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

chunghasweetie · 6 months ago

Text

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

certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 6 months ago

Text

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

648 notes · View notes

sonotpattismith · 2 days ago

Text

while i'm here writing songs for you

pairing: musician!choso x childhood friend!reader word count: 10.6k content: childhood friends to lovers, everyone knows they're in love except them, jealousy, mentions of virginity loss, dying on the grunge choso hill, lil angst, fluff, smut, 18+ inspired by: bless the telephone by labi siffre

“Hah! Your old man’s gonna kill me.”

Through shut eyes, a freshly eighteen-year-old Choso bit back an amused grin as best he could as to avoid disrupting his uncle’s work against his face.

“Nah, he caught Yuji at a casino this week, so I’m the golden boy for the foreseeable future while he’s grounded.” The boy muttered with a small smirk. He did feel for his little brother, often sneaking into his room with his console to entertain him for at least a short while in the midst of his prison sentence. Still, he had to admit that his timing was impeccable— giving the older sibling the perfect cushion to fall back to when Jin sees what his son had done to celebrate his birthday.

“Shit, yeah, I almost forgot.” Sukuna mumbled with a tickled shake of his head as he gripped at his nephew’s forehead in concentration. “Let the brat know I’ve still got his money whenever my boring ass brother lets him off house arrest.”

“Choso!”

The boy was eternally grateful that his uncle wasn’t as jumpy as he was, the man tightening his grip around his head in preparation for his jolt of surprise at the sudden shout.

“Ohhh, I’d be more scared of your girl than your dad, punk.”

You had burst through the doors of the tattoo parlor like a bat out of hell, your breath heaving slightly with the expended effort of hauling ass all the way over here from the restaurant you worked part time at. After receiving a cryptic picture from your best friend of him sat in his uncle’s tattoo chair with that deceivingly sheepish smile on his face, you could barely concentrate on taking orders correctly the remainder of your shift. Huffing out a sigh, you spotted those familiar, black combat boots hanging off the end of one of the leather seats.

Choso didn’t bother to correct Sukuna’s labeling of you as his girl, as it was proven a wasted effort after years of telling him that wasn’t the case. It also didn’t hurt that the title made his stomach flip excitedly each time he heard it.

“Oh my god.” You gaped once you finally reached the chair he was laid at. Half of the deep burgundy, nearly black mark that was being tattooed across his nose was already finished, and you could already picture the crash out Jin Itadori would have when he laid his eyes on his eldest son.

Cracking one eye open, the birthday boy took in the sight of you, cheeks still red and puffing from the run you took to get to him. Underneath that first layer of shock though, he could see the barely disguised wonder in your eyes as you assessed the situation at hand. Sukuna paused his ministrations to give his nephew a break, and so that you could see the progress.

“What the fuck! Your dad is gonna kill you.” You laughed incredulously, stepping closer to get a better look. Choso was just glad that his face was already tinged red from the irritation of the needle so you wouldn’t notice how he flushed insecurely under your gaze.

It was his main reasoning behind the oddly placed tattoo, actually. Since he was little he could remember his face growing noticeably hot over the tiniest of compliments, looks, or touches. Maybe it was far-fetched, but he hoped the imposing mark across his nose and cheeks would draw the attention away from that little quirk of his. It also didn’t hurt that the stencil looked cool as fuck.

“Not if you’re with me, he won’t.” Choso suggested with a sly, hopeful smile on his face, and you quickly shook your head at him. His face fell into that pout he had mastered to use specifically on you. “C’mon, he’ll take it easy on me if you’re there, please!”

“It was bad enough having to be your human shield when you got your nose pierced, Cho— no way.”

“I’ll let you check my back for blackheads.”

It fell silent for a moment as you contemplated his offer.

“You two are fuckin’ freaks.” Sukuna scoffed in disgust beside you before dragging his nephew’s chin back to face forward to continue working. You winced watching the needle begin to pierce at his already irritated skin, and you found yourself instinctively slipping your hand into his to squeeze it.

“Does it hurt?” You grimaced, leaning a bit closer to watch.

Choso almost said no, because, truthfully, he had gotten used to the pain about half an hour ago, but he took note of the way you clutched at his hand to comfort him. His lips twitched nervously at the feeling as he closed his eyes once again.

“Uh— yeah, kind of.” He mumbled, taking the opportunity to lace his fingers through yours under the guise of having something to squeeze onto when he was in pain. His uncle watched the interaction with a deadpan expression, knowing full well that the kid hadn’t so much as flinched once since he’d sat down. Shaking his head with a quiet tut, he barely tried to conceal his amused smirk.

“What about you, birthday girl, huh? You getting some celebratory ink too?” Sukuna questioned, wiping at the side of Choso’s nose that he’d just filled in. You cringed as you watched the tiniest amount of blood trickle at the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t know, I think Cho took all the balls in this friendship.” You admitted with a defeated smile.

“Don’t be such a wimp.” Your best friend teased with a careful smile as he stretched his lower half against the stiff chair. The black sweater he was wearing rode up a bit, practically commanding the attention of your wandering eyes. There was a barely noticeable trail of dark hair leading down into the band of his joggers, and your lips parted as you tried to recall when the fuck that had happened.

The last couple of months in your friendship with Choso had been… getting a little difficult. You two had been practically joined at the hip since you were six years old and yelled at a group of first graders for not singing happy birthday to him as well after having overheard his dad wishing him a happy birthday that morning during drop off. For a while, the two of you would tell people at school that you were twins even though it was so clearly not the case, but six-year-old you and Cho were sure that you had everyone convinced.

He had always been a bit of an introvert, so you had been the greatest birthday gift he could have ever hoped for. So, the awkward boy stuck to your side from that day on. Wherever one was, the other was never too far behind, and this would now be the twelfth birthday you two would be spending together.

Choso had certainly been… changing though from that lanky little boy who would sniffle and cry each time you two parted for the day (as if you didn’t attend the same school). He had grown taller, his voice had dropped a few octaves, and these days you were finding yourself worrying about the timeline of your best friend’s happy trail. For a while you blamed it on the raging hormones that came along with puberty, but you were eighteen now and weren’t sure how much longer that excuse would hold up in your denial-filled brain.

This was just one more way he was changing, you convinced yourself as you anxiously waited for him to unlock the front door of his house, his nose and cheeks still glistening with the antibiotic ointment Sukuna had slathered onto his fresh tattoo. He would have never had the courage to do something so bold even just a couple years ago. You had to admit though, the odd choice of tattoo did suit him, emphasizing those tired, chocolate eyes of his so nicely.

It was silent in the Itadori house as you two crept in, scanning the area apprehensively with each step you took. You clutched at the back of his shirt, tugging him to lean down as you whispered into his black-studded ear.

“I don’t think anyone’s—”

“Happy birthday you—” Poor, sweet Jin Itadori’s shout of celebration got stuck right in the back of his throat as his eyes fell upon his eldest son, a lit up birthday cake still clutched in his hands. He blinked a few times as though there was possibly just something in his eyes, but the wide-eyed expression of anxiety on the boy’s face gave him away. “What in god’s name did you do to your face? Was this your uncle? Did he tell you this was a good idea because I—”

“It was my idea.” Choso corrected, not-so-subtly attempting to nudge you forward as if you would soften the blow of his father’s wrath, who’s honey eyes fell frantically upon you.

“Did you know about this? Please tell me you two are punking me or something.”

“She didn’t know.” He quickly defended despite the fact that it would have been a lot easier to share the blame. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he attempted a light-hearted smile. “C’mon, don’t I look—”

“You look like you’re about to be stuck working in that tattoo shop with your uncle the rest of your life because no one is going to hire you with that thing!” The man had begun pacing the length of the kitchen with the cake still in tow, shaking his head in disbelief before stopping to gape at his son in horror once again. “You couldn’t have at least waited until after prom? Graduation? All your photos— ruined! Oh god, I think I’m going to pass out—”

“Calm down, it’s not that big a deal— not like I did anything illegal, y’know like sneaking into a casino while underaged.” Choso attempted to distract him with a sheepish smile, stepping forward to take the cake out of his hands lest he really pass out. With his now free hands, Jin was tearing at the roots of his hair as he continued his frantic pacing, mumbling about not reminding him of Yuji’s recent run in with the law. “Besides, I’m not going to prom anyway.”

Now it was your turn to gape at the freshly-tattooed birthday boy.

“You’re not?” You questioned, desperately trying not to sound as dejected as you felt. Though you two had never talked about it, you had just assumed that you’d be going to prom together given all the other important milestone events that you had completed hand in hand. Hell, you had even been putting off an offer from a fellow classmate of yours with the impression that Choso would be asking you to be his date— platonically, of course.

“You’re not?” Jin echoed in horror, finally looking up from where his face had been shoved into his hands. The man didn’t miss the disheartened expression that flashed across your face despite your best efforts to conceal it. “Why not? You’re only a high-schooler once, Choso, don’t be silly.”

Perhaps his nervous convincing was a bit overkill, but damn it how he was tired of watching his clearly love-sick son grow older and older without growing any wits about him on what was going on right under his nose. After hosting years worth of playdates for you two as mere children, to encouraging his son to be a little gentler with you as you began going through those awkward years that plagued every pre-teen girl, all the way to having to watch with barely concealed frustration at the way you two fell into one another’s ebb and flow so gracefully without any semblance of self-awareness— Jin was sure that he was more excited than the actual seniors for prom to come around, eager to force you two into the most obvious of couple’s poses for photos before sending you off for the night.

“Why would I go to prom? You know I hate that kind of stuff.” He explained obviously before turning to see the settling shock lingering on your face. It made him blink a few times, brows furrowing in confusion. “I-I mean, are you going?”

“Um…” You stammered over your words, trying to suppress the flush of embarrassment that you felt creeping up your neck for having assumed that Choso would ask you to prom. He felt his heart in his throat, breath hitching in slight anticipation, because he was sure he wouldn’t have too terrible of a time if it was you he was going with, but the last thing he wanted to do was make things weird by asking you to be his date. “Y-Yeah, I was planning to go. Geto had asked me a few days ago, so—”

“You’re going with Geto?” It felt like his heart had fallen straight through his ass, and it took every inch of restraint in him to not begin banging his head against the dry-wall in a bitter rage, because why did he not think to ask you first? “I didn’t know you two talked like that.”

Jin wasn’t sure how much more of this he could stand to watch before he wrung his son’s neck out. He cleared his throat in an attempt to subtly get Choso’s attention and hopefully send some sort of telepathic communication to him, but he was far too focused on this Geto character that you had mentioned to get his head out of his own ass.

“We don’t really, but… he asked me, and I wanted to go.”

My god, does she have to spell it out for him? Did I fail somewhere along the way as a father that my son turned out such an oblivious hard head? Just ask her— ask her!

“Oh. Well… that’s good, I guess.”

Jin hoped to god that as Choso blew out half the candles on you two’s shared birthday cake that he was wishing for some common sense.

You two did the best you could to shake off the sudden awkwardness following the conversation about prom. At the very least, you two still had to give each other your gifts, so you figured that would cushion the tension. You followed him up the familiar path to his room where you had had Yuji drop off his gift for you so it’d be here when you two got back, biting down an excited smile.

“No way.” Choso gaped just seconds after opening the door. Stepping in to get a closer look, he quickly turned on his heels to stare incredulously at you. “No way— this is too much. I-I can’t take this.”

There leaned upon the side of his bed was a sleek black electric guitar— one he’d been keening over since the acoustic guitar his dad had gotten him damn near nine years ago now had mysteriously snapped at the neck. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so mysterious because you did tell Choso that climbing up onto his shoulders to get the spider that had been terrorizing his ceiling wasn’t a good idea, because sure enough as soon as the wretched thing moved an inch, you jolted back, sending both of you tumbling to the ground with only his poor guitar to break the fall.

“After all the fake flirting I had to do to rack up enough tip money for it? You sure as hell can take it.”

“Please, I can’t—”

“You can, and you will.”

His face was burning with the guilt of how much you had spent on him, but the glimmering shine of the fresh guitar in his peripheral was helping to soften the blow a bit. The boy’s fingers were practically twitching with the anticipation of getting his hands on the thing, but he stopped himself. With a shy smile shot your way, he crouched down to pull out a box that had since been hiding under his bed. You smiled eagerly before sinking down to sit criss-crossed straight across from him, your present filling the small gap left between you.

He laughed affectionately as he watched you struggle to pry the box open, deciding to put you out of your misery after a minute or so and tearing the cardboard apart for you. The first thing that caught your eye was a vinyl record— your favorite album that you had introduced Choso to a few years back. It held a tender spot in both of your hearts for that very reason, and its lead single had consequently been the first song he learned to play on his guitar all those years ago.

Even all these years later he could still feel the sting in his fingers that had yet to callous protectively against the instrument’s strings as he stayed up until the sun rose that next morning trying to perfect each chord so that he could play it for you when you came over. It was choppy at best, what with all the scrapes on his irritated fingers and the lack of sleep, but the dewey eyed look on your face made him feel like he was Jimi fucking Hendrix, only fueling his motivation to get better— to impress you. So, despite how his fingers began to bleed, he played it for you over and over again until you were satisfied.

The sight of the nostalgic album nearly made you tear up pathetially, but you pulled yourself together to beam up at him with all the light of a thousand suns. He flushed under your gaze, quickly looking down to push the box toward you again with a jut of his chin.

“There’s still something in there.”

Tearing your eyes from him, you pushed back the flaps of the box to get a better look, finding a far too expensive looking record player sitting at the bottom of the large box that he’d definitely been begging neighbors to let him clean their car or mow their lawn in order to afford. Gasping softly, an incredulous laugh bubbled up your chest as you shifted onto your knees.

“Cho, this is so cool!” You guffawed, fingers struggling to wrangle the turntable out of the damned box to no avail. Unable to fight back his smile, he moved to brush your hands away and grab it for you, setting it down atop his black comforter. Running your fingers down the glossy box, you looked up at him with raised brows. “You’re gonna come back to my house to help me set it up, right?”

“You putting me to work on my birthday?” He quipped with a smirk as he fell back against the bed, hoisting up his new guitar to rest on his stomach.

“I’ll give you the day.” You caved in mock resignation as you laid beside him, head shifted to observe the way he fiddled with the tuners. “New face tattoo, new guitar— your rockstar look is really coming together.”

“Yeah?”

“For sure— just missing some guyliner.”

His nimble fingers paused against the strings, lips pursing as he peered over at you. It was dead silent as a slow smile spread across your face— because you could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. It was only a mere five minutes later that you found yourself digging your fingers into his jaw to stop him from flinching away each time the eyeliner pencil drew a little too close to his iris.

“Sit still, dude.” You grumbled, stepping closer between his spread legs as he sat impatiently in his desk chair.

Huffing out a sigh, he tried not to squirm at your burning proximity. Your tongue was creeping out the corner of your mouth in concentration, and the hand that had since been on his jaw moved to brush the hair away from his forehead. He could feel the warm puffs of your breath fanning against his face, driving his legs to squirm against the floor, which seemed to be the final straw for your patience.

Choso thought his heart would leap out of his chest when you planted yourself firmly on his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair. His arms quickly fell to his sides as though weighed down by bricks, dangling limply as his fingers flexed apprehensively. Gulping anxiously, he tried not to focus on the way the fat of your thighs squished against him.

“Close your eyes, Cho.” You murmured quietly as you began working on his lids. He did so swiftly, eager to not have to worry about where to place his gaze.

“So, um…” The boy cleared his throat, trying desperately to get his mind anywhere else before he created a problem that would be embarrassing for the both of you. “You’re really going to prom with Geto?”

“Mhm.” You hummed simply, chewing on your bottom lip as you smudged the freshly placed liner with the edge of your thumb. Perhaps you should have said more, but you weren’t sure that you trusted your voice if you were to speak right now.

“Do you… I mean are you—”

“Look up for me.”

Cursing himself mentally to just get it the fuck together, he tried again as he did as he was told, warm eyes glancing up at the ceiling.

“I just didn’t know you liked him is all.” He finally got out as his pulse pounded against the fingers you had pressed against his jaw and neck once again. “You’ve always told me about stuff like that.”

With a tickled smile, you leaned back in his lap to narrow your eyes knowingly at him. Upon noting your silence paired with the way you had stopped your work against his eyes, he finally looked back down, and you had to bite back the delighted gasp from seeing the way the smudged, dark liner paired so beautifully with the rest of him, making his already mysteriously dark eyes that much more sultry.

“You’re jealous, Choso!”

“What? N-No, I was just—”

“You are so jealous that I didn’t tell you about Geto.”

“I’m not jealous!”

“You are!”

“Am not!”

He was so jealous, Choso determined as he stared up at his ceiling the dreaded night of prom. His fingers idly strummed at the new guitar that laid across his stomach, trying to get his mind off of the fact that you hadn’t even bothered to send him a picture of your dress. It had always been him that was the first to see your new haircuts, fresh manicures, and imaginative outfits, and it was eating him alive that for the first time in twelve years, another guy was going to get to witness that little spin of display you did each time you wore something you felt particularly pretty in.

It didn’t help that he’d already gotten an earful from his dad when he got home from school that day about the fact that he still hadn’t righted his wrong and asked you instead. Jin must have gone on for at least an hour about what a shame it was that of all the experiences you two had shared, one as important to you as this one would be hand in hand with someone else. For the first time since the start of your long-winded friendship, he was sharing you with someone, and Choso was quickly realizing that he was selfish— and unashamedly so.

The event had already been going on for about two hours now, and he was coming to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t hear from you tonight. The familiar notes of that favorite song of yours that he had learned all those years ago filled his ears as he began absentmindedly plucking at the strings under his fingertips. Ever so slowly, the melody began shifting into one he’d never heard before, taking its own shape as it filled his melancholy room with feelings of you, and how much he’d taken it for granted all those times he had you laying beside him as he toyed with the notes, telling him what sounded nice and what he needed to work on.

The notes suddenly screeched awkwardly as his phone began buzzing in his back pocket, yanking him from his pensive sulking with its imposing tune. Blinking a few times, he frantically tossed his hips up to wrangle his phone out from behind him, the head of his guitar smacking him in the face with the sudden movements.

He shot up out of bed pathetically upon seeing your name lighting up his screen along with a picture he’d taken of the two of you in the mirror a few months ago when you tried to give him red highlights. There was dye nearly everywhere except where it was supposed to be, yet you still beamed up at the mirror despite the red streaks covering your face and arms, gloved hands still tangled into his hair.

Clearing his throat, he quickly swiped to answer the call before it went to voicemail.

“Did someone spike the punch or—”

“Choso?” Your voice sounded hushed, but it still wavered ever-so-slightly against the sound of music blaring in the distance. The smile quickly fell from his face. “Do you think you could… come get me?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. What’s going on?” He was barrelling through his hectic room to find any pair of shoes to shove on, nearly tripping over himself as he hopped toward the front door on one foot.

“Um… nothing, I just… really wanna go home.”

There wasn’t even the tiniest part of him that was convinced, but that would just have to be a conversation for later because there was a timid vulnerability and tremor in your sweet voice that he’d never heard before. Snatching his dad’s keys from the hook by the door, he was requesting your location before racing down the street. There was a slight possibility that he had run more than a few red lights on his way to the hotel that was hosting your school’s prom in the banquet hall. The car had barely come to a stop when he was flinging the door open to rush toward the bench you were sitting at out front.

“What are you doing out here by yourself? Where’s Geto?”

But your eyes were fluttering around you cautiously, scoping the surrounding area with a shake of your head as your best friend pulled you up by your arm.

“Please, can we just go? I don’t—”

“Right— yeah, okay, come on.”

It was silent on the ride home save for your hushed request that he take you back to his house for the night instead. Cautionary side long glances were continuously tossed your way throughout the drive, and you could practically feel the concerned curiosity eating alive at him as your body faced the passenger side door. You were eternally grateful for the fact that the other two residents of the Itadori household had already turned in for the night when you two arrived.

Choso flipped the lights on in his room, carefully inching the door of his room closed so as not to wake anyone up. When he turned, he was finally able to get his first good look at you, and he was absolutely bursting at the seams to know what Geto must have done to fuck up a night with you as his date looking as ethereal as you did standing in the middle of his room.

You were sighing dejectedly as you tugged open his drawers to fish out something to change into, but Choso was still stuck by the door, eyes taking in each detail of your glittering makeup and intricately lined lips.

“You…” His words drifted as you turned your back toward him so he’d undo your zipper. “You look beautiful.”

You paused, head slowly turning to look over your shoulder at him with misty eyes.

“Thanks, Cho.”

Quickly working your zipper down, he turned to face the door as you stepped out of your dress to shrug on a pair of his sweatpants and a crewneck. His leg swayed anxiously while he listened to the gentle rustling of clothes behind him.

“Did… did something happen?”

Upon hearing the subtle creak of his bed as you sank down onto it, he carefully turned around. The bed dipped by your head where he sat himself, and you felt him absentmindedly begin pulling the myriad of pins from your hair. Flushing red, you covered your face with your hands as you recalled how your night had progressed, not caring how you were smudging your makeup against your hands.

“He… he just wanted to have sex with me.”

Choso felt his heart crack at your shaky explanation, the guilt he had been experiencing for not having asked you to prom himself returning tenfold. The bobby pin in his grasp bent between his fingers as he thought about how Geto had ruined what was meant to be a special night for you.

“That guy’s a loser, he’ll probably die a virgin anyway.” He attempted to lighten the mood with a hesitant, breathy laugh, but it died in his throat when you slowly sat up to look at him, your now loose hair falling messily in your face and tears brimming your eyes. His stomach dropped at the mortified expression scrunching up your typically cheerful face, and he gulped down the bile rising in his throat. “Oh.”

A sob racked your body as you moved to curl into a tight ball, your head resting against his tense thighs. His hands hovered over you uncertainly before slowly coming down to brush at the hair invading your face.

“So, you…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say it, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“I feel like an idiot.” You cried, fisting at his pajama pants. “I stopped him right after he— he put it… in, but—”

“It’s okay.” Choso cut off your embarrassed rambles, pulling you up to wrap you in a tight embrace. He wasn’t sure if he could handle listening to the details. “Did he stop when you asked him to?”

A heavy sigh of relief left him when you nodded against his shoulder. It was silent for a few minutes, your soft cries soaking into the fabric of his tattered, band t-shirt.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered dejectedly, trying desperately to get the image out of his head of you underneath of Geto with your makeup done up so prettily for someone who didn’t deserve it. He thought about how none of it would have happened had he just grown a pair. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to prom. I should’ve taken you, none of this would have—”

“It’s not your fault.” You interrupted, finally lifting your head from where it had burrowed into his neck to look up at him, your lip still trembling as your once pristine makeup smeared down your red cheeks.

As you stared into his dewey, warm eyes, you allowed your thoughts to wander to how your night might have ended had Choso been your date, how you had stopped Geto after the gruelling realization hit you that no hands felt as right against your skin without the gruffness of guitar-string callouses. Your stomach churned nervously, and you laid back down against his lap, unable to face him as the words came tumbling from your lips.

“I wish it would have been you, Cho.”

Choso’s heart sputtered to an abrupt halt— at least that’s what it felt like as your words sunk in. Slowly, he laid back against his pillow, careful not to jostle you in your spot against his thighs. Staring up at the ceiling, his mouth opened and closed a few times.

“Y-You mean as a prom date, right?” The question came out apprehensively, because, deep down, you both already knew the answer. You closed your eyes nonetheless, a final tear slipping down your cheek.

“Yeah, as a prom date.” Your lie came out barely a whisper as he chewed on his bottom lip.

“I wish it would’ve been me too. Y’know, your… prom date.”

It was the first time both of you knew that something had shifted in your relationship, though neither of you were brave enough to mention it the next morning when you woke.

That fateful night was two years ago now, and you had had ample time to come to the realization that perhaps you should have been more upfront with him, because Choso was now hundreds of miles away at an arts school with only a telephone keeping you two together.

It had been a difficult conversation with shifting eyes and unnecessarily guilty frowns, but when your best friend had broken the news to you that he’d been accepted into a different university than the one you’d be attending, you couldn’t have been happier that he was pursuing his passion for music. When he dropped the bomb that it was nearly six hours away— that was a tougher pill to swallow.

You two had been doing the best you could though— calling each other every other night and texting in between to make sure to keep up to date on everything university life had to offer you. Still, things would get busy sometimes, what with Choso’s occasional shows that he’d been playing with a local band in his college town, and your downright diabolical class and exam schedule. Things certainly weren’t the same anymore, but you desperately tried to cling onto him.

Additionally, in your absence Choso was reminded of just how much of a clutch you had been for him. He had never been the best at talking to others, relating to the types of casual niceties that seemed to connect people, but he had never had to until now because you had always been just enough for him. Sure, he had warmed up enough to his bandmates, but it was never the same— not when he sat alone in his room at night strumming melodies he only wished he would have played for you earlier when he still had the chance to do something about these things he was feeling.

On your end of the world, it certainly didn’t help that his band had grown a modest following, and it seemed that for the first time, the rest of the world was also beginning to notice Choso.

Choso, the one boys and girls alike used to veer away from in the halls at school because of his terrifyingly blunt, resting bitch face.

Choso, the one who spent the majority of highschool with limbs that seemed too long for his body until he grew into his own.

Choso, the one who, unless you were beside him, often took jokes too literally and ended up embarrassing himself each time he opened his mouth.

Choso, the one who you had stuck beside throughout each awkward phase and experimental hairstyle until he landed on the shag cut that suited him so nicely.

Choso, the one who had been receiving the nastiest of thirst comments under each of his band’s social media posts as the rest of the world caught onto what you had known all along.

And, god, how it stung to scroll through each one, but it was like you couldn’t look away, wondering with each username if he was enjoying all the new attention he was getting. You wondered how far he had leaned into this rockstar persona he had been dreaming of his whole life, if he snuck girls backstage and pocketed their bras as evidence of his conquests.

I mean, the guy had gone damn near his entire life without so much as a second glance from any girl he’d come in contact with— except for you, of course, and you underestimated just how deep his loyalty ran and how much he remembered who it was that had been with him through it all.

So, to hell with every creatively intricate thirst comment under photos that even had you contemplating starting a burner account to appreciate with the masses, none of them mattered despite all the nights you’d spent chewing at your fingernails with thoughts of what he might be up to. Each fan account could burn in hell though— because it was you he called as soon as he’d received the news that his band would be touring, opening for an indie band that you two had actually been fans of for quite some time.

“I wanna fly you out.” Choso insisted breathlessly, still winded from the sheer velocity at which he raced for his phone upon hearing the news. It made your heart stutter, because it had been now going on three years since you last saw him, your schedules never having seemed to line up just right. There were a few times when you had contemplated flying out to surprise him at one of his local, bar shows, but with your building mountain of school work, you’d had little to no time to get a job that could afford you the extra change at the end of each month to buy a plane ticket. At your silence, he huffed, and you could practically hear that damned pout from over the phone. “C’mon, our birthday is coming up. We used to spend all our birthdays together.”

Smiling wistfully at the memories of how easy you two once had it, you shook your head.

“Well that was before you became some heart-throb rock star, Cho.” You teased, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you wondered if he still blushed so easily at little comments like that, and, if so, what shade his cheeks were at the moment.

“How am I supposed to be a rock star with no groupies? That’s just lame.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m sure you have a long list of contenders waiting in line. Have you been checking your instagram comments lately?”

This made him pause, the tiniest of knowing smiles creeping onto his face.

“No, but it sounds like you have.”

For once, it was you flushing that burning shade of red that once graced his cheeks so frequently, and you wondered when he’d begun reciprocating your teasing banter instead of just stammering through his responses while trying not to look you in the eyes. Shaking his head with a nearly silent chuckle, he decided to put you out of your misery, clutching his phone tighter against his ears.

“Let me fly you out, please? I know you’ve gotta break coming up. I wanna see you.”

So just three months later, though truthfully it felt like a year as you and Choso counted down the days until you would see each other again, you were on a flight courtesy of his now modest earnings from his band. And sure, it was no fancy seat with the luxury accommodations he just knew you deserved, but he felt so proud to know that he was able to do something for you. He had been waiting at the airport nearly two hours before your flight was actually supposed to land, flowers clutched in his clammy hands as he checked the time repeatedly.

Much to his frustration, your flight kept getting delayed, and, after the third push back, he had to begrudgingly resign himself to the fact that he wouldn’t get to be there when you landed, having to get back for sound check for the show tonight. After sending a long winded explanation text, he insisted that you text him as soon as you land as well as as soon as you got to the hotel and as soon as you made it to the venue, and— well, you got the point.

With all the sudden delays, you only had time to drop your luggage off at the front desk of the hotel, who assured you they’d get it to your room for you before you had to haul ass to the venue before you missed any second of Choso’s band opening. He had given your name to security, who had your pass waiting for you when you arrived and quickly led you toward a less crowded section reserved for the talents’ guests.

You were slightly winded from the nonstop moving you had been doing since you woke up this morning, but even with how spent you felt, you weren’t sure anything could have woken you up faster than the sight of your best friend on that stage after three years of not seeing him. Sure, the two of you had been keeping up with pictures and the occasional video call, but none of it did him justice— not with the way the boy you once knew had grown into such a… man.

The once lanky limbs that hung awkwardly at his sides had certainly filled out, emphasized nicely by the gaping muscle shirt he currently had on. His biceps flexed with each rip of his guitar as his grown out hair fell into his chiseled face. To your surprise, he had a mic situated in front of him and was occasionally offering back-up vocals that you were straining with everything in you to pinpoint amongst the rest of the music.

His eyes swept across the designated guest area, and you and your poor, weak heart nearly gave out upon realizing that he had begun lining them just as you did for him all those years ago, smudged out across his lids and adding a spine-tingling depth as they spotted you in the crowd. That earth-shattering smile lit up his face as he took in the sight of you looking up at him, because none of this success and fulfillment of lifelong dreams felt nearly as sweet without you being in the audience for him to impress.

Choso was breath-taking on that stage, commanding it with a confidence you had never seen on him before. It was a blur as the set went on, your shouting out the lyrics to the songs of theirs that you’d kept up with over the year, your already spent body expending the fumes of energy it had left to thrash around to the eardrum-crushing beat.

You found yourself anxiously checking your phone when his band finished their set and disappeared backstage, not knowing if you were going to have to wait until the end of the show to see him. Thinking back to the phone conversation you two had had months prior, and how you really were starting to feel like his groupie. The thought made you smile in amusement, shoving your phone back into your pocket as the main band came out on stage.

Your questions were answered just one song in when a pair of nearly steaming, sweat clung arms wrapped around your shoulders and chest from behind, squeezing you into an equally sweaty chest.

“Ew, Cho, get off! You’re soaked!” You tried to sound disgusted, but your delighted laugh deceived you, because you were sure that he could have been covered head to toe in blood right now and you’d still allow him to latch onto you as he was doing so ardently.

“What happened to being my groupie?” He shouted over the blasting music, surprising you when his lips met your cheek in a sloppy kiss. Even he wasn’t sure where he’d worked up the gall to kiss you, but maybe it was the fact that he’d spent the last three years regretting his inaction, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you board that flight back home without at least trying.

Hoping he didn’t see the way your cheeks flushed at the little stunt, you took note of the fact that he had yet to release you.

“Your groupie is gonna need a few drinks if she has to deal with your stench for the next hour.”

In typical Choso fashion, he quickly obliged your request, planting yet another kiss against your temple before disappearing in the blur of security and venue workers to find you something to drink. You felt like your head was spinning with his sudden forward shift in behavior, but you chalked it up to the fact that you two hadn’t seen each other in so long.

So, you didn’t question it when he came back with two vodka Red Bulls and continued to cling onto you the remainder of the show. He hoisted you up on his back when the crowd around you began to grow so you could get a better view of the band and didn’t care that you were screaming along to the songs right into his ear because you were finally here with him, and he could buy you drinks and give you front row seats to one of your favorite bands, and for once he thought that maybe he was brave enough to admit that he wanted something more with you after all these years of convincing himself that there was nothing he could offer you that’d be worth your while.

He was riding on the high of your giddy smile the entire taxi ride back to the hotel, unable to wipe that lovesick grin off of his face even when you asked him if there was something on your face that was warranting all the staring.

“I’m just gonna shower really quick, and then I’ll come to your room so we can order some food, ‘kay?” You explained while fishing out the room key that you’d received from the front desk earlier that day.

Choso’s brows furrowed as he pushed the respective button on the elevator and adjusted his guitar case over his shoulder.

“What do you mean? We’re going to the same room.”

Looking up from the inside of your bag, you stared at him with a slightly dumbfounded expression.

“You only booked one room?” You questioned with a fluttering gaze.

“We’ve always shared a room.” He explained obviously, making his way down the hall once the elevator doors opened. You could hardly argue with him on that logic, because you two had been sharing a room, hell— sharing a bed since you were kids. As you followed close behind him, butterflies churning in your stomach, you came to the conclusion that Choso had neglected to account for the fact that you two weren’t kids anymore.

Still, he had flown you all this way, and you had missed the endless nights you two would spend together watching horror movies until Jin would stumble into the room, exasperated as he asked you two to please turn down the volume or, better yet, watch anything else that didn’t have him jolting awake from the incessant sounds of blood-curdling screams emanating from his son’s room at ungodly hours of the night. Bonus points if you two had snuck Yuji in to watch them with you and had to shove him under the bed until their dad left the room lest he find out his youngest was watching movies far too mature for his age.

Yuji and Jin weren’t there to interrupt though, and you were currently hyping yourself up in the bathroom mirror to go out and spend the night with the man you’d known for fifteen years now. Looking down at yourself, you cursed at your choice of sleep wear that you’d clearly chosen before you knew Choso would be sleeping beside you. His old Metallica t-shirt had tiny holes in the shoulders and was discolored from so many years of wash cycles, but it was just so perfectly worn in, and it was a little reminder of him each time you went to sleep.

The tattered hem fell just above your mid-thigh, and you were once again punching yourself in the leg because why would you not pack any pajama shorts? Pants? A longer shirt? Literally anything other than your fucking jeans that you’d rather bear the humiliation for than wear to bed? Huffing out a final sigh, you hung up your towel before exiting the steam-filled bathroom outwardly displaying far more confidence than was actually present in your muddled mind at the moment.

“Shower’s open, Cho.” You informed with your eyes cast downward, shoving your dirty clothes into the respective section of your suitcase.

He looked up from the room service menu he’d been studying for the past few minutes, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the sight of your bare thighs that still glistened from whatever lotion you had slathered on after your shower, and oh god was that his shirt? His brain was short-circuiting on the spot, and he was so grateful that he was jumping into the shower now, knowing that knob was about to be turned to the coldest setting he could manage.

You sighed in quiet relief when the bathroom door shut behind him, thanking your lucky stars that he hadn’t mentioned anything about your choice of sleepwear— or lack thereof, hoping it meant that he didn’t notice.

Finally allowing some of the tension to fall from your shoulders, you looked around the slightly bougie hotel room, smiling at the sight of his guitar leaning against the wall. Taking the opportunity to be a little nosy for nostalgia’s sake, you unzipped the case and carefully pulled the beloved instrument out. It was hardly recognizable now, what with all the decals and stickers he’d adorned it with over the years, but it was that same electric guitar you had scraped up all your tip money to buy for him.

Humming fondly, you sat crisscrossed in the middle of the plush bed to fiddle with the strings, recalling all the nights Choso had spent desperately trying to teach you how to play, but you never could make good on his diligent efforts. You could only vaguely recall the chords to that first song he’d ever learned to play, the one you’d watched him strum what must have been hundreds of times for you. Pursing your lip, you tried to angle your fingers just right along the neck as you dug into the far corners of your memory.

“Your hand is too far up the neck.”

In your fierce concentration, you hadn’t even heard Choso exiting the bathroom. Not looking up at him lest you break your focus, you shifted your hand as he’d instructed.

“Here?”

He tutted softly, though you could practically hear the fond amusement oozing from him. After a moment, you felt the bed dip behind you, and your breath hitched as you felt his chest press against your back, and you suddenly didn’t feel as embarrassed at your lack of clothing since he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on following his shower. His hands soon came up to close around yours, guiding them to the proper placement.

“Try now.” He instructed softly, tucking his chin over your shoulder to watch your movements.

Trying to control the way your fingers trembled with the feeling of the muscles he never used to have pressed right up against you, you tried again. When he let out a quiet hum of disapproval, you didn’t have the chance to ask what you had done wrong before he was scooching you back to sit in his lap for better access to the instrument.

“You’ve gotta spread out your fingers a little more.” Choso’s tips were falling on deaf ears, because his scent was enveloping you like a warm blanket, he was so warm pressed right up against you, and his cheek was brushing against yours as he adjusted your fingers.

As he had been telling himself since he saw you in the audience earlier for the first time in three years, he wasn’t that awkward boy anymore who was too scared to be honest with himself, and he knew better than to believe that the flush in your cheeks right now was from your shower. Smiling softly, he eased up his hands as you began to get the hang of it, only occasionally reaching up to correct your placements. You gradually allowed yourself to relax against him, your shoulders drifting back to fall along his broad chest.

“Do you ever think about that night of prom?” Out of all the ways he could have eased into this conversation, he wasn’t sure why that was what had come out of his mouth, but he was relieved when you scoffed out a light laugh.

“You mean the night I lost my virginity to Suguru Geto?” You shook your head at the once damn near traumatic memory, a bitter smile gracing your lips. “I try not to.”

It was silent for a moment, and just as he thought you had all but forgotten what you had said to him that night, you spoke up hesitantly.

“Do you? Y’know— think about it?”

“All the time.”

Your fingers paused against the strings, but a hushed whisper in your ear to keep playing had you jolting back into action, but your subtle squirming against his lap gave you away.

“Why the hell would you be thinking about that?” You mumbled, keeping your voice low as you desperately tried to maintain your composure.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if it was me instead.”

His hand came up to tighten your grip around the neck of the guitar that had loosened with the implications of his words, and you heard those familiar words falling from your lips just as they had from his three years ago.

“You mean as my prom date, right, Cho?”

His head shifted ever so slightly, and you shivered as his nose grazed against your temple. The hand that had been guiding your fingers over the strings drifted down to ghost over your bare thigh.

“Yeah, as your prom date.” He lied, just as you had that night. The pads of his fingers dug into the fat of your thigh momentarily, giving you the opportunity to push him away should he have been reading all the signs wrong. You didn’t though, you only held back the softest of whimpers when the metaphorical green light prompted him to run his hand further up, brushing back your already maddeningly ridden up shirt. “I think about how much of an idiot he was, what I would’ve done different.”

The way your comparably smaller frame was expanding and deflating against him in tandem with your labored breaths was making it hard for him to think, and he was sure his body was acting purely on autopilot.

“Like what?” You dared to whisper, not even quite sure that you were ready to hear his answer, but oh was he willing to give it to you.

“I would’ve told you how pretty you looked that night— because you did. You looked like an angel.” Choso rasped out against your ear, and his fingers were curling around the warmth of your inner thigh, just barely grazing against your rapidly heating core. Your fingers stuttered once again against the strings, and his other hand quickly came up to grip at the column of your neck, pressing you back against him. “Keep playing for me, angel.”

And you tried, hands trembling as they fumbled to find the right chords again.

“Did he touch you like this before he ruined your night?”

“No!” You gasped out desperately, arching against him as he pushed your panties to the side to collect the pooling slick at your entrance, using it to aid in the tentative circles he began working against your clit. “H-He didn’t touch me at all— ah!”

With a vexed tut of disapproval, Choso’s fingers dipped down to plunge into your sopping heat. His movements were choppy, and it was clear that he wasn’t sure what exactly you would like, but his focused gaze on your side profile as he studied each of your reactions told you that he was going to figure it the fuck out.

“I would have taken the time for you— I would’ve made sure you were ready.” His regrets were spilling past his frantic lips in a manner teetering on a whine as your head fell back against his shoulder. “Keep playing.”

“I can’t— I can’t, Cho.” You cried deliriously as his fingers began curling up in response to your frantic reaction. You were soaking through the underwear that had been pushed haphazardly to the side, and if you were more lucid you would have been embarrassed at the way it pooled onto the sheets below you.

At once, he had released the firm grip he had on your neck to push his guitar off the bed.

“Then come up here and let me show you how I would have taken care of you.”

Choso, with his eagerness to please and this newfound Herculean strength of his, didn’t give you the chance to comply with his request, because he was ripping at your flimsy underwear and shifting you around to face him. It was enough to give you whiplash, but the bruising grip he had around your waist assured that your balance wouldn’t fail you as he laid back against the unsuspecting hotel sheets and yanked you up to hover over his crazed face.

“Choso, y-you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” He pleaded, his lips glistening with an anticipatory drool as those puppy-dog eyes of his locked onto your core, and he was once again reminded of the fact that Suguru Geto had to be the dumbest man on this fucking planet. Craning his neck up, he couldn’t help himself as he dragged his hot tongue up the length of your folds, his strangled moan vibrating against you. “Mmph, sit— please.”

Leave it to Choso to not forget about his manners as he begged you to suffocate him between your trembling thighs. You complied, moving ever-so-slowly to lower yourself against him before he dug his fingers into your thighs and made you sit. Hunching forward, your forehead fell against the plush headboard with a choked cry as he all but unhinged his jaw around your core.

He watched through dazed eyes at the way your face crumpled with each symphony of pleasure that slipped past your bitten lips. There was no sense in dwelling on the past now, but he couldn’t help but feel so utterly idiotic for having been so blind all this time. It had always been there— in the lingering touches and the intimacy of trust that had forged between you two over fifteen years of falling back on one another.

Choso’s eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips against his tongue, momentarily blocking any passage of air through his mouth and nose, but, even with the clenching in his lungs that told him that he needed to breathe paired with the ringing in his ears, he thought he’d much rather have your weeping pleasure as the cause of death on his obituary, because any life where he hindered that impending high you were cravenly grinding toward wasn’t a life worth living.

His tongue dipped into your entrance for an exasperatingly brief tour before its pointed tip was dancing up to swoop under the hood of your already painfully sensitive clit. You squeaked out a pitched moan, nearly tumbling down if one of his hands hadn’t shot up to press against your sternum to keep you upright. A choked sob of pleasure shook your shoulders, and your hand flew down to tangle into the very haircut he maintained for so long just because you said it looked cute on him.

There was a sharp sting on his scalp as you yanked at the roots, the subtle pain at the hands of you nearly sending him to an early grave as his hips bucked up against the air. He was only met by the infuriatingly gentle friction of his sweatpants brushing against his leaking tip, but you were crying out his name and using him so sweetly with every craven thrust of your hips, and it was enough for him after all the sleepless nights he’d spent wishing he could have changed the past.

Evidence of you was dripping grotesquely down his face, dragging as far up as his nose that glistened proudly in the wake of your sloppy thrusts against him. His eyes were barely open by the time you timidly glanced down at him, half-lidded to match the dopey smile you felt morphing against your folds.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You murmured through burning cheeks as he leaned you back to sit on his chest.

“I’ve waited fifteen years to look at you like this.” His words were damn near slurred, but the sentiment remained the same. Brushing the dishevled hair from his forehead, you slid down slowly to straddle his waist, gasping tenderly at the feeling of his abs brushing against your sensitive clit, though your eyes never once left his.

With wanton eyes drifting down his pink-tinted face, his eyes drifted shut as he leaned up to meet the kiss he was sure he was finally about to get, but it instead landed tenderly on his forehead. A warmth spread down his spine, making his fingers curl tighter around your waist.

“Put me out of my misery already.” Choso whispered, but his actions deceived him as he reached up to keep you pressed against his forehead. Just as you slipped out of his grasp, lips dragging down the bridge of his nose until they ghosted over his. With a clouded gaze, he whispered against your lips, “Did he tell you he loved you?”

With a delirious shake of your head, you crashed through the tiniest of barriers that had been left between you.

“I love you.” He mumbled desperately against your kiss, hands sneaking up under your baggy shirt to graze along your spine. “More than just a— ah— a prom date. I love you.”

“I love you, too— more than just a friend.” You confirmed as you snuck your hand down between you to creep into his waistband.

He flinched away from you with a quick, hissing breath, reaching down to grip at your hand in record timing. Pulling away from him with a start, you blinked down owlishly at him.

“Oh— I-I’m sorry, I just thought you wanted to…”

“I do!” He sat up faster than you could blink to miss it. With that signature flush of his cheeks, he cast his gaze to the side. “Just… give me a little bit, okay?”

Raising a brow at his sudden timidness, you decided not to make it known that you had already felt the tacky wet splotch currently making a mess of his sweatpants. Saving him the wallowing self-pity you just knew he’d fall into for the rest of the night, you opted to lay beside him, tracing the tattoo that lined his nose absentmindedly as he looked anywhere but you. With a soft laugh, he finally turned his head to face you again after a moment of silence, smiling sheepishly down at you.

“Happy birthday, angel.”

Glancing over at the bedside clock, you noted with a cacooning warmth that it read 12:02 AM.

“Happy birthday, Cho.”

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

209 notes · View notes

paradiseprincesss · 6 days ago

Text

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 𝟑𝟒 + 𝟑𝟓 | Jonathan Crane

ℭ𝔞𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔶 𝔲𝔭 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱?

𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 — If you understand the subtle homage to the music video for 34+35 I love you.

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 — When you’re summoned to help Jonathan in the middle of the night with your shared experiment, you expect to assist with complex math and scientific breakthroughs — but instead, you test an entirely different kind of chemistry and set of numbers...

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 — 2.8k

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 -> 18+ ONLY Smut, p in v, oral (f & m receiving), 69, riding, unprotected sex, creampie

𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

With a lazy sigh, you put your car in park outside the isolated lab building and check your makeup in the rearview mirror one last time before leaving your vehicle. Annoyance bubbled up inside your chest as you clung onto your white lab coat tightly and you fumbled around with your keys, shoving them into your purse. Your heels, also white to match your pristine lab coat, clicked against the pavement as you made your way inside.

It was nearly two in the morning, and yet, here you were – walking through the walls of the now eerily quiet lab in which you and Jonathan Crane so often worked together at. The two of you were working on a new compound version of his infamous fear toxin, and with both of your talents in science combined, this version of the toxin was nearly ten times as potent and long-lasting.

Although he’d never admit it, he thought you were insanely smart – so smart that he swore you could give him a run for his money. You were gifted when it came to the sciences, hence why you chose to be a scientist for a living.

Sure, maybe a corrupt scientist, but still a scientist nonetheless.

Tonight, you had been out with a few colleagues for Friday night drinks, but a few hours into your celebration, Jonathan had called you nonstop and at some point, you got annoyed by the constant ringing and picked up. He had explained to you that something wasn’t going right in your shared experiment and wanted your help in the lab as he couldn’t quite figure out what was missing.

Despite it being ridiculously late, you agreed. A part of you wanted to stay and enjoy your night out, but ultimately, nothing was more important than this vital experiment – you and Jonathan had been working on it for months, after all.

As you stepped into the lab, the sharp click of your heels echoed off the sterile walls. Jonathan barely spared you a glance at first as he was much too focused on a pink liquid in a beaker in front of him. As he set the chemical down and looked at you – really looked at you – he froze.

The pristine lab coat hung loosely around your shoulders and covered you for the most part, but that dress you had on underneath was painfully short. Not to mention those very high heels you had on that had no business being in a laboratory but somehow looked like they belonged. You adjusted your coat with the tiniest flick of your wrist, giving a peek of the tight, lowcut mini dress hidden underneath, which caused Jonathan to almost choke on his breath.

“You’re late,” he mumbled as he clenched his jaw. “And why are you dressed like that?”

You sauntered towards him as if you had all the time in the world. With a teasing smile, you looked up at him as you watched him try not to look at you.

“You called me at two in the morning while I was out at a bar,” you explained, gesturing to your heels and dress. “I had my lab coat in the backseat of my car so I figured wasting time by going home and changing wouldn’t do either of us any good. Be glad I even showed up at all.”

Jonathan scoffed at your words, going back to working on his chemical concoction. The two of you exchanged a few words but mostly just worked on configuring the toxin after he had caught you up on what it was he needed help with. After about an hour, you heard him sigh with annoyance, which caused you to pause what you were doing.

You made your way over, leaning on the desk beside him as you observed what he was writing down. He paused as you stood beside him, giving you a glare with those icy blue eyes of his.

“Do you need something?” He asked dryly as he looked back at the chemicals in front of him and scribbled notes.

You tilted your head with a faint smile, taking your perfectly manicured nails as you traced absent patterns on the cold, metal counter. “Just curious,” you said softly. “You seemed so…urgent when you called me at 2 A.M. Thought maybe you were saving the world or something.”

He paused as his pen hovered over the paper. He looked at you slowly, and for a split second, his gaze lingered on your figure, taking in your dishevelled yet effortlessly sexy appearance. “I needed an extra pair of hands,” he said curtly, his tone clipped.

You smirked as you leaned in a little closer. Your gaze flickered between his notes and his face. “Right. Hands. Sure.”

He stiffened as he glared at you from the corner of his eye. “If you’re just going to stand there, don’t distract me.”

“Distract you?” You asked innocently. “I’m not doing anything. You’re the one who called me, remember?”

Suddenly, Jonathan exhaled sharply as he put his pen down and turned to face you fully. His voice was low and strained as if he was barely holding it together. “I called asking you for help, not…this.”

You raised a brow as you feigned innocence once more. “This?”

He gestured vaguely as his jaw tightened. “You. Showing up like…that.”

Your grin widened as you stepped closer to him, closing the space between you and him. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you tonight. Maybe it was just your inhibitions slowly fading into the background as the clock hit 3 A.M., or…

“I came straight from the bar,” you said matter-of-factly. “Thought you’d appreciate the effort.”

He stared at you as he leaned back slightly like he was trying to put space between you and him. “Effort is not the word I’d use.”

You shrugged and rested your hand on the steel counter beside his. Your hand brushed up against his knuckles, and yet, he didn’t pull away. You watched as he stared at the contact before he slowly looked up at you again to meet your gaze.

“You’re complicated,” you murmured, suddenly unable to stop yourself from saying what came next. “But I guess I kind of like that about you.”

Your heart skipped as soon as the words left your mouth, and you immediately regretted it. You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you realized what you had just said. As you turned around to walk away in humiliation, he grabbed your wrist gently and pulled you into him.

Then he kissed you – no words, just a kiss that erased everything else as it silenced your thoughts. His lips were soft, but the way he was kissing you was anything but that. You gasped quietly as he nipped your bottom lip gently, pulling it between his teeth as you leaned forward, desperate for something more. Anything more.

His hands found your waist, and he squeezed gently as the two of you continued to feverishly kiss each other under the fluorescent lights of the lab. Slowly, he moved his hands to your lab coat and he slipped the thin fabric off of you, which you welcomed. As soon as your lab coat was out of the way, he picked you up – never breaking the kiss – and placed you on the cold, sterile lab counter, causing you to let out a small, startled noise.

You broke the kiss just enough to let out a breathy giggle as he smiled faintly at you as his piercing blue eyes looked into your own, and you swore this was the first time you’d ever seen Jonathan smile.

“You’re beautiful,” he said in almost a whisper, and you felt your cheeks heat up from the unexpected compliment. His tone was soft and genuine. “You make it hard to focus generally, but tonight,” he sighed as he admired you before continuing, “it was extraordinarily difficult not to get distracted around you. You’re a vision – like…art.”

“Jonathan.” You bit your lip softly, and you could feel your composure starting to shatter as he broke down your walls. You were surprised he was so sentimental given his…personality. “I need you — I want you.”

“Yeah?” He asked softly as his eyes travelled all over your body. “You have me, darling. I’m all yours.”

You couldn’t help but smile at him – the other side of Jonathan Crane – and you pulled him close by his shoulders as his grip on your waist never wavered. He looked at you with an expression you couldn’t exactly place, but it was comforting nonetheless.

“Can I take this off?” He asked quietly as one of his hands came to rub circles on your thigh and the other brushed past the edge of your mini dress.

You nodded, “Yes.”

As he slipped you out of your dress, leaving you in nothing but your lacy undergarments, you noticed the tent in his pants, and you bit your lip as you fought the urge to pounce on him right then and there. In that very moment, there was nothing you wanted more than him – and he knew that. The both of you were so worked up that it didn’t take long for either of you to shed your clothing, and before you knew it, you were straddling him on the shabby, worn-out couch in the breakroom of the lab.

You moaned into his mouth as he squeezed your ass tightly, and in return, you started to grind yourself on his erection. The only thing that stood between the two of you right now were your panties and his boxers, and you were more than desperate to take them off.

You broke the kiss for just a moment and Jonathan ran his thumb against your bottom lip. “I want to try something,” you whispered. “Lay back.”

“Lay back?” He asked curiously, and you nodded.

Jonathan smiled faintly as he laid back onto the large but worn-out couch, and you placed yourself between his legs. With a teasing glint in your eyes, you bit your lip and kept your gaze locked on his as you freed his erection. You smiled playfully as you then got up off of him, to which he gave you a confused look. You took your panties off and straddled his chest, but faced the opposite way.

“What are you…oh.” Jonathan’s smooth voice only turned you on even more as he realized what you were trying to do. “Fuck, let me taste you.”

With butterflies in your stomach, you sunk your drooling cunt down onto his mouth and immediately, his hands came to grip your thighs. He delved his tongue into your folds and you whimpered, feeling him lap up your wetness as you rode his face. He flicked his tongue deep into your hole and gripped your thighs even harder, causing you to feel hazy at the sheer pleasure just his mouth alone could bring you.

You leaned forward as you stroked his cock, and he continued to eat you out skillfully. Carefully, you took his cock into your mouth as he groaned into your cunt once more, sending shockwaves through your body. You moaned around his length as you gagged on it, trying to push him past your throat barrier. With your lips wrapped around his cock and his tongue deep in your gushing hole, Jonathan thought he was in heaven, and judging by the sounds you were making, so did you.

You continued to hallow your cheeks as you tried to take him entirely in your mouth, and he swivelled his tongue through your folds, tongue darting in and out of your sopping wet cunt. You swirled your tongue over the slit of his cock, and he returned the favour by gently sucking your clit. Both of you were making choked sounds, and soon enough, you were feeling that familiar knot in your stomach start to tighten.

Jonathan suddenly took one of his fingers and teased your slit with it, before inserting it into you as he continued to lap you up. You took him out of your mouth with a pop, and you mewled as he continued to pump a single digit in and out of your sticky hole.

“I’m close, Jon,” you warned. “I wanna feel you inside of me when I come…”

He grumbled as you lifted yourself off of his mouth, but within seconds, you were now facing him and straddling him as you sank down on his thick cock. His hands immediately found purchase on your hips and you rested yours on his chest as the both of you let out strangled moans. You could feel him fill you up completely, stretching your tight hole out inch by inch, and you started to bounce up and down on his length slowly.

“Thaaaat’s it,” he praised softly. “Good fuckin’ girl, baby.”

“Fuck, Jonathan…” You whimpered as you picked up the pace, bouncing on him faster and faster.

He watched you in awe as your tits bounced with every movement of your body, and he gently guided your hips with his hands. You could feel his cock brushing up against that spongy spot inside of you, causing you to let out stuttered curses and moans. You started to squirm slightly as you felt yourself getting close again, and you made sure to let him know.

“God, I’m close,” you panted.

“Me too,” he said breathlessly. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You continued to pick up the pace as you chased your own high, moving up and down in a desperate attempt to feel him in the deepest parts of you. He watched as his cock disappeared in you over and over again, and grunted as he felt your walls clench around his length.

“So wet, darling. Fuck, you’re so wet.” You’d never heard a tone so whiney come from Jonathan before, and in all honesty, the way he was talking had your head going blank. There was something so hot about him almost begging you without outright saying it.

You tried to tell him you were coming, but your brain short-circuited as your release rippled through your body. He gripped onto your waist as he held you against him in one swift movement, this time taking control as he began to roughly buck his hips up into you. You were a shaking mess, screaming his name as he slammed his cock into your stretched-out hole over and over again until he felt himself about to come with you.

“Gonna fill you,” he gruffed. “Stuff this tight fuckin’ cunt with my come—”

“Yes! Fuck, please—” You wailed, unable to hold back the words as he talked dirty to you.

“Yeah, you love it,” he growled, slamming his cock as deep as he possibly could into you. “Just stay there and take it, darling.”

You did as told and stayed slumped against him as he held you close. After a few more harsh, deep thrusts, he emptied himself inside of you, filling you with every last drop of his come. He stayed buried inside of you as the both of you tried to catch your breaths, and you rested your forehead against his.

Your heart was racing still, even in the aftermath. “Well,” you murmured, lips ghosting over his. “That was one way to test chemistry.”

A low chuckle escaped him as he pressed a kiss to your lips tenderly. “Not the breakthrough I had in mind,” he said, his voice much softer now.

You smirked, letting your fingers trace along his jaw idly. “Maybe not, but I’d call it conclusive.”

“Conclusive?” He asked, his tone turning more teasing as one of his hands traced lightly against your hips. “I very much doubt one trial is enough to prove a hypothesis.”

Your smile widened. “Oh? So you’re saying we need to run the test again?”

“For accuracy,” he replied with mock seriousness.

You laughed, leaning into him, but before you could respond, his expression shifted – still teasing but with a sincerity that caught you off guard. “Although… if we’re testing chemistry,” he said, his thumb brushing your cheek gently, “I’d like to see how it works outside the lab. Maybe dinner? A real date.”

For a moment, you stared at him, caught between disbelief and a flutter of something you couldn’t quite name. Jonathan Crane, the stoic and guarded man you’d worked alongside for so long, was suddenly showing a side of himself you hadn’t expected. Sentimental, even.

Your voice was soft when you finally answered. “A real date, huh?”

He nodded, his gaze steady on yours. “For… accuracy,” he repeated, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Your heart did a little flip as you tried to suppress the grin spreading across your face.

“Well,” you said lightly, “who am I to argue with science?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

#cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian fic #jonathan crane x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian fanfic #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x y/n #jonathan crane x fem!reader #dr jonathan crane #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x you #batman begins

192 notes · View notes

munsonsmixtapes · 3 months ago

Text

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

329 notes · View notes

tatsumessy · 10 days ago

Text

that’s pretty - itoshi sae

sometimes sae feels like he doesn’t know his girlfriend. like he just doesn’t understand what’s going on through her mind sometimes and that frustrates him sometimes. “that’s pretty.” you say looking at a necklace in the window of a jewelry store, you two were currently walking around the mall shopping for some gifts for friends. “then get it if it’s pretty.” sae responds looking at you like your an idiots for not going in and buying it.

“nahhh. i don’t want it.” you respond curtly while window shopping at other stores and such. he gives you a confused look before rolling his eyes and following behind you. you run into a clothing store that had some merch and stuff in it, walking around you found a whole section dedicated to sae. “hahaha now this is would buy. it’s your U20 uniform.” “i literally have that at home y/n why would you waste your money on that knock off crap.” you sigh at his comment and hold up the jersey.

“sae it’s not about it being a knock off- it’s just about the feeling you know? if we weren’t together and having the actual jersey at my disposal wasn’t an option this would be like a dream. Itoshi Sae merchandise sells fast because you’re a hot commodity babe.” he just rolls his eyes at your comment scoffing and looking around the store. “you like this?” he says holding up a silver soccer ball key chain. “it’s nice. you want it?” “no. you want it?” he responds holding it out for me. you give him a confused expression. “sae no- is shopping too much for you?”

he looks at you offended. “no it’s not! i’m just- i’m frustrated.” sighing you fold the jersey back up set it back down on the table. “come on im hungry let’s go get some food.” you grab his hand interlocking your fingers together as you both walked to the food court. you get a box of pizza and find a seat in a secluded area. “so…what are you frustrated about?” he doesn’t respond and takes a bite out his pizza. “sae communication is key in every relationship.” you reach over pushing some of his hair out his face and gently hold his cheek.

“talk to me what’s wrong. is it something I did?” he set the pizza down and wiped his hand on a napkin before leaning back in his chair. he holds your hand no even looking at you. “i don’t know…i feel like our relationship meshes more when im busy you know? it’s like now that im in open season i don’t understand you at all. i missed your birthday and life been trying to figure out what to get you as a gift for christmas but im stuck. this is so stupid.” you cover your mouth trying to stop yourself from laughing. “sae- seriously. you feel like we don’t connect anymore? that’s only because we were used to our schedule. and i told you not to worry about a christmas gift- Im just glad to actually have you here this year.” you respond gripping his hand. “don’t think that i need some gift to be happy. im happy where im at.” you say smiling softly at him.

“what’s this sae?” you ask holding a small gift wrapped box in your hand. it wasn’t too small but it wasn’t too big either so the only logical conclusion was that it was a ring. “don’t get any funny ideas idiot. just open it.” he says, this christmas we decided to do something simple which was christmas morning we spent with each other then in the evening we spend it with our respective families. we were sitting in bed wearing matching ugly pajamas with warm cups of hot cocoa on our bedside dressers. you slowly unwrapped the horrible wrapping paper the slowly opened the velvet box, it was a silver ring with a light pink flower on top. “it’s one of those fidgeting rings i saw online. i know you have problems with your anxiety and i remember you saying the other day you wanted to find a better habit than chewing on your nails.” he explained while pulling the ring out and placing it on your right ring finger. he then used his index finger to demonstrate how the flower spun once you barely pushed it. you smiled blushing at how thoughtful the gift was.

“sae- im going to cry…this is literally the sweetest thing ever.” you said with tears in your eyes as you reached over wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. he kissed back trying to hide the light dusted pink on his cheeks. he was proud of his gift through he didn’t want to show it. “okay now open your gift…” he grabs the box that’s been sitting on his lap for the past ten minutes. he pulls off the wrapping tossing the trash off the side of the bed then opens the box. he held it up and it was a keychain, a silver soccer ball keychain. the same one from the mall a couple weeks ago, he looked a bit confused m.

“before you start complaining open it…” you say holding onto his arm, your chin resting on his shoulder watching him open the locket. it was the very first picture you ever took together, especially when sae was still rocking those ugly diagonal bangs he loved. “oh god i look horrible” he mumbles staring at the picture. you watch his thumb trace over the small image of your smile before looking at you. he lens down and kisses your cheek. “i love it. ‘s nice” he say still staring at the picture while leaning into you. “im glad you like it. now stop pouting thinking you don’t know me because this gift just proves home much you know about me and more.”

comments and reblogs are very appreciated my lovelies

#blue lock sae #blue lock x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #itoshi sae #sae itoshi #sae blue lock #itoshi sae blue lock

276 notes · View notes

pinkrelish · 2 years ago

Text

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

3K notes · View notes

edelfie · 4 months ago

Text

#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

61 notes · View notes

apolloscastellan · 5 months ago

Text

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

67 notes · View notes