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gavisuntiedboot · 2 days

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We Can't Be Friends (but I'd like to just pretend)

Pedri x Reader

Part 1

Warnings: None

Word count: 8.7k

A/N: After a lot of consideration, I have decided to start posting my Pedri series. I think that I can get a lot of interaction with these, and I think it is a good way to feed my soul and get eyes on what is happening in Palestine. So please, if you enjoy this series, consider helping out Palestine. Even if it's just with a click (second link!)

(Also if there are any continuity errors pls pls pls lmk)

Operation Olive Branch is an org working to help raise money to evacuate people from Gaza. I have decided to highlight Anwar and his family, who need to raise $35,000 in order to survive. Please donate what you can:

I will continue to highlight this family on all my posts until they reach their goal inshAllah.

Synopsis: Moving to a new country can be a pain in the ass. So can starting a new job when your position is completely different to what you thought. But nothing is going to stop you from achieving your goal of being the next Law Roach. Not the language barrier, your aching feet on the wonky streets, and definitely not your annoying, full of himself client. Because everything is going to stay professional, right?

~~~

"Bryce, can you please pay attention? God, I hate Americans."

The slow and thick laughter flowed through the line, peppered with static and cutting off whenever a particularly loud vehicle rolled past.

"Self-hating much? You are also American."

"I'm Texan, sweetheart. We are basically our own breed. Now can you help me?" You were finally able to flag down a taxi, stepping in carefully to make sure you didn't flash the driver. The stark white of the flowy skirt contrasted heavily with your bright orange cowboy boots, worn to match the white "TEXAS" baby tee with orange lettering. Your bangles clinked happily against your wrist as the door closed, hair mused by the late September wind. It was a comfort-from-home turned fashion statement, a way to stay close to your roots but show everyone at the office you were the type of girl that people saved on their "cool y2k outfit inspo" Pinterest boards. At least, girls back home would.

"How the hell did you move to a foreign country without learning the language?"

"Because I was supposed to be in PARIS, remember? I didn't minor in French just for mierde and giggles."

"Yeah, yeah, and then Paris decided to self destruct. I've heard the story. Just put me on speaker already."

Through the phone, Bryce's Spanish flows fluently as she instructs the driver to deliver you at your new place of work. Style Di Fortuna was one of the best styling firms in Europe, if not the world. Located a mere two streets from the Passeig De Gracia, there was nowhere better for a young woman to start her career in the fashion world. Except you weren't supposed to be here.

The plan had been perfect. After 4 years working your fingers bloody at UT Austin, you finally turned the bright orange tassel and accepted your B.A. in fashion. You were able to say "couture" with the perfect amount of phlegm to be taken seriously by the French snobs you had interned with, the ones who were supposed to be your colleagues after you graduated. The dreams of smoky cafes, bike rides through the city, and the lights of Paris fashion week were often the only things that helped you push through your professor telling you that you sewed like a blind sloth.

But then the French did what they do best: went on strike. For months. And after the long periods of no productivity and the destruction of half the inventory, you got the concise email that you would need to find employment elsewhere. About a week before you moved to France. So in a blind panic, you applied to every job you could think of within Europe, desperate to not have your first year post grad be spent at the soup kitchen or bagging groceries. You finally heard back from one of your contacts, another alumni from your school who said they could get you a job in Spain, but it was a little far from the type of fashion you wanted to do.

A "yes please I'm begging" email and 24 hours later, you had a job with SDF. Hey, fashion is fashion, and if you have to start by styling TikTokers in sparkly mini dresses before you could get to the good stuff, so be it. There were dues to be paid after all. So you grabbed your already packed bags and changed your ticket from Paris to Barcelona.

"I can speak Spanish. I lived in Texas for 21 years. Just not... Spain Spanish." You said quietly, rummaging through your bag for the ID that had been mailed to you the week prior.

"Right, and my white ass took it in school and he seemed to understand me just fine. So you, Miss Texican, need to stop with the perpetual fear that people will think you're stupid. Be confident and just speak. The company is Italian, anyways. Most of them will probably speak English, and if not, they'll think you're exotic and sexy."

"Mhm I'm sure."

"You're going to do great, okay? Just be yourself. You had like ten billion friends at home. It's almost impossible not to like you. You got it girl - go hook 'em."

Laughter bubbled out of you at her cheesy pep talk, feeling lighter already. She was right - even if you had gotten this job on the fly, your portfolio was super impressive, and people had no trouble liking you. So what was there to be worried about. After bidding her goodbye and having the courage to thank the driver in Spanish, you stepped out of the cab to the front steps of the new building. It was much taller than the surrounding, standing out like a sore thumb amongst the lower buildings and pale stone. Making your way up to the 16th floor, you were quickly ushered past bolts of bright fabric, racks of shoes worth millions, and some very stressed (yet very stylish) other employees.

"So excited that you're going to be joining our team! It is going to be so helpful having some international input to make sure we are not pigeon-holing our clients into fashion that is not received well globally. You will be reporting directly to Katerina, and she will report to me. Your colleagues are mostly male given the nature of the division. But Tania, Silvia, and Maria should be a good support as you move into the role. We also have Juliana who is between here and the Milan office. So it isn't a complete boy's club."

Huh?

After years in fashion, one thing you definitely knew was that it often was not a "boy's club". Sure, all the suits and big investors were often old and withered men, but most of the creative side of the business had been run by almost fully female teams (and the exceedingly rare stylish man).

"I'm sorry, the nature of the team? What do you mean?" You asked, trying to keep smiling while running after her towards a more and more barren part of the office.

"Sorry, was it not included in your offer letter? You're working in our athletics division. We are horribly understaffed in that department, especially now that we have taken on all the Adidas athletes in Spain. My word there are a lot of them. Bellingham alone needs three team members for every event."

No no no no no. This cannot be happening. You had come in prepared to style a lot of things: prom dresses, lingerie, even the scraps of fabrics that were rented out by the local burlesque show. But sports???

Now don't get it twisted, this isn't some "I'm a girl and I don't know anything about sports!" kind of thing. On the contrary. You were at every football game rocking the longhorns, cheering on your friends as they crushed it at basketball, and even tried watching a formula 1 race (there was a three car crash and you fainted) - you were totally hip with sports. Although you were not a fan of stretch materials or athleisure, you were willing to bite the bullet as a first step. The issue was the hidden undertones of your job. It was the fact that you would be working with, from what you could surmise, a lot of male athletes.

Bryce was right - it did feel like you had ten billion friends back home. Everywhere you went, you spoke to strangers with ease, and people warmed quickly, conversation flowing and bonds forming. But that's the issue: everyone seemed to warm to you, and so it meant a lot of male attention. And despite your best efforts, you always made a "too flirty" comment to someone's crush or "inappropriately smiling" at someone's boyfriend. And so as fast as they liked you, suddenly you were public enemy #1, and the drama became all-consuming.

No one seemed to understand. There was constant advice to just brush it off, to ignore the people who brought pain to your life. But you couldn't help it, laying in bed, stomach in knots, questioning why no one could see that you were just trying to be kind to everyone around you. The cycle of worrying had created a very isolating experience.

"Tania! Where are the other girls? I want to introduce you to the newest member of the team."

A girl with blown out black hair turns around, double nose piercings taking a back seat to a piercing charcoal stare. She was in high waisted jeans and a leopard print button up, the first two unbuttoned to show off the black strap of her bra. Her neck was adorned with a simple gold cross necklace, and she flashed a cordial smile as she stuck out a hand.

"I love your shoes." You said sweetly as you exchanged a shake, eager to make your first friend at work (and maybe in all of Spain).

"Oh, thank you. Dolce and Gabanna - they're friends of the firm. Your shoes are..." She gave a glance to the cowboy boots you had on, "muy naranja" (very orange).

You crossed your legs, self confidence waning after she addressed you like you had traffic cones on your legs. You were introduced to Silvia (a tall girl with short blonde hair and vintage Adidas Sambas paired with boxer shorts) and Maria (dark blue hair slicked back to show off her Italian football jersey). All of them oozed the coolest essence, and you were excited to get to know them.

"Alright, girls, not too much chattering. Barca arrives in 15 minutes, and there is not a single jersey in sight. Lets go! Rápidamente!"

A gasp spread across the room, accompanied with a groan from Roberto in the back, and there was suddenly a mad dash. Stretch fabrics in a hundred different colors were flying across the room, and it seemed like no one could move fast enough.

"I'm sorry to ask but... what is a barca?"

Silvia's sambas squeaked loudly as she came to a halt, whipping her neck towards you. Her eyebrows knitted together, looking at you like you had just said Jesus was a goat.

"Who is Barca? You cannot be serious. Please don't say anything like that when they walk in the door. Just stand out of the way and do some googling. We will fill you in when the team leaves."

You stepped back towards the mannequins, trying not get trampled by the other employees. A quick search on Instagram gave you the basics. Soccer (or well, football now) team that was super famous. SDF was tagged in their post from their TV series premier, so you came to the conclusion that they were long time clients. You were so consumed with your search that you didn't notice the gaggle of young men enter the constricted space until you heard a chorus of voices chant "Bon Dia, Pedri!"

You glance up, trying to see the man that the girls were addressing, but he was covered by a crowd, which was comprised of Tania, Silvia, and girls from the other departments of the building (you could have sworn that red head worked at the café in the lobby).

"Bon dia, ladies."

The giggles that came as response were far too exaggerated for just politeness, and before you could roll your eyes, you heard the gag from beside you and turned to who was ultimately Maria.

"Don't mind the girls. They aren't usually like this, but their brain turns to mush around the magician."

"The magician?"

Almost as if planned, the swarm of girls parted in that moment, a pair of sickly sweet molasses eyes meeting yours, holding your gaze in something that felt warm and almost intimate. His stubbled cheeks spread into an infectious smile, and suddenly a gorgeous man in a hideous pair of jeans was giving you a subtle wave across the room.

"Pedri "The Magician" Gonzalez, current reigning golden boy at FC Barcelona. Who knew God could pack so much talent and trouble into such a small package? Anyways, the other girls in the office are obsessed with him. They all think they're going to be the special little snowflake to pull him away from the line of Instagram models waiting to jump in bed."

As you listened intently to Maria's rant about the sports star, the two of you couldn't keep your eyes away. As Tania and Silvia went back and forth, talking his brain into oatmeal, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Who is the new girl?"

Pedri Gonzalez was many things: a generational talent, a laid back 20 year old, and (though less known) a shit-stirrer. These monthly team visits to SDF ranked very highly on his list of favorite activities. He was able to sit with his teammates as they watched some of the hottest girls in Europe fall over themselves just for a kind word or a prolonged glance. He just wished the boys would have seen the way they moved when he came in for personal sessions whenever there was a new Adidas campaign. Not even the king was served so wonderfully.

As the team bus parked outside the building, he lazily draped one arm over Gavi's shoulders, ripping his attention away from his phone screen.

"You know she does have a life outside of answering your texts, Gavi."

There was no attempt to hide or deny, just a continued scowl coupled with scrunched brows.

"She was really weird during the drive home the other day. After Martin was a little bitch on the field, she hasn't been the same. I think there's something wrong, but I don't want to push her away. I just want her to be happy."

"Ay, you'll have lots of time to make her happy after you confess your undying love in her passenger seat and kill her boyfriend." Pedri quipped back, taking a few careful steps off the bus and rushing into the building, the squeals of his name from adoring fans fading into the background.

"Okay, maybe not the best idea I've ever had, but now you do have work with Adidas and Springfield and all the other brands that want a piece of Pedri Potter." The nickname earned Gavi a light smack on the back of the head. "So in the end, I did you a favor."

The boys make their way upstairs, greeted at the elevator by Pedri's fan club.

"Bon dia, ladies."

"Bon dia, Pedri. We missed you."

Gavi tried to tone down the look of confusion that painted his features, watching these two girls trail behind his teammate in a way that was anything but professional. But there was a natural air to Pedri that had women swooning whenever he uttered a sentence, so Gavi supposed this situation would be no different than the one he had seen before in the club, at the beach, in the grocery store - basically anywhere Pedri went. He said a silent thank you to the powers that be that their types were vastly different.

The girls vying for his attention were promptly shooed away, with only the two who were actually part of their styling team remaining. Pedri scanned the room, making a mental note of who he would be looking up on the SDF Instagram once he was done for the day. He was a humble young man, but he wasn't self depreciating. He knew the number of women that wanted him was rising into 6-figure range, and he was not one to deprive himself of a pleasure that wasn't closely regulated by the staff over at Camp Nou. He loved entertaining the occasional tryst with an influencer or model or bottle service girl - whoever caught his eye for the evening. The world was his field, and boy was he ready to sow.

His newest playthings were his regular stylists. Since he was going to be spending a lot more time at the firm, he decided to at least enjoy himself a little bit. He dropped casual compliments, noticed the changes they made to their appearance, let them talk his ears off about how well he did in the previous match. Whatever they wanted he would provide. Why not? He was young and single. If they were to delude themselves into thinking he was going to settle down and take a wife at this stage of his career, then really they had no one but themselves to blame.

Tania and Silvia were nothing if not wholly entertaining. They always bounced around the office together, blonde and black hair making them look like a salt and pepper shaker set. Today, they dedicated themselves to dressing Pedri in the vintage Barca jerseys that were being photographed, leaving the rest of the squad to be dealt with by Maria, Roberto, and the bright spot in the corner of the office that caught Pedri's eye.

"Who is the new girl?"

He knew the question was going to cause the bile to rise in the throats of the two girls in front of him, who were already milliseconds away from killing each other if it meant he would take the survivor to dinner. But there was something about the flash of color that had caught his eye, hair falling in front of a pretty face that was glued to a screen and trying to stay out of the way.

"What new girl?" The response came from Tania, the more jealous of the pair by a mile. Pedri had often caught her stalking his account, his brother's account, and the account of every girl DeuxMoi "spotted" him with during the international breaks.

"Her. In the corner. She's new, right? That's someone I would remember seeing." He raised his head to get a better look at her, taking in the tight shirt and bright colors, watching her jewelry sway along as Maria (his least favorite in the office by far) called her over to help dress the rest of the team. The girls whipped around, taking in the same view that Pedri was.

"La naranja?!" Tania asked, disgust evident in her louder-than-appropriate tone. At the use of what was quickly becoming your office nickname, you looked towards the sound of the commotion, seeing Pedri staring intently at you once again. And while the depth of his gaze threatened to ignite a warmth somewhere within your chest, it was Tania's furious expression that had your heart racing in fear. You hadn't even been at work for an hour - what could you have possible done to have invoked such a murderous glare?

"I didn't think foreign girls were your type." Silvia said, much calmer but tone still icy.

"Maybe I just like the color orange." He replied smoothly, whipping off his shirt to slip into the one from 1980 that he would be modeling for the Barca site. The sight of bare skin was enough to make his playthings forget their rage, being replaced by lustful stares and lingering touches as they "adjusted" the fabric over his pecs about 20 times over.

"I think orange is a hideous color on girls." Tania couldn't help but mutter and she fixed his collar, putting in a couple pins so it wouldn't move as he walked to the photographer.

"I think the ugliest color on a girl is jealousy green." Pedri's eyes met hers in a silent warning. She was officially nothing more than one of his stylists. He was a busy man, and the last thing he needed was for his distractions to become a new stressor. He was notorious for being quick to cut girls off for the most superficial reasons, and Tania was not eager to be one of those deprived of his affections. She smiled sweetly, biting the inside of her cheek.

"Oh, of course. Especially when there is obviously nothing to be jealous of. Go welcome her on her first day - if she can even understand a thing you're saying. I don't think the American school system teaches Canarian." She left Pedri in that moment, calling sweetly to Ferran to come get dressed.

"Ay, Gavi, I knew you were short, but they can't even find pants that fit you now?"

The sudden voice behind you made you jump, causing a yelp from Gavi, who had been stabbed with a stray pin due to your scare. Your head whipped around, meeting that same smile that was brighter up close.

"Perdon, Naranja. Didn't mean to startle you."

Your eyebrows came together, a small frown on your features.

"I don't know what Tania told you, but that's not my name."

"I didn't think it was, but it's quite fitting, don't you think? A cute nickname for a cute girl."

The complement caught you off guard, and your mouth dropped open, reply unable to form in your mind. Was he seriously flirting with you? After half the office just threw themselves at his feet?

"Thank you, but I would really prefer if you called me-"

"Your accent is strange. Where are you from?" Pedri cuts you off, giving you a once over and taking in your figure, focusing intently on the writing across your chest.

"Texas. Can't you read?" You asked, growing more annoyed by the minute. Maria would be back any second to grab the boy who you were hemming, now identified as Gavi. You weren't eager to be seen as a slacker on day damn one.

"Houston?" He asked, accent preventing him from getting the "S" in the word quite right. "My brother used to live there for a bit."

"San Antonio, actually. But I went to school in Austin." As desperately as you wanted to make a good impression on your first day, something inside your chest wanted to make a good impression on Pedri, who was listening intently to the mini tour of Texas you were giving him.

"Is that close to Dallas? We are meant to play a game there in the summer. Maybe you can come along, show me around your city." He punctuated his sentence with a wink. You wanted to speak, tell him that Austin was actually several hours from Dallas, San Antonio even further. But your heartbeat was in your ears, and you could do nothing but nod along.

Pedri was not much better off. He had spoken to some of the most gorgeous women in Europe, maybe even the world in his mere 22 years on the planet, but something about the way you looked at him while speaking, eyes locked onto his, made his heart race in a way that was foreign but not unenjoyable.

"Hey! Hurry up - they need Gavi next. Or are you incapable of putting in a couple pins?" It was Silvia barking down at you, causing you to tear your gaze away from Pedri and back to Gavi's leg. Thankfully, the boy was typing away and didn't notice the break you had taken to chat with his teammate. "Pedri, stop distracting la naranja with your flirting and go get a pair of shoes from Maria."

You burned with embarrassment, the nickname turning from something affectionate to something sour, used to remind you of your outsider status as 'Cinderella' was reminded of her place by the coals.

"I was just being friendly." Pedri said, standing to follow her instructions.

"I think you have enough friends in the office." She bites back, shoving him lightly towards the wall of sneakers.

Your cheeks burn, embarrassment causing your hands to tremble as you continue hemming the trousers in front of you. Maria had gone out of her way to warn you that Pedri was off limits, and yet here you were again: persona non grata with your coworkers because some boy had taken an interest in you.

"You speak really good Spanish for someone from America." A quiet voice said from above you. Looking up, Gavi was gazing down at you, distracted by his phone every few seconds.

"I'm half Mexican, and most people in Texas speak Spanish anyways." You reply, trying to tone down the annoyance in your tone.

"Oh, I didn't know that. My friend- eh, physiotherapist also studied in America. She has this really cute accent when she says some of her words now." You watched his eyes glaze over in a way they probably shouldn't if he was just talking about his doctor.

"You don't have to make conversation with me, you know." You mutter back, scared that maybe this player was Maria's and you would sever the final connection you had left in the office inadvertently.

"Oh. I didn't mean to annoy you." The tone in his voice and his crestfallen expression made you feel like you had just kicked a puppy.

"Oh no! You're not. I just... It seems like I just pissed off the girls by talking to Pedri, and I don't want to make any other mistakes."

He laughed, eyes crinkling and head tilting back. "Pedri is a special case. When you flirt with everything that moves, someone is bound to be upset eventually."

The admission caused a pit to form in your stomach. Everything that moves? The romantic heat you felt earlier cooled into a slimy, sickening emotion. What kind of person toyed with people's feelings for fun? As you entertained the thought, you tapped Gavi on the leg, instructing him to hop off the stand and go get photographed. A shadow loomed over your form as you tidied pins from the floor of the workroom.

"So, I believe you were about to give me your address before we were so rudely interrupted." It was Pedri, returning with a grin, standing coolly with his hands in the pockets of his cargos. "Of if that's too personal, I'll settle for a phone number. Or an Instagram handle - I'm not picky."

"I can tell." You muttered back, unease still sitting in your chest. You avoided his gaze, chewing nervously on your bottom lip and directing your eyes to anything but Pedri.

"I'm sorry about Silvia. She can be... intense. And let me just go ahead and apologize for Tania as well, in advance. They're weirdly possessive over me for some reason." Pedri sounded sincere, eyes doing their best to catch yours and convey his message.

"Don't worry about it. I can see why you're so popular." You shuffled to collect stray pins off the floor. Pedri was not like any other guy you had ever been attracted to. Usually they were tall, lanky frat boy types, all blue eyes and khaki shorts. But the combination of beautiful brown eyes brushed by dark hair, chiseled jaw and plump lips, and strong arms that lifted a mannequin out of your way did weird things to your heart and your stomach.

"Can you now?" He was smirking. You could practically hear it in his voice, the amusement dripping from every syllable. He was obviously completely unbothered by your clear signs of distress.

"Yeah. Every girl I ever knew wanted to be the sugar baby of an athlete. Watch out or you'll get your bank account drained." Despite your best efforts to come across as cutting and sharp, he laughed at the statement. A full head thrown back and hands on his belly type of laugh.

"It's been a long time since I've spoken to a girl as funny as you." His eyes held yours, and the look was so captivating you simply couldn't avert your gaze. In that moment, it was also lost on you that you had, in fact, only made one joke. You responded with a half smile and heat radiating from you.

"Hey listen, a couple of the boys and I are going out tonight. You should come with us."

The invitation started to knock some sense back into you. Out? As in out out? Back home, going out usually meant getting shit-faced and riding a mechanical bull. It wasn't the best look to pull up to work the following morning looking like death and smelling like tequila. You were already on the way to holding the record for the worst first day in history.

"I don't know... I think Tania would put Nair in my shampoo if we were seen together when not contractually obligated."

You looked up shyly, and a part of you waited for him to insist, to feel somewhat special.

"Ah, I won't make you do anything you're uncomfortable with. Just DM me on Instagram if you change your mind. I'm not hard to find."

"Do you answer DMs from every girl that finds you?" You asked, rocking back and forth on your heels.

"No. But I'll be looking out for yours."

Another voice called out to Pedri, and he left you standing there slack-jawed. Who was this man? And what was so special about you to have piqued his interest? You asked these same questions of Bryce, who was now fully awake.

"Girl, the answer is obvious." She said through face time, words garbled by her teeth-brushing.

"Please don't say-"

"You're hot."

"That. Bryce, these girls in the office, they're stunners. 10s across the board. If he was going for looks, he wouldn't be going for me."

"I think you're over-thinking this whole thing. He just wants to talk to you for now," She paused to spit, "So talk! What's the worst that could happen?"

A shrill voice cried out 'Naranja!' and the trill of your new unwelcome work nickname was the signal that your lunch was over. You trudged back into the office, abandoning the warmth and sunshine for the cold front put up by Tania and Silvia. They bumped you every time they walked past, making comments about your clothing, your hair, the speed of your work, your taste level - everything. You stuck close to Maria, getting only two smug "I told you so's" before it was back to business. The boys left a disaster in their wake, with jerseys, trousers, socks, shoes, and all manners of accessories scattered about the workroom. Maria exchange stories of her childhood in Rome for your escapades in San Antonio and Austin, and the day passed with relative ease. Katerina click-clacks into the room an hour before your sweet release, huddling together everyone who worked with the team for a summary of what was accomplished.

"Great job team. I think Barca will be very happy with the photos, which will make me very happy. Now," Katerina handed out a series of files to everyone in the circle. "As some of you know, we have been fighting tooth and nail against Fordham Fashions for the new Adidas Rising Stars contract. Well, we have finally won! Here are the clients that we will be working with closely for individual Adidas campaigns, collaborations, and so on."

Opening the file, a familiar face grinned back from the first page.

"Everyone already knows Pedri, so we will move past him. Now, let us begin the style briefing for Bellingham..."

You stared for another moment at the bright grin on the page before turning it to take notes on everything Katerina was saying. The meeting wrapped 30 minutes later, with one final request from the boss.

"The new Predator boots have just come in from Adidas. We will be sending a pair to each of our athletes to allow them to adjust before we style and shoot in the coming weeks. And to avoid another, ehem, hair pulling incident, the new girl will be sending Pedri's. Sort the rest out among yourselves. See you tomorrow!"

The glares burned your skin before you even had the chance to process that the 'new girl' in question was you. Everyone scurried to the wall of blue shoe boxes as you looked over the brief again to find the man of the hour's shoe size. Pulling it out of the pile, you moved to a far corner of the workroom, but that did not seem to stop Tania from coming your way.

"So, you think Pedri likes you?"

The statement caught you off guard, hands slowing and your eyes widening at your coworker.

"Excuse me?"

"You think that now he's going to date you just because he laughed at one of your jokes? Because trust me, you're not his type."

You were prepared to rebut, tell her that she had completely misunderstood the situation, and you were just being nice to a client. But it died on your lips as the meaning of her words washed over you like an icy tidal wave, leaving you to pathetically whisper out,

"Why not?"

Her laugh trickled out lightly, delicate and beautiful and cutting all at once.

"Just look at you, Naranja. Anyways, this is a note from the agency that needs to be included in Pedri's box, so slip it in there, 'kay? See you tomorrow!"

Swallowing thickly, you didn't watch her walk away, staring at the table top to stop the flood of emotions that was clogging your throat. You knew you weren't ugly. Quite the opposite actually. It usually only took a coy glance and the bat of an eyelash for you to have people eating from the palm of your hand. But the self doubt started to eat away at you. What was wrong with the way you looked?

And then your eyes focused on the crisp white envelope on the table. The girly scrawl of Pedri was too... romantic to be a formal note. The green slime of jealousy seeped through every one of your veins. You took a quick look around the room, and finding no one, you carefully opened the envelope. Immediately a strong perfume assaulted your senses. The letter was a quick confession of love, and you couldn't help the increase in your heart rate. If your coworker was determined to hate you, then you should at least give her a reason.

Your childish antics came two fold. First, you tiptoed over to the cabinet with the stationary, grabbing a blank envelope and some corrector fluid. You carefully removed Tania's name from the bottom of the letter, writing in a little "S" with a heart beside it. You refolded the letter and placed it into the new perfume-less envelope. The letter found its home in the shoe box, and on your way out of the building, you dropped it off at the mail room. As you waited for your cab home, you typed five familiar letters into the Instagram search bar, and sent a message asking,

"Am I still invited out tonight?"

Pedri could not contain the Cheshire cat grin that lit up his face when he saw the DM from you. Scrolling quickly through your Instagram, he zoomed in on your pictures from the summer, swimsuits the same bright orange that had hugged your chest earlier that day. He responded quickly, telling you that you would be the highlight of the entire outing, and as he predicted, your phone number quickly followed.

"See, Gavi? I told you." He turned the screen to his teammate, who could not possibly be less interested. Being met with silence, he quickly snatched Gavi's phone from his hands, eliciting a protest.

"Gavi, this is an intervention. You need to stop this sad puppy behavior. After the sixth unanswered text, it's time to accept that she's not going to respond."

Pedri almost regretted it as soon as he said it, the sunken look painting Gavi's features being too much to bear. It was like taking a baby's favorite toy away.

"I just mean that she's probably busy, hermano. She'll respond when she can. Now, back to me."

Gavi rolled his eyes and leaned back against Pedri's couch. He displayed his most exasperated expression.

"Please, Pedri. Tell me again how you got a girl to swoon for you in a matter of minutes. It's always my favorite story."

Gavi barely missed the pillow chucked at his head, but pressed on anyways.

"Come on, Pedri. It's the same story every week. Find a cute girl, flirt, invite her out, sleep with her, and then block her on all your socials."

"Okay but this one is different. She's my first American."

Gavi gave him a look that told Pedri that maybe the joke should have been reserved for Ferran. Despite all the wisdom Pedri had imparted, Gavi hadn't listened. Instead of taking advantage of the swarm of women ready to show him heaven, he had gone and fallen in love with one of his coworkers. Sheesh. What a stupid idea. But he had never seen Gavi, or anyone really, care so much about a person. So he was being a good friend, just pretending that this love story wouldn't go down in flames (badum-tsss).

Pedri was not willing to be a hopeless lover boy. He killed himself on the pitch, and there was no way he wasn't going to enjoy life after the whistle blew.

"I just don't think it's an idea to start involving girls you're going to have to see again."

The statement cut straight through Pedri's daydream of what you would wear to the club that evening. Gavi may have been right. When messing with Instagram models, it was easy to avoid previous flings. A block online, a slip of their photo to Camp Nou security, and worst case scenario, when they came up to him at an event, he just put on his best confused face and asked, "Do I know you?"

But this was new territory. He had toyed around with Tania and Silvia for months now, but it never left the office. Inviting a girl who he would have to see again and again for work out was risky. But the risk-assessing brain cells were on vacation. All that was left were the party neurons, the ones that craved dopamine and finding out what your skin would feel like against his palms. So he pushed all of Gavi's valid objections into a dark corner of his brain. He opted instead to ask,

"So, are you coming out tonight as well?"

Gavi lifted his hoodie up to cover his face, using all his self control to not grab his phone from its place on the coffee table.

"I don't think so. I'm not in the mood to see Ferran or... anyone really. Just want to sit home and watch my show."

"Suit yourself then. I'll let you know how the night ends."

"I'm begging you not to."

You smoothed your hands over your dress one final time. You were pacing around your living room, eagerly waiting for Pedri to pick you up. Despite your best efforts to assure him that you could Uber yourself to the club, he refused, and you couldn't help the giddy feeling at the gentlemanly antics.

Staring at yourself in the mirror once again, you thought of the dates you had been on in your senior year of college. From darties on frat lawns to drive-thrus to fine dining, many guys had tried to win your favor. It wasn't that all of them sucked (even if the majority did). It was just that the guys back home in America were... boring. All of them were pretty self centered and shallow, nice to look at but nothing deeper. While a pretty boy was nice at 19, it was time to grow up and look for something more.

The buzzing of your phone knocked you out of the trance you were in. "Pedri from work" illuminated the screen as you rushed to answer.

"I was going to come in and knock on your door, but I can't get into your building."

You laughed lightly in response, apologizing about the door code while grabbing a jacket and heading downstairs. A low whistle greeted you, dark eyes tracing your figure with a look that you tried not to interpret for your own sanity. A shy smile played across your features as you allowed Pedri to open your car door, sweet talk you throughout the drive, and escort you in to what was more of a lounge than a club. Live musicians played just loud enough for ambiance, but not enough to completely drown out everyone chattering amongst themselves. The two of you walked up to a table of Greek Gods, which you assumed were his teammates.

Pedri introduced you to the group, making sure that his body was physically situated between you and Ferran. He was a good guy somewhere deep, deep down, buried under the anguish of his last girlfriend, who left him upon finding out about the pay reduction that came with moving from Manchester City to FCB. Pedri tried to stop him from taking out his rage on a coworker (and Gavi's crush), but he was hard headed and couldn't be swayed. Eventually he would calm down, and they could go back to being young and single and not bitter. Pedri's phone glowed with a notification from the boy on his mind.

[Gaviiii]: dude i foujd her outside my house just sitting in her car n cryng so im gonna take care of that

[Gaviiii]: dont tect me or call me im not gonna answer

The typos were normal, as it was hard for Gavi to avert his eyes for even one second when his most precious was in sight. Pedri shook off the text and turned his attention back to you, arm coming to rest around your waist in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

You were not comforted. On the contrary, you were on the verge of throwing up. You were one of only two girls in a circle of incredibly attractive men, the other being someone's wife. You couldn't remember the names of any of them, except for Ferran, who you had been specifically warned about on the drive over. The devil really is a charmer. His short cropped hair showed the angels of his face beautifully, long lashes fanning against his cheeks. A few tattoos peaked out from under rolled up sleeved, and you had to remember that you were with his friend on a... what was this exactly? Pedri had never said anything more than that he wanted to be friends. But he asked you to go out with him, picked you up, gave you the pre-date compliments, and now was shielding you from other men. Were you on a date?

You tried your best to participate in small talk, listening to them go back and forth about football and training and life in general. The various accent were not kind to your brain that was barely used to the Canarian lilt to Pedri's speech.

"Are you okay?"

The whisper came softly in your ear, hot breath against you skin causing an eruption of little bumps. Pedri's arm had not left your waist, but now he was rubbing delicate circles into your skin.

"I'm fine. Just... a little overwhelmed? I feel sort of out of place."

"Don't worry, linda. No one can take their eyes off you."

The affirmation only increased your heart rate once again, the thump against your chest beating in rhythm with the base from the speakers. You were acutely aware of the warmth of his palm against your skin, radiating through the fabric of your dress. You loosened up as the evening progressed, participating in the conversation more confidently and laughing more freely. Slowly, the boys excused themselves from the gathering one by one, and soon it was only you and Pedri in the low light, talking about the most beautiful scenery you have ever seen.

He was lost in describing his home island, the clear waters and lush foliage that he called home. You leaned forward, enraptured by the passion that he spoke with about the places and people he loved. Slowly, you found yourself getting closer and closer, until there was only a few inches of space between you. The gold flecks interspersed in dark brown became clearer, and you struggled to breathe as you watched Pedri's gaze drift to your lips.

"I am getting the impression you want me to kiss you. Please correct me if that's not the case." Pedri breathed out slowly, more strained than you had previously thought. You don't know what you were thinking. Maybe you weren't thinking. You just acted on what felt right. Closing the distance, you joined Pedri's lips to yours, arms around his neck as you kissed with a hunger borderline inappropriate for the public.

You weren't usually this person. It was usually a couple dates before you would allow for a goodnight kiss, let alone the almost make-out you were currently engaged in. You pulled away from Pedri, the heavy breathing a commonality between the two of you. Maybe it was the being in Spain. Maybe it was that he was hot and young and famous. Maybe it was that of all the girls throwing themselves at him, including your coworkers, he picked you after an hour of conversation. Something told you to take a chance on what could be your love at first sight moment. So when Pedri leaned close and asked,

"Do you want to go back to your place?"

There was no answer but yes.

The following morning was filled with bliss. Pedri had woken up just as the first rays of sunlight were painting the stone. He kissed you on the cheek, whispering something akin to "see you around" before he left to training. You floated through your morning, making a coffee in a daze and dressing with a permanent smile. Bryce was still fast asleep, so you left her about 30 minutes worth of voice messages before you had the guts to step out and hail your own cab to work.

You walked into the office still riding the high from the night before. Your skin was ablaze, and every time you thought of the "activities", heat spread through you rapidly. Luckily the November chill kept you from sweating through your bones. Your bliss lasted for most of the morning, as you worked with Maria and a couple of people you had never met to create a mood board for an upcoming photoshoot. As you flipped through paint swatches, a piercing scream split the air, causing you to drop to the ground and cover your head.

"Why are you on the floor, Naranja?"

One of the boys looked at you with raised eyebrows, and a part of your brain registered that your new work nickname had trickled into other departments.

"Oh, sorry. I went to high school in America. Screams like that meant someone was getting jumped. Or shot."

Another scream rippled through the hallway as Maria helped you up.

"That was Silvia. Given recent history, your prediction about her being attacked might be correct."

The both of you scurried down the hall, the clicks of the other department workers followed behind you, eager for the newest and juiciest chisme. The sight before you made you stop dead in your tracks. Roberto was holding Tania by the waist, apparently the only thing that was keeping her away from Silvia, who was on the other side of the room crying and grabbing her head. There was a trail of silver thread between the two hysterical women. No, not thread - hair.

"She cut my hair! She came up behind me and cut my hair!"

"She's a traitor and, more importantly, a whore! I should've slit her throat."

Katerina had finished ushering everyone who didn't work there out of the room, and now she was standing in the middle of the room ready to mediate.

"You two have 5 minutes to explain what the hell happened and why I shouldn't fire you."

Tania had calmed, no longer straining against an iron grip and gaze filled with slightly less murderous intent. She released the clump of hair that she had in her hand onto the floor, revealing the absolute carnage that had taken place. Safe to say Silvia was going to be rocking a pixie cut for the next few weeks. Both of the girls remained silent. The prisoner's dilemma in real time. Katerina clicked her tongue after the moment of silence and simply said, "Roberto."

You could swear you saw a smile on his face briefly before he cleared his throat and began.

"Tania gave the new girl a note with her phone number in it to send to Pedri. Pedri texts the phone number, but instead of addressing it correctly, he says-"

"HEY SILVIA. THIS MORNING HE TEXTS MY NUMBER WITH HER NAME." Tania's outburst had everyone stand up, fearing that she was going to lunge. She remained in place, but no one sat back down.

"So you decided to attack her because he can't tell you two apart?"

"She must have done something to my note. She-"

"No." Katerina interrupted. "I have hear enough. Both of you are no longer working on any project Pedro Gonzalez is involved in."

Protests came from both of the girls, suddenly sullen and docile. They began to plead to be punished with anything else, but not exile from their favorite footballer. As they whimpered to your boss, who reminded them they were lucky to still be employed, it dawned on you. This morning. He texted who he thought was Silvia this morning. In response to a flirty message. After he left your bed. Maybe before he had even left the apartment.

There it was again. The nausea. The urge to projectile vomit. All because of Pedro Gonzalez. Fuck a nickname. He was a rich fuckboy that had played you like a fiddle. You held the tears back as you went back to fabric swatches, taking a moment to block him on Instagram.

"So, how does it feel to be Pedri's personal stylist now?" Katerina startled you, and the shock caused a delay in processing what she had just said.

"His what?"

"Well, now that those two are not allowed to be within 50 meters of him, it's only you and Maria working the Adidas contract. Especially now that Roberto is part of the Olympics team. So you get Pedri, and she gets Bellingham. Perfect, no?"

You nodded, swallowing hard to push the bile back down. This very unfortunate one night stand maybe have been the worst idea you have ever had. You walked through the rest of the day with disgust and rage flowing through you. You decided to brave the cold of the November afternoon and walk home, stopping by a bakery to get something with chocolate to keep the tidal wave of intense depression at bay.

How could this be happening? You weren't this girl. You weren't someone who let yourself be gullible and played. Hell, you had gone the last four years with all of Texas and parts of Mexico vying for your affection. But this little Spanish boy took advantage of the connection you felt, and he had barely left your bed before starting to text your coworker. Your phone buzzed with several messages in rapid succession.

[Pedro Gonzalez]: My agent just told me you were my own personal stylist

[Pedro Gonzalez]: that's good to hear.

[Pedro Gonzalez]: At least I'll have a friend at all these long and boring photoshoots

No mention of the night before. No "I had a good time". No question about your wellbeing. Nothing except his own self interest. How the situation would be good for him. Again. You felt awful as you pushed a teenage boy out of the way, barely making it into the bathroom before throwing your guts up. What the hell. How did you manage to fuck up so poorly so quickly? It was day damn one. And now you were throwing up in a bakery bathroom in Spain because of a man that's 5'9". You sat at a table, cake and coffee cooling in front of you. You didn't trust your legs or your stomach just yet, so you decided to type out a response instead.

Pedri was in overall low spirits. His injury had had another flare up, causing him to limp to the locker room. The email from his agent brightened his day, as he saw your name in the email. He shot a quick text your way, excited at the prospect of seeing you again, only to sour at the response.

[Naranja]: dont speak to me pedro

[Naranja]: we are not friends

[Naranja]: and we never will be

[You can no longer send messages to this user]

~~~

A/N: Here it is! The first part of the new series! Just some preemptive answers: I don't know what my posting schedule will look like and idk how many parts it's going to be. I hope you enjoy this first part. It might be a little rushed because I just wanted to set up the main story. Please let me know your thoughts in comments and asks! I'll try to reply to as many as I can. I love you all <3

Palestine: I will try to donate $1 for every comment that has a watermelon or an olive in it. I will keep y'all updated with how it goes.

Here are some more links to please please please look at while you're here.

Care for Gaza: an org that has been getting help and aid to people on the ground -> https://www.gofundme.com/f/careforgaza

Daily click that donates money to help Palestinians -> https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/

#gavisuntiedboot #gub we cant be friends #pedri #pedri x reader #pedri gonzalez imagine #pedri imagine #pedri blurb #pedri gonzalez #pedri x y/n #pedri x you #pedri gonzalez one shot #pedri fanfic #footballer #football rpf #football fanfic

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ninyard · 3 days

Note

Heyy! You said someone should ask you about Kevin under this post about Kevin's struggles from the nest of which we don't know enough... So I'm asking you about Kevin! Please tell us your Kevin thoughts! You always make very good points and I like reading your thoughts!!

cody my friend I am so glad you asked but you might regret it. i hope you're prepared from an unorganised huge convoluted MESS of a ramble

i've been thinking for a few days about this one like... what would a kevin POV look like? what is he hiding? how does he cope? WHO IS HE?

the kevin we ""know"" is a "coward", an insufferable bitch, an asshole and a hardass. other people's opinions and view of him makes up the entirety of our impression of who he is. but that's not who he is. that's just who we're supposed to believe he is.

kevin, born and bred to have this... borderline psychopathic lack of empathy, who can look his teammates in the eye after being told seth is dead or andrew is being committed and say, "what about the game?"

but when the raven's are switching districts; his sense of danger and fear is paralysing. he's three steps ahead trying to figure out how to please riko, how to keep himself safe, willing to put himself back into the centre of his abuse just to stop riko from finding him and killing him. he has to get blackout drunk to deal with any amount of riko. he's frozen with fear by being in the same room as him.

kevin knows where jean's mind and body goes to when hes panicking, knowing his worst place is right back in the nest being drowned by riko. kevin telling neil "do you know what he'll do to you?" and "he'll break you" when neil asks for his ticket. kevin's text to him before he goes into the nest, and staring at neil like he'd seen a ghost when neil returns after the nest (when he looks like the butcher). his comforting "i know what he's like" or "i know how he sees you, i know it means he did not hold back,".

kevin nervous breakdown panic attack day vs kevin smile for the cameras one track exy mind day

im so intrigued by him. how does he cope? his mother is dead, probably killed by the mafia family he was raised by. he grew up into a cult, he was only a child watching neil's father cut a man into pieces in front of him. how many other's had he seen?

how many other injuries cover his body, in places where the cameras can't see? how many rapes and assaults was he forced to watch in the nest? how many beatings was he forced to participate in? what did he have to say to jean in french that he didn't want riko to hear?

he needs someone with him all the time because of the nest. he's a "health freak" because of the nest. his sleep schedule, his anger, his anxiety.

did he say "what about the season?" re: andrew after drake because he doesn't care, or did he think "i've seen this happen too many times. and they've always kept playing,"? did he think "andrew is the strongest person i know. andrew is stronger than me. he would never let this destroy him," knowing that it has?

nobody has protected him in his life apart from the cameras and andrew.

he's scared. he doesn't know what love is supposed to look like.

he's only been a human for a year.

his scars are healing for the first time in his life and they're not being replaced by new ones, but every day he's afraid that that's going to get ripped out from underneath him. his entire life already got flipped upside down when he left the nest. of course exy is the only thing he "cares" about.

because it's the only thing that's been certain in his life, and even for those few weeks or months where he thought he would never play again, he trained and trained, and learned how to use his non-dominant hand because he can't lose this. he can't lose exy like he's lost everything else.

kevin has never had anything stable in his life except for violence and exy. now he has people he's supposed to care about, and he has to change his priorities. he has to learn how live a life that isn't fueled by self-preservation for the first time ever.

jean was only in the nest for five years; and look at him. look at what the nest has done to his social skills, his view of himself, his self esteem. look at what it's done to him, how he expects violence and contrition, coach and always waiting and waiting and waiting for the punishment to come.

kevin might not have had the same level of physical abuse that jean had, but he was there far longer. the ravens existed before him; their mindset and their abuse and their violence and their poison.

he's been drinking the raven poison since his childhood. the only difference between him and jean other than those things above is that kevin had more pressure to hide it, because he was half of the face of the ravens, half of the face of Exy; media trained or PR trained or a master at being a fraud and faking the way he speaks when he's being recorded.

kevin knows how to hide his abuse because he has always had to, and he's had quite a lot of practice at it.

kevin has only been a human for a year. kevin has only been kevin for a year.

so who is he? does he even know?

or is he just Kevin Day, Raven Fox starting striker, number two, six foot two, left handed right handed left handed, heavy racquet, stick size five? is that all he will ever see himself as?

anyways. or something like that. maybe he is just an insufferable bitch for no reason at all. who knows!

#just thinking about him okay....#something something baby girl #oh god im so sorry once again that this got so long LMAO #kevin day #aftg #tfc

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tonyboneysblog · 2 days

Text

MOTHER HEN: PART FOUR

parings: hawks x mother!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: none!

notes: “die Ryuji” we all say in unison while holding hands. (Thought it would be appropriate to post this on Mother’s Day…)

summary: You, the mother of Fumikage Tokoyami, are just a simple nurse! Who caught the eye of a certain pro.

It had only been a few days since the villains attacked U.A. high, your son Fumikage said he had something important to tell you.

“Don’t get mad, okay?” Tokoyami says while twirling his fingers together.

“Just tell me Fumikage” you reply with annoyance. you hated it when Fumikage dragged things out, felt like he was about to tell you a family member died but really all he did was accidentally break a plate.

you don’t know why he became like that, he used to just clean it up and go on with his day.

“U.A. is going to have their sports festival, and I was wondering-“

“Already? Didn’t they just get attacked by villains.” You say with a disapproving tone, seriously what was U.A. doing…

“They wanted to prove that this attacked hasn’t affected us.”

“I doubt that’s going to go well.”

showing the villains all of the students skills sets is such an amazing idea U.A.! You thought with sarcasm dripping from it, you didn’t want to say that infront of Fumikage- he likes that school too much.

Fumikage hesitates slightly, “Do you think you be able to see it?”

You sigh. “I’ll have to see my schedule.”

Fumikage looks down in disappointment but tries his best not to show it.

“But hey, I’ll try my absolute best to see my amazing boy win.” You tap his chin, making his eyes face you.

“Promise?” He says quietly.

“Pinkie.” You raise your pinkie finger, Fumikage chuckles and shakes his head.

“You can’t break a pinkie promise, mama.” He interlocks his pinkie with yours.

You smile at him, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Fumi.”

You were glad that Fumikage asked you to watch him at the sports festival, all your friends joke about how he’s just some emo teen who’ll scream at you about how “it’s not a phase!”

you didn’t really care if it wasn’t a phase anyway. You’ll love Fumikage in whatever form he’s in.

Speaking of your friends, they have recently asked you to go clubbing with them on the weekend saying, “you need a break, sweet cheeks.”

You accepted gratefully and as the clubbing day came close Fumikage always came home and told you all about his classmates.

He spoke a lot of one named shoji, you hope with all your heart they become good friends.

When Fumikage was younger his only friend was dark shadow.

you never want to hear him say, “what’s wrong with me, mom?” Just because kids

used to be scared of him and his quirk.

Now it was time to do one of your favorite things ever, but groceries.

You caught Fumikage trying to sneak out of the house and do it himself but you tackled him back into his bed until he gave up.

Grocery shopping was always so calming for you, Fumikage used to come all the time until some old women asked if he was even yours.

sure he had a bird head just like his father but- still super rude!

Putting your groceries into the cart then checking them off your list, you finally made it to your last one.

Chocolate chip Cookie mix.

Fumikage recently said that the cooking hero made one of the best cookies he’s ever eaten and you will never accept that.

Mamas cookies will be better! well when

you can actually grab the box.

The box mix was on one of the highest shelves in the store, you jump once to grab it- you miss.

you jump again, and miss.

Thirds times a charm right? You jump once more and instead of grabbing it you just push it back more.

well you suppose it’s time to start climbing shelves.

But then a calloused hand came to save you, you immediately think it’s hawks- he’s always somewhere near you.

A deeper voice say your name, “Y/n..?”

Not hawks.

You don’t turn around, your too scared to

suddenly your thankful to that old women who accidentally made Fumikage stop coming with you, you wouldn’t want him here-not now.

You turn around.

Hawks off days were usually spent inside relaxing or trying his very best to actually relax.

lazily getting one of bed, the one with your weighted blanket, he makes his way to the Kitchen.

Grabbing the cereal box, he tries his best to pour it into the bowl but nothing goes in.

Well looks like he needs to go the grocery store.

Getting dressed in a simple outfit he makes his way outside then flies off to the store!

hawks always liked his little adventures, he hoped he’d see you on this one but he highly doubts it.

But hey, speak of the devil because you’re right there in the aisle when he walks into the store!

Seems like you’re talking to a man, nice looking, about 6’ foot with dark brown hair.

Hawks has never heard you talk about your friends, mostly about your son- what was his name again?

You look…scared? Which is weird because at first hawks just thought this was an old friend you were talking to but..

why would you look scared?

Hawks sends over a small baby feather to let you know he’s there, you shouldn’t be scared.

he’ll keep you safe.

His feather tickles your back softly, you jump at first but keep your attention towards the man infront of you.

“So, how’s Fumikage?” His deep voice says.

“Fine.” You say quickly.

He sighs, “look y/n, I know we left off on a bad note but I’m better now.”

He says all of these words so soft and kind, but you remember when that same exact voice pinned your son against a wall and screamed at him.

why would Ryuji even care about how Fumikage is doing.

“Y/n?”

You snap out of that thought, “what.”

“It’s nice to see you again, you look good.”

Ryuji and that sliver tongue of his, always trying to butter you up.

“Thank you, Ryuji, but I have to leave.. Fumi-“

“Could I talk to you a little bit at least.” He raises his voice.

He’s blocking you in, what are you supposed to do?

“Please Ryuji-“

“Everything okay here, sweetheart?” A cheerful voice calls next to you.

It’s hawks, he has a lazy smile on his face you can’t really tell if he’s angry or not also- sweetheart?

“And who are you?” Ryuji asks hawks, who doesn’t know hawks though…

“Well I’m her-…” hawks paisss for a moment, “boyfriend!”

Ryuji chuckles softly, “sure you are..”

You sigh at hawks terrible attempt of pretend.

“Ryuji, that is hawks- he’s...” you look at hawks for a split second, “my boyfriend.”

You can see ss hawks wings flutter for a moment, not a good time for him to be acting all embarrassed.

Ryuji stammers, “Oh, I-..I just wanted to say to you y/n that I’m real-“

you cut him off, “why are you out so early?”

“Hell y/n, you know they don’t really double down on all the ‘domestic abuse’ bullshit.” Ryuji says curtly.

You can see hawks face twist in realization on who this man actually is, you’ve only told him about Ryuji once or twice before.

Ryuji continues, “where’s Fumikage anyway, don’t he always come out with you?”

“He stopped coming out a little while back.”

“Terrible thing really, he’s a good kid.” Ryuji says softly, almost like he’s talking to himself.

“Didn’t think he was a good kid when you were with me.” You say with distain dripping from your mouth.

You don’t really understand why your being like this with Ryuji, maybe hawks is giving you some boost of confidence.

“Don’t get mouthy with me.” Ryuji snaps back.

“Don’t you speak to her like that.” Hawks finally gets himself involved in the small spat.

Ryuji pauses, “Say that again, I dare you.”

You can see Ryujis fists tightening slowly, that’s never a good sigh with him.

“I will make your life miserable bird boy, even when you’re sleeping.”

Hawks steps closer to him, “You wanna go?”

You know Ryuji, he never makes an empty threat.

You grab hawks shoulder, “W-we’re sorry Ryuji.” You stare at the ground, not daring to face him.

“You need to keep his damn squawking to a minimum, y/n.” Ryuji says bitterly.

Hawks looks at you with confusion, you were just talking back to him weren’t you? Where did the confident side of you suddenly disappear to?

You step closer to Ryuji, whispering.

Hawks doesn’t pick up on it, ryuji seems like he’s staring straight through his soul.

You retreat next to hawks, Ryuji scoffs and starts to walk away towards the next aisle.

You let out the breath you were holding, finally relaxing.

“What’d you say to him?” Hawks cocks his head curiously.

“Nothing important.”

“Everything you say is Important to me.” Hawks says softly.

You pause, you won’t tell hawks about Ryujis quirk. You hope that he decides not to use it on him, even after you mouthed off to him.

Ryuji always used his quirk after you fought about something, you would go to bed and he would haunt you in your sleep.

You’d beg for his forgiveness every time, you never stood your ground.

Him hurting Fumikage made you change though.

“I just told him to stay away from Fumikage

That was a lie, hawks accepted it anyways.

Hawks shifts into his more happy go lucky mood, “Are you almost done with shopping?”

“Yea actually, I just needed that cookie mix up there.” You point towards the highest shelf.

Hawks chuckles softly and sends a feather up to get it, “make sure to give me some after you’re done baking.”

“Do you wanna make it with me?” You offer.

Hawks feels his heart skip a beat, you? Asking him to be in your kitchen? Baking sweet treats?

It wasn’t even a question.

“What kind of person would I be if I declined someone in need?” He smiles brightly.

You and hawks proceed to the check out, you’re quite lucky you encountered him at the store because there were almost far too many bags for you to carry.

you walked to the store as well so you couldn’t even put them all into your trunk, thanks for saving the day once again hawks!

He carries way more bags than you do, you’re a little worried he may blow out his back from all the weight but he seems fine.

You notice Ryuji as the two of you walk away, instead of staring at you he stares dead at Hawks.

You try your best to ignore it and continue walking towards your house.

After a couple minutes of walking, Hawks speaks up.

“Your house is just around the corner right?”

“Yep, it’s the white house.”

He snickers, “can’t believe I’ll be meeting the president.”

“Trust me when I say Fumikage is not the president.” You say sternly.

“Could I be your body guard, I heard you were hiring- Mrs President~” he says teasingly.

“You’re more like my stalker and less than some bodyguard.”

Hawks face twists into pure horror, sure he always bumps into you but that doesn’t mean he’s a stalker!

though he wouldn’t mind being your stalker in another universe…

You break through this thoughts with your small fit of giggles, laughing about his ‘silly face’ as you put it.

He was just glad you were looking at him.

Finally the both of you made it to your home, Fumikage left a note by the fridge that said he went to some training thing.

He always worried you, you much rather he called than leaving you some cryptic note- but then again you do the same thing.

Hawks picks up the note, reading it over.

“Hard worker ain’t he?” He chuckles quietly.

You smile, “Yea, just like his father.”

Hawks stiffens slightly, “His father?”

“Mhm, we met at the same hero school actually, he was the top of his class.”

Hawks raises his eyebrows in surprise, “You were training to become a hero?”

“Yea, then I found out I was pregnant with Fumikage so…kinda gave up on that pipe dream. That’s why I became a nurse instead, I still wanted to help people y’know?” You say with a soft smile.

Hawks nods with understanding hum.

He’s quiet for a moment, “And then you met Ryuji?”

“I met him when Fumikage was eleven, Ryuji promised me the world when reality he just gave me a rock.” You laugh at your own bad joke.

You hand hawks a bowl filled with the cookie mix and the milk, even though they’re not completely home made it’s a lot easier and less time consuming.

You speak up, “So, how about your love life?”

Hawks can feel himself choke on his own spit, you? Asking about his love life? His day just keeps getting better.

“Actually I’ve never really dated anyone, always too busy.” He sighs.

You gasp a small, “really?!”

He chuckles at your bewilderment.

“I mean I just thought some with your looks would have one by now!”

Hawks ears go red, even after all that training to control his poker face he still can’t resist blushing at a genuine compliment.

He can hear you chuckle, grabbing his ears and tugging slightly.

You giggle, he loves the sound, “Sorry for making you all bashful.”

One of his wings smacks your arm, you chuckle and shake your head then you bring a pan next to Hawks.

“Your done mixing right?”

He nods and you bump him out of the way, taking the bowl and starting to roll the mixture between your hands.

Hawks admires your handy work with content, he likes hanging around with you.

You spot him staring from the corner of your eye, “Need something, birdie?”

His wings flutter softly, “nothing in particular.”

You finish your work and place the cookies into the oven, Turing around face a relaxed Hawks.

Hawks watched you as you lean against the oven, staring back at him.

Hawks speaks quietly,

“Question.”

“Answer.”

“Is Fumikages father in a mental institution?”

Now it was your turn to choke on your own spit, “what?”

“I mean he must be insane for leaving someone like you…”

You laugh, “well aren’t you the charmer?”

“Only for you.”

You pause, is hawks pinning for you or something?

He steps closer towards you, looking away slightly.

You lean more into the oven, “hawks?”

He steps closer, caging you in, “y/n.”

You can feel his breath come in contact with your face, smells minty.

“I-“

The door suddenly opens, “mother, I’m home!”

It’s Fumikage!

…it’s Fumikage, who will soon walk into you and some man on the brink of canoodling.

You push Hawks off quickly, speedily walking over to where Fumikage is supposed to be.

“Fumi! Did you have fun training?” You open your arms for a hug.

Fumikage accepts it and hums.

You kiss the top of his head then ruffle his feathers, “you smell terrible.”

“Mother…”

“Go take a shower, cookies are in the oven.” You say with a smile.

Fumikage nods and starts to walk over to the bathroom, the one that passes the kitchen.

Until a terrifying scream comes from the kitchen, quite high pitched…

“Fumi?!” You call worriedly.

“M-MOTHER THERE IS A MAN IN OUR HOME.” You peek out into the hallway only to see dark shadow out, mostly about to beat the tar out of poor hawks.

You walk over to Fumikage quickly, “hey, hey! He’s just a guest!”

Fumikage retreats towards you, getting a good look at hawks.

He’s quiet, “you…”

Hawks starches the back of his head, “yea it’s me, the number three-“

“You’re the crazy stalker who was on my mother’s balcony!”

Hawks face twists into confusion, “wait what-“

Fumikage whips his head towards you, “Mother you need to call the police immediately!”

You sigh, “Fumi…”

This was the second time hawks had been called a stalker today….

Suddenly a devious plan spawns into your head.

“Fumi, there’s no one there.”

“What?”

You suddenly wave a hand towards hawks in a ‘get out of here’ motion.

“Fumi, look at me.” You grab his face, forcing him to look at you instead of hawks.

“Mama, are you okay…? Clearly there’s a man in our kitchen-“

Hawks suddenly jumps through the window in your kitchen, you didn’t really expect him to do that but okay…

“See Fumi, no one’s there!” You point into the kitchen as Fumikage whips his head to face the kitchen.

“W-what, he- he was just there!” Fumikage whips his head around wildly.

“How about you go cool off in the shower?” You suggest softly.

Fumikage looks down at his hands baffled, “I-i…okay.”

He walks towards the bathroom, closing the door.

You’re surprised that actually worked…

You walk into the kitchen, taking out the cookies that were just saved from being burnt.

Until a small little paper caught your eye, you pick it up and read it, it says a series of numbers.

“text me?” With a cute smiley face next to it.

now you have obtained hawks personal number.

What an eventful day?

Soon Fumikage returns from the bathroom, dressed in one of your old metal shirts from your high school days.

“Cute shirt.” You say sarcastically.

“Looks better on me.” He says sassily.

You wrap your arm around his neck and frazzle all of his feathers.

Fumikage claims that he hates it when you do that but he never resists it.

Fumikage tossed himself down onto the couch with a loud sigh, “y’know I didn’t fall for your whole kitchen trick.”

“Yea I know, smartie pants.” You toss one of the cookies you made towards Fumikage.

He catches it, “why’re you being so friendly with a pro hero..?”

“We keep meeting, next time you see him apologize for that stalker comment also.”

Fumikage takes a bite from the cookie, “can’t take it back if it’s true.”

“Fumikage.”

He sighs, “alright, I will.”

You pick up Fumikages feet and place them into your lap, Turing on one of those cult classic movies that he loves so much.

“Noticed you got Groceries.” Fumikage says Groggily, tired from training most likely.

“Yea, y’know who I saw there?”

Fumikage perks up, “that crazy old lady?”

“Nope, Ryuji.”

Fumikage stiffens slightly, “did he talk to you?”

“Small bit, no harm done.”

Fumikage relaxes slightly, “I should’ve gone with you.”

“It’s no sweat Fumi, your mama can protect herself you know?”

Fumikage sighs and nods, you notice his eyes flutter softly trying his best not to fall asleep.

He does anyway, you’re glad that Fumikage is getting the rest he needs because you want him to always be his best self.

And if Fumikage can never become his best self then you wouldn’t mind, you’d still love him anyways.

You stand and carry Fumikage to his room, placing him into the bed and tucking him in like he was 6 again.

You kiss him temple, and hope he dreams the best of dreams.

Someone who wasn’t doing that at the moment was Hawks.

He barely dreamed so when he went off to slumber land he didn’t expect something so terrifying to meet him there.

Blood and grim, screams of the people he never saved, it always haunted him in some way but never to this extent.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, your weighted blanket only giving him some comfort.

He was never like this before, they were never this intense.

He didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

What horrified him most is that you were in it, you were scared.

Why is he dreaming like this..?

TAG LIST:

@lost-in-horrorland @boopjuice @validveenus @qardasngan @arminsarlerts @star-the-rabid-dog @bunni-teeth81 @lightsgore @portgasdbruh

#anime #fanfics #hawks x reader #takami keigo #bnha hawks #keigo x you #mha takami keigo #mha #spotify #hawks x y/n #fumikage tokoyami #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #mha hawks #keigo takami #bnha keigo

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cynthiav06 · 2 days

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Listen, I read your post about Percy's strategic genius and I thought something.

Percy, Sally, and the entire Jackson family are descendants of Odysseus.

Sally is also damn smart, just look at how she competently got rid of Gabe and remained in full advantage.

And that is why how Athena treats Percy in this way.

He is a descendant of her beloved mortal, so similar to him in his mind and the son of her sworn rival, who tormented this very mortal and prevented him from returning home.

You seriously have no idea how GENIUS that headcanon is like holy hell the sheer depth it adds to everything is insane.

1. Athena begrudgingly guiding Percy in Titan's Curse, getting extreme deja vu (God's probably get that a lot) from the situation and how conflicting she gets over the mortal that is Perseus Jackson for his uncanny resemblance to Odysseus when it comes to his wit and his personality minus strangely the hubris.

Despite her disdain for him out of some strange loyalty, she tells him of his fatal flaw and how it would endanger him.

She let's her loathing for Poseidon get the best of her in Titan's Curse and votes to kill Percy and Thalia but Percy like Odysseus has both the wit and achievements she can't overlook despite her desperate intentions to and hence in the Last Olympian she acknowledges in her own subtle way that Percy is the greatest demigod of this age. That he's saved both the world and his friends.

2. Annabeth proud and confident as ever would be flabbergasted that Percy who she despite her supposed love for him undermines him almost always when it comes to his intelligence finds out that her mother has acknowledged Percy for his strategic mind and that he is the descendant of her mother's most favored mortal ever. (Maybe just maybe it will tone her hubris down a notch and then some, and if we are really lucky, a reality check)

3. Percy would laugh, probably shrug at the revelation. After all, stuff like that makes no difference to him.

4. But I can imagine if Sally knew beforehand about it, then how much hell must she have given Poseidon over it and probably still finds it to be a hilarious coincidence .

5. To Poseidon himself, it must have struck as an agonizing coincidence, but for the better, because for all of Poseidon's flaws, he loves his own intensely. His godly children, his monstrous children, his demigod children, and Percy, he loves most out of them all by his own words and he loves him so in some strange manner for the same humanity he scorned Odysseus for having.

Sally must have made him see the error of his ways, and even Poseidon for his quick temper would be loathe to not change his opinions on mercy then. (If the Queen among mortals tells you, you listen)

All in all, everything that happened in the Odyssey with Poseidon Odysseus and Athena would have come to a good closure with this.

That a millenia later by strange set of circumstances Athena and Poseidon begrudgingly acknowledged the folly in their perspectives from the times of Odyssey all because Poseidon met Sally Jackson and sired a demigod child who by a twist only the fates could make up turned out to be the descendant of Odysseus himself. (I reckon the fates must be cackling in glee at the whole thing)

PS: Hermes is having a blast with this news of Percy's ancestry.

No, but seriously, you have given me more pjo brainrot. (Now I hope this keeps you awake like it does me)

And on that note, Percy would totally canonly be the biggest fan of Epic the Musical, lol.

I have a feeling I am not going to stop talking about this now.

#the odyssey #pjo headcanon #odysseus and percy #percy and poseidon #sally and percy #athena #odysseus and athena #epic the musical #smart percy jackson #annabeth chase #posally #percy jackson and the olympians #one of the best pjo headcanons ever #pjo headers #sally jackson #sally and poseidon

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joesalw · 3 days

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Swiftie here. (Please don't be mean!) I'm a big Swiftie, I have all her cd's, own a lot of merch, and even went to the Eras tour. I know the lyrics to like 93% of her songs, and have previously defended her like it was my professional job. But this latest album…dare I say it just shouldn't have been made at ALL? I loved Joe and Taylor together, and felt like she was her best (and most tolerable) when with him.

Joe was handsome, intelligent, and kind. His biggest character "flaw" seemed to have been that he was depressed. And she risks a six year relationship on MATTY HEALY?! Instead of trying to save her stagnant relationship, she has an emotional affair and touches herself to the thought of another man.

She not only did these things, but then wrote THIRTY ONE songs about them! She will never do any wrong in the eyes of 99% of Swifties, but being in the Swiftie fandom and listening to the big circle jerk of this being "HeR bEsT aLbUm YeT", and I've had enough. The way she writes about her emotional affair with a terrible man while the (supposed) love of her life is suffering from depression is just cruel. We didn't need a song like "Guilty As Sin?". I didn't need the visuals that came with it.

I wish I could make this an actual post but let's be real, the Swiftie fandom would dox me in seconds. Sorry to unload all of this on you. I know you tag things "Swifties DNI", but I just needed to say this.

I'm all for swiftie rants/ ex swiftie rants in this blog lmao. feel free to say everything that you can't say in front of them.

#anti taylor swift #ex swiftie rants #swiftie rants

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tmae3114 · 2 days

Text

So there's this theory I've had bouncing around in my head for *checks notes* about three years now and, well, it does not have nearly the level of evidence I tend to prefer before I make a theory post - it is, in fact, Predominantly Vibes Based - but it has, again, been bouncing around in my head for three years and I refuse to be alone with it any longer

(...also, if I'm right, I wanna be able to go "I KNEW IT" and have a timestamp to point to XD)

OKAY. So. Basically.

I think Alinua might be a twice-born.

Hear me out:

Firstly:

We know that Cloud Elves live pretty much exclusively on the Archipelago Nimbus and are isolationist (Extra Lore: The Three Elder Races - "The Islands have minimal contact or trade with the outside world, [...]" & "These Cloud Elves are unique in many ways, most notably their isolationism [...]" and Page 1.6.12 "I suppose a cloud elf outside of the Archipelago Nimbus is fairly unusual-") but Alinua has been down on the surface since before she can remember

That suggests unusual circumstances. Isolationist people who have minimal contact with the outside world don't just lose a baby in said outside world

Alinua's theory for this is that her birth parents "probably reasonably assumed [she] had the Chimeric Plague and dropped [her] over the edge" (Page 1.6.13) but, crucially, there is no actual evidence of this. It's what she assumes probably happened but she has no memory of the actual events (Page 1.6.23 "I don't even remember it. I've never met my birth parents […]")

Therefore, it is entirely possible that Alinua is wrong about how she ended up not on the Archipelago Nimbus. And I, personally, think it's pretty likely that she's wrong because we know that the Archipelago Nimbus can sometimes be even higher up than the peak of the Throne of the World (this post) and even with it usually being lower down than that, I find it... somewhat doubtful that an infant (toddler, at best) would survive that fall. Not impossible in a fantasy setting but... doubtful.

Secondly:

We know that the Chimeric Plague was Life attempting to connect with a vessel who could be her eyes and give her perspective (Pages 1.20.20 - 1.20.23)

Even before Life finally broke through, Alinua was incredibly unusual for a carrier of the Chimeric Plague. She didn't even find out she was one until she was about ten (Page 1.6.13 "I had a normal life and family for ten years- and then I learned I was a chimera bomb [...]") when most die before they turn five (Page 1.2.10 "I shouldn't have made it past five years old" and Extra Lore: The Chimeric Plague "[...] it is inevitable in every case that the child will lose total control of their magic within the first few years of their life [...]"). She was twice the expected age of a carrier when she found out.

We don't know why Alinua is the successful attempt that finally worked. Not only do we not know, Alinua herself brings it up while talking to Life (Page 1.20.23 "I… don't know if there's anything special about me that kept you from overwhelming me like the others, or if I'm just the lucky one you finally got right."). The question is open: is there something special/unique about Alinua that allowed her to survive where none of the other children did? And if so, what is it?

Thirdly:

So. Carrion crawlers.

We have not actually met any in the story itself yet, only heard Caliban bring them up in the context of an insult (Page 1.12.10 "Twice-born son of a carrion crawler! You had a plan this whole time?!") but fortunately! the Aurora tumblr exists! so we have additional information!

Carrion crawlers eat dead things and sometimes give birth to baby clones of one of their recent meals, which are called twice-born. A twice-born is a healthy infant, identical in every way to how the original would've been as an infant, and age normally for the species they were produced from. Additionally, they have no memories from their source material (so to speak) and develop their own, unique soul, though if they came from a mage, their soul will develop the same channels (this post and this post)

...now, I mentioned at the start that this theory does not have as much evidence as I would like and is mostly Vibes Based, and we have now hit the point where I run out of evidence and switch to vibes. I do not have any evidence which actually points to a connection between any of this.

However, I do still Have Thoughts

We know that Alinua was adopted had a happy (or, at least, "normal") childhood prior to figuring out she was a chimeric carrier (1.6.13, see above) and seemingly doesn't think about her birth family very often. It's entirely possible that she didn't ask questions about where she came from as a child. It's not been brought up yet how her adoptive family found her but, given that she assumes she was thrown off the edge of the Archipelago Nimbus, the possibility that they found a seemingly-abandoned baby just lying around doesn't seem too out there. And if Alinua is a twice-born, yet clearly doesn't know that herself, her family may also not have known that... or may have known and opted to keep it hidden, even from her, given that twice-born are generally considered "deeply unnerving and grotesque" (this post).

As for how Alinua came to be in this theorised scenario, there's two possibilities I've considered.

The first is that an adult life mage cloud elf was outside the Archipelago Nimbus for Some Reason, died somewhere where there are carrion crawlers, and things went from there.

The second, much sadder, possibility is that the "Chimeric Plague carrier baby thrown off the edge of the flying islands" possibility did happen... the baby in question just wasn't Alinua because the fall was, in fact, not a survivable one. And then, just as a twice-born will inherit being-a-mage, Alinua inherited having the Chimeric Plague.

And, in either of these cases, something about being twice-born subsequently protected Alinua from being overwhelmed by Life.

#aurora #webcomic aurora #aurora webcomic #comic aurora #HOW have I been reading this comic for four years and still don't know the main tag #first theory post for this comic! woo!#next time I have a theory I will hopefully have Actual Evidence for my point and not just disparate lore I am conspiracy boarding with XP #tmae overanalyses #(haven't used THAT tag for a while. I need to write up more proper theory posts again it's been mostly off-the-cuff meta lately)#tmae overanalyses aurora #NEW TAG!#anyways if we ever get any evidence that points towards this theory being onto something. I WILL lose my mind #now if you will excuse me. it is past midnight and I have a bed calling me

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formosusiniquis · 11 hours

Text

have your cake

So way back in August 2023 the steddiemicrofic challenge was Cake and 311 words, my head empty brain came up with one thought and it was Steve Munson having a bakery called Mun's Buns and so many months later I finally got around to finishing my vision

Ships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Tommy Hagan/Carol Perkins; implied/past Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington/Carol Perkins WC: 6408 | T | tags: Future Fic, the lightest of post homoerotic friendship breakup angst, fluff, Tommy POV AO3

The bakery has a stupid name, is the first thing Tommy thinks when Carol tells him where he's supposed to meet her on his lunch break. He’s still thinking that, when he sees the place for the first time through his rain speckled windshield. It's a modest storefront, small for what Carol says is a booming business, tucked in next to a used bookstore and a music shop. There's a baby yellow awning hanging from the front just underneath a sign lettered in soft blue that reads Mun's Buns.

He's late, is the second thing he thinks after pulling up. Caught up in some stupid bullshit for his dad he hadn't managed to slip away until 12:30. Even then it had only been because Tommy had told him he was going to be late for their cake tasting. He'd rolled his eyes when his father and Greg, a guy that Tommy only considers a co-worker in the sense that they are technically on the same payroll since Greg in every other aspect is incompetent and an idiot, had winced. Shooing him away like a kid who'd just admitted that he's already twenty minutes past curfew. But catching sight of the way Carol has her arms crossed, tapping her foot fast enough to kickstart a motor, while her hair hangs limp in a way that it hadn’t this morning a third thought crosses his mind: maybe he should have been a little more worried.

Waiting isn’t going to make things any better. So he steps out of the car, let’s the misty damp cling to him in a way that makes his dress pants and button down feel like a poorly tailored second skin, and takes his licks like a man. "Late, thirty minutes late. Christ, it's the only thing I've asked from you Tommy." Her right hook stings just as badly as it did sophomore year when she punched him for asking out Erin Murphy instead of her.

Shit like that is probably why no one expected them to make it this long or this far.

When they went away to college; different schools, hours apart. His parents had been gleeful as they'd warned him that high school relationships didn't always last. That he should keep his options open, he didn't want to miss out on the love of his life just because of comfort. He didn't get offered the family ring when he decided to propose right after graduation. Carol has always been particular. Wanted the house to come back to before the wedding could happen, wanted a long honeymoon. That meant saving, a lot of it. Tommy knew and Carol did too, they'd overheard his mother and aunt gossiping in too loud voices after too much wine that they hoped the long engagement meant they were both trying to figure out a good way to break it off with one another.

Still, over the course of their now five year engagement no one's asked once if they wanted to trade for it.

Carol thought it was horrendous anyway. She’d had her ring picked out since ‘85, styled her class ring so it would look like the oval cut diamond she wanted. Had him slide it on her finger the second it came in.

Cause in the politest of terms, Carol could be a raging bitch. She was Tommy's favorite person in the entire world.

There’s going to be a bruise on his shoulder tomorrow, even if she’s guiltily smoothing a hand down his arm now. Thrust toward the door first in offering, Carol is sorry she hit him but she’s not apologetic. “I’m serious, Tom, if we lose this appointment and have to go with Sweet Treats for our cake I'll- I'll-"

Whatever threat she was preparing is drowned out and then cut off by the echoing TONG of the door chime. A light in the back shifts color for a second, out of place enough that he wonders if he even really saw it. Head tilting toward Carol, his question catches in his throat when he notices her pinched off appraising. Better not to add to the ammunition she might already be building.

And if Carol is looking he better do it too. She'll want to debrief when they're having dinner tonight, just like they did with the florist, the caterer, the three wedding planners they'd met with, and each of the venues that they'd visited. And it wasnt because she was demanding, fuck you Greg. It wasn't because she was being nitpick-y, alright it was a little bit because she was but he liked being particular with her. He liked being involved in his wedding.

So he looked around.

The way they utilized their space -- a building that big and there's barely enough room to stand, we want someone who knows how to work with limited space for the venues we're looking at -- was the reason their first wedding planner hadn't gotten hired. Small, but not cramped. There are a handful of tables scattered in the open space in front of the counter. It’s the kind of small town cozy that Hawkins had tried for and he doesn’t see very often anymore now that they’ve moved out to Indianapolis.

It’s lunchtime, still too early for people to be seeking out the rows of deserts in their neat glass counter and too late for the breakfast crowd. But one of the tables is occupied by a teenager with long, black braids scribbling in a notebook while a slice of ice cream cake melts on a plate by her elbow.

Everything was neat, organized, and compliant with health code regulations -- they hadn’t even made it in the door of the first caterer’s when she noticed a trail of ants and roaches marching into the open kitchen door.

Carol had always been quick when she was making up her mind about something. Like those Sherlock Holmes stories they’d had to read in school, in a couple of seconds she could spot everything she needed to make a decision. After a decade Tommy still couldn’t keep up; but he was always best at following someone else’s lead.

The smile she’s got frosted across her face is as sugary and fake as the roses on the cupcakes he can see behind the low topped counters as she approaches the only visible staff member. A girl, young in the way that nebulous way anyone younger than him was now, with thick squared glasses that magnified two distressingly blue eyes. The counters looked like they were designed to sit low enough that she could easily see over the top while in her wheelchair.

“Welcome to,” her customer service tone borders on bored. Two words into a clear script and she sighs, as if saying the name physically pains her, “Mun’s Buns. We’ve got a special series of summer flavors: Strawberry Lemonade, Lavender Mint, Chocolate Fudgsicle, and,” she sighs again, “for the grownups a boozy Blue Moon with orange zest.”

“How about a wedding cake.” He’s impressed. Carol made it through the speech without interrupting.

“Do you have an appointment?” the girl raises her voice, enough to make them both flinch back. Customer service isn’t a requirement for this part of the job necessarily, but Carol had bailed on two venues because the staff hadn’t been polite enough.

Her smile doesn’t crack though, “Yes.”

Even though he’s pretty sure this girl has to be basically blind with the inch thick frames, she levels Carol with a lethal stare. “Not you.”

From the open entryway behind her Tommy had been able to make out what sounded like the highlights of yesterday’s game. He assumed that space had to be the kitchen where these rows of deserts were made. He’s still surprised when a guy’s voice is shouting back, “I don't know, Max, do I? Why don't you check?”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Max shouts back, glowering at then in stand in for her mystery boss.

“With your finger, asshole. It's in braille. When I gave you this job you said you were actually gonna work.”

“Douchebag." Her eyes never leave them, while her hands rummage around in a space beneath the counter where the cash register sits. Max offers no explanation or apology for her shouting or for her boss. A large red appointment book gets slammed down on the nearest counter, making Carol jump but the neat two by twos of chocolate frosted cupcakes don't budge. He watches, a little fascinated by the way her finger scans the page before slowing. "Did you write this or did Dustin?"

Carol has always valued gossip over professionalism, he thinks that’s why she’s done so well as a hairdresser even though she was always awful at chemistry. It’s also why he’s held off from pointing out that they could solve this a lot faster if this guy would come out from the back. "Why?"

“Cause one of you can't spell and one of you is trying to invent braille shorthand. So I'm not really sure what to do with TomGan Wed.”

“It might be Thomas and Wedding.” Carol leans over the appointment book as she says it, using a tone of voice he has never once heard her use in the entire time he’s known her. He thinks it’s supposed to be helpful.

“Wedding sampler.” The girl calls toward the back, “It's getting late.”

“I’ve got it,” the voice from the back shouts back.There’s an effortless assurance Tommy can hear from where he’s standing. It hits him with a wave of nostalgia so strong he grabs Carol’s arm on instinct.

“Really,” she says, cutting her gaze over to him. He’s not sure what she sees. “If we could hurry this along, it's just we've only got an hour.”

“You're late.” The glare she gets shuts Carol down faster than he’s ever seen.

“Right.”

“Okay I've got it.” The voice from the back is now the voice in the doorway. Hidden for a second by a serving tray loaded with samples of rich looking cake, it’s the first time since arriving that Tommy has actually wanted to be here. Not just because he can make out strong shoulders and a body of a man that’s still very fit but clearly enjoys his work too; the hint of love handles above strong thighs. Only then that tray dips, and for the first time since 1985 Tommy finds himself looking at the shocked hazel eyes of Steve Harrington. “Oh.”

Carol reacts for him, taking in a breath sharp enough she might puncture a lung. They’ll both wind up suffocated on the floor of this stupid bakery with an awful name, because Tommy can’t manage to breathe at all looking at Steve. Still unfairly handsome, faintly pink at the shock of seeing them too he imagined.

His hair is long, is the first real thought his half fried brain manages to put together. Soft looking even where it’s damp at the temples where sweat has pooled. He has it pulled back with a couple of the same butterfly clips that Carol likes to use.

His second, somehow more hysterical thought: this wasn’t how Steve Harrington was supposed to be included in his wedding.

Tommy was six years old and knew he wanted to marry Steve. When he’d told his mom -- to ask for her ring, Steve thought it was romantic like princes and princesses that they had a special ring that they got married with -- she’d grabbed by his arm so hard it’d left finger shaped bruises. So he’d held that certainty quiet in his heart until he was ten, and suddenly it was okay to want to play with girls on the playground -- he thinks it’s because Steve got tired of there never being an even number when they tried to play kickball, he had a way of making everyone want to do the thing he was. Carol wasn’t afraid to tell Tommy C. that he was dumb or to tell Mark L. that he hadn’t actually made it to the base, Steve liked her fast. Too fast, and Tommy had to tell her that one day he was going to be able to keep Steve all to himself. But he knew that it wasn’t right to say that now, even if he wasn’t all the way sure why it wasn’t. He was ten, but he would be eleven soon, and he took this part of him that he’d kept secret for so long and he whispered it to Carol under the slide while Steve tried to convince Brad P. that he could too pick two people for his kickball team first.

He was ten and Carol said they could share. Boys can’t marry boys, but girls can. So they could both marry her and live together forever.

It became a joke when they finally shared it with Steve, thirteen and boys going out with girls wasn’t funny the way it used to be. Sarah Jane asked Carol if she had a chance at going steady with Steve. She told Tommy about it later and they both told Steve that he was too good to date any of the girls in their grade. “Well I’ve got you guys,” his voice cracked when he said it, throwing an arm around both of them. Carol didn’t care as much, but even she’d noticed the way Steve was changing from boyish to handsome.

They were sixteen and disaster was just around the corner, not that he knew that. Steve dated around but he always came back to them. The head, the heart, the body. They don’t feel complete without each other -- at least Tommy doesn’t. Mr. Kripke, who was hungover more often than he wasn't, passed out ten minutes into study hall. Carol didn’t even wait to see if he’d wake back up before she left her assigned table for theirs. She smoothed out a lined piece of notebook paper for them, and Tommy scoffed like he was supposed to. “Aren’t we a little old to be playing MASH?”

“It’s dirty MASH, and I thought you’d think it was funny.”

“I think it’s funny,” Steve had said, “that you’re getting eiffel towered on your wedding night. Who else is joining in, Carrie?”

“We couldn’t agree on who got you for their side of the aisle. So we’re taking you to bed instead.”

He was sixteen and the way that the two of them looked when they shared a joke was the hottest thing in the world. The way their smiles mirror when they turned to him, sharp and ready to flay open the softest parts of him.

Tommy’s two days older when Steve lets him kiss the taste of Carol out of his mouth.

It was three days after he turned seventeen and he had to pretend he didn't want to die when he saw how Steve looked at Nancy Wheeler. Like he didn’t want to rip his hair out because Steve was fucking infatuated with this mousy little teacher’s pet and wouldn’t even look at him anymore.

He still doesn’t like to think about the breakup. He pokes it like a fresh bruise. Less often now, but when he does he digs his fingers in. Baits Carol into fights he doesn’t mean just so he can pretend like he hasn’t lost something that hurts like a limb.

Steve Harrington turns twenty-eight next week, and he’s standing in front of them both holding pieces of what might turn into their wedding cake.

“Wow I can’t believe you’re in Indy!” False excitement grates, but at least Carol has gotten herself together enough to speak. He thought he’d have at least another few months to prepare for the thought of seeing Steve, by their ten year reunion he was going to be married and happy and over it.

“Yeah, this is- Married, wow! I kinda can’t believe you haven’t already.” He says it to Carol, his platitudes had always been for Carol, but his eyes find Tommy.

While Carol chatters at them and for them both, nervous, he knows she’s nervous. The situation is sudden and strange and fraught. But Tommy just looks at Steve, who looks at him. He’s getting married in three months, one week, and two days from now and for the first time in eleven years Steve is looking at him.

"Takes a while to save up for when you want the best of everything. Dad's still the skinflint he always was, I think he'd pay me less than minimum wage if he could get away with it."

And those soft brown eyes look so sad, looking at him. Sometimes he thinks no one will ever understand him the way that Steve did.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting the best, or having a long engagement." Carol defends. It's the same line she's been giving everyone. Defensive of him and herself and the choices they've been making. He can't believe Steve is someone she thinks they have to defend against.

“I really hope you're happy, man," he says, and the sincerity is a balm on the sting of this conversation. He pushes his hair back from his face, the way he always has when he's uncomfortable and trying not to make it obvious. And there's a fresh new hurt when Tommy catches sight of a plain gold band on Steve's finger, shining bright between the golden highlights of his hair.

“I’m happy about this,” he can say honestly. Carol is one of the only things he’s ever been sure about. She held him steady as she could when his other sure thing left him with a cracked foundation in a convenience store parking lot. “What about you? How long after meeting the future Mrs. Harrington did you wait to put a ring on her finger?”

“Tommy,” Carol chides as the teen in the corner snorts. To anyone else it would sound like a reprimand for being nosy, he, and he suspects Steve, knows she’s telling him to stop worrying a scab that has no hope of healing right.

Married and they didn’t know. Wouldn’t have found out until the reunion. It’s not like he expected an invitation, maybe an engagement announcement sent to their parents’ houses. They’d sent one to Loch Nora when the real ring had finally made it to Carrie’s finger. It was equal parts olive branch and offering. They’d gotten it back return to sender with no forwarding address.

The bell above the door tongs again, loud enough to make Carol jump. The platter of cakes doesn't shift at all in Steve’s hand. His arm shows no sign of fatigue. It’s almost distracting enough that he misses the obvious. The bell signals someone is coming into the store.

“Sorry, Sweetheart. I know I said I wasn't gonna be late but Mike…” There just inside the door is the Freak. Undeniable even with his head down as he digs through his shoulder bag. From the riot of poorly maintained tangles that still hang around his shoulders to the expanded mess of tacky ink on his arms. The only thing that’s changed is the age in his face and the band on his shirt.

“Munson?” Carol has the reflexes and the personal grace to address him first. Shock more than the disgust it might have been when they were still kids.

Tommy feels like a kid still. Looks to Steve in an instinct he’d thought he’d stamped out years ago, only to be met with wide eyes and teeth grit tight enough to draw out the square line of his jaw.

“Christ, I still get nightmares that start like this.” Munson says, eye darting between the three of them. “Max, am I naked?”

“Don't know, don't wanna know.”

“I thought you'd be able to tell by the energy in the room.” He wiggles his fingers, still bedecked in silver, like they can divine the vibrations or some witchy shit.

That’s enough to make Steve break just a little. A soft, exhaling scoff before he finally starts to move out from the counter. Tommy catches, and he doubts Carol misses it either, how Steve passes the closer tables to set his tray down between them and Munson.

“I can tell I don't want to be here for this.” Their redheaded audience member says, “I'm taking my 15.”

“Don't go harass Mike, he's finally working,” Munson says.

“Will and El are on shift on the other side,” Steve calls out, not looking at any of them as he moves cakes from his tray to the table. A deliberate selection he seems to be making.

“Whatever, I’m gonna call Lucas and break up with him so he can play better or whatever.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” Munson calls out, “I’ve only got him on a five point spread.”

If Carol’s nails break from how hard they’re digging into his arm, somehow it’ll be Tommy’s fault. Not the fact that they’ve advanced the worst part of their ten year reunion by months, and also Munson is here and knows shit about basketball.

“Sorry, think my hearing’s going, sounded like you said you want him to lose and he’s getting kicked from the next one shot. I’ll let him know.”

“She gets that from you,” Steve and Munson say in sync. Glaring playfully at one another the way Steve used to with Carol.

“I’ll tell Robin you were-”

“Do not sick Buckley on me, Max made the deaf joke not me.”

“Weird, that’s not what I heard.” Steve has always claimed his hair as his best feature. It isn’t -- Carrie liked his eyes, Tommy his hands -- but it’s hard to deny that it doesn’t look good, flipping over his shoulder. His smile is private, just for Munson, soft the way he got whenever he picked up a new girl. Carrie taps the back of his hand, two sharp smacks, their signal for years that he needed to pay attention and notice something she had. Wide, nervous eyes dart to Steve -- like he hadn’t already been looking at Steve -- so he does his best to assess the way Carol would.

Jealous, viciously, Steve had been theirs in every way that mattered since they were ten years old and Carol had never liked sharing her toys with anyone but them. She watched his face for any sign of unhappiness anytime a new girlfriend came along, and when she found one she passed it along to him. So he could pick and joke until Steve was all theirs again.

So he checked the face. Tried to ignore the way Steve was lit up from the inside out with a joy he could barely remember, and then he saw the hearing aid.

He tapped back, three times. O.M.G.

“The 1985 Homecoming court here to reveal that this has all been a long con, Stevie?”

“Yeah I faked the name change paperwork and picked up a fake ID, sorry I took my business somewhere else.” Steve says it with the sincerity he’s always made those kind of jokes with, his strange sense of humor never coming across when he always sounded so serious.

Munson gets it though, snorts loud and ugly, before a smile pulls wide across half his face the otherside taught with a gnarly scar. “Now I know why my fake ID business went belly up when we got to the city, not like I only sold three in high school.” He gestures to the three of them in a wide arc.

Sophomores, they had decided it was time to throw their first real party now that Steve’s parents had moved out of Hawkins in all but name. Steve was a latchkey kid of new proportions and took to self sufficiency in a way that had seemed adult to him then; and in hindsight looked more like a child fighting for his life. Steve bragged how he’d been saving up the weekly checks they’d sent to ‘sustain him’ while they worked in the city during the week. His contribution to Tommy and Carol’s vague plan to throw a kegger by the pool. When they’d floundered, immediately, with the hows, Steve had been the one to suggest going to Munson.

“Love this preview of the reunion,” Carol cuts in, there’s no bite but Munson bristles anyway like she’s being rude for reminding them that there are customers present. “Steve?”

It’s funny, Tommy thinks, the way Steve still straightens his back at Carol’s tone. All this time and he can’t fight the old ingrained instincts either.

“Dustin made the appointment,” Steve apologizes, even as he’s posture perfect and preparing his pastries. The unsaid, ‘I definitely wouldn’t have’ doesn’t go unheard and it doesn’t sting any less even this far from their last interaction.

“Munson could join us,” Tommy offers, a new olive branch since their last one was never seen. Even if it does raise three sets of brows and makes Carrie’s nervous smile tighten even more in the corner of her mouth.

“Well at least one of us has to,” Munson, Eddie, says. Just says, tone like it was meant to be something said under his breath.

He's grown up a lot since high school, they both have. Still, he's only got twenty minutes left on his lunch break and it's been a long day. "God, is that why it's called that?" Growth, he doesn't say that Steve Munson sounds a lot dumber than Steve Harrington.

"It's charming," Carol and Steve both say. Though Carrie is definitely lying and Steve barely gets it out from between his gritted teeth, a sore spot. He's always been good at finding Steve's bruises.

"It's charming," Tommy agrees, like he always did when he was out voted.

Eddie has a smirk spread across his face and a ‘too proud of himself’ look in his eyes. Mouth open to make some quip that Tommy is going to pretend is funny, for Steve’s sake. Now that they’re here, he’s going to do something to show that they could talk to one another again. Steve clicks his tongue, taps his index and middle finger down to his thumb two quick times before he can.

He turns to the girl in the corner, "Erica, scram, go help Robin and the kids with the new donation that just came in."

The teen continues to scribble in the notebook in front of her, bulky headphones over her ears, she makes no sign that Tommy can see that she's heard Steve speak. "Erica, go, or I'll tell your mother you moved out of the dorms. You're 20, it's not child labor, and you've got a timecard."

She sighs and wordlessly packs up her things, she gives Steve a scathing look that takes Tommy back to high school. The withering eyebrow and rolled eyes would have been just at home on Steve’s own face in 1985, but she marches behind the counter, the sound of her dish rattling in the sink before she disappears out the same door that the redhead had gone out.

Now that the room has been cleared, an awkward silence has found the space to squeeze in. Munson, the original, still standing in the doorway and Steve standing between his unlawfully wedded husband and the two people who had lost their chance at him years ago.

The wedding and the reunion both on the horizon had dredged up a nostalgia that Tommy and Carol had been dealing with in their own ways. Dredging up old yearbooks, Carol had found a shoebox of old notes that she’d kept. Conversations written in three different inks by three different hands, nonsensical after all this time. Tommy woke up from dreams that he hadn’t had in years. Always of Steve and Carol, a study in opposites, but similar where it mattered.

“Well,” Steve says, taking charge of the situation like he always would when the other two faltered, “you’re here for a reason. We might as well get started on it.”

Steve’s fingerprints are still on them, just like he’d noticed theirs on him, molded as they were together. They’ve always bowed to his expectations, and his whims. When he ushers them to the table with a spread hand, Tommy and Carol go where they’re beckoned.

And so does Munson.

They keep an empty chair between them, an artificial divide for Tommy’s sanity, but with the sprawl of Munson’s legs their knees still occasionally brush together. Carol had taken the spot closest to Steve, who has stayed standing. He is their gracious host, marking the head of the round table.

“I pulled out the full sampler before I realized it was you,” Steve says. Even with as off balance as the interaction has felt, Tommy doesn’t feel his hackles raising. While it’s possible he’s gotten more subtle with his digs, Steve’s vicious tongue was usually unmistakable. “I can tell you about as many of them as you want though if you want to pretend like we don’t already know what I’ll be making you. I’m sure neither of you have eaten lunch yet.”

“You are going to take us on?” Carol asks. Shock always gives her tone an extra edge, defensive and catty, even if she’s really just waiting to see if another shoe will drop.

“Obviously,” Steve says, placing a faintly orange square of cake in front of her. He slaps Eddie’s hand away from another piece without looking away from either of them. “That’s as far as I’ll be going in participation though.”

He doesn’t miss the way Steve’s mouth twitches up with the joke, a filthy smirk that leaves Tommy flushing hot. Too warm to not be a bright and obvious red at the acknowledgment of that old private in-joke.

It doesn’t get better when Carol moans, “Oh my god, Steve!” Even if it is about the cake.

He laughs, and Tommy suspects the two are actually trying to kill him. He chances a glance over at Munson who looks like he doesn’t care at all that his husband has made Tommy’s fiance moan. He is watching Tommy though, an inquisitive look like the one Carol gets when she happens to catch a nature documentary.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with Carol, “I’ll do something small with that citrus cake for you and Tom so you’ve got something you’ll actually eat on your wedding, maybe a pineapple buttercream on top like that nasty Juicy Fruit gum you like so much.”

“I mean it’s really crazy how you’re so good at this when you’ve never had any taste,” Carol compliments, she never did learn how to be nice.

He could probably count Steve’s teeth in the answering smile. Tommy can feel it like an ache in his chest how much he missed this. He snatches another cube of cake off the tray just so has something else to focus on.

“That’s the fancy one for the people who hate their guests,” Munson says as the cake has settled on the flat of Tommy’s tongue.

“It’s lavender,” Steve corrects, and the floral flavor is lodged in the back of his throat at least gives him a reason now to feel so choked up. “And it is for a particular sort of bride.”

“Are you saying I’m not fancy and particular, Munson?” Carol asks.

She’s obviously talking to Eddie Munson, who lifts his hands up in answer. But it’s Steve who says, “If you tried to feed that to Gail she would leave the reception bitching the whole time.”

“Well go on,” Tommy finds himself goading now that he’s swallowed, “finish calling your shot, Stevie. You said you knew what we were walking out of here with.”

Carol reaches across the table, locking eyes with Eddie as she snags the piece closest to him. The one his fingers had been inching toward like he thought Steve wouldn’t notice him trying to take it.

“I’ll make a small citrus cake for you, Carrie, we’ll hide it in the back of the larger cake so you can get the pictures of you cutting it and smashing into each other's faces-”

“We will not be doing that,” she interrupts, the warning for him and also unnecessary. He already knows how she feels about being embarrassed in public.

“Then the big cake for your guests will be a chocolate cake, I can cover it in a buttercream or a fondant icing also chocolate, because it’s the only kind of cake the Hagan family will eat. Even though I’m sure John hasn’t given you a dime for the wedding, he’ll complain until Hannah gets married if he doesn’t like the cake.”

“Really,” Steve continues, “the only thing up in the air is how many people you were able to get away with not inviting, Care.”

The two of them start talking actual wedding logistics, and as Tommy grabs another bite of cake -- this one looks like it might be a normal flavor -- he figures the real show of good faith would be talking to the only other person at the table while he eats what Steve correctly dubbed his lunch.

“Y’know he never actually answered me,” he says in an undertone.

Munson seems surprised at being spoken to, only widens his eyes in response to Tommy’s unasked question.

“I asked Steve how soon after the first date he proposed, he never actually answered.”

Eddie softens at the edges before he can even say anything. Steve had a way of doing that, bringing out the romantic in a person. He loved with a passion that demanded it be matched. “Technically I proposed to him, but he says it doesn’t count because we weren’t together and I was high on morphine after a major surgery and thought he was Apollo, come to whisk me away.” The smile on Munson’s face looks dopey and drugged up now, like the very memory of whatever hospital stay is so ingrained in his mind he can feel the high now.

“But,” he goes on, “he told me we were getting married whether it was legal or not about three months after he got legally married to another woman.”

“Stop,” Steve has always been able to sense when he’s about to be the butt of the joke. He has a finger pointed at Eddie like a teacher delivering a lecture. “You can’t tell people that. It was for tax reasons, I’m not cheating on my wife.”

“You say tomato, I say whichever one of us is your least favorite has to be the extramarital affair.”

“I say, you’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.” Tommy can hear the warm affection behind the insult, the way their picking is a safer way to express their passion for one another.

He thought he would be jealous of whoever finally managed to reel in Steve Harrington for good, and he is. The emotion is there, present in the snarling tangle of emotions that this encounter has left in him. One that he and Carol will have to slowly tease and pick out tonight when they’re home in bed. Trying to make sense of what each thread is and what it means for them. But the one bright pulsing thread he can make sense of is happiness. He’s happy for Steve, happy that he gets to see an old friend so at ease and obviously cared for.

And he’s sad that his time is up, his lunch hour so close to an end he’ll be late getting back to the office. Something he can already hear his Dad and fucking Greg giving him shit for. Which means they have to end their time here.

Steve walks them to the door, flips the sign to mark them closed for lunch.

“Congratulations again, you two,” he says, “I really am happy I can get to be a part of this with you all. Even if it’s a little different than we used to imagine.”

Carol reaches out for the both of them, puts her hand on his arm. Tommy finds that he’s the one who actually says, “We’re glad you found someone who makes you this happy, dude. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, he’s alright most of the time.” It's said with such fondness it becomes a declaration. It’s hard to imagine how they thought they could ever be the something that could make Steve this happy. But maybe in a different life, under different circumstances it could have been.

There’s a minute where they all stand in the doorway. He wonders if they’re all afraid that this might be the last time they see each other, speak to one another, until Steve is delivering the cake on the day of the wedding. Maybe it’s just him, he was the one who pushed back the hardest after things ended.

Someone finally gives in and pushes the door open. It’s TONG a death toll for their current conversation. But it also sends a jolt through Steve, he straightens to his full height like a shock has gone through him. “Here,” he says, “here, um.” He digs around in his apron until he finds a pen and a receipt pad. Jots down something before tearing it off and putting it in Tommy’s hands, “It's our home number, in case you have any cake emergencies or something.”

They really can’t stay any longer.

Carol takes the note, better at keeping track of these things than Tommy is. It’s hard to know if they’ll actually use it, maybe after they talk about it, but if they do she’ll be the one to do it. She’s always been braver than him.

There’s no way of guaranteeing anything but the fact that they’ll have a cake on the table on their wedding day. But he hopes that Steve might stay for the ceremony once he brings it, he can even bring Eddie if that’s what gets him there.

Alone in his car, Tommy lets himself take a minute to think about Steve Harrington one last time. He isn’t going to get what he wanted as a kid. Doubts that he’ll ever be as close to Steve as he’d been in childhood, too much time has passed and too much has changed.

But there’s an opportunity to get to know Steve Munson, and he isn't going to pass it up. Even if he doesn’t know how to name a bakery.

#steddie #steddie fic #implied past stomarol #Baker Steve Harrington #my fic #tommy x carol #tomarol #genuinely don't know what their ship name is I'm sorry #future fic #the author is experiencing some complicated emotions about their 10 year reunion and this is now the second fic I've posted this year-#-that's mentioned one so clearly forcing fictional characters to emote about it for me is not working #the terrible trio do own every business in the little storefront Tommy mentions and they employ the kids who they have a stable income-#-while they work on their passion projects

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seaofgoldensand · 9 hours

Note

we need to have an in-depth discussion about rafayel definitely having a scent kink. “try and smell something i’m familiar with? which means i should sniff you, yeah?” IS THIS SOMETHING THAT HAPPENS OFTEN? SIR????

the way his voice gets deeper and his breathing gets heavier? and the fabric rustling in the background? is he supposed to be grinding into you while doing ALL THAT?? and his “yeah”s?? this man is definitely a talker oh my goddd. i’m definitely not thinking about the way he’ll talk you through it right now. good thing he didn’t call us a good girl in this one because i fear i would’ve spontaneously combusted.

this isn’t funny anymore i need him inside me. or maybe i need to be taken out back and shot, i’m not picky

he is a fucking talker, he will guide you through everything and just. he definitely has a scent kink but the WHOLE FACT BOTH HIM AND MC ARE BLINDFOLDED TOO??? excuse me, sensory deprivation a whole ass thing.

NO BUT NONNIE FOR FUCKING REAL the way his voice drops when the aphrodisiac hits??? the heavy breathing??? the way he just "so... much... more" and LIKE IM NOT ABOUT TO LISTEN TO THIS AUDIO AGAIN WHEN I GET HOME just to make a whole long horny ass post again like the time i was just looking for a damn part in his god of tides myth and got ATTACKED BY HIS SMIRK when i paused.

*screaming into the fucking void* yeah?

i'm STILL MELTING at "if you're scared you can cling onto me but i'm not gonna stop" *INHALES* boi.

if he had called us good girl or anything equivalent to ANY FUCKING PRAISE i wouldve fucking COMBUSTED, IMPLODED. YOU NAME IT. that voice? praising you?

i need this man carnally and if i were to speak of the thoughts in my head right now— i shall nOT

#im afraid the thoughts #what if i indulge #what if i- no #im completely sane for that fish boi #COMPLETELY. UTTERLY SANE.#rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lnd #lnds #l&ds #lads #also like #FR HOW TF IS THIS GAME RATED 12 AND UP????

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sapphicantics · 2 days

Text

Don’t Want Another Lover

Pairing: Janis Imi’ike x fem!reader

Summary: Janis ditches a blind date you’d spent helping her prepare for and you confront her at a party to find out why.

Contents: best friends to lovers trope, pining!Janis, talks of unrequited love, Janis is constantly talking about being alone,

Word count: 1.4K

Authors note: This was not supposed to be the next fic I posted but Towa put me in a chokehold with her song and I’ve spent all weekend working on this so here we are. Also imma say this now, I guarantee you guys are gonna get tired of me because the amount of fics running through my head inspired by this song is fucking ridiculous but we’ll see if I actually stick with them and they’ll come out. If you haven’t already, listen to the song down below.

— — — —

Janis Imi’ike can’t believe she let herself be talked into this again.

The this in question is yet another date her best friends somehow convinced her to go on with a girl they’re sure she’ll like because she needs to put herself out there if she ever wants to get a girlfriend. Janis had scoffed at this because Damian doesn’t even like girls so what would he know about getting a girlfriend.

Still, she agreed if only to get over this ridiculous crush she has.

Except getting over her crush is damn near impossible when said crush is also one of her best friends who originally started this whole ‘get Janis a girlfriend’ thing in the first place and is currently helping her get ready for date number whatever.

“Where are you guys going for your date again?”

Janis looks up from her sketchbook, watching you rummage around in her closet. You’re dressed in a white crop top and a pair of black cargo sweatpants that are hanging low on your hips, and Janis can’t stop her eyes from tracing over the skin on display.

“Janis?”

Janis wonders if your skin is as sensitive as it looks; if a single finger would have goosebumps raising on your flesh.

“Janis?”

Janis wonders how it would feel to press kisses along your skin; how many kisses it’d take to make you melt and turn you to putty in her hands.

“Janis!”

She jumps, her eyes shooting up to yours. “What? Sorry, I- I didn’t hear what you said.”

You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. “I asked where you were going for your date.”

“Oh, uh,” Janis licks her lips in thought as she tries to remember exactly where she’s supposed to be meeting this date, Laura she thinks this one’s name is, and what they were supposed to be doing. “We’re going to an art museum.”

You nod and turn back to her closet, rummaging around for a few more moments before emerging with several items in hand. You toss them all on the bed and tug Janis up by her arm, and she has to bite back a groan as she prepares to be turned into a human mannequin.

If it was anyone else, she would’ve snatched her arm away already, but Janis has never been able to deny you anything, so she stands in place while you hold up different articles of clothing until you’ve seemingly decided on the perfect outfit for her; leaving the accessories and makeup to complete the look up to her.

She turns to you once she’s finished and her breath hitches as you reach up and adjust the necklaces around her neck, your fingers tracing lightly on her skin and it takes everything in Janis to fight back the sigh of content that so desperately wants to escape her lips.

She’s done such a good job hiding her feelings from you and she can’t reveal them now. She’s already had several close calls before and she can’t risk destroying her friendship with you over feelings you’ll never return.

No matter how much Janis wishes it was different, she knows the way you’re smoothing down her shirt and brushing off her shoulders is purely platonic.

“You look beautiful.”

Janis blinks her eyes open, unsure when exactly she closed them, and she gulps at the bright smile on your face.

You seem more excited about this date than her and you’re not even the one going on it. She wonders if you’d look that excited if you were going on this date, and her heart clenches in response because she knows you wouldn’t be going with her.

She pushes back how much that thought hurts and instead gives you a smile. “Thank you, it’s all thanks to you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jay, you’re always beautiful. The most beautiful girl in the world.”

Janis swears she’s going to fucking combust if another compliment falls from your mouth and she has to act like it doesn’t mean anything to her when it means absolutely everything to her.

She can practically hear Damian’s voice in her head calling her hopeless — which she is, but she doesn’t need his two cents even if he isn’t here to actually give it.

Thankfully (or maybe not depending on how she looks at it), she doesn’t have to dwell on that too much longer because it’s time for her to leave if she wants to make her date on time — which she totally didn’t forget about until just now — and while she’d much rather stay here with you, she’s not rude enough to bail 15 minutes before the initial meetup.

“Have fun, Jay,” you call. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Admittedly, the date is nice and Janis does vibe with Laura, but she ends up cutting the date short because she keeps picturing you in Lauras’ place instead and that’s not fair to anyone.

She does not tell you that, of course.

She’s actually been avoiding telling you anything about the date which is only making you suspicious about all the things that could’ve happened and made Janis shut down on you like this.

It all comes to a head at a party which you convinced Janis ( and invited Damian because that man needs no convincing when it comes to parties ) to come to and got ample amounts of alcohol in your system.

You end up stealing Janis away from her corner where she’s spent majority of the time glaring at anyone who isn’t you or Damian attempting to talk to her and drag her into an empty room upstairs away from the party.

You’re not tipsy, but you’re also not drunk enough to where you can’t consent to anything or will forget about tonight.

Janis knows this as she’s gotten drunk with you multiple times and she knows you get bold when you’re like this, but she still doesn’t expect the words that come out of your mouth once the door closes behind you.

“Janis, what the fuck?”

Pure confusion laces her face, but you continue before she can say anything.

“I just ran into Laura and she told me you dipped out in the middle of the date.”

“Damian called me, said he was having an emergency.”

Janis can’t seem to deny you anything, but lying to you is apparently really easy. Of course, she’s lying to keep you in her life so that’s probably why it’s so easy.

“Bullshit, Imi’ike,” you scoff. “You’ve been crying about wanting a girlfriend, doing absolutely fuck all to get one, and then you keep accepting to go on these dates I’m setting up for you that are going absolutely no where, for what reason?”

Janis has the decency to look guilty, but in her defense she never asked you to do any of that. She was perfectly content to remain single and alone for the rest of her life while everyone else in her life got to fall in love and find their happy endings.

It fucking hurts that she won’t get hers.

And that combined with the alcohol in her system seems to be enough to make the truth finally come out.

“I don’t want a fucking girlfriend, I want you as my girlfriend!”

Silence falls between the two of you and Janis takes the time to process what she’s said.

Fuck.

Janis decides she fucking hates Tequila and is never going to drink again. It’s cost her a 6+ year friendship and Janis swears when she’s older she’s absolutely going to destroy Tequila manufacturers for this.

“Say it again.”

She can’t believe you’d actually be this cruel to her.

( Somewhere in the back of her head, Janis can hear a voice that is fed up with her shit calling her an idiot and a useless fucking lesbian.

It’s Damian again, she’s sure, and she wishes he’d stop popping up in her head at these times. )

“Janis, please say it again,” you whisper. “Say it again so I know it’s real and not in my head this time.”

It takes a moment for the words to register in Janis’ head and there’s a slither of hope in her heart as she stares at you. Slowly, she releases a breath and speaks. “I want you as my girlfriend.”

“Then kiss me and prove it.”

“Are you sure?”

You place your hands on her neck and her hands fall to your hips, pulling you flush against her. Your lips are inches from hers, breaths mingling together, and if she moves the slightest bit, she’ll kiss you.

“Positive.”

But that’s what you want.

And well, when has Janis ever been able to deny you anything?

#janis imi'ike #janis imiike x reader #janis ‘imi’ike #janis ‘imi’ike x reader #janis ‘imi’ike x fem!reader #janis imiike x fem!reader #janis x reader #mean girls 2024 #Spotify

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monstrousgourmandizingcats · 2 days

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ik the post was from like a week ago but would like to hear your thoughts on jackie and the prescription drug thing because it really isnt discussed!

Absolutely. Jackie has prooooblems and I really wish they were more openly talked about in the fandom.

So there are at least three references to Jackie abusing prescription drugs in canon. I forget what the third is (I might be misremembering it but I'm pretty sure it's there), but the first two are in "Pilot" and "Blood Hive". The reason why Shauna is asleep during the flight is that Jackie has given her Valium, a benzo (its generic name is diazepam) that in the 70s through 90s was commonly prescribed for anxiety and to an extent still is. What's remarkable about this is the casual way everyone involved treats it; this is consistent in how Shauna and Jackie themselves talk about Jackie's drug use, but the scene also establishes that even Jackie's mother doesn't seem to see any need to monitor her teenage daughter's access to her pills. As Jackie puts it, "Swiped these from my mom's medicine cabinet. Valium. She's got, like, a never-ending supply, so I doubt she'll even notice."

A series of questions already arises here, all of which the show is fascinatingly uninterested in answering, possibly because the screenwriters share Shauna and Jackie's flippant attitude (which is generational, as I'll discuss below) but, I think, likely also because what's implied about the Taylor household here is more disturbing if it's not spelled out. Why does Mrs. Taylor have that much of a med lying around at all times? Has Jackie taken the Valium before? If so, why and how often? (Does she, perhaps, use it to get through sex acts with Jeff?)

The second time this comes up is in the scene in which Shauna and Jackie are discussing their respective Wilderness skills as Shauna butchers one of Nat and Travis's first quarries. Almost everyone in the fandom has favorite bits of this scene, which is full of fantastic Shaunajackie lines and moments, so it's surprising to me that this isn't discussed more, but again, the breathtakingly casual delivery probably goes some way towards distracting the viewer from what's actually being communicated. (It could also be that the line in question here comes immediately before "Wowza, Shipman," which understandably steals the show):

Shauna: Remember when Kiffy Schumacher broke her arm right before we were supposed to go to Whipsplash River, and you told her that if she shared her Percocet, we'd all crash bingo at the Elks Lodge instead? Jackie: Wait. Is this a pep talk? Wowza, Shipman. Wow, that is so not your style.

Uh. Girls? You okay there? "Poppin' Percs" is something Kendrick Lamar accused Drake of earlier this month. The company that makes this drug is currently being pounded in court by the Attorneys General of Ohio, Mississippi, Missouri, New York, and possibly other states too since the last time I checked. You're talking about like it's Pez.

Percocet is a mixture of oxycodone, which is an opioid, and paracetamol, which is a common over-the-counter painkiller (it's called acetaminophen in the US and a few other countries; it's the active ingredient in Tylenol and Panadol). Unlike Valium, oxy is something I've been on in the past--I, like Kiffy Schumacher, had a badly fucked-up arm a few years ago--so I can speak to how it's currently treated in American medical culture. You're given a very small amount of it at once, you pace yourself taking it and alternate it with over-the-counter painkillers unless absolutely necessary, and if you have any left over when you decide you no longer need it, which I did, you surrender whatever pills you still have on you to the police. I know that the current widely accepted view on drug control is that it's wildly overdone in the US, and I agree with that for the most part, but in this case the tight controls on this sort of painkiller are a regulation that was written in blood. And the opioid epidemic is still ongoing; in fact, in some ways it's worse, since people are using black-market opioids now that are even more dangerous than oxy and its ilk.

I do want to stress that Jackie's pattern of drug use isn't unusual for a teenager; in fact, it's pretty classic. "Adolescents....most commonly reported receiving prescription[s] for free from a friend or relative, although significant proportions of adolescents also used their own prescriptions, purchased drugs from a dealer, or took them from friends or family without asking." (The article linked cites data taken in 2006, when the prescription drug abuse epidemic on whose upward slope Jackie lives had plateaued.) I also want to clarify that the cavalier attitude Shauna and Jackie have towards prescription drugs isn't unique to this category of substances; teenagers in the 1990s were much more blasé about controlled substances in general than they are today, and adolescent prescription drug abuse has declined less than most other categories:

(Note the especially massive drop-off in adolescent cigarette use after the turn of the millennium. Lottie in her kinderwhore-meets-Empire Records party outfit diffidently holding a cig is very much an image from the past these days. And yet this isn't entirely a success story; adolescents who are still engaging in substance abuse are OD'ing a lot more than they were thirty years ago.)

I don't really have a conclusion here, because I just want to encourage the fandom to discuss this aspect of Jackie's character, not necessarily to adopt any particular narrativization or interpretation of it. This, then, is the basics on Jackie and prescription drugs. Poor girl.

#yellowjackets #jackie taylor #meta #tw drugs #anonymous #cold girl closeted girl living dead girl

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coveted-covey · 3 days

Text

a/n: minors please don't interact. blank and ageless blogs are going to be blocked. 🚶‍♀️ this was supposed to be posted a month ago but I got stuck 1.6k words in. literally that one bake off meme except it went like "started writing it. had a month's long block. but here it is now so bon appetit." ...anyways!

cw: Cove and reader are 23 (step 4 age!), established relationship, making out, some s*xual tension (note sure if this cw is needed), multiple mentions of alcohol and reader drinking/getting drunk, slightly OOC!Cove, but I totally see him doing it if push comes to shove and so here we are… or maybe I’m just projecting! :D this is also not beta read. but either way, enjoy! let me know if I missed anything else in the tags.

Word count: 2,016

You're 97% certain that you're going crazy.

That or there's something in the air, but whatever it is you realize that you don't really care. Nothing comes close to the urgency that is Cove James Holden.

With spasming hands, you grab ahold of his hair as you try to breathe in between the small gaps that you afford yourself. When that becomes insufficient, you press yourself further into his personal space.

“[Name], w-wait–” Cove gasps as you bite his lower lip. “Let's go inside first–”

You stop your assault of his mouth, replacing it with your gentle thumb instead. Cove’s brain is short-circuiting and your rapt attention at his lips is absolutely not helping. You giggle as you tug his lips down with your thumb. “Your lips are so swollen, baby.”

He lets out a groan of half-embarassment and half-wantonness. “I shouldn't have let you drink tonight.” Realizing that he should use the opportunity of you not pressing your own to his lips as of yet, he quickly grabs his keys from his pocket then opens the door of his apartment.

The low creaking of the door captures your attention, then you dangerously swerve as you snap your attention back to him. “Ahh, here it is! Homeee~” you drawl.

He grabs your waist as you almost bump to one of his floormates passing through the corridor. “[Name], be quiet,” he mutters lowly then quickly apologizes to the old lady, cheeks reddening. If it could go any redder at this point, that is.

He leads you inside and you lean your full weight against him. He didn’t even stagger. You would have marvelled at his strength if had you been paying attention, but alas you were briefly distracted by the little to no light that welcomed you as you stepped into the threshold.

“It's so dark here. Why is it so dark?” You whine.

Cove shuts the door then puts down your bags beside his shoe rack. He wordlessly flicks the light switch on then turns to you. “Sit down here for a second.”

“Hmm?” Your eyes blink at the blue lounge chair he's patting. When you make no move, he gently sits you down then moves to take off your shoes.

You stare at him, eyes slightly unfocused. “Hey…”

“Yes, [Name]?” He looks up at you from the floor and you giggle.

You lean into his ear. “You look good kneeling.”

“God.”

Cove looks up then mutters something underneath his breath. He closes his eyes shut, lips in a deep frown and brows furrowing despite the bright blush on his cheeks. You're going to be the death of him.

A beat passes.

He clears his throat. “I’m gonna help you change your clothes and then I’m putting you to bed, okay? Come on,” he gives you his hand to help you up, but you lightly swat his hand away.

“Nooo, I want a piggyback ride!”

Cove tries to think back to the first time you got yourself this inebriated. Except nothing comes close to mind. There was that one time your parents let you have wine on your 18th birthday, but that was in the privacy of your own home, and you were not allowed to stay up with Cove with just the both of you. With all things considered, then, this would be the first time. He has half a mind to call the Last’s but didn’t, considering the both of you are full-grown adults at this point and he’s capable of taking care of you tonight.

He is… right?

Your head lolls a bit to the side, then leans back next to his head. “You’re so warm,” you hummed as you tightened your arms around his shoulders.

“You are, too. I’m gonna put you down now, ‘kay?”

Your lips tremble, your intoxicated mind irrationally offended with the thought of him going away from you. You hiccup. “Are you mad at me?” Another hiccup. “Don’t let go, please?”

“[N-name], are you crying? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that!” he tries to look at you, but human heads can only turn up to a certain angle. “I won’t go away, I promise. I’m just gonna let you down on the bed.”

You sniffle, nodding despite Cove not facing you. “Okay…”

You feel what you can only assume as his mattress beneath you as he deposits you down onto the soft covers. You come face to face with his worried face as he examines your countenance with his hands on both sides.

“Don’t cry,” he swipes his thumb at a stray tear, his heart breaking at the sight of your red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips. “I think you’re underestimating your own importance in my life,” he lets out a sad chuckle. “I’ll never, ever, let you go out of my own accord. You’re it for me. My soulmate, the love of my life. I’ll spend forever loving you if I could. So don’t cry, okay? Honestly you would have to be the one to decide if you get sick of me at some point, and only then will I consider leaving you. But until then—and God knows leaving you, ever, is not what I would want—I’m yours.”

He ends his speech with a tender kiss on your forehead.

Being reasonably touched and rightfully overwhelmed at your boyfriend’s reaffirmation of his love aside, it seems like the alcohol is affecting you so much worse than you would have liked. It’s getting embarrassing and sober you would definitely hit yourself upside the head with how ridiculous you’re reacting.

You start sobbing.

“Waaaahh, I love you so, so, so much!” you wail as you bury your face on his stomach, hugging him in a vice grip. Cove can only hug you as tight as your positions can allow him, rubbing your back soothingly as he tries his best to calm you down.

A couple minutes of uncontrolled sobbing and you getting helped by Cove to get cleaned up for bed later, you’re now snug under his covers, waiting for him to come back from the kitchen to get a fresh glass of cold water.

“Here you go,” he puts the glass on the sidetable and you sit up to drink it. You gulp down the refreshing water in no time.

Having calmed down from the blindsiding, alcohol-driven, emotional outburst earlier, you can only look at him sheepishly as you are hit with sudden clarity. “I’m sorry for the, uh, sorry for being unreasonable earlier. I’m 100% blaming the alcohol,” you laugh lightly. You try to ignore the urge to pinch yourself out of embarrassment.

“Are you feeling better now?” he gives you such a heavy look that you can’t help but find the texture of his covers particularly interesting. Great, now you’ve disappointed him.

“Yes, yes, I do. I’m really sorry about earlier, I was probably being a bother. I’m not sure I will swear off alcohol completely, but I’ll try to keep it to an ultra reasonable amount and not end up being completely hammermpgh—”

Cove leans forward and takes your lips against his own, shutting you up and pushing you back down on the bed in the process. “Don’t misunderstand, you can do whatever you want as long as you’re not totally endangering yourself and I will take care of you, but it seems like we’re still not seeing eye to eye in one crucial thing.”

Your head still reeling from the kiss, you can only open and close your mouth like a silly guppy. “W-what—”

“You’re not being a bother to me. Not ever,” he frowns, peeved at, and saddened by you downplaying yourself. “You never have to apologize for the things that I do for you because I love you and you’d do the same thing for me in a heartbeat.”

“But I—”

The rest of your sentence was interrupted by your beloved boyfriend leaning in once again to capture your lips in another searing kiss. “None of that,” he murmurs from above you, and your heart starts to race at the palpable tension between the two of you. “Do you understand, [Name]?”

You take in his state from above you, his eyebrows furrowed, pupils dilated, cheeks rosy pink, and lips deliciously swollen. You gulp as you feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“I-I do. I understand.”

“Good,” he whispers lowly, and you’ve never wanted to shriek so hard in your life. You try to look back in your whole relationship with your neighbor-turned-friend-turned-best friend-turned-childhood sweetheart-turned-boyfriend and try to pinpoint a time he was ever this… this… this INTENSE and HOT and you want to faint.

You think you are going to faint.

Presumably contented from your response, he finally pulls back and you’re left trying to settle your breathing. Before he can step away to get to his side of the bed, however, you abruptly sit up to grab at his sleeve.

“Wait.”

He stops, looking at you with questioning eyes. You almost balk but steel yourself, eyes glinting with newfound (and undoubtedly short-lived?) confidence. “Are you seriously going to leave like that?”

“Like what?” His wavy eyebrows rise and the edge of his lips curls up in a familiar way that basically told you that the jig is up. “Like what, baby? And for the record, you did look good underneath me.”

You can almost feel your ears blowing out smoke out of embarrassment. Did he just—

Well, two can play at that game.

You brace yourself harder then hit him with, “Well, if I looked so good, why don’t you do it again?”

He looks away, and you see the traces of his flush from his ear to neck becoming more and more vibrant.

Ah. There he is.

“A-aren’t you tired?”

With an unexpected gracefulness of a predator stalking its captured prey, you lean in close to his ear. “Not for you, I’m not.” Then you give him the most seductive look you can muster.

He bites his lip and your eyes follow the movement. You watch as the gears turn in his head debating whether to be responsible and make you get some rest, or to give in to your temptation and give you what you want.

Breathing out shakily, he gently removes your grip from him and puts your hand on your lap. You look up at him in confusion. He smiles apologetically then gives you a tender kiss on the lips. “You need rest, [Name]. You had a long flight coming home.”

You huff and pout, conceding. “Okay… but I want my cuddles.”

He laughs softly at that. “And cuddles you will get.”

Cove then turns the overhead lights off in exchange for lampshade. Once settled under the covers, he also turns the remaining source of light off, and you immediately draw yourself to his warmth. His arms reach around you to pull you in closer. You sigh, content.

“I missed this. I missed you.”

Cove hums then gives you another affectionate kiss on the top of your head. He smiles as he pays attention to how perfect you feel against him, like two puzzle pieces finally being connected after so long of being apart.

“I missed you too, more that you’d ever imagine.”

You laugh lightly at that, giving a soft peck at his skin in front of you. Cove giggles, ticklish. “Not everything is a competition, Mr. Cove Holden.”

“Alright, alright,” he giggles, squeezing you closer to him. “Get some rest, [Name]. I love you.”

You smile to yourself as tiredness catches up to you and your eyelids become heavy. “I love—” You let out a small yawn that Cove also catches. You share another soft laughter, like two lovers sharing secrets under the blankets, a couple finally reuniting after a while of being apart. “I love you, too.”

And with that, the two of you go into a peaceful slumber, with you vaguely thinking of getting back at him in the morning for not giving in to you earlier. Maybe he’ll be in for a surprise…

#divider by @cafekitsune #cove holden x reader #cove holden fluff #cove holden x you #cove holden x reader fluff #cove x mc #olba cove #cove x reader #our life cove #cove holden #cove our life

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