I’m a little stressed out with my classes.”

She then turns the television off and glares at you with the eyes of a worried mother.

“Talk to me, y/n. I know there’s more.” 

You should know by now that you can’t hide anything from her. She knows you too damn well.

You can’t hold it back any longer as you begin to spill it all. 

“It’s… stupid Jake. I thought he was asking me out today, but he most definitely was not. And I made an idiot out of myself because I misunderstood and—”

She stops you mid sentence, “And who is Jake?” she questions. 

You haven’t told her a single thing about him, about your project, anything. It’s not that you were trying to hide it from her, you just really didn’t want to talk about it.  

With a heavy sigh, you say, “He’s my partner for this huge semester project in my King Arthur class. We’re doing an Arthurian film with his brother,” you put a palm to your face. Looking up at her with a sarcastic smile, you add. “Oh, and Jake is a major dick.”

“Do you like him?” she asks with a smirk curling at the corner of her lips.

“Absolutely not!” you exclaim— rather loudly, at that. 

Even you don’t believe the words that came out of your mouth, so why would she?

She just chuckles at your response, knowing better than that but deciding to not ask you about it any further, switching the topic to your project. “Tell me about this film you're doing,” she says.

“You won’t believe this but, I’m actually acting in it.”

“You? Acting? Okay, who are you and what have you done with my daughter?” she jokes, forcing a smile out of you.  

“Just wait. It gets better,” you say. “I’m actually playing Guiniverre and Jake will be Arthur. It’s all about their adulterous marriage, and the focus will be on them cheating on each other. Quite romantic, huh?” 

She begins to laugh again, trying not to wear out her weak lungs, but it doesn’t work. She gets caught up in a huge coughing fit, struggling to catch her breath. 

This always happens; she can’t even laugh without her lungs giving her trouble. It shatters your heart. She’s always had the most contagious, obnoxious laugh. You miss the pure, unpunctured sound of it so much. 

You reach for her oxygen mask and gently place it over her mouth. “Just breathe, mom. It’s okay, I’m here. Just breathe for me, in and out…”

As much as it scares you whenever this happens, it scares her even more. The look in her eyes makes you want to cry. It’s a look that says “please make this stop.” 

You wish more than anything that you could.

It’s the moments like these that you want to curse your dad for leaving, for leaving his wife of almost twenty years like this.

She begins to calm down, her breathing slowing as she’s able to take full breaths again. 

“You okay?” you ask.

She moves your hand and lifts the mask from her face. “Just fine, sweetie. Sorry about that.” Her voice sounds so frail, like she’s just run a marathon. 

“Don’t apologize, Mom,” you lay a hand on your skinny thigh, squeezing reassuringly. “Please.”

She nods, then requests. “Tell me more.”

She doesn’t like to dwell on these things when they happen, so you start talking about the film and Jake some more. 

“He’s got a younger brother named Sam, who’ll be playing Lancelot. Apparently, there are a few scenes between him and I in the script that are a bit… sensual, you could say.” 

“Well, is he as cute as Jake?” she snickers.

“Mom! I never said Jake was cute.”

“Didn’t have to,” she says. “You think he is, I can tell.” Her grin says she can see right through you, and she’s not wrong. She never is. 

“I haven’t met his brother yet, so I have no idea.” 

You continue telling her more about the film, telling her about Natalia, but the conversation ends up taking a turn to being mostly (completely, actually) about Jake. 

“He’s just intimidated by you, y/n. That’s why he acts the way he does, so you don’t know his true feelings.”

You just shrug it off, knowing she’s obligated by blood to tell you that. She’s just trying to make you feel better.

“Just wait,” she says. “He’ll come around.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You look at your phone to check the time. 

3:45 am. Ugh. 

You’ve been in bed for hours desperately trying to sleep but your body just won’t relax.

You hated seeing your mom like that tonight. Watching her struggle to breathe… it's traumatizing every time it happens. And the episodes are becoming more and more frequent. 

You just want her to be healthy again. You want to be able to have a normal conversation with her without worrying about making her laugh. It’s tearing you down, watching her wither away like this. It’s not fair. 

You just wish there was more you could do. 

Along with the stress of that, you also keep hearing Jake's voice on a loop in your head; “I’m only asking because my brother wants to go over a read through some of the script on Saturday…you know, for the film project.”

“I’m only asking…”

It’s the way he said ‘only,’ as if to say ‘don’t get your hopes up, that’s not what this is.”

Him posing that question (before you knew the true intent behind it) made you realize that— as much as you wish you weren’t— you’re somehow on the cusp of having feelings for him. And your conversation with your mom made that fact even more abundantly clear. 

It’s most definitely not because of his winning personality. 

No; it’s much different than that.

He brings about an air of mystery everywhere he goes. Every step he takes adds yet another layer to your curiosity about him. 

And the way he acted when he asked you to be a part of his brother's film, how his face lit up in a whole new light. There’s a genuine man beneath his exterior— you can sense it. You just wish that were the Jake you’ve come face to face with nearly everyday since classes began a few weeks ago. That’s the side of him (if it is truly there and you’re not just making things up) that you want to discover.

He’s just… different. And you're annoyingly drawn to it. You're completely drawn to it. 

You’ve never met anyone like him— let alone anyone that looks like him. As much as you hate to admit it, he is the personification of the female gaze. And his ridiculous attire, complete with his open shirts that display his necklaces on top of his bare chest— and yes, even his sunglasses that you try (but fail) to hate— all make it incredibly difficult to not find him attractive. 

He’s beginning to consume your every thought, and you’re so mad at yourself for it. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Saturday.

You’ve spent the entire week dreading today, contemplating backing out more times than you can count. Jake has been increasingly rude to you since your encounter with him on Monday. He’s spoken one or two words to you throughout the course of the week, but that’s about it. 

Again, you're wondering why the hell you agreed to do him any favors. 

If it wasn’t for this fucking project in fucking Movack’s class…

Without the consistent convincing from Natalia, you would have backed out. No question about it.

“Just make it through Saturday, y/n,” she said. “And if you still feel this way, tell him you want to do something else for your project. He’ll have to understand.” 

You told her you’d do it, but only if she agreed to go with you. Thankfully, it didn’t take much convincing on your part and she happily accepted your terms.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You bring your fist up to knock and wait a moment; nothing. 

You feel as though you’ve given it ample time, so you knock yet again. 

Finally, the handle on the door twists and is opened by, of course, Jake. 

You embarrassingly stare a few seconds too long, not able to find words.

Unenthusiastically, he breaks the silence, “Welcome to our humble abode.”

He holds the door open as you and Natalia walk through the threshold together. Immediately upon seeing the place, you’re in a state of pure shock. 

You’re not sure what you expected of Jake's home, but a two story, industrial loft apartment— massive loft apartment— right in the heart of downtown Detroit, was most surely not the first thing on your list. Natalia told you it was nice, but you weren’t prepared for this. 

How do three college students manage to afford this? 

The ever plaguing mystery continues.

It’s like walking into a photoshoot for a prestigious interior design magazine. This place doesn’t even look real. 

Your eye is instantly caught by the decor. A tasteful mix of bohemian and modern rustic. The red brick walls lead to tall ceilings covered with exposed steel piping, adding so much unique character to the place. Trailing vines line the huge windows, casting the living room in an almost sage glow.

Jake ignores you, (shocker) as he heads into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator. “Well that’s just great,” he says, taking out a can of Miller Lite and turning to face Natalia. “The least your brother could do is restock our beer when he takes the last one.” 

She just snickers in response. 

Suddenly a loud bang comes from a room up the long staircase, followed by a pair of animated giggles.

Jake turns his head slightly in the direction of the commotion, mumbling “fucking imbeciles” quietly to himself, but loud enough that you heard it.

“What the hell was that?” Natalia asks.

“Our moronic brothers,” Jake grumbles.

Then, a man with a set of wild, messy curls on top of his head jogs down the stairs, giggling while struggling to keep his footing. 

“What were you doing up there?” Jake demands. 

“Do you really want to know?” the curly haired one says, wiping his shiny lips with the sleeve of his shirt before smoothing down his disarrayed mustache. 

“Nope. Not one fucking bit,” Jake scoffs.

Jake then nods his head in your direction, letting him know that you and Natalia have arrived.

“Well hello, my dear Natalia!” he says, pulling her into a hug. 

Then, he catches your eye.

“Ah hah!” he shouts, giving you a long look. “You must be our queen! Lovely to meet you, m’lady,” He grabs your hand and kisses it before making a dramatic display of bowing before you. “If I may be so bold, the name is Josh. Sir Josh of the Frankenmuth, Michigan sector— at your service.” 

This is Josh? The other half of Jake? 

There’s no way. Sure, they have the same face. Well, besides the addition of a mustache and goatee to Joshs, but still. Clearly they’re identical, but so starkly different from one another.

You look over to Jake, noting a slight irritated look from him. Ignoring it, you meet Josh in a hug.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You throw a little extra emphasis on ‘so’, looking at Jake once more and picking up on his eye roll— even from behind his sunglasses. 

You’re remembering your first encounter with Jake—how it was so vastly different from right now as you’re meeting his twin for the first time.

You instantly felt welcomed with Josh, while with Jake, you felt like a major inconvenience. (And admittedly, you still do.)

How can they be so different, yet look the exact same? 

He’s even dressed like the perfect contrast of Jake.

Jake is clad in his usual monochromatic look—sunglasses, black button down and all. (How many of these fucking shirts does the man own, for godsake?) 

But Josh, on the other hand— he’s wearing a stark white sweatshirt and skin tight khaki pants, pulled together aesthetically with high top tennis shoes that mimic the brightness of his top. 

They are the personification of yin and yang standing before your very eyes.

“Would you like a drink?” Josh offers. “We have beer, wine—”

Jake interrupts him, yelling, “There’s no more beer!” as he takes a long sip out of his can.

“Okay then, no beer.” Josh chuckles. “Well we have water, of course. But that’s far too boring. I'd be happy to mix you one of my world-famous cocktails if you’d like.”

“Take it from me— if you don’t want to end up sloshed, do not let him make you a cocktail.” Another man makes his way down the stairs, stopping once he gets to Josh. He towers over him, being at least six inches taller. He’s awfully handsome, with the same kind, honey toned eyes that mimic those of your lovely friend standing beside you.

“My sweet, sweet Malachi. It’s okay to just admit that I make the most pristine drinks known to man.” Josh grabs his waist and tugs him close in an embrace.

“This would be my brother,” Natalia says.

“This is y/n?” He greets you with a hug, nearly lifting you off your feet. “It’s so great to meet you! You’re so kind to help with this.”

“I’m glad to help! I’m a huge Arthurian nerd, so this is right up my alley,” you say to him. “I just hope I can do Guinevere some justice. I’ve never really acted before.”

“I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be great!” Josh chimes, “If you’re ready, I’ve got one of your costumes set up in Jake's room. Last door, straight down at the very end of the hall.” 

Jake’s room?

“Okay! Sounds great. I’m really excited to see these. Nat told me they’re amazing,” you say, heading in the direction Josh told you his room is in. 

Josh watches you leave, holding his hands up in a makeshift camera. “Yep. You’re the perfect vision for our Guin. Very pretty,” He playfully nudges Jake with his elbow, “You were right, my brother.”

What does that mean?

Jake’s cheeks become encompassed in a pink hue as he chokes on the beer he’d just taken a sip of.

“Why thank you, Sir Joshua,” you say as you turn around towards him to curtesy.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You were nervous enough about being in his home, but his room? That is an entirely different story.

A person's room is the most personal, intimate space. The space that holds all their innermost secrets. Walking in feels like the ultimate intrusion.

Your stomach tightens as you turn the knob on his bedroom door.

Immediately, you're struck with the same scent he carries with him. 

His whole room smells like it— like him. 

You turn to shut the door behind you to have some privacy, catching a canvas portrait on the back depicting an iconic Edgar Allan Poe quote: “Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.”

The room is dimly lit, with blackout curtains hanging over the windows—only a single lamp in the corner next to the bed illuminates the space. 

The walls are lined with medieval artwork. Depictions of Ophelia and The Lady of Shalott, with a few famous pieces by the great Edmund Blair Leighton that you’d recognize anywhere. And, of course, no medieval artwork collection is complete without the classic portrait of Morgan Le Fey. She’s illustrated in her quintessential colorful attire, looking as enchanting as ever. A favorite or yours.

Your curiosity is certainly piqued as you notice a few books sitting upon his bedside table. 

The Lord of the Rings series. A Tolkien fan— you’re not surprised in the least.

The Two Towers is splayed open to page 316 with the corners very gently dog eared. 

Next to the book lies an opened notebook donned with scribbled detailings of what he’d read. Little footnotes and observations, brief analyses of chapters.

A smile dares to creep across the corner of your mouth— finding it incredibly nerdy, yet all at once completely endearing that he places so much care in what he reads. 

You know next to nothing about this man, but one thing you do know— he loves literature. And you’d bet he loves it almost as much (if not slightly more) than you do. That truly says something. 

On top of the table on the opposite side of the bed sits a small record player, the record sitting under the stilled needle— Electric Ladyland by Jimi Hendrix. 

You skim a few other album titles placed on the shelf next to it, seeing the likes of Stevie Ray Vaughan, Eric Clapton, Janis Joplin; he’s a blues kind of guy. 

You grew up on that very same music, all thanks to your mom. She made sure you were well versed on music from a very young age. 

A dark red Gibson SG is perched on its stand right next to the table holding the record player. The scratches engraved on its body indicate heavy use— you can tell this thing is quite loved.

He’s… a guitarist? 

God. The mystery surrounding this man is never ending. There’s so much you don’t know, so much you wish you did know.  

Feeling as though you’ve explored far too much of his room, you decide to focus your attention on the garment bag laid out across the black velvet duvet across Jake’s bed.

You unzip it, your nerves exuding through your shaky hands at whatever you’ll discover inside.

You lift the dress out of the bag high above your head as the length reaches clear to the floor. 

Holy shit.

When Natalia told you these costumes were amazing, she was understating to the highest degree. 

Golden hand sewn lace embroiders the deep burgundy corset bodice. The square neckline is garnished with gold and red gems in the most intricate pattern, with the same jeweled design present on the cuffs of the long sleeves. The skirt, the same shade as the bodice, is silken and heavy and adorned with a similar gold design cascading all the way down to the hem.

Truly fit for a queen.

You can’t help but wonder where they possibly found this. It’s the most gorgeous gown you’ve ever seen— and you get to wear it. 

Undressing yourself in Jake's room feels…strange. You feel vulnerable and exposed, but the butterflies in your belly are swarming at the thought— the thought of being only in your bra and panties in Jake’s bedroom.

Taking another look at the corset, you quickly learn that a bra is simply not an option for this dress. You remove it, feeling particularly risqué now being half nude in his room.

You lay the dress on the floor and step into the skirt one foot at time, lifting it up and carefully putting your arms through the sleeves. 

You try tightening the laces of the corset, but without being able to see, it’s proving to be rather difficult. You know there’s not a chance you can get this situated yourself. 

You decide to text Natalia to come help you, but as you go to look for your phone, you remember you left it sitting on the coffee table in the living room. 

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself. 

You open the door and marginally peak your head out, calling for her to come lend you a hand with the dress. 

“Sorry— should’ve warned you about that,” you hear Josh yell from across the apartment. 

“You rang?” Natalia jokes as she makes her way down the hallway to you. 

“This is fucking impossible to get on,” you huff, closing the door as she walks in the room. 

She chuckles as she shoves your hands out of the way to take over tying the corset. “You’ve really got yourself in quite the mess here.”

She sinches it as tight as it will go, forcing the breath out of your lungs in one final tug of the laces. 

“Jesus, Nat!”

“Oh you’re fine. God, you literature people are so dramatic.” 

“You’re one of us too, you know,” you quip back.

She secures the ribbon tightly with a bow before she says, “I think you’re in. Turn around, let's see what we’re working with.”

You run your hands down your torso and up to your chest, feeling the constriction present against your breasts as you turn your body to face her.

“Holy fucking shit, y/n. That’s what you’ve been hiding under those giant ass sweaters?” she marvels with arched eyebrows and wide unblinking eyes. 

You haven't seen yourself yet, and judging by how snug the top of this dress is hugging you, you’re not exactly sure you’re ready to.

Pointing to the mirror leaned against the wall, she tells you, “Get your ass over there, you have got to see this.”

Years of body dysmorphia have set you up to hate everything you put on if it isn’t something that hides you. Tight fitting garments are your worst nightmare. You feel safe in things that conceal your figure, and being in something that doesn’t do that is forcing you to come face to face with the thing that terrifies you the most. 

With a reluctant sigh, you slowly walk over to the large wooden oval floor mirror standing next to the matching dresser. 

The first thing you notice upon lifting your eyes to meet your reflection— your breasts. From feeling them moments ago, you knew they were on full display, but you didn’t realize they’d be this exposed. One slightly questionable movement, and it’s all over.

The sleeves sit off your shoulders, leaving them exposed with the rest of your chest. 

Your eyes trail down to your waist that is being held tightly by the corset, your figure finally being exposed. 

“O-oh god…” you quietly stammer. “I look…”

“Insanely hot.” Natalia interrupts. 

“…I look fucking ridiculous.” 

“What the hell are you talking about, y/n?” she demands.

“This isn’t flattering…not in the slightest.” You bring your arms up to fold them over your chest. You can’t hide as easily as you would like to in this get up— and the thought of being filmed in this has your stomach in a nauseous hold. 

She walks closer to you and gently brushes your arms, motioning for you to put them down— to stop hiding.“You’ve got to be kidding me, y/n. This dress was made for you.” She adjusts your right sleeve a bit, smoothing down a few wrinkles. With a tender voice, she asks, “What could you possibly not like about this?”

“I’m not you, Nat. I can’t pull this off like you could.” 

“Do not start that shit with me, girl.” She sounds more stern this time. “Just because you don’t look like me, does not mean you aren’t fucking beautiful. If I have to spend all night convincing you that you’re gorgeous, I will.” 

Natalia is the kind of person you’ve needed in your life, your whole life. She just gets you, and she always has the right thing to say at any given moment. 

Not wanting to make this moment any more about yourself than you already have, you simply say, “Thank you, Nat.” 

You reach for a hug and she pulls you in, saying “You’re welcome. Now, get yourself out there. I can’t wait to see the look on these boys’ faces.”

Just in time, a knock sounds against the bedroom door. “Uh ladies? Time is of the essence!” Josh jokingly yells from the hallway, snapping being heard through the wall. 

You’re standing completely still, fear keeping you frozen on your feet. She notices and motions for you to move. 

“You first,” you tell her.

She playfully rolls her eyes and agrees. Opening the door, she says, “Let’s go, your highness. Your kingdom awaits your arrival.” 

You follow her down the hallway, hiking the skirt of your dress up as it’s far too long for you. You're so anxious to let Jake (and the other guys— but mostly Jake) see you like this. Petrified, really.

You’re afraid of his reaction, that it won’t be what you want it to be— that he’ll act disgusted. 

But all the same, you want him to see. Maybe this will change his mind. Maybe he’ll think you look as good as Natalia says. 

You can only hope, anyways.

Natalia pulls out all the dramatic stops to introduce you. “Gentlemen, I present to you, your queen.”  

She stands to the side as you walk forward into the living room. Josh is sitting on the couch next to Malachi, both of them with large smiles across their faces at the sight of you. They each fawn over you, telling you how immaculate you look. Josh praises Malachi over and over for managing to get them the perfect gown, “The sizing is impeccable!” he tells him. Then he winks at Natalia. “Thanks for getting her sizes for us, Natty!”

You hear them, but you’re hardly paying them any attention as you’re stuck scanning the room for Jake, but to no avail. He’s nowhere to be seen. To say the very least, you’re full of disappointment. 

“Well, fuck me,” you hear a voice say, one that you’re not quite so familiar with.

You snap your head in the direction of the voice to see a man— who looks a little like Jake?— leaning up against the floor to ceiling window in the dining room. 

“Seriously, Sam?” Natalia snaps, “Where the hell are you manners?”

Sam— the Sam. The one you’ll be sharing the screen with the most.

It makes sense why he’d be chosen to play ever-romantic Lancelot. He’s a major flirt, quite fitting for the role. And— he’s fucking beautiful. Something you were not anticipating. (And something you hadn’t even thought about, with your mind being so overloaded with thoughts of Jake.)

While he doesn’t share the same similarities with Jake as Josh does, (they’re twins, so, obviously) you most definitely can’t deny the fact that they’re brothers.

Sam is a bit taller than the twins, his body shaped completely differently to accommodate his longer frame. His facial hair is quite similar to Joshs’, with his hair more the likes of Jakes'. 

“Sorry, I can’t help myself when I see a pretty girl,” Sam blurts. “You sure you’re at the right place? Seems you should be galavanting in Hollywood looking like that.” 

A heat rises to your cheeks at his compliment. You’re sure your face is nearly the color of the gown you’re in. He’s awfully bold— and you kind of like it. 

His eyes stay fixed on you as he begins walking in your direction.

“I take it you’re y/n?” he asks, taking your hand and giving your knuckles a quick peck. “I’d say Jake made a good choice for our queen.” He looks into your eyes as he gives the back of your hand yet another kiss— this one a bit more involved. 

You smile at the feeling of his mustache ticking your hand as he grins against the skin. “Thank you, Sam. I’m quite flattered,” you say, still giggling like a fucking school girl with a brand new crush.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Nat quips with a stark roll of her eyes. 

“This…THIS!” Josh shouts as he stands from the couch, trotting over to you and Sam. “The exact chemistry I was hoping for. You two just naturally have it— you exude it.” He grabs you both by the shoulders and pulls you both into a three-way embrace. “Sam, go put on your costume. We should run through a quick scene. I just have to see how this will play out.” 

Josh is so giddy about it all that he plants a wet kiss to your cheek, saying with a sincere smile, “You really do look wonderful, you know.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ 

Josh led you all down a little pathway behind their apartment building that leads to a shrine of towering beautiful, old trees. The sun just barely breaks through the colorful leaves on their full branches, illuminating the mossy ground in a soft and subtle golden glow. 

His vision for this particular scene with Lancelot and Guinevere is to take place in a forest setting, a “secret hiding place tucked away in the depths of nature's wonder,” as he put it.  

You look around in awe; it’s though you’ve walked through the pages of an old story book. An enchanted forest, right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the busy city. You would have never guessed this was hiding here. The perfect spot for a film– more importantly, it’s the perfect spot for lovers to enjoy their inconspicuous love affair. 

“The lighting right now is unmatched,” Josh exclaims, taking note of the time so he knows when to come out when you’re ready to actually start filming. It’s just after 5:30, and with autumn nearly in full swing, it’s right at the beginning of golden hour. With the way the trees are shading the sun, it makes for the most beautiful, soft scene— almost lucent. 

It reminds you so much of the serene road you’ve found for your morning treks to school each day. You feel the same way here as you do on that secret road; this will surely be a new favorite place of yours. 

You’ve got the script in your hands, skimming through the scene Josh has highlighted for you. 

Guinevere is sending Lancelot off to a jousting match, giving him her red scarf in secret to tie around his arm as a token. He must wear it during the game for good luck, and he’s meant to return it to her once he wins. A common medieval practice amongst lovers. 

It ends with her wrapping her arms around him, enveloping him in a “deep, heated kiss to bid a farewell,” according to the script. 

Oh god.

You read ahead a little. Apparently, this will be what gives their little love affair away. Arthur will recognize the scarf around Lancelot's arm as his wife’s, and the rest will be left to history. Angsty– wonderfully so. 

“Right here,” Josh says. “This is perfect.” 

He positions you and Sam in a spot that’s right in the middle of a circle of trees. 

Sam's skin is glowing beautifully in this light, his dark eyes now several shades lighter as the sun catches them just right. 

You can’t help but stare at him. He’s just so handsome, and he looks particularly regal in his costume. A white velvet, high collar top with white pants that are hugging him in all the right places, and a deep red cape draped over his broad shoulders— the same shade as your dress. 

Is it historically accurate? Absolutely not. But it is most definitely serving its purpose of making him appealing to the eye, or making him lust worthy— which is exactly what Malachi was going for when he chose this get up. 

His cape is meant to match your dress, symbolizing their affection for one another. 

It’s brilliant, honestly. 

Josh puts his hand on your shoulder, his perfectly round eyes meeting yours while he quietly says, “If you’re not comfortable with this, please don’t be afraid to tell me or Sam. Promise me you’ll say something.”

Sam looks at you with the same eyes as Josh, wanting to make sure you’re comfortable enough with everything before you start.

You smile at them both, patting Josh's hand that’s still resting gently on you. “I promise.”

“Okay, great. You guys ready?” Josh asks. 

“I think so,” Sam says, looking down at you with heavy eyes and a sweet smile. “You ready, y/n?”

As you’d walked the path down here, Josh mentioned that Jake left to go get more beer while you were getting dressed. And… he’s still not back yet. 

A part of you doesn’t want to do this without him here. Why? You wish you knew. It just doesn't feel right for some reason.

You look around at everyone once more to see if maybe he’s shown up and you just didn’t realize it.

You see Josh, Malachi and Natalia all standing around you— but no Jake. 

Oh well…

Matching Sam's smile, you say, “Yep. I’m ready.”

Neither of you have your lines memorized just yet, so you both read directly from the script.

Sam begins the scene:

“My love. I accept this token and will wear it as I carry you with me, that with it wrapped around my arm, so as you are wrapped even tighter around my heart.”

Then you:

“With it carries the promise you will return to me, unmarked and whole. Again will you lie with me, again will you hold me as tightly as my token holds you.”

You know Sam is acting, but the way he’s looking at you as you say your line— he looks like he’s madly in love. It’s catching you off guard, making your knees weak as your voice trembles with the next line.

“Seal your promise of returning to me with your lips, my love. Kiss me and tell me it’s true that you will hold me again.”

With that, Sam drops his script to his feet. He lifts his hands to cup your face, holding it gently as his thumbs lightly sweep across your cheekbones. Your breath hitches, and you too, drop your script. 

This… this suddenly doesn't feel like acting anymore. 

He leans in slowly, his lips just beginning to brush over yours. You grip his shoulders, leaning in the rest of the way until, finally, your lips collide with his. 

A kiss so sweet and tender. Not too deep, yet a far cry from a friendly peck. 

He pulls away from you delicately, the sound of his lips breaking from yours the only one you can hear as silence lingers in the air around you.

As you look into his eyes, you notice something different, something real. Like he’s wanted to do that since he first laid eyes on you just a short while ago. 

“Wow, y/n’s got some serious acting chops after all,” you hear Natalia say, slowly clapping.

But it’s abruptly interrupted by someone speaking.

“What— what the fuck is going on?” That voice… you know that voice without even looking away from Sam. 

Jake. He’s back. 

“Bravo, bravo!” Josh shouts while clapping his hands. “God. Beautifully done, you guys. I’d like to run through it just once more. Give me a little more passion this time.”

You finally look away from Sam, seeing Jake standing next to his twin with a bewildered look upon his face. 

In his all black outfit, he really stands out amongst everyone, amongst the golden sun rays that shine down upon him.

He’s not wearing his sunglasses, and you’re once again spellbound by his eyes. Their amber tone heightened in the light.

He just looks so fucking good. 

Sam is beautiful, but he’s just not Jake. 

“Hello? Is anyone going to fill me in on this?” Jake asks again, motioning his arms toward you and Sam.

“We’re rehearsing a scene, Jake.” Josh retorts. 

“Yeah? And what scene might that be?” Jake sounds quite unhappy, much to your confusion.

Josh picks up the script at Sam's feet, holding it open to the page you’re currently working on. “This one,” he says. “The one where she gives Lancelot her token. I wrote this weeks ago, Jake. Why are you acting like you’ve never seen it?”

Jake hastily takes the script from him and reads over the scene in question. “I swear I’ve never read this before.” He continues flipping the pages, going back and finding more scenes that will be shared between you and Sam. “Why the hell do they have so many of these scenes together? When did you decide on all of this?”

“Seriously, Jake?” Josh scoffs. “These scenes have always been there—,” he growls, using his hands to help communicate the emotions in his next words. “You clearly haven't read a word of the fucking script. Guinevere and Lancelot’s affair is the main focus, with some on Arthur’s affair with the maiden. We literally talked about this. Multiple fucking times.” 

Jake gives the script back to Josh, fiercely rubbing his chin as he does so.

“Why are you so upset, Jake?” Josh asks. 

“I’m literally not, Josh.” 

“Uh, yes you are. You only rub your chin like that when you’re pissed.” 

With a flair of his nostrils, Jake says, “Just get on with your goddamn rehearsal.”

“Just ignore them. They do this shit all the time,” Sam quietly says to you. “Ready to do this again?” he asks.

With your attention back on Sam, you smile and nod your head.

You do the scene again, much the same as you had before. But this time, with the watchful eyes of Jake, you feel a bit more… inspired. 

“Kiss me and tell me it’s true that you will hold me again.”

Sam once again takes your face in his hands, leaning in close to you. 

This time, instead of grabbing his shoulders, you opt to run your fingers through his hair. 

Locking eyes with Jake, who’s standing perfectly in your view, you lift your face to crash your lips with Sam— much harder this time. 

Josh wanted more passion, and he’s getting exactly that.

You push your tongue past Sam's plush lips, eliciting a soft grumble from deep in his throat. 

His hands suddenly move from your face to your neck, his fingertips tracing the skin while leaving goosebumps in their wake. He then reaches down to your waist, pulling you tightly against his body.

This is no Guiniverre and Lancelot sharing a secret kiss in the middle of a hidden forest; this is you and Sam enjoying the hell out of each other. 

But even as your mouth is fully enveloped with Sams, even with your tongues fighting for dominance with one another— your only thought… is Jake. Fucking Jake.

You situate your face just so, where you’re again able to look Jake in the eyes. He intensely glares as he watches you in a moment of pure desire with his brother— and he doesn’t look happy.

Incidentally, it's only adding fuel to your fire as your lips continue furiously attacking Sams. 

You wrap your hands even tighter around his soft locks as his tongue is dancing with yours. 

More beautiful, hushed moans escape Sam’s mouth straight into yours as you echo them right back to him. 

He tastes like heaven mixed with a delicious honey sweet bourbon, he’s fucking delectable. 

With a little hesitancy, (especially on Sam's part) the kiss breaks as you are forced to come back up for air. 

Sam is still holding you close, so close that you can feel his enthusiasm between your bodies that’s thankfully being covered by the skirt of your dress.

“You’ve uh, got me in a bit of a predicament here,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You look him in the eyes, biting your kiss swollen bottom lip. “I can tell. Pretty big predicament, huh.” Your new found bravery has taken even you by surprise. 

Sam just smirks at you while everyone is left stunned at your performance. 

“I… am so fucking pissed,” Josh says. 

“Why, babe?” Malachi asks him.

“Because I didn’t bring my fucking camera. You two… you two were made to do this together. I really hope you can do that again. Holy shit. Bra-fucking-vo.”

“What do you think, y/n? Think we could do that again?” Sam asks you. Although it’s clear he isn’t referring to the film. 

Looking at Jake, his jaw clenched and his fists tight, you say, “Yeah.” You tear your eyes away from Jake, looking at Josh to finish. “I think we could do that again.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ 

A few weeks have gone by, and most things are going very well with the production. 

Josh is a fantastic director (albeit, a little too bossy at times). Their sweet friend Daniel wound up being a great cameraman, getting shots of you that didn’t make you completely cringe at first glance. Then there was Malachi, who is consistently helpful, just like his sister. Sam, the perfect scene partner— so attentive and great at checking in with you between takes. 

And Nat, ever the loyal friend, has still been coming to rehearsals with you. She hasn’t missed a single one, and her support has meant the world to you. Each time you feel a rush of insecurity washing over you, she’s there to talk you through it and be the encouragement you need.

The only part of these rehearsals that’s getting extremely old is how much Jake inserts his “constructive creative criticism.” 

On more than one occasion, you’d shoot daggers in his direction and remind him that he’s not the director and to leave it to his brother. To which he’d respond with a scoff, palms planted, strong on his hips, and turn to leave the room in a huff. 

Then there are the arguments between the twins… which have been growing in intensity. Some days production ends because the two of them just refuse to see eye to eye, making it impossible to get through a single scene. 

You have to admit— these two are rather passionate about their work.

You just wish they’d stop arguing long enough to showcase their talents. 

The most memorable day on set as of yet was the day Jake's costume had finally arrived. 

He’d been taking far too long to get dressed in his attire, causing Josh to succumb to a near full meltdown. The sun was setting and Josh was adamant about getting at least one scene with Arthur shot outside. 

Jake, however, was extremely unhappy with the costume that was chosen for him. He refused to walk out in it, claiming it was nothing like what he had pictured for the character. “This isn’t Arthur,” he said. “This is a goddamn see-through crop top.”

And that had instantly piqued your attention. You’d walked around the corner of the hallway, Natalia leading the way. Thankfully— because she did not need to be privy to the fact that you were so curious. 

Then, you saw him. Clad in his film outfit that was a cut off chainmail top, with its short, tight sleeves putting his muscular biceps on full display. 

His pecks, (which you’ve caught yourself admiring a time or two before) looked particularly perked and rounded. 

You also loved how sheer the top was, giving you a fantastic view of his skin underneath. 

Jake clearly wasn’t happy about it, but you most definitely were. 

“Goddamn…” you whispered to yourself, watching the way his arms flexed each time he adjusted his shirt. You couldn’t help it. He just looked so fucking sexy. 

“I’m not wearing this, Josh.” Jake asserted. “Nope. This is ridiculous.”

“Yes you are, Jake. It’s only for a few scenes, then you can wear the outfit you chose.” Josh blurted. “And I told you we’d get you a black cloak to wear. Will that make you feel better?” You noted a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

“Fuck no,” Jake said. “And why the hell does Sam get to have my sword for so many of his scenes?”

The argument continued on, and almost an hour later, Jake finally gave in. But, it was too late. The sun had gone down, and you were all ready to call it quits for the night. 

“Well, a fucking wasted day. Thanks an awful lot, Jake.” Josh shouted as he stomped up the stairs.

They were able to shoot that scene the very next day, and as usual, they acted as if nothing had happened. 

It’s pure whiplash with these two. One minute they’re cussing each other out, on the verge of throwing fists; the next, they’re making each other laugh so hard they’re nearly rolling on the floor. 

Outside of filming, Jake has remained stoic– ignorant to your existence. 

At school, he acts as though you don’t exist– only acknowledging you if he absolutely has to. For instance, before you can even try to get a word in before or after class, he’s already shooting up out of his seat before you have time to even think about standing up.

And similarly, at rehearsals, your conversations are limited to one or two words here and there, besides the incessant critiques he tosses around after your scenes. 

Sam, however, has given you nothing but praise after praise. His flirting hasn’t let up— and you’ve been dishing it right back any chance you get. 

You had ultimately decided if Jake wouldn't give you the time of day, you’d give it to someone who will. Who just so happens to be Sam.

Although, it lends more material for Jake’s reproval. The comments he’d make about it were aggravating at best.

“Can you show us all some fucking respect, please?”

“We’re trying to get work done.”

“Do you want us all to have failed projects because you two can’t stay fuckin’ focused?”

And, to every response, Josh shut him down, scolding him for being an asshole. 

“You’re going to chase away my muse, Jake. Please, cut the shit,” he’d roll his eyes, messing with the sides of his hair, fluffing it, cutting a glance at his twin. “I’m tired of you acting like a child. You’re the one causing us to lag with the ridiculous comments.”

The comments did distract you a little from the scenes you knew were coming up rather quickly on the filming schedule… but his remarks also added unnecessary anxiety to the overall atmosphere for you. In which case, Sam would be the one to make you feel better, bringing you right back to him.

The particular scene that’s hurtling towards you is happening later this week. You’re filming a brand new scene with Sam that will be far more intimate than anything you’ve filmed thus far. 

Josh wanted to give you time to adjust to everything and feel completely comfortable before he introduced this part of the film.

You’re still nervous about it, but your eagerness to see the film through has you ready to give it a go. 

The day before the filming of the scene, you go about things like normal. You have so much fun rehearsing with Sam; Nat and Malachi watch in awe as the scene flows flawlessly between the two of you, like it normally does. 

And today, it’s easier because Jake had been strangely absent. But, it hadn’t been better. Because no matter him being so irritating, you had sort of missed looking up at him, mid-scene with Sam. It had become oddly normal to find his eyes while meeting Sam’s lips.

After finishing a rather long rehearsal, Josh reminds you in passing that you’ll be wearing a brand new costume for tomorrow’s shoot.

And you figured today was as good a day as any to give it a peek.

Walking to Jake’s room to locate it, you sent Nat a quick text that you were heading there. She’d slipped away with Malachi to discuss costumes, but you knew if you ended up trying the costume on that you’d need her there to help (or at the very least, encourage). 

Jake’s room has become designated for your costumes, of which he has expressed ample irritation about. Just one more thing for the twins to fight about.

You’re actually starting to believe that Josh made it that way just to spite Jake. 

Once you make it there, the stark red garment bag is hanging on the closet door, awaiting you. It’s the other one that had been laid out on Jake's bed that first day you came over. 

That day had slipped away from all of you with Josh’s insistence that you and Sam re-rehearse the kiss, over and over. So, you never got the chance to try it on. 

You had hesitated looking at it since that day, though, because Nat forewarned you that this costume was much more revealing than the last, and knowing that, you haven’t really been in any hurry to try it on. 

Lifting up on your tiptoes the slightest bit, you grab the garment bag that holds the brand new, different costume that Malachi has specially picked for you.

Nat had fortunately gotten the text and had made it in time to help you remove the corset dress, carefully placing it back in its garment bag. 

Left in your black thong, lacking a bra from your prior costume, you look at the other bag, now laying on the bed. Your stomach sinks to your knees at the possibility of what’s hiding beneath the red canvas.

“Just how bad is it, Nat?” 

The anxiety you faced trying on the first dress weeks ago is now creeping its way back in. You’re scared stiff for a moment, staring down at the costume still hidden beneath the red fabric.

“You’re overthinking it, y/n,” she says. “Just open it and find out. All I can tell you is you’re going to look unreal.”

Not wanting to draw this out any longer, you start unzipping the bag, slowly revealing the black lace that was tucked away inside.

You pull on the hanger to take it out of the bag fully. 

A long black gown of intricate lace and chiffon— a lavish, luxurious piece of… lingerie. The gown exposes skin, hiding just beyond the cloth. Tight at the bust and waist, and flowing out at your hips. 

The neckline is completely open and plunges down to the waist. The mesh material decorated with an elaborate floral design— is utterly see-through. The front of the gown is held together with only a black satin ribbon tied in a bow.

“Holy shit, y/n,” she gasps, admiring every piece of your body she can see. “You look like a piece of fucking artwork. Utterly gorgeous, honey.”

“God, Nat…” You hold it up to your body, running your fingers over the long, bell sleeve. “I really don’t know about this.”

“Josh told you if you don’t like it, they’ll find you something else. But you should at least try it on, see what you think,” she says. 

You’re scared of putting it on and absolutely despising your body; you’ll be forced once again to face all of the things you don’t love about it— you won’t be able to hide in this. Not at all. 

But, you promised Josh and Malachi you’d try it. And Nat is right— they have assured you over and over again that if you’re not happy with something, they’ll fix it. No questions asked. Josh asks you every single day if you’re comfortable with everything, and he’s made it abundantly clear over the course of the production that you must tell him if there’s anything you don’t like.

Clearing your mind of any more thought, (because you’ll overthink yourself to the death if you don’t) you untie the sash, placing the gown over your body. 

As you suspected, there's nothing left to the imagination. 

The lace just barely covers your breasts, laying completely open down to your belly button— and you’ve suddenly become hyper aware of the fact that your nipples are peeking through the sheer fabric. 

“Please tell me they have pasties for me, because this,” you grumble, pointing to your chest, “is not going to work for me.”

Initially you’re talking about your nipples that you can see through the sheer fabric, but you figure there’s no use in hiding what’s on your chest from Nat. Something you would also like to be covered from eyes that you can’t fully trust yet. So, you lift your breast the slightest bit to also expose the red ink lying beneath the supple flesh.

Redrum, in dark red ink etched along the curve underneath your right breast. 

Your best kept secret is no longer hidden with the likes of this dress.

“Is that…. a tattoo?” 

You had decided on an impulse one night (after a few too many drinks) that you wanted a tattoo. It had been a hard week of treatments for your mom, while also simultaneously being the week that you found out about your acceptance to U of M. And you had figured you might as well do something for you— both to celebrate and distract yourself from the sad reality of your mother’s decline. 

No one knows about it (save for Natalia now). Not even your mom. It was gotten with the intent to be something special for you and only you. A part of your body that you could find comfort in despite your dislike for your build— something about yourself to be comfortable with.

And being the massive Stephen King and Kubrick fan that you are, you decided on a tattoo that solidifies your love for The Shining. Both the book and the film have carried through some incredibly tough times in your life, so you can’t really say you regret the permanent decision. But, you like that it’s something sacred for just you. 

“Yeah,” you say, tracing your finger along the flesh like you do nearly everyday. Just to ground yourself. “Important to me for several reasons. No one knows about it. You’re the first to know I have it actually.”

She nods in approval. “I’m honored,” she says, a sweet grin highlighting her features. “And I’m totally here for it.”

You really weren’t ready for everyone to see it yet, though. 

“Do you think there’s something that we could cover it up with?”

She is already walking to the door as you ask, ready to help however she can. 

“I’m going to check with Malachi,” she says, one foot out the door. Then she steps back inside the room, shutting the door to a crack before she whispers. “I won’t tell anyone about it. I’ll just say I wanna snoop through Josh’s Ben Nye.”

“You’re the best Nat,” you feel tears well in your eyes. 

You’ve never had a friend as wonderful as Natalia, and with every small thing she did to help, it solidifies how grateful you are for her. 

When the door closes behind her, you decide to bite the bullet and look at yourself once more.

Your thoughts begin to torment you, but you combat them with Natalia’s words. 

“You look like a piece of fucking artwork. Utterly gorgeous, honey.”

You wish so badly you could eternally shut the thoughts off long enough to see yourself the way others see you, especially in these stunning costumes that you should feel beautiful in. 

Someone as lovely as Nat— inside and out— complimenting you in the way she has, you should feel inclined to believe her; she’s not just telling you what she thinks you want to hear. She’s the most genuine person you’ve yet to meet and the last person to ever bullshit you. 

A few heavier tears have begun to form, threatening to fall at any moment as you take in your image in the mirror.

You do look beautiful.

For the first time in god knows how long, you can see your beauty reflecting back to you, effectively telling your ever intrusive thoughts to ‘fuck off’ once and for all.  And it’s not just in your body, it’s in you. The beauty within yourself that fully encompasses who you’ve grown to become as a woman.

You’ve been through some tough ass shit— had to go through things that you wish you hadn’t had to… and you’re still standing here to speak of it. That, in and of itself, is an accomplishment that shows some sort of beauty and resilience flowing from inside of you. 

It doesn’t feel right acknowledging these things. You’re not used to it. But at this moment, it feels okay. Feels good. You let yourself have it for now.

You normally wouldn’t dare be caught in something like this (let alone allow yourself to be on camera) but now, you’re actually excited. You never would have guessed you had a passion for acting, for playing a character so vastly different from who you are in real life. You’re glad to have somehow stumbled upon this whole thing; it’s helped you find the confidence in yourself that you’ve been desperately searching for your entire life. 

Moving the material covering your thighs the slightest bit, you reveal your leg, flexing it and admiring the taut flesh there. The feminine way your body is built complimenting the lean muscle that’s been built from hard work over time— working your ass off to get to where you wanted to be. Then, you poke your ass out, turning the slightest bit, you see the plush skin of your ass through the thin, dark material. You take the briefest second to appreciate the way it looks, round and full at the top of your thighs. Usually you would hate acknowledging that—hate. it.—but right now? It’s something sort of… sexy, seeing it. It’s hidden away beneath the flowing material, but wholly visible as well. 

It’s mysterious and you like it. The gown acknowledges parts of your body, without putting it on full display and it’s honestly everything you needed. It helps you to accept the curves you usually curl your lip at. 

Just then, as you stand there with your leg completely out of the slit, you hear the handle on the door turn and the door slowly creak as it’s being opened from the other side. 

Nat must’ve found the makeup for your little secret. You hold your breast in preparation to cover the ink, but don’t immediately turn around towards the door. Part of you, wanting her to see this new found confidence you’ve discovered within the confines of this gown. 

“I am so fucking glad you talked me into trying this on. I would have never if it weren’t for you— “

The sound of a throat being cleared of tension is made, interrupting you before you’re able to get the rest of your words out.

With a slight cock of your head in the direction of the door, your hair waving around your shoulders in the process, you realize… it’s not Nat standing on the threshold. 

Stunned, frozen solid in your position that exposes your leg all the way up to the round flesh of your ass peeking through, you realize that standing where Nat should be… is Jake. 

He’s as still as you, with one hand still on the doorknob and the other tightly gripping the frame on the other side. 

You half expected him to shut the door immediately upon seeing you, but he didn’t. He’s just standing there, eyes trailing your barely clothed figure. 

You should say something. You should tell him to get the fuck out and give you some privacy. But as you attempt to open your mouth to do so, nothing comes out. 

His eyes linger on your face for a time, but eventually, they start trailing from your feet, up your legs, over your hips and taut stomach. You’re hardly breathing, but your chest is still heaving short breaths… 

It becomes obvious to you that you like how his eyes feel on you. How he’s observing every inch of your body that you’re feeling brave inside for once… 

You want him to see, to see you exactly like this. 

Suddenly, your nipples harden when his dark, whiskey colored eyes (sans sunglasses, thank fucking god) find your shapely breasts outlined by the fabric just barely hiding them. The hand covering the round flesh tightens in an attempt to conceal the tattoo, but you’re longing to release the hand and show him all of you. 

But you know better. So your hand stays firm, but you let your erect nipple peek through the fingers splayed across your chest. 

You hear footsteps quickly stomping down the hall, becoming louder as they get close to Jake’s room.

“Jake! What the fuck are you doing?” Nat’s hand reaches out from nowhere, takes his arm and shoves him clear of your sight. Successfully breaking your lust ridden trance. “Give her some fucking privacy, godammit!”

And as you stood there, Nat giving Jake a piece of her mind, you can’t ignore how hot and bothered you’d become. You rub your thighs together, searching for a hint of friction from whatever had just transpired between you and Jake, longing for more of it. 

Your friend finally comes in, adamantly running her mouth about how irritated she is by Jake’s intrusion, but you don’t hear her words. 

Because you feel the complete opposite of her. In fact, you want to push her out of the room and bring Jake back to finish what had just barely begun. 

“God, he’s a fucking idiot. I’m sorry about that,” she says as she begins rubbing the stage makeup on the skin of your tattoo, you imagine briefly that her fingers are Jake’s… 

Then, feeling your nipples begin to harden from the thought, you clear your throat. Fuck. Too far.

Cover, cover, cover… 

She can’t know. 

“Damn,” you shake your head, your cheeks hot. “Why do they always keep it so cold in here?”

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice a shift in dynamic as she laughs.

“I know, girl,” she snorts, a curl falling in front of her eye that she blows away. The breath makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. “Malachi is always giving Josh shit about it.”

She finishes blending out the makeup, adding a little powder on top to set it. 

“I’d say we’ve got you pretty well covered. Take a look, tell me what you think.”

You turn back to face yourself in the mirror, and right before you’re able to look at your reflection, a picture sitting on the dresser catches your eye. 

It’s of the three brothers— Josh, Sam, and Jake… their arms around each other as they smile wide.

But you can only look at Jake’s face, his smile so beautiful and bright in the image. 

“Yeah, it looks great,” you say, eyes fixed on Jake’s handsome face, smiling back at you. “Looks really good.”

a/n: any thoughts as to why Jake is being so horrible during this film production? 🤔

buckle up, we've only just begun. ;)

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love you all so much.

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @iffypanic @sinarainbows @klarxtr @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @sinsofstardust @literal-dead-leaf @livkiszka @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface  @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflame4goinghome@heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @nina-23-45 @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon

I’m fairly certain I’ve included everyone but if I’ve forgotten you, please let me know! (& i sincerely apologize)

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfiction #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #sam kiszka smut #jake kiszka fic #sam kiszka fic #jake fic #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #gvf fic #gvf fanfiction #gvf smut #greta van smut #le morte d’arthur

[dendro-bunny]

Drawn to you like the sea to the shore ======================

Rafayel X Reader

(A/N): bro- why am I actually like this man having inspiration to write at 12 am. Like am I ok? Idk anyway I wrote this in one sitting and I forgot how to write… it’s been so long :(

Warning: Suggestive, pretty fluffy, light body dysmorphia (why does this work have a ‘y’ in it? Like English please chill for once!) 

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

As you push the door from your bathroom you look at your boyfriend bashfully. You pull on your dress away from your body. You give a small cough to draw his attention.

“Ahem… Ralfy? Uh are you sure this is ok? I’m not sure this is the right outfit for me?” You start shifting on your heels.

Smugly he opens his mouth to say something, then he looks up from his phone and his jaw drops. The words escape him with a gasp. His eyes rake over your figure drinking the sight of you in. In what feels like forever he looks at your face through his lashes.

“Sorry was distracted, what did you say cutie?” Rafayel gives you a cunning smile while tilting his head.

“Maybe I should take it off-” you go to turn around to the bathroom and feel yourself be tugged. You feel your back hit a chest and you look up to see Rafayel staring at you with a serious expression. As your big doe eyes look at him he groans and stuffs his face in your neck.

“Don’t take it off my muse, you look like a true masterpiece. One that I could never recreate.” You feel his hands start to trace your sides, from the bottom of your thighs up to your shoulders. Paying extra attention to every curve and crevice of your body.

“God and the scent you have on drives me wild-“ he cuts himself off by inhaling you deeply before letting out a groan. “I know you think you look bad but babe trust me you look ravishing, the way your hair sculpts your face and your eyes give off the most gorgeous hue, not to mention your lips.” He turns you to face him. His hand caresses your face. A hand firmly pulls you close to him as he plants a feverish kiss against your mouth. Like he’s depraved and hungry for you.

Rafayel was always passionate about everything he does, when inspiration strikes that is. When it came to you he always had inspiration. Always knew what to say to you always knew how to hold you even, if he was a big tease about it. With his kisses he always puts his 100 into it. All the words that elude him he puts into his kisses.

He pulls away only to breathe for a moment before leaving hungry pecks on your lips and jaw. “Maybe I should take that off of you, and show you how much I want you.” You can only whimper not being able to get a word out.

Your common sense tells you to push him away so you actually make it to Ms. Talia’s event on time for once, but the other part of you wants him to. It wants him to so bad. Your skin feels like his evol is crawling underneath it. You feel your back pushed against a cool surface.

“Raf- Rafayel please.” “What are you asking for cutie? Fishies like me don’t understand human gestures.” He taunts with a laugh. He goes back to leaving marks over your neck and shoulders.

“Please… T-Talia is waiting for us…” You barely manage to push out between pants. He grumbles something against your neck and huffs. “Rafayel we promised to be on time this time.” You give him pleading eyes and he caves. He steps back as a groan of annoyance comes from his puffy lips.

“Why did you have to go and make that promise babe, especially when you look so good.” He gives you a lovesick smile and squeezes your hips. “Then I’ll change so you aren’t so… distracted.” You look at him as his eyes scan over your freshly made bruises.

“Good luck with that cutie, I’m always distracted by you. No matter what you, especially when you aren’t wearing anything and you’re in my bed underneath- Oof.” You cut him off by throwing a nearby plush at him. You scream a few profanities at him and walk into the bathroom trying to hide your flushed expression.

“Yeah you do that a lot underneath me to- ow! Was that a toilet paper roll?!” He picks up his expensive toilet paper laughing.

“Next time it’s the whole toilet!” You slam the door and a howl of laughter comes from the other side of the door. You swear that lemurian was gonna be the death of you.

•————————————•—————————————•

Holy shit did not think I’d write again- but like THIS MAN HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD LIKE THE PURE FILTH IN MY MIND OF HIM IS IMMACULATE-

Ahem anyway maybe I’ll write more but this is a gift, very late valentines gift XD

#bunnix writes #bunnix #fluff #suggestive #rafayel #love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #bunnix simps again #bunnix returns?! #rusty writing

[strayywayy]

Giving you what no one else could Bangchan pt-3 pt-1 pt-2

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

Brief: You have extreme body dysmorphia and depression. Chan comes in your life as a ray of light in the dark, things take a turn teaching you what love is. You come in each other's lives' as messiahs. Love is mutual chan is helping you to his max but how do you help him?

Genre: soulmate AU, fluff, eventual smut (comes later in other chapters), light angst, lotss of comfort

Content Warning: Mild swearing, sexual themes(again comes laterr) and discussions, mentions of body image/ self-hate A/N: This is the very first thing i'm writing in like whole of my life. This series will be shamelessly self-indulgent as I relate to this soo much. Chan makes me feel like home so this is how I portray him with my story. I have no ideas how many chapters this will have hehe. Credits: dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you so much for the dividers these are soo pretty!!

That day at the studio went even better than the last one. Now the somber tunes which you danced to that day seemed to vanish as all you felt was happiness being with Chan. You both even choreographed an entire song together. The song was too sensual to dance with someone for just the second time but it was just right in your case because both of you seemed to be a fan of the melody and the musicality. Chan recommended this song to you and coincidentally you already had it in your list of favourite songs. Talk about Chan being your soulmate. The choreography was a banger and all your dance mates loved it as you both showcased in front of them. They teased you for the sensuality and chemistry between you two and hyped you too. "Just date already" "get a room you two" were some funny compliments ya'll laughed to. You planned on performing it for the upcoming "student showdown" that was gonna happen at your studio. Of course with the best partner you could wish for.

Chan and you started brainstorming for your outfits. Both of you agreed on a classic black color outfit with variants of it for chan and you. Chan's outfit was a satin black shirt with latex pants. You imagined how it would look on him. Not going to lie he could've caught you drooling if you didn't control it in time because damn, that outfit was sexier than anything you'd ever seen in your life. You too had a lacy bra with latex pants which was just as revealing and sexy as your liking. You loved the idea of it on you and were very very eager to wear it and perform. Again the fucker in your head made you reminisce all the harsh remarks you had gotten. You were afraid that people would judge you for your body when it was far from being a contender of being judged. Your body was the dream of many honestly, you got to know this later when Chan convinced you. For now, you gave wearing the outfit a second thought. The twisted part taking over, you asked Chan if you could change the outfit. He did not have any problem and would go by your decision even though this had to be mutual. He wanted you to be comfortable he assured. But he asked you if you were conscious about your body or anything. As if he had heard your inner thoughts. You brushed it off and said you were okay. Chan doubted it but eventually agreed. After this hectic but extremely enjoyable session you went to had lunch. Chan insisted on taking you out and you instantly agreed.

At the restaurant, you did not seem to eat much. At all would be a better word. Chan got concerned and asked,"Y/n why aren't you eating? does it taste bad? I'll get it replaced if you want." "Excuse m-You stopped him and said that you weren't really hungry. Lie. It was a total lie the last meal you had was dinner. How could you not be hungry? Moments later a growling sound escaped your stomach. Chan's ears heard it and he knew what was going on. He knew you were starving yourself, he knew why you wanted to change the outfit earlier. But he also knew that talking to you about this directly won't solve the issue in the long run. So he tried to get you to eat by other means. "This tastes so good y/n" "give it a try" "This the best i've ever had" and he would stuff food into your mouth. You refraining at first but eventually giving into his approach. You were surprised and glad that you didn't go puke in the bathroom stall like you did after any meal you had at restaurants may it be with friends or family only to not gain weight. He is so sweet you thought to yourself and thanked him and god everyday for having him.

This continued for days until you started eating normally on your own all thanks to Chan. You started calling chan "channie" the nickname he loved. You both had become very close over the few days. You shared many happy, flirty moments together. Some awkward too when you both would admire each other and get lost in each other's eyes which was often broken by other stupid people. You hated it you wanted to stay like this forever. But this was practically impossible anyways, just staying in channie's contact was enough for now. Slowly both of you wanted more though. You both wanted this to be more than platonic which sure was very evident.

The studio started getting crowded as practices for the showcase began. You suggested to practice at your home. Chan happily agreed as if he waited for you to ask him that. You both would practice for hours not growing tired of it but quite the contrary. Chan and you would take chances cooking. Both of you became very comfortable around. You even wore chan's hoodies. He would let you do that because he loved how cute you looked in it and how his scent would always be around you turned him on. The smell of him turned you on too that was one of the reasons you took his clothes too. Both ya'lls feelings were too obvious and you sure were going to claim each other.

One day while Chan was at your place the outfits came in. That day for some reason you were acting like a horny teenager for the first time as you'd remember. Chan being present made it worse because all the thoughts you had about him were far from innocent. It was time to try on the outfits. Chan went first. When he came out you almost wanted to scream and tell him to ruin you for anyone else in an instant but you controlled to not make him uncomfortable or anything. The shirt showed an outline of his godly body as if the outfit was made for him and him only. The pants made you wonder all kinds of things you shouldn't have thought. You noticed the veiny hands Chan had even though you knew him for many days now and, how good would he look gripping on any part of your body he wanted to. You would happily allow him to. You would desperately allow him to. You gathered yourself and acted like a damp spot wasn't forming in your underwear at the thought of him.

It was your turn now. You had gotten two outfits as Chan insisted you to try the first one too. You tried the second outfit which Chan praised so much and showered you with compliments. It was all in an innocent manner though it seemed.

As you tried the second fit it seemed like some switch flipped in chan's brain. As he sat manspreading on the couch his pupils expanded becoming darker filling with what you thought was lust and it sure was. Nothing was innocent anymore. You walked up to him and he stared at you. His eyes locked with yours. No one spoke a word until Chan broke the silence with.... to be continued.....

#alternate universe #bang chan smut #bangchan #stray kids channie #skz fluff #skz x reader #skz comfort #christopher bang #skz #stray kids imagine #stray kids #skz au #bang chan x female reader #first post

[ellemaru]

Simon "Ghost" Riley General Headcanons

A/N: This is just headcanons that have popped up in my head or whatever but I'm trying my best to keep it lore accurate/based off of lore. There will be some mentions of abuse, mental health, substance abuse (alcohol and drugs) and body dysmorphia due to how his character is.

General Appearance:

Starting with appearances, I think he's 6'2-6'4 and weighs 200-230 lbs (189-195 cm and 90-104 kgs).

He has prominent muscles, but they aren't Arnold Schwarzenegger huge but still large enough to the point that most people are impressed.

He has short, blondish hair where in the winter, it darkens to a light sandy brown if he doesn't go outside.

He had more of a fair and cool undertone but after spending time in the Middle East he darkened up slightly.

Everyone he knows always debates whether his eyes are green, grey or hazel but he personally thinks they are hazel with a light blue on the edges.

His nose is slightly hooked but is also kind of crooked from the front due to it being broken a gazillion times.

General Personality:

As proven previously with the "Alone" mission, Simon is a pretty funny guy.

I feel like there's a common misconception about him that he's super serious and cold and has no emotion but that's FAAAAAALSE.

When he's not on duty I'm a firm believer he acts sassy with the others to be funny.

He obviously knows that there's a time and place for everything but he also knows when a joke or sarcastic comment is needed to lighten the mood up.

I feel like his enhanced ability to read the room kind of stems from him having to always observe and walk on eggshells with his dad in the past.

Like if he misread his mood he could've potentially gotten hurt, leading to Mama Riley defending him causing her to get hurt too but that's for another post.

Back to the humor I feel like a lot of times he's just unintentionally funny like he'll say something, and because of his delivery people laugh and he just sits there confused like "???? I didn't make a joke"

100% a workaholic with no work-life balance because who needs that when your job is your life!

Once the guy starts working, he ain't gonna stop until he says so.

Super observant, he notices the fine details so if you think you can cut corners around him? You're mistaken.

Simon is moody af but that's definitely heightened by his kinda crappy mental health.

General Family:

He hates his dad.

Did I mention he hates his father?

For sure a mama's boy but not in an "I was my son's first girlfriend" kind of way.

He looks up to his mom like crazy and still has an emotional attachment to her from when he was young due to his father being emotionally, physically, and mentally abusive to him.

Anytime he comes back from a mission, has a rough day, or just needs advice on a decision or life he ALWAYS calls Mama Riley.

She's literally his rock because he sees her as someone who is steadfast and strong who goes based on the facts and how she takes things for face value, similar to Simon. I think this also gave Simon an admiration of single mothers and women in general since he grew up with more of a perspective from his mother than his father.

He loves Tommy to bits and pieces, and they were hands down partners in crime back in their teenage years before Simon enlisted.

If you go around Manchester, you can still see some of their graffiti tags on different things.

When Tommy became a drug addict, Simon was there for him from day 1 till he finally got clean.

A/N: This isn't much but if y'all want more I can work on another that's more detailed! Requests are always open so leave some suggestions on things you want to see!

#cod #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost headcanons #ghost fluff #call of duty #call of duty headcanons #ghost riley #simon riley

[sweetbutpsychobutsweet]

Owe You One

Chapter 6

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: A new discovery about the nature of orcs leads to a drastic decision on your part. And Thorin surprises you by behaving in a very un-Thorin-like manner

Warnings: angst, no use of y/n, implied eating disorder/starvation to avoid menstruation

author's note: Hope y'all enjoyed the events of last chapter😉 I'm working on creating a master list for my page so it's easier to navigate through my fics in the future!

Also, without giving away too much of what happens in this chapter, I added in the warnings that there are mentions of the reader starving herself to delay getting her period. Because it doesn't come from a place of body dysmorphia I didn't want to mislabel it as anorexia, but if this is a potentially triggering topic for you please be aware that you might want to skip the next few chapters.

If you or someone you know is suffering from an eating disorder you can call the helpline at ♥888-375-7767♥

Word count: 1622

You allow yourself a few minutes to just sit on the bed in your towel. It takes some time to form a coherent thought, and even longer to regain feeling in your legs. 

Once you do finally gather enough energy to stand you make your way over to the armoire to dress for dinner. Your stomach is already starting to rumble in anticipation of the feast you know will be waiting for you just down the hall so you decide to dress quickly. 

You choose a dress you know you can slip into easily, not wanting to fuss with pulling on trousers at the moment. You pull on a clean chemise to go underneath, then choose one of your favorite evening dresses to pull on. It’s a dark, forest green color, made of a shimmery fabric that catches in the light with your every movement. The sleeves flow down your arms before splitting open at the elbow to drape loosely down the rest of your arms. The laces cross in the front of the bodice instead of the back so you can tie them easily yourself.

Not wanting to wrangle with your wet mess of hair you simply pile it on top of your head and pin it in place. You step into a pair of matching silk slippers and head out the door, following the mouthwatering smell of Elven cuisine.  

You force yourself to walk slowly down to the dining hall, worried the others might be suspicious if you arrive too soon after Thorin does. 

You pass through elegant archways to find your company poking at the vegetables before them with great displeasure. But not quite as much displeasure as you feel when you realize the only seat left is right next to Thorin.

You had hoped to avoid him for a while in a vain attempt to put off the inevitable discussion that will need to be had. About what happened between the two of you, and what exactly it means moving forward.

“These swords were made for the goblin wars of the first age,” Lord Elrond is explaining when you take your seat between him and Thorin. “How did you come by these?” he asks curiously.

“We found them in a troll hoard on the great east road shortly before we were ambushed by orcs.” Gandalf replies with excitement.

Lord Elrond looks at you with suspicion. “And what were you doing on the great east road?”

“Weren’t you listening?” you ask as you start to pile food onto your plate, “we were being ambushed by orcs.”

Your Elven friend simply laughs, knowing better than to try and get an answer out of you. 

“We’re incredibly lucky you arrived when you did,” you tell him, “we’d probably all have our heads mounted on spikes by now if it hadn’t been for you.”

“We were doing just fine,” Thorin grumbles from beside you but you elect to ignore him. 

“They are vicious creatures,” Lord Elrond agrees with you. “While you’re here I’ll have to show you some literature I recently found on some of their hunting strategies. Some scholars seem to believe that orcs are able to smell blood from several miles away. If their intended target loses so much as a drop of blood they’re as good as dead with an orc pack on their trail.”

You freeze with your fork midway to your mouth. 

Blood? You think to yourself in panic as you start to do the math in your head. 

You drop your fork onto your plate in alarm and everyone turns to look at you in concern. You smile sheepishly and reach for your water goblet with a trembling hand. Everyone turns back to their conversations.

Everyone except Thorin. Whose gaze you can feel burning a hole in your head.

You refuse to meet his eyes, too afraid that if he sees the panic on your face he’ll be able to realize the exact same thing you just did.

Orcs can smell blood, and your menstrual cycle is due to start in five days. 

If its true that even a single drop can attract orcs from miles away, then the pack currently hunting you will certainly notice if you suddenly start to lose a large amount of blood.

If Thorin and the others find out that the only female member of the company is about to pose a great risk to everyone’s lives then the only logical solution would be for them to leave you behind. 

For Thorin to leave you behind. Again. 

You’ll be left bleeding and alone while they go off to continue reclaiming Erebor without you.

You know it isn’t fair to blame them. It’s not their fault you have this monthly inconvenience any more than it's yours. It is for the good of the company that you stay behind for a little while if you’re about to start bleeding.

Unless you don’t start bleeding, you realize.

You look down at your plate as an idea starts to form in your head.

The stress of the journey will likely cause your cycle to come late anyway. But if you were to stop eating for just a few days, that would definitely prevent your cycle from coming. At least long enough to put more distance between you and the orcs. 

You push your plate away from you, your decision made. Certainly, you can manage to go a few more days without eating, if it means saving the company from any further risk. Your stomach grumbles at you in protest and you can tell Thorin is still looking at you with suspicion. But that will be a problem for later. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Our business is no concern of elves,” Thorin’s voice echos off the walls of the dark study you have all gathered in.

“Here we go,” you mutter to yourself.

“For goodness sake, Thorin, show him the map!” the wizard cries with mounting frustration at the leader of your company.

“It is the legacy of my people, it is mine to protect as are its secrets,” Thorin replies stubbornly. 

“Thorin,” your voice is gentle but assertive and for the first time since dinner his eyes finally meet yours.

“You can trust Lord Elrond, I promise.” he remains silent as his eyes search your face. You can still see the dark cloud of his inner turmoil as he struggles to hold his ground against you and Gandalf. His resolve may be starting to crack, as he realizes this is in the best interest of the quest. But knowing Thorin he would rather die than admit defeat. 

“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!” Gandalf cries, “Your pride will be your downfall.  You stand here in the presence of one of the few in middle earth who can read that map, show it to Lord Elrond!”

Thorin gives no indication that he heard a word Gandalf said. His gaze has not left yours. 

“If you won’t trust Lord Elrond, will you at least trust that Gandalf has our best interests at heart?” you ask him with a sigh. “Will you trust me, Thorin?”

He remains silent, clenching his fists at his side, and your irritation grows as you steel yourself for him to refuse yet again.

But he doesn’t.

He reaches into his tunic and pulls out the map.

“Thorin, no!" Balin protests but Thorin simply shrugs him off and hands the map over.

Lord Elrond begins to carefully unfold the map as you repeatedly open and close your mouth in shock, not knowing what to say. 

Thorin averts his eyes from you as Lord Elrond and Gandalf begin discussing amongst themselves. Their voices fade around you in a blur and your attention drifts away as it can only seem to focus on one thing: why would Thorin do that? 

He never backs down, not even when he realizes he’s in the wrong. Even before there was this tension between the two of you, convincing Thorin to set aside his pride when he feels so strongly about something is next to impossible. 

What could have possibly caused him to change his mind this time?

“Cirth Ithil,” you hear Lord Elrond say and your attention immediately snaps back to the present moment.

“Moon runes!”  you translate with breathless excitement. 

“Of course!” Gandalf cries, “An easy thing to miss.”

“Well in this case that is true,” continues Lord Elrond, “moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written.”

“Can you read them?” comes the important question.

Lord Elrond leads the others off to a moonlit space where the runes will be illuminated. But before Thorin can follow the others you reach out to grab his arm, pulling him back from the group.

He turns over his shoulder to look back at you but avoids meeting your eyes.

“Why did you do that?” you ask him, “What made you change your mind?”

He gently removes your hand from his arm and turns to face you fully. Your breath catches in your throat as he takes a step closer to you and memories of what happened in that pool earlier that same evening come rushing back. 

You hadn’t noticed until now that a strand of hair had fallen loose from the others, and hung by your cheek. Thorin reaches up gently to tuck it behind your ear. His warm palm lingered against your cheek.

“It’s like you said,” he mumbles as your eyelids flicker in anticipation, “I owe you one.” his hand falls away from your face and you can’t help but feel more than a little disappointed as he turns to follow the others outside.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@mrsdurin @thetaekwondofeline

#thorin x y/n #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x reader smut #thorin oakenshield smut #the hobbit #thorin oakenshieldx fem!reader #thorin oakenshield x afab!reader #thorin #thorin fic #thorin x reader #the hobbit fanfic #thorin x fem!reader #thorin oakenshield angst #thorin oakenshield x y/n #thorin smut #thorin angst #thorin oakenshield x reader angst #thorin x reader angst

[shadow-is-now-sinning]

Ganondorf General Horny Headcanons: Coochie Edition

(Ganondorf isn't the one with the coochie. At least this time.)

Content: pussy having reader, you/your pronouns, Reader described as smaller than Ganondorf. Sparse bodily mentions. Kinks from the first post apply. Warnings show up as needed.

Ganondorf size, kinks and Gender Neutral Reader

Dick Having Reader Version

Terms used: breasts, bosom, chest, cunt, clit, pussy, vulva,

~

Ganondorf appreciates his partner's form regardless of their assets. He doesn't go out of his way to make it known though the floodgates open of you where to ask about it. The curves and lines of your body. Any definition of muscle or smooth area of fat. He squeezes your hips, thighs, stomach and chest, saying everything he loves about them and what he'd do to them if you let him.

After he's done with everything else he'll have you on his lap as he touches the cunt between your legs. Feeling the sensitive skin around your inner thighs with light whispers of a touch. Sliding his fingers over lips of your vulva before dipping in. Praising you for being so warm and inviting to him.

Not up to penetration? Feel free to rub your pussy against his cock. Even if it's soft, feel it grow hard under your ministrations. Pussyjob or thigh jobs are welcome. Maybe tease him by just rubbing the tip against your clit.

CW: Breast mentions, if you have either chest dysphoria or dysmorphia skip it to the next red word. Also mentions marking skin with bites and hickies

If you show insecurity about your chest. Small or large it does matter. He tells you to press your bosom against his erection. This erection is just for you. He cums where you want he has plenty to spare.

He'll kiss, bite and suck your breasts. If you can come from just nipple stimulation he'll abuse this knowledge.

If you can bruise visibly he'll mark them up with hickies and bites. If you ask him not to he'll relent.

Hylian

CW: mentions of breeding/impreg but as a way to make fun? Implication that reader can get pregnant. Go to the bolded word to skip.

Teases you about the nature of your relationship. Forsaking your race to be with him. A traitor, heretic even. Maybe he should sire a child with you to add further insult.

Nonetheless. He enjoys the mirth from it. Specially the size difference so easy to hold and to move. An almost mocking bite to the tip of your pointed ear before deciding you're properly prepared to take him.

Other hylians might not be allowed to touch but if you're up to it the Gerudo ladies would be up to discovering the differences of hylians and Gerudo anatomy. He doesn't trust most of the men under his rule but that doesn't mean he can't conquer up some phantoms just for your use.

-

I didn't have that many thoughts that I thought I would.

#legend of zelda #ganondorf dragmire #ganondorf x reader #pussy having reader #smut #legend of zelda x reader