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urhoneycombwitch · 4 months

Text

I know what they call you.

🍯 honey flavour: You’re a little lost in your head. Eddie wants to find you.

🐝 the bees: Eddie x shy!Reader, best friends Steve + Robin

wc: 11k

cw: alcohol/weed used as a social crutch, R is hassled by a guy at a party (but her boys back her up), brief vomit mention, implied bad home life for R, light SH by way of tight grip, PTSD, R has breasts+V, praise kink, oral (R receiving), one (1) spank, multiple orgasms (R), soft dom!eddie, overstim, coming in pants (E)

foreword: The healing properties of good head <333 Anyways I labeled this R “shy” but she’s more… introverted? Reserved? this one goes out to the weird and off-putting girlies who have a lot to say but are kinda quiet instead. Timeline may be a bit wibbly but designed it to be early 4th-season era, with R (early 20s) having played an undetermined part in the various Upside Down battles from seasons previous.

Loosely based on this anon every1 say thank you anon!

___

It’s spring break, 1986, and you’re cursing the name of your so-called “best friend” Robin Buckley.

You didn’t even want to go to this stupid kegger in the first place, arguing with her the whole ride over from Steve’s backseat.

“Don’t you think it’s totally lame that you’re basically being chaperoned by two gap-year losers?” you’d said, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the console, seatbelt pulling taut across your Rolling Stones tee. “You’re a big girl, Robin, you don’t need Steve and me to babysit you anymore.”

Robin began protesting but Steve interrupted, tapping at your forearms without looking away from the road- “Sit back, wouldja, that’s not safe. And for the record, it’d only be lame if we were, like, thirty and still going to high school kickbacks. Gap-year drinking parties are a rite of passage.”

You’d sat back against your seat with a huff, arms crossed, unconvinced until Robin turned those big pleading eyes your way over the back of her seat. “You wanna talk about lame? Lame is me getting anywhere within a 60-foot radius of Vickie. I am totally hopeless around that absolute beauty.”

She’d twisted in her seat and reached for your hand, and you gave it to her grudgingly (the two of you ignoring another of Steve’s gripe about vehicular safety) as she said, “You’re like, the best wingwoman I’ve ever met. Please come to the party and help me avoid the natural disaster that is me running my mouth.”

Robin wasn’t just being generous- you were a killer third wheel. Especially when alcohol was involved: the walls that you naturally upheld around your introverted demeanor by day turned liquid as whiskey by night, often scoring you major cool points with your friends for things you barely remembered doing the day after.

So you’d relented, and in turn resolved to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible (in the name of Robin’s aid, of course), but turns out your best friend didn’t even need your help in the first place; within 5 minutes of setting foot in the crammed house party Robin won a spot right next to Vickie on the living room couch, starry-eyed gaze saved only for the redhead that bore no room for your intervention.

Three shots ago, the situation would have struck you as funny, but it’s been a lonely time (what with Steve abandoning you, too, in favor of chatting up some college blonde); drifting from packed room to packed room, sneakers sticking to the floorboards, winding through throngs of sweaty dancing students just to keep on top of your alcohol consumption.

Kind of like hunting in the wild, you muse, leaned against a wall with red solo cup in hand. Flirt with Amy Thacker and her low-cut blouse to access the watering hole (Mystery Punch, green both in color and flavor); let Lenny Baker put his paws on your waist to gain entry to the standing liquor cabinet. The stuff of nature docs.

If this dimly-lit Hawkins party is the savanna, then you are the antelope- grazing on snacks, never staying in one spot for too long, minding your own business and staying way the hell away from the lion’s den (the group of jocks in Hawkins Tigers polos).

Unfortunately, you push off the wall in search of a refill at the same time Lenny Baker decides to sidle up to you, nearly knocking the cup from your grasp when he bends his thick head to shout in your ear above the music.

“Great party, right?” His arms are crossed above his tank of a chest, blocking you from a smooth exit via the kitchen archway.

“If you’re into drunk teens, I guess,” you say back, pointedly, licking a stripe up your wrist from where the punch had sloshed onto your bare arm.

When you look back up Lenny’s still standing there, watching you with a hungry edge that’s starting to make your well-honed antelope-sense tingle. As you not-so-subtly cast your glance around for Steve, Lenny leans in again, close enough to give you a sour whiff of his breath. “I’m legal, if that’s what’s got your panties in a twist. And what’s wrong with having some fun?”

“I’m not into having fun with douchebags who ‘roid away their remaining brain cells to bully my friends,” you retort, flatly. You doubt this guy knows you’re connected to the Hellfire group (de facto sitter, second only to Steve), but the insult seems to land anyways.

Lenny scoffs, going for a low blow to offset the sting of his bruised ego- “If you’re trying to play the part of slut, you were doing a way better job earlier.”

What the meathead hasn’t picked up on yet is your absolute lack of care about him- or anyone else at this stupid fucking party, for that matter. Besides Robin and Steve, obviously, but they’re equally indisposed at the moment. You’re feeling bold enough that you could play dirty: throw the dregs of your drink in his face, make a real scene- but the shots from earlier are hitting you sideways and you’re not entirely confident in your ability to multitask.

So instead, with a wink, you tell him, “At least this slut knows when to quit,” and turn on your heel, abandoning the kitchen escape route for a closer door that leads to the back porch.

You suck in lungfuls of cool night air, trying to clear the fuzz of booze from your vision. When you don’t hear any angry footsteps following in your wake, you sink against the wooden bannister and tip back the last of your drink in one swallow. Maybe Steve doubled back to the car…?

With your empty cup left neatly on the railing, you set off down the couple of steps that separate you from the grass, except the toe of your shoe catches on a hidden groove in the wood, and nothing is within reach to grab onto as you trip and begin to fall.

The stumble should have ended with you facedown in the dirt, but something- someone- solid breaks your downward path, catching the upper half of your body in a sturdy hold even as your legs twist around themselves.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I gotcha. You okay?”

The voice is instantly familiar, one that you’ve heard ringing out from underneath the drama room door on countless occasions as you’ve waited on your various child wards to wrap up their D&D sessions.

Eddie Munson is holding you in his leather-clad arms, larger than life with that big cloud of hair and doe-eyed gaze matching yours. He helps you stand, properly, dropping his hands once you’re stabilized and taking the warmth of his palms with him.

“You okay?” he asks again, tilting his head, looking at you with fresh concern from under that mop of bangs. “Looks like you had a lot to drink.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you drawl, bravado flooding back in. “Am I really gonna get a fucking lecture on drinking from my local drug dealer?”

Instead of rising to the bait or bristling at your tone, Eddie grins- delighted, wolfish- before letting out a low whistle. “Who coulda guessed: resident Shy Girl has a mouth on her.”

You twist said mouth into your own smile, one that you hope is coy and charming and not dorkily lopsided (because you stopped being able to feel your face after that last drink), and coo, “You thinkin’ about my mouth, Munson?”

He laughs- a full, vibrant sound that lights up the night. There’s a flutter in your ribcage, knocking up a frenzy at the noise, like it wants to get out and at him, but you tamp it down and play it cool.

“You’ve only seen me in the cold, unforgiving light of day,” you continue, as Eddie rifles through his pockets, surfacing with a pack of cigs, eye contact yet to be broken. “My nighttime alter ego is a real riot, all liquored up.”

“Well, I happen to think you’re a riot in the sober light of day, too.” Eddie shrugs a shoulder as he flips the lid of the cigarette box.

You’re unsure if he’s messing with you- he’s gotta be, right? The only meaningful interaction you two have had in the past handful of years has been through the courtesy of the children in your respective care- a few surface-level conversations during carpool pickup, some flirting on his end that you’ve always been too skittish to return.

Well, until now, you guess. Maybe this is a good thing, him seeing you like this- it’ll either scare him away, or you’ll finally make good on the quiet crush you’ve been harboring.

You’re about to speak again when the porch door opens with a bang; you and Eddie swivel at the same time to see Lenny clomping noisily towards the steps, voice booming out over the thrum of bass back inside- “This freak bothering you?”

You look between the metalhead and the jock, eyes wide and mocking as you call back, “No, but you’re starting to!”

“Jesus, talk about poking the bear,” you hear Eddie mutter behind you, but your focus is taken up by the fact that Lenny is tromping down the steps and reaching out to grab your upper arm, his cold and clammy palm taking up a sizeable amount of space.

You can feel that rage, simmering and easily accessed, start to crawl over your skin. You stand your ground in the face of someone much larger than you, sneakers planted firmly, chin tilted in defiance- I’ve killed monsters in alternate dimensions, asswipe. You might’ve scared me back in high school but now I dare you to fuck with me.

Before Eddie can jump to your defense, you’re already going in for the bite, voice dripping with derisiveness. “So glad your right hand found its way off your dick for a change, Len. How about you do me one better and take it far, far away from here?”

Lenny’s face is almost purple with anger as his grip tightens, and you feel Eddie moving in at your back- to do what exactly, hard to say, ‘cuz Lenny’s got about 60 pounds on the lanky DM- but just as fast as the tension has ramped up, it gets diffused with the arrival of one Steve Harrington from around the corner of the house.

He cuts a smooth path through the grass to your other side, Robin’s sweater slung over one arm, twirling his car keys in neat loops around his finger, boasting a casual demeanor that doesn’t match up with the steely look he’s giving Lenny. “You heard the girl, Baker. Time to am-scray.”

Whether it’s the rumors of Steve’s nail bat or the manic look in your eyes or the fact that he’s outnumbered, Lenny’s got plenty of reason now to drop your arm.

Which he does, spitting one last “bitch” at you before hulking off into the night.

The anger in you recedes like a wave. You breathe out a dry laugh, then turn back to the boys, clasping your hands over your heart with faux-dopeyness. “My heroes. How will I ever repay you?”

“Shutting up, for a change, would be a great start,” Steve grouses over the sound of Eddie’s cackles.

“Holy shit. Can’t believe your girl’s feistiness almost landed me in the hospital.” Eddie shakes his head, plucking a cigarette out and sticking it between his plush lips.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve says, even as you wind your arms around his chest from behind, tucking your chin over his shoulder. “She is, unfortunately, my problem.”

“I love when you two talk about me like I’m not here.” You simper at Eddie from your draped position.

He’s watching you with a fondness that feels overly familiar, through the haze of smoke streaming from his nostrils as you pat the chest beneath your hands- “Don’t worry about ol’ Stevie boy. He’s turned into quite the good guard dog after the whole Russian mall takeover last year.”

“Aaaaand that’s enough talking from you,” Steve says firmly, twisting out of your arms and putting his own around your waist. “Say goodbye to your new buddy, we’ve got a Robin to collect.”

As Steve steers you towards the direction of his car you wave at Eddie, a motion that he returns, his rings glinting in the porch light.

“Christ, you really are somethin’ else with some drinks in you,'' Steve fusses, helping you into the backseat, hand shooting up to block the door frame before your head can collide with the metal. “Did you seriously have to bring up the Russians?”

“He probably thought it was a joke, Steve,” you say, exasperated and fighting the twisted middle seatbelt with uncoordinated hands. “You know… those things that you tell people when you wanna get in their pants?”

The crack was aimed at Steve’s recent string of strike-outs in the dating department, but he throws it back at you. “You’re trying to get in Eddie Munson’s pants?”

“No,” you sputter, indignant and feeling suddenly too hot.

Steve knocks your still-struggling hands from the belt, clicking you in himself, before pointing an accusatory finger in your face. “Stay here while I get Robin, and no throwing up in the Beemer.”

He shuts the door, Robin’s sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder while he stalks back into the house.

You let your head fall back against the seat and close your eyes, bright cherry embers of cigarettes between lush-lipped curves dancing behind the dark of your lids.

___

You manage to avoid throwing up in the BMW, saving the worst of it for the downstairs toilet of the Harrington house after Steve drags you and Robin indoors. Once your body is purged of the spirits, you collapse into your usual side of the guest bed, sweaty and exhausted, murmuring an apology to Robin who squeaks at the rocking movement of the mattress. In a few minutes, you’re lulled to sleep by the gentle snores of your best friend.

The morning sun is a very rude awakening, Robin apparently having forgotten to close the blinds before leaving with Steve for their shifts at Family Video. There’s a full glass of water on the bedside table and a few loose Tylenol tablets, the word “DRINK” sprawled on a sticky note in Steve’s handwriting.

You wince, down the meds along with half the water, and start the search for your sneakers.

When you’d signed up to protect a bunch of teens at the end of the world awhile back, it had seemed like a one-time gig. But now, here you were a few years later, loading yourself into your curb-parked junker to willingly cart around the same kids.

While wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even with the sprays of cologne that you’d stolen from Steve’s dresser, you’re pretty sure you’ll be fooling no one.

Evidenced by your first stop in east Hawkins for Dustin Henderson, who clambers into the front seat with a scathing appraisal. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shifting the gear to drive and grimacing at the subsequent squeal of metal that pierces into your left temple. “Learn from my mistakes as a washed-up twenty-something and cool it on the teen drinking, all right?”

“Washed up though you may be,” Dustin intones sagely, digging through his backpack and producing two brown-paper bundles, “you are now one Claudia Henderson Breakfast Sandwich Deluxe richer.”

You take the proffered sandwich gratefully, steering with one hand to peel back the oil-stained paper from the still-warm bread. “God. Is your mom looking to adopt?”

“She’s kind of got the perfect child already, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for ya,” Dustin says around a mouthful of cheese and egg.

The solid breakfast helps your stomach ease back into a place of normality, but with your next stop adding two more kids to the mix, the rowdy bickering that follows puts that Tylenol to work.

“You’re an idiot,” Max is saying to Lucas over the sound of his indignation in the back seat. “You seriously think Indiana Jones would win against Supergirl? She can shapeshift, and she has heat vision.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s really hard to see a whip coming.” Lucas is stretching the limits of his seatbelt in his earnestness to get his girlfriend on his side.

It doesn’t work- Max rolls her eyes and taps at your shoulder. “Help me out here. His logic is totally shit, right?”

Making a turn onto the main road, you nod your assent without looking back. “I think you should listen to your very smart girlfriend, Lucas.”

Max makes a triumphant “hah”, and Dustin adds fuel to the argument’s fire when he drags in some other comic book character that you’ve never heard of.

You hazard a glance in your rear-view mirror at Max, who’s too busy dishing out an enthusiastic rebuttal to notice. Her auburn braids swing with the movement of the car, and you wonder if they were done by her mother before work or if Max had to rely on her own hair expertise again.

You’ve got a real soft spot for Max, always have. While you both have plenty of cause to bond over shitty home lives, it’s also Max’s brash and defiant attitude that drew you to her. She’s got the bravery you can only hope for, something that you are sure to tell her frequently, even though the compliment is hard for her to take.

You score a parking spot that’s right in front of the arcade, calling after the kids already scrambling out of your car that you want to leave at noon, sharp. They all give some form of distracted acknowledgement before disappearing into the building, so you figure the earliest you'll be getting out of here is noon-thirty.

Not like you have much to do today, anyways, besides bother Steve and Robin at work- since the arcade is conveniently located right next to Family Video, it’s a perfect excuse to wait out the kids’ spring break activities in the company of your nearest and dearest.

You’re cutting a swift track up the sidewalk when you nearly collide with Eddie Munson, for the second time in less than 24 hours.

“Hey!” He beams at you, a wide, easy thing that fits on his face so well, like it was made to be there, boyish dimples digging in. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to smile back but probably landing somewhere in the grimace region as memories of last night float to the forefront of your mind. Small talk. You can do it. Say something. “Um. Were you getting a movie?”

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head, hooks a thumb at the Family Video doors behind himself. “Keith’s one of my regulars. That guy might actually smoke more weed than me.”

You hum mildly to show you’re still paying attention but really you’re looking at Eddie’s hair, dark curls that shift with each of his movements. His hair isn’t black, like you’ve been led to believe this whole time- with the morning light shining through, highlighting the halo frizz around the edges, it’s actually a deep, chocolatey brown.

Similar to his eyes. Which are trained on you. Because you haven’t talked in a weird amount of time and are now just openly ogling his hair.

Before you can open your mouth to apologize Eddie asks, “You wanna smoke?”

You nod, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically, and then stretch on your tiptoes to peer around Eddie’s frame at the Family Video sign. “Yeah, but we gotta be fast unless you want the Wonder Twins joining us.”

His grin slips into a smirk, and he winks before taking your hand in his. “A quickie, then.”

That fluttering thing in your ribs is back. The metal of Eddie’s rings are cool against your palm as he leads you around the side of the building, dropping your hand once you both are leaned up against the red brick.

Trying not to outright stare again, you watch from the fringes of your vision as Eddie lights up and breathes a cloud of smoke into the air. His nails are painted black- they weren’t last night. An image of him- hunched over a kitchen table, tongue sticking out of those pillowy lips in concentration, a nail polish brush held in his long fingers- flits across your mind.

Eddie holds the cigarette out, filter-side towards you, and you shake your head lightly. “No thanks. I don’t actually smoke, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Eddie glows. Before he gets the wrong idea you start explaining, arms crossing tight over your chest in unconscious defense- “I wanted to talk about last night. And say I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Badass? Charming? Hot?” Eddie fills in when you trail off, taking in another deep drag of smoke.

Christ. You feel heat rushing from head to toe as you ward off his flattery, nails nipping into your upper arms. “I was gonna say… talkative? I guess? I’m normally not one to pick fights, but Lenny was being a dick and I don’t like the way he treats the kids, or you, for that matter, and I was drunk and mouthy but that’s not an excuse to drag you into it and I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s tone is soothing, low, cutting smoothly into your feverish confession. He reaches out and strokes the back of his knuckle across your hand, tiny half-moons from your nails leaving their impression as you soften your grasp on yourself.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can’t look anywhere but at your sneakers planted in the gravel as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself when it comes to dickwads like Lenny Baker. And I would say that rescuing fair maidens is part of my job description, but…”

Eddie stubs the half-smoked cigarette out against the brick, flicks it to the ground, and waits until you look up at him again before saying “You don’t seem like you’re in need of any saving.”

That flutter, again, as you hold his eye contact for as long as you can stand it.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “There she is.”

Mortified, you resist the urge to scream into your hands as you push off from the brick, instead squeezing them into fists at your sides. “Oh-kay. Well. I better head inside or Robin will send out the search party for me.”

Eddie lets you walk past him, but just before you turn the corner he says, “I’m across from the Mayfields in Forest Hills if you ever want some company. Or some good weed.”

Footfalls from his thick-heeled boots recede into the distance, and you take a minute to calm your breathing before pushing your way through the doors of Family Video.

Steve’s stocking a shelf of New Releases at the front of the store, vest-clad torso faced away as the bell above the door signals your entrance. On autopilot he monologues, “Welcome to Family Video, let us know how we can be of service.”

“Aw, I miss the days when you were forced to say Ahoy, mateys!” You tease, Steve turning to give you an irritated frown as you prop your hip against the register counter.

Robin clacks away on the computer, hitting the Enter key a little harder than necessary as she says, “You’re about one mall fire and a bajillion NDA’s too late to ever hear that shit again.”

Keith must be lurking around in the back office, ‘cuz the three of you only refer to last year’s cataclysmic series of events as a “mall fire” when you’re talking in code.

Or if you’re trying to be funny. But based on the dark circles under Robin’s eyes and the harried way Steve’s shoving a hand through his hair as he drifts towards the counter, you surmise that the three of you are very much on the same page this morning with regards to humor and hijinks.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this hungover,” Robin groans, sinking her hand into a torn-open Skittles bag and popping a handful into her mouth. “Sugar is supposed to help, right?”

You snort, fiddling with a stack of paper brochures as Steve leans against the counter.

“Had any more run-ins with the town riffraff?” He asks, feigning casual, honey-colored eyes roaming around the shop.

“I’m visiting you, aren’t I?” You shoot back, unreasonably defensive.

“Another point for the pretty lady, and Harrington strikes a zero,” Robin totals in her best sports broadcasting voice. “What the hell are you talking about, Steve?”

“Drinky McGee over here was spilling her guts last night to none other than Edward Munson,” Steve replies, looking satisfied when Robin’s eyes bug dramatically.

“Eddie?” Robin hops off the stool, sliding her hands from the other side of the counter to stop your own from ripping the brochures to shreds. “And what, pray tell, were you spilling about with Eddie Muson?”

“Nothing.” You pull your hands from Robin’s, rolling your eyes as if the stakes are low, when in fact the stakes are as tall as the Empire State Building. You can practically hear the wind whistling from this height. “I wasn’t… we barely talked. He was backing me up when some jock started messing with me. That’s all.”

Robin whirls on Steve with animosity- “You left her alone long enough for some meathead to get involved? Jesus, Steve, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you shacking up with Vickie after two Tears for Fears tracks is any more responsible!” Steve snaps.

Having spent enough time with both your friends to know their propensity towards petty arguments, you slap a hand against the counter to derail. “Hey! Both of you knock it off. It’s fine, I’m fine, we survived yet another night out on the town unscathed. Let’s just… drop it.”

Steve looks properly chastised, but Robin gets a glint in her eye that confirms she’s not thrown off the scent so easily.

“You know what they call him, right?” she asks you, lowering her raspy voice even further.

“Eddie The Freak Munson,” Steve supplies, but shrinks noticeably when Robin gives him a withering look. “...not that, then?”

“Of course you, Steve The Hair Harrington, would only know him by that name.” Robin shakes her head, disapproving, before turning back to you with a wicked grin. “Word on the street holds Eddie The Munch Munson in very high regard.”

Steve scoffs at this, but you blink, uncomprehending. “Munch, like… he eats a lot of food?”

You feel very suddenly and violently ganged up on when Steve and Robin give you mirrored quizzical looks.

“No, babe,” Robin says, slowly. “Munch as in he eats pussy.”

“Jesus christ.” Heat courses through you as you scan the empty store, even as Steve chuckles and says, “You really are a prude.”

A skittle sails airborne into the side of his temple and he flinches, Robin coming to your aid. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Steven.”

“I’m so not a prude.” You’re quick to jump to your own defense. “I just… didn’t know what that meant.”

You’d had a boyfriend for 6 months your sophomore year of high school, Ben- nice enough guy, but you’d mostly dated as an excuse to get all your firsts out of the way. Some laid-back hookups have occurred since then- it’s not like you’ve been chaste all these years, for fuck’s sake.

But you certainly wouldn’t give any of those boys a prize-winning nickname for their ability to eat you out.

“It’s all baseless gossip, right?” Steve grabs a nearby wheeled cart and pushes it to the New Releases, resuming his shelf stocking. “I mean, what the hell else are small-townies good for other than trading lies like baseball cards.”

“I dunno,” Robin says, thoughtfully, sucking at her front teeth. “If the token lesbian is hearing about it, then he’s gotta be some sort of sex god.”

Steve’s making a snarky comeback, but you can’t hear him over the whistling in your ears.

You stare blankly out at the parking lot, one hand absently crunching at a brochure, trying really hard to think of anything but those plush lips and all the places you want them.

____

Ever since the events of last year ripped a hole in your found family’s world, you make it a weekly habit to visit Max.

You’re always armed with some excuse- made too much pasta, please take it off my hands and put this tupperware in your fridge; I was on my way to the thrift store and thought I’d stop by, wanna come with and help me pick out some new jeans?- so that it’s harder for Max to deny your company. Slowly, over the last handful of months, by way of secondhand book offerings and slices of leftover pizza, Max has let her guard down enough to let you in.

Even on days like today, when her demeanor suggests active disdain (calling you “mom” with a caustic bite when you ask after her last meal, rolling her eyes when she finds you doing the leftover sink dishes), you don’t take it personal. Her coldness towards little acts of kindness is due to the shitty way other people have failed her. And plus, you’ve put in enough effort to be able to see the warm side of Max Mayfield.

Like now, for instance- she’s giving you a bone-crushing hug on your way out, freshly-braided hair pressed tight to your sternum as you hug her back and sway in the doorway. The hug is quick and fierce, over in seconds as she slips back into practiced indifference

“Stay out of trouble this week and I’ll buy you a pony,” you joke as she pulls away, and the smile that she cracks makes it all worth it.

“Make it a racehorse and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says, giving you a small wave before closing her front door.

You walk down the dirt path to your parked car, keys in hand. Tonight’s schedule is that of a responsible, sensible young adult- the classified ads on your desk at home need trawling through, and a laundry pile the size of Hoosier Hill waits expectantly on your floor.

But there’s this crawling under your skin, a feeling that tends to flare up every so often, a craving for some sort of release gnawing at the edges. Usually the cure is sad music and masturbation, or some of Steve’s parents’ wine and a cheesy romcom.

Or weed. That tends to work, too.

You’re shoving your keys into the pocket of your denim jacket and walking across the way to Eddie’s trailer before you lose your nerve, scuffing your sneakers against his porch while you knock.

He looks surprised to see you, dark brows raised, leaning into the palm he’s got on the doorframe- “Oh shit. Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, tracking one foot up the back of your calf, feeling timid under his gaze. “Do you… can I buy some weed?”

When he nods, you duck under his arm and drop to one knee on the carpeted floor to untie your laces.

“Shit, sweetheart, don’t go to all that trouble.” He lets the door close, enveloping you both in the moody lighting of his trailer. There’s a radio playing the local rock station dimly from one of the bedrooms, and as you toe off your shoes you notice a gleaming black guitar leaned upright against the couch.

“Do you play?” You drift over on sock feet to gently brush across the strings, a faint and discordant noise rising and fading underneath your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice comes from just over your shoulder as he watches your gentle fingers on his prized possession. “I’m in a band, actually. You should come see us play sometime.”

“That’s cool,” you say earnestly. “I remember when you got in trouble for that talent show performance- your band was totally swindled out of first place, if you ask me.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you hazard a look at him over your shoulder and find him staring at you again, something you’re still not used to, giggling out a little “What?” as his eyes stay on your face.

“You’re pretty, that’s all.” The Dio logo on the front of his tee ripples when he shrugs a shoulder. As if he knew it would embarrass you, he leaves no room for your disagreement, turning away into the kitchen, stretching tall for the metal lunchbox on the top of his fridge.

His shirt lifts with the stretch, a flash of stomach lined with a trail of dark hair that makes you swallow back the gathering saliva in your mouth.

“So, weed,” he’s saying as he pops the lid on the box, shaking out a small bag of fuzzy-looking green clumps. “I can set you up with a couple of days’ worth, if you want.”

“That sounds good,” you reply, mustering courage to drift to Eddie’s side, pretending to assess the baggie he’s holding, committing to memory the way his long fingers deftly pluck apart bud from stem. “That way I can come back and buy more.”

His fingers pause, halfway to the metal grinder nestled in the lunchbox as he says, “You know, you don’t need to use weed as an excuse to come see me. I think we’ve already established I like lookin’ at ya, so you’d be doing me a favor if you came by more. Just to hang out.”

This offer sits between you as he grinds the weed down, then tips a stripe of it neatly across some rolling paper. His dexterous fingers pinch and tuck until a joint takes shape, a small strip of the paper poking out.

He holds it to your lips, brown eyes shimmering with warmth as he waits.

A Stevie Nicks song starts up on the radio, muffled by the trailer walls but crooning through all the same. This close to Eddie for the first time, you can smell him- balmy and spicy, like bergamot and Irish Spring.

You lean into the joint, licking across the paper in one unbroken motion. Your tongue catches on Eddie’s thumb when you pull away, and there’s a salt-warm taste that settles in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, in that low-toned voice, and you have to fight to keep your thighs from pressing together in your jeans.

“Wanna smoke here?” Eddie smooths the spit-damp end of the joint down, giving the end a twist. “Good way to test out the merchandise. First one’s free.”

You shake your head as he extends the joint- “I’m definitely paying you, Eddie. And no, I can’t smoke here.” With you being the unspoken addition to that sentence.

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart,” he drawls, devilish grin creeping back in, “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

His brows shoot up again, then waggle, obscenely. “Afraid I’m gonna be too tempting to resist once you’re in the clutches of the Green Dragon?”

Something like that, you think, wryly, but that fluttering is back and you really want to shut it up, so against your sensible, better judgment, you take the joint from Eddie’s hand.

“Got a light?”

You haven’t smoked in over a month, and with your tolerance so low two hits is all it takes to get you sprawled out on the living room floor, arms akimbo like you’re making a carpet snow angel.

Eddie’s a bit more restless in his high, plucking melodious and listless tunes from the couch with his guitar, one foot propped on the coffee table near your head.

Feeling loose-limbed and confident, you stare unabashed up at Eddie. He’d put his hair into a low bun, earlier, and there are a few dark tendrils swinging free around his neck with the rocking movements of his body to the music.

He hits a snag, string buzzing out a dissonant noise. “Can’t focus with you lookin’ at me.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, except you’re not at all. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, your girlish tittering in answer; you pat the carpet beside your hip. “Come lay with me.”

His body responds easily to your request; Eddie props the guitar back up against the couch and stretches out next to you with a sigh, a wave of that smokey sweet smell coming with him.

Under your weed-filtered view, the popcorn ceiling above you is moving, whorling and undulating in the muted light. You’re feeling gutsy and sure of yourself as you ask aloud, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Your head turns so you can meet Eddie’s eyes, which are dancing across your face- cheek to lips to nose back up to eyes- and he doesn’t make a joke, this time, his words coming with weighty seriousness.

“Yeah, I do. I think you’re beautiful. Always have.”

“Always?” Your echo is a soft and seeking thing.

“Yeah, always,” he confirms, simply, as if it’s a fact of life. “Woulda made a move sooner, but you always seemed so…”

“Unapproachable? Aloof? Bitchy?” You fill the gap in his speech with adjectives that have been used to characterize you in the past- usually by boys in the heat of an argument over inconsequential things that have been lost to time, only the labels sticking around.

Eddie gives you a reproachful look. “No. I was gonna say, you seemed like you were always in your own world.”

This throws you for a loop. Neck on a swivel, you look back up at the ceiling as Eddie continues.

“I wanted to get to know you more, but I’ll be the first to admit I was intimidated by you. I mean, you’re way out of my league-” Eddie ignores the sardonic snort you give to this- “-and I just assumed asking you out would've ended with an epic crash and burn.”

The ceiling stops swaying, and you swivel back to hold Eddie’s eyes again, the weed making honesty easy. “I always kinda thought you were beautiful, too.”

Awash with the bravery that only comes from being in an altered state, you keep the momentum that’s aided by Eddie’s soft smile and push up on your elbows.

“I know what they call you.”

Eddie blinks up at you, then slowly, slowly, pushes himself up onto his elbows too. “Yeah?”

It’s a taunt, a dare, an I bet you won’t.

Shows how much he knows. When you’re drunk or stoned, he’d be hard pressed to find a bet you can’t win.

You say it, unwavering. “Eddie The Munch Munson.”

His lips fall open, leaning in towards you as if drawn by a magnet, and you think he’s gonna kiss you until he falls back against the carpet, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Shit. Fuck. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You’re a little taken aback, ‘cuz while it’s not an outright rejection, Eddie’s upping the drama, hands pressed into the sockets of his eyes, groaning as he tips into your side.

With his forehead pressed into the curve of your shoulder, he says softly, “I think we’re both a little too stoned to be thinking clearly. And I really, really want you to think clearly when it comes to this.”

“Comes to what?” You’re egging him on now, trailing your fingers up his bicep, coy and angelic.

He rolls away from you, making a pained noise with his face smushed into the carpet before pushing himself off the ground. “You know what, princess. New topic, for the love of god. You hungry?”

You are, actually, and when he extends his hand to help you up, you take it.

Eddie whips up a box of mac and cheese while you sit on a counter nearby, conversation engaging and fluid as he cooks.

Between interjections of ‘scuse me, angel, gotta get into this cabinet and can you take over stirring for a sec? you answer all his questions. You tell him your favorite bands, the states you’d visited on a road trip when you were six, even giving him the whole “my mom’s a nice enough person but we don’t get along” spiel that you don’t usually get to until a third date.

If that’s even what this is. He’s scooping steaming noodles into two bowls, passing you one, leaning up against the counter closest to the one you’re sat on. Your knee rubs against his ribcage as you eat.

In between chews, he lets you ask about himself- his favorite bands, the states he’s never been but wants to travel to someday, the highlights of his golden years with his mom that he misses every day.

There’s a quiet lull, after your bowls are scraped clean and set aside. He helps you off the counter and tells you to pick out a movie; you load The Black Cauldron into the VCR and settle into the couch cushion.

Eddie puts an arm around you, lets you play with his hands for the bulk of the film, running your nails methodically across his palms.

By the last act of the movie, you can feel your high beginning to fade, taking your courage with it; when the credits roll, you’re ready to call it quits and sleep off the hangover in your own bed.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Eddie asks, following after you as you tug your sneakers back on in the hall.

“Yeah, Eddie, I’ll be good. Thanks for the weed,” you say, pulling your jacket tight around your frame. “And for the- for everything.”

The smile appears again; the one that cuts deep dimples into his cheeks as he watches you step onto his porch.

When he says your name, you turn, keys in hand- “Yeah?”

Leaning into the doorframe like he had earlier, he cants his head, streetlight a warm glow across his cheeks. “You wanna know where I got my nickname, you come back in a few days. Sleep on it tonight.” And then he closes the door.

___

So, technically, he told you to come back in a few days, and showing up less than 24 hours later has to hint at being some sort of desperate.

Which, fuck it, you kinda are, at this point. Frankly it’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long what with the whole being plagued with visions of Eddie Munson’s hands and lips and hair and that stupid fucking nickname every waking and dreaming hour you’ve spent apart.

While you can appreciate the honorable nature of Eddie asking you to make a clear-headed decision, you’re wishing for a hundred things to take the edge off as you change out of the PJ’s you’ve been moping in all day.

Black tights stretch over your calves as you think of the whiskey you mom keeps hidden in the downstairs cabinet; denim miniskirt smoothed over your hips as you long for a deep hit of weed; hands shakily plucking your black tanktop into place as the urge to be anything but sober gets swallowed down.

You make the ten minute drive to Forest Hills in silence (relative to the weird engine noises your hunk of metal car decides to make), wracking your brain for silver-tongued excuses but instead drawing blank after blank.

By the time you’re rolling to a stop in front of Eddie’s trailer, you still have no idea what you’re gonna say to him- only that something needs to be said. Max is at the Sinclair’s for the night, one less person to worry about witnessing you slamming your car door shut and walking right up to Eddie on his front steps.

He’s wearing a pair of overalls, grease-stained, shirtless underneath- the tail end of a larger ink piece peeking out against his ribs. There’s a lone bike tire on the ground, held steady by the spokes his boot rests on as he wrenches the middle hub, biceps rippling and flexing with each movement.

Certainly a sight that would have stopped you in your tracks, on any other day. But you’re determined to have it out with the returning wingbeat behind your navel, planting your Converse in the gravel just before the first step that Eddie’s sat on.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you this time, instead giving you a lazy smile on a half-tilt, wiping the tire oil from his hands onto the front of his overalls.

“What brings a fair maiden such as yourself to this ugly neck of the woods?” Eddie leans the tire up against the steps and rises to greet you.

You’re gonna lose what little nerve you have left if he touches you so you act quick, speaking as you cross your arms- “I need to tell you a few things.”

That stops him up short, just a few feet away as he inclines his head, hair loose around his bare shoulders. “I’m nothin’ but ears.”

A wet, rattling breath catches in your chest. You give a cursory scan around to confirm that the rest of the trailer park citizens are indoors, soft lights from rows of windows luminous against the darkening twilight sky.

“I have a… a thing,” you start, unsure of where to begin, really wishing you’d come up with a polished script on the ride over instead of being forced to flounder through for the right dialogue. “It started last year. With the mall fire?”

When Eddie nods his understanding, you continue, in short starts and bursts, like you’re fighting with the words before they come out.

“Something… happened. To Robin, and Steve, and to- to me. It was really bad, for awhile, and then it got better, but I’m still…” your hands squeeze tight into the flesh of your upper arms, nails stinging. “I’m fucked up from it. And the only way I can talk about it is if I’m fucked up, too. S’why I can only hold a conversation when I’m drunk or flirt while I’m high, like there’s this bad thing inside of me that I can’t look at when I’m sober-”

There’s a frantic edge that’s slipped in to your voice and Eddie steps towards you, as if to soothe, but you’re not ready to give in yet so you take a step back, choking out the last few words- “I just- I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t, not yet, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

From somewhere in the forest behind, a bright chorus of crickets swells as you fix your focus on the ground, as Eddie’s boots crunch forward on the gravel, toe-to-toe with your sneakers.

He moves carefully, as if worried that you’ll spook- lightly brushing his fingers across yours, drawing your awareness to the fact that your nails are dangerously close to drawing blood, a sigh as you release.

“Thank you for telling me.” Unlike your own voice, his is low and sure as his thumbs brush against the red half-moons in your arms. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

He doesn’t leave room for you to dispute this, instead tracing the underside of your jaw with his knuckle, forcing you to hold his gaze, those deep brown eyes soft with empathy as he says, “I don’t have any expectations of you, ‘kay? I’ll be all ears when you need me to be, but you don’t have to spill all your secrets every time you come around. You wanna just watch shitty cartoons and keep my couch warm, that’s fine by me. Nothin’ else needs to happen.”

And it’s his acknowledgement of your admission, his softhearted way of letting you know that nothing needs to happen, that makes you brave.

Brave enough to tilt your chin into the lift of his finger as you say, “I didn’t just come here to apologize.”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob against the taut vein in his neck as he swallows, hard.

“Yeah?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath and turns on his heel, motioning you to follow him up the stairs.

Your eagerness is obvious as you scramble up the steps after him, heart starting to thrum in tandem with the flutters as he shuts his front door behind the both of you.

“Take your shoes off,” is all he says, in a low, strained voice, before turning into the kitchen.

Obedient, you drop to one knee and jerk apart your sneaker laces with trembling hands.

Now on nyloned feet, you step onto the linoleum tile of Eddie’s kitchen. He’s faced away from you at the sink, taut lines of his shoulders rising and falling as he washes his hands.

“You’re sober?” He asks, still at the sink, drying his hands on a patterned teatowel.

When you realize he can’t see your nod, you speak- “Yes. Yeah. As a judge.”

A soft exhale through his nose, amused, as he finally turns to face you. Eddie’s eyes do that hypnotizing dance- skipping from your chin to your eyes to your lips back up again- and you let him, feeling exposed to the point of nakedness with the intensity of his focus.

“I want to hear you say it.”

The sentence winds through the air, joins the wings in your stomach, sits low in your belly as you shift your weight from side to side, a gentle rock to ease your flayed-alive nerves.

You say it. “I want your mouth.”

Eddie takes a step closer, nearly toe-to-toe with you again. Over the familiar layer of bergamot and fresh hand soap he smells like the outdoors, and faintly of mechanic oil, hearty and wild.

“Where?” It’s a single word, but with so much weight- suggestive, a taunt, an offer.

You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed, ‘cuz brave as you’ve been it’s still hard to say some things while looking at him. “Want your mouth… on me.”

He crowds into your space, one hand gliding smoothly to set against your waist, the other fitted against your neck, tapping a thumb to your lips.

You part them, passive and wanting, but he doesn’t press his finger to the pad of your tongue like you’d hoped. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke to the corner of your mouth to make room for his own.

“Where?” he asks again, this time into your mouth. You can feel the tip of his nose graze yours, pinpricks of his hair tickling your cheeks.

“Please,” is all you manage this time, awash with heat when you feel his smile form.

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’ll work you up to it.” It’s a touch condescending, skirting that fine line between tease and mean, the same tone of voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then, he gives you what you asked for. His plush lips- the ones that you’ve been fantasizing about for what feels like eons- are pressing against yours.

It’s a kiss that starts chaste, tender, but soon devolves into a heady, fevered thing when you push your tongue past the seam of his lips. He melts into you, using the hand he has on your face to keep you steady as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth into the plush of it before going back to twining his tongue with yours.

There’s an audible wet click as he pulls away, both of your chests heaving in the quiet that follows; Eddie rests his forehead against yours briefly to catch his breath, and then he’s tugging you down the hall and into his room.

It’s pleasantly messy and lived-in, posters and photographs taking up most of the walls, guitar cables snaking and criss-crossing atop his dresser. You take a seat on the bed, hands tightening into the flannel duvet while Eddie begins to undo the buttons of his overall straps.

Wholly fascinated, you watch as he pushes the thick material from his body and kicks it to the side, leaving him in just his guitar pick necklace and a simple pair of black boxers. Now on full display, you drink in the sight of the most skin you’ve ever seen of his- tattoos at his chest and arms dark against the rest of him, pale and gleaming softly in the yellow light of the bedside lamp.

You’re trying to figure out if the larger piece on his ribs is a dragon or some other mythological creature when he moves in to sit next to you, his kisses erasing all thoughts.

Eddie’s making these throaty little noises as you kiss; his hands track lines from your hips to your sides to your shoulders, your chest unconsciously pressing into his touch.

When his thumb catches on the outline of your beaded nipple through your shirt, he hisses lightly, drawing back to look at you again- “Is this okay?”

You nod, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with that, tsking as he swipes with his thumb again, watching closely as you react silently to the touch.

“Hard to tell when you’re enjoying yourself if you’re quiet as a churchmouse,” Eddie says, in a tone that’s reminiscent of training a pet. “You gonna let me hear you?”

Your teeth catch on your lower lip as he thumbs across your nipple again, shockwaves coursing into goosebumps as you choke out, “I’m not s-so good at that. Not without- fuck- weed..”

Eddie huffs a laugh, a little derisive but you figure he’s probably got the right, seeing as how you’re this worked up and he’s barely touched you.

“You’re plenty good at this sober, sweetheart. Want me to prove it?”

His hand falls from your breast, extricates one of yours from the covers, and slides it up the meat of his thigh- then to the front of his boxers.

The first noise you make for him is a small gasp, one that matches his own as you cup your palm over the thick jut of his hard cock.

“Told you,” he says, sounding strung-out, his hand still closed around your wrist, “You’re doin’ just fine at working me up.”

You wrap your fingers around the bulge as best you can with the fabric of his boxers separating skin from skin, gaining confidence to explore as his grip on your wrist loosens. The black ink at his ribs expands and shrinks with the bellows of his breath, jolting and stuttering with each stroke of your hand.

Just as he’s drawing in a breath to speak, tightening his hold around your wrist in warning, you still your movements. Delicately, slowly, you slide out of his grasp and take his wrist in your hand, placing his palm on your own thigh.

The whole “reciprocating pleasure with sound” is still a hard one to give in to; maybe you can compensate for your hesitancy by showing instead of telling. You guide his hand up, into your skirt, parting your thighs until his fingers find the wetness soaking through both your panties and tights.

“Fucking… jesus.” Eddie moves with the fluid surety that you lack, middle finger running up the seam of your clothed pussy, your hips jerking reflexively when he catches against your clit. “This all for me, princess?”

In answer, you lean to bury your face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He lets you, taking the opportunity to hook your leg over his thigh, spreading you out as much as your fitted denim skirt will allow.

You pant into the column of his throat as he strokes you through the light layers, the fabrics grinding friction into your clit caught under his fingertip. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, cooing praises that have your stomach muscles tensing.

“That’s it, good girl, such a good girl for me.”

Your clit is throbbing now as he rubs you in small, quick circles, and you’re so close to falling over the edge that you have to pull his hand away.

Eddie picks up on your unspoken plea; he tugs the skirt down your hips then tosses it blindly over his shoulder, reaching for the edge of your tights. He slips them down your thighs, your calves, peeling them off you with reverence. When all that’s left is your best pair of satin panties, he maneuvers you up against the headboard and stretches himself flat on his stomach, nose pressing into your core.

That heat has come back, flashing through you with a vengeance as Eddie mouths at your pussy through the satin, sloppily but with purpose enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing.

You stay up on your elbows, watching that mane of dark hair bracketed by your thighs, but when Eddie pulls your underwear down and off your ankle your weight falls back against the mattress.

The flat of his tongue licks a wide stripe from your weeping hole up to spread the wetness around your clit. When he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your head presses back into the covers, hands grappling above you for something to anchor your grasp.

When Eddie flicks the point of his tongue against that bright spot of nerves your hands find a pillow to grip, and when he moans into your pussy the vibrations have you instinctively pulling the pillow against your face, teeth biting into the fluff, masking the whine that would have been loud in the otherwise quiet room.

You think you might be able to get away with this setup (what with Eddie seemingly focused on making you explode into a million little pieces) but there’s a sharp smack before the outer skin of your thigh is burning, white-hot from the kiss of his rings.

Eddie’s mouth leaves you only for the time it takes for him to rip the pillow from your grasp and scold, “Uh uh, none of that, c’mon,” and then he’s back at your clit, suckling with renewed vengeance.

There are little stars bursting at the edges of your vision, your hands shooting down to grip at Eddie’s hair when he pistons the point of his tongue against you again. Your hips are subtly bucking into his mouth, shaking thighs involuntarily closing around his ears. Normally you’d be concerned about Eddie’s air intake but going off the moans he’s burying in your pussy, you’d hazard a guess that he’s really into it.

As if in confirmation, he pulls off your clit with a wet pop, laving his tongue up the junction where thigh meets pelvis, voice sounding wrecked- “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Fuck, you got me so hard. Gonna blow a load in my boxers like a teenager, y’taste so good. Gonna let me hear you? Hm? Wanna hear you.”

You’re dizzy with want as you prop yourself on your elbows again, mouth falling open as Eddie sinks two of his fingers up to the ringed knuckle inside your velvet walls.

His other hand comes to rest on the soft curve of your stomach, pinning you in place, before he looks up at you, black pupils nearly eclipsing the chocolate brown.

“What do you want?” he asks again, patiently, as if he doesn’t have two fingers nestled inside your cunt.

Your efforts to grind into him are stopped with his firm hold on your middle, and he tuts at you again- but instead of a reprimand, he seems to soften a bit.

“C’mon, angel,” Eddie says, with such tenderness that makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh before encouraging, “Lemme hear you say it, and I’ll make it so good for you. Promise.”

“Want you to make me come. Please.” Your voice is unsteady, but it’s audible enough.

Eddie rewards you by sinking his fingers further, to the hilt, heel of his palm catching against your clit. When you let out a warbling moan, he nods- “That’s it,”- before setting a steady rhythm for fucking his fingers up into you.

“Fuck, Eddie- fu-uck…” you’re trying, really trying to stay in the moment and not get caught up in the noises you’re making- for him.

When Eddie reattaches his mouth to your throbbing clit and angles his fingers to hit into that soft, spongy spot with each thrust, you feel waves of pleasure start to wash through you. There’s just time for a choked “Shit, Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum,” before you’re spasming around his fingers.

Somehow, you manage to stay on your elbows, bracing your body through the convulsive shocks, white-hot stars joining the wingbeat rhythm as Eddie takes you apart with his mouth and fingers.

He moans, long and low, fucking you through it and then some- your orgasm has been completely wrung out when you push at his forehead, whimpering at the overstimulation.

“No, baby, one more, please. Gimme one more,” Eddie lifts his head to plead with you, sweaty bangs glued to his forehead- and then he’s back between your legs.

It’s this moment that makes you retrospective. Sex with boys, in the past, has always been a quick means to an end: a few minutes of foreplay, tamping down your own pleasure for the sake of blowing off some steam.

But now, pleasure was being given to you in spades by Eddie Munson, and you wanted to give it back to him.

You come on his tongue and fingers, again, stomach tightening beneath his warm palm, and this time you really loose the sounds caught in your chest: a strangled mix of your bliss-soaked whines with his name, Eddie Eddie Eddie.

You feel the bed frame jolt below you both as Eddie’s hips thrust into the mattress in a frenzied tempo.

“Fuck me.” He pulls away, finally, panting into the side of your knee. He rests his head against your leg, lips tinged pink and shining wet, gazing at you with lust-blown eyes. “You are so fucking hot. Holy shit.”

Bashful as your peak wears off, you pull him forward so you don’t have to look at him when you whisper, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, princess,” he says, slumping against your chest and into your arms. “That’s going straight to my long-term spank bank. Number one. For sure.”

You slap playfully at his shoulder, and he rises on his elbows to kiss you- once on the lips, twice on the cheek- warm palms on the outside of your shoulders.

“Are you… d’you need any help?” you ask, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ears, feeling the crush of insecurity leech in. “I dunno if you even- I mean, did you…”

From all the physical activity, your breasts are half-spilled out of your bra, and Eddie bends to kiss at the tops of them, affectionately, shaking his head as he goes. “There is no world in which I would’ve lasted, just now. Very noble of you to assume, though.”

He grins at your giggle, then says- “I dunno about you, but I need some new underwear. Wanna borrow a pair of my boxers? Bet you’d look cute.”

________

Later, when you’re both cleaned up, dressed, and full from a pizza delivery, Eddie invites you outside for a smoke.

You sit with him on the porch couch, legs slung over his, a big flannel blanket shared over both your laps while he smokes with the hand that isn’t on your thigh.

There’s a crunching of wheels on gravel, and Max Mayfield’s bike lamp cuts through the dark.

“Hey, Heavy Metal,” she calls out, undoing her bike helmet and leaning her bike into its kickstand. “Are you done fixing up Lucas’s tires or do I have to keep hauling my ass all the way across town to see him?”

“I’ll have it done tomorrow, Red,” Eddie calls back, giving her a salute.

Halfway to her door, she remarks, “You two are gross, by the way,”

You cross your arms in the sweatshirt Eddie loaned you, slipping into irksome older sister mode easily. “So how’d it go with your boyfriend, tonight, Maxine?”

She flips you both off, but you catch the smile on her face before the front door bangs shut behind her.

Eddie chuckles, smoothing his palm up your thigh, then takes another drag. “You gotta come night smoke with me more often, angel. The streetlights suit you.”

“Gonna get me hooked on nicotine, too?” Your sock foot pokes him in the ribs and he tuts, snapping it up in his free hand and digging his thumb into the arch of your sole.

“Fuck no, your teeth are too pretty to ruin. Want you to come keep me company while I destroy my lungs.”

Another cloud of smoke lifts dreamily around Eddie’s face. His thumb is working wonders on the tense muscle of your foot as you tip your head to rest on the back of the couch. With the nearby streetlamp, his profile is cast in a warm glow; you do a dance of your own, eyes taking in the strong slope of his nose, tracking down to his lips, back up to the wild curls at his temple.

Eddie feels you staring, turns to fix you with a quit it look that you can’t help but laugh at- “What, so you’re the only one who’s allowed to stare?”

“That’s right,” he confirms, leaning forward to set his cig in an ashtray, bullying his way into your space, rings cold under your chin when he tilts your face towards his- “Gotta pay the piper for that obvious violation, sweetheart. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

This time, when the flutter within you kicks up, you have a place for it to go- melting softly into Eddie’s lips.

___________________

I wrote the last third of this while blasted please don’t judge too harshly lmao

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x shy! reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #robin buckley #steve harrington #mdni

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donatellawritings · 3 months

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ahh hi tella!!! so happy that ur writing for obx :) i need to see how rafe would handle a latina sweeetheart 🎀 maybe she’s kie’s cousin? i just know he’d probably be such a cocky jerk ughhhhhh thx babe

omg i am blushing just thinking about this xo

you were laid on the warmed surface of your towel, leaning on your forearms as your sun kissed skin continued the drink in the intense rays, your white, cherry covered bikini clashing perfectly against your tanned complexion, you loved days at the beach, i mean, what better way to kill time, than to eat fresh fruits and listen to your favorite music, while taking in the stunning north carolina sun for all of its glory?

you continued to lay back, your sunglasses shielding your eyes as you hummed along to the amy winehouse song that flowed through your speakers. the sudden shadow that overtook your vision, now causing you to remove your sunglasses, your eyes squinted as you took in the sight of your cousin - kiara carrera.

your chest visibly rose and fell as you sighed, your squinted frown fading into a gleeful smile, “what’s up, kie?” you asked, your wispy eyelashes batting as she hastily dropped herself onto the sand beside you.

she quickly looked over her shoulder, rolling her eyes as she returned her attention back to you, her arm reaching over you stomach as she grabbed a red grape that sat in the sweaty sand-covered container that rested by your waist, “nothing, it’s just jj being — jj,” she sighed, popping the small fruit into her mouth.

you liked jj, platonically, of course.

“he seems nice,” you chirped, turning onto your stomach, the cherry decorated bikini bottoms that you wore, now wedged between the plush cheeks of your ass as it faced the warm sun.

kiara shrugs with a slight shake of her head, you could tell that she wanted to say more, but decided against it, the moment her eyes fell on your back.

your nails clashed against one another as you undid the knot that secured your bikini top, and concealed your perky breasts, eager to get as much of an even tan as possible, “why are you looking at me like that?” you questioned, reaching for a grape.

“i dunno — maybe it’s because you just undid your top?” kiara countered sarcastically.

you stuck out your tongue, placing the grape into your mouth, soft biting into the crispy fruit before resting the side of your cheek against the surface of your hand, “but, i hate tanlines,” you pouted with a laugh.

you and kiara were thick as thieves, and sure, the reasoning for why you had to live with your cousin wasn’t the most pleasant — but she loved having you around. you were raised as sisters, both of you holding the most intimate details about the other. and boy, did you both balance each other out well! you were bubbly and were quick to let anyone in, which served to be a detriment to you at times, nevertheless, you were a hopeless romantic who made it her business to find beauty in even the most mundane of things.

as you would say, you loved everything that was pretty. your blown-out hair was always shining, wispy eyelashes always curled immaculately, supple lips glazed in shimmery gloss, acrylic-enforced nails always painted in varying shades of pink or a simple french design. you loved wearing clothes that would show off your lower back and midriff - why? no rhyme or reason, you just like how it looked.

you had a heart of gold, wrapped in a bow, making it easy for those around you to be pulled into you and your dreamy ways.

it also made it just as easy for you to end up hurt and taken advantage of.

you and kiara remained engrossed in each other, laughter emitting from the both of you, “so, are you going to stay for the kegger or are we going home for dinner?” kie questioned, a smile remaining on her lips as she watched you try to tame your overwhelming fit of laughter.

you spoke with a giggle, “i don’t know, i promised tio that i’d help him with dinner, one of these days,” you whined, your innocent eyes searching kiara’s for any kind of pull towards your decision.

“okay, well we need to decide soon, before-” kiara began, her words ceasing as a large shadow suddenly towered over the two of you.

you straightened your neck, looking up through your lashes as the tall guy crouched down, your eyes following as he leveled with you. fuck, he was hot.

“shit, kie, y’didn’t tell me you had a secret hot sister,” the guy spoke, his bright blue eyes cutting into yours as swallowed thickly, your glossy lips now running dry.

you tried to remain as still as possible, your eyes widening at the realization that your bikini top was still untied.

“fuck off, rafe, she’s my cousin,” kiara scoffed with disgust.

you remained entranced by the guy, rafe, who kept his bright eyes on yours, a smirk tugging on his lips as he took a quick look over your shoulder, tilting his head at the sight of your untied top and barely-there bottoms.

“ah, cousin?” he asked mockingly, licking over his lips, “does this cousin of yours have a name?” he pushed, the glint of his chain peeking out from his crisp t-shirt now catching your eye.

you sweetly revealed your name, your oh-so slight accent spilling through as you subconsciously batted your pretty lashes up at rafe, “and you are,” you smiled, a toothy grin.

“rafe cameron,” he spoke sternly, ignoring kiara’s protests with a roll of his eyes as he leaned closer to you, until his lips reached your ear, “i’d shake your hand, but i wouldn’t want everyone at this beach to see what you got under there,” he cooed, his condescending tone like silk in your ears.

you couldn’t help but blush like a schoolgirl, much to your cousin’s dismay.

rafe decided to make push just a little bit more, “may i?” he spoke rhetorically, his large hands sliding down your shoulder blades.

“rafe, what the fu-”

you remained still, refusing to make eye contact with kiara as rafe tied the strings of your bikini top into a secure knot, “relax, kie - m’just making her decent,” he pulled away, standing firmly of his feet.

you’d be lying, if you said that you rafe’s hands against your warmed skin didn’t excite you. his touch was oddly tantalizing for you as you were forced to ignore the subtle ache that pulsed between your legs.

you pushed yourself off of your front, now standing directly across from rafe, his eyes shamelessly drinking in the sight of your chest as he was especially intrigued by the tan line that was revealed by the shifted cup of your bikini top.

“thank you, rafe” you spoke softly, holding out your hand as you took in the staggering height difference between you and the man before you, his buzz cut hair causing you to bashfully bite down into the sticky swell of your bottom lip.

rafe accepted your hand, the sound of his name rolling off of your tongue causing blood to rush to his length as he let out a dry chuckle, enclosing his fingers around your hand, watching closely as your breath slightly hitched from his subtle grip on your hand. you two remained like this for a beat as rafe sized you up — he could smell just how genuine and sweet you were, his mind carelessly wandering to how you’d look under him, taking him for all he has. you were much smaller than him, and it ticked a region in his tainted mind that suddenly ached to have you around in any way possible.

the sudden cut of a deep voice calling out didn’t even faze rafe as his lips curved into a smile, “yo! rafe, i’ve been looking everywhere for you man,” a taller blond guy appeared beside rafe.

rafe softly released your hand, before wiping the corners of his mouth with his index finger and thumb, exhaling sharply as he faced the blond, “well, top, i’ve been busy catchin’ up with good ol’ kie, and her pretty little cousin that’s she’s been hiding from us.”

the taller blond glanced at you, he was quicker to size you up, before redirecting rafe back into his original conversation. kiara softly grabbed your arm, carrying your speaker and container of grapes.

“let’s go home,” she nudged her head towards the street, completely privy to how dumbstruck rafe had made you. she could tell that you liked it and refused to ever allow rafe to get his hands on you.

at least, not when she was around.

“oh, okay,” you mumbled defeatedly, reaching down to grab your towel from the sand, quickly turning to face rafe who watched intently as you walked away.

“bye,” you mouthed with a small wave, before turning around to catch up with your feverish cousin.

rafe continued to feign interest in whatever the fuck topper was talking about, his eyes set on your body as you walked farther and father away from him. god, he loved the way your ass bounced with each step you took. in his fucked mind, he knew that kiara was right to keep you hidden, but now since you weren’t hidden, at least not from him, he knew that it would only be a matter of time before you were his, and his only.

of course, you being such a willing sweetheart made it all the more easier for him.

#anon #asks #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x reader #obx #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagine #sweetheart!reader

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darling-i-read-it · 11 months

Text

Right Family, Wrong Malfoy

Lucius Malfoy x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: toxic relationship !!!, age gap (legal ofc, reader is in her mid to late twenties), you dated draco and then lucius lol, insinuations to smut

Author’s Note: I DONT KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS. i think i like it and i went a slightly spookier/intense route but idkkkkkk. I love writing for lucius though so this was a fun little twist

Requested: by @russian-soft-bitch, Hello love! I'm officially requesting that Lucius idea you had, I HAVE to read it 😤 Thank you and have a good day!

Summary: What started as a revenge plot against your ex boyfriend Draco ended up with you in Lucius Malfoy’s bed.

Song: Back to Black by Amy Winehouse

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Lucius wrapped his hand around yours. You were sleeping soundly beside him, breathing evenly. Your expression was peaceful. Serene. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen you at such peace. You were always stomping around Malfoy Manor with such umph that he would’ve thought you ran the place if he didn’t.

Your lips were parted ever so slightly. The same lips that had touched every part of him, the same lips that left marks on covered places, the same lips that whispered things to him that would never be said in the daylight. Your presence here was something he had never expected but something he granted with open arms.

Narcissa had left him in the dust years ago. She was to raise Draco. There was no need that Lucius put himself into affairs that had nothing to do with him. Truthfully, Lucius had no real interest in raising Draco any longer. It was a project that continued to fail him. He was too much like his mother.

Which meant he had Malfoy Manor to himself most of the time. The help walked around without making a sound. It was him in the large place and it was never lonely because now he had you.

“Lucius,” you whispered. He hadn’t noticed your eyes open. You squinted at him for a moment and then your expression turned into a doe’s. Wide gaze, looking at him like he had all the control in the world. “You’re starring.”

He raised his hand and brushed your face.

“I’m admiring,” he promised. His voice was gravely. It wasn’t even light outside yet. It was still dark outside, the moon the only thing illuminating the crevices of the room. You nuzzled your head into the silk pillow.

“Go to sleep,” you whispered. Your eyes shut again. He lost the doe look he had savored so dearly for a moment. He dragged his hand down your face to your chin, raising it. Your eyes opened again at the sudden movement. “Lucius…”

He dipped his head down and kissed you. It was a hungry kiss, something to be relished. There was nothing like an extremely early morning with a Malfoy. You would know better than most.

You gripped the back of his head, scrunching up his long white hair. You brought him to you so that you didn’t have to strain your neck kissing him. He was a much better kisser than his son. He was more attentive. He was cautious with his words, knowing the weight of them.

For all of those reasons it was easy to slip from the youngest Malfoy boy to the eldest. It was easy to forget all of Draco’s vein promises when you had new ones being made by someone who would keep them.

You opened your mouth, gasping at his cold touch. The icy night left the imprint of his hand on your cheek. He worshiped at your bare skin, making it a point to touch every inch of you as often as he could.

There were no thoughts of Draco as he kissed down your stomach, moving lower with each deliberate kiss.

There was a letter on the table. You opened it with a Malfoy letter opener. You knew that it was addressed to you before you even checked the name. Draco had always left you a special seal, one that dripped red as it dried. You wondered if he knew you were staying at the Manor or if your owl had brought it.

You tossed the envelope back onto the table and sat down on top of it. Your black dress flowed nicely onto the ground, just barely touching the hardwood. Lucius had gotten it for you.

Please answer my owls. I can’t speak to a wall any longer.

It felt like a waste of paper. You tossed it aside. Draco had been an awful boyfriend, one that you grew up beside and all you had known. You had never understood what love was actually supposed to look like because Draco had promised you that he knew.

He did not.

You were doomed to him from the second he stared at you in the Great Hall. Slytherins were naturally tethered to one another, based on their shared personalities and pride. Draco had chosen you far too young.

Now you were older. You had grown to be more mature. Draco hadn’t. He didn’t understand that it was truly as simple as that. Draco had hurt you. You recoiled. The relationship ended.

“Your son sent me another letter.” Lucius walked from the kitchen to the dining room. The walls were clad with portraits of the Malfoys going back decades. The most recent was of Lucius, Narcissa and Draco. It was slightly tilted, as though someone had tried to take it down.

“Are you going to answer it?” he asked, uninterested.

“No.” He kissed your forehead as he passed. You watched him go to the head of the table. Dinner would be served soon. He had invited you to stay, though you likely would’ve stayed without any invitation.

“Good girl,” he grumbled.

What had started as a revenge plot against Draco had started to become a domestic relationship. The secret was thrilling. The only people that saw you were the help, who were sworn to silence.

“I have to leave in the morning,” you said as you approached your seat. “Work is calling.”

“Work seems unnecessary,” he said curiously. “You could stay. I’ll give you an allowance.”

“I’m not your child. I can live my own life.” He leaned back in his seat. He had a hand wrapped around his staff as his eyes narrowed on you.

“Those statements have nothing to do with each other,” he observed. “Stay. Just a while longer. Live in his honeymoon, finally allow yourself to know what it’s like to be worshiped.” His words were alluring. “I have to go to Knockturn Alley tomorrow. You could come with me, get out of the manor if you insist on leaving.”

You half smiled. You had never assumed Lucius to be the type to come up with other options to spend time together. You were so used to Draco who had endlessly forced you to follow him along like a lost pet and lose you in the corners like you were a joke.

This whole thing was so cloudy.

“I have been meaning to stop by the apothecary.”

“It’s settled. You’ll come with me tomorrow.” He clicked his water glass with his fork. Someone brought food through the doors. You wondered what it was like to have so much power.

Knockturn Alley was permanently dark. At least, it seemed that way. The people rushing by never rose their faces and when they did they were indistinguishable. It was as though everyone had enchanted themselves to become mundane and unremarkable. Lucius had a hood over his head but made no attempt to hide his blonde hair. Your hood kept you shrouded, even as you walked closely beside him. He had a list of things he needed to get and you looked through the windows of the shops at things you had never studied before.

Stores selling human fingers were of interest to Lucius. He let you go inside first as he pursued. You had never been inside a place like it before. It felt like a forbidden realm, something that was locked off to you because you had no reason to enter it.

“Fingernails,” he muttered. “Do you see the fingernails dear?”

You looked around, trying to stifle the reaction you had to being called dear in public.

“Here,” you breathed. You raised your hand and he approached. “Aged,” you read from the small note card. “What do you use this for?”

“Severus sent me a potion he’d been testing. I wanted to try it.”

“What kind of potion?”

“An unnamed one,” he muttered. “Perhaps you could help me with it. Draco said you were rather good at potions.” You were reminded of the age difference suddenly but quickly brushed it aside.

“I was the best in my class. Snape seemed to like me,” you said proudly. It was a fact you took pride in. Snape didn’t like just anyone.

“I should’ve asked you to tutor Draco,” he muttered, grabbing what he needed off the shelf.

“I tried. He was often distracted.” Lucius’s hand brushed your side as he walked past you. Like father, like son.

You could feel prying eyes. You glanced around the dark shop that was illuminated only by floating candles. The shelves looked like people. You had to search to find anything actually moving. Your eyes landed on the sales clerk, another man who had been shrouded in a dark hood. You couldn't see his eyes but you could feel his gaze on you. You raised your chin, as though in defiance. Lucius didn’t seem to notice as he grabbed your hand and dragged you along to the next row of shelves.

You avoided eye contact when Lucius checked out.

You returned back to the Manor later that night. The sun was setting behind the peak of the house. It was like you were living your life shrouded in darkness nowadays and you couldn’t say you were complaining. It was slightly like you were constantly hidden from anything important. The door opened for Lucius. By the time it shut you couldn’t see who had been the culprit of moving it.

Living in the house with Lucius was vastly different than living in the house with Draco. Draco knew the best hiding places but Lucius didn’t need them. You felt the most in control as you ever had.

Lucius put down the bag of things onto the dining room counter as he walked into the room. Sitting in the chair at the other end of the room was a face you hadn’t expected to see, one that stopped you completely.

Toying in Draco’s hand was the letter you had discarded.

“You aren’t scheduled for a visit,” Lucius said. His voice was strong. There was no hint of weakness. You raised your chin to match his attitude.

“This is why you haven’t been answering my letters?” Draco questioned, staring at you as though his father wasn’t there. “You found a different Malfoy to follow around like a lost puppy?” He sat forward, accusatory.

“Draco,” Lucius snapped. You met the young Malfoy’s gaze with ice.

“I haven’t been answering your letters because I have no interest in speaking with you.” Draco set his jaw, chewing on his cheek. Lucius took a deep breath.

“This isn’t a ploy to make me jealous? To get me back?” he questioned but it felt more like he was stating a fact.

“Why would I want you back?” you asked him. “Why would I beg for your forgiveness and your kindness when I know I can get it from someone I like far more?”

“My father?”

“Yes Draco.” Draco stood up. He put his palms down on the table, leaning forward. He shook his head, a signature scowl on his face.

“Were you plotting to steal the Malfoy money through different means because I tossed you aside like a piece of trash?”

“I wanted someone who would treat me like a woman and not like a charm to accompany his pride,” you seethed.

“This is ridiculous. There’s no way you’re entertaining this father,” Draco said, his eyes now set on the older Malfoy. Your eyes followed his as well. Lucius had taken off his cloak and set it on a chair. He was acting completely unbothered by the conversation.

“Draco, you’ve always been too much like your mother.” Lucius raised his chin. He eyed his son, knowing he would cower under the gaze. “If you intend on being a pest, I’ll have you escorted out of the manor.”

“Father.”

“You were a stupendous failure Draco,” Lucius said lowly. “You took something great and you botched it with continuous frustrations. There is no need to take out those frustrations on someone who salvaged the situation or the woman.” Draco’s jaw set. “Go back to your mother. Maybe she’ll teach you some manners.”

Draco choked on whatever words he intended to say. He took the letter he had written to you and ripped it in half. He left it on the table, dramatically. He gave you a lingering angry look before walking past the both of you out the room. The manor was so large that he could return to his room and neither you nor Lucius would ever know.

The tension in the room defused.

“I’ll put away the things we got,” you said, grabbing the bag from him. You took a jar with you into the kitchen. He followed you.

“Your son is impossible,” you muttered. There were no feelings resurfaced at seeing Draco again. You wondered how long you had been over that relationship, if it had been longer than you even remembered.

“His mothers fault.” Lucius raised his hand and brushed your hair off your shoulder and onto your back. He leaned forward and kissed your neck. You let out a soft sigh.

“You’re distracting me from the task at hand.”

“My fault,” he muttered against your skin.

“You have no reserves?” you asked. You turned around to look at him. He had his hands on your sides in an instant. “Your son's ex-girlfriend in your bed every night?”

“Do you have reserves?” he questioned. You weren’t sure why you were even asking the question. Lucius had done some morally challenging things in his life. There was no way this was a concern of his. You found that realization quite freeing.

“No,” you said finally. You meant it. He nodded once, proud of himself. He traced your jaw with his finger.

“Then I don’t see any issues.” You glanced at the door Draco had left. You knew he was likely still in the manor. You kissed Lucius like it was the last thing you would ever do. You didn't care if this was a relationship that would fizzle out, all you knew in the moment was that you wanted to kiss him. You devoured his lips, holding his head so he was as close as you could get him.

Everything else felt like an afterthought to him. It occurred to you that in the past you had had the right family, but the wrong Malfoy. He hoisted you onto the counter, pushing aside everything you had gotten from Knockturn.

#lucius malfoy x reader #lucius malfoy x fem!reader #lucius malfoy imagines #lucius malfoy fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction

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ridestomars · 10 months

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ISN'T SHE LOVELY? – S. HARRINGTON

𖥻 summary: the party meets y/n and steve's firstborn. 𖥻 pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader 𖥻 warnings: girl dad!steve. the baby's name is amelia. too much fluff. everyone is alive and well thank you. one dirty dancing reference. bad grammar, italics & not proofread (hey it's me). 2k-ish words. weird divs :/

💭 liv's thoughts: this is based on an idea i had last year (s4 i miss you) and a sequel of sorts to my 'all is well universe' of sunny days that won't ever end – you don't have to read it, but pls do it's v sweet. i hope you like it! <3

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU'RE UNDER SIXTEEN.

The sound of loud chattering could be heard from the end of the hallway, which wasn't surprising, given the number of people that were sharing the limited space of the apartment's living room. The kids – can you even call them that anymore? – were never known for their ability to speak quietly whenever they were together. However, everyone seemed to be in such a good mood that you can even hear the loud sound of Jonathan's laugh. There's a first time for everything, right?

You held the small baby in your arms, walking in slow steps out of her little nursery. Though you tried not to disturb your daughter too much, Amelia already had her big brown eyes open and searching for the source of all that noise. She wasn't used to such noises, being too accustomed to her parents' soft-spoken voices and the entertaining sound of their television – that didn't play anything other than Steve's recordings of Barney episodes. It's only natural that she finds the commotion strange.

As you arrive in the living room, you are greeted by Steve in his typical mom pose, hands on his hips as he watches Michael and Max's every move, anxiously waiting for his girls. From his stance, you can see that he already regrets the idea of inviting everyone over. Taking in the very worried furrow of his eyebrows, you just know that he is going over the most pessimistic thoughts as he looks at the crowded living room.

Appearing with the small baby in your arms, everyone gasped in surprise and amazement, including Steve, who quickly made his way over to you with the goofiest, most endearing smile. His big hands wrap around Amelia's small frame, as he leans down to take her from your arms. He has that sweet look on his face, that brightens even more when he sees the chubbiness of the baby's laughing cheeks. Delicately, like he's carrying the world's most precious jewel (he is!), your husband shows Amy to everyone, with a proud glimmer in his eyes.

"There she is!" he maneuvers her chubby body tenderly, making the baby sit on his arm to face everyone. Her upper body leaned on his chest for support, and she squealed happily when her curious eyes noticed how many people were in their living room. Unhesitating, Steve translates it to everyone, "Millie says hi".

That was enough to erupt a string of awws, sighs and one high-pitched "she's so adorable!" from Eddie. It was funny to see how a human being so small had everyone wrapped around her tiny little finger. Even Max, who usually had a hard time showing any emotion other than pure annoyance, was goofily smiling at the baby, admiring her brown (and very full) hair and round cheeks.

The kids were the most eager to get to know Amelia, with Dustin being the spokesman for their wishes, telephoning almost every day since the baby was born to ask when they could meet her. So, it's no surprise that the first person to make grabby hands to hold her next was Henderson himself. "C'mon, Steve, let me hold my goddaughter!" he exclaims as he looks at your girl in absolute awe.

"Your goddaughter?" Eddie asks, scoffing from his seat at the couch's armrest, next to the boy. "Yeah, right".

"Guys," Robin quickly intervenes, rolling her eyes as she watches the two bickering all over again over the matter. She was seated comfortably in the chair by your living room's small table, alongside Vicky. "Not this again, please?"

That wasn't enough to silence Eddie and Dustin, who began to argue harder about who is supposed to be the baby's godfather. The usual arguments were professed, "You're not old enough!", "but I'm the most mature!", "The baby's lullaby shouldn't be Dio!", "And it shouldn't be Weird Al Yankovic either!"

Given that he couldn't clap, Steve stomped his foot on the ground as he commanded the room's attention to him again, "Hey, hey, hey!" he exclaimed, letting out a satisfied breath when everyone falls silent again. "So, before we let you hold our daughter, I'd like to go over some rules-".

Loud groans erupt from everyone's mouths, and Amelia looks up at her dad, even more curious.

The kids were squished on the living room's small couch, surprisingly fitting in the space where you and Steve had a hard time adjusting in. Eleven was sitting on the side of the couch's armrest, patiently kicking her feet as Mike, Will, and Dustin elbowed each other in a silent fight for more space by her side. At the end of the couch, Max, Lucas and Erica found a way to position themselves without struggling too much. It was so crowded that poor Suzy had to sit on an old puff that Steve had bought in a garage sale when you moved in together ("It'll come in handy one day, you'll see!" Steve exclaimed while he walked off the sale holding the object, victoriously), right at Dustin's feet. On one side of the sofa, Eddie was slouched on the armrest, while Nancy sat on the other, as put-together as ever. Near her, Jonathan leaned against the apartment's wall, chatting with Argyle and Eden.

Amelia was carefully handed to Dustin, who sat in the middle of the couch. You figured it was the best position to have everyone look at her, an democratic decision, but it was still possible to hear Eddie complaining under his breath.

Your daughter got used to Dustin's hold fast, only shifting her tiny body over his arms a couple of times to find her position. When she did, Amy made one of those adorable baby sounds, showing everyone that she was incredibly satisfied now; and it was like the world had stopped for all of them. The only thing that mattered was to witness baby Harrington simply exist. Feasting your eyes on the scene, you hold Steve's waist, hugging him from behind as you rest your face against his arm, not being able to battle the tears that filled your eyes. Your heart was swelling with pride.

"She's pretty," El murmured, her voice sounding even quieter now, as her eyes sparkled at the sight of the little one.

With a trembling voice, Dustin agreed, "She is very pretty".

"Yeah," Will says as he watches Millie yawn, "She looks just like you, Y/N".

"Lucky for her," Mike and Max remark in unison, immediately glaring at each other with narrowed eyes. That makes everyone laugh, and baby Amelia opens up her eyes to check it out, opening a toothless grin after. Max, feeling as if her witty remark was stolen by the boy, adds, "It'd be such a shame if she had Steve's dead-fish stare. Thank God she has Y/N's eyes, too".

At that, your husband gawks at her, letting out an offended gasp. He's so upset that his mouth hangs open, as he looks at her, in complete silence. Catching his incredulity, Max only shrugs, as if to say, "What can I do?".

"Well, at least she has his hair," Lucas observes, mediating the situation, as usual.

"Thank you, Lucas!" Steve breathes out, feeling he got the justice he deserved.

The bickering soon faded into a familiar silence, as everyone's attention fell fully on your little girl, who slept peacefully in Dustin's arms, completely ignoring the commotion around her. And that was when the emotional weight of the moment fell on all of you. Glistened eyes watched in tranquility as the baby squirmed every once in a while, as the importance of the scene settled. Amelia's sole existence reassured you of a peace that you hadn't known in years, as if she was the last step in sealing the serene fate that awaited all of you. She was living proof that life is still normal, and despite all the hard times, it isn't all that bad, actually.

Seeing those grown-up kids taking care of a small piece of you and Steve filled your heart with delight, and a different sense of fulfillment that you hadn't known until now. It's so meaningful.

The nostalgia of seeing their sweet faces intensified when the kids started to argue about who was going to hold Amelia next, and suddenly the apartment was filled with loud chattering all over again. Just like the old times… but, somehow, better.

"Jonathan, look!" Nancy points out to little Amelia scrunching her nose, as if to suggest that he should snap a picture of the baby like that. Now, the kid was laying in Robin's arms, having her full head of hair brushed by Auntie Bobby – the lame nickname was picked by Steve, of course. "What a cute little nose you have, Amy!"

The oldest Wheeler compliments the baby in a high-pitched tone, as if the girl would actually understand. By her side, Jonathan kept taking pictures of the baby, snapping beautiful frames with that domestic feeling that you're growing used to; he promised that he'll develop all of them later.

"When's her birthday?" Eden asks quietly, as she smooches her face against Argyle's arm, watching the baby in wonder.

"October thirty-first," Steve answers quickly, not helping himself. Ever since the baby was born, he started to cultivate this staggering need to answer anything Amelia-related, talking about her constantly as if he didn't know how to chat about anything else.

With that spaced-out way of his, like he just had snapped out of a trance by the baby's birth date, Argyle lets out a chuckle, looking down at Millie with… respect, it seemed. "Ooh, Scorpio. Cool, man".

Then, everyone falls back into silence, just appreciating her small features and lovable babbles. However, Steve seems a little skeptical about how cool it is for his kid to be a Scorpio, and he slowly turns his head to look at you, giving Argyle a bit of a side-eye when he does so. "What did he mean by that? Isn't that, like, bad?" he whispers to you, still watching your friends interact with Amelia from the corner of his eyes.

"No!" you immediately reassure him, telling a little half-truth, "It just means that she's very… sweet".

Steve seems satisfied by your answer, mainly because he doesn't ask any further questions, and he goes back to keeping his eyes on Robin, making sure that she's holding your kid correctly. It isn't his fault that she has spaghetti arms, alright?

Eddie soon joins in, though he doesn't look very pleased about it, walking to stand in front of Robin with an exasperated expression on his face. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking down at the girl. You watch the scene unfold with confusion.

"Well?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows as if he is waiting for something, though he doesn't say what it is.

Rob looks up, still playing with the baby's hair, pursing her lips while she waits for Eddie to explain why he is interrupting her moment with Amelia. From over her shoulder, Vicky makes funny faces at the small girl, making loud squeals come out of your daughter's mouth.

When he doesn't say anything, Robin asks, "What, Munson?", blinking her eyes vigorously as she tilts her head.

"You're taking too long!" he tells her like that was the only answer possible. "It's been fifteen minutes already, it's my turn!"

After Eddie's little protest (thankfully, he didn't feel the need to get on top of your table this time), everyone took turns holding baby Millie in their arms. You didn't mind it, because you knew that your friends were just very excited to be meeting your daughter for the first time, but you cannot say the same for Steve. He was hating every second of it.

"Y/N, I can't take it," he breathes out once he pulls you to the side, hiding with you in the kitchen, away from prying ears, "They're passing her around like a joint".

"Relax, Stevie," you try to calm him down, though it's useless. Spying into the living room again, you see that Amelia is laying in Eleven's arms, which warms your chest a little. "El's rocking her to sleep, there's no prob-"

You quickly stop talking when Mike takes the baby from his girlfriend's grasp, having a hard time managing his long limbs around the kid's small frame. Eyes widening, you look to Steve, wanting to catch his reaction to the scene.

And he's fuming.

But just as he is getting ready to stomp his way over to Michael, you hold his arm, keeping him back and away from the kids. "Give them a break," is how you begin to reason with him, "he's getting the hang of it".

"Well, my daughter shouldn't be their little guinea pig," he huffs back, crossing his arms.

"Don't be like that," you persuade. "You didn't know how to hold her either, and now you're, like, a pro. Right?".

His hardened expression seems to melt at your compliment – Steve always feels so elated whenever people praise his parenting skills, especially when it comes from you. Your husband's cheeks flush a little, and he looks down, a bit bashful.

"You mean it?" he asks, playing with the loose seems of his yellow sweater.

"Of course, I mean it," giggling, you get closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you pull him in for a hug. "She's so lucky to have you as her dad. Actually, we're so lucky to have you in our lives".

He chuckles a little, pleased to still gain such flattery from you. From where you stood, you can clearly see the timid redness that cripples from his neck up to his cheeks, which makes him seem even more adorable in your eyes. But even his striking looks didn't distract you from the intimate feeling of his hand resting over the small of your back, drawing you closer for a sweet peck on the lips. It's funny how still after all this time, Steve was able to make you feel endless electricity and warmth just by the simple touch of his lips.

Unfortunately for you, the pleasant moment was ruined by someone clearing their throat. Pulling apart from the kiss, you and Steve looked ahead, catching Eddie and Dustin's embarrassed faces after interrupting.

"Hey, so, hm…", Dustin starts, clearly not knowing how he should start, still very awkward succeeding the scene they had just break in on.

"We have settled on who should be Amy's godfather, and we swear-", Eddie cuts in, talking at full speed. But before he could get on with their (definitely) deep and sensible reasoning, you hear Steve groaning. "Jesus, guys. Not this again".

LIKES, REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED! steve masterlist | main masterlist | navigation ── hey! wanna talk? leave me a message after the beep. currently accepting requests for steve and eddie.

𖤐 I AM RESTARTING MY TAGLIST! if you want to be added to my taglist, just click here.

#they're my family idc #i love love love writing group interactions #max being the president of mike wheeler's hate club #she's so me #girl dad!steve #liv talks about stevie #liv writes #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #girl dad!steve harrington

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queendeeshorrorimagines · 3 months

Note

Can I pretty please request a soulmate AU for this prompt: you have a meter/rating on your body that tells you how dangerous your soulmate is

With the character being Thomas Hewitt??

🥺🙏🏻

Tommy's got his soulmate

Thomas Hewitt x reader

Gender neutral reader

Warnings: mentions of reader being an outcast, slight angst with a fluffy ending, mentions of the smell of cigarette/ weed smoke.

The faint smell of smoke and cheap incense lingered inside the rather dated van as you sat in the back. Soft chattering over the humming of a local radio station made the ride through the desolate Texas road rather calming.

You and your friends were doing a cross country road trip for your final summer vacation for your university years. Friends was a rather long stretch for your relationship with them, yet it could be worse.

On everyone's right wrist was a 1 to 10 meter that showed how dangerous your soulmate was, beeping when you get close to your soulmate. While everyone you know had ones and twos with the occasional three rating, you've always had the rating of ten.

Your soulmate was simply dangerous. The only saving grace was the fact that it never beeped- never actually meeting them before. There were times when you wondered if your soulmate was in prison or in some rather seedy situations, making you more reluctant on meeting them.

Although your parents tried to soothe your worries by saying that you will be safe with your soulmate even though whomever they are is obviously an dangerous person, you can still tell that they were scared for your future.

You tried hiding your meter from your peers but they all end up finding out the truth. If it wasn't the looks of pity, it was the quiet whispers everywhere you walked. It was a sad reality for you to be shunned for what fate or whatever Deity that chose this for you.

"Damnit Henry, you didn't fill the tank up!?"

Mark yelled at his friend as the empty gas light comes on. Amy and Maxine groaned with irritations as you looked up, seeing a sign for a service station a mile away. You spoke up over the arguing young men.

"Guys, there's a service station a mile away if we take this turn. If you two stop arguing like an old married couple, we might be able to make it before we're all fucked."

The men quickly shut up, somewhat intimidated by the simple fact that you were fated to be with a highly dangerous person. The women giggled at the last part, looking away from their magazines.

"How are you able to intimate those two so easily? They stopped fighting right when you spoke."

Maxine asked, looking at you with her doe like soft eyes. You gave an anxious smile as you hear Amy laughed at the other woman's innocence to your situation.

"Well Maxine, there's a reason why you've never seen my meter... I don't like showing it...."

You started to speak, your left hand moving over to rub the covered meter on your right hand. Amy interrupted you.

"Their soulmate rating is a ten, worst anyone could get. Their soulmate is is a fucking monster, Maxine. The boys are scared of how potentially dangerous they will be given their soulmate."

Before there was a chance for you or Maxine to speak, the van was parked next to a gas pump in front of the rather old service station. You opted to get out of the van and get some coffee from the station while Mark gets out to fill the van. Henry, Amy, and Maxine decided to follow you inside for a snack run.

You walked towards the coffee pots, filling a cup with the hot liquid. A quiet beep came from your meter as you heard a softer beep from a short distance. The gas station owner, an older woman stared at you with interest as the beeping becomes faster and louder.

Anxiety flows through your veins as you stood still- as if you were a deer in headlights. Heavy footsteps grew closer to you as the beeping for both yours and your soulmstes meters became apparent to your friend group and the the older lady as the door from the back exit of the building open.

Actually meeting your soulmate wasn't a thing that you've ever thought would happen within your life. The hurricane of thoughts made you not notice the audible gasp come from the older lady's lips.

The first thing you noticed was how much larger the man was. Your wide eyes looked up at him as he stared at you. Time froze as you took in every detail of your soulmate; from the way his curly brown hair clings to his large neck, the leather mouth piece that covers his mouth, all the way to how he has a farmers tan on his face and arms.

The logical side of you was screaming to run away as fast as you could because of how dangerous your meter says he is. Yet, you felt a sense of safety and acceptance coming from the much larger man. A older feminine voice brought the both of you back to reality.

"It appears that you're my son, Tommy's soulmate.."

A look of approval was shown on her face as she gave you a motherly hug. You accepted the hug from her as Tommy watches you.

"I'm Luda Mae, but please call me mama."

She continued as you heard tires screeched outside. Looking towards the windows, you saw your friend's van speed away from the gas station. Your eyes widened in shock as they left you alone with only your wallet. Luda quickly goes to the wall phone, calling what seemed to be the sheriff. You didn't pay attention to what was said as the two of you embraced each other, knowing that you have each other now.

#queendeeshorrorimagines #slasher imagines #slashers imagines #thomas hewitt imagines #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt imagine #soulmate au request #gender neutral reader #dees sweet tea

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lauraneedstochill · 1 year

Text

My first choice (part 2)

summary: Aemond thinks you are way too good to be Aegon’s best friend. But you are enough for the one-eyed prince to fall in love with. pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader words: ~8500 (this is why I divided it into 2 parts lmao) warnings: friends to lovers, more angst (death of a parent, attempted harassment), hurt/comfort, an embarrassing amount of softness, Aegon is the smartest one for once author’s note: this is heavily inspired by “Little women” (2019) and Amy March in particular (read the rest of my long-ass explanation in part 1). again, I apologize for the angst! it gets worse before it gets better.

Part 2. In a room full of art I stare at you.

It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with Aemond. Maybe you were too blind to notice until it was too late or maybe you were doomed from the start. From the moment when the boy, who everyone deemed to be intimidating and reclusive, bent down to you to offer help without any hesitation. The second-born son of the King, tall and close-mouthed, surely had more important things to do than waste time on a strange girl crying over her stupid dress — and yet, he only showed you solicitude, asking for nothing in return.

You thought that mayhaps you owed him, and were seeking the opportunity to return the favor. Or at least that’s how you tried to justify the fact that you were looking for him every chance you got. You often found a reason to chat with Aemond during dinners and feasts, feeling bad for him spending time on his own — and you learned that he was very easy to talk to. You made sure to visit the training yard if he was there and sometimes stayed to watch him train for hours, even — or especially — when everyone else already left. His tenacity and strength had certain allure but under all those layers, you saw a lonely boy whose only friend was probably his dragon.

Despite the circumstances and his preferred solitude, Aemond never rejected your company, however sudden it might have been. Even when Aegon foolishly suggested playing hide and seek one evening, bored out of his mind, and you busted into the library and stumbled upon Aemond, who looked like he had no interest in silly games. And yet, when you awkwardly asked for the best place to hide at, he guided you to the enclosed area of the reading room. It was dimly lit by just a few candles and, somewhere between feeling uncomfortable and getting scared, you reached for his hand. He didn’t pull away. Furthermore, he stayed with you and cheered you up with stories about Old Valyria, making you forget about any childish fears.

As the two of you have grown older, you often heard people being frightened by Aemond’s disposition but you found there to be no ground for that. He’s never been rude to you nor had he lost his temper, regardless of circumstances — and the day you saw him without the eyepatch for the first time was the prime example of that. It was getting late and Aegon had too much to drink and, while running around in a drunken stupor, he cut his hand somewhere in the yard. Luckily, the wound wasn’t too deep but he was bleeding and refused to get help, against your best wishes. He was babbling that scars adorn a man — and then, in an attempt to escape you chasing him, he barged into Aemond’s chambers. You ran in merely a second after, with explanations at the ready, and were met with his younger brother standing there, looking startled. It took you a second to realize he wasn’t wearing his eyepatch.

“My scar will be easier to hide,” Aegon giggled, not recognizing the gravity of the situation.

It was the only time you had to make an effort not to slap him in the face. You thought it was mostly a secondhand embarrassment, which was part of the experience of being Aegon’s friend, but the look on Aemond’s face, hurt and humiliated, also made your heart ache.

“His scar is a reminder of his bravery and the strength of his character that he should only be proud of,” you gave Aegon a death stare. “Yours will be a reminder of your idiocy.”

It seemed to work as his smile vanished and he even muttered an apology, leaving hurriedly to call for the maester. When you turned to Aemond, he already had his eyepatch on, and you fought the urge to come and take him by the hand again. You didn’t want to bother him at such a late hour, so you opted to offer an apology, too, and leave him be.

“His behavior was unworthy. But I meant what I said,” you turned to Aemond on your way out. “And the sapphire looks very pretty,” you could swear you saw a trace of a smile on his face but you chose not to think much of it.

With every encounter, sudden or not, and every conversation, most of which were too short for your liking, you were making more room for Aemond in your heart. You should’ve known you were a lost cause when you actually told yourself — out loud, with hands grabbing the edges of your table — “I will not fall in love with him.” At that point, you already did. He always worked so hard to be seen — and you only had eyes for him all along.

You hid your true feelings well enough for anyone to take notice — but your father was no fool. He also knew better than to meddle with whatever your thinking process was. So he watched from afar for quite some time, until you started catching his curious glances on you every time you went to talk to Aemond. Predictably, after yet another feast he could not resist bringing up the topic.

“Did the royal menace have too many cups of wine again? Haven’t seen him this evening,” he adored Aegon whole-heartedly, and you suspected that their shared love for crude humor was the main reason for that. You didn’t mind.

“Wasn’t that many, actually,” you chuckled. “But he asked me and Aemond to help him to his chambers, said he wasn’t in the mood today.”

“Well, you seem to really enjoy Aemond’s company. I assume that the feeling is mutual?” he looked expressively at you.

Your face grew hot at his words. You also felt your heart break just a little.

“We are merely friends,” you told him, your smile too tense to be believable.

There was a shadow of concern in your father’s gaze, followed by a sad sigh.

“You will let me know if anything changes, though?” he mustered a smile in return and his was much brighter than yours.

“You will be the first one to know,” you promised as he came closer to bring you into a bear hug. You never spoke of it again.

Surprisingly, the only other person who seemed to have suspicions about the nature of your and Aemond’s relationship was his father, the King. You didn’t think he was aware of your existence, and even when your friendship with Aegon grew stronger and you became a regular guest at the castle, you soon realized Viserys barely paid any mind to his younger kids’ whereabouts. You would catch a glimpse of him in the halls and curtsy out of politeness but didn’t expect him to notice. You got too comfortable with his absence — so much so, that one day, when Aegon was carrying your supplies and humorously complained about the lack of art in the castle, you blithely suggested painting a portrait of the King. The last thing you expected was for said man to step out of the corner.

“I would be delighted,” he cut right to the chase. “Lady Y/N, isn’t it?”

He didn’t look scary up close, his face wrinkled and a tad too tired, but quite benevolent. He simply asked if you would be content with drawing him on the Iron Throne and you agreed, just as easily. Truth be told, you didn’t think he would follow up on his offer — being the King and all that, but he sent a carriage down to fetch you literally the next day. Viserys took the task with juvenile ardor, bombarding you with questions — what pose to take, what paint do you use, how quickly will it dry and how did you learn to draw. After he was satisfied with the answers, he changed the subject.

“My wife considers you to have a positive influence on my eldest son,” he pointed out with ill-concealed interest.

“I deeply appreciate her trust but I believe that he is capable of changing on his own,” you corrected him courtly.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he disagreed with a mischievous grin. “I’ve only heard good words about your guidance. It seems that you rein him back so easily, you would’ve made for a fine wife.”

You silently groaned at his comment.

“Your grace, I can assure you, our relationship is strictly of a friendly nature.”

“Oh, I know, I have seen you two,” he said, laughing, and when you peered at him, you saw that it wasn’t his usual uncomfortable-looking crooked grin but an actual genuine laugh.

“Shall you ever lay an eye on any other of my sons,” Viserys continued, much to your surprise. “Do not hesitate to tell me,” and his face suggested he knew more than he was letting on.

You ducked behind the canvas so he didn’t see your heated cheeks.

His suggestion lodged in your memory and even though you wouldn’t dare to actually approach the King, you held out hope that maybe he would give Aemond a similar hint. But months passed, Viserys’s condition drastically worsened, and for whatever reason, he never mended the relationship with his children. And eventually, your hope was gone.

You didn’t lie to Aemond when you told him about having power over who you love. But you failed to mention that said power has its limits — and doesn’t guarantee that your feelings won’t be one-sided. You learned that lesson the hard way when you had to face up to the reality you were in. Your love for Aemond seemed to be as infinite as the ocean — and you had to fit it in a fragile vessel of your heart. At first, you felt the waves raging at the mere glance of his, at every gesture of his goodwill or just upon hearing his voice. The storm of your feelings would splash over the rocks of your self-control but you survived the roaring torrent of love, time after time. The rough ocean grew calm over the years as you came to terms with being in love with someone who didn’t love you back.

You did choose to harbor feelings for Aemond, and you had no regrets about that. But when adulthood came with its own responsibilities that you had to focus on, all your energy was put into finding a husband. You were aware that your choice would have a major impact on your family as their stability depended on it. You approached the issue in a cold-hearted manner, prioritizing the duty above all else. Mayhaps, you were too calculated in your pursuit, and that was how you ended up accepting the courtship of a man who had nothing to give but his wealth.

When it comes to Jason, he never ceases to evoke a few feelings, too, but none of them are pleasant. His arrogance is the first thing that catches the eye — he’s wrapped in it and wears it with pride as if it’s another title of his. You often have to bite your tongue and fake a smile in response to his dismissive remarks and borderline vulgar comments. It doesn’t help that his self-esteem is inflated beyond your comprehension, and if only he could put his own face on their House’s sigil, he would. You are grateful that he keeps his hands to himself but you notice him getting quite handsy with the maids, and it gives you an unsettling feeling. His behavior is so disdainful and frivolous, you have no doubts that once you are married, you will be merely an accessory to him, a pretty wife to show off to his friends without taking your opinion into account. Showing off is the one thing he does best — and each time you can’t help but compare him to Aemond who doesn’t even know how to take a compliment. You find yourself thinking about the prince every time Jason comes by, and these thoughts help you get through tiresome promenades with the lord and endure boring dinners with him.

But after your last conversation with Aemond, you force yourself to stop thinking about him altogether. That decision is remorseless but you believe it’s for the better — or at least that’s what you convince yourself to think after you run out of the garden and into your carriage, only caring about getting home as soon as possible. You pretend that nothing happened, lying to your parents that the prince was too busy and you had to return earlier than planned. And then you lock yourself in your chambers, with hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the sound of crying. A small part of you hopes that Aemond will come to you the same day and explain himself. But he doesn’t. When you don’t hear from him for another two days, you come to the conclusion that he regretted his sudden outburst. And that his words actually held no meaning.

Cutting Aemond out of your life does seem to be attainable with some time, and you perceive it as just another task, another skill you can master. But getting him out of your head seems like an impossible goal from the start. You are so used to keeping memories of him, cherishing each and every one, you can’t just erase them all at once. You try your best, you do so with ferocious persistence, but there’s always some annoying little reminder ready to surface and catch you off guard at the most inopportune moment.

It gets even harder when four days later you find yourself sitting next to Jason who is even more presumptuous than usual. At this point, you feel like your nerves are at the limit, so you can’t even find it in yourself to keep up the act. You push your food around the plate, jumping from one pointless thought to another: the tasteless meal, the barely visible crack in your cup, the revolting tone of the lord’s voice. You feel your mother staring at you, clearly displeased with your attitude, yet Jason is oblivious, too wrapped up in bragging about his winery — or whatever else he is talking about, you have no idea because you stopped paying attention about twenty minutes ago.

You think if you stay by his side any longer, you will be physically sick.

So you get up from the table — may be a bit too dramatic for your own liking — and muster out a weak excuse:

“My apologies, I am in need of fresh air.”

You leave before anyone has a chance to stop you.

It seems like an act of disobedience but there’s so much freedom in it, you feel that you can finally take a breath. And you do exactly that once you reach the balcony, several corridors away from the dining hall that felt stuffed with Jason’s ego. As you stand there, soaking up the last rays of the sun, you can’t ignore the obvious question — how is it even possible to marry someone you absolutely cannot tolerate. You never had illusions about the nature of your relationship with him but you at least hoped there would be some ground to build your future on. At yet, right now it looks like you are trying to lay a foundation in the quicksand. For a man of a noble lineage, Jason knows too little of what nobility actually is, and you have enough self-respect to not give him explanations. The prospect of marrying him makes your duty feel like a burden, and you contemplate if you should even take the risk.

You are lost in your thoughts until you hear a thin voice:

“Do you know where the sun lands?”

You turn to find your sister Alyna standing at the door, in her long white nightgown and barefoot, her eyes unnaturally large for her baby-like face. She always talks like that, too thoughtful for her young age, and sometimes she reminds you of Helaena. There you go, another connection to Aemond.

“I do not, my sweetling. Wherever that place is, it’s a well-guarded secret,” you comb her curly hair with your fingers as her curious eyes study your face.

“Maybe it doesn't want to be seen,” she deduces. “Just like you don't.”

Her ability to get straight to the point sometimes blindsides you. It’s also quite liberating to talk to someone who hasn’t yet learned the skill of pretense, and she may be the only sibling of yours with no ulterior motives or hidden agenda. Alyna tilts her head, signaling that she isn’t enjoying your touch anymore — and when you remove your hand, she says, out of the blue:

“Just like Ser Lannister doesn’t.”

You stare at her in bewilderment, and only then notice that the hallway behind her is empty. It dawns on you that Alyna’s nanny Dorea is nowhere to be found. She is only a couple of years older than you, meek and quiet, her trusting nature ever so defenseless — but she is also very pretty. Too pretty for her own good, as your mother likes to say.

You feel a wave of nausea again. This time, it’s followed by a sense of dread curdling in your stomach.

“What did he do?” your voice comes out unusually calm, in striking contrast with how you are really feeling.

“I heard him talking to Dorea outside my chambers. I wanted to join the conversation but he asked me to leave,” her brows slightly furrow. “He said there are some things I am not supposed to see.”

It may be the first thing you and Jason can agree on, you think. It is also the only thing because you certainly will never agree to marry him — and that realization frees you of any false politeness and self-restraint.

“What are those things?” Alyna naively asks, shifting from one foot to the other.

“I shall go and ask him,” you pat her on the cheek. “But you stay here, alright? I will be back before you know it.”

Usually, it would take about a minute to reach your sister’s chambers, but you cover the distance twice as fast. You are a couple of feet away when you hear muffled voices — one is demanding, the other one is scared, and both are well-known to you. You grasp the situation in no time and run to quickly open the door. When you walk in, you feel a flare-up of anger at the sight: Jason grabbed Dorea by the hips, trying to pull her closer, as she weakly protests, her palms pushing at his chest in an attempt to get away. The squeak of the door makes them turn their heads to you, and you see the distressed look on the nanny’s face.

And then their gazes fall behind your back, and Dorea gets horrified.

You easily guess the reason for that — your younger sister isn’t very good at following orders. So Alyna mumbles, standing next to you and looking at her nanny:

“I do not think she likes it.”

“Neither do I,” you throw Jason a baleful stare. “Let her go and get out.”

He removes his hands — so carelessly, it almost seems like he’s offended by your suggestion of his wrongdoing. Dorea immediately comes to your side, ashamed and distraught.

“Did he hurt you?” you inquire, helping to adjust her dress.

“My lady, I think you misinterpreted —” Jason tries to say but you shut him off.

“I am not talking to you,” you scowl in his direction. Your face softens when you ask Dorea again: “Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head, sheepishly trying to explain:

“I didn’t do anything, I-I didn’t want to, and he said... He said he is a lord and I sh-should be flattered.”

Not only did Jason has the audacity to pull that off but he also wanted to do so at your little sister’s chambers — and you simmer at the thought.

“I believe you,” you gently stroke her shoulder. “I promise you will never see him again.”

“These are some unrealistic expectations,” Jason sneers, walking to you but his grin dies down when you look at him again.

“I know your opinion of women isn’t very high — trust me, the feeling is mutual — but you cannot seriously believe you will fool me,” you sense that now he isn’t pleased with your attitude but you don’t care. “When I told you to get out, I meant it. You are not welcome in this house.”

“That doesn’t sound like a wise decision to make if we are to be wed,” Jason contemptuously hisses.

“Then I guess the wedding is off,” you glare defiance at him. “But whoever you end up marrying, I hope she outlives you. Just so she can spit on your grave,” the last part is meant only for him to hear.

And he definitely does as his face reddens with rage. Jason roughly grabs you by the hand, and your nose fills with the stench of wine when he speaks:

“You are in no position to make demands,” he drawls. “Your family is in debt up to its ears, you little halfwit, so I suggest you choose your words very carefully.”

While he doesn’t see it, Alyna looks between you two, and, out of the corner of your eye, you notice her frowning. She doesn’t do well with conflicts as they upset her deeply, which can only trigger one reaction. Before you can say anything, a high-pitched scream shatters the room, echoing through the whole house.

Jason removes his hand within a second, looking shocked, but Alyna stands innocently with her mouth closed as if nothing happened. Your parents come to her chambers in the blink of an eye.

“What is wrong?” your mother looks at you all uncomprehendingly.

“Ser Lannister got lost,” you cooly explain. “He is already leaving.”

“And why is that?” your father glares at him with suspicion.

You want to spare Dorea the humiliation so you pause for a moment, trying to come up with an excuse. But Alyna has no understanding of what a maiden’s honor is — and she loudly proclaims:

“Ser Lannister was touching Dorea, and she didn’t like it.”

No one in the room needs an explanation for that.

“You shameless scoundrel!” your father roars at Jason, who unsurprisingly isn’t as courageous as before.

“Ser, there clearly has been a mistake — ”

“It was a mistake to let you in,” your father rudely interrupts him. “You won’t set foot in my house ever again. Get out of here before I make you!”

Jason doesn’t need to be told twice and storms out of the room as your father’s gaze follows him. He stands with hands clenched into fists, his nostrils flaring with anger.

“Pompous jerk,” he mumbles under his breath. “And to think that I was willing to give him my daughter’s hand...!” his voice breaks, hoarse with ire, and you notice a vein pop on his forehead. You have never seen him so furious.

“He’s been dealt with,” you cautiously say to ease the tension. “That shouldn’t be a cause for your concern anymore.”

He turns to you, his eyes bloodshot and breathing heavy. As you step closer, you hear whistling sounds with his every breath, and his gaze gets absent. You realize that something is wrong as he opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out.

“Father, are you alright?”

He places a hand over his heart, trying to inhale, a look of fear in his eyes. The chain of events is too sudden to comprehend: his breathing begins to wheeze as he squirms, falls flat on his back and convulses.

And then your evening turns out to be way worse than you could’ve ever imagined. A week later Aegon wakes up at an ungodly hour — and he’s fueled by sole determination to put an end to everyone’s misery. Surely, he must be the only sane person in his house since all his family members seem to be oblivious to what is going on between you and Aemond. Aegon, however, can use his eyes for their intended purpose — and it is clear as day to him that you and his brother are in love with each other.

He caught on to that pretty fast, although the signs were not that obvious at first: you often smile to people purely out of politeness and Aemond may not show his true feelings even under threat of death. So Aegon kept secretly observing you two, taking note of fleeting glances and light touches, of the way you would relax in Aemond’s presence, the way he was always too eager to help you with whatever you needed, and how you two would gravitate toward each other. Both his brother and his best friend were annoyingly stubborn about making their own decisions so Aegon didn’t mean to interrupt — or at least he tried not to. But when your evident mutual pining stretched into years, Aegon started losing his patience.

In the beginning, he initiated small things, asking Aemond to come and greet you (“Oh, I just woke up! And you are already dressed for the occasion”), to deliver you his hand-written message (“Yes, it is incredibly important and I trust no one but you!” — it was his doodling of Aemond), to keep you company during the feast while Aegon stepped out for a moment (he didn’t come back). He asked him to switch places at dinner (so you and Aemond could sit together), to help find the books you wanted (“All those years of you reading should be good for something”), to pick up the portrait of his children (“They are your nephews, is it so hard?! No, I am not being dramatic!”). A couple of times he even pretended to be way more drunk than he actually was just so you and Aemond could help him to his chambers and spend some time alone in the process. None of that worked. At some point, he seriously contemplated locking you both in a room but then came to the conclusion that you would rather team up to find a way out than confess your feelings. Truly, it seemed hopeless, and Aegon thought that maybe he should give up.

But as of recently he couldn’t help but notice that something was clearly off between you and Aemond, although the younger prince refused to talk about it, and you simply stopped visiting the castle. He decided to give it a day or two, hoping that you would sort things out and refusing to even consider the opposite. A week passed and nothing changed, and Aegon cannot bear looking at Aemond’s sour face any longer. So the older prince comes up with a plan.

He is unexpectedly the first one at the breakfast table and everyone who walks in shoots him a surprised glance. They are amazed even more to see that Aegon isn’t drinking which is as rare as a miracle. Aemond comes last and he is the only one who doesn’t notice the change, too wrapped up in his thoughts. Another thing that goes unnoticed is the gleam of sadness on their mother’s face.

Five minutes in, Aegon clears his throat to attract everyone’s attention.

“So, I was thinking,” he drawls loudly.

“That does not sound good,” Otto mutters, unimpressed, which Aegon chooses to ignore and continues.

“Lady Baratheon’s poor taste in men shouldn’t be an obstacle in our way of reaching the grand goal.”

“Which is...?” Otto asks while the younger prince doesn’t move an ear.

“To find a lady worthy of my brother, of course!” Aegon tries his best to say it with a straight face.

Aemond spares him a glance. “I didn’t know you took much interest in that.”

“I always have your best interest in mind,” Aegon slaps him on the shoulder earning a disgruntled hum in return.

“I was just thinking if we should go over the list of requirements once more,” Aegon suggests.

“I don’t have a li—”

“Of course you do!” another slap. “At the very least, she should be of a noble kind. Am I right?”

“Sure,” Aemond absentmindedly agrees.

“And we are definitely looking for someone who is keen on reading.”

“Yes,” Aemond rolls his eye and looks at his plate, already showing no interest in the conversation. That is exactly what Aegon wants — and he starts talking a bit faster:

“Someone with a flexible nature...”

“U-hmm.”

“And with a kind heart...”

“Yes.”

“A great listener...”

“Uh-huh”

“Who will attend to your every need...”

“Sure.”

“And may even be of indescribable beauty...”

“Hmm.”

“...And you will still be miserable because you love Y/N.”

“Yes,” Aemond says without thinking — and then it’s too late to take his word back because everyone’s eyes are already on him. When he turns to his brother, Aegon has a shit-eating grin on his face:

“You are welcome.”

Alicent looks genuinely confused. “Aemond, but why haven’t you mentioned it?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question for years,” Aegon snorts, and Otto raises an eyebrow.

“Years?” his grandsire questions.

“I almost gave up on him,” Aegon keeps talking while his brother just sits there, eye glued to the table.

“She was the one who drew the portrait of our father,” Helaena cheerfully speaks up. “And he kept it.”

“He did,” Alicent nods and gives her son a sympathetic look. “Aemond, she is an admirable young lady. No one would have spoken against it if only you —”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Aemond cuts her off, averting his gaze. “She is to be betrothed to Ser Lannister, and I do not intend to ruin her plans.”

“You cannot be serious!” Aegon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Shall you find the courage to propose, she will immediately reject him!”

“She already did,” Alicent avows, to everyone’s surprise.

Aemond looks up at his mother in an instant.

“Did she?” he asks in disbelief.

Alicent gives him a wan smile.

“A week ago, yes. It is rumored that his behavior... left much to be desired,” she explains half-heartedly. Her face, however, doesn’t show any signs of happiness.

“That seemed like a reason to celebrate but it doesn’t sound like it,” Aegon looks at her questioningly, and Aemond tenses up in anticipation.

Alicent dithers as her face falls, eyes getting woeful and voice feeble.

“Her father fell ill that very day. Some say he got too upset with the whole situation, and I...,” she takes a deep breath. “I received a message this morning. He passed away three nights ago.”

Everyone falls silent, their faces showing shock that is quickly replaced by sadness.

“Seven hells,” Aegon mumbles.

Aemond doesn’t utter a word, feeling his heart sinking. He knows that you’ve always been your father’s daughter, and the prince cannot even begin to imagine how heartbroken you are right now. He should’ve been there for you, he thinks, full with remorse and guilt.

“You should go,” Aegon turns to him, not a hint of jesting in his voice. “We may give her some time to grieve, but I will gladly take Sunfyre out for —”

“Why would you need to?” Aemond gives him a puzzled look. “I can take Vhagar.”

Aegon emits a long-drawn groan and says to no one in particular:

“And to think he is the smartest one? I am having doubts”, he then glances at Aemond with reproach. “I am sure her mourning family will not at all get terrified at the sight of your monstrous dragon.”

His brother mulls over the idea.

“It is not safe to fly drunk.”

“I will be stone-cold sober.”

“You believe both of us will fit into the saddle?”

“We will fit just fine, can you stop with your excuses?! I am being reasonable for once, and you are making me regret it!”

“I don’t think it would be wise,” Otto cuts in their bickering, and both princes turn to him.

He holds pause with a blank stare before a sly smile crawls out on his face.

“I would rather recommend the prince goes right away. We don’t want her family to make any rushed decisions,” their grandsire advises, earning a sign of relief from Aegon, who jumps out of his chair.

“We’re leaving this very second! Do I need to drag you out of your —”

“You do not,” Aemond stands up in a hurry — and then Aegon still grabs him by the hand, pulling his brother out of the room.

Alicent gazes fondly after them.

“It was very kind of you,” she says to her father without looking at him.

Otto thinks that, with how well you’ve been handling Aegon, marrying you to Aemond would be a blessing. Because gods know, he is fed up with them both.

On their way to the Dragonpit Aegon can barely hold back his excitement but his brother’s mind is clearly elsewhere. The older prince lets Aemond take time to gather his thoughts and doesn’t bother him along the road. But once they reach the cavernous building and both pop out of the carriage, Aegon decides some encouragement would be fitting.

“Have I ever told you how I met her? That day at the feast?”

Mentioning your name always works wonders — Aemond turns to him in a flash.

“I was jesting around and she was the only one who didn’t laugh at my jokes. At all. Just stood there with a straight face and ignored me. Can you imagine?”

Aemond does know the unimpressed look you usually give Aegon, and it causes him to let out a dull chuckle.

“Took me good five minutes to even make her smile — and, frankly, my success didn’t last very long. Pretty sure half of my jokes landed flat. But you know what was the real issue?” Aegon’s smile is melancholic. “Most of the evening she kept asking about you.”

Aemond looks like the very epitome of heartbreak. Not only was he blind, he was also an idiot, he realizes.

“I know, I should’ve told you sooner,” Aegon gives him an apologetic look.

Aemond shakes his head. “I should’ve told her sooner.”

“Well, it’s only been what, seven years?” his brother chortles weakly while the dragon keepers finally bring out Sunfyre, and the dragon casts Aemond a curious look.

Aegon approaches the beast first, running his hand over the scales that shine bright in the sunlight, and the prince can never get tired of that blinding beauty. But his excitement mingles with another feeling.

“I value her friendship, you do know that, right?” he squints at Aemond, who simply nods.

“This is my way of saying that if you mess it up, I might push you off my dragon on our way back,” Aegon casually remarks, grabbing the rope to climb up.

Aemond falters with answering, reluctant to admit.

“There is a chance that I already messed it up.”

Aegon looks down at his brother and gives him a stern glare.

“Unmess it, then.” You don’t remember much from the past week, your days and nights blurred into one another. The only thing that stays on your mind is your father’s face — you can still see it so clearly, with his gentle gaze and his every wrinkle, the corners of his mouth always upturn like he’s a second away from smiling. You also remember how that face contorted in pain, how his body stiffened, and that scene plays on repeat in your head, over and over. And then there are only pieces of memories, torn and mushed together, and you can’t find it in yourself to sort them out.

You spend all your time at your father’s bedside, with a string of never-ending prayers falling from your lips. They don’t seem to help — and nor do the maester’s efforts, and you lose hope with each passing minute. As hours fly, you get a very bad feeling that soon turns into blood-curdling awareness. Deep down, you know what’s to come, and you hate yourself for it. You think you will never stop crying but by the time the maester declares your father’s demise, there are no tears left. Death has many faces — none of them looked at you with mercy.

Your mother wails, overtaken by despair, your sisters don’t leave her side, eyes puffy and full of sorrow, and you are sure that you look the same — yet you feel completely empty. There’s a cleft in a place of your heart, and all the feelings seemed to flow out, leaving you drained and emotionless, but it brings you no relief. Everything in your house reminds you of your father, his presence tangible in the rooms and in the halls, his image still as clear as a reflection in the mirror. The memories of him crawl out of every corner, seep from under the doors, fall on you along with the dust you brush off his things that you can’t make yourself take away.

Stacks of hardcovers with bookmarks in the middle.

The unfinished cup of wine.

The long grey coat hanging on the back of his chair.

Piles of letters left unanswered.

Parchments, ink and a quill that he will never use again.

All the pieces of him that you can’t look at, don’t want to look at — yet it’s all you see, and there’s is no hiding from it. You feel trapped in your own house, and you wait for the walls to collapse so maybe under the weight of them you will find some peace. You are restless in your grief, you are drowning in it.

The day of the funeral leaves a blank space in your memory, void of colors and sounds apart from everyone’s crying. The ceremony is rushed and there is only a handful of family members since your mother couldn’t bring herself to tell everyone yet. You don’t blame her for it — you think she’s too afraid to say it out loud, afraid that speaking the words will make them real, and she’ll have to finally accept his death. You have no problem with acceptance, you just don’t know how to move on. How to stay strong when you are shattered beyond repair.

Your home now feels like a coffin but everyone expects you to be in charge, so you force yourself to. Merely an hour after his body was buried in soil wet with rain, you find yourself sorting out his papers. You look through his diary, his scribbled notes, the calculations he made in attempts to stabilize the emptying coffers. He’s always been the responsible one, keeping count and cutting costs, planning for the future — and yet he’s been robbed of it. None of it makes sense to you and your father isn’t there to teach you. You clench your teeth in frustration, and it makes you want to put your head through a wall.

You push through the second and the third day. You give orders to the maids, who walk on eggshells around the house, sharing concerned looks. You take it upon yourself to bring meals to your mother and all but spoon-feed her so she at least will have some energy to get up from bed. She doesn’t — while you want nothing more than to get away. You’ve had a fair share of responsibilities your entire life but now there’s an abundance of them and it puts you in a chokehold, and you are all alone in your discomfort which brings you no respite at all.

On the fourth day you wake up feeling like the walls are closing in and you can’t breathe, the need to leave anchoring in your lungs. You don’t want to waste another second as you put on a coat right on top of your nightgown, frightened that each moment of stalling might lead to you being dragged into the same routine again. But the house is asleep, and the sun has barely risen when you tiptoe out of your room. You only wake up one maid, telling her you’ll go for a walk so your sudden absence doesn’t come off as a deed of cruelty.

You step outside and close the door behind your back, taking a slow, deep inhale. And just when the guilt is about to sneak up on you — you dart off into the morning fog.

The air is fresh and cooling against your skin as you run away from your house and through the trees, not minding the branches or the damp ground. You breathe the crisp air in, and it makes your body feel weightless, and you speed up, leaving no chance for the responsibilities to catch up with you. Patches of the forest, splattered with all shades of green, bushes and weeds that graze your knees — you pay them no attention as your feet carry you further away, up the hill, to the most remote place you can think of. You don’t know how long it takes for you to reach the narrow wooden bridge and cross the remaining field that ends with a cliff, but when you finally do, your feet ache and your lungs burn and you gulp air.

The sky is draped by the light layer of clouds but the blue of it stretches as far as the eyes can reach, and the movement of the sea can be seen in the distance. The morning is still with silence and it welcomes you, the fresh breeze encircling your body. The feeling of it isn’t gentle as the wind instantly bites every part of your skin that is covered with sweat. You should’ve worn thicker layers, you shouldn’t have rushed, maybe you shouldn’t have come at all — but you are too tired of thinking, of restrictions. Of yourself.

You let the cold seep in and pierce you to the marrow as you watch the waves meeting the horizon. You then close your eyes, hands coming up to cross over your chest. It’s an oblivion of some sort — with no demands and no tears, it’s only you and the wind. The empty space around you matches the emptiness in your heart, and the beating of it sounds like a hollow note. You feel nothing, you feel numb, but it’s so tranquilizing, you can’t help but give in, just to stop brooding for a few minutes — or maybe hours, you care not.

In this state of torpor, you almost miss the sound of wings cutting through the air. When you open your eyes, you only catch a shadow hidden by the clouds and a glimpse of gold but it’s still enough to guess. Sunfyre. At any other time, Aegon’s visit would’ve brought you joy yet right now it feels useless against the doldrums of your soul. At least your sisters will be happy to see him, you think, not having the slightest desire to move from your spot. The wind is now howling, the grass is rustling — and then the small measured sound joins the melody of nature. It sounds like someone’s approaching but their step is nearly noiseless. There is only one person who walks like that, and the realization brings you out of your trance.

You turn to Aemond before he can say anything, your gaze meeting his, and he immediately stands still. The distance between you is just like before, and you only now grasp the amount of time that has passed. You haven’t seen him in two weeks — and so much has changed, and nothing is the same — but when you look at Aemond, at every painfully familiar feature of his, your heart twinges. You really, really missed him, and it’s the first thing you feel in fourteen days.

He notes your lack of protest and hesitantly comes toward you, only pausing when he’s at arm’s length. His cheeks are flushed pink from the wind, the collar of his coat raised to the angles of his jaw.

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” his tone is filled with sadness. “Even if you despise me.”

“I could never,” you mirror the words he once said but your voice comes out too quiet and blank.

There is only compassion and understanding in his gaze, and you are hungry for both, so you don’t break eye contact. He doesn’t, either, and reaches out a hand — it moves to your shoulder as he says:

“I am so sor—” when his fingers come in contact with you, Aemond suddenly stops talking, and his eye darts to your arm. There is a flicker of confusion on his face that quickly turns into worry.

“You are freezing,” he breathes out, and his worry grows stronger in an instant.

Aemond cautiously guides his hand up and down your arm — you see the movement, clear as day, but you don’t feel it at all.

“I didn’t really notice,” you mumble.

You want to tell him that staying with your family drove you up the wall, that you lost sleep and the nights bring you no rest, that you accept your emptiness and loathe it. But the wind is still howling, your mind is clouded with exhaustion, and you are afraid that Aemond will get angry at you.

Instead, he pleads.

“Let me take you home,” he continues caressing your arm. “Please, let’s go back. You can’t —”

“I don’t want to,” you retort, and all the unsaid words bubble up and pour out. “I could not stay there any longer, it was all too much, I needed a break, I — it just made me feel like...,” your skin finally absorbs the heat of his touch which sends goosebumps down your spine, and you get short of breath.

“Like I wanted to disappear,” you say, voice barely above the whisper.

Your confession hangs in the air, and you catch that same unreadable emotion in his eye. Three heartbeats later Aemond removes his hand, and the absence of it threatens to strip you of your short-lived comfort. But then he unbuttons his coat — and opens his arms to you:

“Disappear here.”

His words break the ice of your numbness, filling your lungs with air — so much of it, you almost feel light-headed. You are cold, and you are lonely, and you missed him. In a heartbeat you fall into his embrace, with the same force one may plummet down from a cliff — only instead of waves, you are welcomed by his warmth, and you instantly sink into it.

Aemond takes you under his coat, gently putting it over your body, and then holds you tight. You instinctively wrap your hands around his waist, nestling against his chest. Your cold palms glide over his shirt, and Aemond involuntarily shivers but doesn’t budge. He starts slowly stroking your back, and you soak up the calmness that radiates off him. His touch is soothing, quieting your mind, and you lose yourself in the serenity that it brings.

You are both lost in time, standing quietly, as your body gradually warms up and relaxes. You listen to his heartbeat, the rhythm of it even and lulling, and it makes you feel at peace.

When Aemond looks at you clinging to him, his heart swells with so much love, he can barely contain it.

“How are you feeling?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “It all happened so fast, I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t. Everyone expects something from me now and I... I wish he was still here.”

“Your father was the kindest man I have ever met,” his voice is laced with sorrow. “I am so sorry you had to go through that. I should’ve come sooner but I only found out this morning.”

“And you came,” you remark delicately. “It’s all that matters.”

You snuggle up to him even more and relish in the feeling of his body close to yours, finding solace in it. You let yourself forget about everything else in the world, comforted by his kindness as he shields you from all the worries and the troubles of life.

“Whose idea was it to take Sunfyre?”

“Aegon’s,” the prince chuckles. “He was very persuasive, I’ll give him that.”

“Is he waiting for you on the hill?”

“He went to see your family, offer his condolences. And maybe complain a little since he didn’t particularly enjoy the flight.”

You try imagining the two of them squeezed into the saddle, and you know Aemond must’ve teased Aegon all the way to your house. You feel the tickling of laughter in your throat but it doesn’t go higher and then dissolves. Still, it’s a start.

“How much do you regret agreeing to that?”

Aemond pauses — and then his low voice vines through your hair:

“Right now, I don’t.”

You feel his heart skipping a beat, and for some reason, his pulse speeds up. You wonder what the reason may be, and your cheeks heat up when you are struck by the answer you can’t dare to hope for.

Or maybe you can.

“I’m not marrying Ser Lannister,” you blurt out, your own chest vibrating with anxiety.

Aemond pulls away just a bit, only to have a look at you.

“I heard about that,” he reveals. “He was never a good —”

“You are under no obligation to say anything or do anything,” you cut him off, nervously lowering your gaze, because if he tries to pity you it will break your heart all over again, and you cannot bear it right now. “I just... I knew I would never love him. So I believe it’s only for the best.”

You keep babbling, but he hardly listens, his eye fixed on your face. Aemond isn’t sure you fully allow yourself to be this vulnerable with anyone. But it’s his favorite side of yours — with your bashful sincerity, your overly complicated explanations that he understands with ease, your habit of talking with hands, with your searching gaze and your eyes bright with life. It’s all the little things that he adores.

It’s what makes his feelings finally spill over.

“...But we don’t need to talk about it, you don’t need to say anyth—”

His touch is so gentle, you barely register when Aemond puts a finger beneath your chin, lifting your head to look at him — and then suddenly his lips cover yours. His mouth is even warmer than his hands, and he gives you a couple of seconds to make sure you won’t pull away. And then he starts kissing you, slowly and steadily, in a way you could only dream of.

Aemond gently cradles your head, his lips are soft and ardent — they meld with yours, and time freezes and sounds fade as you melt into the kiss, into his touch. And at that moment nothing else matters. You are wrapped in his tenderness, the ocean of feelings flooding your body, and he enters your heart like he owns it. He always did.

Aemond is the one to break the kiss, sensing that you are gasping for air. You slowly open your eyes in a daze, as if you’ve been awoken from a dream.

“I will take care of everything,” he affirms, his mouth still only a couple of inches away. “You do not have to worry about a thing.”

One of your hands moved on top of his chest, and you feel that his heart rate is back to normal. The pounding of it pulls you back to reality.

“You mean that?” you whisper. “Aemond, I don’t have that much to offer.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face and leaves a trail of light kisses up to your temple.

“You have everything a man can wish for,” he reassures you, and his gaze finds yours again. “Everything I have ever wished for.”

The prince takes your face between his hands, and his thumbs follow the contours of your cheeks.

“Even in a room full of art I can only look at you,” Aemond murmurs, his words are flamelike and go straight to your heart, making it flutter.

Only now you notice that the sun emerged from the clouds, and the golden light illuminates everything around you. You bask in it as well as in Aemond’s affection — and he makes you feel seen, safe, cared for. Loved.

“That was very poetic of you,” you tilt your head and lean closer to him.

“I agree with poets on one thing — we have no control over who we love. But I have never regretted loving you,” he can’t stop himself from placing a kiss on the edge of your mouth. “And if I had to choose, it would still be you.”

When you meet his gaze, this time you read it with ease — and you are sure it’s a mere reflection of your own. An overwhelming feeling sweeps over and spreads through you. But the ocean is calm, and you are not cold anymore — and Aemond does love you, after all.

You feel your mouth quirk in a smile, genuine and a very happy one. Aemond presses his forehead to yours and promises:

“From now on, you will always be my first choice,” and then you see him trailing for your lips.

And you believe him.

the taglist: @greenowlfactif, @mischiefmanaged71, @pasta-rask, @imjustboredso, @iiamthehybrid, @m00n5t0n3, @crispmarshmallow, @bellaisasleep, @aemondssuit, @ipadkidsworld, @itisjustwhatitis, @maximizedrhythms, @fckwritersblock, @hiatuswhore, @fantasyreader130, @bibli0thecary, @teapartydreams, @kyuupidwrites, @thelittleswanao3 (I couldn't tag some of you for whatever reason, so I'll just message you guys)

yep, it’s me again!

the title is someone’s quote (I have no idea where it’s from, pls help a girl out)

“Disappear here” are Jonathan Carroll’s words that have been engraved in my memory for years and they just popped into my head while I was writing in a haste and only then I realized wait, technically it’s a quote, you can’t do that?! but guess what, I did! I also tried to rephrase these two words but it looked weird so I’m letting you know that I suck as a writer

the bit when she babbles and he looks smitten with her — I couldn’t help but think of that scene from “North and South” (it screams Aemond to me!)

I imagined the cliff to look like this 🍃

I originally planned to turn the romance down just a notch ’cause I already have 4 sappy fics and I wanted this one to be more “realistic” but… oh well, me and romance go hand in hand, apparently.

you will see this version of Aegon more often because I enjoyed it immensely!

what do you guys think? comments and opinions are VERY welcome! 🥺 ✨ my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

1K notes · View notes

sofs16 · 5 months

Text

let you break my heart again—2

series link #SOF: biggest thank you to @rocksanneig for helping with the translations 🤍🤍

“hello! ”charles said to the (y/h/c), giddy that yn came.

the big part of him knew yn would come. she was always there. but he told himself not to be too confident and maybe there was a small chance she wouldn’t come. he told himself maybe she just needed a little more time.

but there she was, standing tiredly in front of him with her pillow hanging to her side, the pillowcase charles had gotten for her was hanging in between her finger tips.

yn had been complaining about the itchiness of her pillowcase and the next day charles was handing her a bag of soft pillow cases he had bought with some of his racing money.

“salut hi” she whispered, subconsciously using french as the language whilst she shivered from the sudden wind. “come in! ” charles opened the door wider, making sure she got in before closing the door behind her. he took her other hand gently and hurried to the living room. her heart rate had quickened at his touch.

all the leclerc’s were aware of them occupying the living room, pascale made sure arthur and lorenzo wouldn’t disturb the two teens. she had always loved yn as her own daughter and wanted nothing more for them to stop fighting — maybe even a confession.

“i am very very sorry, yn. i can not apologize enough but thank you for coming.” he sat her down the couch “ouais yeah” she mumbled, still unease with her paced heart rate and the situation.

“y/n/n, dis quelque chose say something” charles sighed, nudging her after a while of silence and she shook her head “'tu sais ce qu'on dit dans le code des filles -ou le code des garçons, charles ? on met pas ses amourettes avant sa meilleure amie. you ever heard of girl code— even boy code, charles? you don’t put ‘flings’ or whatever before your best friend”

“je sais, je suis désolé- i know, i’m sorry-”

“'Non tu sais pas ! T'es même pas amoureux de Lacy. C'est qui pour toi ? La troisième fille avec qui tu sors cette année juste parce qu'elle trouve que t'es beau et qu'elle t'aime bien ? C'est pas comme ça que ça fonctionne. no you don’t know! you don’t even like lacy. what is she? your third girl of the year just because they say they think you’re hot and they like you? it doesn’t work like that.”

“Tu te mets pas avec quelqu'un parce qu'il t'aime et que tu apprécies le fait qu'on t'aime; tu te mets avec quand c'est réciproque. Ça fait souffrir l'autre personne! you don’t get with someone just because they like you and you like that someone likes you; you get with them when you actually like them. it hurts the other person!”

“i.. i am not with lacy anymore” he mumbled, fiddling with the knit blanket. she raised a brow as if she had proven her point.

‘don’t expect anything’ yn quietly reminded herself

“she broke up with me” she looks at charles. what kind of an idiot would leave him? sure, charles had his flaws, but to yn he was the only man who she considered ‘perfect’ even in his own way.

she gave charles a hug. charles always found comfort in her hugs, an indescribable feeling to him.

“i’m sorry charles but that doesn’t excuse what you did. it may be small to others but the one day i asked for us to have, you leave me waiting for hours.” she whispers

“i know, i will never do it again! i promise!” and he stood by that. “sorry about your breakup though” she mumbles, pulling away from the hug “It is okay, at least we get to spend more time together, like before!” charles smiled “got any upcoming races?” she leaned back on the couch, changing the topic. she did not want a fight, she wanted him to understand, maybe a little too naive at the time.

“one next next week.” charles leans over to open a bag of chips, offering her some. “i wish i could go but i’ve been slumped with work” yn sighs, munching on her chips “don’t worry! i’ll ask maman to video it all so we can watch it together”

“i can’t wait for you” she says with a small smile before they fall into their usual chatter, forgetting to even watch a movie.

pascale finds them both sleeping on the couch, charles embracing yn. she takes a photo of them on the polaroid camera lorenzo recently got for the family. she puts it in a memory album charles doesn’t know exists. It has pages of them growing up together.

1 month later, october, is the peak of senior prom talk. the schools in monaco aren’t as large as others, meaning word spreads fast. charles recently got with another girl, heather, who he thinks is the one. but he’s 15, what does he know?

yn hasn’t bothered to speak about it since the last argument… rather, the lack of argument. she hangs out with charles once or twice a week and to her, that’s enough.

during a usual leclerc- yln dinner, charles mentions him going to prom with heather. the others indulge in that topic as pascale turns to look at yn. she sees the young girl looking down at her food, keeping her eyes trained on the pasta.

“what about you, yn? any cute boys?” lorenzo asks, making yn look up. charles looks at her as well.

charles hadn’t thought about that.

“um.. a few have asked but.. i didn’t really say yes” she shrugs.

“why not”

“how come”

“are you going alone?” the others push more follow-up questions. “i don’t really know... besides, shouldn’t we be talking about lorenzo’s girlfriend?” she smiles and tries to shift the conversation, which thankfully works.

ironically, the next day at school, one of the few boys yn may actually think is cute, asks her to the prom. “sure” she smiles. a little company can’t hurt anyone.

as mentioned, word travels fast in their school. hence charles storming into yn’s room at 9 in the evening. “you did not tell me” “charlie, it doesn’t hurt to knock sometimes” she says, putting on some moisturizer.

“you did not tell me you were going to prom with— what is his name? philus ?” he repeats “it’s philippe” she cocks her head to the side, setting the moisturizer down

“why did you not tell me?” “charlie, he asked me out today”

“and?” “charles, you literally just got home from your date with heather. why do you think?” she said, exasperated

“you could text me!” he bickers “why is this so important? i would have told you yesterday!” “Because we do not talk as much and I— I just want what is best for you” “And whose fault do you think that is?” she whispers

history repeats itself, another girl, another argument.

charles quietly leaves the room with a muttered apology but comes back, just as quickly, to hug her and wipe the tears away.

“stop ditching me for girls, its pathetic of me to cry over this” she mumbled in his sweatshirt “i am stupid, do not cry over me, please”

he then hasn’t understood the layers to the argument, yet again, but there was an unspoken rule to him that he couldn’t go to sleep with you two being in an argument, not again.

the next week, charles takes yn out for a joint birthday dinner. she ends up paying for it after multiple quarrels on who pays. it was his birthday, after all. she ends up giving him a bracelet she bought for him. he told her that he would never take it off.

november strolls by and charles has never been more enthusiastic for yn’s birthday. she deserved a good one. he spoiled her that day and dragged her away for a moment to give her a necklace with a friendship ring, both their initials engraved. she thanks him with a tight, bone crushing hug.

january break is spent supporting charles’ races, being present in all of them.

february, prom finally happens. it would have been much memorable to yn if she wasn’t still hung up on charles. her date was kind and good for her. charles and her would subconsciously both look at each other.

though, that night, they all get home with little giggles, yn and charles saying good night to each other as they enter their houses. and just before charles can shut the door, he notices a letter sitting under the door mat.

he picks it up, paying no mind, until he sees your name. his first thought of his, to return it to you, is stopped when he sees the stamp of oxford.

— INSTAGRAM FILE

yn.yln.16

liked by charles_leclerc, and 394 others

yn.yln.16 little dinner plans for birthday boy here! #16!

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charles_leclerc How come you get the good photo? ⤷ yn.yln.16 my face isnt even seen charles… you always get it at horrible times 😅

⤷ charles_leclerc I guess I will learn photography for you so you stop complaining 😝

october 16, 2013

yn.yln.16

liked by charles_leclerc, and 502 others

yn.yln.16 Finally my favorite number!!! #16! view all 121 comments november 3, 2013

charles_leclerc

liked by yn.yln.16, and 310 others

charles_leclerc Happiest birthday to my constant, yn.yln.16! It has been a tough year for us but I always knew we would make it through! :) Thank you for always sticking by me even if I can be very stupid at times and always supporting me, you are everything to me. I love you! And also, 16 is my number 😠

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facebookmom1 Cutest couple! ❤️

yn.yln.16 charlie :,) I’m tearing up. yn.yln.16 Thank you so much !

yn.yln.16 16 Is my number! I’ve had it since we were 3, back off!

november 3, 2013

yn.yln.16

liked by charles_leclerc, and 439 others yn.yln.16 last semester!!!!!! #senior view all 21 comments

charles_leclerc So well deserved! ❤️

january 12, 2014

yn.yln.16

tagged: lorenzotl, arthur_leclerc, charles_leclerc, and leclerc_pascale liked by charles_leclerc, and 549 others

yn.yln.16 Boys insisted on a pre-prom drinking night to see my soda drinking tolerance😒

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leclerc_pascale 😍

charles_leclerc Nice necklace 😅🤪

⤷ yn.yln.16 Nice bracelet 😝

february 5, 2014

yn.yln.16

tagged: philippe_1996 liked by charles_leclerc, and 683 others

yn.yln.16 Prom 🤍

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philippe_1996 Beautifulllll❤️

charles_leclerc 😍😍😍

february 9, 2014

TAGLIST : @1655clean @uuzhanggggggg

@cmleitora @annie115

let me know if you want to be part of the list and your thoughts🤍

#charles leclerc #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #social media au #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc 16 #f1 imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagines

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lovebugism · 1 year

Note

❛ i’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new to me. i love you. ❜ with our boy Steve Harrington please?

i wrote this after watching little women, so this is like that one laurie and amy scene but stranger things coded <3 hope you like it!! (this is 5k words btw and barely proofread 🫣)

The R.V. smells like coopery blood, alternate dimension muck, and nine teenagers who haven’t showered in three days. But despite all that, Steve Harrington is next to you, smiling.

As if there’s anything worth being happy about now.

He tells you about a dream with a hopeful gleam in his honey eyes, like he believes it’ll all come true — like death is staring him in the face. “I know it’s silly, but I… I always dreamed I’d have this really, really big family. I’m talking like, uh— a full brood of Harrington’s. I don’t know, five… Maybe six kids?”

“Six?” you repeat with an incredulous laugh. You turn your body in the passenger seat to face him more, shoulder pressing into the worn pleather. You’ve got your brows raised to your hairline in shock at his admission and a beam on your face you don’t realize is there.

“Uh-huh. Six little nuggets. Three girls, three boys,” he says with an assured nod. There’s a distant smile hinting at the edges of his lips, and he looks at you with it for a moment before turning back to the road again.

“And every summer, I figured all of us Harrington’s, we’d pack into something like this, and… just see the country. You know, the Rockies, the Grand Canyon, maybe Yellowstone. We’d end up in some beachside town in California and spend a week parked in the sand, maybe learn how to surf or something.”

You can picture the dream so effortlessly, almost like it’s one you’ve had yourself.

In some ways, you did.

Steve Harrington was the kind of boy that filled you with butterflies and childlike daydreams. It was more innocent than lusting, more significant than a teenage crush. There was a time you’d wanted to be with him so badly that you could barely breathe. It kept you up at night, fantasizing about a future with a boy that didn’t want you. It haunted your dreams just as often.

You were, perhaps a bit begrudgingly, a part of that stereotype — a girl who wanted all of the things adults thought girls wanted. You longed for a pretty white dress and a husband that cried when you walked down the aisle. You wanted a small house with a white picket fence, a home that’s always loud with laughing children and barking dogs and loving parents.

It was a future you only wanted with Steve.

But he didn’t love you. Not the way he loved Nancy.

Not the way he still loves Nancy.

It’s not a crime he needs to confess to for you to know he’s guilty of it. You can see it written all over his face, in the way he talks about his future family and flits his gaze from the winding backroad up to the rearview mirror to look at her. He’s picturing her in his head the way you picture him in yours.

Knowing someone else is a part of this dreamt-up family and not you is a bitter pill to swallow.

It has you looking back too, at the gang of ragtag soldiers you’re about to save the world with. You glance over your shoulder at all of them, finding them dozing or outright sleeping in the back of the R.V.

You don’t blame them. The past few days have been hell.

You’re just glad Max has finally found a moment of peace. The redhead lazes between Lucas and Dustin on the couch in the very back. She rests her head on the former boy’s soldier, but you can’t tell if she’s sleeping or not. Lucas has his eyes closed but a smile on his face as he lays his cheek on the crown of her head.

Dustin, on the other hand, looks dreadfully out of place among the two lovebirds. His head is tilted back and his mouth is wide open. Soft snores spill from his throat.

Erica, Robin, and Nancy all sit at the tiny table beside the tinier kitchen. Their heads are either resting on their folded arms or pressing against the window.

The small cushion adjacent to the couch is taken up wholly by Eddie.

Your Eddie.

His long legs are spread and his back is slouched against the side of the R.V. He’s taking up every bit of room the thing has to offer, which wasn’t very much to begin with. His pink lips are parted and slightly chapped. He blows soft exhales from them that make his chest rise and fall with even breaths.

Your hands begin to ache with the want to run them through his wild strands of hair, to ease his head to your chest and let the sound of your heartbeat chase away the nightmares that threaten to plague him.

You want so badly to sleep alongside him, but you know that slumber won’t come as easily to you.

Despite the exhaustion that weighs down your tired bones, whenever you close your eyes, you can only see Chrissy’s mangled body on the ceiling of Eddie’s trailer. The image of broken bones and sucked-out eye sockets is stained on the back of your mind.

It’s something you’ll never forget. Not in a billion, trillion lifetimes.

You’re scared you won’t ever sleep peacefully again.

But you’re glad Eddie’s finally resting. Even if you can’t.

And maybe that’s what love is.

…Love.

You almost can’t believe you’re calling it that. It’s not like you’ve told him as much or anything. You haven’t been together very long, only a few months, but you’re not sure what else to call this feeling. Is it normal for you to want to fight the most powerful dark wizard known to man with your bare hands as long as it means keeping Eddie safe?

The realization that you’re actually moving on from Steve is perhaps more shocking. You were starting to think you’d be fawning over him for the rest of your life, destined to be alone forever while he got married and had kids. But then Eddie came out of nowhere. He swept you off your feet without even trying.

You’d spent so much of your life in love with Steve that you’d forgotten how it felt to be loved. But Eddie reminded you, most ardently so, and you’ve never been happier.

And Steve can see all that.

He can see how you’ve gone to hell and back — quite literally — to keep Eddie safe. He can see how Eddie still manages to make you laugh so hard your stomach hurts, even though death looms overhead like a big, gray storm cloud. It almost makes him angry. Not at Eddie, exactly. And certainly not at you. He’s more so mad at himself for waiting until you were out of his grip entirely to need you like air.

Steve wasn’t an idiot; he knew how you felt about him. He’s known for years. But Nancy was the only girl in his purview for… an embarrassingly long amount of time. Maybe that’s because she didn’t want a single damn thing to do with him at first, and it wasn’t like Steve to back down from a challenge.

But you? You were easy. You were always going to be there. Your love was the only constant thing in his life.

And then it just… wasn’t.

It was like his center of gravity had suddenly shifted or his feet had been knocked out from under him. The loss of you, of something that was never his to begin with, jarred him like he’d been awake with most vigor. Now, he finds himself living in a nightmare — forced to watch you fall in love with someone else while he ebbs slowly from your mind.

You sit with him now — with Eddie — while he and Dustin fuck around with the shields they’d crafted out of tin garbage can lids. You watch them with a smile on your face even though you’re shaking your head at them and telling them something that Steve can’t hear.

You’ve got a sword in your hand, and you sharpen its steel with a rock. The too expensive thing had been hanging on the wall at The War Zone, and you told Eddie you just had to have it.

“I’ll just… take up extra shifts at Wayne’s shop,” you reason with a shrug, gaze never leaving the bladed weapon.

“Do whatever you want,” the brunette boy responded nonchalantly as he dropped four cases of ammunition into the red basket in your hand. He smiled down at you. “That just means I’ll get to see you more.”

It hurts Steve for you to be so far away from him.

You’re just across the small clearing. All he’d have to do is walk over to you, really, but it’s more than just the distance. No matter how close he gets to you, or how far you get from Eddie, your soul’s always going to be with him.

Steve will never have you like that, and that’s what hurts the most.

He thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of keeping a stiff upper lip about it. He thinks he’s keeping some deep, dark secret, having no idea that he’s all but spilling his guts to Robin. Honestly, he’s just trying to make conversations while they make homemade bombs out of gasoline and glass bottles, but he’s more than obvious. As per usual.

“How long do you think they’ve got?” Steve asks her out of the blue while he pours the chemicals through the funnel and into the flask Robin holds out for him. He doesn’t wait for an answer.

“Because I thought they’d be over forever ago, you know? I mean… it’s Eddie. She’s, like, totally out of his league, right? But I’m pretty sure they just had an anniversary or something because I saw him buying flowers at Bradley’s Big Buy the other day…”

Robin opens her mouth to get a word in, but Steve just keeps on going going going.

“Unless you think they were for someone else? But let’s be serious, right? He’s a freak, but he’d never do that to her. I don’t know… Maybe he’s just the sorta guy that gets her flower for no reason, and it hasn’t been as long as it feels.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure they—”

“Let’s face it, if he’s doing that for her, they’re probably gonna make it, right?” the boy laughs bitterly to himself. He stuffs a rag into the neck of the bottle. “God, I’m such an idiot… Maybe if I’d done those things, I’d still—”

“I swear to god, if you say you’d still be with Nancy, I’m gonna punch you in the forehead,” Robin snapped suddenly. She’s got a foreign sternness to her tone and a glacial hardness in her blue eyes. She glares at him with it. “You don’t love Nancy, Steve. And she doesn’t love you. So stop going for the easiest thing when you know it’s not what you want.”

He sighs. He knows she’s right. “I just—”

“I get it. It sucks being lonely. I’m pretty sure I’m destined to spend the rest of my life alone, so join the club,” Robin smiles, a tad bit cynically, at him. “It sucks being in love with someone you can’t have. Trust me, I get it. But you need to move on.”

Steve swallows. He almost winces at the thought of that — of never having you. He shakes his head as though to get rid of the idea entirely. “I can’t… I can’t do that, Rob.”

“Then what are you gonna do, Steve?” she asks him with a mirthless, but not unkind laugh.

She nods her head over to you. You laugh as Eddie spins you in his arms, both of you marveling at how you’ve just nailed a tree on the far edge of the clearing with the knives you’d thrown at it. Steve can hear the sound of your bubbly laughter from where he sits. Its brightness rivals that of the setting sun.

“Look at her. She’s happy. Finally. So… Just let her be happy,” Robin advises with a shrug. She sets the glass bottle in the box with the rest of them. “I mean, we’re about to stop a dark wizard from ending the world, you know? Some of us probably won’t make it out—”

“Don’t say that,” Steve scolds.

“Some of us probably won’t make it,” she repeats, firmer this time, like it’s something he really needs to hear. “Something could happen to Eddie. Something could happen to her. Do you really want to be the selfish asshole that ruins what could very well be everyone’s last moments together just because you’ve got a bleeding heart?”

She’s being harsh. He knows it deserves it. Now is virtually the worst time to tell you everything on his mind — just when you’re starting to really settle down with Eddie and about to fight some wizard in an alternate dimension.

Something could happen to her. Those words left Robin’s mouth and stabbed him in the heart like a thousand unforgiving knives. Steve can’t fathom anything ever happening to you. Even with the end of the world, with all of you about to fight a war, it never crossed his mind. He can’t picture his life without you in it.

He can’t lose you without telling you how he feels — that he loves you, that he’s always loved you, and that he’s an oblivious idiot who learned that too late.

He can’t lose you at all.

So, against his better judgment and Robin’s sound advice, Steve abandons his work with her and hikes the relatively short distance over to you.

Eddie hasn’t yet let go of you. He keeps his arms tight around your waist and hugs you from behind, pressing the back of you to his chest while his chin sits along your shoulder. His chocolate eyes are stuck on the bullseye you’d carved into the bark of the tree on the far side of the clearing. The four knives you’d thrown, now stuck at the very center of the target, stare back at him.

“This is probably a bad time to be turned on, huh?” he half-jokes, chin bobbing against your shoulder with every word.

“Eddie!” you scold as you wrench yourself out of his grip.

Dustin’s face screws up from where he lounges on the grass beside the both of you. “Gross…”

You walk away from the two boys to collect your knives from the poor oak tree. Eddie whistles lowly at you while you go — as though he’s never seen you in a pair of jeans before. You throw your middle finger over your shoulder at him in response.

That’s when Steve catches you, when you’re finally alone, and with a tiny white lie of needing to go back to the R.V. for more gasoline. You offer to walk with him, just like he figured you might, because none of you wants anyone to go off alone. Not with Vecna potentially watching you.

You walk alongside him through the thick wood, dodging low-hanging branches and uplifted roots. Steve notices the distant smile dancing on the corners of your lips — a beautiful stain Eddie’s left there.

“What are you gonna do?” he asks you suddenly. “You know, when this is all over?”

Your brows raise at his question, mouth falling softly agape and eyes widening with a far-off look. You look stumped by the simple inquiry, like it’s something you hadn’t thought of yet — of any of this being over.

“I don’t know…” you murmur. “Go back to work, I guess.”

Steve laughs. “We’re gonna save the world tonight, and you’re gonna be back in the office on Monday?”

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll take a sick day,” you joke, just to hear him laugh again.

He lifts a splintered tree limb to get it out of the way for you, then ushers you to walk ahead of him. You mutter a low and shy “thank you” as you walk beneath it. He lets the branch fall again as he follows behind you.

“What about you, then?” you retort. “What are you gonna do after? Since going back to a nine-to-five is so unreasonable.”

“Actually, I was thinking about writing an opera,” Steve quips with a straight face. “I would be the main character, of course—”

“You’re such an idiot,” you giggle with the shake of your head. The airy, sunshine sound makes him smile down at you. His honey-tined gaze swims with longing. You don’t catch it because you’re not looking back at him.

“What do you want me to do, then?”

You tilt your head to catch his stare. Your eyes sparkle and your brows arch with a look both soft and stern. “Honest answer?”

“Of course.”

“I think you should go work for your dad. Try and… I don’t know… make something for yourself—”

“Alright, that’s not…”

“—Because you can’t work at Family Video forever, Steve!”

“You’re not playing fair,” he concedes quietly, laughing under his breath and shaking his head.

He shouldn’t have expected anything less — you did preface an honest answer, after all. It doesn’t make him feel any less bad about it, though.

You’d supported Steve through a lot of shit. Every mindless fight with his parents, every breakup that had him swearing he would never love again, every aspect of his douchebag phase that almost ruined your friendship. You were always soft with him, but never dishonest.

So when he told you that his dad offered him a well-paying job in Indianapolis, it didn’t surprise him when you told him to take it. Despite all the other shit (his broken relationship with his father and his incessant daydreaming of settling down with Nancy, namely), you knew he wasn’t happy in Hawkins.

“Fuck your dad, Steve. This isn’t about him,” you’d said. “You should take it! Starting building your life in the city! And when you’re finally making more money than your stupid dad, you can rub it in everyone’s stupid faces.”

Steve, of course, ended up turning it down.

The salary was high — too high for a boy just out of high school — but he figured no amount of money was worth a wounded pride.

Steve was scared that it was all a ploy, another thing his dad could hold over his head, another accomplishment that wasn’t really his. And, truth be told, he was less enthusiastic about leaving Hawkins without you. He isn’t quite sure where he’d be in life without you guiding him through a significant portion of it. It made it nearly impossible to picture a life that didn’t have you at the very center of it.

He happily took to be Robin Buckley’s schmuck at Scoops Ahoy (and then again at Family Video) and Dustin Henderson’s unofficial chauffeur instead. He didn’t mind being a casualty of rattrap small town as long as it meant he didn’t have to stray too far from you.

But here you were now, right next to him in this lonesome forest, and still so far away.

You meet his boyishly forlorn expression with a sincere, tight-lipped smile. “You know that I’m right.”

“Yeah, I do,” he scoffs in response. “That’s the problem.”

“When we kill Vecna and save Hawkins for the… thousandth time… You should take that job. I mean, screw your dad, you deserve a life outside of all this shit—”

“So do you,” he argues.

“I’ll make it without you, Harrington. I’ll try to, anyway,” you quip, turning your gaze up to the family of birds sitting high in an oak tree and wishing you were one of them. You shrug to yourself. “I’ll keep on being a secretary at the car shop… Maybe settle down with Eddie.”

That makes Steve stop dead in his tracks. He laughs bitterly to himself, a quiet and venom-coated scoff. “Right. Because living with his uncle in a one-bedroom trailer is such a dream.”

It makes you stop, too, and turn on your heel to face him. You’re surprised to find him so many paces back. Steve sees a flash of hurt strike like lightning across your features, but he’s too hurt to apologize.

“I get it,” you concede with a small, cynical smile. “You don’t like him. You never have. But… He’s a good guy, Steve. If you just got to know him—”

“It’s not that,” he mumbles, cutting you off before he has to suffer through a list of reasons why Eddie’s so much better than he is. The boy’s gaze falls to the forest floor. He kicks a bunch of green pine needles with the toe of his sneaker rather than meet your prying gaze.

“Then what is it?” you retort. “Because I was just trying to help you. I didn’t say to, like, hurt your feelings or whatever. I just know that you want a life in the city, with a big house and a whole bunch of kids—” A laugh spills from your lips as you remember the dream he was telling you about. “You want that picture-perfect life, right? Now you can have it!”

“You don’t know what I want,” he counters quietly.

“Oh, please. I know you better than you know yourself, Steve Harrington—”

“Break up with him,” he blurts.

Your playful smile fades almost instantly. Your eyes search his face for any hint that he might be joking, but all you find is a deeply heartbroken boy. His bushy brows are scrunched together, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears, a puppy-like hurt painting each of his features.

You match his expression of grief with your own. Your face scrunches with a mixture of confusion and sorrow. “Wh… What?” you manage to stutter after realizing you’d been holding your breath.

“I don’t want you to settle down with Eddie,” Steve confesses. A secret he thought he’d take to his grave before ever telling you.

You’re quiet. For several long moments, you’re eerily silent. Even the forest hangs on bated breath. Birds stop chirping, the wind stops blowing, leaves stop rustling. It’s just you and him and a great big world waiting on the both of you.

A frown pulls down the very corners of your mouth. Your eyes go glassy and wide, like a heartbroken baby, and your head jerks back softly, still defensive and unsure.

“Why?” you force through a tightening throat.

“Why?” Steve repeats, finding it somehow within himself to laugh. He takes several short strides to stand with you again. With him closer now, you can see the sadness in his smile and the flush that blotches his cheeks. “You know why…”

You only shake your head in response. The words are far harder to get out. “No…”

“I just… I know it feels like I’m saying it all of a sudden, but it’s… It’s not new to me, you know?” Steve tries his best to explain to you why he’s choosing now, of all moments, to pour his heart out to you. His eyes are as wide and hopeful as the palms he waves out in front of him. “I don’t wanna go into this without you knowing how I feel about you—”

“Steve,” you agonize in hopes of ending his rambling. “Don’t.”

“—And I just want you to know, in case something happens, that I love you.”

“No,” you say with the defiant shake of your head, your chin quivering and your gaze ice-cold.

“Yes,” he replies, just as stubborn.

“Steve…” you choke out when the name gets hung in your throat.

A warm tear falls from your lashes and onto the very apple of your cheek. You wipe it away with the back of your hand and use your free one to bat Steve away when he tries to reach out for you. You stumble back from him, heading back the way you came — back to Eddie.

“Don’t, Steve. Just stop it.”

“Why?” he grieves in the softest voice he can muster, wet and warm with his hurt.

“You’re being mean,” you scold.

“I’m being mean?” he echoes with a sad sort of laugh.

“When it comes to you… I have always been second to Nancy. Always. And I won’t be the person you settle for just because she doesn’t want you, Steve,” you rant, voice fragile like glass or flower petals.

He wants to tell you that he doesn’t want Nancy — that being with the person he loves won’t be settling — but you continue in your lament, and he misses the chance.

“I can’t… I won’t do it, okay? Not after I’ve spent my entire life loving you,” you confess to him, face scrunched in anger. It’s a subtle sort of rage, pointed both at him and yourself.

He watches, feeling totally helpless, while you wipe bitterly at your damp cheeks. Steve’s seen a lot of assholes make you cry. He never dreamed he’d be one of them.

Robin was right. He’d ruined everything. It seems to be the only thing he’s good at these days.

“I’m sorry,” he calls to you as you walk away. “I wasn’t… I didn’t say it to make you sad.”

“You shouldn’t have said it at all!” you shout back, angrier than you’ve ever been with him. You take in a stuttering breath and exhale a shakier sigh, trying to calm yourself down again. “I just don’t get why you waited so long…” you agonize, words wet with tears. “Why did you wait until I was happy? Eddie… Eddie’s so nice to me, Steve. And you just… You just throw this shit at me right before we... That’s not fair.”

“I know…” he murmurs. “I know…”

The world starts turning again.

Birds sing their songs, sounding somehow sadder than before, as though in lament for the brokenhearted boy. The wind begins to whistle as it brushes through the trees. It’s only half successful in breathing air back into your lungs.

A rustling of the brush gains both of your attention’s. It sounds like something is slithering somewhere in the thick laurel — a rabbit, a snake, a dark wizard out to kill a bunch of sad teenagers.

You and Steve are alone, heartbroken, and clear targets for a monster who feeds on traumatized kids.

Though it’s entirely unlikely that Vecna has crawled out from the depths of the Upside Down and into these woods, you and Steve reach for your respective weapons anyway — him for the axe strapped to his back and you for the knives hanging on your belt. You’re ready to protect each other despite your distant anger.

But instead of some shriveled skin creep, you find freaks of a different kind.

The pale human faces of Dustin and Eddie peek out from the brush with curious smiles. They maneuver through the thicket and try to avoid the thorns. “What’s going on over here, huh?” the oldest boy wonders with his signature sparkling grin.

It’s almost scary how you so easily contort your features full of grief into a sickly sweet, artificial smile. You swipe the back of your hand over your face again to clear the tears clinging to your lashes, though it looks like you’re only wiping away sweat.

“Nothing,” you answer quickly with the innocent shake of your head. “Steve was just being an idiot—”

“Imagine that,” Dustin scoffs.

“—And saying stuff he doesn’t mean.”

“That’s not true,” Steve mutters, then clears his throat when the words come out more choked than expected.

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t out here making moves on my girl, Harrington,” Eddie lilts with a playful smile. He reaches you and wraps a heavy arm over your shoulder to tuck you into his side.

His sudden touches stopped surprising you a long time ago. You realized early on in your relationship that he can’t go without touching you for very long.

Eddie squints teasingly at Steve. “Go get your own.”

The boy doesn’t have a comeback at the ready. He isn’t sure of what to say, anyway. Eddie’s jokes aren’t as funny when they aren’t jokesanymore. He was just sort of professing his love to you and getting his heart stomped on in the process. He should probably be used to the feeling by now, but it stings like it’s brand new.

You’re grateful for Eddie’s appearance and the bickering that seems to follow him wherever he goes. It’s easy to get lost in his words, let all the sarcasm run over you, and forget the bullshit that came before it.

“We should head back before the others think we got abducted by Vecna or something,” you urge, desperate to get away from these woods and from this moment.

Dustin listens to you without question because he always listens to you. And Steve listens because he wants an escape just as much as you do. He’d rather go back to Robin and all her “I told you so”’s than keep watching Eddie hold you like he is now.

“What do ya say we skip this joint and have our own fun out here?” the wild-haired boy jokes, already leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth.

“Eddie, don’t—” you huff, but otherwise don’t fight him. It’s only an innocent peck, a loud smack upon your lips, that makes Dustin mutter “gross…” under his breath as he walks away.

And if he heard it, that means Steve heard it.

You keep your eyes open all the while. You feel a bit numb, actually. A little like you’ve just kissed a ghost. You feel as cold as one, as distant and not all there. Eddie holds your hand the entire walk back to the clearing, but you have a hard time feeling it.

You feel a bit like woods surrounding you. You’re all crowded and heavy with sadness. You can’t tell if your grief is your own or if you’re feeling Steve’s too, because you can’t seem to take your eyes off him.

There’s an entire forest within you, you find, and Steve’s carved his initials into every tree.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stevie drabble #st drabbles

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brainfilehasstoppedworking · 1 year

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Shadow: *lays on Amy and hugs her*

Amy: What's wrong, Honey?

Shadow:....

Amy: Did Sonic make fun of you again?

Shadow: *nods*

Amy: *sighs* I'll deal with him, okay?

Shadow: *nods again*

#shadamy au #soft shadow #shadow the hedgehog #amy rose #amy likes her soft boy #shadow is a soft boy at heart #he's sensitive

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littlelostmoon · 27 days

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what music the mw2 boys listen to ♫₊˚.

tags [cod characters x gender neutral reader] no tags wc 250 [headcanons]

a/n been trying to upload a drabble but tumblr hates me so instead i wrote these extremely self indulgent hcs

[ghost]

at risk of sounding cliché, i feel like simon isn't the media consumption type. will listen to ambient music while driving or sleeping, though.

he was randomly introduced to daft punk and that's his go-to for workouts. really likes hearing damage by thom yorke and some popular songs by depeche mode.

[könig]

i feel strongly that this man loves most german music, especially oldies— but his favorite album is actually metal health by quiet riot. and yes, he blasts everything at the loudest volume.

he's the type to quickly fall down an amy winehouse n sade pipeline, so if you introduce him, be careful :D

[graves]

do i need to say it? aerosmith, reo speedwagon, nirvana, billy idol, cinderella etc. anything that sounds like it belongs in an 80s convertible.

if you watch a film w alicia silverstone in it he will 100% tell you that he knows her from the cryin' music video. i don't make the rules.

[soap]

i think johnny has a very unexpected and diverse music taste. psychedelic and folk-y, perhaps? his favorite artist is moby but sonic youth is a close second. probably had a phase where he strictly listened to cherry peel by of montreal and some big thief albums.

[gaz]

battled an intense 'rate your music' phase as a teenager and it shows. any alternative band you can think of, he's a fan. carries a huge soft spot for blood orange, the weeknd, frank ocean etc. :p

the type to listen to really popular artists but ignore their hits. swears he's not a male manipulator.

#𓏲moonhcs #call of duty headcanons #cod headcanons #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley #könig #phillip graves #soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick

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neoarchipelago · 1 year

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And they were Rommates (epilogue)

A/N: The end of a story... it makes me sad and yet happy... enjoy the very last writting of And they were Rommates

Chaos. Perhaps the best word to describe the situation. It was lunch time, children ran all over the place in the garden. Amy, Tyler, Aria, Eli, and little Jamie.

"Amy darling, be careful with Jamie, he's only 3." You reminded.

"Ah don't worry, have you seen his father?"

You turned to bishop, knowing looks thrown her way as a weird scream erupted from behind. Soap wailed as he ran behind the kids, making them laugh.

"Correct." You smiled.

You sat down at the table where Grim and Konig a sat hand in hand. The lovely couple was accompanied by a heavily pregnant Elizabeth.

"How's the pregnancy my love" you asked.

"Tiring… the due date is so damn close and I'm stressed out… but also excited." She explained munching on some chips.

You smiled down at her.

Steps from behind made you glance in the direction. You couldn't stop the smile spreading as you saw Simon, holding your baby. The latest addition to the family. The one year old looked so small in his arms. You melted as he dropped a kiss to the baby's cheek before handing him over to you.

"Aww my love, did you wake up from the nap?" You cooed, hugging the child.

"Yeah, I heard him on the baby monitor." Simon explained, kissing your cheek.

"Dada!!" Voices rang, the two fire years old running to your husband.

Aria and Eli jumped to Simon as he picked them up. Amy didn't take long to join you hugging your waist as you dropped a kiss on top of her head.

Soap held Jamie as Tyler ran to his mom. Price has joined his wife… yes wife. After Soap and bishop's wedding, where Liz had caught the bouquet, Price made up his mind and proposed two weeks after. He looked at her with adoration, holding her hand before kissing her knuckles.

"You are increasing the population of this base, way too much." Gaz added from where he stood with car keys and aquila.

You laughed, looking at Simon. If you could keep your hands off each other it wouldn't be like this.

Kate walked in, greeting everyone. She walked to you cooing at the baby.

"How's my little Joseph?" She asked.

"Very well, he's stubborn like his mother." Simon teased.

You rolled your eyes. Kate ruffled Eli's blond hair and pinched Aria's little cheek, making her giggle.

"Now that everyone's here, let's eat! I'm starving" car keys rang, sitting down at the table.

You smiled, everybody taking their place at the table.

Lunch was spent in laughs and talks. The children were eating before quickly wanting to run off. The baby in your arms was especially interested in Konig and Grim's masks as they played with him.

You glanced at Liz, she frowned and winced. You worried.

"Liz darling are you alright?" You asked.

The table fell quiet, Price jumping from his chair to kneel down next to her.

"I.. hum.. I think it's nothing… I just need to pee… can you help me darling?" She said, turning to Price.

He agreed, helping her up.

You shared a look with bishop, the sound of droplets falling to the wooden terrasse.

You immediately stood up as Price froze.

"Alright. Everybody gets their kids, Price… price? John? DAD!"

Price turned to you wide eyed.

"Snap out of it!" Simon scolded.

"Take her to the hospital." Kate ordered.

He fell back into his senses, smiling at Liz, taking a deep breath and picking her up. She complained of her weight, the man easily walking towards the house to get to his vehicle.

You looked around, you wanted to go with her but you also didn't want to leave the kids.

"Go, we'll take care of the kids." Grim said in a soft voice.

Konig nodded, Aquila and car keys not hesitating to agree.

You looked at Simon, sly worry in your eyes.

"They already took care of the kids… it'll be fine my bunny" he reassured.

You sighed. You gave a big kiss to the boy's cheek as he giggled, before happily getting into uncle Konig's arms. The boy immediately his under Konig's mask, giggling at Konig slightly panicked.

"Amy, aria, Eli" you called.

The children joined you as you hugged them.

"Mom and dad will go to the hospital with Liz and Price alright? You're staying with uncle Konig and Grim." Simon explained in a soft tone.

The children agreed, happily running to them.

"Let's go!" Soap said, Tyler and Jamie already with aquila and car keys.

Two hours later, you had called at least twice to make sure everything was fine. Simon joked that you were such a mama bear, but you could see yourself how he slightly frowned each time you were on the phone. Finally after the long wait, Price walked out, passing his hand through his hair. Gaz jumped to his feet in the waiting room as everyone approached.

"Ok.. hum.. they're both fine.. fuck.." Price said, a wide smile on his face.

"Soo? Come on, tell us old man!" Soap teased.

"It's a girl"

Everyone cheered happily. Congratulations and hugs, Price trying his best to keep tears at bay. You turned to Simon smiling at him.

"Look at what you've done…" he whispered, holding you close to him.

You frowned.

"What did i do?"

"You've spread such happiness to this team… fuck I'm so lucky…" he groaned, kissing you.

"Simon.." you scolded. "We're in a hospital… for Liz's birth…"

"Exactly… perfect way to celebrate… I'm sure we can find a room…" he teased, lips close to your ear.

You bit your lip, look at everyone who had their attention turned to the papa. You sighed, grabbing his hand to pull him away from the group. He was right… there must be an empty room.

That night, after everyone was in bed, Aria and Eli, Amy in her bedroom and Joseph in his crib. You jumped into bed where Simon already laid, a report in hand. He laughed as you immediately went under the covers cuddling up to him.

"Missed me?" He joked.

"What? Since that little sex escape at the hospital? Since dinner?" You teased back.

He dropped the report like it was nothing on the nightstand, before wrapping his arms around you.

"Would you have imagined us like this… 7 years ago?" You asked.

"What? When you screamed for little spiders in the kitchen?" He teased again, making you laugh.

"Yes!"

"I would have never imagined it. You the soft little bunny, stubborn brat… so pretty and so… full of light. I never would have thought so lucky to ever imagine you be mine… be married to me… giving me a loving family to go home to.."

You propped yourself on an arm, looking up at him, eyes watery.

"Simon…" you whined.

"Shuhuh…bunny… baby… you're mine now…" he cooed, bringing your face to his.

Heated kiss and wandering hands.

"Si..Simon.." you moaned.

"Yes baby..?" He called, teeth grazing at the soft skin of your neck.

"You are… insatiable…" you teased.

"I'm thinking… about you… round with my baby…"

You blushed.

"Simon.. we have foour kids!"

"You'd refuse me another one?" He sucked on the soft skin.

You closed your eyes, biting your lip to stiffen a moan.

"Please baby…" he whined. "Let me breed you… "

"Simon… this isn't fair…"

"One more… let me fill you up…"

"Yes.. please…"

"Good girl."

-_-_-_-_

Thank you.

#simon ghost riley #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #simon riley #simon ghost riley smut #captain price #ghost cod #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost smut

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littlexscarletxwitch · 7 months

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── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗶'𝗺 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗹𝗮𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗲

paring: amy march x fem!reader

tag(s): fluffy angst (if you know what i mean lol), period piece, i love amy so much, sister's best friend (from amy's pov), wlw couple, beth and amy are the best, i love them so much

warning(s): internal homophobia (i guess), grammatical errors, unedited

word count: 1.8k

note: this is kinda like a surprise fic, or at least I hope so lol. I've been thinking about Amy a lot lately and I somehow came up with this fic. It's kinda based on that line from 'girls' by Girl in red ("They're so pretty it hurts | I'm not talking 'bout boys, I'm talking about girls"). I really hope you all like some Amy content. I'm not a native english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Lot of love, M <3

requests are open! + check my rules here + masterlist <3

Amy's brows were furrowed, deep in concentration, as the pencil in between her fingers traced the shape of a familiar soft pair of eyes.

"Hello, dear Amy," she heard your voice before receiving a quick kiss to her cheek.

"Good morning, Y/n," she said, carefully hiding her drawing from your prying eyes, which didn't go unnoticed by you.

"What do you have there?" you asked her, raising your brow.

"I, um, nothing. Well, at least not yet," Amy quickly mumbled, but you had already caught up on her lie.

"If it is nothing, why are you hiding it from me?" you squinted your eyes at her.

"Y/n? Is that you?" you heard your best friend, Beth, said, walking down the stairs. "Yes, I knew I had heard you. Shall we go?"

"Yes, we shall," you said, making your way toward Beth. "This is not over, Ms March. I will come back and I will have answers," you playfully muttered to the blond girl before leaving with the red head.

Once she made sure you had walked out the door, Amy felt like she could properly breathe again. There it was again, that funny feeling in her tummy she always felt whenever you were around her, whenever you just looked at her way, whenever you complimented her drawings, whenever you made her laugh.

She didn't know what it meant, she had never felt that way before. You were her sister's dearest friend, Amy practically knew you from your whole life, you were always around. But ever since the last couple of months it all felt different. It didn't feel right to call you a friend anymore, friend was like a short word for all the feelings you caused inside her.

She got back to her drawing, well, your drawing since she was actually drawing you. As the pencil traced the shape of your lips she found herself staring at the paper more than she would like to admit. She blinked, realising how wrong it was. You were a girl, for god’s sake. And not just any girl but her friend, her sister's friend. She shook her head trying to clear up her mind.

“Amy, is everything okay?” Marmee asked her.

“What?” Amy said, confused. “Oh, yes, yes. I’m fine, Marmee. I just think I need some air, that’s all,” the blonde smiled at her.

So she went out on a walk, to clear her mind. But she could not do that, you plagued her mind enabling her to think about anything else. Your soft kind eyes, your perfect lips, your loud laugh, your bright smile. And she realised that it was not normal for her to feel that way, that it was wrong and sick and twisted. But she couldn't help herself, not when it came to your warm-hearted soul.

[...]

“Beth? Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure,” the redhead nodded to her sister, moving to the side to let Amy sit next to her on the divan.

“I have a confession to make,” Amy breathed in, not actually believing she was about to tell her sister her truth.

Beth sat up straight, showing her sister she was listening carefully, “I think I know where this is going…” she muttered.

“You do?” Amy worrily asked as Beth could only nod. “...so pretty it hurts,” Amy said as she huffed, making Beth not understand the first part but it was all clear to her really.

“Amy,” she kindly placed her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I know you like Laurie, but you and I both know that he likes Jo,” she felt sorry for her sister, she didn’t deserve to love someone who didn’t love her back.

“Laurie?” Amy’s brows furrowed. “I’m not talking about Laurie, I’m talking about Y/n.”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh,” she repeated herself as the words sank deep into her brain.

“I know, it’s wrong, is it not? Y/n, of all people,” Amy sobbed. “A girl, Beth. How can I like a girl? It’s not possible, it’s not natural, it isn’t right,” tears were running down her cheeks. “It’s making me sick you know, everytime I look at her my stomach feels all weird,” she sniffed, and realised her sister hadn’t said a word. “You really think I’m sick, don’t you?” Amy cried.

“No, no, no, Amy,” Beth was fast to comfort her as she was done processing what her sister had just told her. “You’re not sick Amy,” she said as she wiped away Amy’s tears. “Loving someone can never mean you are sick. That’s what it means, you know?” she wrapped her arms around her sister, afraid she would break into a million pieces. “That funny weird feeling on your stomach means that you love her. You love Y/n, and there’s nothing wrong with that,” she caressed her hair, offering the blonde some comfort. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

The room went quiet as Beth’s words linger around Amy’s mind. She was not sick, she was in love. She smiled to herself, she was in love.

“I can’t confirm nor deny, but I think she feels the same for you.”

“What?” Amy said, turning her head to Beth.

“She didn’t say anything, but I know her, I can tell,” Beth smiled as Amy’s eyes seemed to brighten up. “She’s constantly asking about you, it tends to be annoying really.”

“Well, I’m your sister. Maybe she feels obliged to know about your family.”

“But it’s different. She always compliments your drawings, even when you’re not around. She smiles everytime I talk about you, that doesn’t happen when I talk about Meg or Jo,” Beth clarified. “She just nods when I talk about Jo’s stories, but when I tell her about you, her eyes light up and she can’t stop smiling.”

“Maybe because she’s so kind.”

“Or maybe because she’s in love with you, Amy,” Beth chucked. “I see the way she’s around you. She always finds an excuse to be next to you or for her hands to reach out for you.”

“Beth, I… I don’t think—.”

“Fine, then I’ll ask her myself.”

“What?!” Amy sat up straight. “No, you won’t. I forbid it.”

Beth raised her arms in surrender, a smile forming on her lips. “Alright, I won’t,” Amy squinted her eyes at her. “I won’t,” Beth repeated. “I won’t tell her anything about how you feel. I promise.”

And she did keep her promise, until you got in the way.

[...]

You were running as fast as your feet could carry you, the cold had been long forgotten since there was only one thing on your mind. More like someone.

Your loud and consistent knocking startled the four March woman.

“Y/n,” Marmee opened the door. Her face dropped as she realised you were there, banging at her door in the middle of the night, concern written all over your face and her daughter was nowhere to be seen. Her hand clutched at her chest, “Is everything alright? Did something happen to Beth?”

At the mention of her sister’s names the other three March women raised their heads, afraid that something had happened to their little sister.

“No, I’m sorry,” you cursed yourself for being so careless, you probably had freaked them out. “She’s at home sleeping, she’s fine, I promise. I’m sorry, Marmee. I know it’s late, I shouldn’t have come I—,” you eyes took a look inside and landed on Amy’s.

“It’s okay, dear. What’s the matter? Are you alright?” she placed a hand on your shoulder drawing your attention back to her.

“Yes, I am. I just… Would it be okay if I talk to Amy?” Amy’s heart dropped, she feared the worst. “It’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Yes, of course, dear. Come on in,” Marmee warmly smiled at you, somehow reassuring you that everything would be okay. “Amy, there's someone here to see you. Let’s go girl,” she called out for Jo and Meg, who waved at you before leaving the room.

You scratched your neck, looking for the right words. “I, um, I—.”

“She told you, didn't she?” but Amy was quicker than you.

“Not quite. I sort of forced her to,” you admitted. “Please, don’t be mad at her, I—.”

“I’m not mad at her,” Amy scoffed. She sounded bitter, angry even. “I’m mad at myself. How could I let this happen?” and the tears she desperately had been holding back finally started to roll down her cheeks as she let herself fall on the divan.

“What do you mean?” you softly asked her as you took a seat next to her.

“This is wrong and you know it,” she sobbed. “It’s not natural for a woman to feel like this towards another woman,” she whispered, too scared her family would hear how sick she was inside. “I know Beth said that it was fine, but it’s really not. I—.”

“It could never be wrong to love you, Amy,” you cut her off, letting out the words you have been holding back for years now.

“But Y/n—,” you stopped her once again.

“I do not want to hear it, Amy. I love you,” you felt like a weight had been lifted up from your shoulder, you felt as if you were finally free to live your truth. “From the moment I saw you drawing that beautiful tree, I…,” you stepped closer, taking her hands in between yours. “I knew that it was you who I wanted, who I want and will want until my last breath on this earth.”

“But Y/n—.”

“Amy!” you wanted her to stop, you couldn’t handle her harsh words anymore, it almost felt like she had taken your heart out of your chest and you were wishing she wouldn’t tear it apart. “Do you love me?”

“I do,” she whispered, still she sounded unsure. She breathed, trying to get her heat beat at a normal pace, “I do,” this time she sounded more convinced of her own words. “I do love you, Y/n,” she repeated herself once more, just to assure the both of you that she really did mean it.

You finally felt like you could breathe properly and you felt your heart beating inside your chest once again, all it one piece.

“Good,” you said with a smile on your face before crashing your lips into hers in a much needed kiss.

Her lips felt exactly how you had imagined they would but still they had that spark of being new to your touch. Her lips were soft and warm, and moved perfectly in sync with yours, as if Amy herself had also imagined this exact moment over and over again and knew exactly what to do. As you slowly pushed your tongue past her lips, a moan escaped from her mouth. She quickly pulled back as soon as she had heard herself.

“Marmee and my sisters are in the next room,” she whispered to you as she leaned her forehead against yours.

“I guess we’ll have to reschedule,” you joked, as your nose brushed against hers.

“I guess so,” she smiled at you pecking your lips one more time.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

#amy march #amy march x reader #amy march x fem reader #amy march x you #amy march x y/n #amy march fluff #amy march imagine #florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh imagine #littlexscarletxwitch's fic

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drvscarlett · 29 days

Text

FRESH OUT THE SLAMMER

Esteban Ocon x childhood bestfriend!reader

Summary: Esteban has been pining over his bestfriend for the longest time. How long will it take her to see that what she's looking for is right in front of her?

The Tortured Drivers' Department series

A/N: And the first person that I'll be crossing off the list is Estie bestie. I think he is probably one of the drivers that gives me the wholesome aura. Let me know what you think or if you wanna be added to the taglist.

Taglist. @tea-bobba @boiohboii @c-losur3 @haikyuen @stelena-klayley @stinkyjax @0710khj @jinimon-tr

Now, pretty baby, I'm runnin' back home to you. Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to.

02-13-2002

Dear Diary,

Today I met my first ami (ami is friend in french) and he is Esteban something long name Okon. He is so nice to me. He said hi and helped me swing on the swing sets. I hope I meet more ami like Esteban but he is my favoriteeeee!!!

-y/n.

6 years old Esteban was actually running away from class when he stumbled upon a girl swinging alone at the park's swing set. He frowns because he noticed that every kid at the park have someone to play with but she has no one. Esteban was in an internal battle to just leave it alone but he can't help but feel bad for her.

He walked to the girl and he sat next to the empty swing next to her.

Y/N looked at the stranger that just joined her. Her interest was piqued because no one wants to be around her. She blamed it in her inability to speak French so she was hesitant to scare off the potential play mate.

"I'm Esteban, you are new?" Esteban started.

Esteban's english was not perfect especially with a strong French accent but he can hold a good conversation. He can see how the excited grin appeared in her face.

"Y/N! You speak good, can we be friends?" she asked.

She extends her hands to the boy and Esteban shakes it.

"Mon ami"Esteban agrees.

There was a visible confusion in her face. Esteban mentally slaps himself as he forgot that she cannot speak french.

"It mean friends"he added.

"Mon ami Esteban" it rolls right in her tongue.

And although there was a great language barrier, they managed to stay there at the swing sets till it was time to go home for dinner. Their antics and their grand hand gestures helped them communicate with each other.

11-28-2002

Dear Diary,

I told Estie that I will be missing thanksgiving a lot because I don't live in US. His mom and dad cooked, we had our own version of thanksgiving. I'm so grateful to my mon ami, Estie.

-y/n

Usually, Esteban's afterschool routine was drop his bags and leave the house to meet up with his bestfriend, Y/N. They would go sit at the swing set for hours or maybe watch the television at Y/N's house. It was a routine that Mrs. Ocon has been familiar with ever since Y/N came into the picture.

"Maman, can I talk to you about something"

Esteban made a beeline to his mother as soon as he gets home this afternoon.

"Did you have any troubles in school?" Mrs. Ocon wondered.

"Not at all Maman" Esteban answers "I just need help with something Maman about Y/N"

Mrs. Ocon tried to hide the smile in her face as he mutters a soft "oh". Meanwhile, Esteban reached out a piece of paper from his bag.

"Maman I drew this at school, this is a tradition that Y/N misses in America"Esteban explains.

The paper was filled with drawings of stick figures sitting in a table. The table was filled with dishes messily drawn in a muddle of green, brown, and orange.

Mrs. Ocon looks at her son with confusion, she still didn't know what he needs help in.

"What are you trying to say Esteban?"she asked

"This 28 is the thanksgiving dinner and Y/N says that her parents will be busy. She told me its just like a normal dinner but you say thank you for everything you are grateful about"Esteban elaborates "Can we do that Maman and can we invite Y/N to join us"

"That's a wonderful gesture to do for your friend Esteban" Mrs Ocon coos.

Esteban breaks out into a grin with the agreement of his mother.

"But you will be helping me prepare the dishes okay?" Mrs. Ocon added

"Of course Maman, I'll do anything"

Esteban gives his Mother a tight hug. He was extremely grateful because he knows how much Y/N has been missing so many american things lately. He was just scared that she'll leave France and then go back to America then he will never see her again.

On the other hand, Mrs. Ocon can call it mother instincts but she called it from this moment that her son is in love with his bestfriend.

05-17-2005

Dear Diary,

I like reading a lot while my bestfriend Estie loves riding the small karts. I like going to school, Estie doesn't like that. It seems like were different with each other. I'm scared of losing my bestfriend, what should i do?

But I'll support him. I want him to be happy. Thats what bestfriends do.

-y/n

"I wanna be a race car driver"Esteban blurts out one time that they were watching those Formula 1 races on the television.

Y/N started laughing because she thought it was a joke but when she looked at him, his eyes were looking at the race cars with so much determination.

"Wait, you are serious?"

"Can't you picture me driving those cars? It's like being wind woosh" Esteban mimicked the movement of the cars.

"But its like dangerous, you could crash" Y/N argues.

They have seen some serious crashes in the times that they watched F1. Y/N couldn't forget that dogpile crash in Monaco just a few weeks ago, her heart nearly stopped when the car hits a marshal cleaning up debris.

"Then I'm going to train to be a good driver so I don't crash" Esteban confidently states.

"But what about school?"Y/N asked "You're not seriously leaving me there"

"Woah, I said I wanna be a race car driver"Esteban clarifies "I didn't say anything about leaving you. You are mon ami"

"But school Estie?"Y/N repeats

Both of them knows that Esteban never found a knack for the academics, his favorite class was physical education. As much as Y/N tries to encourage him to study, he didn't like to do that a lot. Esteban always said that the braincells of Y/N will be enough for them to share and to get through life.

"I really wanna be a race car driver"Esteban insisted.

Y/N knew Esteban very well that if he sets his mind to it then he is bound to do it. There is nothing else she can do but support it.

"Esteban Ocon, a grand prix winner" Y/N shows her encouragement "I could picture it the crowd goes roar and you step onto those podiums holding those big trophies"

Esteban grins at her enthusiasm.

"And then I could take you with me to watch them when you finish school"Esteban added "We could travel the world together when I become a driver"

"Esteban wait so if you do become a race driver then maybe I can meet Kimi"Y/N wondered.

"Wow you only want me to go to F1 for Kimi huh"

"Well its a good opportunity to meet the man, the myth, the legend"

06-16-2006

Dear Diary,

I'm just really really sad today. Estie will be moving far away from here. Maybe I only get to see him on the weekends. I'll miss my bestfriend, mon ami

-y/n

They were at the swing sets when Esteban broke the news that he was accepted to compete for karting competitions. Y/N was immediately ecstatic to hear this but there was a frown gracing Esteban's face.

"You just told me that you are gonna compete for go karting but why do you look so sad" Y/N inquires "Isn't this like the first step in being an F1 driver?"

It is but Esteban hadn't predicted how costly this whole thing will be and how sacrifices have to be made in order to reach his dreams.

"We have to leave the house"Esteban breaks the news.

"Leave?"Y/N was confused "I mean don't you really have to leave the house to go to the go karting place..but you'll come back right?"

He shakes his head and Y/N could feel the reason for the sad looks on his face. Her heart feels like cracking especially when Esteban starts to speak again.

"They sold the house to get me a kart" Esteban's voice was filled with so much sadness "They knew it was my dream and the whole family sees a lot of potential that I can do it. I just feel terrible that they have to make sacrifices to make my dreams come true"

They were merely ten years old but it was a lot of burden to carry and to understand. Y/N is at loss for words but she just grabbed Esteban's hands.

"Then you have to give your all and be the best race driver ever okay?"Y/N reminded him

Esteban looked at Y/N and there were stray tears leaving her eyes but she has a brave face on and an encouraging smile. He was lucky to have a family that believes in him and he was even more luckier because he gets to have another supporter in the form of his bestfriend.

"You make a lot of money so you can buy your home again and you can treat your parents out"Y/N says "You have to do well okay, we all believe in you Estie"

And its these words that kept repeating on Esteban's mind whenever he is on track.

11-23-2012

Dear Diary,

It's my birthday today. Did you believe that Estie waited till it turned midnight here in France just to call me. My bestfriend be setting up the standards for everyone. I got a cake in the morning from my classmates and then we went to have dinner. Sixteen, im getting old now.

-y/n

Esteban and Y/N had a tradition since they were kids that they will wait for each other's birthday because they wanted to be the first person to greet each other.

The minute that the clock strikes 12, Y/N's phone starts vibrating. She had a grin on her face upon seeing the name on the caller ID.

"Well hello there Mr. Lightning McQueen"Y/N greeted.

"Happiest birthday to my sweetest mon ami"Esteban cheered on the other line "You know that I wish you all the best things in life and all of happiness that life has to offer"

"I'm surprised you had time to call, don't you have to wake up early later for your race?" Y/N questioned.

It was true, they don't get to talk as much whenever Esteban was in a competition season. Y/N doesn't mind it that much because Esteban will message whenever he can.

"I wouldn't miss my favorite person's day" Esteban answers.

His remarks made Y/N blush. It was a good thing that this is just a phone call conversation or she had some explaining to do.

"That makes me miss you way way more Estie"Y/N sighs "I hope I can see you again"

"Is that your birthday wish?" Esteban jokes

"My birthday wish is an F1 seat for you" Y/N declares.

"Hey, stop wishing about me. It's your day wish for YOUR day" Esteban argues.

"Then I wish for my bestfriend to get an F1 seat so I can meet Kimi"Y/N rephrases.

They spent a good time talking to each other. Y/N updates Esteban about those girls in her class that she wants to be friends with and how difficult physics assignments are. Esteban mentions about the trainings and the different race drivers that he met on track.

Esteban knows that he might probably regret staying up late but everything always seems worth it when it comes to Y/N.

"Well its really nice catching up to you but school starts at 7 tomorrow"Y/N yawns a bit "You must be pretty tired as well with all the training"

"Don't you worry about me here, I'm doing okay"

"You are the best Estie" Y/N said "Goodnight estie, love you"

Love. That's the word that Esteban has been pondering about a lot lately. It was that stage of life that people are getting girlfriends and boyfriends because they love that person. The only person that Esteban thinks he can love and be in a relationship with is Y/N.

First he thought, maybe its because Y/N's a close friends. Many people get the lines blurred between friendship and relationship. However, Esteban is beginning to realize that he likes Y/N more than a friend.

But, Esteban was scared of scaring her off or losing her so he settles with this.

"Good night Y/N, love you more"

01-01-2017

Dear Diary,

So Esteban and I went to our first party because Esteban finally had a permanent team for the upcoming 2017 season. We had a few drinks to celebrate and I met a boy. His name is Vincent. I think we hit it off pretty well.

-y/n

Esteban has this all night planned with him announcing that he is getting a permanent seat in Formula 1 to inviting her to the races to confessing his feelings and then hopefully get a New Year Eve's kiss.

However, here he is in the bathroom chickening out with his plans.

"C'mon Esteban, you can do this" he preps himself.

In his mind, he had everything written and prepared. He will start talking about the childhood how he was so glad to meet her and to her being the number 1 fan since day 1. Then he will move to his realizations and such when he was moving up to F1.

"Just say what you feel and be true. It's gonna work out"Esteban tells his reflection to the mirror.

With one spray of water to the face, Esteban exits the bathroom to find Y/N in the sea of crowd.

He searches for her and he was glad to see that she was still at the same place where he left her. However, his face scrunches up because there was another guy around her.

"Estieee!"Y/N calls out "I want you to meet Vincent, he is my new friend"

Esteban eyes the man because he didn't even look at him. Vincent's eyes were only looking at Y/N's and Esteban could feel his heart drop. He knows that look all too well because that is how he looks at her.

There goes his chance.

12-25-2017

Dear Diary,

This is my first christmas with Vincent as my boyfriend. Were still getting used with the presents thing and I think I overwhelmed him a bit. But I think that its going well, Mom loves Vincent. Dad and Esteban doesn't seem to think that Vincent is good for me.

-y/n

"Okay, time to open christmas presents!" Y/N excitedly announce.

Everyone gathers at the Christmas tree. It was a yearly tradition in the household that after lunch they go one-by-one in opening the gifts. Y/N always loved presents so she would always go first.

"Merry Christmas darling"Vincent says as he gives his present.

Esteban manages to keep his expression straight but he would have gagged if he could. He was filled with so much jealousy that he could have been in that position right now if he didn't chicken out.

Also, there was something so irritating and wrong about Vincent. He just don't have any proof about it. Mr. Y/L/N has a similar theory which he discussed with Esteban when they were in the garage earlier.

Y/N opens the box and she saw a gold chain with the letter V. It was a very beautiful necklace and it seems expensive as well. She musters up a smile as she thanks her boyfriend.

"This is beautiful Vincent" Y/N admires as she takes it off the box.

"I know."Vincent agrees "When I saw it in the store, I immediately thought of you"

The thoughts were sweet but Esteban couldn't help himself.

"Mate"Esteban calls "Y/N doesn't wear gold"

It was the truth that Y/N never wore any gold jewelry but since it was a gift, she was putting on a smile. Esteban knows that Y/N is just being appreciative to be respectful. Frankly, he was a bit pissed off that Vincent didn't even pay attention to that simple details of Y/N.

"Oh, I didn't know that"Vincent sheepishly grins "I didn't notice that, maybe I should take it b-"

"No, no. I'll wear it, its the thought that counts"Y/N settles.

"Next year, I'll get you a better gift" Vincent assures.

Mr. Y/L/N and Esteban could only share an eye roll, they really hope that they don't get to see Vincent next year around.

06-26-2018

Dear Diary,

Today is emotionally draining and I find it hard to sleep with a lots of thoughts in my head. It feels really different to see Estie in an F1 car. I simply can't believe it that he went to watching race cars to driving one. It sucks about whats about to happen but I am so proud of my bestfriend, mon ami Estie. I will always be proud of him no matter what.

-y/n

One of the worst things that could probably happen is to not finish a race but the feeling intensifies when it happened on your home race. Esteban wanted to kick himself for his misfortune. He didn't even get a lap in when Gasly collided him thus ending their races.

"Stupid" Esteban repeats the video all over again.

The door gently opens and Esteban would have shouted to leave him alone but Y/N peeked out of the door. It was like instant moment of peace for Esteban then its back to feeling like a failure because he suddenly remembered that everyone he loves have watched him DNF live.

"Estie, they told me you were here"Y/N greeted "You wanna talk?"

"I rather not" Esteban quickly answered.

"Hey, its just one bad weekend Estie"Y/N sits next to him.

"This is that one weekend that should have been a good weekend. Everyone is watching me and I didn't even start a lap before getting fucked"

The crack in Esteban's voice signifies that it was extremely heartbreaking for him to have this performance for his home race. Y/N could only tap his shoulder for comfort.

"Estie, you will have a lot of weekends ahead of you and you still have a lot more weekends that we will be watching. Don't be too hard on yourself" Y/N comforts "You can bounce back like you always do"

"You believe in me way too much"

"You already came a long way Estie. From sitting and watching them race every Sunday to actually driving a car. You should be proud of yourself" Y/N reminds.

There was something else painful in Esteban's heart. The recent issues regarding the team doesn't guarantee him for a seat in the coming year. It was another reason why he felt so down with what happened.

"Would you still be proud of me even if I don't have an F1 seat?" Esteban asked.

"What? What happened Estie?" Y/N was shocked.

"I might not have a team to drive for next year. I don't know if anyone is going to pick me with my DNFs and everything, I'm not a good candidate"

Esteban sheds the tears he has been trying to hide. He knew that this was a safe place to talk to Y/N. Everything just felt so heavy.

"Oh my god Estie, I'm sorry"Y/N consoles her bestfriend.

The two bestfriend knew how much this Formula 1 seat meant. It was a lot of struggles and sacrifice to reach this moment. One moment they were just kids going on karting season and now Esteban was getting his F1 seat. Now its being taken away, its like waking up from a good dream.

Y/N brushes away her tears and started to pace as if devising a plan.

"Don't you dare think that just because you are not getting a team next year is that you are a bad driver. You are a great driver okay,remember that." Y/N encourages "Take the year off. Improve your skills, get better then make a comeback"

If Y/N believes that he can make a comeback then Esteban believes that as well.

02-03-2019

Dear Diary,

I had a fight with Vincent. He told me that I am spending too much time with Esteban. He wanted me to stay away from Estie like who is he to tell me what to do.

I told him to be more patient with Estie because he really needs support right now. I hate how stupid and irrational Vincent is.

-y/n

Esteban was just picking up one of his cousin at the club when he saw a familiar figure at the alley. He just wanted to say hi to Vincent but when he noticed that he was holding hands with a girl, who is definitely not Y/N, Esteban started to follow.

He watched as how Vincent pulled the girl into a kiss and all Esteban could see was red.

"OHMYGOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"The girl shouts.

Esteban lands a solid punch. He doesn't care if Vincent is drunk or whatever but he should never cheat especially on a woman as amazing as Y/N.

"I tried to give you a chance, you fucking ruined it"Esteban lands another punch at Vincent.

"What the fuck man, get off!"Vincent screams.

The fact that Esteban was willing to let go and watch Y/N be happy with Vincent. He was willing to do that because Vincent makes Y/N happy but seeing this. Its not gonna happen anymore.

Two bouncers of the club broke them off. The girl immediately tended to the beaten up Vincent, Esteban dust himself off as he sets out a threat.

"You better come clean and tell her the truth or else I fucking will" Esteban warns.

"FUCK YOU MAN" Vincent shouts back "I know you like her! I know you are just waiting for an opportunity to ruin us"

"I'm not the one who ruined the fucking relationship Vincent, it was you who fucking cheated on Y/N"

Esteban was seething as he returned to the car. His mind thumbs to call Y/N but he knows that it will break Y/N's heart terribly if he tells her the truth.

09-28-2019

Dear Diary,

I hate this feeling of being ina fight with Esteban. He said some things that aren't true and I said some things that must have hurt him a lot. I don't think we will be okay any time soon. I just wish I could have turned back time to talk about the whole thing more carefully.

-y/n

There are not many things that Esteban and Y/N disagrees with each other. It was quite rare to see them fight each other because they fit perfectly just like that. Usually, their fights are just simple misunderstandings and harmless that they will make up in a day or so.

This time its different.

Everything started when Y/N explained that she'll be moving to Vincent's apartment, something that triggered Esteban greatly. It was apparent that Y/N had no idea of what happened at the club so Esteban told the whole truth.

Y/N is in complete denial and called Esteban a liar. So here they are with their raised tones.

"If you are my fucking friend then you would have told me the minute you saw it" Y/N explained "Why didn't you fucking call"

"I was protecting you. I know it would hurt you to know the truth and I told Vincent that he has to be the one to come clean" Esteban fights back.

"Protecting me with a grand lie?"

"I thought you don't fucking believe me that Vincent is cheating" Esteban frustrated with the argument.

"I don't know who to fucking believe because you would have told me right away if its real" Y/N cried.

The emotions were all too high, they were a ticking time bomb ready to explode. Esteban could not hide the disappointment in his face that Y/N didn't believe him.

"You don't trust me" Esteban realized.

"No Esteban, its not like-"

"Then what is it like?" Esteban asked "It seems as if you totally forgot that it was me who you could always trust no matter what. You forgot that I was your bestfriend since the beginning that was always there."

Y/N didn't want to get all the blame so she strikes back again even though tears were threatening to fall.

"You know its very fucking ironic that you say that" Y/N's words were like bullets "You didn't fucking trust me to believe you either that's why you didn't call"

Esteban was speechless and then he shakes his head.

"Where are you going?"Y/N chases after.

"I'm going home, away from you"

"Fine. Don't fucking come back" Y/N slams the door.

There were a lot of things said and done. They both don't know how they regretted everything.

03-29-2020

Dear Diary,

This whole lockdown is a little bit fucked. I was cleaning up some files in my computer and I saw a photo of me and Estie. I wonder if he is still mad at me and I wonder how he is doing with lockdowns. I wanted to reach out to him but I can't help but think back how much I must have hurt him before.

Vincent is a bit stressed with the whole lockdown situation. He gets frustrated easily especially with the new work set-up. I'm sure he will get better at handling his emotions, I just have to understand this for the moment.

-y/n

Esteban was scrolling through his instagram feed. He had nothing much to do since the lockdown kept everyone inside their homes. There was this feeling of uncertainty when can they race again but Esteban could only hope that they can race again even by May or June.

His hands stopped when he saw the newest instagram post of Y/N. It was a photo of her cooking a dish and the next set of photos showcases more of her lockdown diaries.

There was a bitter smile gracing on Esteban's face when he saw the photo of Vincent. It seems as if Vincent hasn't told the truth yet or maybe he lied to Y/N that's why they are still together. Esteban feels like he could punch the guy if he ever sees him again.

Not a day goes by that he regrets that fight he had with Y/N. It was just utterly pointless that it happened and he misses her. He hopes that she is okay and maybe after this whole lockdown is over then he'll go and find her again.

With heavy sighs, he scrolls past the post without liking it.

08-01-2021

Dear Diary,

Esteban is a grand prix winner. I'm really so proud of him, I shed some tears when he reach the final lap. I don't know if its the emotions or the adrenaline but I also messaged him and I was surprised that he answered. It seems like this is a start of a good thing.

-y/n

There were no words to describe how amazing the feeling was to be on top of the podium. Esteban could only imagine that feeling before but now he is living it. Everything felt like a wild dream because when he started the race he didn't even know that he will end up being a race winner after.

Collapsing to his bed, he finally opens his phone and it was immediately buzzing with so many messages. There was one message conversation that catches his attention

Y/N: Hi Esteban! I hope this is still your number. I watched the race today and I'm really so proud of you. I want to waive a white flag because this is everything that you have dreamed of all these years. There are no words to describe how proud I am of you. You have come a long way from that kid by the swing set. You will always have my support (even if we have a cold war). Y/N: I'm also sorry. I said some things that was really not good for me to say. I'm sorry I'm doing this over a text and I'm sorry that it took me this long. Y/N: I hope you are okay. You better drink up some champagne, you deserve it Grand Prix Winner.

There was this warmth that seems to envelope him as he reads the messages. It feels nice to know that she stills supports him even though they are not talking.

Esteban catches himself smiling through his phone screen confirming that his feelings for her still exist.

"Oh fuck it, this feeling never goes away doesn't it"

01-02-2022

Dear Diary,

Vincent proposed to me today in front of a crowd today. Mentally I wanted to say no because I don't think that I am ready for it or maybe its just the fact that I'm not sure that Vincent is ready for it. I just said yes because there was a large group of people. I felt like I was put on the spot and I didn't like it.

Maybe, its just the nerves.

-y/n

Mrs. Ocon had been keeping tabs with Mrs. Y/L/N even when the two had stopped talking to each other. They often update with each others lives when they get their nails done. Today, Mrs. Ocon couldn't believe the news shared to her so she hurried downstairs to find Esteban.

"Is it true Esteban?" Mrs. Ocon asked

"What's true maman?"

Esteban has just finished doing simulations so he have not been with his phone for quite some time. His mother immediately shoved her phone to his hand. Esteban squints as she watched the video of someone getting proposed at the Eiffel Tower.

"Maman, I'm not getting married anytime soon"Esteban jokes.

He has been pestered multiple times about getting married or getting a girlfriend but Esteban didn't want any of those. Nothing could compare to Y/N so he would rather not date anyone else.

"Just look more closely"Mrs Ocon insisted.

Scrunching up his nose, Esteban finally noticed the familiar faces of the couple. And it feels like a deja vu from his experience so many years ago when he almost confessed for New Years Eve.

Only this time, the pain has been magnified.

"That's good for Y/N, I'm.."Esteban holds his breath "happy for her"

"Honey...It's okay to not feel happy.."

Mrs Ocon has been one of the witness of everything and she knows how much her son loves Y/N. She extended a hug and soon the tall French man just let all his tears fall.

01-09-2023

Dear Diary,

I called it off, Vincent cheated on me and there was another girl on the side. He got her pregnant. I felt so stupid because I have been ignoring so many red flags all these years, I should have known better. I don't know what to fucking do, I hate him so much.

"What the fuck is wrong with me"

Y/N was a mess and anyone else who have been confronted with the reality that they have been in a fucked up relationship for so long will be a complete mess.

"There is nothing wrong with you Y/N" Esteban repeated "It was not your fault that he cheated"

"I was so stupid Estie, I wasted so many years for him"

This has been an ongoing process for a while now. Its been a good two weeks since they broke up but Y/N was still stuck in a period of asking questions and crying.

"I want my fucking life back and I can't get it back"Y/N laments.

Esteban doesn't know what he could do to help but he just became the shoulder that she can lean on. It was a good thing that there weren't much to do yet, he can still be with Y/N for a while.

"You know on the brighter side of life, you are still lucky that you didn't marry him" Esteban suggested "Like imagine all the divorce and process you have to go through if you did marry him"

"I might have ugly children if I married Vincent" Y/N scoffs.

"He is not your problem anymore Y/N, just ignore him"Esteban encourages.

Y/N lets out a frustrated cry as she messes up her hair again.

"I can't just fucking ignore him. He have been with me for a good period of my life and people just expect me to move on and go on with my life. I lost so many things about myself that I don't even trust myself after him"

Tears started falling from her eyes. She wipes them up as Esteban guided her to a chair.

"I'm sorry Y/N, here lets take a seat and I'll get you water" Esteban said before leaving to go to the kitchen.

There was something so nice to have Esteban around. Even if she shouts or screams like that, Esteban is still patient and kind with her. He was not rushing her to move past what she feels, he allows her to speak.

"You know, I can survive on my own" Y/N mutters.

"I know"Esteban agrees as he handed her the water "But I wanted to be here for you. You have always been there for me when I'm at my lowest of lows, I wanna be there for you now"

It was rare to see Y/N's smiles nowadays but with Esteban saying stuffs like that, she can't help but smile. She was very grateful to have Esteban around. She didn't know how she could survive without Esteban's help.

"Thanks estie

02-18-2023

Dear Diary,

Is it too soon to open up my heart again? I really want to try but I am scared. Maybe this is what happens when you've been in a shitty relationship for so long.

I also know that I dont wanna mess up things. If I do mess up things, I'm not going to just miss someone but I'll miss that boy I met at the swingset.

Maybe this year can do me good.

-y/n

"Esteban for a driver, you are pretty slow driving normal cars"Y/N teased.

"I have to be careful, accidents always happen and I don't wanna injure you before a flight" Esteban argues.

Esteban unloads all their bags. The two of them are going abroad however they are going to different countries. Y/N is going back to her old American home and she might be there for a while. On the other hand, Esteban is going to Bahrain for the pre-testing.

"You sure you have everything?" Esteban asked "Passports? Tickets? chargers?"

"Hey Mr. I forgot my passport, dont lecture me about forgetting things"Y/N smirked.

"Just double check and don't be like me then"

For onlookers they look like a couple about to travel together. How Esteban wishes that was the case but they are just a couple of bestfriends.

"Gonna miss you mon ami"Y/N hugs Esteban "I think I see my gate over there, call me okay"

"Of course I will"Esteban assures.

Y/N was already walking a decent few meters away when Esteban started to debate if he should tell her now. It seems spontaneous but this is a now or never situation.

"Wait up Y/N!"

"Did you forget something?"she teased

She turned her head and found Esteban catching up to her. There were beads of sweat on his forehead and Y/N could tell that Esteban was a bit nervous about something.

"Actually there is something I wanna tell you" Esteban starts.

"Oh what about it?"

She tilts her head in curiosity as Esteban takes in a large deep breath.

"I never forgot my passport. I was just using it as an excuse so I can spend more time with you. I didn't wanna go away from you because I miss you and I love you"Esteban declares.

"Aww Estie, you know I love you too-"

"No, Y/N its not that kind of love"Esteban clarifies "I love you as in I love you in a non-platonic way. I love you in a way that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you in a way that I'll do everything so that I'm always coming home to you"

There was silence between the two of them. Esteban was looking for any signs of disgust or rejection in Y/N's eyes but so far those emotions doesn't seem to appear. He feels brave enough to continue further.

"Look, I'm not asking you to be my girlfriend. I know you need time to heal from whatever happened to you. I won't rush you. I have waited since were little kids, this is nothing compared to that. Allow yourself to heal and be yourself. Explore the world. Then if you want me, I'm just here waiting for you"

Esteban's word was filled with so much love and adoration. It was the respect that Y/N needed for having suffer a bad relationship. How could she be so blind not to see what's in front of her all along.

Y/N leans to hug him.

"I won't answer this for now, wait for me to be healed okay?"she whispers.

"Of course Y/N, always waiting for you."

05-01-2024

Dear Diary,

Almost a year and so since my last entry.

I have visited a lot of places to find myself and to heal myself. It was a beautiful journey going to foreign places and trying new things. Actually gave me a new perspective in life that makes me confidently say that I am healed. Some things take a lot of time before we tend to appreciate it.

I have someone waiting for me for almost 22 years already. I'm finally going home to him.

-y/n

#f1 x reader #the tortured drivers department #esteban ocon x reader #esteban ocon x you #esteban ocon x y/n #f1 imagines #f1 fanfic

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