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#these two would be a disaster pair of friends
oldguybones · a year ago
hey ok so for the prompt thing. what about 4 and or 7? with young reddie? or teenager reddie whatever. I dont want to pressure you into writing this any specific way but yeah I just love that first crush awkward flirting stage or whatever so around somewhere there or just however you feel like it. I hope this is ok and thanks (:
The thumping of the electronic music was far too loud for Eddie’s taste as he pointlessly stood around at a party he didn’t even want to attend in the first place. It had been Richie’s idea and he insisted all the losers come, spend one final night together to celebrate graduation. Eddie tried, he really did, to talk his way out of attending, but Richie had a certain charm about him and managed to convince Eddie to come. That and the fact that Eddie had incredibly strong feelings for his dark haired, thick glasses wearing, best friend. 
Though Eddie would never admit it, he had a hard time saying no to Richie; there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for him. He’d found himself smitten for as long as he could remember, for as long as he knew he liked boys. He knew, the second he realized he had these feelings, that he was absolutely, positively screwed. What was he thinking? Falling in love with his best friend? That was a recipe for disaster.
And now, he was standing around while the rest of the losers were having a grand ol’ time. Bev had tried to get him to dance with them and Stan had tried to engage him in conversation, but eventually Mike and Bill dragged him onto the dancefloor instead. It was hard. The rest of their friend group had happily paired off; Ben and Bev had just gotten together while Stan, Bill, and Mike had been going a few years strong. So it only made sense that the remaining two members would get together too; at least that’s what the rest of the group constantly joked about, including Richie, who had made a number of offhand jokes about shacking up with him. 
He held a red solo cup in his hand, half full with a drink that was entirely too weak to witness the sight in front of him. Richie had spent all night talking to some girl they went to school with. Nicole? Cindy? Samantha? Eddie couldn’t remember her name, or maybe he didn’t care and instead, it was bitterness that made it impossible to recall her name. All Eddie knew was if she touched Richie’s arm one more time, he was going to lose his mind. She laughed entirely too much, too loud for Richie’s usual brand of jokes. They were never a throw your head back laughing type of joke, but rather an eye roll and a hidden snicker type of joke. Eddie knew from experience. 
Eddie threw back the rest of his drink and stomped his way into the kitchen to throw his cup away. He then pushed through the crowded sea of people on the dancefloor to make his way to the front door, intending to storm out of the party. As his fingers grazed against the doorknob, he hoped with reckless abandon that he would hear Richie calling after him.
But he didn’t.
The cold night air hit him hard and he wrapped his arms around his middle in a futile attempt to keep warm. All he’d worn to the party was a light cardigan and it was becoming increasingly obvious to him that had been a mistake. Going to the party at all had been a mistake. Eddie cursed himself for being so stupid. He knew it would end like this, so why did he even bother? This wasn’t a fairytale; he wasn’t going to end up with his best friend who he had been pining after for years. Richie didn’t even know how he felt. Maybe in time, he would be able to accept this. But right now, it burned a hole in his heart so deep that Eddie constantly felt like he couldn’t breathe and he could already feel the tears beginning to well up in his eyes.
Eddie walked down the sidewalk of the deserted suburban neighborhood. His house wasn’t too far away and after an evening of drowning in his thoughts, he could use some fresh air and some alone time as well. But the second after this thought crossed his mind, he heard a voice calling out his name. 
“Eds!”
Eddie came to a halt, letting out a shaky breath as he felt warm tears begin to trickle down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away and spun around to see Richie jogging in his direction. 
“Eddie spaghetti!” he called out, coming to a stop in front of him. “What’s wrong? Why’d you leave the party?” 
Eddie shrugged his shoulders and did his best to think of a casual answer. “I just…I just wanted to go home.”
Richie frowned softly, but didn’t dwell on it. “I’ll walk you,” he offered, plastering on his signature Tozier grin.
“That’s okay, I’m fine, just go back to your party,” Eddie said and absolutely failed to keep the bitterness from his voice. He pressed his lips together tightly, desperate to keep them from quivering, from divulging all of his deepest feelings against his will. 
Richie looked both hurt and offended. “Did I…do something?”
Eddie swallowed and shook his head, “I’m too sober for this,” he muttered to himself, turning around and continuing his venture to his original destination. He couldn’t take it; he just couldn’t. 
Richie lunged forward and grabbed Eddie’s arm, causing him to spin back around. “What the fuck’s your problem?”
“My problem? Do you wanna know what my problem is, Richie?” Eddie snapped right back, eyes shining with tears. “I don’t want to spend all night watching some stupid girl shamelessly flirt with you!” 
Richie just stared at him, seemingly dumbfounded. “Wha-” Richie opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to figure out what to say. “I wanted to go to the party with you, Eds.”
“Well you could’ve fooled me,” Eddie croaked out in a whisper, his hand shooting up to wipe the tears away from his cheeks. 
“I invited you because I wanted to spend time with you!” Richie exclaimed, “Don’t you get that? The only person I wanted to see at the party was you.”
“What?” Eddie whispered in disbelief. 
“But you looked so damn miserable the whole time,” Richie went on, shaking his head as he barrelled right past Eddie’s confusion. “So I didn’t even bother talking to you because I figured what was the point even? You know what Eddie, I’m so damn sorry for inviting yo-”
Richie’s words were cut off by Eddie launching himself forward and pressing his lips to Richie’s in a rushed, clumsy kiss. It knocked him slightly off balance and he had to throw his arm around Eddie’s waist for balance. They pulled back slightly, just enough to stare at each other in momentary shock. Then Richie’s other hand reached up to cup Eddie’s cheek and their lips met in another soft, much less clumsy kiss.
“You too?” Eddie whispered, trailing off in a happy chuckle as he wrapped his arms around Richie’s neck. 
Richie nodded and leaned in for another kiss, “Yeah, me too.”
Taglist: @maximusfraker​​, @eds-kas​​, @iamworried7​​, @whyisthisfrenchguymasturbating​​, @flix-net​​, @reddiesetandgo​​, @crazywriterxio​​, @saturnsocoolioyep​​, @some-raging-fangirl, @tinyarmedtrex​​, @bbyeds​​, @beepbeepbitchard​, @was-i-even-reddie​​, @kaspwitch, @its-stranger-than-you-think​​, @s-s-georgie​ @reddie-for-anything​​, @studpuffin​​, @richardtoz​​, @eduardokaspbrak​​, @xandertheundead​. @eddiefuckinkaspbrak​, @jem-carstairs-is-perfection​, @constantreaderfool
(I’m just using the same taglist on everything, so if you want to be taken off or put on, just let me know!)
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empress-ofbloodshed · 3 years ago
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Club Shadow
Two {Rewrite}
After a disastrous dinner party with his brothers and the Archeron sisters, Cassian goes out drinking at a new club in town. Nesta has the same idea, she’s just not expecting Cassian to be there.
Alcohol loosens the tight grips they have on themselves and lets their desires run free.
But what comes after one night of drunken mistakes will change their lives forever.
Find the original here. Find previous chapters here.
Word count: 1304
Tagging: @actuallyacotartrash @illyrianbeauty @highfaenesta @saholiveira7 @booknerdswiftie @writer-reader-traveller @lady-therion @verifiefangirl @urbisie @acoaas
If you want or don’t want to be tagged, please comment on this post. It’s easiest to keep track that way.
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Nesta escaped Feyre’s dinner party fairly easily, feigning not feeling well. Her sister had stared at her questioningly, but let her go.
The second she entered her dark apartment that she shared with Emerie, she sighed. Their kitten came strolling up, weaving in and out of Nesta’s legs.
“Bandit, stop it!” she hissed as she tried to walk to her bedroom, Bandit tripping her multiple times. He mewled, turning and strolling to the kitchen, tail waving back and forth.
“I’ll feed you later,” she muttered, shaking her head with a smile.
Emerie happened to be traveling, so Nesta had the apartment to herself. It was quiet and Nesta loved it. But it was also lonely without her best friend. She didn’t want to rant to Em over text about how much Feyre’s boyfriend’s brother got under her skin.
Ranting, for the two friends, involved ice cream, wine, blankets, and more wine. And take-out from the Illyrian restaurant down the block. But since Emerie wasn’t home, they couldn’t do that.
Nesta would have to improvise.
Tonight felt like a night to go clubbing. Especially after the disaster of Feyre and Rhys’s dinner party. Nesta needed a drink.
She exchanged her grey sweater and jeans for more club-like attire. Rifling through her closet, she found a crimson red dress, high-heeled black booties, and her leather jacket. Paired with her silver flame necklace, looking in the mirror, Nesta admired herself. She quickly touched up her eyeliner and applied some nude lipstick before feeding a starving Bandit and slipping out the door.
The night had turned chilly and Nesta shivered as she hailed a cab. One finally stopped and she slid in.
“Where to, miss?” he asked.
Nesta thought for a second. “The best club around. Please.”
The driver revved the engine and they shot forward with a shriek from Nesta. A dark chuckle came from the driver. Nesta glared at him and he eased up, slightly. The most frightening few minutes of her life passed in a blur, city lights streaming together. Nesta was thrown forward in her seat when the cab ground to a sudden halt outside of a nightclub entrance: Club Shadow.
A line stretched around the block. Nesta thanked the driver and paid him, stepping out into the chilly night air. A few men in line whistled as she walked past, but she ignored them.
Feyre and Elain had dragged her to Rita’s a few times before for their birthdays, but Nesta had never heard of Club Shadow. It must be new. When she was close to the front of the line, she saw the mountain and three stars that was Rhys’s signature. She groaned; he must own this club.
Ahead of her was a group of giggling, obviously-intoxicated woman dressed scantily. They breezed right past the bouncer and into the club. Nesta opened her clutch to pay the entrance fee when the bouncer smiled, saying, “Ladies are free tonight, miss. Enjoy your night.”
“Thank you,” Nesta replied, smiling. She snapped shut her clutch and followed the women through the door into the gloom of the club.
Red and blue and purple and green strobe lights flashed over the writhing bodies that filled the dance floor. Booths lined the edge of the dance floor and a bar was conveniently placed on the right side of the room.
“Dibs on the hot one!” a male voice yelled. Nesta rolled her eyes as the group of women in front of her tittered. She began to head to the bar when the women scoffed as a familiar face shoved through them.
Cassian.
The last person she wanted to see tonight.
A shit-eating grin was plastered on his face and he sauntered toward her. Nesta swore and tried to escape him by diving into the sea of dancing clubbers.
The song blaring was one of her favorites and a drunk girl her age spun her around, laughing. Her laughter was contagious, and before too long, Nesta was dancing with the girl and her group of friends.
But when she stopped dancing to stumble over to the bar and order herself an iced tea spiced with raspberry liqueur, Cassian plopped down onto the barstool next to her. He still had that shit-eating grin plastered on his smug (handsome) face.
Nesta just wanted to throttle him when he purred, “Hello, sweetheart.” But the effect was lost by his horrid breath and slightly-slurred words.
Instead she smiled saccharinely and finished her drink, waving the bartender over and ordering the strongest liquor he had. The bartender looked between the two of them and shook his head, smiling.
A few minutes later, he returned with a bottle of liquor and two shot glasses, placing them in front of Nesta. “You look like you need it,” he whispered, eyeing Cassian.
“Thank you,” she replied, sliding him more than enough to cover the drinks.
Nesta stood, shoving the bottle at Cassian and dragging him behind her to the booth. He pouted, whining the entire six metres to the empty booth. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing at the cushions. He sat, still pouting like an overtired toddler.
Pouring them both a shot glass full of liquor, Nesta slid one over to him.
“Drink,” she commanded.
Cassian eyed the shot, licking his lips before pushing it back toward her. “I shouldn’t,” he whimpered.
Nesta drank hers, then his, coughing at the burning trail the liquor left down her throat to her stomach. Cassian laughed. She refilled their glasses. “When have you ever refused alcohol? Never. So drink. If you need to, we can make a game of it.”
His face lit up eagerly and Nesta rolled her eyes.
“We’ll play Never Have I Ever. Happy?” Cassian grinned, nodding his head up and down like a bobblehead. “I’ll go first. Never have I ever . . . gotten so wasted I passed out on a girl in a bar.”
“How---how do you know about that?” Cassian sputtered, taking his shot.
Nesta sighed. “I was the girl you passed out on, dumbass.”
“Oh.” His cheeks flushed crimson and all Nesta wanted to do was kiss him. She shook that thought from her head and refilled his glass. “My turn? Ok. Never have I ever made out with someone in a bar bathroom.”
“Ha! Drink.”
A wicked grin lit up Cassian’s face. “Not yet,” he murmured, inching closer and blowing a gentle gust of hot breath into her ear. Nesta shivered and swatted away his hands as he tried to pull her up from the booth.
“All right. Never have I ever wanted to kiss the person in front of me so badly.”
Was the alcohol already working its dark magic on me? Shit.
Cassian grinned and sat back down, slowly bringing his mouth closer to hers. If she needed, she could pull away at any time. But she didn’t.
Maybe it was the liquor running through her veins and giving the world a hazy buzz. Maybe it was the crush she had on Cassian, ever since she ran into him at her local boxing gym. Maybe it was their verbal sparring that she looked forward to every time she saw him. Maybe---
Just shut up and kiss him.
For once, Nesta listened to her heart instead of her mind, roaring in the background din that this was a terrible idea. That she would regret this later on.
But her cares floated away on a lazy breeze as her lips met Cassian’s. His hands sparked a warm fire in her as they gripped her waist. Her own hands slid up into his hair, pulling it free of its small bun.
Nesta giggled as he kissed the tip of her nose, murmuring about leaving and bringing the bottle with them. This was--new for her. She didn’t hate the feelings, but didn’t exactly like them either.
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chatonne-rousse · a month ago
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Orange You Glad I'm Not Seeing Green (Nope, Totally Not Jealous At All)
A continuation of my Gifts from the Heart series, the whole of which is written as a gift for my dear friend @sketchy-panda.
Read it on Ao3 here.
Follows Great Minds (and Kind Hearts) Think Alike, which can be found here.
*********
The first forty-two minutes had gone so well.
Marinette was acting weird, but a normal, endearing weird - the kind of weird that warms his chest with affection and makes him smile. There is no one quite like her, and Adrien knows her friendship is a sweet blessing indeed. Even if it takes a moment or two to decipher her jumbled sentences sometimes. Even if she's a teeny tiny bit of a disaster.
When Ms. Bustier had paired them up for a literature project, he was thrilled. Adrien would never scoff at the chance to spend time with his dear friend, much less to enjoy a window of escape, however short, from the echoing silence of his own home. He'd turned to her with unabashed excitement to find her cheeks and ears pink and a strange mix of joy and terror in her eyes.
"Yay!" she'd squeaked, the word accompanied by awkward jazz hands. This had prompted a nudge under the table from Alya that didn't escape his notice. With that, she'd taken a deep breath, set her shoulders, and asked if he'd like to come over after school to work on it together.
Would he ever! The wave of happiness that had risen in his chest must have shown on his face, but when Marinette's smile had softened to match, he realized he didn't care if he grinned like a fool in front of the class. An afternoon with a friend - a friend! - was such a rare treat. And he's already read The Three Musketeers, so he'd been sure this would be a breeze.
And it was. Until six minutes ago, when they realized that the plate of cookies they'd been snacking on had dwindled to one. This discovery came by way of both of them reaching for it without looking, hands meeting over the plate amidst blushing cheeks and murmured apologies. With an awkward laugh, he'd taken the final cookie, carefully broken it roughly in half, and offered the slightly larger piece to his wide-eyed project partner.
Their fingers brushed in the handoff. She breathed a thank you. He smiled graciously.
It all happened so quickly after that.
Before he could take a bite of his cookie, her elbow had knocked into her glass, sending orange juice across her desk, her lap, his stocking feet.
"Disaster!" Marinette had shrieked, prompting Mrs. Cheng to peek through the open trap door a few moments later, looking first at her daughter dancing frantically around her now-toppled desk chair and then to a bewildered Adrien, still holding half a cookie in one hand and Marinette's keyboard, rescued from the rogue wave of orange juice, in the other.
She'd just smiled. "I'll bring up some towels, dears."
Adrien could only nod.
Now, Marinette stands in front of her sink, wiping the front of her pants with a damp towel and sighing every thirty seconds. He's barefoot, his socks whisked off to parts unknown, ostensibly to be laundered, though he'd protested that wasn't necessary. Their cookie and juice supply has been refilled, and calm has settled over the room again. Sort of.
"I'm so sorry, Adrien," she says quietly, a tinge of misery at the edge of her voice. "I'm so clumsy."
He tries to make her smile the best way he knows how. "It's okay, Marinette. Orange you glad it didn't get on your drawings for the project?"
She stops trying to clean off her jeans and raises her eyes to his. "Did you just...?"
His eyes gleam. "You know, workers in the orange juice factory will lose their jobs if they can't concentrate."
Her surprised giggle is incredibly gratifying. He takes it as a green light to continue. "Do you know what language oranges use to talk to each other?" When she shakes her head, he gleefully answers, "Mandarin!"
"You'd fit right in, then!" Marinette laughs heartily, the sound making his grin widen until it hurts. (It's worth it.)
"Well, I am very a-peeling. I have a real zest for life."
She groans, though she's still laughing, and facepalms with the hand holding the towel. Adrien watches as she realizes how sticky it is against her face, throws it on the counter, and blushes when she makes eye contact with him once more. His own smile never dims. Making a friend laugh like this is one of life's great joys. Laughing with a friend like this is one of the greatest.
Finally, she washes her hands at the sink and he takes a moment to right her desk chair, gazing around the room to the sound of her drying her hands. Magazine photos of him still remain, though they mix on corkboards and wall collages with pictures of friends and family. His own face smiles - truly smiles - back at him from several of them. He remembers each of these days, shining memories with beloved friends that he treasures. He's glad Marinette treasures them, too.
His gaze slides to the corner of her desk, near her sewing machine and a large box he assumes is full of sewing notions, and his breath catches. There, on twin display stands to keep them upright, are two figurines he doesn't know how he missed earlier. Ladybug holds her yo-yo in her right hand, Chat Noir's baton is held in his left. Their tiny plastic hands clasp in the middle, just as they were molded to do for the 1st Anniversary Special Partners Edition figures he would know anywhere.
Marinette sits back down in her desk chair, looks at him, then follows his gaze to the figurines. Adrien turns his eyes to her.
"I didn't know you were a superhero fan, Marinette!"
She laughs a nervous laugh as a blush rises to her cheeks. "Me? A fan of Chat Noir? Psssh." She waves a hand as if to dismiss the idea.
He isn't sure if he should be offended or gratified. He'd certainly prefer the latter.
"Why wouldn't you be a fan? I am. I think the heroes are awesome."
"You do?" she breathes, eyes wide.
"Of course! Paris is lucky," he elbows her arm gently and winks, "to have them."
Her giggle makes him smile again. He always feels so light and so carefree here, in her warm home, with her friendly parents and a plate of cookies and the sweetness she seems to radiate in his presence. Paris is lucky to have superhero protectors, but he's lucky in his own way to have found this kind of gentle contentment in a world denied to him for so long.
"I guess we should get back to the project--"
"Where did you get them?"
They each speak at the same time, twin blushes and stammered apologies following just as with the cookie incident.
Marinette breaks the ensuing awkward silence first. "One of my best friends gave them to me."
"I'm not surprised," Adrien responds with a grin. "Alya might be the biggest fan in Paris!"
The blush on her cheeks spreads to the tips of her ears and her eyes widen before she blinks. "Oh, um...it wasn't Alya." Marinette looks at her hands in her lap and then back up to him. "But she does have this set. She's kind of obsessed."
Strange, he'd never heard about any other best friends from Nino or Alya, though that didn't mean Marinette didn't have a very close online friend or someone in the design community she just hadn't talked much about before. He hopes this person knows what a good friend she has in Marinette, that she treasures her like Marinette deserves to be treasured. Though of course she'd gifted her with the set of figurines, so this friend at least knows quality merch when she sees it. Adrien's heart warms at the thought of Marinette having such good friends. She deserves nothing less.
"Adrien? Are you okay?"
He blinks twice, shaking himself from his reverie. "Oh. Yeah. I'm fine."
"Are you sure? You were far away for a minute there."
He smiles warmly. Marinette is so thoughtful. "I promise. I was just thinking what a great best friend she must be to have given you such a cool gift."
"Oh," she says quietly, looking at the figures again, though Adrien is still focused on his friend. He watches as her eyes soften and her smile turns gentle before she speaks again. "He definitely is. There's no one better."
Her gaze snaps to his again. "I mean! I'll bet you're better! At being hot. I mean cool! I mean..." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "So! The Three Musketeers, eh?" She pulls her notebook back in front of her and opens it to a random page that contains nothing having to do with Alexandre Dumas. She laughs nervously, resolutely staring at the page and not the boy beside her.
The boy who hasn't breathed since her quiet "oh." The boy whose brain is still stuck on one word.
He.
Adrien can feel his smile turn brittle at the edges and forces his face to remain neutral, but it's difficult all of a sudden.
It shouldn't bother him. It shouldn't affect him at all. Marinette is friends with Nino, Kim, and Max, and he doesn't think twice about it. Why should he? This is different, though, somehow. An unknown entity. A boy friend he's never heard of who makes her expression soften like that, with memories of private jokes and gift exchanges and laughter. Probably. That's probably what it's like with Marinette and her other best friend, who isn't Alya and whose name he doesn't know.
An odd feeling twists his stomach. Adrien doesn't like it.
"Well," he starts, sliding his own notebook over and opening to the last page they'd been working on before the orange juice spill, "he has very good taste in Ladybug and Chat Noir merchandise. I have that same set myself."
"You do?" she squeaks, and their eyes meet again.
"I do. But I didn't take mine out of the packaging." He chances a cheeky half-smile at her, the knot in his stomach loosening just a fraction at the smile she returns. "Mine will be pristine when the set is worth millions someday."
When she laughs, the tension in his chest dissipates like springtime dandelion seeds, floating away on a sudden breeze of fresh, sweet joy.
Maybe Marinette's mysterious best friend can make her laugh like this, but right now, Adrien is the one sitting beside her - something rare and precious and not to be taken for granted - and it makes no sense to do anything other than enjoy the moment.
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