#glad it wasn’t my money wasted | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chunghasweetie · 4 months ago

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𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋, 𝐎𝐇 𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 | J.JK

— pairing | assistant!oc x flirty boss!jjk

— summary | jungkook’s assistant (you) finally admits her feelings for him

— warning | bad writing (i’m doing my best)

protected sex, dirty talk, cursing, praising kink, adult dialogue, work affairs

— word count | 5.0k words

— song suggestion | the party & the after party— the weeknd

“You look very nice Y/n.” He opened the door for her.

“I have the prettiest assistant in the industry.“ He bit his lip, linking arms with her as the two entered the business party together.

The two were always together. Every day for hours upon hours.

She had been working for the CEO of Jeon Industries for the past 4 years.

It was another night of being with him. This time she was accompanying him to a business party at some mansion in the east.

“Thank you Mr. Jeon.” She thanked him.

She had went all out tonight. How could she not with the amount of luxury outfits and accessories he supplied her with?

She was an ambassador on the side for many different high end fashion companies.

Dior. Prada. Chanel.

All because of Jungkook.

He always helped represent her from the start. The second he laid eyes on her, he knew she couldn’t let all her beauty go to waste.

He pushed hard for her to rep these brands, knowing well she deserved to have every opportunity out there.

She was an extremely hard worker too, sending her to anyone was a true gift.

Tonight she was dripped out in Chanel from head to toe.

She wore a vintage black and gold Chanel couture dress paired with matching gold heels.

Her entire look was priceless.

He supplied with her with everything simply because he wanted to.

Y/n was too independent from the get go, and Jungkook wanted her to understand what it’s like to be truly taken care of.

Although Y/n worked for Jungkook, she was almost on his level of fame by her success that came naturally after he got her name out there.

Many rumors speculated that she slept her way to the top but, the rumors couldn’t be more untrue.

Jungkook was obsessed with this woman.

Repeatedly asking her if she was interested in him. He was constantly offering himself out to her.

He flirted with Y/n every day. It wasn’t enough to bother her. They were comfortable enough to where she could reject him over and over.

He understood her rejections. She was afraid how others viewed her. How if they ever broke up, it could make her entire career plummet to the bottom.

His eyes roamed over her figure, taking in the way the dress hugged her curves, the way her heels made her legs seem to go on forever.

He couldn't help but let out a low whistle. “That dress really working for you. Glad I spent the money.”

“I appreciate it Mr. Jeon.” She thanked him once more.

Y/n was absolutely gorgeous and every investor and supervisor at the party turned their head when she entered with Jungkook.

He noticed the way everyone was gawking at her and he couldn't help but smirk.

He was used to this. She was a prize and knew that all too well.

Y/n was his, and his alone.

He hated how oblivious she was. She didn’t think of herself to be this powerful woman.

She thought of herself as average, which could make Jungkook grow insane.

There was no way she was serious.

“Can you feel all the eyes on you?” He whispered to her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re greeting us. This is just business matters and nothing more.” She replied, straight faced.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You're right, of course. Business first.”

He led Y/n through the crowd, making his way to the group of investors.

But as he walked, he couldn't help but place a hand on the small of her back, enough to display a slight sense of possession.

She went around with him, introducing herself as well to all of Jungkook’s business partners and potential partners.

He watched her, impressed by her confidence and grace as she charmed each and every one the important people.

“All these years and you’re still so good at talking for me.” He said, leaning in close to her so that only she could hear him.

“Of course. We’ve been doing this for years.” Y/n replied.

A small smile appeared on his lips as he imagined the number of times she must have helped him in his business ventures.

“And hopefully for more.” He muttered under his breath, before straightening up and clearing his throat.

“Can I get you anything to drink Mr. Jeon?”She offered.

He chuckled at her formality, but he couldn't help the way his heart fluttered at the sound of his title.

“Yes, please. He said, before taking a moment to decide. A glass of whiskey would be nice.” He instructed.

“Yes Sir.” Y/n nodded, walking off and requesting him a drink at the open bar.

Once his drink was finished she walked back over to him, handing his drink over.

“Go get yourself something.” He told her.

“I’m fine.”

“Go. I know you’ve been craving a glass of rosè.”

“Fine.” Y/n finally gave in, heading back over to the open bar.

Finally having her glass filled, she started to head back over to him.

Before she could start to Jungkook, she was stopped by one of the executives.

“Excuse me, Ms. Y/n was it?” He stopped her. “I was wondering if you had a minute.”

She didn’t look up, not expecting to start a conversation.

“Yes, I’m Y/n. I actually have to head back to my boss I’m sorry.” She began to walk but he stepped in front of her.

“It’ll only be a second. I’m Kim Namjoon.” The man spoke. “I just have a proposal for you.”

Her eyes flickered upwards. She locked eyes with the man, surprised someone so high up had an interest in speaking to her.

“You’re Kim Namjoon from Kim&Kim.” She rose her eyebrow. “What kind of proposal are you talking about? I’ll go get Ju—“

“This isn’t for Jungkook,” Namjoon shook his head. “It’s is for you.”

“Me?” She looked at him in confusion.

Jungkook's eyes narrowed as he watched the executive checking her out, his grip on his glass of whiskey tightening.

He downed it in one swift motion before stalking over to where she was, his eyes flashing with possessiveness.

He was watching this entire conversation go down.

“You don’t need to answer me now but,” He began. “I’m in desperate need of a new assistant. You’re one of the best assistants in the industry and I need you— bad. Whatever Jungkook is paying you, I’m offering you tripple the amount.”

Y/n stood there in utter shock. Her mouth was agape and she couldn’t say anything.

Jungkook could almost choke.

The nerve of this guy.

Jungkook's expression darkened as the man offered her the position and a much larger salary.

He could see the hesitation in her eyes as she took the card, and he couldn't help but feel a small surge of fear that he would lose her to someone else.

Maybe she was truly considering.

Jungkook was imagining everything he’d ever done with her.

Did he push her too much?

Was she overwhelmed?

Did she feel underpaid?

‘There’s no way’ He thought to himself.

“Like I said,” Namjoon was handing her his business card. “You don’t need to answer me now but, just think about it. You’ll be rich and you’ll have a lot more of those luxury companies to add to your collection.”

“Thank you for your time.” She simply nodded, biding her goodbyes before heading back to Jungkook. “Sorry that took so long.”

Jungkook watched Y/n return, his expression unreadable as he took in her words and the lingering scent of another man on her.

Namjoon’s cologne was annoyingly contagious.

He couldn't help but feel a surge of jealousy as he reached out to grab her wrist, his grip firm but gentle.

“Is there an issue Mr. Jeon?” She looked down, feeling his grip.

“Come on.” He walked her over to the balcony outside, where the two could be more secluded.

He pulled her closer, his voice low and husky as he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.

"I think you know exactly what the issue is. It’s us.” He whispered. “I heard Namjoon.”

“What about it?”

His hand tightened around her waist, his thumb pressing into the small of her back as he held her close.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about, Y/n. That exec trying to poach you.”his voice was a low growl, laced with greed.

You weren’t for sale, why would Namjoon pull such a stunt?

Y/n sighed. “I didn’t want to be rude. So I took Namjoon’s business card.”

Jungkook's eyes flashed with irritation, but he controlled himself, not wanting to make a scene. “But you didn’t throw it away. So you’re thinking about his proposal.

“Mr. Jeon like I said, let’s keep this professional. I believe your personal feelings are getting in the way.” She replied. “I was being respectful.”

"I don't give a damn about professionalism right now, Y/n," he said, his voice strained as he struggled to keep his composure.

Her eyes widened. “Like I said, I just took the card to be respectful. I didn’t have any intention behind it.”

Jungkook's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face.

"Then why did I catch you staring at him for an uncomfortably long time?" he asked, his voice low and suspicious.

“Oh my gosh Mr. Jeon. It’s called eye contact. This really shouldn’t matter.” She grew irritated with him.

Jungkook's grip on her waist loosened, but he still didn't let go.

"It does matter to me," he said, his voice softer now. "You know I don't like it when other men look at you."

“This is a work setting Mr. Jeon. In order to do my job I must conversate with many men. Can we drop this now? Please?” She begged.

Jungkook's expression darkened a little at the sound of her calling him Mr. Jeon, but he otherwise seemed to calm down at her words.

"Fine," he said curtly, letting go of her waist and taking a step back. "Just... don’t consider his offer too much. I just— I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Y/n swallowed. “Okay Mr. Jeon.”

He reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Come on, let's get out of here," he said, his voice gentler now. "My treat.”

“But what about the business party? Shouldn’t we stay longer?” She blinked.

Jungkook shrugged. "They'll manage without us," *he said. "It's been a long day and I'm sure you're over all these people."

He reached out a hand towards her, a slightly pleading look on his face. "Please, come on.”

“Okay.” She gave in. She bid her goodbyes to whoever the two walked by as they strutted to the exit.

Jungkook smiled when she agreed and said nothing as she bid her goodbyes.

He was leading her out of the party, opening the door for her to get in the company car.

She took a seat on the other side of him, answering work emails on her phone the second she got inside.

That girl could work. She was always working.

Jungkook admired how driven she was.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, his voice low and warm. “Because I am.”

“Me too.” She nodded.

Jungkook smiled at her response. "Good," he said, before leaning close, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Because I'm taking you to the best bar in the city." His tone, though husky, gave her assurance of his sincerity. “Not letting that dress go to waste.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Y/n objected.

“I want to," Jungkook said, his eyes flicking up to finally meet hers, a serious expression on his face.

"You know I like spoiling you." He placed a gentle hand on her thigh before leaning back to give her some space.

She knew there was no point in arguing with him. “Alright.

As much as she rejected him, she didn’t mind how touchy he was with her.

Y/n definitely could admit she liked it.

Jungkook's eyes lit up at her acquiescence, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"That's my girl," he said, his hand squeezing her thigh affectionately before releasing it to recline back in the seat. "We'll be there soon."

Once they arrived at the bar, Jungkook went around, opening the door for her as she got out of the car.

“That dress is really working for you.” He bit his lip. “Have I mentioned that?”

Y/n chuckled, walking with him inside. “You have.”

Although she was hearing these flirtatious words everyday, she couldn’t help but blush at the constant compliments from her boss.

Once they took a seat and ordered a few drinks they got to talking.

They went to discussing random business deals and even going off topic and speaking about their personal lives.

“I never thought I’d have to spend so much time with someone because of my job. I thought I would hire many men as my assistant and sectaries but you’re all I’ve ever needed.” He told her.

“I didn’t think I’d ever have the honor of working for someone so head strong and successful” She laughed. “And for these many years.”

Jungkook smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You know, you're the best assistant I could've ever asked for," he said, his hand finding its way to her thigh once more. "I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“I don’t actually know what Id do without you either. I was in such a rough spot when I got hired…” She trailed off.

Jungkook's grip on her thigh tightened, his thumb rubbing small circles on her skin.

"I'm glad I could help, even if it was just giving you a position," he said, his voice low and husky. "But it's not just about the job, is it?

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook's gaze met hers, his eyes filled with a fiery intensity. "You know what I mean," he said, his grip on her thigh tightening even more.

"I think it's more than just a boss-assistant relationship between us." He brought up once more.

“You keep saying this.” She sighed.

“I’ve built up my career Mr. Jeon. I can’t fraternitize with the one guy who could ruin my life in seconds all because we stupidly decided to date.” She shook her head.

Jungkook's grip on her thigh loosened a little, his gaze dropping to the ground.

He nodded solemnly. "I understand your concerns. I do." He paused for a moment before continuing. "But please don't think of it as stupid.”

“How can I not? Say we decide to be official. How do you think that makes me look? What if we get into an argument and I lose my job? What if someone accuses me of sleeping to get the job?” She rambled.

Jungkook's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "I'd never let anything happen to you, do you understand that?"

He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek. "You're more than just an assistant. You're... so fucking special to me."

“I don’t know still Jungkook. This could ruin everything.”

Jungkook's gaze softened as he looked at her. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Don't worry about a thing. I'll protect you, no matter what happens." He whispered. "Let me take care of everything. Trust me."

“I—“

He interrupted. “Whatever he offered you, I’ll pay more. So much more. I’ll give you whatever the hell you want. I’ll do whatever you ask me too.”

“You don’t have to date me Y/n. I’ll stop flirting with you forever,” He continued, “Just please, don’t accept Namjoon’s proposal.”

Y/n exhaled, finally giving into him after all that time.

“I want to give us a chance.”

Jungkook’s ears perked up, the last line he’d be expecting from her.

“What?”

“I’ve always been attracted to you but I’ve pushed it all to the side so we can work as normal but— I’m wiling to try with you.”

His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest.

“You’re serious?” He was choked up, jittery from how worked up her reply made him.

“More than serious.”

“Oh Y/n you have no fucking clue how long I’ve been wanting to hear that.” He hurriedly rushed her out of the restaurant, almost pushing her into the car.

She was giggling in the backseat. Jungkook was kissing all up on her, mumbling sweet sayings into her ears.

He couldn’t believed this was real— that it all unfolded in seconds.

After asking asking and asking. She finally agreed.

She wanted to give them a try, just like he always desired.

He couldn't believe he finally had her in his arms.

The smile plastered on his face could be seen from miles away. He smiled against her skin, unable to allow it to fade.

Jungkook's hands were exploring her body as he kissed her and made his way down her neck.

He sucked on her neck, leaving a mark as he did. "Fuck, I can’t stop kissing you." He growled into her ear.

“You’re a really good kisser.” She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Can’t wait until we get to your penthouse.”

Jungkook grinned, his eyes shining with excitement. "I can't wait either." He replied.

"I'm going to show you how bad I’ve feigned you." He nibbled on her ear.

Before the couple knew it, the vehicle had already been passed security and pulled up to Jungkook’s place.

Jungkook guided her out of the backseat, helping her onto the ground.

He took hold of her, leading her into his luxurious penthouse.

He shut the door behind them and immediately pulled her into his arms, kissing her passionately.

"Finally all to myself." He murmured against her lips.

She was easily able to keep up with his demanding kisses.

He had her brain cloudy and unable to be her usual rational self.

His kisses and touches had her in a daze. She was burning for him.

“Y-Your room already. Please— I’m trying to be a lady but It’s so hard” She mumbled against his lips, almost ashamed of the words she spoke.

He had been chasing after her for years. Now they switched.

Jungkook chuckled, a deep, husky sound. "Shit baby. I didn’t think you’d get like this. I didn’t know I was this good." He boasted, nipping at her bottom lip.

"You're such a naughty girl. I’m barely doing shit and you’re already a mess." He picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her towards his bedroom.

She was a shy mess, embarrassed at so easily he was able to unfold her.

Her bashful expression wasn’t easy to hide, and Jungkook took notice almost instantly.

Jungkook laid her down on his bed, climbing on top of her. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about." He comforted, tenderly brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

"I love how you respond to me." He kissed her again, slow and deep.

She kissed him back eagerly, smacking her lips against his. “It’s embarrassing. I haven’t been with anyone in—“

“Years. I know.” He interrupted, chuckling. “You’ve been too busy with me.”

"Don't worry about any of that." He flipped her around, pushing her face down onto the bed.

"You're with me now." He whispered, slowly lifting up her dress.

Jungkook couldn't help but smirk at the sight of her.

“Oh look at you.” He breathed out.

Her panties were practically stuck to her pussy like glue. Her pool of wetness making a statement on her panties.

"All this and I haven’t even touched it yet." He smirked, running a finger along the seam of her panties.

"I should take these off huh baby?" He slowly pulled them down her legs.

“Gonna taste you first.” He bit his lip, examining her panties before having his eyes locked on her plump and glistening pussy. “Is that alright?”

“P-Please. Now.”

“What was that sweetheart?” He taunted.

“Jungkook please eat it already.” She turned her head slightly to look at him, humiliated that she was so desperate for him like this.

“So needy.” He teased.

He couldn't help but smirk at her words, he wasted no time in doing as she said.

He spread her legs apart and started lavishing her pussy with his tongue.

Her body instantly retracted at the pleasure, a gasp leaving her lips.

Jungkook couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction, he continued to eat her pussy, determined to make her cum on his tongue.

He reached up with one hand and started rubbing circles aroundz

He went stupid on her pussy, licking and sucking on her clit.

“Jungkook you’re so good with your mouth.” She muttered out, barely able to speak by how distracted his tongue made her.

Jungkook looked up at her, his eyes gleaming with desire as he continued to pleasure her.

"Mmm, you're so fucking sweet." He murmured against her pussy, his tongue delving deeper into her folds. "I could eat you out all day."

“D-Don’t say that.” She swallowed, his claims made her blush even harder.

He continued to eat her out, his tongue expertly flicking over her clit as he watched her reactions. "But it's true. You're so fucking beautiful and delicious.”

“I need to make you cum over and over again.” He continued. “Until my fucking jaw snaps. You taste so fucking good it’s addicting.”

She was already feeling the pressure in her lower body build up, the orgasm rushing through her.

“Jungkook I’m close.” She whined.

“Let go baby.” He continued working her pussy. “All over my mouth.”

It didn’t take long for her to do so, thighs clenching together before releasing herself all over his tongue.

Jungkook groaned against her as he tasted her, sucking and licking up every last drop.

"Fuck." He looked down at her with a satisfied grin. "I think I'll have to make you cum every day now. I seriously can’t get enough of this shit.”

Jungkook helped her get into a more comfortable position, allowing her arched back to rest.

She took initiative, eagerly kissed him the second he looked away.

He couldn’t help but smirk into her mouth, his tongue slipping into her mouth to taste herself.

Not that it would stop her.

He pulled back and looked down at her again. “You’re a lot dirtier than I thought Ms. Y/n.” He chuckled.

“I just didn’t realize how much— how bad— I needed you.” She admitted.

"You needed me?" Jungkook asked, his voice low and husky.

He reached up to brush a strand of hair out of her face, his fingers grazing her cheek.

"You're mine now, aren't you? You need me to take care of you? I’ll do just that.” He pecked her lips.

He got up from the bed, walking over to his large closet.

He searched an empty shoebox, before finding what he needed.

He strides back over to his bed. “Condom. Just forgot.” He pecked her lips once more.

“Need you missionary tonight baby. I’m trying to be a gentleman.” He smiled smugly.

She didn’t say anything, slithering the condom from his fingertips.

She maintained eye contact with him, tearing the package open with her teeth.

“May I?” She placed her hands on his belt buckle, “Please.”

“Fuck. You’re gonna make this so hard.” He cussed. “Put it on.”

She hurriedly unbuckled his belt, sliding his pants down and pulling out his cock from his boxers.

She gasped.

It caught her so off guard. She didn’t think he looked like that at all.

Now she knew why he talked a big game about his dick.

The boasting and bragging finally made sense to her.

“You okay?” He chuckled. “Just noticed the rumors were true hm?”

She nodded quietly.

“It’s all yours Y/n.” He hummed. “Slip it on. I’m aching right now.”

She nodded, snapping out of her trance. She slid the thin material onto his length, trying to hide the enthusiasm displayed on her face.

Once the condom fit comfortably on his dick, he laid the girl on her back.

He positioned himself between her legs, double checking her comfort before his own.

She looked up, staring at him hovering over her. She had a blush spread across her cheeks. “I’m loving the view right now.”

Jungkook chuckled, pleased by her admiring gaze. "I'm glad you finally like what you see, baby.”

“But I definitely have the better view. You're gorgeous, all flushed and spread out for me." He hummed.

She giggled in response, too flushed to continue.

Jungkook grinned and slowly pushed inside her, savoring the tight heat enveloping his cock.

“Oh fuck,” He cussed, not expecting her to be so tight after what he already did to her.

“Fuck, you feel amazing." He started to move, thrusting steadily in and out of her. "So wet and tight for me... shit I can’t think.”

He was finally inside of her and she felt even better that he had ever imagined. He fit inside her like a missing puzzle piece.

“Fuck Jungkook.” She whispered out his name, still adjusting to him.

“Y/n... fuck... so good..." He panted, his eyes locked on hers as he started to move more urgently, driven by the intense pleasure of finally being deep inside her.

"You were made for me, weren't you? This sweet pussy, it's mine now. Isn’t it Y/n?” He panted.

“Mm fuck- all yours Jungkook” She nodded vigorously. “Shit that’s good.”

Jungkook groaned, feeling her tighten around him even more. "That's it, baby, take my cock... milk it."

He pistoned into her harder and faster, the bed creaking with the force of their movements. "You love this dick, do you baby?“

”Y-Yes I-I do” She swallowed, body working up a sweat at the heat.

“Such a pretty girl. Had to beat my dick to the idea of this for years.” Jungkook growled, his grip on her hips tightening as he drove into her harder and faster.

"You make it so worth it. So fucking worth it." He went on.

“Jungkook you’re making me feel so good— never had dick like this” She hiccuped.

Jungkook smirked, his hands running up and down her body possessively. "Gonna get dick like this for the rest of your fucking life."

He grunted, thrusting deeper. "No other man will ever touch you like I do, make you cum like I do.”

She was in a crazed and corrupt state of mind.

It’s like he hit the right spots instantly.

“Shit.” She cussed, knowing damn well he was right.

He fucked her so good she probably wouldn’t be able to get the same sensation from anyone but him.

“So hard to fuck you like a gentleman.” He began, “Shits too fucking hard.”

“No one fucking told you to.” She growled, “Need more. I don’t care how you do it.”

Jungkook chuckled, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "Not at all?”

“Not at all.” She bit her lip, smirking.

He easily noticed the glimmer in her eyes when she agreed, and he knew just where to go from there.

His dirty words were ones out of a romance novel. She didn’t even know real men even acted like this.

She didn’t complain.

He worshipped her body in no way she thought anyone could.

When she became devoted to being single, she thought her vibrator could be the only thing to ever make her cum.

Now she knew she was wrong.

And to throw that shit away.

"Such a dirty girl. All mine." His hand reached down to squeeze her throat in a dominant gesture, knowing she liked it. "You take dick so well babe."

“All for you.” She answered. She didn’t realize how easy it would be for him to turn her out but she wasn’t complaining.

"My girl." He praised, rewarding her with a particularly hard thrust that made her gasp.

"Now come for me baby. I’m fucking close and I need you to cum with me." His hand slid between their bodies to rub her clit, determined to make her cum on his cock too.

“Can you feel how close I am?” He almost let out a whimper in her ear. “I’m so lost inside you.”

“Y-Yes.” She replied to the lewd plea, “Mm close too”

“I feel it pretty girl I feel it.” His voice soothed her. “Shit shit”

He fucked her good until he could feel her orgasm reach its peak.

Soon after he quickly pulled out, cumming on her stomach.

He collapsed right beside of her, panting and cussing as he tried to catch his breath.

Jungkook lay beside her, still trying to catch his breath as he stared at the sight of her cum-covered stomach.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he said in a rough voice.

Jungkook got up, wiping himself off before returning to the bed with a warm towel.

He gently cleaned her up, taking his time to ensure he didn't miss a spot.

He used the rest of his energy to clean her up.

Once done, he tossed the towel aside and laid back down beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist.

She pecked his cheeks and lips happily and satisfied. “So much for trying to be cute and romantic tonight.”

Jungook chuckled and pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"We'll have plenty of time for romance later, babe," He laughed. “Isn’t it better for us to get comfortable like this now? You already know everything about me.”

“That’s true.”

“I thought I knew everything about you.” He stared into her.

“What do you mean?” She furrowed her eyebrows.

“I didn’t know you were a fucking freak!” He laughed. “All conservative and shy… You’re a fake. You’re a fucking sex maniac I’m appalled.”

He put his hand on his chest. “You had me fooled.”

“Oh my gosh.” She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t give me that. I’m not the fake. I’m very open with how I am.” He shook his head.

“I hate you.”

“No. You like me.” A stupid grin was spread on his face. “Finally.”

1K notes · View notes

readwritealldayallnight · 26 days ago

Text

Learning

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 1k words

warnings/tags: fluff

“Said it would’ve made too much of a mess. Waste o’ his money.” Simon says, slopping another spoonful of pumpkin guts into the large bowl in the middle of the kitchen table. Your usual table cloth has been switched out with an array of this weeks newspaper, the black and white print covered in the sticky remnants of your idea of fun on a Friday before Halloween.

“Not even one?” You attempt to pose the question casually, hoping to disguise the sadness in your tone, concealing the way your heart breaks at the thought of a young Simon Riley having never carved a pumpkin, his father not even allowing him to partake in that simple tradition so many others enjoy.

“S’alright, lovie.” He says, seeing right through you and recognizing the hurt you hold for him, an indication of your longing to only see love and joy in his life. If only you knew that’s everything you give him. “Did watch a mate o’ mine shoot his pellet gun at some pumpkins one year, if that makes you feel any better.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt to make you laugh, digging your spoon a little harder into the sides of your own gourd as if it were the one to have wronged you.

“Well then I’m glad I ignored you and got them anyways.” You declare, giving each pumpkin a loving little pat on its side. Simon had told you outside the grocery store, seeing your eyes land on the bright orange displays outside the shop, that they weren’t necessary.

But the both of you knew he would never deny you anything you wanted, and so he ended up carrying the two large pumpkins under each bicep and to the car himself, not letting you lift a finger.

“How’s the inside of yours looking?” You ask him, coming around to his side of the table, affectionately running a hand through the strands of hair at the base of his skull, glancing into the pumpkin he tilts in your direction for you to see. You can feel a shiver go through him at your touch, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

You’re glad he’s home with you, where he can relax, allow his biggest stresses to be his girlfriend ogling his arms as he carved open the tops of pumpkins and gutted them with efficiency.

“You’d have to tell me, love, but I think that’s as empty as it’s gettin’.” He emphasizes by tapping his spoon on the side of the sphere, listening to the dull, hollow echo it gives.

“Looks perfect. Nice work, Simon.” You tell him, planting a quick kiss to his cheek before hopping back over to your seat, leaving him looking a few shades redder than before. “Know what you’re gonna carve?”

“It’s- it’s just a face, innit?” At your question, Simon finds himself pausing. He might have had a different childhood than most, but he wasn’t daft, he knew what a jack o lantern was supposed to look like. Carved eyes, a wicked grin or large frown, sometimes even a nose in between them both.

He didn’t consider himself to be a crafty person, but he’d been a butcher for crying out loud, he could carve some shapes into a pumpkin until it resembled a face, no problem. So why are you asking him about what he’s going to carve.

“Well yeah, that’s the go to, for sure. A classic.” You reassure him, noticing the slight tension returning to his shoulders. “You can carve a face, my love. Some people just do different, they get creative with it.” Shrugging, you grab the marker you’d set aside, beginning to map out the lines for where you plan on carving your own design. You’re distracted, eyes darting between your sketching and your phone where you’ve got the inspiration photo pulled up for reference.

You don’t notice Simon’s eyes squinting ever so slightly at you before darting to the pumpkin in front of him. ‘Get creative with it’? Is that what you’re doing? Is that what you’re expecting him to do? Hoping he’ll do? He glances over at you again and notices you’ve got a bloody reference photo and everything??

He finds his cheeks beginning to burn for a different reason now, feeling stupid over not realizing you could carve more than the standard jack o lantern faces as a tradition. Obviously, you can carve anything you want into a fuckin’ pumpkin, he just didn’t know, he hasn’t done this before, and now he’s gone from feeling almost confident to worried he’s about to make a fool out of himself over something as childish as this.

“Simon.” You say, always more in tune with him than he realizes. “It’s okay, carve anything you want. I’m excited to see what you make.” You smile warmly at him across the table, a small socked foot going to nudge his ankle as well. “Believe it or not, this is supposed to be fun.”

He scoffs at your joke but doesn’t fight the smile that etches onto his face in return. He accepts your distraction when you ask if you should put on some music in the background, walking towards the record player. As he flips through the stack of vinyls, he thinks about just that, what he could possibly carve into that bloody orange sphere sat on his kitchen table, that would be fun.

Searching through any memories he considers as being ‘fun’, he finds a common factor: you. And there’s one more reoccurring element sewn into the fabric of those treasured memories as well: your laughter.

With that in mind, it’s actually quite easy for Simon to decide on what he’ll do finally. And almost an hour later, after you’ve put your blood, sweat and tears into your own pumpkin carving and deciding that the results ended up being just meh, Simon has decided that he’s undeniably the winner of the evening when he spins his creation around and has you nearly crying with laughter, insisting between wheezed breaths that he’s going to make you pee your pants, only leading to Simon’s own laughter bellowing out.

Not too bad for his first time learning.

~~~~~~~~~~

(The kind of pumpkin I’ve decided Ghost would carve 😂)

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 5 months ago

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to many more | s.r. x liaison!fem reader

“what’s your favorite book?”

spencer looked away from his open files to turn in his chair to see you standing behind him, a couple of manila folders held close to your baby blue long sleeve dress shirt. he had to keep his eyes from dropping lower to get a glance at the curves that hugged to your black pants.

he coughed as he blinked a few times behind his glasses, “uh, well there’s- there’s too many to choose from. if you’re asking about general literature i’d probably say-“

you held a hand out with a shaky smile, “sorry. don’t mean to interrupt. but um, i’m asking if there’s a book or story that’s very meaningful full for you.”

spencer straightened his mouth, feeling it form into that usual line. he let his mind scour for a moment, “uh maybe… alice in wonderland. my mom used to read it as a bed time story from time to time in between narnia and fifteenth century literature. she used to read me valentines poems.”

he saw your brows raise for a moment, “that’s sweet. which did she recite the most?” you readjusted the files.

spencer tapped his fingers over his thighs, “mostly chaucer’s parlement of foules. The poem, which is in the form of a dream vision in rhyme royal stanza, contains one of the earliest references to the idea that St. Valentine's Day is a special day for lovers…” he stopped short when he saw a bored expression draping your face. “sorry, rambling.”

your eyes widen and you took a step closer, “no, no. you’re fine. your voice soothes me, probably looked a bit drowsy.”

spencer scrunched his face, “most people would look tired cause i’m boring them to sleep.” he saw your face fall at his words, he didn’t like the sight.

“well i like hearing your information. i find what you know quite fascinating, like last week you told me that flamingos feathers are actually white or pale gray, but appear pink cause of algae and shrimp. i would’ve never know that.” your smile pushed your cheeks, pupils beaming alight as he felt them ghostly tracing his face.

bashful your eyes directed to your feet, “i enjoyed our date last week.” moving some fingers to run behind your ear, “i’ve always wanted to visit the planetarium, but never found the time.”

spencer smiled fondly, “i’m glad i was able to get you the chance. sometimes they do thirty minute segments on each zodiac sign, it’s when i see a lot of ‘psychics’.”

you chuckled lightly, spencer’s grin widened. “i should take you to one for fun. just to test how real they are.”

he couldn’t help rolling his eyes, “don’t waste your money.” you shrugged simply, “could be a fun third date. she can verify that we’re a match.” giving your upper body a slight twisting at the waist.

before spencer could say anything in reply, you both turned to see hotch calling you from his upper office. “shit, forgot i had to drop these off. i’ll see you later.” and you stepped into his space to lean in an leave a kiss to his forehead. he could feel the residue of your fading gloss. he was happy there wasn’t many people in the bullpen, he didn’t want to deal with morgan’s teasing right now.

the only possible person to have witnessed that display would be hotch. “reid, a word,” his stern voice causing him to flinch in his seat. he quickly made his way up the steps and into the office, closing the door behind him and standing beside you with his hands behind his back. he wasn’t planning to have this conversation a month early.

“is there something you both would like to inform me on?” hotch letting either of you confirm your new relationship instead of assuming.

“uh,” you started to say before spencer interrupted more confidently, “y/n and i are currently seeing each other. it’s only been about two months.” he turned to you, eyes locking and both of you smiled at each other, “but i’d like to believe this will last awhile.”

“well,” hotch cleared his throat, “since you’ve probably read through the handbook spencer, there isn’t anything wrong with fraternization between employees. i would just need both of you to fill out some paperwork.”

you both nodded in agreement. “and please, try not to let this distract you in the field. otherwise you’ll have to be in separate rooms, hotel and assignments.”

“yes sir,” giving a playful salute as he dismissed you both. you decided to pull spencer by his hand in the direction of your, shared office, already knowing jj was busy elsewhere.

“i hope that was-“ you spun into spencer, palms on his cheeks as your lips pressed onto his. he went still for a moment, but you knew he just needed a second to process. his fingers curled along your hips, his warmth seeping through your fabric and onto your skin.

you sighed into his mouth as he worked your lips apart, taking the lead he moved both of you further into the office. your thighs hit the edge, a small gasping allowing for spencer to boldly slip his tongue into your mouth, your heart was pumping in your ears.

if you weren’t in the office you’d let your greedy fingers start to work at unbuttoning his shirt, but instead you were stopped short when someone groaned out, “holy shit!”

spencer was the first to jump away and you saw that penelope and jj were at the threshold with jaws dropped and bugged eyes. “you freaky love birds!” penelope screeched.

“i need to burn this room,” jj groaned as she turned on her heels.

#erin writes spencer #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x liaison!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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munsonsmixtapes · 1 month ago

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I Just Wanna Be Close Enough to Feel You

rockstar!Eddie x fem!reader

cw warning: hurt/comfort, mention of pregnancy, vomit, and alcohol

based on this post by @cremeve

summary: Eddie is paying too much attention to his rising fame that he completely forgets that you exist. Once he realizes his mistake, he tries his best to make it up to you before it’s too late.

You watched Eddie from the green room like always. If he had it his way, you would have been right there next to him during the interview, but you always declined. Always. Sure, you were the one who always encouraged him to go after his dreams, but you never wanted to be in the spotlight like he did.

You were perfectly content with cheering him on from the sidelines, grasping at your anonymity for as long as possible. As you stared down at the diamond on your finger, you realized that wasn’t going to last for very long.

He had proposed to you at one of his shows. It wasn’t exactly what you had wanted, but it was fine. It was what you had been used to over the last few months.

It seemed like all of a sudden, Eddie had forgotten who you were and for the most part, that you had even existed. Everything he had ever known about you seemed to disappear from his brain and was replaced with everything fame related.

Sorry babe, can’t go on our date like I promised, we have an awards show to go to.

Can’t eat the dinner that took you hours to make. I’m going out with the guys.

I’ll be home late after the show. Don’t wait up.

You loved Eddie. You loved him more than you could comprehend, but it seemed like you were slipping through his fingers and he didn’t even care. It almost seemed like he didn’t even remember that you existed sometimes.

It was little things at first. He forgot to order you a coffee when his assistant was making a run. Or he turned off your alarm that you had set for work because he had a late night.

But the worst was when he forgot to call you after one of his shows. He never forgot, the unknown numbers from the hotels signaling that it was him. So that night, you went to bed, the silence almost deafening as you waited just a little longer for the phone to ring. But it never did.

Until the next night from a bar or club or whatever. Eddie was so wasted that his words were intelligible, but you were just happy that he called. You were making excuses for him because you just didn’t want to admit that he had changed.

“That’s y/n,” Eddie told the interviewer and hearing your name pulled you out of your thoughts. Your head snapped to the TV and on the screen behind Eddie and the woman was a photo of the two of you leaving some sort of event. He was looking at you like you had hung the moon and you were beginning to miss that look. When was the last time you had seen it?

“That’s my girl,” he said with a dopey grin and the interviewer smiled in response.

“So, you proposed to her at Madison Square Garden a little over a month ago.” That statement was met with cheers and your stomach churned at the memory.

You had wanted a little proposal, just the two of you and Eddie had known that. Doing that big grand gesture had upset you not only because you had horrible stage fright, but also because it felt like he was just doing it all for show.

“I did,” Eddie nodded.

“I hear the ring is worth a lot of money,” the woman smiled and you were just glad that she was wrong. The ring was the one thing that Eddie had gotten right. It was his mother’s, something she had given to him before she passed away, making him promise that he would give it to the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

“It’s not,” Eddie laughed with a shake of his head. “It was my mother’s and I wanted y/n to have it because of how special she is to me.”

At that point, you weren’t sure if he was just saying that to make it seem like your relationship was fairy-tale like or if he genuinely meant it. Whichever one it was, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t shown you that he felt that way in a long time. When was the last time the two of you had even slept in the same bed? Maybe April?

It was October now and the more you watched him talk about the proposal, the more you were convinced that he had only done it to make you stay. And the audience was just to add to the manipulation.

You weren’t actually going to leave him and Eddie wouldn’t have been so cruel as to do something like that…right? Deep down, he was still the nerd from Hawkins, Indiana that loved to play Dungeons and Dragons and drive you around in his van while the two of you listened to his metal mixtapes. That guy was still in there somewhere. He had to be.

“Is she here?” The woman asked and you were seconds away from leaving. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Yeah, she’s backstage. She’s not really a big fan of all this. It’s too much for her.” The words were true, but the tone he was using was condescending, not at all like the Eddie you had grown to love. Whoever you were watching on the TV, you didn’t recognize him one bit.

With that, you grabbed your purse and headed out of the green room and down the hallway to where the two of you had been let in. It was suddenly really hot and you felt like you were going to throw up.

Before you could make your exit, though, you hurried to the nearest restroom and practically threw yourself into one of the stalls before emptying the contents of your stomach, trying to figure out when you her last thrown up.

Once you were done, you wiped your face with some toilet paper then went to wash your hands before fleeing the building. You need to get out of there. You needed to be alone.

But as soon as the door shut behind you, you heard someone calling after you. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. That voice was ingrained in your brain.

“Where are you going, baby?”

“Home, Eddie.” Your words were stiff and he could just tell that something upset you but he wasn’t sure what.

“Why? What’s wrong?” That was your breaking point. You couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Do you even know why I’m here?” You asked, your tone nothing but bitter.

“I invited you.”

“No, John, your manager invited me. You haven’t invited me to anything in months. Do you even love me anymore, Eddie?” You were getting choked up, feeling tears pricking your eyes.

“Of course I love you, baby,” he said, stepping forward and taking your hands in his. “That’s why I proposed to you.”

“Right, so you didn’t do it just to make yourself look good in front of a crowd? You knew how I wanted to be proposed to and you ignored it or forgot or whatever it was. But it seems like you always forget about me lately.”

“Baby-“

“No,” you cut him off and his eyes widened at how angry you sounded. “I’m not your baby anymore. Here’s your ring, because if this is the guy you’re going to be then I don’t want to marry you. I’m going to pack up my things tonight and stay with my parents for a while.”

That was like a stab the Eddie’s chest. He hadn’t even been aware of how badly he fucked up until he watched you walk to your car with the ring weighing heavily in his hands.

He went home alone after his interviews wrapped up. And just like you promised, boxes littered your (now just his) home, but you were nowhere to be found. Not surprising. He almost wanted to call your parents, but decided that it was best to leave you alone for now. He had already done enough.

Eddie grabbed a much needed beer from the fridge along with a container of whatever you had made for dinner the night before. As soon as he opened the lid, he saw that it was spaghetti, his favorite. He put some into a bowl before putting it into the microwave, leaning an against the counter behind him, sipping on his beer as he waited.

Once it was done, he moved to the kitchen table with his dinner and ate it, quickly realizing that it was still cold, but he decided that it was what he deserved. The entire time he ate in silence, thinking about nothing but how badly he had fucked up. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. You were supposed to be together forever and now he had the ring he had given sitting in his pocket because he just had to ruin the good thing you had.

And now he was going to have to tell everyone that you were no longer together and he wasn’t going to be able bear seeing the looks on their faces when he told them that it was his fault. As much as he wanted to throw a pity party for himself, he couldn’t help but think about how you felt. He made you feel like you were invisible, like you didn’t even exist and that almost made him not even want to finish his dinner.

At one time, you were the most important thing in his life and then he got one little taste of fame and suddenly, it was like you weren’t even there anymore. And the thing that made him the most sick was that he hadn’t even noticed. He hadn’t even noticed that you had been there all along, even when you were in the same room. The old Eddie would have had you on his lap, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you both were enveloped in your own little world.

He couldn’t even remember the last time the two of you had done that. It had definitely been months. He looked at the chair across from him and imagined you sitting there, eating your food in between sips of whatever drink you were having and you’d smile at him, telling him time and time again that you loved him. Because you did. More than he ever would have known and now he was alone, preparing to down his sorrows in a mixture of beer and his tears.

Once his bowl was empty and put in the dishwasher, Eddie moved to the room you two had shared, trying to think about the last time he had slept in it. He sat on the edge and looked around the room at all the boxes, feeling tears roll down his cheeks. He then pulled the ring out of his pocket and stared at it, thinking about how disappointed his mother would have been in him. How disappointed Wayne would have been in him. Maybe he should have given him a call. He would know exactly what the do. Before Eddie could stop himself, though, he dialed the all too familiar number and the line rang a few times before someone picked up.

“Well, as I live and breathe,” Wayne’s familiar voice rang through the phone and Eddie felt himself tearing up just by hearing it. “Thought you were too famous to call around here.”

“I’m never too famous for you, Wayne,” Eddie replied which was followed by a sigh. He should have known that Wayne could predict that he had wanted something. He could always read Eddie like a book and Eddie hated that.

“Alright, lay it on me, boy,” Wayne sighed once again and Eddie just furrowed his eyebrows, trying just best to play dumb since he hadn’t actually wanted to talk about it. Because if he talked about it, he’d have to admit what he had done and he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.

“What?”

“Something’s bothering you, kid, now tell me what it is and I’ll see if I can help.”

“I-she left me, Wayne.” Eddie was choking back sobs and Wayne was able to tell even through the phone.

“Y/n wouldn’t leave you,” his uncle replied, his tone soft like always.

“Then why is all her stuff packed up in boxes?” He turned to look over his shoulder just to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming and sure enough, they were still there, his nightmare becoming a harsh reality.

“What did you do?” The tone wasn’t so much accusatory as it was genuine curiosity.

“What makes you think I did something?”

“Because I know my nephew and I know y/n. She cares too much to actually hurt you. Now what did you do? I thought you were engaged.” The fact that Wayne clocked his shit so quick made Eddie feel even more sick, even more guilty.

“We were. But I think that’s part of the problem, Wayne. She didn’t like it and only said yes because she felt like she had to.” Even Eddie knew that to be true, so he wasn’t so sure why he was surprised when you had given the ring back to him. Eddie had made it all about him just like always and didn’t even stop for a second to think about what you had wanted.

“Well, your first mistake was proposing in front of that many people. Even I know how she really wanted it to happen. But I feel like you’re not telling the whole story.” That was true and Eddie hated how Wayne knew him so well. That he was able to see through all of the bullshit just like you could. Everyone else seemed to be so blind to it.

“I let it all get to my head. I was so obsessed with the fame and the money and the attention that I forgot about what really mattered until it was too late. I fucked up.”

“When did all of this happen?”

“Months ago, Wayne. But she broke up with me this afternoon.”

“Then it’s not too late. You know where she is so go apologize. Give her what she really wants. Jesus, kid, for being really smart, you really don’t like to use your head, do you?”

“I can’t apologize-“ Wayne didn’t want to hear any excuses. Eddie didn’t want to apologize because he didn’t want to admit how wrong he was, how badly he had screwed up. But deep down, he knew that was all you wanted to hear.

“I do'n want to hear any of that. If you just own up to your mistakes, she’ll definitely forgive you. It’s like you don’t even know her anymore. Now I’ve got to head to work, but you tell me how it all ends, alright? You better have gotten the girl, kid.”

The line went dead and Eddie set the phone back in its cradle and sat for a moment, trying to come up with how he was going to apologize. This time, there would be no grand gesture, just him and his words that were coming from the heart.

Once he was done sulking, he wiped his tears and hurried to the bathroom to fix his hair and generally just make himself look more presentable. He raked his finger through his hair to make it look more presentable then let out a deep sigh as he looked in the mirror. He leaned forward to get a better look and shook his head as he realized that that was going to be the best it was going to get.

He then reached for some toiler paper and dabbed at his tears, not wanting to look like a pathetic mess in front of you. You deserved the best and that was definitely not it. Once he was finished, he went to throw away the toilet paper and was distracted but the box that was sticking out among the other trash. Without another thought, he reached for it, not even noticing that something had fallen out of it as he held the box up to read it.

“What?” He asked, his eyes widening as he read the words “pregnancy test” scrawled across the front in a giant font. He took the box and went to find his keys so he could head to your parents’ house but tripped on something on his way out of the bathroom. He stepped back and there was the test sitting on the floor. He picked it up and felt his heartbeat quicken as he saw the two lines where the results were supposed to be.

A baby? You were going to have a baby? He was going to be a father? Well, if he played his cards right he would be. Just as he was about to go hunt for his keys, though, the front door slammed shut.

Eddie fled the bathroom so fast that there was practically smoke behind him as he moved. Sure enough, as he got to the hallway, there you were, hanging your coat up on the rack, wiping your tears from your face. Eddie stood at the end of the hall, giving you your space and he was glad that he had considering the fact that you jumped at the sight of him.

“I-I thought you were out with the guys.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I wanted to chase after you, but you were already gone. And I was about to leave to find you because I wanted to talk to you about this,” he held up the test and you supposed you shouldn’t have left it in plain sight.

“What about it? I don’t need you, Eddie. We don’t need you,” you corrected as you raised your hands to your stomach. “If you’re willing to get your shit together and decide that you want to be a father then we can co-parent, but if not, then I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t want to co-parent,” He said, stepping closer to you. “I have made a lot of mistakes in the past few months, y/n. And the biggest one was letting you walk out that door.” He was in front of you now and your stomach lurched as you took in him pink, tear-stained cheeks.

“I want us to get married and raise this baby together. I want to wake up next to you every morning no matter where I am because I can’t stand to be away from you. I’m sorry I fucked up and I’m sorry that you were in the receiving end of it. If you give me another chance, I promise I’ll make it right, baby. I swear. So if you’ll have me,” he lowered himself onto his knee as he held out his ring to you. “I would want nothing more than to be your husband.”

As you stared down at him, you could see the old Eddie coming back. That little glimmer of mischief in his eyes was there again and you could tell that he was serious as the tears rolled down his cheeks. Seeing him that distraught over losing you made you realize that he really didn’t want to lose you and that he had just made a mistake.

“Of course you can be my husband,” you responded, and Eddie was quick to put the ring on your finger before rising to his feet, pulling you in for a kiss. It was deep and passionate as the two of you poured out your feelings for each other that you hadn’t been able to express for months. You were the first to pull away, a bright smile on your face that Eddie had missed so much.

“Wanna help me unpack?” You asked before pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Honey, I thought you’d never ask.”

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson hurt/comfort #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x fem!reader

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pinkrelish · 2 years ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶When Eddie gets a call at work telling him Adrie is sick, he rushes to pick her up from school, accidentally leaving his black notebook behind. Being you, you find the means to return it to him. But while at his trailer, you ask him the question he's been avoiding for months.

"Let's get down to those rumors, hm?"✶

NSFW — strong tw for a dark conversation surrounding eddie's past (accusations of murder, rape), heavy angst, comfort, drug/alcohol mention/use, slow burn, fluff, flirting, 18+ overall for eventual smut

chapter: 8/20 [wc: 14.1k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 8: The Munson Name

Leave it to Eddie to make your day special not two minutes into work.

Upon entering the garage, the back door was ajar as usual, but instead of phantom wisps of smoke swimming in the sunshaft, a shadow moved, and Eddie’s arm curled around to knock on the aluminum siding for your attention. His chain bracelet clinked from the motion, and his rings caught the light as he gestured for you to come over.

You peeked through the opening and saw him standing against the wall, but his morning smile wasn’t aimed at you, it was elsewhere, off to the side. You wrapped your fingers around the doorknob, and followed where he was looking.

A bright red cardinal sat perched on the round side mirror of Eddie’s car, chirping and hopping while fluttering its wings, spinning around in search of something, and after several twittering singsongs, it flew away.

“That was precious,” you whispered, breath fogging in awe.

“I’m glad you got to see him before he took off.” Eddie grabbed the door from you and pushed you both inside, shaking his arms in an intense shiver, and shrugging his jacket up around his neck while he hugged his hands around himself in his pockets. “Uhm..”

The goofy smile he wore was mutual, as was the dear silence. The energy between you had changed; it was charged with a new development in your relationship. One that did not need to be articulated in words. It was there, in his well-rested eyes owning a playful gleam when you looked at him, and his need to rock from foot to foot in a measured sway, like a subconscious impulse to recreate that beautiful night.

Then, he cleared his throat. You averted your gaze to the floor.

“You, uh, you said it was one gift,” he recalled with an audible wince squeezing the oxygen from his sentence.

Unsure on how best to approach you buying his daughter a generous amount of presents, and hearing the impassive edge to his voice, you shut one eye and opted for a joke, “It was one gift.. bag.”

“It was too much.”

Your demeanor sagged. “Oh.”

“No, no! Not in the bad way–No.”

You perked up. “Oh?”

A soft laugh poured from the snuggly place he had his chin tucked behind the tan canvas. He dropped his shoulders, and drove his weight forward into jaunty little steps towards you, closing the gap between your bodies. There were affectionate nuances to his fond expression when he corrected himself, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. The gifts were great. Like, real home runs. Uhm, she loved them, and they were really thoughtful. Just.. really sweet of you.” Immersing himself in the steady eye contact you were both proud to uphold, he licked his lips, and raised his eyebrows. “You’re so sweet, in fact, it’s piling onto that thank you I owe you at a ridiculous rate.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I just like doing things for you and Adrie. Besides, I live rent free in a tiny town with an abysmal lack of nighttime entertainment for me to waste my money on, so I figured why not spoil my favorite four-year-old.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know I don’t owe you, but” –he moved his hand around in his pocket– “I’m gonna figure out a way to repay you. Do something nice for you. Something big. Until then, your favorite almost-five-year-old made you this.”

He presented his palm to you. Cradled in it was a bracelet made of plastic beads in an assortment of colors, some shaped as stars, some with glitter, and at the middle was a name arranged in white blocks with black lettering. M-O-U-S-E.

“I had to help her spell it,” he said, tugging up his sleeve, “but it matches mine.” D-A-D-D-Y.

There was no masking the effect the bracelet had on you; breath hitched on a raw noise, chest falling on the exhale, muscles tensed on the cusp of a bigger reaction–but you tamped down the wealth of feeling wanted, and spoke beyond the heaviness in your heart, through the strain in your throat, and behind the blurriness of tears, “A true Adrie Original. I love it, tell her thank you for me.”

You slid the elastic band over your trembling left hand. He wore his on his right.

Eddie leaned in to get a better look at you, and the amusement in his face was replaced by genuine surprise. “Are you crying?”

You crossed your arms over your chest and gripped your shoulders, laughing, smiling through the embarrassment of being caught. “Maybe! It’s–It’s really sweet.”

“I’m gonna tell her you cried!”

“Don’t!” you yelped, running away from his evil fingers advancing towards your ribs.

“But it’s cute!”

“Stop chasing me!”

Luckily for you, refuge was on the other side of the glass door you managed to lock before he could grab the handle. You guarded your safe space with a glare. He pouted, and said something. You cupped your ear. He grew more passionate, flapping his lips at a rapid rate and putting his hands up in a prayer, but you couldn’t hear what he was saying. You shouted you’d only let him in if he apologized for making fun of you. “I’m sorry.” The sincerity was lost on his smirk, but you gave in so you could make coffee and get to work, and so he could get said coffee and take your pen cup and put it just out of reach on the ledge of your desk while on his way out to the garage.

And unluckily for you, the first thing on your to-do list after the break was checking the flashing buttons on the phone. You picked up the receiver, pressed the playback for messages, and listened with a pen hovered over your new set of index cards.

The first one began with a startled, “U-uhm, right.”

The second one began with a confused laugh.

The third was a long pause before telling someone else in the room they’d try again later.

Dread pooled in your stomach. The recording button. The fucking recording button for an outgoing message taunted you. Faded yellow, and ugly.

With a clenched jaw, you prepared your racing heart, and pressed it. And oh God. You covered your eyes, more and more mortified as it played.

“We’re currently closed for the Holidays, and will open at 8AM, Mon–” Raspberry. “You! Why! That one was perfect. God, you are so–freaking–annoying. I swear. Obnoxious little..”

————

Standing at a respectable distance from where Eddie sat at the breakroom table with his notebook, you held up three calendars for the new year. “I’m replacing the one in the garage. Which do you want? Mythical Creatures drawn by Eric Carle, Coca Cola, or hot chicks posing on sports cars?”

He dropped his head back, and tipped his chair to balance on its rear legs. His bangs fell, showing his wrinkled forehead as he looked at you upside down. “Interesting options,” he commented.

“The mall didn’t have much left.” A lie. The calendar kiosk at the mall was stocked to the brim, you just had a hunch Eddie would go for one in particular.

“Does the mythical creature one have a dragon for a month?”

“Yes,” you said without checking.

“I’ll take that one, then.”

Predictable.

“Cool, I’ll give Mr. Moore the hot chicks, and I’ll take the Coke for me.” Speaking of–the front desk phone was ringing, and it was in your job description to answer it, you supposed.

You left him to get back to his writing, and put the receiver to your ear. The voice on the other end was politely stressed in the customer-friendly way. You left it in the cradle on hold, and called down the hallway, “Hey, Eddie, it’s Adrie’s school calling for you. I’m sure–” Stumbling out of his way, his jacket softened the blow of his shoulder knocking into you. He reached his hand back in an apologetic gesture, but his focus manifested in the flash of panic crossing his pale face. “I’m sure she’s fine,” you finished sympathetically.

He answered the woman on the line, and you waited along the wall, eyeing the scuff marks around the floorboards you should probably buff off at some point, and after his short conversation, he hung up.

“Adrie’s sick,” he said quickly, patting down his jacket. “Wayne’s not answering the phone, so I gotta go pick her up, and uh, I–” He pivoted in a circle, glancing around, fumbling for his keys in his pocket. “I–I’m sorry. She needs me.”

You drew your eyebrows in, and waved him off. “Yeah, it’s okay. You can leave. I’ll clock you out and let Carl know when he’s back from lunch.”

“Thank you,” he said in breathless earnest, leaving so quickly his boots left black streaks on the tile.

~~~

Lunch came and went. Carl came and went. The end of the hour posted under the CLOSED sign came and went. Eddie had yet to call the shop to update you, which was fine and dandy (aside from your anxiety over whether or not Adrie was okay), but in his rush, he left behind something important..

His black notebook with the devil-horned skull laid in the middle of the table like an ominous item from a horror movie.

And much like the horror movies, you as the final girl should leave it alone, right? Just.. walk away, and forget about it, and leave it for him to pick it up tomorrow, or whenever he’s able to come back to work..

But.

You were worried about Adrie, and when you went to the garage to replace the trash can liners, you saw his rings still on the black tray near the tool cabinet. Now, it’s not like he needed those either, however, what if you just.. returned them for him? And the notebook fell open while you were at it?

It was wrong. Everything about what you were doing was all so very, very wrong. Going inside Mr. Moore’s office and flipping the lightswitch, making your way to his desk in an innocent saunter, and–oops!–kneeling down to pick up a stray pen, and if the bottom drawer happened to be opened, and the plastic folder with the employee’s details from when he hired them was inside, who could blame you for taking the quickest, tiniest glance before closing it?

Yours was in there, of course, along with–

“Edward Munson,” you snorted. “Dorky name.” Duh his full name was Edward, but it was still funny to see.

You read over the top of the file where his address and phone number were. Thankfully, from your various car rides with Robin, you recognized the street name, placing it in your memories as the rusted sign next to the Forest Hills Trailer Park entrance.

The phone number you imprinted into your brain as a recreational activity, and put the folder away.

Closing the door behind you with a hefty jingle of heavy rings in your pocket, you approached the notebook, and gave it a pitied sigh. Having committed many sins in the past minute alone, you figured why not. You didn’t even feel shame opening the stupid thing after months of being teased by it. Besides, what’s the worst he could be hiding in it? It couldn’t be that embarrassing, right?

..Right?

“Okay, can honestly say I was not expecting a big tittied bird lady.” The drawing wasn’t overly detailed, but the artistry was above average. Small details etched the feathers covering her avian legs, and a gleam shone on her talons coming to a sharp point, posed to attack with milky white irises. Above her was Eddie’s stylized font: HARPY, with abbreviations and numbers in a column. His rushed handwriting filled the rest of the page. Reading it over, it appeared you opened to the middle of a story.

Thumbing through, you encountered your first dog-eared page.

IF CHEST IS CHOSEN, GO B

IF DOOR - ROLL FROM INDEX CHART POISON

Absolutely lost, you did see a box labeled B further down with a short bullet point list of what would happen, and more options to choose from on the next dog-eared section.

Flipping deeper towards the back, it was pages and pages of his handwriting. Names of characters fighting dragons. Fantasy towns housing creatures you’d never heard of. Countries with too many syllables and apostrophes. Whatever it was, you were more than happy to hop on your bike and ride it over to the trailer park, only second guessing your sense of direction three times, and releasing a grateful, “Thank God,” when you spotted it up ahead.

The place had an eeriness to it despite the slanted beams of afternoon sun gracing it in gold. Homes were tarnished with dents and algae staining the outside. Trailers slumped on their cinderblocks, buckling under the weight. RVs had permanent brush growing under their parking spots. A child’s scream echoed around the tree-less lot, but you couldn’t see them through the orderless blockade of dilapidated residences and abandoned cars. People watched you: glancing out their windows, or gathered around a charcoal barbeque. Curious eyes followed your trail down the main road. Bumping your bike around potholes, avoiding tetanus ridden nails and petrified clothes molded to the ground as if they’d been there for years.

Dogs walked their fences as you passed.

You were beginning to have some regrets when a beacon welcomed you. After a curve, an old van parked out front of a blue and white trailer came into view, but more importantly, dwarfed next to the Chevy behemoth, was a black car you’d recognize the red interior of anywhere.

The heat of parent’s concerned stares burned into the back of your neck as you rode up to the concrete stairs, leaned your bike against the metal handrail, and approached your fate.

Even though you were absolutely sure this was the correct address, you knocked with as much confidence as a dormouse. Any harder and the sound of your knuckles striking the aluminum would’ve been too loud in the creepy-quiet trailer park.

No answer.

You knocked again. Harder. Louder.

There was movement inside. Footsteps. A muffled voice. Your heart leapt. In your throat. Closer. Closer. This was so stupid. This was a mistake. This was a bad idea. The excuse in your mouth was weak, and you were about to embarrass yourself in front of your coworker by surprising him at his house, which you only knew where to find because you were snooping, and there was no amount of explaining that would help you out of your spot in hell–

Eddie swung open the door, and his heavy-browed, distrustful, annoyed, apprehensive, suspicious glare jumped to wide-eyed shock.

Your cheeks went hot.

“Nope!”

You winced at the slam, but nothing–no God’s will, no Devil’s agreement–would convince you to blink at the shuttered window where he once stood. No. No, no, no. No, never. Never would you want the searing glimpse at Eddie’s naked chest out of your sight before it was engraved into every second of every day of every night of every dream for the rest of your years.

In some part of your mind, you knew your gazes connected long enough to see the blood drain from his face, but your attention was soon urged downward, to the overwhelming amount of skin.

His hair was tied back, exposing a poetry of shadows. Hollow of his throat, to his clavicle, to the swell of his shoulders. Biceps twitching under a prominent vein when he caught himself on the trailer’s frame, and gripped the door handle. Muscles straining with fear, then soft with relief, then strong with fear again when he realized it was you who caught him in this shirtless state, discovering the beautiful line between his pecs when he flexed. Witnessing the fine wisps of softly auburn hair on his chest, juxtaposed to the wiry dark curls creating a blessed trail to the top of his sweatpants. Drooling over the eclectic collection of tattoos sporadically placed over his body. Too many to decipher in the brief encounter, aside from the dragon crawling up a sword etched into the subtle planes of his abs and curving around his slight stomach, with the blade ending at his waistband–a full picture of the tattoo you spied at the grocery store when he stretched his arms above his head.

The door creaked open again, and you’d yet to recover. But thinly obscured in the darkness of his home, he was visibly flustered as well.

Eddie hunched over, struggling to get the zipper of his tan jacket up, tugging it harshly, grinding the metal teeth in his anxious fight to cover his chest; and when it was snug to the splotchy kiss of pink on his neck, he squinted at you. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, voice gone hoarse from his dry mouth.

Knees locked, and oh so staring him directly in the eyes, you took the black notebook from under your arm (not remembering when you tucked it there), and showed it to him. “You left this at work.”

He took it from you slowly without a thanks.

“And, uh,” you continued, gathering the clinking jewelry in your jacket. “These too.” You dropped them into his cupped palm, brushing your pinky over a scratchy callus, experiencing the zing of intimacy of skin on skin.

And he felt it too, with how he curled his fingers in to seal the fleeting sensation.

Pocketing his rings, he stood meek in his doorway. The pain of expecting someone different to be knocking at his trailer had dwindled, but the tension was there in between his eyebrows, weighing on the slope of his gentle frown, painting brilliant highlights on the long line of his nose in the blazing dayglow threatening to invade his home.

The dull brown of his eyes glinted aside the honey as his mouth hung slightly open, tip of his tongue curled against the pearly dam of his teeth. The lined pages of the well worn notebook fanned out, flopping in his grip. “Did you read what was in here?”

Shifting your gaze to the sharp edge of the tin roof decorated in elaborate dangly fish hooks, you clasped your hands behind your back in a cute way, and delivered the answer he awaited with an inflection like it was a question, “No..?”

“For an actress, you’re bad at lying.”

“Or I’m being obvious on purpose so you tell me what it is.”

Working his jaw back and forth, he bided his time, each grind a consideration at his options in regards to how vulnerable he should be, and if this would be the final nail in the corroded coffin where you’d realize what a giant loser he was. “It’s..” You leaned towards him in interest, and he looked away. “It’s notes and stuff for Dungeons and Dragons,” he admitted in a mumble.

“Nerd! Nerd!” You jumped up and down, pointing, shouting, “I knew it! You’re a nerd!”

Twisting his mouth in a sarcastic sneer at your childishness, he snatched the side of the door and began shutting you out. “Okay, okay. I get it. See why I didn’t want to tell you?”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you exhaled, switching on a dime from your teasing to a serious tone. You caught the door, and pleaded for him to stop being an idiot, “I knew you were a dweeb when you held me hostage for an entire thirteen minute lecture about your song lyrics. The Dungeons and Dragons shit is the third least surprising thing you’ve ever told me.” You clasped your hand over your heart. “Truly.”

“What’s the second?”

“Your music tastes.”

“And the first?” he asked, despite his better judgment.

“That you’re single.”

He announced his displeasure in a deadpan expression. “And I’m beginning to see why you are, too–” All of him went rigid, withdrawing slightly into the trailer with his head lowered, ear angled towards the right of him, listening as his gaze went unfocused.

After a few seconds, his lungs reawakened with a relieved breath. “Just coughing,” he said to himself. Dragging his attention back to you, he gestured weakly at his jacket to indicate his lack of clothing, still embarrassed at the situation. “Adrie, uh.. She puked on me earlier. That’s why I wasn’t–uhm–dressed.”

Worry edged its way into your question, “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. Kids get sick from daycare all the time. Basically just sentient germs running around, licking their hands after touching everything.”

Your eyebrows ticked up at the memory of the awful Dayquil hangovers following the weekends you worked as a clown for children’s birthday parties.

You asked, “And what about Wayne?”

“Hm? Oh.” Recognition, and the ease of a casual conversation overtook the near-permanent anticipatory hardness to his features, softening his bristly nature around you; finding you comforting when he was in the place where he was supposed to feel safest, but didn’t.

Home wasn’t home for Eddie Munson, and you felt that icy statement behind your ribs as you watched him pat his pocket as a way to check his rings were there for reassurance, acutely aware there was an hostile world at your back, and you chose to only see each other.

There was a tender innocence to his lip crooking up in a lopsided grin as he remembered you asked him a question. “Typical old man. Wayne was outside and didn’t hear the phone ring, that’s why he didn’t answer. He’s at work now, though.”

“Mm,” you hummed. “Do you have soup?”

“Soup?”

“For Adrie,” you clarified.

He glanced over his shoulder, assumingly at the kitchen, and after some mental deduction, he shrugged in vague nonchalance. “Yeah, there’s probably soup for her.” As if you didn’t know him well enough at this point to read past the nervous habits weaving their way into his fidgety unsureness.

You backed down the stairs as you spoke, “Okay. Well then, guess I’ll get going since you have everything on lock down here. Got your sick kid, got your soup, got your notebook, and your uncle’s at work. Sounds like everything’s in order.” Hopping off the last step, you swung around the handrail and guided your bike to the road, beaming. “See ya!”

“Yeah, see ya,” he replied, settling into his usual side-ways glance around the trailer park, challenging the gawkers who watched a girl willingly walk up to his home and leave it smiling. They did not dare to say anything, of course; returning to their lives with sealed lips, pretending to pay him no mind. Just how it should be.

He held his chin high.

————

And when Eddie next answered the door, it was in the low blue hue of a setted sun, and he did so in his black jeans and a white tank top. His unzipped work jacket swayed prettily around his torso, low bun at his nape loosened to a mess, short curls in a frizz over his ears, and cheeks flushed. “I figured you’d be back,” he forced out evenly, doing his best to disguise his panting breaths.

You hugged the brown paper grocery bags to your chin, and grinned.

He stuck his foot behind him in an awkward curtsy, and swept his arm for you to enter.

Walking into his place for the first time there were many things to comprehend, absorb, fawn over, and ask about until he was tired of explaining their origins–and since you were already crossing an entire notebook’s worth of lines today, you inquired about the most obvious. “You, uh, like collecting hats and mugs?”

“They’re Wayne’s,” he grunted, unplugging the vacuum he left in the middle of the living room by yanking the cord out of the wall, and dragging it on his way to the hallway closet where he kicked and shoved things aside to make room, rattling the thin door that definitely had been punched through at one point, patched and painted over, and was now a canvas for crayon squiggles along the bottom. “Before he worked at the power plant, he was a trucker. Collected them at every rest stop in every state, that sorta thing.”

“Ah.”

In a quick spin, he surveyed the rest of the trailer, and made a similar “ah” sound when he saw the cleaning products and balled up paper towels on the tiny table squeezed against the wall. He lunged for them, stuffing the evidence and other garbage into the overflowing trash can. “I still keep up the tradition by getting him a mug for Christmas.” Jerking his chin at the shelf above him, he specified the one on the end. “This year was Looney Tunes.”

“How cute.” The bags crinkled in your arms as you stood in the entryway, nodding expectantly.

“Shit–Sorry.”

You smiled. He finished clearing a space on the wrap-around kitchen counter for you to set the groceries down, scooting a candle out of the way, flickering the flame he may have burnt himself on while lighting, if the red mark on his thumb was anything to go by. And he was back to pivoting, scanning the area, desperate to latch onto the object which would jog his memory on where he was in his cleaning: dishes dripped in the drying rack, Wayne’s grilled cheese endeavor was out of sight, the bathroom radiated the nose-burning scent of bleach.

He snapped his fingers at the overflowing trash can, and almost slipped in his frenzy to tie up the bag and rush for his boots, saying he’ll be right back on his way out, leaping down the stairs.

“Alrighty..”

The steady rumble of a washing machine rattled every loose bit of metal in the museum of belongings.

You waged war with your tennis shoes, wiggling out of them with the laces still tied, and stepped off the carpet dividing the trailer in half. The bubbling vinyl kitchen floor stuck to your socks, still damp from being mopped, and heaved the groceries onto the pale blue countertop, sliding them across decades worth of scratches scarring the material. Once you were sure you could let them go without a toppling situation, you took the goods out one at a time, but your attention was nosy and undivided.

Acting as foreground to the walls of hats and mugs was the rest of Eddie’s life. Laundry baskets occupied a couch with flattened cushions. A coffee table supported stacks of his daughter’s playthings after picking them out of the vacuum’s path. There was a fold out bed in the corner, and a modest TV situated on top of a VCR. To compensate for the lack of overhead light was an abundance of mismatched lamps on each surface.

It was a hodge podge, and it was cramped, and it was incomprehensible, and it was his house.

Turning, you began to guess at which cabinets he would store a bag of rice when you spotted the artwork hanging on the fridge.

Pinned under a teddy bear magnet was a decoupaged version of your Thanksgiving turkeys, cut out and glued to a single piece of construction paper, complete with the castle in the background. And secured safely under a smiley face magnet was a stick figure drawing of two people–one in a pink dress, one in all black scribble–and dated in neat ink by someone with less messy handwriting: 5/7/92.

Eddie came back to your wide grin, and two cans of baked beans held up in a question.

“They go over here,” he said, nodding at the skinny door next to where he stood at the small green table set for three chairs, organizing today’s mail in his hand.

You opened the pantry next to the recessed oven, and stacked the rest of the cans inside. Towards the back there were two white cereal boxes with plain blue text and nothing else, leaving you to deduce no one in his family stooped to eating unsweetened cornflakes even if that’s all they had. Meanwhile, he arranged overdue bills into a ladder style letter holder hung on the wall beside the phone, periodically taking one out and placing it down a rung, ordering them from most to least important.

“I was supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday, but I had to buy and install a new hot water heater,” he told you suddenly. Whether he was saying this because he was coasting on the fumes of his Christmas bonus until December’s child support arrived, or because he was simply too busy to go shopping, neither of you addressed it more than necessary. He accepted your help, and you didn’t pry.

“Unexpected shit sucks, huh?” you added for his benefit.

“Yeah,” he huffed in a short laugh, playing the same game.

And it was him who rested his forearms on the edge of the pale blue wrap-around counter, watching you commit good deed after good deed, guessing where groceries went in the cabinets, acclimating to his kitchen’s set up, and making room for a bag of grapes and three apples between his six pack of Pabst and block of Government cheese.

“Can I ask you kind of a weird question?”

You brightened at his voice, teetering on the edge of a smile just from that alone. “Always.”

He drew absent-minded circles with his finger as he tried to find the best way to word something he wondered about since the week you met. “When you saw Adrie for the first time, you had this really, uh, surprised look on your face.. Why was that?”

Your tone was dismissive in the wake of something that appeared to haunt him, “Oh, that?” You folded down the empty paper bags, and placed them on top of the fridge after he said Adrie would use them for arts and crafts. “Well, it’s like, Mr. Moore has dozens of pictures of his family on his desk, and Carl told me–approximately–ten different stories about his sons an hour after meeting him, and Kevin carries pictures of his dogs in his wallet. It just seemed like if you had a daughter, you would’ve shown me a picture too, like most dads.” You waved your hands around, and contorted your mouth in a silly manner. “I mean, it was just weird you never mentioned her.”

He took your assessment to heart, and opened the drawer closest to him. Amongst the clutter of junk was his black wallet resting on a coiled chain with clips on either end. Taking out the cheap leather, he cradled the width in his palm, and wiggled out a picture kept sealed behind a plastic window. He said, “Actually, I do carry a picture of her,” and handed it to you.

On instinct, you pored over the image of him first, prizing the crown of his head sporting the same wild haircut. He had his face tipped down to the newborn wrapped in a pink blanket in his arms, crooking her in their safety as he held a bottle to her lips. His knees were on display behind his ripped black jeans. His shirt was sleeveless. She was tiny and precious. He was decidedly emotionless from what you could see, sat on a couch that was not the same as the one across the room from you.

“That was taken at Harrington’s place,” he answered your unstated question, keen to the recognition washing over your face as you placed it as Nancy’s ugly pink floral loveseat.

You gave it back to him.

He looked over the captured moment in time, bleak gaze set on his little girl when she was so fragile, and small, and when he was so weak, and teetering on a long overdue breakdown.

“It took me a long time to carry this around,” he said, tone heavy with disappointment, regret, and shame. “Wayne and I were fighting constantly. And I mean, I don’t blame him. He gave up his life to take care of me when I was twelve, and I put so many gray hairs on his head that he went bald from my bullshit, and then there I was, bringing home a screaming infant I didn’t know the first thing about taking care of. Y’know, just proving I was a fuck-up right when he thought I was smart enough to get my act together.“ Tracing the sharp edge of the photo trimmed to fit his wallet, he placed it in its windowed slot and tossed it back in the drawer, closing the past from his sight. “I don’t have a lot of good memories from that time. Shit fucking sucked.”

“I can imagine,” was all you could say.

“I love her,” he said in the event you doubted him.

“I know you do,” you offered in return.

Steering the conversation in a different direction, you swung your index fingers at the extensive cabinetry, and asked, “Where’s a cutting board?” Right of the sink, he answered. “And a knife?” Top drawer next to your hip, he responded. But it took until you shook out the washed celery stalk, and snapped the ribs off, lining them up on the white plastic cutting board did he become suspicious.

He leaned more of his weight on his forearms, and kept his tone carefully neutral, “What’re you doing?”

Keeping your expression indifferent aside from your arched brows, you cut the celery into manageable sticks and began slicing them lengthways. “I believe I’m in Edward Munson’s trailer making him and his daughter soup.”

The crimson guitar pick at the end of his necklace swung forward, jostled from where it was stuck to the healthy sheen of sweat glistening along the top of his chest. “How do you know my full name?”

“A little birdie told me.”

He shifted his shoulders, head lowered, eyes narrowed, voice deep, “Better question. How do you know where I live?”

“A bigger birdie told me.”

“Someone told you about me?”

Rightfully confused, you pulled a face. “Huh? No. I was kidding. No one talks to me. Anyway, back to the soup.” You harnessed all your charm into impressing him by meeting his stare while you diced the celery, using your knuckles as guidance. “Are there any vegetables she won’t eat? Or stuff she’s allergic to?” Your flagrant insolence irked him: reading his notebook, inviting yourself to his residence, filling the voids in his kitchen with groceries, and now making him soup without ever asking if he wanted you to do those things.

Because of course he wanted you to do those things.

He surrendered to your kindness. “No allergies, and she’ll eat anything as long as it’s diced small–Yeah, like that–and cooked down to mush. It’s the one thing she’s always been good about.”

“And you?”

It took a few sad seconds for him to understand you were asking about his allergies and his preferences, not used to his needs being taken into consideration. “No, no, whatever you make is good. Uhm. Hey, you don’t have to do all of this. Don’t roll your eyes, I’m being serious. Adrie’s sick and I don’t want you to catch what she has.”

“Please,” you implored in thick sarcasm, “I’ve been coughed on by every disease known to man on the Q train. There’s not a cold or flu in existence I haven’t succumbed to. I’m immune at this point.”

You found a stock pot from the cabinet at the junction of the wrap-around counter and the sink, and set it on the cooktop to come to heat while you peeled and chopped an onion. Eddie dwelled in his observations; listening to you recount tales of working in kitchens because they were always hiring, collecting horror stories from being a dishwasher, a waitress, a morning food prepper; moving from title to title; birthday clown, bartender, craft store cashier. Flighty, flighty, flighty. He watched your hands move in quick chops and long sweeps down a carrot with skill he didn’t have the patience nor time to learn. He told you as much, how when he comes home he’s fucking tired, and doesn’t have the energy to make dinner.

“Now what’re you doing, sweetheart?” he asked in what he hoped was an exhausted tone, but he knew it was futile. The timidness was there, sneaking its way into his words when he made the leap to calling you an endearment in his own home. And how could he not when you pulled out a stack of tupperware, divided the piles of chopped vegetables between them, and wedged them into the freezer, still tending to the sweating mirepoix with a wooden spoon.

“It’s so next time you want soup they’re all ready to go. You don’t have to waste time cutting vegetables. Just dump a container in a pot and add broth and noodles, and call it a night.”

He made a fond noise in the back of his throat, looking at you through his lashes. “You’re really doing everything in your power to extort me for this ‘thank you’ I owe you, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one who promised me something good,” you reminded him.

Water splashed, sputtered in the pot, steaming into a cloud of savory humidity, filling the living space with earthy aromatics. You added bouillon cubes, and stirred the stock together while turning the dial on high to bring the soup to a boil.

“Yeah, guess I did,” he said, petering out into a mumble, straying further from the current topic. He wasn’t finished talking about the previous one yet, and he made it known.

Tracing his thumb along his plump bottom lip, he tested a boundary, tiptoeing into a realm he did his best to ignore. “So, uh, you employ the same strategy with jobs as you do dating, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” you grinned. “Having an endless well of stories about shitty customers to pull from is perfect for stand up. Everyone loves the perpetually single girl who works in service or retail, and just can’t seem to find the love of her life, despite going on an insane amount of first dates with New York’s most average. It’s funny, and relatable.”

“And now you’re stuck as a boring receptionist in a nowhere town in a nowhere state.”

You released a sugary, syrupy, sweet giggle. “And now I’m stuck as a boring receptionist in a nowhere town in a nowhere state, and it’s the longest job I’ve ever held.”

His eyelashes fluttered from the nerves–the strong ache in his chest pressing down on him, stealing his breath. “And what about the dates? Gone on any with Hawkins’ finest?”

“Just one.” Though your back was to him while you washed and dried the cutting board, your smile was outlined in your banter. “But it was awful,” you emphasized in a dramatic sigh. “Worst date ever. He drank my Icee, wouldn’t stop talking during the movie, and, get this! He didn’t even tell me I was pretty. Not once.”

“What a jerk,” he agreed fullheartedly, scrunching his nose and twisting a curl of his hair over his stupidly smitten grin. “Sounds like a real asshole.”

“Actually, he was my favorite,” you corrected him, turning down the dial to where the coils lost their fluorescent glow. “Huge, huge nerd. Like, the biggest dork ever, but he was definitely my favorite out of any of my dates.” On your way to the green table, you bent close to his ear, and begged him in a whisper, “But don’t tell him I said that. He’ll get a real big ego about it.”

He made a zipping motion over his mouth.

“Soups gotta simmer until the potatoes are done. Might as well sit.”

He unzipped his mouth. “When did you cut up potatoes?”

“When you were staring at me all dreamy-like,” you supplied, words dipped in coy and flirt.

Undecided on which way to balk at your claim, he did them all: rolled his eyes, clicked his tongue, muttered a small “was not,” and slung himself into his usual chair at the table. He expected you to do the same, to match his silly theatrics with your own impassioned eye roll and smirk, but you didn’t. You sat across from him, poised, hands clasped together with the black notebook beside you.

The mood of the evening dipped visibly in your serious gaze set on him.

You tapped your knuckle on the metal spirals binding the worn pages of his latest campaign together. “No more secrets,” you punctuated. Three short words let go on an exhale. Three little words standing taller than the final barrier he built to keep others out. Not an ask, but a necessity if you were going to continue your relationship–platonic or not.

Your posture and expression were stern, but gentled by patience. “Let’s get to those rumors, hm.”

It was time.

No going back.

Whatever happens, happens.

Eddie took a shaky breath, and invited you over to the vulnerable truth. “Has anyone ever told you anything about me? Not like Harrington’s stories, but actual rumors?”

You shook your head. Between spending most of your time at work, or at Robin’s place, you didn’t have much opportunity to speak to random people, apart from small talk. And chit chatting about the weather was nowhere near as grave as what rooted itself in the solemn slow blink wherein he closed his eyes, and dipped his head.

“I’ll tell you everything, but can I ask you not to say anything while I explain?” he hesitated, knowing how it sounded. “I don’t know how else to word that to make it less rude, but this shit is difficult for me to talk about, and I’ll probably ramble, and go on tangents, and jump around the timeline, but, please, don’t interrupt me or say anything until I’m finished, okay? I don’t want to forget any of the details, and have to discuss this again. Can we do that?”

Digging your thumbnails harder into the flesh of your fingers, you agreed to the terms with a solid nod.

He swallowed. And when his tongue remained too thick in his dry mouth, he swallowed again, and sat up straight, pressing his back into the chair. “Okay.”

Two anxious stomachs twisted at once.

He cast his vacant stare around the room; never allowing it to land on you. This conversation was with himself and the green table and the shelf of mugs and the soup bubbling away on the stove and the washing machine entering its spinning cycle and the containers of Play-Doh on the coffee table; speaking to the non-judgemental objects instead of the person across from him.

“I’ll start with my reputation in school,” he said. “Probably doesn’t take much of an imagination to picture me as I am now with the same hobbies and opinions, just a lot louder about them. Heavy metal was the only music I listened to, and people called me weird for it. And I thought ‘weird?’ Was that supposed to bother me? I loved being weird! I wore the title ‘weird’ with pride. I didn’t want to be like everyone else. And when they saw I played Dungeons and Dragons, they called me a Satanist. Satanist? Like Ozzy, and all the bands I looked up to? Hell yeah! I thought being called a Satanist was so cool I sewed a Leviathan Cross on my jacket.” The corner of his lip jumped at a memory, smiling at something from long ago. Then, it faded. “Goes without saying I didn’t make many friends until I found other outcasts who shared those same views as me. We started a band together, and after some convincing, we made a DND club with me as the Dungeon Master. Of course people called me a cult leader for it, but being a cult leader sounded fucking awesome, so I encouraged it. Antagonized it. Weird, Devil-worshiper, cultist, freak. I wore them all like armor.”

He paused to crack his knuckles, expression falling blank as suppressed scenes unfolded in his head. “I got bullied a lot. Not that surprising. I was so aggressively opinionated about everything and never shut up. But the worst of it stopped when I got held back enough grades that I made “grown-up friends” and started dealing to help pay for my guitars and stuff.” He shrugged a single shoulder in apathy, and the tan jacket slipped down his arm, revealing a faded stick-and-poke viper above his armpit. “Unless it was Steve or someone in that friend circle, I was never invited to parties except to bring drugs. Weed, pills, whatever low scale stuff, nothing that serious, but I wasn’t very popular outside of that context.” The washing machine buzzed at the end of its cycle. “And as much as I told myself I didn’t care, I did. I did care when my friends were out on dates with their girlfriends, and I was alone, stuck in front of a record player learning a song just to give myself something to do, and something to say I did over the weekend when they all talked about the movie they saw together.. Made me feel like I was the outcast even amongst the outcasts.”

Listening, but not responding, you smoothed your thumbs over the divots in your skin your nails left behind.

Swallowing again, he faltered, “Girls didn’t like me. Even if I was the cooler, older guy who was so confident in everything he did, I was still off-putting. Or just weird in the bad way, because I didn’t know how to act, and came on too strong, or too–I don’t know–fucking dorky, doing shit like opening doors and bowing for them, laughing too loud at my own jokes when they didn’t find them funny.” It took everything you had to not to break your promise–to stay silent, and indifferent, and not gather him into a hug and assure him all those goofy mannerisms were exactly why you liked him. “I dated, y’know.. Had girlfriends here and there, but they never lasted more than a month.”

To close one chapter of his life and open another, he rubbed at his eyes, and ran a hand down his face, scrubbing over his chin as he spoke to the ceiling, “Now onto my old man.”

The hand he used to wipe the loneliness from his somber visage came to a rest on the edge of the table, and he ran the side of his palm along it as a way to fidget.

“He was in and out of jail for a number of things my whole life, but when I was twelve, he murdered someone. She was a nice lady. Well known in town, and well liked. Popular. Prom Queen, cheerleader type. Everyone loved her.. And he murdered her.”

Silence, silence, you remained in white-hot, visceral, sweat dripping, jaw-clenching silence.

“According to my criminal record, I was following in his footsteps. I had a penchant for stirring up trouble. It was fun. Stealing dumb shit, hotwiring an old car to drive us to the woods to get drunk when we were teenagers, dealing, begging Steve to throw ragers every weekend so I had an excuse to get shitfaced and run from the cops.. Yeah, it really looked like I was following in his footsteps. Following the Munson name.”

Eddie sat forward. Sleeved forearms sliding across aged coffee rings staining the green collapsible tabletop, and rubbing the backs of his fingers along the other. He was close enough for you to reach, to hold, to comfort when this was over, and the ghosts were put to rest from clouding his softhearted brown eyes.

“There was a New Year’s Eve party I was invited to” –he jumped his fingers in quotations– “on the rich side of town. It wasn’t one of Harrington’s, and I was out of my supply anyway, so I skipped out and spent the night here with my friends playing DND, and setting off fireworks in the trailer park, just having a good time.” The next inhale quivered his bottom lip, “I woke up in my bed to three cop cars blaring their sirens, and someone telling me I was being arrested for-for murder. Ah..”

You steeled yourself from blinking away.

“A girl died at that party. Prom Queen, head cheerleader. The type everyone knew, and everyone liked. And.. A-and, Jesus, I-I just need to get through this, I’m so sorry–but stuff was done to her body.”

The frankness hung in the room.

He screwed his eyes shut, and let the ugly reality spill from his mouth, “A guy from out of state went to that party with way harder shit than I sold, and she wanted to try some. They went to the bathroom together, he gave her too much, drugged her, she overdosed, and h-h-he..” His eyelids twitched with movement, and the tendons in his neck strained. You weren’t sure if he could hear the small, involuntary noise you made, but he chose the same words to avoid what you could infer. What all women could infer. “He did stuff to her body.”

His voice continued to crawl up an octave as his muscles braced in a reflexive cringe. “H-He left her there, and when her body was discovered, and the police were called, it didn’t take long before someone said they thought they saw me there, and once one person said they saw me there, suddenly everyone saw me there.” Hard swallow, palms wiped on jeans. “I was arrested the next morning, and even though I had three alibis, I didn’t have any hard receipts or any of that shit they wanted to establish where I was and at what time. And when my alibis were a bunch of Satanic cultist shithead troublemakers like me, they were brushed off. And why wouldn’t they be? It’s my friend’s word against thirty people who swore the long haired guy they saw at the party was me. Cops thought they caught their man, booked me, and had me in interrogation in under an hour from kicking down my door.”

He licked his lips.

“January of ‘88,” he said with an unsteady cadence, shooting out the sentences as they came to him, lurching faster and faster towards the horrid scars he’d never heal from. “I was so fucking lucky, so fucking lucky. DNA testing had only become a thing the year before. Mhm. That’s what saved my ass. But even then, it wasn’t like it is now. That shit took weeks to process.” He lifted his hands–fingers loosely curled, trembling. “For weeks they made me look at the pictures of her. H-Her body. The b-bruises around her neck.” He gestured at his own, and his voice swung higher pitched, “Interrogated me over and over again. For days, and weeks. Trying to get me to confess. It took weeks to prove I was innocent, and clear my name. Weeks, and weeks. A-A-And in those weeks–”

The trembling escalated to uncontrollable shaking.

“–Fuck–I don’t want to talk about this,” he said, volume fluctuating.

The air was too thick to breathe.

The wrinkles between his brows deepened, as did the lines bracketing his mouth. Red flush overtook his shuddering chest, his strained throat, his scrunched face with his eyes closed in refusal to acknowledge you sat opposite him, your expression slackened by dread.

“In the weeks between waiting f-for the DNA results,” each word wobbled worse than the last, “I found out Adrie’s mom was four months pregnant. And if I knew, then all of Hawkins knew. Everyone knew I knocked someone up, and.. and more rumors started..” He lifted his eyebrows, and his hands developed a violent shiver, hovering over the table, palms open, afraid and begging. “Because of.. what happened to the body.. People thought that she was.. That I..” each pause was a short wheeze.

Your blood ran cold with the slow realization of what word he was avoiding.

Desperation influenced his stammer, “I swear to you, w-what happened between us was consensual,” he stressed the last word in a whimper delivered straight to your dropped stomach. “She doesn’t answer my calls–but I could try, if you need to hear it from her–I promise, I promise, as soon as the rumors started, as soon as they started, she denied them. She tried to stop them from spreading. She tried. She told everyone it-it-it wasn't–that we both chose to–” he sniffed back the croaky sob, and without the grace of respite, he coughed the rasp from his throat, and ushered you into another apology you didn’t know you were owed, “I should’ve told you before we went to Adrie’s school. You had a right to know why people were staring. I’m so fucking sorry.”

In the room at the end of the dark hallway, his daughter who he sacrificed everything for rolled over in her bed, bringing the covers with her. In the belly of the trailer belonging to his uncle, you kept your feet tucked under your chair, letting the information wash over you in worse and worse crashes. In the lousy home he hated, Eddie held his breath until the aches reached their peak, and released them in a cough; and another, and another, until the pain subsided.

Deep breath, deep breath.

Your chair creaked from your uncomfortable shifting.

With time, the tension in his body waned to where his composed words could be heard in all the clarity they deserved, “I know this has been a lot to hear, and process, and I’m so sorry for unloading all of this on you at once, but I wanted you to know the whole story so you could make an informed decision.”

You weren’t sure if you were supposed to speak yet, but your whisper broke through, “Informed decision?”

Cheeks hot, but dry, and lower lashes clumped together from the rescinded tears, he answered you indirectly at first, “It took months to find and arrest the guy, and by then Hawkins didn’t care. Babe, you can be anonymous in the city, but this is how small town mentality works. All it took was one person to say I was at that party, and like that, my life was ruined. My name was stained. No one cared if I was innocent. The culprit was some other guy they’d never heard of from another state whose picture they flashed on the 6 o’clock news once. He might as well not even exist.” A pause. A change. A regret. “I want to protect you.”

There was pressure building behind your eyes, and you moved your gaze to the shelves above you in an effort to stifle the well of tears from falling–for him, for the dead girl, for what he was about to say next.

Eddie alternated between weakly slapping his hands flat on the table, then turning over to show his palms, then slapping them down again; guilt and shame and loneliness and fear working its way into every part of his gentle nature. “My name carries a stigma, and if you’re going to be coming around to my place, or be seen with me in public, you need to know there are consequences. Assumptions are going to be made about you. People are going to speculate, warn you, judge you. You don’t deserve that shit, so please, tell me, and I’ll accept just being friends at work, and leave it at that. I won’t ask questions. I won’t bother you. I won’t ask for more.”

“What?”

“I’ll understand,” he said, eyes tightening in a flinch.

“Eddie–” It came out broken. His encouragement for you to end the burden of this relationship at coworkers for the sake of your image stung like the tender throb of rejection–except, it was worse. It was him giving you permission to break things off because he didn’t see himself as worth the hassle.

Your poise collapsed. “You’re right, it is a lot to process, and it’s all I’m gonna be thinking about for the next week, a-and yeah, I wish you told me sooner, but Eddie–” His knuckles made a harsh sound when you grasped for his hand, knocking them on the table with the force of your messy coordination through the blur of true friendship disrupting your vision. “This changes nothing between us.”

Graceless under the circumstances, you took his right hand and wrapped your fingers around his thumb, fitting the meat of your palm into the curve of his. You delved your other fingers under his sleeve cuff, stroking them down, then up, slotting them beneath the stretchy bracelet. D-A-D-D-Y. He cupped his free hand over top of yours, enveloping them both, and waded through the entanglement to caress the prominent callus at the tip of his middle finger over the white blocks with black lettering. M-O-U-S-E.

“I’m with you,” you said. “I’m here. And whenever you want me here, whenever Adrie wants me here, ask and I’ll be on my bike pedaling as fast as I can.”

His face pinched in sentimental yearn. “Baby..”

Instead of suffocating the intensity of his emotions as he normally would, he slid his chair back and buried his head in the hollow of his outstretched arms; and in the pocket of space where he felt safest, he allowed himself the relief of two hot tears streaking through the fine sweat overtaking his puffy face. They clung to the tip of his nose, and dripped to his jeans in a loud splat.

He snorted, but it came out as a muted huff due to his stopped up sinuses. “Can’t believe I made it all the way through that sober and without crying, and then you just–went ahead and said something like that.”

You smiled. He probably did, too. Then as yours ebbed, his probably did, too.

The intertwined pocket where you clasped each other ran hot with body temperature, humidity, and the loaded implications of his confession and your subsequent acceptance. Heavy with the context for why people stared at him. Their significant glances at you, and the new depths and meaning beyond people thinking he was weird, and you were weird by association.

But at the same time, their stares didn’t last long. They were glances by every definition. A look over, a judgment, and then away, back to their own little world and their own little lives.

You asked, “Are the rumors still as bad as they were?”

The short curls at the crown of his head waved back and forth with his slow head shake. “I don’t think so. I think they’ve gotten better in a weird, fucked up way.” He sniffled, and wiped his nose on the inside of his sleeve before returning to the darkened confines of his arms, refusing excess stimulation until he could handle it. “Ever since Home Alone came out, my friends joke that I’m like that old man, y’know, the one all the neighborhood kids target, and turn one rumor about him into this entire narrative where he’s slayed over a dozen people, and keeps the bodies in his basement.” He laughed, truly. A warm, muffled thing. “That’s the sorta rumors going around now, I think; that I’m some Boogieman that gets blamed for every bump in the night. Adults probably know the accusations, but, like I said, Adrie’s mom did try to stop the other ones, but I guess I don’t know for sure if–when people look at you and me–that’s what they’re thinking. Uhm, I don’t know if I’m making sense anymore.”

“You’re good,” you consoled him. Your thumbs whispered sentiments on his skin, smoothing over the rough terrain from his labor, and catching on the excess sweat, wicking it away and creating more with each hindered brush across his inner wrist, trapped under the weight of his heavy hand copying you; running his fingers over wherever he could, needy, grounding himself to your presence, and seeking closure. “Thank you for finally telling me.”

“Thanks for listening,” he responded quietly.

Eddie shrugged his shoulders to his cheeks, and dried his face on his jacket to the best of his ability. Together, you sat in silence for a while longer, holding each other. Thinking. Decompressing. Plunging into the ice water of yet another development in your relationship, and emerging to the surface in unison, breaking the surface tension latched together by the same lifesaver.

You squeezed.

He squeezed back.

“I think I need a minute,” Eddie said, throwing his head towards the bathroom and letting go of you to inelegantly wipe at his runny nose. He drew further away from the table, standing up and walking in his odd, awkward way; playing with his bangs, and taking his hair out of the ponytail. “I’ll see if Adrie’s awake and wants soup, too.” The edge of the bathroom door flooded with yellowed light and a faucet was turned on high.

There was a nice moment where you nodded at the homely kitchen, lost in thought, absorbing the sounds and smells of the thick bubbling brew, and tomatoey pungence. Until it dawned on you.

“Shit, the soup–!”

Thankfully, as you stirred, the potatoes stuck to the bottom of the pot dislodged themselves, and nothing appeared burnt. Because, honestly, you couldn’t take the wound to your pride if the first time you ever cooked for Eddie Munson resulted in you burning soup.

After searching, you discovered the cabinet above the dish rack housed the dinnerware. You grabbed two mismatched bowls and hesitated on the shallow Little Mermaid one, until hearing the click of the bathroom door swinging open, and a squeak from the adjacent bedroom.

Soft footsteps announced his excitement before you could turn and see Eddie’s silly hand wave.

Come here, he mouthed, peeking from around the wall.

You dropped the serving spoon on the–had to be homemade–ceramic ashtray masquerading as spoon rest, and followed, hungry for new discoveries; the first being the (offensively ugly) pirate ship wheel chandelier hanging above the washing machine you had to have been an idiot to miss earlier. Deeper into the carpeted hallway was the coat closet with crayon squiggles, a shelf of kitschy knick knacks, and a thrifted painting of a lake scene with the curled-edge price sticker still on the corner of the glass. Passing the bathroom, you got a glimpse of a dark green shower curtain, a wet rag on a packed sink of various spilled products, and a bucket of rubber ducks next to the tub.

Eddie slowed, and you were confronted with his back. Slim shoulders on display from his oversized jacket falling further down his arms, thick canvas folding over itself around his tapered waist. The white tank top was stretched to fit him, hem of the armholes digging into his flexed lats as he eased the bedroom door open, back muscles contouring in the heavy shadows as he hunched and held his breath at the creaky hinges broadcasting his entrance. Edges of tattoos taunted you while he blinked into the darkness. And when the one who usurped his bed nearly five years ago didn’t wake, he straightened up and shook his hair out of his face.

He angled to the side, opening himself to you with his arm outstretched; an unspoken suggestion in his fingertips finding the edge of your cable knit sweater. You understood the glossy shine of unfiltered love in his gaze, and fit yourself between him and the doorway, stealing the soft filtered light brushing Adrienne’s sleeping form in tender illumination–made sweeter by the curls falling over her closed eyes, and the pale blue unicorn hugged in her arms.

‘Oh,’ you sighed in surprise, and clasped your hands on either side of your cheeks, craning to look up at him.

Just like the time he helped you hang decorations in the breakroom, your head made contact with the stick-and-poke viper, and his grin was instant.

His inhale cradled you. “She loves that thing,” he said, chest rumbling against your nape, stomach pressing to your side with an amused grunt, filling the gaps between you and him with warmth.

It was as if nothing changed. Not really.

Eddie canted his forehead to you with an expression of mild jealousy over your plush toy wrapped in his little girl’s arms when his cold plasticy ones sat at a miniature table in a pink playhouse pretending to have a tea party. His eyebrows were the same–raised, hidden beneath the wet stringy pieces of his bangs skimming his wrinkled forehead. His damp cheeks, jaw, and neck were the same after his cold water wake up call, splashing himself over the bathroom sink. His full lips were the same, pink and pulled back to show his teeth. His strong chin was the same, peppered with a recent shave. His handsome nose was the same, albeit red. The crinkles at the corner of his eyes were the same, if not slightly fuller from his recent cry.

But everything had changed.

Before, you lacked the understanding of the fear in his eyes when Mr. Moore had walked into the shop. How he had risked a painful bruise on his hip from the chair he knocked over in his scramble to get away from you. The tremble in his hands when he ran them through his hair in an urgent act to appear composed, and not like he was doing something worse with you. To you.

Everything was different, but it was felt, not seen.

The leftover adrenaline from the confrontation at his kitchen table faded, and in its place, rising from the truest, barest, rawest vulnerabilities of himself, was trust. A candid expression of respect in his palm at your back, fingers curled in to stroke his nails along the knitted design of your turtleneck. He confessed his secrets, you knew him to be an innocent man, and despite his worry for your reputation becoming infected by his, you promised him the same loyalty you always had, because there was not a lie in existence that would break the bond you facilitated months ago, born from your sheer desire to annoy the one mechanic who wouldn’t speak to you.

Felt, not seen.

A promise, and an urge.

The tingly pleasure of his nails scratching over your sweater advanced to a divine expression of affection.

He wrapped his arm around you, settling his hand in the curve above your hip. It lasted all of two seconds, long enough for him to bring you into the crook of his body for the purpose of whispering something in your ear, but it was a phenomenal improvement over the usual nervous flittering his fingers performed when in your company.

His voice was candy sweet after watching your face break into a smile for his daughter, “Maybe we should let her sleep, hmm?”

You leaned into him. “Yeah,” you sighed, rolling your head along his shoulder, guiding your silly grin from him to Adrie. “She looks so peaceful.”

“And quiet,” he observed in the wise tone of a single father after long hours of soothing his child’s headache when her cries created one of his own, and juggling the duty of cleaning up her puke from the floor, her clothes, his clothes, and bathing her while wallowing in the misery of doing it all by himself.

Eddie persuaded you into the hallway, and closed the door behind him, letting his arm fall to his side, ending the cocoon of warmth he provided with the harsh drag of the metal zipper scratching across the back of your jeans. He followed you to the kitchen and opened the fridge, muttering a string of words about deserving something as he snapped a silver and blue can from the plastic ring holding them together. “Want a beer? I don’t think you can get a DUI on a bike.”

“You actually can in some states.” You didn’t elaborate, and continued spooning soup into the bowls in questionable silence. “But no, thank you.”

Crack, tss. He held your stare over the rim as he tipped back a long gulp, pressed his lips together, and swallowed with a satisfied ‘ah,’ giving you ample time to ignore him. Finally, he moved his hand about, and asked, “Not gonna tell me why you know that?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

Moving on, you located two spoons from the absolute chaos of the cutlery drawer, and brought the bowls to the table while he reached into the pantry for an open sleeve of saltines, tossing them between the both of you and falling into his chair with a soft grunt.

“This looks great,” he complimented in earnest, voice and face alight with appreciation as he thrashed his arms to get out of his jacket, and took another sip of beer before crowding his side of the table with elbows, forearms, and hands; always holding the Pabst, or the soup, or reaching; always in motion, dominating the space you shared between your bowls, and beneath, where your legs were slotted in tight between his wide-spread knees.

His manners were about what you would assume after eating lunch with him many times, but that’s not what had you breathless.

He just.. took off his jacket like it was a completely normal thing he did dozens of times in front of you, sometimes accompanied by a hand rolled cigarette hanging from his lips, or joined by a sneer at some bad joke you told.

But it wasn’t normal. Not this time.

Hungry, hungry, hungry, you devoured the sight of his bare skin.

While he stirred the finely diced carrots and potatoes, you were afforded the time to admire the art no longer hidden by coveralls. Guessing at the older blotchy etches on his inner arm, theorizing about the origins of the souvenirs done in various stages between professional and very not professional, probably by himself or a friend. He didn’t have many, but it was easy to get caught up in the collection of motifs spanning from the top of his shoulders, and crawling in disorder downwards, to a tiny dagger at the apex of his bicep, two dice above his elbow, and a classic twist of barbed wire. Very cool and tough, but your roving stopped at one tattoo in particular.

Rather, one cluster of tattoos making up a whole.

“The bats..”

He perked up at your whisper–”Hm?”–and looked down at his arm. “Oh, yeah. These were my fourth, I think? Somethin’ like that. You like ‘em?” he asked, mouth cutting into the same delighted place a smirk originated from, but with more fascination as he too realized this was your first (technically second) time seeing his exposed arms.

Sucking in your cheeks to curb your habit of smiling at everything he said, you nodded in response, falling into a rhythmic head dip as you thought back to your first time meeting Adrie, and the picture she drew for you, and her Halloween costume, and how she chose not to dress as a princess like all her friends, but as a bat instead, because her daddy liked bats. “Yeah.. Yeah, I like them.”

He removed the twist tie from around the crackers and counted out three, stacking them neatly between his palms and, without warning, crushing them into his soup, sending a fine powder into the air.

It was obvious you were watching him on account of your untouched food, but it was beyond your control. Winter created a barrier between you and his skin. You needed to reap the beauty now while you could. Learn what you could, like the scorpion above his collar bone opposite the viper, and the eyeball monster with tentacles twisting over the bulk of muscles laying dormant in his solid forearms, and whatever the hell else was peeking out from under his tank top.

He scraped his spoon along the bottom of his bowl, and determined he needed one more cracker to make his soup as thick as he liked, and collected it from the crinkly pack. Yet another simple movement he had executed hundreds of times in front of you, and yet..

You stared. And stared. And stared. And made a sound of disgust. Rising from your chair, you loomed an impressive shadow over Eddie’s face as he gazed up at you with an expression of open confusion.

His eyes were trained solely on the pretty glint in yours.

Shiver. Goosebumps.

He jumped at your bold finger slipping under the strap of his tank top to move it aside. You pinched your brows, narrowed your eyes, and pressed your palm to his skin, enthralled by the sensation of him existing under you, aware of the full breath he took to fill out his chest as you introduced the touch.

Humming, you studied your hand cupped over the black widow spider inked onto his naked pec, and concluded, “That one’s smaller than my palm.”

The pale saltine cracker shattered in his grip.

Acting oblivious, you scooted your chair under you, sat, smoothed your hands over your lap as if a napkin existed there, and slurped your spoonful of soup as if you had done something as natural as point out the weather.

He released his surprise in a huff, and brushed the crumbs from his palms. “You are the lamest person I have ever met.”

“Have you met yourself?” At his weak glare, you slurped more of your soup. An amicable silence followed–the sort of camaraderie communicated through full bellies–but there’d been something on your mind since he willingly opened himself up to you and shared his past, expecting his name to become a forgotten word in your mouth and nothing more. “Hey, since we’re like, baring our souls and shit tonight, do you want to know why I created my ‘yes’ policy?”

Instead of a comically over-quirked eyebrow, he showed genuine interest in listening to your story. He set down his spoon, and turned his full attention to you. “I’m intrigued.”

“I’m tellin’ ya now, it’s not as riveting as yours, but uh,” you faltered on a pause, and fostered the same sort of nervous shrug he did. “Growing up, my parents were really.. negative, I guess is the best way to put it. Like, they wouldn’t let me hang out with friends, told me I’d never amount to anything, said I was a disappointment. Y’know, normal stuff. Uhm, I wasn’t allowed to do much, only really leaving the house to go to school or go to my job when I was old enough to have one. They said I’d never live up to their expectations, I was a failure, I’d never get a boyfriend, I’d be a bad wife, I’m going nowhere in life, and I’m an annoyance and take up too much of their time, and I was never wanted.” You swiped your tongue along your top teeth, and popped your lips after perhaps sharing too much. “Anyway, I made good grades in high school, so I took a lot of electives, and one of those happened to be Drama class. This may come as a surprise, but I was really shy at first, but after a while I got used to playing different roles, and fell in love with the freedom of becoming whoever I wanted on stage. And one day my teacher taught us a lesson in improv, and yeah.. the moment she explained the concept of ‘Yes, and..’ I was hooked. Just the mindset of nothing being rejected, and no idea was made fun of, or shot down was brand new to me. And as you can infer by now, I adopted that ideology for my own life, and, uh, yeah, I’ve been saying ‘yes’ to everything since then and never looked back. Literally, I’ve talked to my parents like, once since moving out, and that was about my insurance.

“Uh, anyway,” you said, still talking a mile a minute, “it did kinda create a people-pleasing complex for a while. I wanted to say ‘yes’ to everyone because it made them happy, since, y’know, I was always told ‘no’ and it did the opposite. But it’s whatever. And, uh, while we’re doing this, I wanted to apologize for always pointing out that you’re single.” You avoided eye contact. “Kinda harsh in hindsight.”

He broke into a laugh–a loud clap like thunder, and curling in on himself–finding the humor in your flustered state.

“Well, I’m glad you find it so funny,” you deadpanned.

“No, no, sorry–” He concealed his giggles behind his knuckle crooked to his lips. “I, yeah, I’m sorry for pointing out that you’re single too.”

“Appreciated.”

The brief teasing commenced to a slight frown between his eyebrows. His gaze drifted to his soup, worry twisting at his lips as the bubbles of oil sloshed across the surface of the reddened broth, trembling in ripples from his bouncing leg.

Eddie was emotionally fatigued. Words weren’t coming to him–none that carried the weight they needed–so he offered an alternative to hollow apologies.

He brought a shaky spoonful of soup to his lips, and dribbled some off the side as he overcorrected the angle he needed to slide it into his mouth. The next dive for a potato proved just as awkward, trepidatious, but the struggle of eating with his non-dominant side was worth it.

Your fingertips brushed over saltine dust as you accepted the proposal of his hand resting at the center of the table, palm open, and fingers coaxing you to reunite skin on skin.

“I like your policy,” he said, voice gone gruff with the exhaustion of the day.

“Really? On more than one occasion you’ve called it stupid, irresponsible, absurd, the dumbest thing you’d ever heard of, naive–”

He shut you up by curling his fingers over yours, setting your cheeks ablaze with his unashamed thumb pressed to your bracelet. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your policy.”

A powerful move, and you matched the intimacy.

You hooked your thumb around to the scars lining the backs of his fingers, and lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, giving yourself to him with each circle you massaged over his knuckles and between the joints. He did the same. Touching, touching, touching. Trusting. Melting into each other's palms. Holding hands with a man accused of so much, and forgiven so little. Holding hands with someone, just months ago, he brushed off as flippantly as her parents did.

He was sorry for the way he treated you.

You were sorry for the way the world treated him.

He squeezed.

You squeezed back.

~~~

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” you asked with a whine.

The pot of leftover soup still sat without a lid on the stovetop, and the serving spoon had a layer of scum dried to it. The dirty bowls and spoons were stacked in the sink, and Eddie hadn’t moved his wet laundry from the washing machine yet. Surely, you could help by wiping up the crumbs on the table, or cleaning up the spilled toothpaste on the bathroom sink, or–

He clapped his hands on your shoulders. “No,” he stressed slowly, “it’s late, and I’d prefer it if you got home before Buckley’s mom starts filing a missing persons report, and adding another rumor to my ass.” You cupped his elbows–barricaded from his body heat by his jacket–and opened your mouth, ready to argue. “And I swear if you don’t turn on your bike’s headlight, I’m gonna–”

You threw your head back, and groaned, “You’re so annoying.”

With the trailer’s door open, the quiet night penetrated the mix of air colliding from his warm kitchen and meeting the windless cold from the season, joining where your bodies connected on his cement steps. Your shoes dragged on the pebbly concrete in a woeful goodbye, making your effort to leave appear utmost arduous, tacking on a classic bottom lip pout when you both relinquished your holds on each other, and he shooed you off.

Not like you actually wanted to clean his house, it was just fun to annoy him into thinking you did.

Leaned against the doorway, he crossed his arms and tilted his head, mirroring your fondness in his gaze. “Yeah, yeah. Get out of here before people start gossiping about the pretty girl leaving my trailer, alive.”

The sudden belly laugh escaping you reverberated off the metal boneyard.

You slapped your hand over your mouth. “Sorry,” and after a thought, you asked gently while crouched to unchain your bike from the handrail, “Do you normally joke about what happened to you?”

His shadow shrugged over the hubcap hidden amongst the crunchy brittle grass. “Makes it easier, sometimes.”

“Noted.” You threw your leg over the seat, and made a big production of clicking on the headlight situated between your handlebars. “See you at work tomorrow, pretty boy.”

The scoff he was going for devolved into a snort. “Bye. Be safe. Please.”

Eddie locked the door behind him.

For minutes he stood at the center of his uncle’s trailer. It looked much the same as any other day when he came home from work, if not neater. But things had changed. As much as he liked eating across from Adrie, the two bowls in the sink were adult-sized, and it wasn’t the scent of stale smoke clinging to Wayne’s flannels that had Eddie throwing his arms over his head, locking his grip around his wrist, and twisting back and forth on the spot.

“Not exactly what I meant when I said I was gonna invite her over,” he informed no one but the darkness behind his closed eyes, remembering he promised Adrie that you’d come over soon.

Inhaling deep, he expelled a loud sigh and addressed the leftover soup. “But what a fucking night, huh?”

Inundated by the heaviness of feeling wanted, he opened the fridge and grabbed a tall boy stuffed behind the shelf of condiments. It wasn’t a drink of sadness as it usually was, but in celebration.

Afterall, he had much to celebrate. He held your hand. Twice.

And, not to mention, you know, how he showed you the gruesome details of the reality he lived in–his home, his reputation, his daughter sneezing into his open mouth when he was instructing her on how to take her temperature while you gagged from outside her bedroom. You knew it all, and you’d see him tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Morning smiles, afternoon laughter. Maybe he’d even ask that question he’d meant to before you left.

But for now..

He ran his fingers over the old tattoo on his shoulder, and pressed his palm over it, replicating the weight of your head resting there when you so lovingly witnessed Adrie being his best wingman, hugging her stuffed unicorn while she slept. It’s what gave him the bravery to wrap his arm around you. And what did you do in return? You leaned into him with a smile, utterly charmed by his forwardness, if his cynical eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

A voice in the back of his head whispered a seed of doubt, but after a sip, he dismissed it.

“Still fucking got it, Munson,” he complimented himself, downing a long gulp.

————

See you at work tomorrow..

You definitely didn’t see him tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next.

“Here you go, my lovely,” Robin cooed. She entered your room on tiptoes, ever so quiet, and placed your requested bottle of Nyquil on the bedside table with a glass of water. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

You broke from your nest of blankets for the lone reason of glaring at her saccharine voice; somehow sweating through yet another t-shirt, while still shivering as if you’d just emerged from an ice bath.

“Aw, don’t look so grumpy, baby,” she comforted you with a pinch to your cheek. “It’s what you get for locking lips with Eddie.”

“I did not–” You cut your own self off with a round of coughs, making your attempts at speaking scratchier, and scratchier. And by the time you’d recovered, Robin had escorted herself out of your vicinity.

Her giggles haunted you from downstairs.

“Yeah, she’s fine!” She yelled to her mom. “Just lovesick.”

You rolled over, and sighed.

Goodbye extra sick day.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #the yes policy

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edelfie · 2 months ago

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#𝓣𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘! this means war.

while you are off doing your own thing, being controversial and whatnot, a certain pest in your side seems to be buzzing about. unfortunately for her though, she’ll have to try a little harder to keep up with you.

or, lia loses her mind a little

POST CREDITS! —

As far as Lia is concerned, you are nothing more than an obstacle in her way. Sure, a persistently irritating obstacle, but a measly one nonetheless. Whatever game you were trying to get at wouldn't work on her.

She really shouldn't be wasting her energy on you anyways. She already has everything she wants: the best job in the world, all the money a girl could dream of, and her fiancé. Keyword: hers. Perhaps she is a bit territorial, but isn't it natural for any girl to be with their things?

Following their heated argument though, she isn't so certain where she stands with the man in question. She knew her words were hurtful the moment her fingers flung across the screen, and she won't fawn and play innocent knowing that was exactly why she sent them in the first place. It's just...so hard to communicate her emotions to Atsumu when he takes everything she says or does as a joke.

It's funny. Everyone in her life has expressed their own feelings about the constant push and pull of their relationship. Years of infrequent dating and uncertain feelings culminating into a very real, very permanent engagement was not how she envisioned their relationship ending. Because while Lia thinks she loves Atsumu, she knows he's difficult to be with.

When they were younger and had just started dated, she gave him the benefit of the doubt more often than not. That he was simply "like that", constantly riding on the brink and not giving a damn about what others thought about him. And to a degree, she found him aspirational for that and even wanted to replicate him in that sense.

That was, until, it started affecting her work. She began losing brand deals and sponsorships because the boy she was dating couldn't behave himself for the two hours he was in public. It was ridiculous! At times, it felt like she wasn't his girlfriend, but his mother, his publicist, and his manager all in one. And maybe that does make her selfish for not going to his games, but when does she get to be selfish in their relationship?

She feels the most empowered, the most authentic, the most selfish every time she calls it off. She gets to enjoy her freedom, then watch as Atsumu comes crawling back to her. Sometimes he outright says he'll change (he doesn't usually), or he'll demand that she "match his effort" (she won't). Maybe it's antithetical to some, but for Lia it just makes sense.

So despite dating Atsumu Miya being equivalent to forcing a square into a circle, Lia would rather die than let anyone take him away from her.

NOTES! —

Sorry for the smaller chapter today! I just couldn’t think of a way to fluff it up that wouldn’t already be included in future chapters. If I do get any ideas though, I’ll be sure to update this and post a notif. Also, Lia isn't meant to be like a token "mean girl", she's very flawed and human and that's a result of her environment. She is still bitchy of course, but not evil. Anyways, today’s fundraiser is to help the Liberty Lancers Marching Band purchase new uniforms! While it may seem miniscule compared to other "issues", as someone who's partner marches and has come to love band themselves, having new uniforms would mean the world for these students. You can click here to donate or read more on their story.

In other news, I am back from my (tiny) break! Though I’ll admit, I didn’t use that time wisely to plan ahead for my next releases LOL. I had fun though!

I presented my speech in class on Tuesday, which wasn’t as scary as I thought but I’m still glad it’s over LMAO. After that I went to the gym to work out for about 30 mins, before heading home to go on a date. We walked around downtown and went bowling, to which he absolutely wiped the floor with me I fear. And then today in one of my classes we had a rock, paper, scissors tournament (gotta love college LOL) and…I WON! We did it a few times but I just kept winning or getting very close, so I was named the RPS champion ^-^

PREV + MASTERLIST + NEXT

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apolloscastellan · 4 months ago

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We were just kids, babe | loss of my life chapter two

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig x FemaleTennisPlayer!reader

Summary: Your life had always been divided in two: before you met Tashi and after you met Tashi. The second you had laid eyes on her for the first time you knew you had been changed. You were soulmates, meant for each other Nothing could ever tear you two apart, or so you had thought. You could've pinpointed the junior U.S. Open as the night that changed everything. Now you have to juggle your hate-love relationship with tennis with your love-love relationship with Tashi and the two guys who you can't seem to stay away from. Tennis, after all, was only one of the most fucked up relationships of your life.

Warnings: challengers spoiler, challengers content warnings, super minor character death, terrible mother figure, use of y/n, polyamory.

Word count: 6.3K

A/N: the comfort before the hurt me thinks. Please let me know what you think!! <3

series masterlist | prev | next

Monica Seles Tennis Summer Camp for Prodigies, June 15, 1996:

You have never been more excited for anything in your life. You jump off the car, almost skipping towards the uniformed girls at the tables. Summer camp is everything you have ever dreamed of, six weeks of tennis, nature and no contact with your mum. She seems slightly less excited about it all. She wouldn’t have let you come if it wasn’t for the reputation of the place, they turned kids into legends, and that’s all your mum wanted for you. You are starting to suspect she wants it for herself, but you’re still eagerly attempting to impress her. One of the women introduces herself as Linda, your cabin leader, and one of the coaches you will be working with. You shake her hand, feeling extremely professional as you follow the instructions your mother had laid for you on the drive over. You follow her to a wooded cabin, almost shaking. All but one of the beds seem to be taken, however, there is only one other girl in the room. She was sitting on the lower bed of the bunk you, apparently, were going to be sharing. Linda informs you of the schedule for the rest of the day before she leaves to let you settle in. Your mum pulls you to the side to say her goodbyes. You know she is trying to be quiet so the other girl won’t hear you, but you can see her looking intently at you from the corner of your eye.

“You need to go out there and prove who you are every single practice, ok? I’m not paying all this money for you to waste your time. You need to fix your serve, and get better at your backhand, I want you on the courts every second of the day. And play a thousand percent every time, you never know who could be watching. Understood?” you nod.

She taps your shoulders twice before leaving the cabin. You walk over to the bunk bed, the girl has not stopped staring at you for a second.

“Who’s that, your coach?” she finally asks

“I wish, that’s my mum.”

“She sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“She is.”

She seems like she is going to say something else, but she is interrupted by another girl barging in the cabin. She has red hair and freckles all over her face. She looks down at you two, not even bothering to smile before she speaks:

“They are about to serve lunch and we can’t eat without the entire cabin being there so… Chop, chop” she walks towards the door before stopping herself, she looks back at you, a condescending smile now on her face, “I’m Kat, you’re gonna wanna remember my name.”

“She sounds like a pain in the ass,” you whisper as soon as she leaves the room.

The other girl snorts, covering her mouth before descending into a fit of giggles, you laugh with her, glad to have broken the tension. You both stand up, not willing to make your entire cabin wait for lunch, no matter how annoying the other girl was. You don’t wanna make a bad first impression.

“Hey, they said there would be a doubles tournament later today, do you want to play with me?” She says as you walk out the door.

You can barely contain your smile as you nod.

“I would love to. I’m Y/n, by the way,” you say, extending your hand.

“Tashi,” she replies as she takes it.

Flushing hotel, Junior U.S Open, 2006:

You can’t help but shake in anticipation as you knock on the door of room 206. You have never done anything this rebellious, you’ve never gone against your mother’s wishes so explicitly. You don’t even want to think about what your mother would say if she knew what you were doing instead of meditating and going to bed. It is part of what makes it so exciting. Tashi pulls you so you both have your ears against the door. You can hear the two boys scramble around, it almost makes you laugh. Before you can make any comments, the door is pulled open abruptly. The two boys stand before you out of breath. You smile and they mirror you immediately.

“Hi”

“Hey”

Tashi looks at them impassively, waiting. They seem to finally notice the awkwardness of having you stand outside their door while they gawk at you. The shift to let you walk in. The room looks exactly like what you’d expect two teen boys’ room to look like. There’s empty lunch boxes on the trash can, the beds are hastily made and pushed together

“So, how did you guys meet?” you venture to ask.

“Yeah, did you go to mommy and me classes together?” Tashi’s teasing makes them both laugh. “What? You seem like brothers.”

Her last comment is what makes you laugh. They look back at you strangely, unaware of why you are laughing. You try to play it off by shoving your face into the can of beer Patrick just handed to you.

“Well that’s what the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy will do to you” Art says, looking back at his friend with a wide smirk.

“Oh, that’s right you guys went to boarding school together,” Tashi says, as you hand her the beer.

“We’ve been bunkmates since we were twelve” Patrick doesn't hesitate to share more about their lives.

“That’s really cute.”

“You guys ever thought of doing something like that? Is that where you met” Art seems eager to learn more about you, it’s endearing.

“Boarding school? No, no, I couldn't afford it” your friend looks at you as she finishes, letting you choose how much you are willing to share.

“And my mum would have a stroke if she had to let me away from her sight for that long. No, we met at tennis summer camp. The Monica Seles Tennis Camp for Prodigies. Those were the good times.”

“So, is the Mark Rebellato Academy where you met your girlfriend?” Tashi changes the topic, looking at Patrick questioningly.

You admire the way her stare never wavers. Her confidence doesn’t falter as she digs for the information she wants. Although you don’t enjoy not being the center of her attention, it is interesting to see this side of her come out with someone else.

“No, no… yes. But she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Does she know that?” Patrick smirks at you, pleased to see you get out of your shell, but he doesn’t answer.

“What about you? Why are you not pretending not to have a girlfriend?” Tashi asks Art, instead of dwelling on your question.

“Art’s between ladies right now.”

“Don’t say that it makes me sound some sort of…”

“Player” you finish for him, extremely amused at their banter.

“Yeah, Art does fine for himself, I mean look at him” it’s soft, the way Patrick cups his face as he speaks.

They look into each other’s eyes for a second. You wonder if they notice it the same way you do, if they are as attuned to their feelings as you seem to be.

“Have the two of you ever…?” you don’t know how to ask the question, but you are too curious not to.

It takes them a second to understand what you mean.

“Oh, oh! No, no,” Patrick’s face falls for a second, he recovers quickly, laughing with Art’s words, but you notice. “Why? Is that surprising?

You raise your eyebrows, eyes fixed on him. You don’t know if he is unaware or trying to conceal it. Something about the shocked look in his face as he laughs it all off makes you believe it’s the former. Tashi, who has been instead looking at Patrick the entire time, must catch something in his expression because she speaks up:

“What?”

“Well…”

“No,” Art interrupts immediately.

“I mean…”

“No,” he repeats. “Not happening.”

“I think you need to tell us now,” Tashi resolves.

“C’mon this is a safe space,” you smile openly at them both, trying to convey how much you actually mean those words.

It’s the first time you’re in a room with Tashi and you’re not entirely consumed by her presence. You don’t know what to make of it.

“I think it’s a sweet story,” Patrick presses.

“Well let’s hear it then” your smile widens as Tashi continues to push for it.

Art reddens, his face lowered, his head in his hands. He covers his mouth with his t-shirt.

“Mhm, yeah, no, go ahead”, he finally concedes.

“I… I taught Art how to jerk off,” he says it almost coy, but the smug grin on his face tells you all you need to know

From the corner of your eye you can see Tashi struggle to hold in her laughter. You are on the same boat.

“Okay,” Art says, finally looking up. “Patrick was an early bloomer, ok? And I think that I was on time. And one time, when we were twelve… He thought I was asleep and he was, you know…”

“Jerking off” they both say at the same time.

“And, yeah, and I asked him, what are you doing? And he told me”

“Jerking off” they repeat again.

“He asked me if I had ever done it before and I told him no. And so he just… He showed me how.

When you look at Patrick, he is already looking at you. He looks so proud of himself as he nods, a shit-eating grin adorning his face.

“What do you mean showed you how?” you say, just to steer the pot. “Did he…?”

“No, no…” Art is quick to correct. “I mean, he did it on his bed and I did it on my bed. We did it together, but on opposite sides of the room.”

You look at the beds, pushed together, then at Tashi, who raises an eyebrow at you. She doesn’t believe him, and honestly, neither do you. But you don’t want to push too far.

“In silence?” is Tashi this time who presses for more.

“Oh, no, no. We were talking about Kat Zimmerman, weren’t we?”

“Yeah, Kat Zimmerman.”

You can feel your eyes open comically at Art’s words, you start laughing uncontrollably, Tashi following close behind.

“Patrick said it’s always better if you’re thinking about somebody when you’re doing it. So I asked him ‘who are you thinking about?’ And he was talking about this girl, Kat Zimmerman, and so I thought about her too” Art rushes to explain, misunderstanding the reason for your laughter.

Tashi and you roll on the ground laughing for a couple of seconds more before you both regain your composure.

“Kat Zimmerman, you’ve got to be fucking joking.”

“Me and Y/n went to summer camp with her for like two years, she was in our cabin.”

“She was a total bitch,” you say, rolling your eyes at the memory. “She walked around camp like she owned it, and she kept saying she was the best player at camp, even though she could never beat me or Tashi.”

“What happened to her?” Patrick asks, looking back at Art.

“She got injured that summer and never came back.”

“Oh, yeah, that was Y/n.”

“It was not me,” you immediately refute, incredibly offended. “I was playing against her when she took a bad fall and broke her knee.”

“She was frustrated because you were demolishing her.”

“Not my fault!”

“No, you’re right, it wasn’t” you smile at Tashi, getting lost in her eyes for a second.

“What about you two?” Patrick interrupts, a knowing smirk in his face when you turn to look at him.

“What about us?”

“Have you two ever…” Art continues his friend’s thought.

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” you say, unwilling to say too much and make Tashi uncomfortable.

“We’ve made out a couple of times,” your jaw drops when she speaks. “We spend too much time alone in hotel rooms not to. I was Y/n’s first kiss” you nod, she has never spoken about this out loud before, not even with you.

“Oh, were you?” you can feel your face growing hot as Patrick turns to look at you.

“This guy asked me on a date and I didn’t want to not know what I was doing,” you shrug, as if it was nothing.

It wasn’t nothing. You had never called the boy again after that night. You hadn’t even let him kiss you, too afraid he would wash away the feeling of Tashi’s lips. You had never told her that, though. You had dreamt about that kiss for months, still now, if you focus, you swear you could feel the ghost of that first touch in your lips again.

“And?” Art asks, too eager to pretend he doesn’t care.

“She’s a quick learner. What, are you hoping for a repeat?”

“No” Art quickly denies, at the same time Patrick exclaims “Yes!”

Tashi laughs, standing up. She pulls your hand until you are face to face with her. Too close to focus on anything that isn't her lips. She manhandles you until you are both sitting in the bed, thighs touching, one of her hands on your face.

“Are you ok with this?” she whispers.

You nod, as eager as the boys had been. You know they are probably watching you, but you can’t get your mind to think of anything except how Tashi is drawing closer and closer to you. Both your hands are on her thighs as her lips crash into yours, an involuntary moan escaping your mouth. It gives the other girl an in to push her tongue onto your mouth. She kisses you with practiced ease, with the familiarity of one who has done it a million times before, with the tenderness and care she always kisses you with. Your face burns where she is touching you and you forget completely about the other two boys until Tashi pulls away, her hands still in your face, to look at them.

“Oh my God,” they say, at the same time.

She motions them to join you with a quick head gesture. They obey immediately, Patrick sitting next to you, Art next to Tashi. She pushes your and Art’s faces together, joining your lips in a kiss. He kisses you slowly, savoring it, as if he can’t believe what is happening. His lips are thinner than Tashi’s, but just as soft. After a couple more seconds, you get pulled apart. Tashi smiles at you before she pushes you towards Patrick as she starts kissing Art. When you look at him, his eyes are glossy, his cheeks flushed red and his hair messier than it had been before, you realize quickly that they must have been kissing, the same way you and Art were. You press against him without a second to think about it. His lips are less forgiving as he kisses you, hard, wanting. He doesn’t try to appear calm or collected, letting his desire and desperation for you show in the way he kisses you. It’s sloppy, but you like it.

You feel Tashi’s hands on your thigh, and you turn to look at her immediately. She has that smile you love on, the one that lets you know she is scheming. She looks to both boys quickly, then back at you, her smile never faltering. You know what she wants to do, the knowledge sending a thrill on your face. You match her smile as it dawns upon you.

The boys have no idea what you are doing as you pull them both in. The four of you crush, there’s lips and tongues everywhere, but you can’t bring yourself to hate it. Tashi lets all of you kiss for a couple seconds before she is pulling you away from the back of your t-shirt. You stand back, watching the two boys kiss each other passionately. There’s no way they haven’t noticed they are alone, but they don’t pull away. You feel almost giddy.

“Okay,” Tashi says, breaking the moment.

They pull apart and look at you, lips parted.

“That was very nice,” she continues, standing up from the bed, you do the same, “but we do have a final tomorrow, so we should leave.”

“What about your numbers?”

“We told you we are not homewreckers.”

“Please” it would be pathetic, if Art wasn’t so cute.

“Uhm, okay. We will be watching your final tomorrow, whoever wins can get my number” Art groans immediately, Patrick smiles.

“You can beat him,” you say, trying to encourage him to fight, to not give up.

“What about your number?” he asks, looking straight into your eyes.

“She’s not interested in you like that” Tashi replies, before you can come up with an answer of your own. “You’re not her type, if you know what I mean.”

You know what she means, and, by the way their mouths drop open, they do too. It’s not that you’re not grateful that Tashi is supportive, and loving, and willing to defend you if need be. But when you had told her you liked girls three summers ago, you didn’t mean you didn’t like boys. It’s true that you have never really liked a boy, but that’s probably because your head is constantly running endless circles of ‘Tashi, Tashi, Tashi’. You don’t think you would mind dating a boy, you’ve made peace with the fact that Tashi is never going to like you back, at least not the way you want her to. So yeah, you would probably enjoy dating a boy, especially if that boy was one of the ones sitting in front of you right now. But you don’t say anything, too embarrassed to correct her. They’re probably only interested in Tashi, anyways, you don’t want to be somebody’s consolation prize. The room is silent for a couple beats, you speak when you can’t take it anymore:

“Well, goodnight,” you say as you pull your friend out of the room with you.

“I'm so sorry,” she says as soon as the door is closed behind you in your own room. “I didn’t mean to out you, I swear, it just came out.”

“No, it’s ok, I’m not mad at you… I just… Tashi, when i said I liked girls I didn’t mean I didn’t like boys. I do, I’m… Bisexual” you manage to say.

“I… I didn’t know. Are you interested in them? Do you want me to take it back?”

“No! No, it’s ok. They probably weren’t interested in me anyways.”

“What do you mean they weren’t interested in you? They were practically drooling everytime they looked your way.”

“Tashi, it’s ok, I don’t want their numbers, swear. And now, they get to compete for the wonderful Tashi Duncan’s number. That’s going to be a fun game” she smiles at you, before she can say anything else, like you can tell she wants to, you continue, “now, go to bed so you can beat my ass tomorrow. I need my beauty sleep before I get yelled at by my mother.”

She laughs, listening to you and getting into bed. You whisper a goodnight to each other before you turn off the light. You look at the darkened ceiling, your head too busy to fall asleep. You don’t know what to make of what just happened, of Art and Patrick, of how Tashi had acted. So you roll over, force yourself to stop thinking about it and close your eyes, willing sleep to come to you soon.

––––––––––––––––

You hug Tashi over the net, smiling wildly. She looks excited, but the smile on her face falters as her eyes meet yours.

“Congrats, Champion!” you say unwilling to let her feel guilty for winning.

“You gave me a good fight.”

It was true, it had been a very close match until the very end. Both of you fighting tooth and nail, as you always did. Anything else would feel disrespectful. You walk over to the trophy table, arms intertwined. She claps as you get given your plate, smiling openly for the pictures, enjoying your last minutes before your mum starts laying it on you. You cheer for her too, louder than anybody else. The two of you take one picture together before you walk away, letting her bask in her deserved spotlight. You stall as you pick up your rackets and water bottles. You see some young girls in the stands, waving you over and you smile, loving an excuse to not go to your locker room yet. You sign a couple backpacks for them, making easy conversation. They tell you how much they admire you, you promise you will tell Tashi to come over too. You turn to walk away when a familiar voice stops you.

“That was a hell of a game” you turn to look at Art and Patrick, smiling at you over the railing.

You can’t help but grin, hoisting yourself up to hug both boys with a familiarity you should not have, given how little you’ve known them for.

“Shouldn’t you guys be preparing for your own final?” you ask, instead of acknowledging their praise.

“We wanted to congratulate you! Honestly, you could be winning slams tomorrow,” Patrick says, “both of you.”

“Well, we’re off to college, both of us, so maybe you should just let it go,” you’re teasing and he knows it.

“Are you coming to Stanford? You never said,” Art wonders.

“No, no, I’m going to Berkeley. Still close enough for visits, though,” you say.

“Berkeley? You’re going to Berkeley?” Patrick looks more confused than disappointed.

“It’s the top ten tennis program in the country, and they gave me a full ride.”

“You don’t look like you need a full ride.”

“Well, there’s more to me than what meets the eye,” you say, with no bite. “I need to go, my mum will be wondering where I am. Good luck, both of you. There’s a lot at stake today.”

You turn around and run towards the locker room, fully aware that the extra time you’ve taken will only infuriate your mum even more. She is yelling at you before you’ve had time to close the door.

––––––––––––––––

You sit next to Tashi, face recently washed, now out of your tennis clothes. The glow from her win shines on her face making her impossibly beautiful and you have to force yourself to look away from her and into the court. There Patrick and Art are battling it out, it’s not a close game. Art is putting up a fight, hitting the ball as well as he possibly can, but there is nothing he can do against Patrick. The blonde guy scampers around as his friend plays with him however he wants. It is almost painful. Patrick hits the winner with a trick shot in between his legs that has the crowd gasping. He turns around immediately, looking straight into Tashi’s eyes as he bows. Art struggles to catch his breath, clearly disappointed.

You walk down next to Tashi, nothing to do as she sees Patrick in the distance and runs to catch up to him. You should probably leave, there’s nothing left for you here, and you don’t want to hang around to third wheel Tashi and Patrick. But you stall, walk around unsuspiciously, acting as if you belong there. A couple minutes later, Art walks out of his own locker room, head down.

“Art!” you yell at him.

His face lights up when he hears you. He looks around until his eyes meet yours. He walks up to you, a confused grin in his face. You hug him, your arms around his shoulder. His hair is still wet from his shower.

“That was a good match,” you whisper in his ear.

“No it wasn’t,” he laughs you off, shaking his head.

“Ok, so it wasn’t the most exciting game, but you still played well!”

“You don’t need to coddle me, I promise, I’ll get over it, I'm not a baby.”

You don’t know what compels you to do what you do next. Maybe it is his gentle smile, or the things you know Patrick and Tashi are probably getting up to right now. Whatever it is, you pull your phone out of your pocket, offering it to him.

“So, I know I’m not Tashi, and I’m not trying to be your consolation prize, but if you want to put in your number, I might be persuaded to call you some time.”

He takes the phone off your hands immediately.

“Consolation prize? Are you fucking kidding me? Patrick is almost going to wish he lost,” he says, then freezes in the middle of typing the digits into your phone. “Wait, I thought you didn’t…”

“That was a misunderstanding. I am into boys. I like girls too, though, so if that’s not…”

“No, No! I’m not… That doesn’t…” he interrupts, as he finishes typing down his name and hands you back your phone. “Call me, please.”

You nod, feeling giddy, something flutters in your stomach, akin to the butterflies that had only belonged to Tashi until then.

“Ok, I’ll see you around.”

You call him that same night, laying backwards on your bed, alone. Tashi is getting dinner with her family to celebrate, and you can’t wait a second longer, can’t pretend not to care.

“Hi” you say when he picks up, after only ringing once. “It’s Y/n”

“Hey,” he says almost out of breath, as if he didn’t believe you would actually call him.

“Who’s that?” You can hear Patrick's voice wonder.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No! Let me just…” you can hear shuffling and Patrick’s teasing voice, you can’t make out anything of what they are saying.

You know they are on the bus on their way back to boarding school. It is a bad time, but you couldn’t help yourself. You hear footsteps and you assume he is walking to the other side of the bus, vying for some privacy.

“Ok, I’m ready, sorry, Patrick was being a dick.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will hear all about his dick when Tashi comes back” he laughs loudly.

You hear somebody tell him to “Shut the fuck up, Art” and it makes you giggle. He apologizes, then focuses all his attention back on you.

You are still talking to him when Tashi comes back. She smiles but doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to hang up the phone so she can grill you for information.

“It was Art” you say, after you place your phone on the bedside table.

“Oh, was it? Interesting.”

New Rochelle, New York. August 24, 2019:

Art Donaldson: 2-0

Patrick Zweig: 5-15

You are more excited than you should be. And pleasantly surprised. It’s not that you didn’t believe in Patrick, you did, but he is not used to playing on his own against the big names. It doesn’t help that he is playing against his long lost best friend, the first person he ever loved. So you weren’t confident that he was going to play his best tennis. Somehow, he is proving you, and probably everyone else, wrong. So yes, you are excited, the most sadist part of you reveling in the way Tashi looks more and more frustrated the more mistakes Art makes. It almost reminds you of the Junior U.S. Open finals, how Patrick had made Art look much worse than he was. Your husband wins the set with an ace, not giving the other boy a chance to score in the last game. Tashi stands up, walking out. You almost stop her, almost ask her what’s wrong. Until you remember that’s not your place anymore.

When you look back at the court you notice both boys following her retreating figure with their eyes, both now sitting down for a break. Art takes off his t-shirt and you have to force yourself to look away, Patrick does not have the self control. He is grinning when he catches your eye. You shake your head, praying he doesn’t get too cocky.

Earlier that week:

You jump on Patrick the second he walks out of the locker room. He wraps his arms around your waist and spins you around.

“I’m so proud of you” you say, running a hand through his hair, still damp from the shower. “Does it hurt at all?”

“It’s a little sore, but no pain.”

“I scheduled Mike in for an hour then we can grab dinner at the hotel, how does that sound?”

He nods, his head still hidden in your neck as you guide him towards the car waiting for you. Mike, his physical therapist, is already in your hotel room when you get there. You walk into the bathroom, using one of the courtesy glasses to take the pill you had bought the day before in the first pharmacy you had found. It’s supposed to help with morning sickness.

When you walk out again Patrick, Mike and your coach, Julian, are all talking, discussing the game and Patrick’s recovery. You sit next to him dutifully, holding his hand and letting him squeeze it when his physical therapist presses on a particularly sore spot.

“Do you wanna order room service?” you wonder, turning around after closing the door behind your staff.

“But I won! I think we should go out and celebrate.”

“Yeah, absolutely not, baby. I need you well rested for your next match tomorrow. I’ll give you the hotel’s restaurant, but that’s as far as we’re getting for our room” you melt at the way he immediately folds at the pet name, nodding along to what you’re saying.

He switches into a dark blue polo and you get a fancier shirt on before the two of you are making your way down to the hotel’s lobby. It is not very difficult to get a table for two at the side of the restaurant. Soon, you’re both laughing over your food like teenagers.

“Do you wanna try it?” he asks, his mouth stuffed with the steak he’s eating.

“God you’re so gross,” but you have hearts in your eyes, you’re smiling, and you lean over to let him place a bite of the meat on your tongue.

You don’t break eye contact as you chew and swallow, nodding your head.

“It’s pretty good.”

“If you keep looking at me like that I’m going to have to drag you to our room without paying.”

You laugh, openly, your head falling backwards. People turn to look at you, confused, but you’ve spent too much time dating Patrick Zweig to care about how people look at you in public.

“I’m going to the bathroom, behave,” you fix him with a warning glare that has nothing but love in it.

He raises both hands in surrender, and follows you with his eyes as you walk away. He does whatever you tell him, because he loves you. You are the best thing that has happened to him, and he doesn’t really know what he did to make you fall for him too, but he is going to do his damn best to keep it that way. So yeah, he is planning to behave, but then, as he is turning away from looking at your butt, he sees Tashi. And he doesn’t believe his eyes at first, he is sure he is making things up. But that is Tashi in the bar, with tired eyes and a sharp-looking outfit, never looking anything less than perfectly put together. So he has to stand up, he has to walk in her direction. Especially as they make eye contact and she turns, starting to walk away. He sees her give her mother the cup she had ordered and quickly dismiss her and a big guy standing with her. He supposes that must be their bodyguard. It’s kind of freaky that Art and her need a bodyguard now. He walks up to her when she is finally alone, she turns to look at him, sending an unimpressed glare his way.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asks.

“I’m playing at the challenger.”

“Yeah, I know that, but you’re not staying here, are you? There’s no way you can afford it.”

“We can, actually. Plus, with my injury, we couldn’t go to any of the Grand Slam Tournaments, so we decided to give ourselves a little treat with all the money we saved. We were already meant to be staying here for the U.S Open, so… Why are you guys staying here? I’d assume you would rent a villa or something.”

“Lilly likes hotels” Patrick pretends to be confused, as if he doesn’t know who Lilly is. “Our daughter.”

“Ah,” he acknowledges.

“Art can’t see us together, he already thinks I planned this to humiliate him.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Not this part” she starts to walk away, but turns around.

She spots you on your table, alone, your back facing them. She shakes her head, walking closer to him.

“Shouldn’t you be with your fucking girlfriend?” Patrick can’t help but smile, Tashi scoffs. “I don’t think she’d be very happy if she saw you talking to me.”

“And I don’t think you know my wife anymore,” he says, emphasizing the ‘my wife’, Tashi’s mouth falls open comically, but she is able to play it off quickly, “so everything you say are just assumptions.”

“I don’t have to talk to you. You and Art are on opposite sides of the bracket, you’re not gonna face each other unless you’re both in the final.”

“I don't think we have to worry about that.”

“No, you always used to fall apart in the second round without her. Can’t see why it would be any different now. Do me a favor,” she says, walking towards the elevator, “stay the fuck away from us.”

“Can you stay away from her?” the door closes as soon as those words have left his mouth, but he knows she heard them.

He turns around, a self satisfied smirk in his face, he knows he’s gotten under her skin. He sits in front of you, still smiling. You don’t look quite as happy.

“Why are you starting shit again?” you ask, more tired than angry.

“C’mon you love it when I start shit. Plus, she deserves it for what happened in…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you interrupt firmly, his hands shoot up in surrender. “We need to win the open. I don't want them getting into your head and messing you up.”

“It won’t happen, I promise. I’m locked in.”

You can help the smile that spreads through your face. He puts his hand over yours on the table, your fingers interlacing.

“Now, what if I paid the bill really quickly and then we can go back to our room and celebrate properly?”

You giggle, he kisses your knuckles. He stands up and pays, then comes back for you. His hand is on your back the entire trip back to your room, itching to go lower. You fall onto each other as soon as the door is open, kissing passionately. And just like that, you have almost forgotten about Tashi, and Art, and how this is the first time the four of you have been this explicitly close to each other in a very long time, almost.

Hillsborough, California, August 20, 2006:

You and Tashi have spent August in your vacation home, away from everything. Now, on your last day before you have to move into college you sit in your lawn, watching the sun set.

“Are you nervous?” she asks.

“A little. I’ll probably be fine, but I’m gonna hate not seeing your gorgeous face every day,” there was more truth to that statement that you were willing to admit.

“Yeah, I still can’t believe we’re not going to college.”

“I'm going to miss you,” you whisper, letting yourself be fully vulnerable.

“Oh, you won’t, I’m going to be calling you all the time. I’m going to call you so much you’ll change your number.”

“That would never happen.”

“I’ll even write you letters, I know you love that romantic bullshit.” You can’t help your eyes from getting wet at her words. “And I’ll visit. Plus, we’ll play against each other a lot, so get ready to get your ass whooped.”

“I just wish I was going to Stanford with you…” and Art, you think, but don’t say.

“You made the right decision for yourself, and I’m proud of you. You won’t have to put up with her anymore.”

You nod, you have been feeling guilty over your decision, telling yourself you should’ve put up with your mother for a couple more years to be with Tashi. You feel more confident once you know Tashi thinks you’ve made the right choice. You haven’t picked up any of your mum’s calls since the start of the month and tomorrow, when you drive yourself to college, will mark the official start of your new life, a life your mum is not a part of.

It’s dark by the time you make it back inside, drunk on sadness and each other. Tashi kisses you before you walk into your room. It’s sweet, softer than any other kiss you’ve ever shared with her. You can taste the salty trail of tears on her lips. You stare into each other’s eyes for a couple seconds when you pull away. You don’t talk about it, not that night, not the next morning. You don’t talk about the kiss or how the both of you are in relationships with other people. If you had known that would be the last one, you wouldn’t have let her go.

#challengers x reader #challengers #art donaldson #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #annie writes challengers #patrick zweig x art donaldson x tashi duncan x reader #patrick zweig x art donaldson x Tashi Duncan #loss of my life series

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